Page 102 of Hexed Up

We’re greeted on the doorstep by Horatio’s mum. I can see it’s her almost immediately. They look so alike. She’s tall and willowy with a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, high cheekbones, and those same blue eyes, her ash-blonde hair styled elegantly around her tanned face. A set of pearls sit in the lobes of her ears and another set loop around her neck. Damien’s advice to invest in a twin set is actually looking pretty sage.

“Ready?” I ask Horatio, as I see him take a deep inhale. He squeezes my hand, nods, and we both climb out of the car. I waitfor him to join me on my side before we walk up to the doorstep towards his mum.

If I thought Horatio’s mum might be a little grumpy like her son, a little standoffish and introverted, I’m completely wrong, and I remember she is American, after all.

A smile beams across her cheeks and she flings her arms out wide, beckoning her son forward and wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“Happy birthday,” she says. “Thirty-three. Jeez. I can’t believe it. It only seems like yesterday you were running around in just a T-shirt, peeing in the bushes.”

I can’t help giggling at that image and Horatio’s mum turns her head and smiles at me.

“He hated wearing clothes,” she explains. “It was a battle every morning just to get him to put anything on.” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Asha.”

“Molly,” I tell her. “Molly Eccleston. It’s really nice to meet you and thank you so much for having me this evening.”

“You’re very welcome. It’s always lovely to have Horatio home, and even more lovely when he brings company.”

She hooks one arm through Horatio’s and one through mine and pulls us inside, strolling with us down the wide hallway and towards a large kitchen that spills out into an enormous back garden.

“It’s such a lovely evening,” she explains. “I thought we’d eat outside.”

A wide patio perches beneath an elegant wooden pergola, a mixture of roses, jasmine, and grape vines climbing up the struts and creating a floral canopy. The table is already laid out neatly, and there’s a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket in the centre.

“You must be famished,” she says, beckoning us to sit down, “and dying for a drink.”

She hooks the bottle of wine out of the ice bucket and, struggling a little, pulls out the cork, beginning to fill the waiting wine glasses.

“I’m not drinking, Mom,” Horatio says, covering the wine glass in front of him as he lowers himself onto the cushioned seat. “I’m driving, remember?”

“Driving?” She looks clearly crestfallen. “Are you not staying over?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid. Got plans tomorrow morning.”

She collects herself, reforming the smile on her face, although it’s not quite as genuine anymore.

“Of course. Busy boy,” she says to me.

“Yeah,” I say. “Very busy.”

“I hope he’s making enough time for you, though.”

“Plenty of time,” I say, smiling at her.

“Good. Now, make yourselves comfortable.” She pats Horatio’s shoulder. “I’m going to go and see how that dinner’s getting on. I’ve left Alan in charge.” She rolls her eyes and walks away. I notice a slight limp.

I’m guessing Horatio sees me spot it.

“Osteoarthritis,” he says. “She’s on treatment, but it’s getting worse. You saw how she struggled to pull that cork from the bottle.” He shakes his head.

“She seems really nice,” I tell him.

“She is. She’s lovely, until you get her in a courtroom, and then she’s formidable.”

“I think I’d like to see that.” I take a sip of my wine and gaze out across the large garden, admiring all the blossoming bushes and the flower beds crowded with blooms. The sweet perfume hanging in the air is almost dizzying, and in the late evening sun you can hear the buzz of insects as they hurry from one plant to the next before night arrives. “It’s beautiful.”

“She’s always been an avid gardener,” Horatio explains. “It’s her passion.”

“Do you have a passion, Mr Shaw – apart from the trains?”