by Kaye Umansky
‘Oh, now, that is awkward,’ sympathized Mrs Snoring. ‘I suppose it’ll have to be cauliflower cheese.’
‘Cheese brings me out in a rash,’ said Miss Winnie Whippet. ‘Mainly the blue ones. Stilton. Gorgonzola. . .’
Elsie stood behind the till, joining in where necessary, nodding and shaking her head in the right places, bright-eyed and helpful, the very picture of perfect customer service. But beneath the counter, her fingers were just itching to bring down a shower of comedy frogs. Not to be mean. Just to jolly things up a bit.
Slowly the morning dragged on. Old Mrs Trout tottered in, together with her mother-in-law, Very Old Mrs Trout. Together, their ages added up to one hundred and seventy. To Elsie, it felt like that was the amount of minutes they took to count out eighteen pennies for a bargain tea towel with a chicken design.
At one point, an angry-looking man with a flat cap and a black beard marched in, snatched up a hammer, slammed down coins, and marched out again.
At long last, the clock on the town hall struck midday.
‘So,’ said a familiar voice. ‘That’s how you spend your mornings, is it?’
And there, suddenly, was Magenta Sharp, standing by the stack of hideous vases. Her red hair and scarlet cloak clashed horribly with the green. In one red-gloved hand dangled a black, shiny top hat – the sort that rabbits jump out of.
‘Magenta!’ exclaimed Elsie. ‘I didn’t notice you arrive.’
‘I’ve been here for ages. I was wearing my Hide-Me Hat. Want to try?’
She handed over the hat. Elsie took it in her hands and looked inside. No rabbit. She put it on, feeling a bit like a circus ring master.
‘Now look down.’
Elsie did as she was told – and her head swam! She was gone! She could feel the hat on her head and her feet on the floor, so she was definitely there – but at the same time, she wasn’t. It made her feel a bit queasy, so she reached up and took the hat off. To her relief, she was back again.
‘It makes you dizzy at first,’ said Magenta, taking it back. ‘But you get used to it. I bought this one ages ago at the Sorcerer’s Bazaar. They only had it in black. I heard they do them in red now, but it’s a long way to go for a hat. I’d have to take the tower and go through the whole moving ritual. Such a performance.’
‘Can’t you take a shortcut?’
‘I’m cutting down on shortcuts. I told you, they make a witch lazy.’
‘How did you get here, then?’
‘Well, all right. But it’s my last one today.’
‘I saw Joey this morning,’ said Elsie. ‘He tells me you’ve closed down Sharp Spells. Have you?’
‘Yes,’ said Magenta. ‘All that having to get the right stamps and the right sized jars and wrapping up the wretched parcels and slaving over a cauldron all night making up spells with only that miserable bird to help. It was time to move on.’
‘I thought you wanted the world to experience your amazing products.’
‘I do. Just not at the expense of my sanity. Look, I know you did your best. Elsie. I won’t say I’m sorry because I make it a rule never to apologize. But I’m grateful for your efforts.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Elsie. ‘I enjoyed it. But as my dad says, retail isn’t for everyone.’
‘Well, it certainly comes easily to you,’ said Magenta. ‘You make it look like the easiest job in the world. Prop up the counter, listen to nonsense, put things in paper bags and take people’s money.’
‘There’s a bit more to it than that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well – you have to order the stock and do the accounts and keep the shelves full and watch out for shop lifters and be nice even when you don’t feel like it—’
‘Yes, well, you can get an assistant to do all that.’ Magenta waved a red-gloved hand. ‘Shop-keeping beats mail order any day. That’s plain to see. Easy money for doing nothing. Shame about the customers, of course. Unbelievably dreary, aren’t they? But then, so is your stock.’ Magenta ran her eyes around. ‘Nails. Buckets. Clothes pegs. Those hideous green vases. I mean.’
‘True,’ said Elsie. ‘But that’s the kind of thing people in Smallbridge want.’
‘Do they?’ said Magenta. ‘Do they really? What do you think would happen if you offered them something completely different?’
The shop bell tinkled, the door opened and in walked Albert.
