A Dash Of Pepper

by Sam Short

  As the sun rose higher, its golden beams picking out purple heathers on the distant slopes of a hill to her right, Pepper swallowed more toast and arched her back against the trunk of the tree. She gave a sigh of contentment as her body soaked up nature’s life-force, the warm energy recharging her magical battery — as Pepper liked to refer to the feeling of warmth in the centre of her torso.

  Of course, nature regularly recharged her battery, but there was something special about receiving a powerful boost of magic from a life-force so old and powerful as an ancient tree, and Pepper never turned down the opportunity of touching an old yew tree in a churchyard or sitting among the spiky shells at the base of a huge horse chestnut tree.

  As her body drew energy from the trunk, Pepper slipped her hand into the thin pocket sewn inside her denim jacket. She’d sewn similar pencil-sized pockets into most of the clothes and bags she’d owned since the eighties; when her grandmother had crafted, and gifted Pepper with, the oak wand which felt so familiar between her fingers as she slid it from the pocket.

  Made from the same wood as the trunk of the tree which supported her weight, the short wand was smooth against her skin, and the slight imperfections in its appearance gave it a character which Pepper had long ago grown to love.

  Making a small circle in the air with her wand, Pepper smiled as tiny dancing green lights materialised from the tip and fell like glitter to the ground at her feet. Where the sparks fell, nature responded almost immediately. Benefitting from the unexpected dose of earth magic, the blades of grass which the green sparks landed on quivered and became noticeable greener than the grass around them. As more sparks fell, settling on the still closed head of a wildflower, it shuddered as it woke from its sleep and began peeling its petals open, quickly forming a vivid red flower which twisted like a satellite dish as it searched for sunlight. Pepper smiled. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, watching the flower settle. “You’d have been woken by the sun soon enough anyway. You’re an early riser today. Enjoy the peace and tranquillity of being alone while you can. The others will wake up soon.”

  Looking up into the canopy of the oak, Pepper pointed her wand at the same branch she’d been using to practice on every morning since she’d been visiting the tree. No thicker than a human arm at its widest point, the branch grew low on the tree trunk and was the main artery for the smaller leaf heavy branches which sprouted from it.

  Her wand vibrating gently between her fingers, Pepper willed her magic from it, watching in the same delight she had for over thirty years as a stream of bright green light erupted from the tip and made a soft sizzling sound as it met the cool morning air. Cool morning air couldn’t dampen the energy of powerful earth magic, though, and the stream of sparks grew brighter as it travelled towards the branch Pepper had aimed it at, enveloping it in a soft glow when it arrived.

  With a smile of delight, Pepper watched in vein awe of her own power as the branch first shook, and then moved. It moved slowly at first, as if unsure of what was expected of it. Then the magic guided it in the way Pepper had instructed it to. Creaking as the old wood it was formed from became softer and more elastic, the branch began to bend. First, the leafy tips at the end curved towards the ground, and then the rest of the branch followed, groaning as its fibres stretched.

  Pepper reached out as the delicate tips of the branch curled into the elongated shapes of fingers and then twisted into the rudimentary shape of a hand, and she giggled as her fingertips made contact with an acorn callous of the edge of the leafy hand’s thumb. She laughed with joy. “Pleased to meet you again,” she said. “I hope you have a wonderful day!”

  Then, with hardly any awareness of how she did it, Pepper willed the magic to cease. Sparks stopped flowing from the tip of her wand, and before she’d returned it to the pocket in her jacket, the branch had untangled the twig hand it had formed and had bent gently back into position among the other limbs of the tree.

  Pepper gave a contented sigh and sipped her coffee. She liked being a witch, and she liked her new home, and just as she was planning on what she was going to do for the rest of the day, she heard the sound of metal slamming into metal echoing across the meadow and into the valleys beyond.

  She frowned. She knew what the sound was. It was the brass knocker on the cottage’s front door, but Pepper could not fathom what on earth had possessed somebody to use it at ten-past-six on a Thursday morning.

