It was an unequal struggle.
Mitzi sailed out of the kitchen triumphantly clutching both the dishes and the apples.
Doll smiled. ‘She’s as high as a kite.’
‘Good.’ Lu was far more worried about the apples than her mother’s herbal intake. Almost midnight. The love candles still reposed in the freezer, both her special spell Midnight Apples were about to be dunked, and Shay still hadn’t turned up.
Doll finished her water, straightened her shirt and gave Lu a hug. ‘Look, I know Niall hurt you, but lurching into another disastrous relationship really isn’t the answer. Shay probably isn’t the right one for you. Are you sure that you wouldn’t like me to nudge Joel in your direction?’
‘Quite sure. Under different circumstances I’d be delirious, but after the Heath Ledger wish I can’t think about anyone other than Shay.’
‘It wasn’t really magic, Lu. Not what’s happened to me or Mum or you. It was coincidence. All this stuff – all of it, tonight and all the rest of the recipes – it’s only superstition and a fusion of herbs. Chemical not magical. Okay?’
‘Whatever,’ Lu said irritably. Her chemical-herbal-magical intake suddenly needed a boost. Normal everyday gloom was threatening to set in. She was in serious danger of sobering up completely, she had to light the love candles and she still wanted those apples back. ‘Anyway, I’m going to help Mum with the apple bobbing. Coming?’
Mitzi set the apples carefully in the tub of water. The ones she’d found in the crockery cupboard were, as Lu had said, rather weary. She’d keep them for emergency supplies.
‘Need a hand?’ Joel appeared out of the gloom. ‘Here let me take those apples. This is getting a habit – me helping you with fruit and veg.’
Mitzi handed over the two apples from the kitchen. Joel looked even more wonderfully saturnine in the flickering
darkness: the candlelight shadowed across his cheekbones and made his eyes fathomless, the diamond ear-stud sparkled like a multifaceted star.
‘Um – thanks …’ She was careful not to touch him this time. It was no good at all going all gooey over him. He was far too young, and a dentist, and hadn’t he likened her to his mother on that first meeting? Well, almost. And she’d looked terrible. And he’d been, well,
kind.
The way she’d always taught Doll and Lu to be kind to the older generation.
And now they were both rather drunk and being merely party-polite.
Free assured everyone that it was ear-splittingly ‘All Right Now’. Clyde was playing air guitar with Lav and Lob and most of the trick or treaters.
Joel straightened up and smiled at her. ‘This is one of the best Halloweens I’ve ever had. And certainly the best night out since I came to Hazy Hassocks. When I decided to make the break and move south I always knew it would be lonely, but nothing had prepared me for feeling quite so alone. But you—’
What difference she’d made to his solitary life, Mitzi was never going to discover.
Trilby Man shimmied between them, his hat pushed to the back of his head. ‘Smashing bash, Mitzi. Lovely and warm. Funny food but plenty of it. We’ve had a great time. If you passes out, and you don’t look too hot if you don’t mind me saying, duck, don’t forget – we’re meeting in the village hall next Wednesday at six. So’s we can get the meeting in before the fireworks.’ He nodded at Joel. ‘Mitzi’s a prime mover in our Geriatrics Anonymous meetings. She was on the verge of losing it, you know, after she’d retired, but—’ he nudged Mitzi painfully with his elbow ‘—we’ve proved that there’s life in the old dog yet, ’aven’t we, gel?’
Joel nodded politely. Mitzi, now officially labelled ancient, decrepit, a nodder and knitter, clenched her fists and willed Trilby Man to explode on the spot.
He didn’t.
Mitzi glared at him, then clapped her hands. ‘Form a queue for the apple bobbing! There’s a small prize for every successful apple grabbed. What? No, of course not. With the teeth. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge otherwise, would it?’
Everyone pushed and shoved their way into some sort of ragged, noisy line. They were clearly at that compliant stage of drunkenness where anything anyone suggests seems like the best idea ever.
Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Greatest Hits’ had replaced Free. Purple Haze provided the perfect accompaniment.
In the untidy line, Doll had her arms round Brett and was whispering something in his ear. Lu, having lit some rather ugly knobbly pink candles which Mitzi had never seen before in her life, was squinting at the apples over Flo’s shoulder. Mitzi, still hoping that Trilby Man would be the first apple-bobbing fatality in Hazy Hassocks history, cleared a space on the table for the clean dishes. There was still the Mischief Night Cake to cut and the cream to dollop out as a party finale.
