The Wonkiest Witch

by Jeannie Wycherley

  Finally, I extricated myself and joined Millicent, sitting by her table, supping a cup of tea, and crushing the crumbs of cake left on her plate with her forefinger. She looked up at me with amusement. “I see you’ve made some new friends,” she said and I laughed.

  “Apparently so. They’re all dying for a story but I’m afraid I’ve nothing exciting to share with them.”

  “Trust me, in comparison with some of the mundane lives these women are living, you’re a celebrity in their circles.”

  “Oh dear,” I said. “I hate to disappoint.”

  “Then don’t,” Millicent replied and eyed me shrewdly. “Have you decided to make a go of the inn?”

  “Not one hundred per cent. But I haven’t given up yet.”

  “Good, because that would be a tragedy.”

  I nodded and examined her wares. She had jars full of sauces, some were smooth, some had bits in them, and they came in a kaleidoscope of colours, red, orange, yellow and brown, and one particularly lurid green one. “These are your pasta sauces?” I asked.

  “Yes. You can choose between tomato, tomato and basil, tomato and mushroom, tomato and onion, green pepper and herb, and tomato and pepper. Do you have a preference?”

  “Which do you recommend?” I asked, grabbing my purse.

  “I’d suggest tomato and basil and add your own vegetables,” Millicent said, nodding at my bag of goodies from across the road. “But do go steady with the onion. Jed doesn’t like onions in too large a quantity.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “He told you he was coming over?” I asked and Millicent laughed.

  “Nothing escapes me, my dear. I like to keep my ear to the ground.”

  When I left the hall, Sally was outside unlocking her bicycle. She smiled at me as I hefted my load of vegetables and Millicent’s jar of pasta sauce, whilst balancing a lemon cake with an ice glaze in the bag in my right hand.

  “Did you find everything you needed?” she trilled, with the exact same tone as her bicycle bell.

  “I reckon so,” I said. I turned for home, and she fell in beside me, pushing the bike between us.

  “You’re very brave to stay at Whittle Inn, in spite of all that has gone on there.” This was becoming a familiar refrain.

  “All?” I asked.

  “Well, you know with the murder …”

  “We’re not entirely sure it was a murder though, are we?” I said. “The police are looking into it, but there was no obvious cause of death. Not the last time they spoke to me, anyway.”

  “Oh indeed. Indeed,” Sally said hurriedly. “You have to wait to find out, don’t you?”

  “In the meantime, I haven’t experienced any other problems.”

  “Not even from the woods then?”

  “The woods?” I stopped walking, switching the bag from one hand to the other. “What about them?”

  “There have been lots of weird sightings there.” I shook my head bemused, and Sally went on, “Odd lights after dark. Strange noises. Drivers have reported things darting out of the trees in front of their cars.”

  I snorted. “It’s probably just wild animals. Deer maybe.”

  “Deer aren’t green though, are they?” Sally stated, her look pointed. “And they don’t shriek.”

  “No, to be fair, deer aren’t green.” I stifled a giggle, envisaging the woods full of rainbow coloured wildlife. “And no, they don’t shriek as far as I know. But honestly, Sally, I haven’t seen anything at all that could be described as untoward. I explored out there just the other night, and I was followed home by an owl who seemed content to pop by the inn to visit me, but apart from that, all has been quiet. Perhaps people have heard foxes. They can be scary at night.”

  “You could be right,” Sally said, but she didn’t look convinced. She regarded me once more, this time with a guarded expression. I hadn’t meant to take the mick or make her feel small.

  “Thank you for your concern,” I said and smiled at her broadly. “I’ll keep an eye out, and take special care. You must pop around some time and see what I’m up to.”

  She looked happier. “I’d like that,” she said. “During daylight hours.”

  The afternoon had disappeared quickly and my pasta sauce, heavy with mushrooms and peppers, and light on onions, simmered gently on the stove. I had some pasta ready, only dried stuff, but good quality at that, and Rhona had even been able to furnish me with a hard block of parmesan cheese.

  When I heard Jed’s shout from the front door of the inn, I turned the heat right down on my sauce and dashed out to meet him in the bar area.

  “Good evening.” He deposited his tool box in the middle of the floor next to the four large black bin-liners full of wallpaper I’d ripped from the walls upstairs, and turned to greet me. I wore a simple dark blue dress, my hair pulled back in a scruffy ponytail, and now as he looked me up and down, I remembered the half apron I was wearing, and smoothed the material down over my hips self-consciously.

  “Hi,” I said, “I’ve been cooking!” I wiped my hands exaggeratedly on the front of my apron, and hoped against hope he would mistake the pink of my cheeks with a flush from slaving over hot pots and steaming pans in the kitchen.

  “I’m glad you haven’t been idle while I’ve been at work all day,” Jed replied with a wink. He wore a checked shirt over a paint spattered t-shirt and black jeans that had seen better days. He looked great.