  The visitor used the knocker again, but this time added to the banging with a shout, too. “Pepper?” came the distant voice of a male. “Are you awake?”

  Clambering to her feet, Pepper tipped the crumbs from her plate and splashed coffee dregs at her feet. “What now?” she said, as she began the walk back to her cottage, following the path she’d left in the wet grass on her outward journey through the meadow.

  “Pepper!” came the man’s voice again after a while. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m coming!” yelled Pepper, pushing open the garden gate. “And whoever you are, you’d better have a good excuse for hammering on my door at this time of the day!”

  Refusing to hurry for principle’s sake, Pepper crunched along the path next to the cottage and opened the tall gate with a soft creak of the hinges. She peered at the young man wearing a red baseball cap who stood with his arms crossed staring at the front door, a bicycle laying in the gravel at his feet. The same young man who’d carried her bike up the steps next to the canal for her yesterday. Glad that she was good at remembering names, Pepper cleared her throat. “What is it you want at this time of the day, Willie?” she said.

  Turning quickly to face her, the young man smiled. “It’s Billy, not Willie,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re awake. The film crew are on their way to set up for the day’s filming. Oswald was hoping you’d allow us to utilise your electricity supply, so we won’t need to set up a generator or waste battery power. Would that be okay… Pepper, isn’t it?”

  “Film crew?” said Pepper. “What do you mean, film crew? Why is there a film crew on the way?”

  “You telephoned Oswald Clementine last night,” said Billy. “You left him a message saying you wanted to speak to him. He assumed you’d changed your mind and wanted your home and yourself to be in his film after all. He doesn’t want to waste any time — he wants some early morning shots of his lead-male leaving his home before he flies away to fight the Nazis. He’ll be here in twenty minutes. He said the natural light would be perfect at this time of the day. He sent me ahead to rouse you from your barely required beauty sleep. His words, not mine.”

  “Then I’d like you to get in touch with him immediately,” said Pepper. “And tell him to forget all about using my home, or me, in his film.”

  “But he won’t like that,” protested Billy, his blue eyes widening. “He really won’t like that at all!”

  “Then he’ll just have to not like it,” said Pepper. “It’s not my problem. I don’t wish to be in his production. Full stop!”

  “Then why did you telephone him?” asked Billy, fixing Pepper in an accusatory stare. “Oh, right,” he said, his expression changing. He shook his head. “I get it! You fancy him. You noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and decided you’d try your luck! Well, I’m afraid he’s off limits, so you can get that idea out of your head straight away! Don’t you dare try it on with him!”

  “Fancy him?” said Pepper. “Are you mad? Of course I don’t fancy him! I can’t remember the last time I fancied someone, Billy, so you can calm down. Anyway, he’s far too old for me, he must be in his late sixties!”

  “You’re not that far out of his age range, are you?” said Billy, narrowing his eyes as he studied Pepper.

  “Pardon me?” said Pepper. “I’m not anywhere near my sixties!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” said Billy. “I meant women like older men, don’t they? I can tell you’re not in your sixties, I’d guess that you’re only in your… I want to say forties? Approaching fifty? You dres
s like you could be younger, but I’m not sure.”

  Pepper sucked in a long breath of cool air. “You’ve got a lot to learn about what you should and shouldn’t say to a woman, haven’t you, Billy? And anyway, how old are you? Twenty? Twenty-two? Isn’t Oswald far too old for you?”

  “Too old for me?” said Billy. “What do you mean, too old for me? Why are you saying that? I’m not… He’s not…. No! Why would you think that?”

  “You told me he was off limits,” said Pepper. “And you spat the words with the vitriol normally reserved for a jealous lover. You made a very robust defence of him, Billy.”

  “Jealous lover?” said Billy, his eyebrows retreating beneath his baseball cap. “No! He’s not my… He’s my father! I’m not a jealous lover, I’m a son who’s fed up of his father continually bringing new stepmothers into his life.”

