Witch Dust

by Marilyn Messik

  It took me a while to ferret out everything I needed, basics were secreted in the oddest places and I found a vegetable knife with its blade worryingly embedded in the side of the dresser. Maybe they’d never heard of knife-blocks, still it did cause me to glance nervously over my shoulder, I wished I knew exactly where Gladys had gone.

  It came as no surprise to discover the pilot light in the old-fashioned oven had gone out and that contortions, for which the human body wasn’t really designed, were required to get it re-lit. Gradually however, order began to emerge. Potatoes peeled, parboiled, oiled and seasoned stood ready, as did three plump birds, pricked, salted and ready for action on iron trivets in two roasting tins. The oven, at first reluctant to play ball, was now warming up and hiking up the temperature in the room a welcome few degrees, for which I was grateful. In my explorations, I’d come across a nearly full bottle of white wine and on the principle of it may not help, but couldn’t do any harm, I’d splashed it liberally into the roasting tins. As an afterthought, I’d also poured myself a reviving glass. If ever anyone needed an alcoholic boost, it was probably me more than the ducks.

  Bella bustled back in – for a woman who bustled so much she seemed to get very little done – and cast an approving eye over my efforts, patting my shoulder in passing.

  “Good girl, knew you could do it. Table’s reserved for eight thirty, what about starters and dessert?” I reached for the wine glass and tersely pointed out, no-one had mentioned starters and dessert. Bella smiled encouragingly,

  “You’ll think of something, can’t stop, middle of a treatment.” I stared resentfully after her, what did they think I was, bloody meals on wheels? What a bunch of liberty-takers, although of course, life with Ophelia had given me a great grounding in people taking unashamed advantage. I was muttering crossly and at length to myself as I thrust the various dishes into the now hot oven and left them to their fate, then realised I was sounding rather more Gladys-like than was comfortable, so I shut up and reached for my handbag and mobile to give Murray a call. I owed him an update, not to mention I could do with talking to someone with a better grip on reality than anyone I’d had contact with all day. I could visualise him, standing in the hall at the house, absently polishing the toe of one already immaculate shoe against the back of the other leg. He was, as ever, not happy.

  “Bleeding fun and games here.” He said.

  “Oh?”

  “Brought Sasha down to stay, hasn’t he? Mrs M’s in a right old strop.” Mrs McTeer was our long-suffering lady-what-did, although in truth, she never actually did that much. She was nevertheless a much-loved part of home life and, having put up with Ophelia for years, was normally fairly imperturbable. Sasha must have worked hard to upset her so quickly.

  “What’s Adam playing at?” I said. “Should I talk to him?”

  “Out.” Murray was succinct, “Walking by the river, then booked for a romantic dinner at Albertini’s.” I sighed, Albertini’s was my parents’ favourite restaurant, venue for all special occasions and celebrations through the years. “Ophelia,” said Murray, “Needs to pull her finger out sharpish and get her backside back here, before it’s all too late.”

  “I’ll try and tackle her again, make her see some sense.”

  “Where are you anyway?”

  “With her family.” I said. Murray whistled through his teeth,

  “She wasn’t ‘aving you on then? Who’d have thought, all these years? Can’t get my mind round it, wonder why she pulled the wool over our eyes like that?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Wonder why. They’re… ”

  “What?”

  “Like her.” There was silence at the other end of the phone. “Murray, you still there?”

  “Course I’m still here. You mean… ?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Blimey. Blimey O’bleeding Riley!” He whistled through his teeth again, a sound so familiar it made me feel even more homesick.

  “Look,” I said, “I’ve got to go and finish dinner.”

  “Eh?”

  “Long story, they’ve got this hotel and the woman who does the cooking’s had a funny turn. Tell you properly when I get back.”

  “Tonight?”

  “You bet, sooner I’m out of here the better I’ll feel.”

  “With Ophelia?”

  “Hope so, um… Murray, listen I’ve got to go now.” I ended the call abruptly and put my mobile slowly on the table, heart pounding hard again. Outside the kitchen window, darkness had descended and something terrifying was looking in. A chalk-white apparition with distended eyes was mouthing something at me. I would have run, but my feet seemed to be stuck firmly to the floor, not sure whether with old food or fear. The disembodied horror bobbed up and down a bit, then a pale hand materialized and rapped knuckles sharply three times on the glass of the kitchen window. At the same instant, another hand fastened hard on my shoulder. I leapt round, screaming long and loud. The girl whose hand was on my shoulder started back and screamed too.

  “Why you screaming?” She shrieked.

  “Look at the window, the window.” I shrieked back, pointing. She looked, saw what I’d seen and screamed again. And then the back door began to creak open and we backed away, clutching each other. Whatever it was that was out there, was starting to come in from the cold.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Hello there,” it said. The girl, who’d been digging her nails into my hands as deeply as I was digging mine into hers, suddenly let out her breath in a rush, chuckling shakily.

  “Oh frigging hell,” she said, “It’s all right, we’re OK, it’s just one of Bella’s women.”

  “Bella’s women?” I squeaked, still hanging on to her for dear life.

