A Magical Trio Read online

  ‘It’s not that unusual a name, is it? And look, I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t need a room, now would I?’

  ‘Hmm. Suppose not. But two-forty really doesn’t bother you?’

  I stifled a scream. ‘Listen, is the room for rent or not?’

  ‘It’s for rent. Are you sure though? I mean … two-forty is a bit steep for the likes of you.’

  I continued to stifle that same scream. It wasn’t easy. ‘Can you text me directions?’

  ‘Well … I suppose. If you need them. But delete the message straight afterwards. Oh, and you have to get here before six, Wanda, because I go out at six.’

  I hesitated a moment. Berrys’ Bottlers was at a close-by industrial estate. If my interview there didn’t take too long, then I could probably make it to Luna Park by six. Assuming the buses were on time, and I ran in between stops very very fast. ‘I … yes. Yes I can be there before six.’

  ‘Brilliant. Room’s yours, so.’ The phone hung up. A few seconds later, a text came through with directions.

  ≈

  Berrys’ Bottlers didn’t seem to be having its best day. But who was I to judge? If anything, I sympathised with them. If my mother were here she’d blame today’s oddities on the phase of the moon. Actually, that wasn’t true. If my mother were here, she’d probably find nothing odd about this day at all.

  Garda cars were in the company car park when I arrived, and two gardaí were questioning a tall, attractive, fifty-something blonde woman at the front doors. I stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering what to do, when a man approached me from the side.

  ‘Wanda Wayfair?’ he whispered, glancing anxiously at the scene in the carpark. ‘I’m William Berry. You’re here for the interview?’

  ‘Um, yes,’ I replied, doing my best not to stare. This was who I’d been emailing with? He was younger than I expected. And taller. And buffer. ‘But … I can see there’s been some trouble, so if you want to rearrange ...’

  ‘This way, this way. Never mind all that,’ he whispered, grabbing my hand and ushering me towards a staircase at the side of the building. ‘We had a break-in last night, but it’s all sorted now.’

  He pushed open the door into a large office and stood back so that I could enter before him. Feminist me was enraged. Other parts of me … not so much. As I made my way in past him, I did my best not to stop and sniff. It was probably my most difficult feat of the day so far. Even at a semi-acceptable distance, his cologne smelled like heaven.

  The office he ushered me into looked almost as perfect as he did. Everything seemed to be brand new. The filing cabinets gleamed. His desk was spotless, and there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on his computer.

  ‘Sit down, Wanda. Make yourself comfortable,’ he said. Now that he was no longer whispering, his voice was deep, chocolatey and delicious. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?’

  As I sank into the plush new office chair he’d indicated, I shook my head and said, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘All right then.’ He sat behind his desk, chin in hands and looking far-too intently at me. ‘Let’s begin.’

  It wouldn’t be fair to say that I didn’t pay attention to him after that point. Unfortunately, I was paying attention to all of the wrong things. The sea-green shade of his eyes. The dirty-blond locks of hair that fell across his tanned forehead once in a while. The lines of his biceps, bulging through his crisp white shirt.

  ‘So you’re happy with all of the other stuff the job entails?’

  I dragged my mind back to the conversation. What other stuff?

  ‘Um … yes? Yes, it all sounds great, Mr Berry.’

  He rolled his eyes and gave a throaty laugh. ‘We hardly need to be so formal, do we Wanda? Mr Berry is my father. And quite a few of my uncles as well. Call me Will. In fact, call me anything except Bill.’

  It took a moment for me to stop staring at him before his joke sunk in. ‘Oh. Hah! Bill Berry. Bilberry. That’s a good one,’ I said, before laughing just hard enough to make a fool of myself.

  For some reason, he wasn’t doing what other guys did when I acted like a moron. He wasn’t wrinkling his nose, or staring at me like I had ten heads. Instead, he was laughing along with me and smiling like I was the most delightful thing he’d seen that day. But I must have been imagining it, because the most delightful thing that Will Berry had seen that day was his own reflection. Obviously.