  “Oh not at all. Paperwork this morning. A bit of shopping …” I grimaced and tailed off. It didn’t sound particularly onerous to be fair. Not when there was so much that needed doing around the inn. “I meant to clear all the rubbish out of this room. Oh well - can I get you a drink?” I asked, hurrying to change the subject. “I have tea, coffee, juice, water … wine?”

  “Tea would be just grand. Not too milky, one sugar?”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m going to fetch my ladders from the van, and then I’ll make a start on removing this plaster board, okay?” He tapped the wall for effect.

  “Yes, absolutely,” I replied happily. “I’m dying to see what’s beneath.”

  “Me too.” He disappeared out the front door to his van, and I skipped back into the kitchen to boil the kettle, brew some tea and stir my tomatoey concoction.

  The sauce bubbled in the pot as I agitated it gently. The heat was still too high so I lit a smaller ring and moved the pot across. If I chose … if I was that way inclined … if I gave in to the powers I had inherited and the skills I had learned … I could add a dash of this and a splash of that … and cast a love spell on Jed.

  I smiled ruefully. And what would be the point? To bind someone to you at the expense of their own specific and explicit consent? There is nothing as magickal – or as powerful - as free will and intent. There is nothing as heady as natural desire. I would always allow love to blossom where it found its own way.

  I poured tea, dark and strong into two mugs and spooned a teaspoon of sugar into Jed’s. Checking on the sauce once more, I made my way out of the kitchen and walked down the corridor to the bar. Jed was balancing in his ladder, six or seven feet in the air, frowning as he tried to peel back the plaster board, using the claw of his hammer. Even before it happened I could see what was coming.

  Jed’s ladders were sturdy but the plasterboard was stubborn, requiring a great deal of coaxing. As Jed yanked the plasterboard back, it suddenly came away in his hand, launching him into space, the ladder spinning away from his feet and clattering against the wall as he tumbled towards the ground.

  I didn’t even think. Standing stock still, a mug of tea in each hand, I called, “Hnescian,” and directed a lightning bolt of energy at the bin bags full of wallpaper. Together, they slid rapidly across the wooden floorboards directly under Jed as he crashed to the ground. Not quite a Hollywood crash mat, but the best I could do under the circumstances.

  Jed lay on his back, winded, the hammer still clasped in his right hand, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth
a perfect O.

  Feeling slightly shaken myself, I edged towards him, and lifted the mugs in my hands. “Teas up,” I said and laughed nervously.

  Setting them down on the floor, I helped him up. He stood and ran a dusty hand though his dark hair. “What did you do?”

  “Kicked the bags?” I tried, but I knew he wasn’t buying it.

  “You were nowhere near them.”

  “The wind then,” I tried to shut down the questions but Jed’s gaze was wary now.

  “You made the bags move. What did you say? Nee-sum? Nee-sun?” He made a good attempt at pronouncing the word, then shook his head in disbelief.

  I sensed his sudden distrust and hated it. I had experienced this among mortals for my entire life, worse while I was younger. These days I had become adept at hiding what I was. Something in my stomach twisted. “Please,” I said and held a quivering hand out, offering his drink. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He asked defensively.

  “Like I’m somehow other, or lesser, or monstrous. I just can’t bear it.”

  His face softened and he took the tea from me. “You’re none of those things.”

  “Perhaps I am. For a very long time – most of my life - I’ve thought that about myself.”

  He straightened the ladder and lay the hammer on the first step, then with his free hand he guided me over to the bar, and the stools arranged next to it. He hauled himself up, I perched on mine, toes touching the floor, seeking a solid connection with the ground.

  “I don’t understand,” he said quietly, looking back at the ladder. “Can you tell me about it? It seems to be upsetting for you, and I don’t want to intrude, but …” He gestured at the black bags. “Really. What was that?”

  I nodded and studied the dark gold liquid in my mug. You can never truly escape who you are. You can run, but you can’t hide.

  “I’m a witch,” I said, and it felt good to confess. Jed did a double take and when I nodded, pursed his lips.

  “Yes, I am. Albeit a reluctant one. My mother was a witch, a powerful one. My father was an extraordinary wizard by all accounts.”

  “You’re a witch?” Jed scratched his head and looked me up and down. Then whistled in surprise. “I’m … Well … I didn’t know such things actually existed.”

  “We do.”

  Jed looked from me and back to the ladder. “I see.” He laughed nervously, “And you can do …spells?”

  “By any stretch of the imagination I should be capable of great things. But I’m not. I’m like this inn. Flawed, imperfect, structurally sound but a bit of a mess. Wonky.”

  “You’re a wonky witch?” Jed asked and I was relieved to see his eyes dance with amusement, rather than glower with accusation.

  “The wonkiest,” I said.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Jed soothed and he reached across to take my mug from me. Setting it down on the counter he took my hands in his huge ones.