Water was slopping all over the floor and the screams of laughter had become sort of gurgly. It was all going so well.
‘Do you think you’ll need these?’ Joel was still clutching her spare apples. Maybe he hadn’t heard all of Trilby Man’s killer description.
The clock started to whirr towards the first of the twelve slow strokes of midnight.
‘Doubt it,’ Mitzi peered towards the bobbing tub. At least four of her friends from the bank and two of the Baby Boomers and Lavender had their heads under water. ‘You can have them if you want. I mean, being a dentist, I suppose eating apples comes second nature to you. Good for the teeth, I mean. And—’
Lulu had suddenly hurled herself across the room, trampling most of the trick or treaters under foot.
‘Noooo! Don’t let him eat that apple! OOOOH – bugger! Which apple is it? Which one?’
Joel, having the remains of the apple snatched from his mouth by a frenzied Lulu, looked a little surprised.
Lulu swirled round and glared at Mitzi. ‘He’s been
holding
that, hasn’t he? And you held it first and gave it to him. And now he’s
eaten
it! At
midnight!
And you know what that means, don’t you?’
Mitzi didn’t have a clue. She felt that Lulu had probably gone mad.
‘Where’s the other one?’ Lulu barked at Joel. ‘The one with the bits missing? Have you eaten that as well?’
The apple bobbers, very wet, emerged from the tub to watch the entertainment.
‘It’s here,’ Joel handed it over. ‘Sorry. Didn’t know it was your special apple.’
‘Lu – what the hell is going on?’ Mitzi felt she’d skipped a vital episode of her favourite soap. ‘It’s only an apple. There are plenty more – oh, now where are you going?’
Lu had heard the doorbell. And the clock was still slamming out the midnight chimes. She tugged the door open. Sod bloody Joel Earnshaw and her mother. If Granny Westward was right then they’d be fated to become the most mismatched couple since …
Shay stood on the doorstep. Carmel, looking like a little pink and white frothy fairy doll, stood wispily behind him.
‘Hi,’ he smiled. ‘We made it … The film was crap and Lav and Lob’s house is in darkness and we thought—’
‘Here!’ Lu shoved the engraved apple into his hand and grabbed at the sleeve of his leather jacket. Dragging him across the hall and into the living room, she fetched up beside the guttering Apple Love Candles. They still smelt like cowpats. The clock was booming its final chime.
‘Eat it – please. Well, one bite at least …’
Shay, laughing, did as he was told.
Lulu, dredging up Granny Westward’s words from deep,
deep in her memory, took a breath. ‘I conjure thee apple by these names that what man tasteth thee may love me and burn on my fire as melted wax.’
Jimi Hendrix had moved on to the exceedingly sexy ‘All Along The Watch Tower’.
Shay chewed thoughtfully. And swallowed. And grinned. ‘Have you just put a spell on me?’
‘Goodness, no! Of course, not!’ Lu trilled happily. ‘It’s only a bit of party fun.’
Shay looked around the mayhem in the room with laughter in his eyes. Carmel sidled up beside him and glared at Lulu. The apple bobbers resumed their fun. Mitzi and Joel were dancing with Clyde and Flo, the Baby Boomers and the trick or treaters. Doll and Brett had disappeared. Lav and Lob, water dripping from the brims of their witches’ hats, were hacking chunks off the Mischief Night Cake. Trilby Man, having inhaled a touch too much of the Apple Love Candles, was being sick in the coal bucket.
Lulu grinned to herself and her unknown great-grandmother and poured a large glass of celebratory raspberry and onion.
November the fifth was being wholeheartedly embraced by the Hazy Hassocks pyromaniacs. Outside the village hall the early evening sky was exploding with waxing and waning cushions of colour, while the ground shook with neutron-bomb-powerful detonations.
Inside the hall, sparks were also flying.
Trilby Man, clearly still a little fragile after Halloween, was wincing at the volume of several dozen people all shouting at once as he felt his way carefully between the noisy groups, handing out various pieces of paper and nodding in a concerned manner.
Lav and Lob Banding were trotting behind him, vociferously arguing they were a vital part of the am-dram group. Trilby Man was agreeing, over his shoulder, that yes, they’d signed up for am-dram as they had for everything else, but that the nature of the first planned production probably meant they’d be better as front – or even better still, back – of house.
