Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten

What then?’
    A frown furrowed his already age-creased face as he gazed at nothing, recalling memories. Of what, Libby longed to ask.
    ‘Okay, Stan. Let’s not scare the nice girls on their first day.’ The cute guy from the end of the bar flashed Libby another smile as he put his arm around Stan’s shoulders. ‘I’m Jack.’
    ‘Libby, and this is–’
    ‘Zoë Horton?’ Jack nodded, shaking Zoë’s hand. ‘It must be fifteen years ago, but I can still remember you hanging round the village in a tutu.’
    Grace leaned on the bar. ‘Oh my God, I remember.’
    ‘Fag?’ Zoë muttered before she walked out, not waiting for a reply.
    Libby watched her friend leave. What on earth? Tutu obsession was something they’d both laughed about in the past. Libby had lived and slept in hers from the age of four to fourteen. Picking up her wine, she smiled at Grace, Jack and Stan. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
    Jack shot her a wink. ‘You too.’
    The door banged shut behind her, but Libby didn’t miss his lazy grin through the glass-panelled door. Day one and she’d met a nice guy. The countryside definitely rocked.
    Outside, Zoë sat on one of the wooden benches, scowling across at Maggie’s cottage.
    Libby lit a cigarette and tossed the pack to Zoë. ‘And?’
    ‘I’d rather not remember running around the village like an idiot in a tutu.’
    ‘And it’s why I hope never to set foot in Brize Norton again.’ Libby sipped her wine, settling back in the afternoon sunshine. ‘Was Maggie really a witch?’
    Zoë still stared at the cottage. ‘To me she was.’
     
    That night in the mint-toothpaste spare bedroom, Libby slept badly, her head filled with alcohol-fuelled dreams. A black cat scratched at a coffin, releasing an un-dead Maggie who then waltzed around the Green, swapping partners after every twirl – her suitors the workmen from the pub.
    ‘Libby…’ she called, reaching out a hand. ‘Libby…’
    Libby woke, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared at the ceiling. A floorboard creaked. What the hell? She stopped breathing, trying not to make a sound. A second creak. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes widening when she saw the woman from her dream, her long grey hair, dark against her white gown.
    Maggie.
    Libby screamed.
    ‘Fucking hell, Lib,’ yelled the apparition.
    The room flooded with light and Zoë slumped against the wall.
    ‘Ohmigod, I thought you were her.’ Libby sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘I can’t sleep.’
    ‘Bad dream?’
    ‘No. Allergies.’ Zoë sneezed. ‘The bloody cat’s turned up.’
     

Chapter Six
     
    The next morning, Libby woke in Maggie’s old bedroom with sunshine filtering through the curtains and a loud purring in her ear. Reluctantly, she’d switched rooms with Zoë and huddled under the duvet in the dead woman’s bed more than a little freaked out. She’d expected to lie awake, fighting off nightmares, but the large ginger tabby cat had padded into the room and jumped up onto the bed, curling up by her feet. Libby, appreciating the company, had quickly fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.
    Yawning, she rolled over to see the cat sitting by her pillow, staring at her. Libby checked her watch. Six o’clock. After the interrupted night’s sleep and wine she’d knocked back with Zoë whilst unpacking, she’d expected to wake late.
    ‘You, mister, are one hell of an alarm clock. I’ve got time for a run.’ She turned the silver disc on his collar. ‘Hyssop? Nice to meet you, Hyssop. But aren’t witches’ cats supposed to be black?’
    He pushed his head against her hand.
    ‘I’m afraid Zoë isn’t going to be your biggest fan. She’s allergic to cats.’ She kissed his head, smiling when his purr grew louder. ‘I wonder if I can keep you.’
    He meowed, rubbing his head against her chin.
    ‘Today is going to be a good day, Hyssop. Today, I’m starting my idyllic rural life.’
     
    ‘Today’s a bloody