When Mitzi had arrived home, Lu had made the complimentary coiffure remarks, cast evil-eyed glances at the Bandings, stormed upstairs and not yet re-emerged.
Putting it down to Lulu still feeling raw over the end of her relationship with Niall on a universal party night, Mitzi sighed. She’d assumed that once the girls had grown up the worrying would stop. Hah! She worried constantly about
both of them: Lu because she was so flaky about men and everything else, and Doll because she wasn’t.
Niall had broken Lu’s heart and Brett would probably bore Doll to death. Men! Huh – who needed them?
Mitzi stopped dead in the hall. Blimey. She’d been using the ‘who needs men’ mantra for years – but suddenly it no longer rang true. She didn’t need Lance any more, of course. She enjoyed his friendship and would never wish him any ill, but there was no
need.
However, the tall, dark, dangerous man she’d bumped into on the high street was another matter altogether.
He’d pressed buttons that had remained resolutely unpushed for ages. And she’d never see him again – and even if she did he’d only think of her as a sad old bat with wild hair, damp eyes, a red nose and an inability to hang on to her pumpkins.
‘Sod it.’
‘Language, Mitzi.’ Lobelia teetered from the kitchen on her way towards the downstairs lavatory. ‘You’ll have to rinse your mouth out with some of Clyde’s cowslip. Very tasty … ooh, have you got two staircases?’
‘Just one,’ Mitzi steered Lob carefully towards the cloakroom. ‘And I really think you shouldn’t drink any more.’
‘I’ll be fine when I have a – a—’ Lobelia hiccuped violently ‘—oh, pardon me. No, I’ll feel much better when we – hic – start on the food. No, no I’ll be – hic – fine now, thank you – oops—’
‘Don’t lock the door,’ Mitzi warned. ‘And do you want me to hold your witches’ hat?’
‘No thank you.’ Lob attempted to uncross her eyes. ‘It’s superglued to the – hic – cycle helmet and you know we
must
wear that at all times – whoops!’
The lavatory door closed with a resounding crash. Mitzi winced. Lulu really should have had enough sense to hide Clyde’s booze.
The doorbell rang merrily.
‘You get it – hic! – oh crikey! There goes my sock!’ Lob
called happily from behind the door. ‘I’ll be – whoooo – quite all right, dear …’
Lavender, tripping over her drooping skirts, beat Mitzi to the door by a nanosecond.
‘Come along in,’ she breathed effusively, reeling slightly with her hat dipping towards her nose. ‘Lovely to see you all! The more the merrier!’
Jesus.
Mitzi stared in horror as half a dozen of the neighbourhood yobs, baseball capped and hoodied to the eyeballs, trooped through the hall and into the living room.
‘Cool,’ the nearest one nodded to her. ‘We was only going to ask for a fiver to stop us chucking eggs at yer door. This is wicked.’
They’d immediately homed in on Clyde’s bottles, stuffing handfuls of All Hallows Mallows into their pockets, lighting cigarettes and jerking rhythmically to Mott the Hoople in the fire glow.
‘No, sorry,’ Mitzi started, just as the bell rang again. ‘Oh, hell! Look! Don’t touch anything! I’ll be back in a minute and—’ she flew out into the hall. ‘Lav! Leave the door! Leave it! Oh, bugger!’
Too late. Lavender was ushering another batch of trick or treaters into the hall.
From behind the closed cloakroom door Lobelia was singing ‘After the Goldrush’.
‘We let ourselves in through the back,’ Flo announced, emerging from the kitchen with Clyde in tow like the best Whitehall farcical entrance. ‘Goodness, what a racket! We thought we’d be the first. And you look lovely. Black suits everyone – nice trousers. Bit tight maybe … Pauline’s worked miracles with your hair, though. Through here, is it?’
The next half an hour passed in a blur. There seemed to be a constant stream of people marching into the living room, half of whom Mitzi couldn’t remember inviting. Trilby Man and a clutch of the Baby Boomers, Biff and Hedley Pippin,
Herbie and all the old bags from Patsy’s Pantry joined her friends from the village and the bank, the neighbours and the trick or treaters munching away at Granny’s nibbles and knocking back Clyde’s booze. Mott the Hoople’s Ian Hunter was now at full husky volume. There was some dancing going on by the fireplace, and a couple she didn’t recognise were struggling happily on the sofa. Lob was still in the downstairs loo singing ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ with the queue outside cheerfully joining in on the chorus, and Lulu remained in her bedroom.
‘Bloody hell!’ Doll’s eyes opened saucer wide as she unlocked the front door and almost crashed into Mitzi who was carrying two full plates from the kitchen. ‘Have I come to the right party? And wow, Mum, you look fab.’