  “Yeah,” she said, trying to extract her hand from mine. “Some of the treatments have like, really odd side effects, she really shouldn’t leave them on their own.”

  The ghastly apparition, on closer inspection, turned out to be middle-aged, paper mob-capped and wearing a thin, blue, floral-patterned gown, fastened precariously at the back with nothing much else on other than paper knickers, a pair of fluffy blue slippers and the rigid white face mask that, up close and personal, looked more painful than petrifying.

  “Came out for a glass of water.” She announced, “But,” she giggled and raised a hand to her head, “Actually feel a teeny, tiny bit out of it… ” She had it in mind, I think, to reach a kitchen chair and sit down, but her legs started to fold ahead of time. The girl and I, two minds, single thought, each grabbed an arm just as Bella re-appeared, tutting,

  “Mrs Bertram, my dear, thank goodness, couldn’t think where you’d vanished to, only took my eye off you for a second. Now, didn’t I say to just lie still and relax, you’ll catch your death running around like that.” Mrs Bertram, strung between us like a substantial bit of washing on the line, bobbed her head up and down merrily in agreement and Bella reached forward, putting one arm firmly round a blue floral waist “Sorry,” she said to us. “Give you a bit of a turn did she? I’m trying out something new – not got the balance quite right yet. Never mind, she’ll be tickled pink with the results.” She hauled her limp charge out the back door with no little effort, and I shut my eyes for a brief moment, I felt I needed a break. When I re-opened them, the girl was staring hard at me.

  “You’ll be Serenissima then.” She said

  “And you’ll be?” I asked tersely. She grinned,

  “Guess.”

  “Sorry,” I snapped “Do I look like a woman in the mood to play games?” She was young, early twenties, lustrous dark brown almost black hair, long and curling to her shoulders, capacious bosom emphasized by a small waist and a tight white, low-necked jumper with a considerable amount of cleavage on display, what Murray would call appro
vingly, a womanly woman. She jutted a petulant lip.

  “Oh all right then. Devorah. Bella’s my mum and you’ve already met my daughter, Simona.” I started to shake my head then realized who she meant,

  “The baby?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So, you’re my… ? ”

  “Second cousin or is it once removed? Not sure, anyway, welcome to the clan, nice to finally meet you.”

  “You knew about me?”

  “Well, more about your Ma really, seen her and your Dad on tv. You look like him.” She added judiciously, and clearly didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Well, fire away then.” She settled herself comfortably at the kitchen table, pulling forward another chair on which to rest one shapely, tightly jeaned leg, casually appropriating my wine glass and re-filling it to the top.

  “Fire away?”

  “You must have a ton and a half of questions.” She said, “Must be like, dead exciting, meeting us after all this time. Long-lost family and all that stuff.” This cousin, second, once removed or whatever, was starting to get on my already frayed nerves. Excited couldn’t be further from what I was feeling right now and whilst there were any number of questions I could think of, I had a suspicion I might not like any of the answers. Quite apart from which, I still had to sort out starters and desserts for this ridiculous dinner challenge I’d been conned into.

  I eyed Devorah with disfavour, she looked perfectly, if not more than able-bodied to me, I couldn’t see why she wasn’t the one doing what needed to be done in the kitchen in the first place. I reached out and took back my glass of wine. She smiled, amiably enough, glancing over to one of the kitchen cupboards whose door swung instantly open. A wine glass left the shelf, bobbed gently across the room, turned itself the right way up and came to rest on the table. She poured, picked it up, sipped and wrinkled her nose slightly, she wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t the best I’d ever tasted either. I felt rather sick. She looked up and caught my expression,

  “What?” She said. I jerked my head at the glass. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “Awful, isn’t it? Etty always insists on the cheapest she can get.”

  “Not the wine.” I said.

  “What then?”

  “All that… business with the glass.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I thought, family and all that. Don’t you… ?

  “Certainly not.”

  “But Ophelia…?”

  “Doesn’t do anything like that.”

  “Well she could if she wanted to couldn’t she? And you are her daughter aren’t you?” She said. And there it was, metaphorically slap bang on the table, the issue I’d been determinedly not thinking about ever since Mimi’s first little vanishing trick. I swigged back too large a swallow of the sharp wine, and Devorah reached over to thump me companionably on the back as I choked. After a couple of moments, my throat re-opened for business and I sprang up to do a trawl through the fridge. A repository that big had to conceal something I could use to top and tail this ruddy meal, and any kind of activity seemed preferable to either talking or thinking too hard about anything other than the menu.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Devorah watched my activities with interest, sipping wine and chewing on a piece of gum extracted, not without a struggle, from the pocket of jeans so tight they must have been sprayed on.

  “This is not,” I pointed out testily, “A spectator sport, please feel free to join in and help at any time. In fact, just as a matter of interest, why aren’t you cooking in the first place?” She laughed out loud,

  “Don’t do cooking. Not my thing.” She said. I tutted and turned back to the fridge, from whose murky depths I’d unearthed a large airtight container, the contents of which looked, smelt and tasted like vegetable soup. Working on the Occam’s razor principle, I took a chance and decanted it all into a saucepan which I placed on the hob for when it was needed. A further forage produced a beautifully decorated and glazed apple flan and some double cream that was slightly on the turn, but could get away with it under the banner of crème fraiche. I wasn’t too clear what the set up for tonight’s booking was, but if they were looking for a varied menu choice they’d picked the wrong place.