‘Sorry I’m late, pet, how’s— oh!’ He stopped short. ‘Witch Sharp! It’s good to meet you in person at last. Elsie’s told us a lot about you. All good, of course, ha, ha.’
Magenta looked blank. She wasn’t good at small talk.
‘Now, then.’ Albert switched briskly to salesman mode. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular? We have an excellent selection of tea towels, allow me to show you.’ He bustled off down the aisle. ‘Elsie, show Witch Sharp the vases. They’re selling like hotcakes. We can’t guarantee to get any more.’
‘Dad. . .’ said Elsie.
‘One moment, pet, I’m just finding a chicken tea towel for Witch Sharp.’
‘But, Dad. . .’
‘What?’
‘She’s gone, Dad.’
And she had.
Chapter Three
A NEW SHOP!
Sunday in Smallbridge was the dullest day of the week. All the shops were closed and so was the library. That left nowhere to go. There was a small statue of a sheep to climb on in the town square, but that was strictly for the little kids.
Traditionally, everyone had a lie-in. But not for too long, because there were potatoes to peel for lunch. To fill up the rest of the day, the selection of thrilling activities consisted of a snooze on the sofa or a stroll on Smallbridge Common – a flat, grey nothingness with no trees, no duck pond, no flowers, not even a bench to sit on. And that was Sunday, apart from putting out the bins.
Like the rest of Smallbridge, the Pickles tried to have a lie-in, but never really could because the boys were up – Arthy, Toby and baby Todd, Elsie’s three small brothers. After breakfast, Elsie or her mum, Tilda would take them to the square to climb on the sheep. (Albert stayed in bed, and who can blame him?)
This particular Sunday, it was Tilda’s turn to take the boys. Elsie stayed behind to clear away the breakfast dishes, give Nuisance his morning sausage and put the rubbish bins out.
It was a pleasant enough day when she pushed open the door and stepped out with the first bin. Blue sky, mild breeze. A perfectly normal, quiet Sunday morning – except for Nuisance. He came bounding up and leaped at her, barking loudly. He was always delighted to see Elsie, but this morning his greeting was particularly frenzied.
‘Yes, yes, nice to see you too. Stop the racket, will you? I’ll get your sausage in a minute, just let me dump this bin.’
Pickles’ Emporium was tucked away down a dark, narrow alley off the main street. For a shop, this wasn’t ideal. There was no passing trade, because the alley went nowhere. But at least the rent was cheap. And the shop had been there a long time so people knew where to come if they suddenly found themselves in need of a tea strainer or a hideous vase.
The Emporium’s bins were always placed at the very end of the alley, where weeds and nettles grew high on a patch of waste land. It was fast turning into the unofficial town tip, with a dumped armchair and two old tailor’s dummies, but nobody cared because the alley bent round in a curve so it couldn’t be seen from the high street. Carl the council worker sometimes left his wheelbarrow there. Once or twice, someone left a goat tied up overnight. Just a forgotten patch of waste land. . .
Which was gone!
In its place was a shop. You knew it was a shop because it had a large sign saying so.
There, emblazoned above the doorway, in big, red, twinkly letters were the words:
The shop door, window shutters and roof were all red. The wall consisted of red stripes on a white background, like a circus tent. There was so much red, it made your eyes hurt. It was garish. It w
as dazzling. In a weird sort of way, it was quite wonderful.
There were posters plastered all over the walls. They said:
‘Oh!’ gasped Elsie, dropping the bin with a clatter. ‘Now look what she’s gone and done!’
Nuisance twitched his nose and licked Elsie’s hand.
‘Stay there,’ Elsie said. ‘I won’t be long. I know you’re hungry.’
She walked right up and knocked firmly on the closed door.
‘Go away. I’m not open!’
‘It’s me,’ said Elsie, pushing open the door. Instead of the usual jingling shop bell, from somewhere overhead came a mournful hooting, like a lonely sea monster with tummy ache.
‘What d’you think?’ demanded Magenta. ‘Too depressing? Leave the door open, I’m experimenting.’
She was sitting on a chair with her red boots propped up on a highly-polished wooden counter. On the counter was a large, ornate till. The rest of the space was taken up with piles of unopened cardboard boxes. The walls were bare. No shelves. Just counter, chair, fancy till and boxes. Plus the two old tailor’s dummies from the tip.