  ‘Well, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you like the sound of the job,’ he said after a while, flashing his super-white teeth at me. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Movie-star dimples. Dimples that I wanted to lick. Dimples that made me imagine cherub-cheeked children (hopefully with more of his DNA than mine). ‘Now, I see your driving licence is up to date, and you have your final accountancy exam this Friday.’ He grinned even wider. ‘On your birthday, too. Ah, twenty-one. I remember it well.’

  I bit my lip, wondering just how recently he remembered twenty-one. He was definitely younger than thirty. In fact, if I had to guess at his age, then I would say he was about … the perfect age for me?

  ‘So you’ll be with Mike doing the wages on Wednesday. Unfortunately he’ll be retiring on Friday, so Wednesday’s the only day he’ll have to show you the ropes in that regard. But I’m a chartered accountant too, so I can help you out after that. Now, I’ve told you about the other stuff you’ll be doing with my aunt Alice tomorrow and Thursday. You’ll have to drive her there if that’s okay. She’s stubbed her toe again.’

  ‘Oh. Drive her? Drive Alice … to the place. Yes, that’s not a problem. Only I don’t have a car, you see. Will that be an issue?’

  He waved a hand. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to use your own car. In the company van, of course. And you’ll get to use it yourself too, if you take the job. Little perk. I swear we won’t be ringing you at twelve for lifts home from the pub. Too often.’

  I forced out a laugh. He was being just as delightful as ever, but I was beginning to think that maybe I should have done a little less staring and a little more listening. ‘Right. Well … do you have many more to interview before you let me know?’

  He flashed his grin again. ‘Wanda, Wanda, Wanda … you need to have more confidence in yourself, you know. Even if I had a hundred more applicants, I’d be ringing them up and telling them not to bother now I’ve met you. Job’s yours, Wanda. See you at nine sharp?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Wonderful. Well, shall I …’

  ‘Go?’ He grinned at me again and I did my very best not to swoon. ‘Much as it pains me to see you leave, yes, Wanda. The interview is over. The job is yours. And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning at nine.’

  2. That Old Familiar Feeling

  If today was teaching me anything, it was that even if you’ve lived almost four years in Dublin, there are always new places to discover. I’d never heard of Westerly Crescent or Luna Park, but it turned out it was in Dublin 7, close to the Phoenix Park.

  The moment I turned onto Westerly Crescent, I suddenly knew why I didn’t know this place. The houses were large. Posh, even. The friends I’d made so far in Dublin tended to live in the sorts of places I did – small, rough, and affordable. But the guy on the phone had pretty much confirmed that the price was correct. All I could think of was that it must’ve been a box room he was renting. Or maybe a broom cupboard.

  The houses in Westerly Crescent were arranged in a crescent shape (surprise!), facing onto Luna Park. The park was large, lush and well-manicured and, oddly, no one was sitting about drinking from a can. The houses along the road were just as well-kept as the park. The garden of Number One was especially lovely. The grass was cut in stripes (how did people do that?) and there wasn’t a weed in sight. It had a sign next to the wall, saying: ‘To Let. Call Luna Letting for details.’ There was no phone number on the sign.

  Inside Number Two, a woman in dark glasses was pulling down the blinds. It was a bit early, but each to their own. Further down t
he road I could see a group of young men and women lying about on sun-loungers while various remote-controlled gadgets cut their grass, clipped their hedges and washed their windows.

  It was five minutes to six when I arrived at the front door of Number Three. I picked up a rather fancy looking wrought-iron door-knocker, and prepared to let it fall. Before I could, however, the door was yanked open from the inside.

  ‘You must be Wanda,’ said a guy who looked about my age. He had shaggy, light-brown hair (not long, just messy) and dark brown eyes. And gosh, he was tall. I had to strain my neck to look up at him. ‘I’m Max. Come in, come in, no time to waste.’

  He reached for my bag, pulled it into the hall, and had the door slammed shut behind me the second I went inside.

  ‘Is this all you have? Not a lot to move in with, is it? Oh, wait … is it one of those bags where the inside’s bigger than the outside?’

  I kept my glower to a minimum. ‘No need to be sarcastic. My stuff’s at a hotel. I’ll go and get it if we’re happy enough to, y’know, live together.’