  Pepper snorted. “I can assure you, Billy, that I’m never going to be your stepmother, but if I was, the first thing I’d teach you is to never bring up a woman’s age in front of her!”

  “Okay!” said Billy. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Oswald… my father, will be here soon, and I don’t want to be the one who tells him that he can’t use your cottage for the film. He woke everyone up at half-past four this morning when he found your message on his phone. Why did you leave him a message saying you wanted to speak to him if it wasn’t to offer your home for the film, or to offer yourself for… well, you know what.”

  Pepper remained silent as Billy stared at her. Yes, she’d phoned Oswald, and yes it had been to tell him that she’d like to be in his film, but it was immediately after her sister had left, and Pepper suspected she’d been high on cheese and high on the attention Jas had given her over her role in a film, and her membership of a gardening club. When she’d woken that morning, the cheese effect had worn off, and Pepper had decided that she certainly did not want to be in a film after all. She gave Billy a thin smile. “I was going to tell him that I would allow my home to be used in his film, but I’ve since changed my mind. I’d like you to phone him and tell him, please.”

  Billy looked over his shoulder as the rumble of engines approached. “You can tell him yourself,” he said. “He’s here.”

  Chapter 6

  The strange convoy of vehicles came to a halt in the narrow lay-by opposite Meadow View Cottage, and Pepper couldn’t help admitting that the leading vehicle was impressive. It was the same vintage car she’d seen on the bridge the day before, but this time she had more time to appreciate it, and appreciate it, she did.

  With a thick stripe of cream paint sandwiched between the black paint of the roof, wheel arches, and the running board, the long car put the luton style van and the estate car behind it to shame. The car’s engine throbbed loudly in the stillness of the morning, and the bright silver metal of the radiator grille and headlamps sparkled beneath the rising sun, as smoke rose from the rear of the vehicle, hanging in the still air, turned golden by the light.

  Driven by the young woman who’d played Emily in the scene on the bridge, the car would have put her sister’s modern cars to shame, thought Pepper. With sweeping front wheel arches and a spoked spare wheel fitted to the side of the huge engine compartment, the car made Pepper want to pack a wicker picnic basket, don a floral print dress and a wide-brimmed hat, and be whisked off into the countryside for the day.

  Almost forgetting why the car was there, Pepper watched as the passenger door swung open and Oswald Clementine climbed from it, taking the long step to the road below.

  He flicked his long hair from his eyes, raised a hand, and smiled at Pepper. “Good morning, darling! Thank you so much for allowing me the honour to save for posterity, both the beauty of your home and its owner, to film. My apologies for not returning your call last night. I was scouring Picklebury for information about my stolen property and didn’t hear my phone ring. When I heard your message, I knew right away that you wanted to be in my film, and I must say, with so many things going wrong for me at the moment, I’m so happy you decided to help! Your cottage will add a dimension to my film that it sorely requires.”

  Pepper glanced at Billy, who shrugged, and then she sighed. Why not? The film crew were there, her sister would be impressed, and Pepper had never been called darling by a film director before, and she sort of liked it. “You’re welcome, Mister Clementine,” she said. “I’m glad I can help.”

  “Call me Oswald, please!” replied the director. “And I shall continue to call you Pepper, if that’s okay?”

  “That’s fine,” said Pepper.

  “Then let us get started!” said Oswald. “I’m sorry we’re so early, but the light at this time of the day is glorious for filming beneath, and without the lights that were stolen from me, I need the best natural light I can get. I hope Billy wasn’t too intrusive when he woke you?”

  “He didn’t wake me up,” said Pepper. “I’m always awake at this time of the day.”

  “An early riser!” said Oswald. “The mark of success! Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll turn your cottage into a film set for the next few hours.” He waved a hand at the people huddled in the blue estate car. “Charlotte will see to your costume and make-up, and the rest of the team will set up the equipment.”

  “Make-up?” asked Pepper.