‘What’s wrong with a bell?’ asked Elsie.
‘Too boring. I considered a witchy cackle, but it’s a bit corny, don’t you think? I’m after something mystic. Something that speaks of the wonders to be found within.’
Elsie stared around. ‘Something that sounds like cardboard boxes, then. That’s all I see within.’
‘Yes, well, I haven’t unpacked yet, have I? What about this one?’
She muttered something under her breath, and waggled a finger in the air. There came a low, deep, sonorous chime that made both of them jump. It was like a doorbell in a vampire’s castle and the echo went on for ages.
D–O–O–O–O–O–O–O–O–O–O–N–N–NG!
‘No,’ said Elsie. ‘Unless you want the customers to die of fright every time they come in.’
‘Mmm. It is a bit full on. Some sort of elvish horn, perhaps? The hoot of an owl? Scary, high-pitched tittering?’
‘No. Just have a normal shop bell. That’s what people are used to.’
‘Mm. Maybe you’re right. So what do you think? About all this!’ Magenta swept her arm around. ‘My shop.’
‘Well, I like it,’ said Elsie carefully. ‘But – um – why?’
‘Why not? It’s exactly what this boring little town needs. A local magic shop selling an excellent, hand-picked range of spells at reasonable prices.’
‘I’m . . . just not sure Smallbridge is the right place. People are a bit unsure around wit— I mean newcomers. They’re not used to red pop-up shops. How did you do it?’
‘Ah.’ Magenta swung her legs down from the counter, leaned forward and waggled a long red finger. ‘Good question. You’re asking how I created a unique magic shop and fitted it into a weirdly-shaped space down a narrow alley in the dark. All in a single night.’
‘Yes,’ said Elsie. ‘All that.’
‘Well,’ said Magenta. ‘Complicated big stuff like this normally means days of dreary research in the Magical Archives, where they won’t let you take sandwiches. Endless hours copying down recipes. You have to learn difficult chants and order up loads of obscure spell ingredients, most of which are impossible to get. Plus, you can’t fit shops into awkwardly-shaped spaces just like that. It takes skill. You have to start small. Fit chicken coops into funny-shaped gateways. Work up to putting potting sheds into problematic corner allotment plots. Things like that.’
‘Gosh,’ said Elsie. ‘That sounds awfully hard.’
‘It is. So I’m lucky I got sent this!’
Magenta gave a triumphant smile, reached under the counter and placed something on the counter. It was the size and shape of a small brick, but unlike a brick, it was smooth, grey and shiny, with three little holes one side. A single green light blinked on and off in the first of the holes. It was gently humming. Well, purring.
‘What is it?’ asked Elsie.
‘The Spellatron 3000. Arrived yesterday. A new sort of magic. It does everything for you. My sister sent it, of all people. Saw it advertised in a catalogue and thought of me.’
‘It doesn’t look that magical. There are no sparkles or fizziness or strange smells.’ Elsie frowned down at the strange object. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about it she didn’t like. ‘Where are the instructions?’
‘There aren’t any.’
‘Where’s the on-off button?’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘I thought that was the first rule of witchcraft,’ said Elsie. ‘Read the instructions, follow the recipe and make it work. And know how to stop if things are going wrong. That’s what you said.’
‘Well, yes. But like I said, this is a new sort of magic. No instructions needed. Instant results. I simply told it what I wanted the shop to look like and where I wanted it to go and, hey presto, here it is, all red and sparkly.’
‘So you took a shortcut?’ said Elsie.
‘Look,’ said Magenta, looking slightly uncomfortable, ‘I wanted a shop, I was in a hurry, now I’ve got one. And it’s just how I imagined. I’ve only just seen it myself, five minutes ago. That’s why I haven’t started unpacking boxes.’
‘Why didn’t you get the Spellatron 3000 to put up some shelves?’ asked Elsie.
‘Because you need to say where they go. And we need to handle the stock ourselves.’
‘We? I can’t work here and at the Emporium,’ Even as she said the words, Elsie felt a pang of disappointment. It would be such fun to work in a real life magic shop . . . but she couldn’t leave her dad, could she?