  Flan plated, cream jugged, ducks and potatoes now happily co-habiting and sending out mouth-watering aromas. My work here was nearly done. I could move on and the quicker the better. I simply had to gather up my Mother and draw a line under this whole, highly un-thrilling episode. In future, should Ophelia feel the urge to visit the green, green grass of home, she could damn well catch the train and do it on her own. As if summoned by the thought, Ophelia walked into the kitchen,

  “There you are.” She said to me and to Devorah. “Hello sweetie, no mistaking who you are, you’re the image of Bella at your age. Mmmm,” she sniffed appreciatively, “Smells good, what time’s dinner?” I shrugged, I’d been running myself ragged, catering for the paying guests, what was on the family menu wasn’t really my concern, they’d have to fend for themselves. After all, they’d got along without me before they met me, they could get along without me now. Traitorously, my own stomach suddenly produced a small grumble. We’d stopped for coffee and a sandwich at a service station on our way down that morning, but a whole lot had happened since then. I was, I realised, ravenous.

  “Come on.” I said to Ophelia, “We’ll find a nice restaurant on the way home.”

  “Home?” She said sharply, “We’re not going home yet.”

  “Yes we are.”

  “We can’t leave. Not now we know what’s going on.”

  “Going on?”

  “All this,” she waved a hand, “All this crazy hotel stuff, you can see they don’t have the first idea what they’re doing.”

  “Not our problem.”

  “I might think differently.”

  “Oh, come on! After how many years is it? Suddenly you’re all family-minded, pull the other one why don’t you? Look, I’ve spoken to Murray; I didn’t want to tell you, but Adam’s taken Sasha down to the house. You need to get back there pronto and sort everything out with him.” Her mouth tightened,

  “What your Father chooses to do is his own affair – or should I say affairs. Anyway, he’ll be out of that house soon enough, it’s in my name.”

  “But… ”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now Serenissima, I’ve already told Etty you’d be happy to stay and help out for a bit.”

  “You’ve done what?”

  “It’s obvious, all they need is a bit of organising and you’re so good at that.”

  “A bit of organising! Are you stark staring bonkers?” I didn’t know whether to tear my hair out at the roots in frustration or just laugh till I dropped. “Ma, for Pete’s sake, take a look around you, this place is falling so far apart at the seams, it’d take a fortune to put things right. There’s a delusional lunatic running the kitchen, and a bloody great wolf running everywhere else. There’s one loopy old lady who keeps appearing and disappearing and another loopy old lady who’s enough to scare the bejesus out of any guest mad enough to book in. Oh, and let’s not forget Alice bloody blue-gown out in the annexe, being driven demented by whatever beauty treatment your crazy cousin’s giving her right this very minute.”

  “Well, there you are darling,” said Ophelia, “See. I knew it, you’ve instantly put your finger on all the little problems, you’ve always been so good at that. You could tell them how to put things right. It’s the sort of thing you do all the time for clients, isn’t it?” I started to do some calming breathing, then decided calm probably wasn’t what was called for right now.

  “Why, in the name of all that’s holy, would I want to help any of them do anything?” I snarled.

  “Because it’s family.” She said firmly. I clenched
my teeth again, I was so livid I could have knocked her into next week and beyond.

  “How have you got the nerve?” I hissed, “How dare you say that? You spring these, these… people on me, out of the blue, after lying to me all my life and you expect me to feel something for them. Well I’m sorry, I don’t and I don’t believe for one single solitary minute you do either, so drop the prodigal daughter routine, it really doesn’t suit you.”

  We stood, as we’d stood so often before, toe to toe, glaring and I could see her swift calculation. Should she match my anger, pull parental authority or head straight for the sympathy vote. The latter won by a nose and immediately her blue eyes sparkled, filled and overflowed – if she’d chosen a different branch of the business, she’d have had Oscars coming out her ears. But I’d been here too many times before. I reached behind her and decisively lifted my bag from the chair.

  “Don’t waste the waterworks Ophelia. I’m off. You can’t thrust a bunch of ready-made relatives under my nose and expect love and loyalty. In real life – something you don’t have too firm a grip on – things simply don’t work that way.”

  “She’s not wrong you know Ophie, I always said you were mad, not telling her the truth.” I looked past her. A slim, blond haired man, mid-forties, was leaning casually against the wall by the back door, one elegantly suede-shod foot crossed casually over the other. I’d no idea how long he’d been there. I eyed him coldly and he smiled at me and nodded briefly to Devorah, who grinned at him as he advanced into the room, setting down on the floor a comfortably worn, brown leather briefcase. Draped round his shoulders was a long, camel, cashmere coat which swung gracefully in the way only expensive coats can do. Beneath it he was wearing a perfectly cut, charcoal three-piece suit. He looked immaculate and completely out of place in the shabbiness of the ill-lit kitchen.