‘Thanks,’ Mitzi thrust the plates at her daughter. ‘It’s got a bit out of control but so far everyone seems to be having a good time. Clyde’s booze can always be relied on to loosen inhibitions.’
‘What are these?’ Doll peered at the plates. ‘They don’t look like cheese and pineapple to me.’
‘Er – no, I think those are Autumnal Love-Nuts. And those are definitely Pumpkin Passions. And the little green ones are – um – oh yes, Stars of Venus – just lettuce and herbs and stuff, oh and celery and something else – avocado and liquorice I think. All good clean fun according to Granny and – good God, I didn’t know Brett was coming. Hello, love, how – er – wonderful to see you here.’
Brett smiled and nodded. ‘Hello, Mrs B. You look really different. Nice different, of course …’
‘Oh, of course,’ Mitzi smiled warmly at Brett. She really wished he’d call her Mitzi or Ma or something. But she’d been ‘Mrs B’ to him ever since he and Doll were at school together and it was probably far too late to change now. ‘Did you walk?’
‘No, I drove. I won’t be drinking because I’ve got to be at work early. So Doll can.’ He hugged Doll with enthusiasm and scant regard for the piled plates. ‘I couldn’t bear
to let her out of my sight. Not even for a couple of hours. Ooh, nice, cheese and pineapple.’
Mitzi watched as he helped himself to a handful of the Pumpkin Passions. Oh well. As he’d been behaving peculiarly ever since the Wishes Come True Pie, she assumed a bit of Pumpkin Passion wouldn’t make much difference.
She watched them force their way, still entwined, into the living room. Were they really happy now? They certainly seemed so. Was that anything at all to do with Granny Westward’s recipes? Did it matter?
The introspection was interrupted by the trick or treaters conga-ing out of the living-room door along with a few bank employees, Trilby Man and the BBC, Biff and Hedley, some of the neighbours and Lavender. The shimmying snake disappeared, high-kicking, into the kitchen.
‘Mum!’ Doll yelled from the living-room doorway. ‘Mum, they’re
stoned
! All of them! What the hell have you given them?’
‘Nothing – well, just the party nibbles in Granny’s book … you saw the recipes. Just herbal things, little sweetmeats, nothing toxic.’
Doll still looked shocked. ‘Don’t give me that. I’ve seen enough chemical highs in my life, and this is like the last night of Glastonbury. Are you sure you haven’t added something, well, you know?’
‘Nothing,’ Mitzi grinned. ‘Just good old-fashioned herbs. Fun, isn’t it? Oh, come on, love. Join in. Enjoy yourself. Whoops—’
The conga-snake reappeared from the kitchen and made its way up the stairs. Lobelia, hat intact but minus socks, having fought her way out of the downstairs loo, had tagged unsteadily on to the back and was kicking out of sync.
‘Get out!!!!!’ Lulu’s voice screamed from her bedroom. ‘Bugger off! All of you! Mum, what the hell is going on down there?’
‘Just what I said,’ Doll muttered. ‘And why isn’t Lu down here?’
‘She’s – um – still getting ready I think. Oh, that’s a good idea, Brett. Give Doll something to eat to soak up Clyde’s turnip and nasturtium. What? Oh, those are the All Hallows Mallows – totally organic and chemical-free. Honest …’
There was a crash from upstairs and a lot of laughing. Mitzi, deciding to ignore it, ushered Doll and Brett into the living room. Richard and Judy scampered out and headed for the sanctuary of the kitchen and the washing basket. As she opened the door, Mitzi didn’t blame them.
The fire glow, candles and flickering pumpkins were the perfect accompaniment for Juicy Lucy’s sensuously spooky ‘Who Do You Love?’ which was now throbbing loudly from the stereo. Everyone seemed to be paired off, snuggled together, swaying.
Turning to make a comment to Doll, Mitzi blinked. She and Brett were suddenly entwined, gazing deeply into one another’s eyes.
‘Best leave ’em to it, duck,’ Flo chuckled from the depths of the sofa where she was rather surprisingly sitting on Clyde’s lap. ‘Like I said, they needs a bit of a spark. This is a really good party. Come and have a drink.’
Elbowing her way across the room and helping herself to a glass of raspberry and celery and a handful of Pumpkin Passion, Mitzi was about to join Flo and Clyde on the sofa when the doorbell rang again.
‘More bloody trick or treaters I bet,’ Clyde gruffed through his moustache which was now tinged a sort of luminous green. ‘Do you want me to sort the little buggers out?’
‘I’ll go,’ Mitzi swallowed the last large chunk of Pumpkin Passion and swigged back her glass of wine. ‘Hopefully Lav is still wreaking havoc upstairs with the conga-ers so I might be able to prevent this lot getting in.’