‘Fine,’ Magenta sighed. ‘Then I shall advertise for an assistant first thing tomorrow. But you have to help me set things up today.’
‘Well, I suppose I could stay for a little while. . .’ Elsie said. But inside, she thought, Yes! I’ll help. I can’t wait to see what’s in the boxes! I want to organise the shelves! When can we start!
Magenta clapped her hands. ‘This is wonderful, isn’t it? I have to say I’m quite excited.’
There came a flapping noise and Elsie looked round to see Corbett flying through the doorway.
‘Coming in to land!’
His black feathers brushed her ear and he was on her shoulder. His claws gripped gently. It was good to have him back there.
‘Hello, Corbett,’ Elsie said. ‘Nice to see you.’
‘I’ve come to see the latest fad.’ He stared around and gave a sniff. ‘Hmm.’
‘Go on,’ said Magenta. ‘Open your doomy beak and admit it’s impressive.’
‘Fancy on the outside,’ admitted Corbett ‘Gaudy. Catches the eye. You can’t miss it. But there’s a lot left to do in here, isn’t there? By the way, there’s a couple of little kids outside gawping in.’
‘Well, they can shoo. I’m not open until tomorrow.’
Magenta stood up and swept out through the door. There came two small screams and scampering sounds.
‘I told her.’ Corbett sighed and shook his glossy black head. ‘I said a magic shop in Smallbridge was a bad idea. She said everyone needs magic in their lives and it’ll be good to shake the place up. What do you think?’
‘People won’t like it,’ said Elsie. ‘Magic’s not a Smallbridge kind of thing.’
‘She wouldn’t even have thought about opening a shop if it wasn’t for that stupid thing,’ Corbett glared at the Spellatron 3000, which continued to purr and display its little green light. ‘It’s made it all too easy. It’s weird that her sister sent it. They don’t get on, you know. Not in the habit of exchanging gifts.’
‘I know. I thought that.’
‘Well, I’m not getting roped in to help. I’m off home.’
‘Bye, then,’ said Elsie. ‘Give my love to Crookfinger Forest.’
‘Eh? You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’
‘The tower’s not in the forest any more. She’s moved it to Smallbridge C
ommon.’
Chapter Four
A VERY LONG DAY
After nipping home to tell her surprised parents about their new neighbour, Elsie worked hard in Magenta’s shop all day. It was her sort of thing, deciding where shelves should go, unpacking stock, arranging jars and stacking things in sensible places. Magenta was hopeless. She spent most of the time experimenting with the right sound for the shop bell. Or playing with the till.
Putting up shelves was easy. Elsie just told the Spellatron 3000 where they should go, the little green light blinked on and off and there they were on the walls. Instant shelving. No fuss.
Unpacking the boxes took a lot longer. Corbett started off not helping on principle, but finally relented, pecking the lids open and shouting out the contents. Elsie was grateful. Magenta had brought along the entire contents of her personal magic cupboards, as well as having done a mighty shop at the Sorcerer’s Bazaar and ordering lots of fun-sounding stuff from the Jokus Pokus children’s range in a magic catalogue. Elsie thought the Tickle Dust looked particularly intriguing. It came in a cute little golden pot with a red jewel on the lid, just the right size to fit into a small hand.
Finally, after long, back-breaking hours, just before sun set, it was done. Everything was in the right place, the floor was swept, the Spellatron 3000 had vanished the boxes – and the shop looked wonderful.
The stock consisted of the following:
1. Magenta’s entire mail-order range: Squeeze ‘n’ Freezum Spray. Yes Drops. Belt-Up Balm, etc.
2. Every basic magical ingredient that all witches have in their cupboards, such as Moon Drops, Mustard Powder, Elf-Raising Flour, Tomato Catch-Up, Mermaid Breath, Dragon’s Tears, Pickled Pepper, Strawberry Mint . . . and much more.
3. A range of cauldrons, from family-sized to single.
4. A clutch of broomsticks – more for the look of them than anything. Magenta didn’t approve of broomsticks, but Elsie pointed out that a witches shop without broomsticks would be like a butcher’s shop without sausages.