The Bandings, now with haloes of black plastic adorning their cycle helmets where the witches’ hats had had to be cut free, were insisting that they’d be perfect in the chorus line. They’d always done Gilbert and Sullivan when they’d been gels.
Amusedly watching the proceedings from the stage, Mitzi was even more convinced that she was no longer
necessary in the Baby Boomers’ lives. They’d needed someone to get them together, and keep them in touch, but now everything seemed to be up and running nicely.
The village hall was to be commandeered on Wednesday evenings for a general get-together, and on a neatly typed-out daily roster for the other activities. Tarnia’s original agreement was believed by the Baby Boomers Club to be written in stone. Mitzi, sadly, knew better.
Maybe the Baby Boomers’ activities would thrive without her, but Tarnia’s letting of the village hall wouldn’t. Another visit to Tarnia was on the cards, and soon, if the Hazy Hassocks over-fifties were to retain their lifeline.
She glanced at her watch. If she left now, she was bound to find Tarnia at home this evening, wasn’t she? There’d probably be fireworks all round, and she didn’t have any Powers of Persuasion Puddings tucked away in her handbag to sway things this time, but she might as well get it over.
On either side of her, June and Sally, flanked by several others of the BBC committee, were chatting happily. They’d all
loved
the Halloween party. Well, the bits they’d remembered. It had all been such fun and they really must do it again – oh, and if Mitzi had any more of her grandmother’s country cooking recipes then they’d all be willing to pay her to make things for their own forthcoming parties if the spectacular effects could be guaranteed.
What, they asked, did Mitzi think about running a sort of Granny’s party food outlet?
Mitzi, keeping her face impassive, murmured that it certainly sounded fun, she was flattered they’d all enjoyed the nibbles so much and she’d bear it in mind. However, a little squiggle of delight squirmed in her brain. A little frisson of excitement trickled along her spine. Cooking Granny’s recipes for other people’s parties? Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Well, obviously because cooking per se had never been her forte – until now.
Why not? She wouldn’t be going into
business
as such, would she? She wouldn’t be a proper caterer. That sort of
thing was bound to be accompanied by masses of Euro red tape and restrictions. She knew once you started manufacturing bulk food for resale in your kitchen the Brussels Bureaucrats were down on you like a ton of lardy cakes, followed closely by the HSE army and probably millions of other nanny state inspectors.
But surely, if she was just taking a few private orders.
She smiled delightedly to herself. Granny Westward’s recipes could make a real difference to her life. The money would be very welcome to eke out her bank pension – it would, after all, be years and years and years before she qualified for any payouts to do with Old Age. And she’d be doing
something.
It might even be the start of a whole new career.
Trying not to grin too widely, Mitzi promised to let June, Sally and the rest have a list of Granny’s recipes and a price list at the next meeting so they could chose what they’d like. She also decided it was best to wrap up tonight’s meeting quickly so that everyone could get back to their own firework parties – and she could visit Tarnia.
‘We’ve sorted out loads of things tonight, haven’t we?’ June said, reaching for her coat. ‘This BBC thing was a brilliant idea of yours. Gives me a real purpose in life.’
‘And me,’ Sally agreed. ‘It was great that you took charge like you did. I mean, we’d never have thought of it in a million years. It needed someone like you to take control and get it organised. Mind you, you were always bossy at school.’
‘Was I?’ Mitzi frowned. ‘I thought I was quiet and diligent and—’
‘Selective memory syndrome!’ June laughed. ‘You were always having Bright Ideas and organising stuff for us to do. Everyone hung on your every word. We all thought you’d end up as the first lady prime minister. No wonder Tarnia was so jealous of you.’
At the mention of the T-word, Mitzi flinched. She shook her head. ‘Tarnia wasn’t jealous of me, for heaven’s sake!
She was my best friend at school. We were always together, remember? I was always in awe of her. I felt sort of – well – mousy and goody-goody compared to her. I really wanted to be like her. I wanted to be as devilish and foolhardy as she was.’
‘While she,’ Sally said, ‘was dead envious of your popularity, your loyalty and your ability to see things through. You never gave up. Either on things or people. And yes, maybe Tarnia was a lot more
wicked
than you – but you got things done in a quiet and well, sort of kind but ruthless way. Everyone liked you, trusted you, relied on you – and they still do. You never let your friends down, while Tarnia didn’t have any friends at all – except you.’