  He grinned. His teeth were long, super-white and, I have to say, a bit on the caveman side. If cavemen had excellent dentists and whitening bleach, that is. ‘What, in case I was a maniac?’

  I decided not to answer that.

  Still holding my bag, he marched up the stairs. Assuming he wanted me to follow him, I ran up behind. His legs were a lot longer than mine, and by the time we got to the top I think I was a little red in the face.

  He pointed to a closed door. ‘That’s my cousin’s room. She’s had to go away suddenly, but you’ll like her. If you ever get to meet her.’ He pointed to another room. The door of this one lay open. There was a large, neatly made bed, wall-to-wall wardrobes and shelves filled with books, cassettes and records. Real, actual records. ‘That’s my room,’ he said. ‘And no, I’m not a hipster. The cassettes and records were my dad’s. I have all his old movies, too, boxed up under my bed. I don’t play them, ever. I’m clumsy, y’see. Afraid I’ll wreck them.’

  I said, ‘Oh. Right.’ I’m sensitive like that.

  Finally, we came to a room at the front of the house. The door was open, revealing a large double bed with a huge TV on the wall facing it. The bed was already made up with grey and plum sheets, pillowcases and a duvet, and a pair of fluffy purple slippers sat on the floor alongside. There was a desk with a cup full of pens and a swivel chair, a comfy armchair by the window overlooking the park, and a wall lined with fitted wardrobes.

  ‘You’ve only got a shower in your en suite,’ he said. ‘But you can use the main bath whenever you like. Obviously, I’ll try my best to keep it clean.’

  ‘En suite?’ I peered through a door beside the bed into a very large bathroom beyond. No, there was no bath, but there was a shower large enough for an orgy. (Did I really just say that? Well, I didn’t mean it the way you think. Clearly.) A heated rail was lined with fluffy, plum-coloured towels. A candle was lit on the vanity unit, sending delicious waves of lavender wafting into the air.

  I eyed Max. ‘I feel like we’ve been talking at cross purposes. Is this room vacant right now? I mean the slippers, the towels … the candles… the massive TV … you seemed like you wanted me to move in right away, but the room looks like it’s already occupied.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. Well. Yes. It’s very definitely vacant. An … um … a very wet dog got in last night. A stray. And he slept on every single bed in the house. Hence the fresh sheets and candles to make it smell a little bit better. And the slippers are just because … y’know … everyone likes a comfy pair of slippers.’

  Okaaay. That made sense – in no way, whatsoever. ‘But what’s with the cup full of pens? Were they the last tenant’s?’

  He looked at the pens. ‘No. I just like stationery. There’re A-4 pads in the drawers, too. And some folders and paperclips and things. I mean, you can never have too much, can you?’

  ‘Stationery?’

  He nodded. ‘Exactly. And I swear no one else has rented the place for weeks. I mean … it’s not the sort of place many want to live, is it? That’s why I rushed out and bought you some new slippers. I mean, I was going to get you a few more welcoming presents but … that’d just be weird.’

  I didn’t know how to respond to any of that. This was by far the nicest house, and the nicest neighbourhood, that I’d seen in quite a while. The guy’s attitude was strange, to say the least. Even without the stationery fetish and the brand new slippers. But it was either this or a rat-infested hotel with a weird old lady.

  I sat on the bed. ‘Well, much as I’d like to find some reason not to stay … the room is perfect. The street is perfect. The rent is cheap as chips. And purple is my favourite shade for slippers. So I’m in, Max.’

  He gave me a brief look of shock, then something more akin to panic crossed his features. He looked at his wristwatch, and the panic intensified. ‘Good. Brilliant. Well, I have to go now. And I’ll be out for the whole night.’ He dashed out the door and to the staircase. ‘Make yourself comfy, etcetera,’ he called back to me as he sped away. ‘There’s milk – almond, soy and rice, seeing as I didn’t know which you drank – and bread and stuff in the kitchen. Plenty more pens in the drawers in my room if you run out. What’s mine is yours.’