Crikey, she thought as she staggered out into the darkened hall, that wine is seriously strong. I feel quite woozy. I can see three front doors.
She fumbled with the door latch and eventually tugged it open a crack. ‘Go away. Please. We don’t want any more – oh!’
Dracula stood on the doorstep.
‘Let me in, Mitzi. It’s bloody freezing out here,’ Dracula lisped round some very scary fangs. ‘Oh, sod the things.’ He spat them into his hand. ‘What’s going on in there? I mean, it looked dark from outside but I thought you’d had a power cut. The wind is playing havoc with the wires up towards Winterbrook which usually means—’
Mitzi blinked at Lance. ‘Why are you dressed like Christopher Lee? It isn’t fancy dress and you weren’t invited, were you?’
‘Do I need an invite to my own home – er – ex-home?’ Lance frowned. ‘And I didn’t know you were having a party, did I? Oh yes, I vaguely remember you said you were having a little bash tonight for the neighbours, but I didn’t expect – Christ! What the hell is that? Who’s upstairs?’
‘Half of the youth of Hazy Hassocks and a few other people.’ Mitzi beamed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to beam but her mouth gave her no choice. ‘Anyway, now you’re here you might as well come in.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Lance stepped into the hall, patting his vampirish, gelled-back hair into place. ‘And – is that dope I can smell? It is, isn’t it? Mitzi, I thought we grew out of all that stuff during the early seventies? And what have you done to your hair?’
She beamed a bit more. Lance looked very handsome as Dracula. He had the right bone structure. And he’d been complimentary about her hair – well, almost. The beam upped a few degrees. ‘If you weren’t coming to my party, why are you all dressed up? It suits you, though. Bloodsucker.’
Lance looked even more shocked. ‘To be honest, Jennifer and I are on our way to Tarnia’s. She’s having a Halloween Ball. I needed my white scarf to complete
the outfit. I left it here, remember? And as we were passing …’
Mitzi shrieked with laughter. It surprised her. She wasn’t sure where it had come from. She hadn’t been planning on laughing. The fact that Lance and Jennifer were going to a ball at Tarnia and Snotty Mark’s bad-taste palace was surely no laughing matter. She tried very hard to stop, but couldn’t.
‘You
have
been smoking, haven’t you?’ Lance narrowed his made-up eyes at her. ‘It always made you go giggly.’
It had, Mitzi admitted hazily to herself. Years and years and lifetimes ago when she and Lance had been very, very young, and hippiely in love. All that sort of recreational nonsense had come to an end when they married and got a mortgage and babies and responsible respectability, though.
‘You look nice with make-up on,’ she beamed at him. ‘Even more like David Bowie. In his Ziggy days of course. And no, I haven’t smoked anything at all. It’s probably Clyde’s wine – or maybe the Pumpkin Passions …’
‘That bloody recipe book!’ Lance was laughing too now. ‘What on earth have you concocted tonight?’
‘Masses of stuff and we’re all having a lovely time. Much better than anything Tarnia can put on, I promise. You’d find out if you stayed, of course, but no doubt the Bride of Dracula would have something to say about that, wouldn’t she? Ooooh – blimey! That was quick.’
Jennifer, white faced, black eyed, red lipped, wearing a strapless meringue wedding dress with realistic blood trickling from puncture marks in her neck and very pretty diamante-studded fangs, suddenly loomed in the doorway.
Mitzi blinked. Jennifer always gave her a shock. It was like looking at her own photograph twenty or thirty years ago. Lance had truly gone for the younger model.
‘I’m not keeping him, Jennifer,’ she smiled hugely. ‘He’s all yours.’
‘I know,’ Jennifer didn’t smile back. It might be the fangs of course. Or the fact that she was freezing in the
off-the-shoulder flimsy frock. ‘I just wanted to make sure he was all right.’
The physical similarity was where it ended, Mitzi thought dizzily. Jennifer had no sense of fun whatsoever.
‘He’s fine. I’ll just go and get his scarf – the one that Flo slept with, wasn’t it? I found it in the washing basket so it might be a bit furry …’
She was still giggling as she lurched towards the hall-stand. Grabbing what she hoped was the right scarf she lurched back again. ‘There we go. Give Tarnia my love won’t you? And tell her I’ll see her soon. Have a great time. ’Bye!’
She closed the door on them and almost immediately the doorbell rang again.
‘Oh, sod off, Lance,’ she giggled, tugging the door open again. ‘Whatever you want this time it’s no good – just sod off and – oh!’
Mitzi tried to rein in her grin and stop her stomach looping the loop.