Page 29 of Hexed Up

I’ve just about finished my story when my mum reappears and announces that dinner is served. I help Grandma up onto her feet and guide her along to the dining room. My mum has gone all out as usual. There’re several vases of summer blooms around the room and candles standing in and among the dishes of food. I help Grandma into her usual seat, rearranging cushions until I’m sure she’s comfortable. Then I take my own seat beside Prim and opposite my mum. It puts me right in the firing line but the last time I tried sitting in a different seat it nearly started World War Three.

My mum claps her hands, and serving spoons float around the room, depositing slices of roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, and vegetables onto our plates, followed by lashings of gravy. When we’ve all been served, my mum shakes out her napkin, laying it across her lap and picks up her knife and fork.

I swallow because I know this is when the interrogation will begin.

“So,” she says, “how have you girls been?”

I immediately stuff a potato into my mouth, preventing me from answering and meaning Prim has to pick up the reins. She chats with my mum about the latest Witching Authority policies she’s helping to implement and about a spate of pixie sightings she’s been helping to investigate.

When Prim runs out of things to talk about work-wise, my mum takes her opportunity to strike.

“How’s Norman?”

Prim pushes her glasses up her nose and stares down at her untouched food. “Oh, you know, just fine. He’s currently out in Romania helping with the latest trade negotiations with the Baltic Vampires.”

Norman is Prim’s boyfriend. They’ve been dating since the first term at the Witching Academy. Like Prim, he’s very clever, very hard-working, and very dedicated to his job. So dedicated, we’ve seen even less of him in the last few months than we have her. He’s also incredibly boring – Tiggie actually fell asleep mid-conversation with him one Christmas. I have not missed his company at all.

“Did you show him the details of that lovely little house I found for you on the edge of Epping Forrest?”

“Erm, not yet,” Prim says, fidgeting on her seat. My mum is dying for Prim and Norman to tie the knot, move to a family home and start popping out grandkids. She’s so desperate, it looks like she’d even consider skipping the wedding part and heading straight for the family home part instead.

Despite my mum’s best efforts though, Norman is yet to produce a ring and they’re still living in a tiny one-bed flat in central London, no place (according to my mum) to bring up children.

“You really ought to, Prim darling,” my mum insists. “I showed it to Norman’s mother and she agreed. It would be just perfect for you both. And close enough that I could pop round and help out if you needed me to.”

Prim grimaces before downing her glass of wine. Then her head pops up and she turns to face me. Something sparks in her eyes and I know what’s coming next.

I appeal to her as best I can with the power of my eyes but it’s no use. I take it Prim has reached her interrogation-limit for one night and is prepared to sacrifice me in order to save herself.

“Molly has a new boyfriend,” she blurts out.

My mother is so shocked by this news, she fumbles her fork and it clatters onto the pristine table cloth, splattering gravy everywhere. Immediately, a cloth appears out of nowhere, dabbing at the stain until it vanishes from view.

“Really?” my dad says from the other end of the table, where I think he’s been surreptitiously watching the rest of his football match on his phone, hidden from view under the table. “That is good news.”

My mum shoos the still-hovering cleaning cloth away with her hand and picks up her fork, stabbing an unsuspecting carrot rather aggressively.

“Really? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“He’s not really my … we’re not really date …” I mumble, feeling like I’m being analysed by a pair of lasers directed from my mother’s eye sockets.

“You seemed pretty cosy when I was there yesterday,” Prim mutters unhelpfully, clearly not willing to let me dodge the incoming interrogation.

My mum’s laser gaze swings to Prim. “You’ve met him?”

My sister gulps. “Once. Accidentally. Briefly.”

“I see.” My mum slices a potato in half. “And am I allowed to know the name of this gentleman or are you keepingsecrets from your mother now?” She sniffs like she’s genuinely heartbroken at the prospect.

I consider my options.

I admit to them that this is just a fling, that we’re not dating and we’re just ‘hanging out’.

Or I lie and say that Mr Hottie is indeed my boyfriend.

The first option will lead to a lot more questions – most of which I do not want to answer.

The second involves the obvious hurdle of lying which I’m awful at.