  ‘Wait!’ I ran after him, leaning over the railing and staring down at him, but no sooner had I got there than he was already out the front door and slamming it shut behind him. ‘I was going to ask you for a set of keys.’

  ≈

  Considering I was in a strange room, I felt surprisingly at ease. Candles normally reminded me far too much of my childhood, but the lavender was calming. The second Max left I did what any sensible girl would. I checked the house for cameras or any other sign of weirdness. Then, deciding it was all on the up and up, I turned on the shower.

  For the first time in years I found myself in a shower that actually worked. No fiddling with the dial only to wind up scalding or freezing. This water was perfect. And the fluffy warm towels and slippers afterward were even better.

  I climbed into bed and turned on the TV, but I was only five minutes into my favourite vampire show when my eyelids began to droop. I set the alarm on my phone for five, making sure I had plenty of time to collect my bags from the Hilltop Hotel before work, and then fell into a fast and deep sleep. No dreams. Just the most perfect night’s sleep I’d had for as long as I could remember.

  I woke up feeling happy and rested, and showered yet again. Because … well, it would have been a waste not to.

  At ten past five I stood by the window, running a brush through my hair and looking out onto the park. Hearing faint birdsong, I pushed the window open and leaned out, taking in breaths of fresh morning air. This place was far too lovely for the likes of me. With my luck, Max would turn up later on with an axe or a chainsaw, and that would be the end of that.

  Just as I was about to close the window, I saw one very obvious reason why this was, indeed, too good to be true. A few houses away, at the corner of the estate, stood Number One, Westerly Crescent. The To Let sign had been removed. And the front garden that had been so perfectly manicured only yesterday … this morning, it was filled with weeds.

  Stifling a scream, I forced myself to ignore the obvious, at least for now. I had a new job to begin. I could go over there and say my piece later on. Y’know, before I packed my bags and moved back to the rat-infested hotel. I mumbled a few things that I swear were sweeter and more innocent than they sounded, pulled on my suit, and went to the kitchen.

  There was everything I needed to make a nice breakfast, but for now all I wanted was a cup of tea. With the kettle on, I looked through the fridge, wondering which of Max’s many milks would taste best with tea. I erred on the side of caution and picked up the soymilk. Just as I was about to bring the carton to the counter, I heard a panting noise behind me. I turned and screamed, spilling the milk to the floor.

  ‘Waste not, want not,’ said th
e huge, hairy dog, lapping the milk up.

  I pressed my body against the counter and began to inch my way to the door, with my phone in my hand. ‘You … you …’

  The dog made a movement that seemed somewhat like a shrug. ‘Yeah. We weren’t supposed to meet like this just yet. Thought you’d sleep a bit longer, to be honest.’

  ‘You … you …’ I scrolled through my numbers, cursing myself. Which number had Max texted me from? What would I say anyway? ‘Oh, you know you were saying a stray dog got in? Yeah, well he’s here again and … he talks.’

  ‘Dogs don’t speak,’ I said out loud. Of course, I knew that wasn’t quite true. I knew that there were many dogs who could, and did, talk. Just never, ever, to me.

  He shook his head. ‘No. No, dogs don’t speak. You’re absolutely right.’

  I made my way to the door, only to find it locked. Perfect. The shower, the slippers, and the lovely night’s sleep had lulled me into a false sense of security, and I’d forgotten one very important detail: I still had no keys.

  So I did what anyone in my position would do. I began to incant. So what if it wouldn’t work? The dog didn’t know that, did he?

  ‘I order this door–’

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ The dog interrupted me, baring his teeth into something suspiciously close to a sarcastic grin. ‘That’s a pity. I hoped we could get to know one another better. Seeing as I happen to be your familiar.’

  I shook my head, abandoning all thoughts of incantation. ‘No. No you’re not. Wayfairs don’t have dog familiars. We have cats. And …’ I let my sentence trail off, not quite willing to say the sad truth out loud: I never had – and most likely never would have – a familiar of my own.

  He made a shrugging movement again. ‘You know what they say, Wanda. You don’t choose your familiar. Your familiar chooses you. Anyway, hadn’t you better go? You’ll be late for your first day at work.’