Page 108 of Under Your Spell

‘W-what?’ Len looks aghast as Lil cackles. ‘Uh, your mum said I could find you out here,’ he says awkwardly, turning to me and ignoring my sisters. He runs a hand through his sandy hair. His face is thinner, and he has new glasses. ‘I didn’t realize there was a party going on.’ Len has always made an excuse to avoid Lil-Fest. He considers my family ‘eccentric’ and he said this often and in the kind of tone that made it clear that was a Very Bad Thing.

‘You’re Len?’ Theo says, incredulously, and he looms, big and furious, blood still clearly running high from his confrontation with Sam.

Len takes a step back, and then does a visible double-take. ‘Are you… Theo Eliott?’

‘I’m your worst nightmare,’ Theo growls.

It’s an objectively hilarious thing to say so I don’t think anyone can blame me when I crack up. Len eyes me warily, like I’m a lunatic. Theo’s glance flicks to me, still angry but then, reluctantly, he starts to laugh too.

‘I cannot believe you said that in real life,’ I giggle. ‘I’m your worst nightmare. All right, Christian Bale. What a tough guy.’

‘I am tough,’ he insists. ‘I just punched someone!’

‘Yeah, and there were plenty of witnesses too.’ Sam seems to have staunched the flow of blood now, but his nose does not look good. No one seems in a rush to offer him any kind of first aid. Or a towel.

‘I don’t know,’ Serena muses. ‘The only thing I saw was you falling over into the pond onto your own face.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Lil puts in, her smile sweet. ‘So clumsy.’

‘Clemmie, I need to talk to you,’ Len says nervously.

‘No, I need to talk to you,’ Theo insists.

‘I need to talk to you too,’ Ripp says, and part of me wonders if he simply can’t bear to be left out.

‘Er, hello?!’ Sam exclaims. ‘Is no one going to help me? I think we need to call an ambulance.’

‘A Waaa-mbulance more like,’ Lil mutters, delighted with herself.

I squeeze my eyes closed again. Take a deep breath. I don’t know what sort of sick joke the universe is playing but I suppose the only way to get out of this living nightmare is to see it through. ‘Right,’ I say finally, pointing at Len. ‘You first. What do you want?’

Chapter Forty-One

‘Er, it’s…’ Len gestures to the pet carrier. ‘It’s the cat. I thought you might like him back.’

‘You’ve brought Tuna?’ I exclaim, rushing over to the carrier and peering inside to see the familiar grumpy face of my rescue cat staring back at me in mute disapproval.

‘Well, it turns out he and Jenny don’t really get on,’ Len mumbles. ‘Anyway, if you’re happy to keep him I’ll be on my way. Leave you to your…’ – his eyes move from Sam’s dripping form and broken face to Theo’s glower, to my flower crown and sparkly purple fairy wings – ‘party.’

‘Can you take Tuna and leave him with my mum?’ I ask, and with a beleaguered sigh and a wary look at the lot of us, he picks up the pet carrier.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘But, Clementine,’ – his eyes flick around the group once more – ‘as a friend, I really think you need to take a good, hard look at the choices you’re making.’

‘I really don’t give a shit what you think, Len,’ I reply. ‘But you’re right… I do need to have a look at my choices. I can’t believe I wasted four years of my life on a man with the personality of a dry Ryvita because I was too scared to have an emotion. You can go now.’

And just like that the chapter closes on Len. Good bloody riddance.

Chapter Forty-Two

‘One down,’ I sigh. ‘Two to go.’ I turn to Theo. ‘Would you mind waiting for me in my room? I need to sort this mess out.’

Theo hesitates, looks like he’s about to say something, but then he nods. ‘Sure, I’ll wait for you.’

‘Theo—’ Serena starts, but he holds up his hand, his face steely.

‘I’ll wait for you,’ he says once more, the words unyielding, not up for debate. It’s that stern voice again, the one that I feel everywhere, and the squeak that Lil makes tells me that I am not the only one vulnerable to its effect. With that, Theo stalks off.

I turn slowly to face Sam. It feels like the moment in a film where the hero confronts the big, bad baddie. Only, the man in front of me isn’t the villain in my story; that’s giving him way too much credit. Standing here, shivering and wet, his artfully mussed hair plastered to his head, his expression like a toddler on the brink of a tantrum, he looks like what he is: pathetic.