  “And wig,” replied Oswald. “If you’re to play the nineteen-forties housekeeper of an RAF officer and Spitfire pilot, then I’m afraid denim jackets and bright red hair just won’t cut the mustard. We’re a low budget production, but Charlotte will have something for you to wear in her suitcase. That is if you still want to play a part in the film?”

  Pepper thought about it for a moment, and then she remembered the look on her sister’s face when she’d told her she had a part in a film. She smiled at Oswald. “Yes,” she said. “I think I do.”

  “Then would it be very rude of me to ask you to put the kettle on while we set up, Pepper?” asked Oswald. “I believe a good dose of caffeine helps not only the actors and actresses to perform to their full potential, but the whole team. The use of a room in your cottage would be helpful, too. For make-up and costume purposes, you see?”

  Had it been any other occasion, Pepper would have given anybody asking such a favour from her, short shrift, but even she could tell she was being swept away in the excitement of the moment. The actor who’d played Charles on the bridge stepped out of the estate car, dressed in the clothes he’d wear in the scene to be filmed, and four men carried equipment from the back of the van. Pepper nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Coffee all round. And you’re free to use my kitchen as a dressing room.”

  The brown wig a snug fit on her head and styled in what Charlotte had referred to as a half-up, half-down style, favoured by women of her age in the forties, Pepper fastened the top button of the hip-hugging dress she wore. She gazed at her reflection in the tilted mirror that Charlotte had set up on the kitchen table and liked what she saw.

  For the first time in over thirty years, her hair wasn’t a colour which most people found different, and her figure was draped in what those same people would refer to as respectable feminine clothing.

  “You look great, Pepper,” said the actress playing Emily, as Charlotte applied fake dirt to her cheeks and forehead. “I’m Jessica by the way, and I thought it was really sweet how you ran onto the bridge yesterday telling me to accept the proposal!”

  Glad that the rouge Charlotte had applied to her cheeks might hide her blushes, Pepper laughed. “It was silly of me,” she said. “I should have known that nobody is that romantic anymore.”

  Jessica smiled. “It wasn’t your fault, Pepper. Brian delivered his lines so well he even made my knees go weak — and I knew he was acting! If he’d been asking me for real, I would have leapt at the chance! If only.”

  “You were both very convincing,” replied Pepper. She tickled Ziggy under his chin as he leapt onto one of the seats next to the table and looked up at her as if confused about who she was. “It’
s me, Ziggy,” she said. “I’m dressed up to be in a film.”

  “Not the best film in the world, though, Ziggy,” said Charlotte, her voice low. “But Oswald has his heart set on making it.”

  “No,” said Jessica in a low whisper. “It’s not going to earn any awards, but offers of work have been very scarce. I’ll gladly take whatever work I get offered, including another TV advert for dog food, and the part of a land-girl in a very low budget film named The Pilot and The Potato Picker.” She lowered her voice even more, and her eyes twinkled. “Especially as I’ll get to kiss someone as good-looking as Brian! That makes up for the crap wage and the awful script. That’s probably why I’m still here… for that final scene and the big kiss that’s been brewing between us!”

  Pepper smiled. “I thought the lines you both said yesterday on the bridge were lovely. There was certainly acting chemistry between you.”

  “That scene contained the best dialogue in the film,” said Charlotte, tying a knot in the spotted handkerchief on Jessica’s head. “Because it was the only scene not written by Oscar. He wrote the rest of it, and it shows.”

  “It does,” said Jessica, through a giggle. “This film is Oscars’s baby, though. He wrote most of it, he’s directing and producing it, and he’s paying for it all out of his own pocket. Not that any of us have seen a penny of our wages yet.”

  “And he’s been waiting for a year to film these scenes in Picklebury,” said Charlotte. “The only reason he wrote a film about a World War Two Spitfire pilot is because he has a friend who has connections. Oscar was offered the use of one of the only operational Spitfires left in The UK, so he wrote a film around it. Next week, Oswald has the use of the Spitfire and a pilot for a couple of hours at the private airfield near Picklebury. Those plane scenes are going to be the highlight of the film.”