  “It is though.” I basked in his warm grasp.

  “How can you say that, when you just saved me from … what could have been a serious injury?”

  “I avoid … being, doing, thinking or feeling anything remotely witchy,” I replied.

  “But why?” When I shrugged, Jed squeezed my hands and with a nod of his head indicated to the site of his fall once more. “You obviously aren’t doing a good job of that, in my opinion.”

  He was trying to make me feel better, and I was glad he seemed so accepting of my news, but I had a long history of trying to avoid the inevitable. He waited for further explanation and I swallowed, unsure whether to tell him more. Under his scrutiny I decided to keep things simple. “Eighteen years ago, when I was twelve, I had a falling out with my Dad. It was only a small thing. Ridiculous. He wanted me to do my homework. I wanted to play out with a friend, or ride my bike, or something stupid. He said I could do that afterwards. But I was angry with him, and we had an argument and as a punishment he told me I couldn’t go out even after I’d completed my homework.”

  I could remember the day as if it was yesterday. I’d cried a storm, shouted and screamed and thrown a tantrum as only a twelve-year-old can, caught as they are between childhood and early adulthood. “Then he had an appointment, and I watched him leave from my bedroom window, and as he reached the corner … just as he turned out of my sight…”

  I swallowed the huge lump in my throat. Fighting back tears I remembered my Dad walking away from me and pausing on the corner to turn back and wave to me as he often did. “I cursed him,” I whispered. “I told him if I couldn’t go out, he couldn’t come home. And he never did. I never saw him again.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks and suddenly I was sobbing, harsh, loud sobs. Memories of my heartbreak in the face of my own actions all those years ago, meant the loss seemed as real and painful as it had back then. Jed slid off his stool, and wrapped his arms around me. I cried into his t-shirt, hot salty tears, bitter with remorse and self-hatred.

  When I had calmed down a little, he stepped back and regarded me with concern. “You can’t know for certain that what you said that night was the cause of your father’s disappearance. Anything might have happened to him.”

  “I know,” I sniffed sadly, “but certainly I feel my mother blamed me when I told her what I had done. We never heard from him again. There was no inkling of what had befallen him. But believe me, if he could have come home he would have done. I know he would have done.”

  Jed hugged me once more as the tears welled up again. “Since then – in spite of pressure from my mother and the Elders - I’ve resisted all pressures to give in to what is laughingly termed ‘my calling’.”

  “I see.” Jed stroked my back. “But it does, doesn’t it? Call to you, I mean. I can tell. Everything about you, your energy, the way you look, the light in your eyes. Even now, when you’re so sad … it’s magical.”

  “Is it?” I asked, turning my head away so he couldn’t see me, ready to deny it all afresh, but Jed caught my chin in his hand and tilted my face gently.

  “Yes,” he said, and leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips.

  It was a warm evening. We sat on the front step, both of us with a bowl of pasta balanced precariously on our knees and a glass of wine by our sides. The moon was rising in a clear sky, and the stars were popping out one by one.

  “You know what I think?” Jed was saying. “This inn could be the making of you.”

  “It could be the death of me,” I replied, forking spaghetti into my mouth as daintily as possible.

  “Look at it this way. For years you’ve been denying who you really are. You’ve had no freedom to express yourself. That’s not healthy for anybody.”

  “You sound like a psychologist or something,” I said, wondering how Jed could manage to eat and talk and not spill anything down his front.

  “I studied psychology at university so it’s good to hear something sunk in,” Jed said and laughed.

  “You have a degree?” I asked incredulously. “Why are you knocking down walls for a living?”

  “Well, like you, I followed the family trade.”

  “Unlike me you mean,” I replied smartly.

  Jed shook his head. “You can deny it all you want, but you’ve shown me today what you’re capable of. If you didn’t want to use the powers you have, you wouldn’t have saved my bacon.”

  “I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t,” I wagged my fork at him in mock frustration.

  “The thing is Alf, I really enjoy knocking down walls and stripping paper and painting things. It suits me in a way very little else does. Taking my degree was great, but I didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards. There was nothing burning a hole in me, no great passion. I drifted back to Whittlecombe to help my Dad out. I had a kind of apprenticeship with him, you could say. And here I am.”

  “Here you are,” I repeated. “And you’re happy?”

  “Never happier,” he beamed his sunshine smile my
way. I could tell he was. He radiated quiet calm and general positivity.

  We finished up the rest of the pasta quietly, until he asked, his tone light, almost delicate, “What about you? Did you have an apprenticeship of sorts?”

  “To own an inn?”

  “No,” his voice gently mocked me, “to be a witch.”

  “Like Hogwarts, you mean?” I growled. He obviously wasn’t going to let the subject drop, but then it was probably the most curious thing he had ever heard, so why would he?

  I sighed. Tutted. Swept my long hair up in a ponytail and twirled it around, hesitating, wondering what to tell him, or how to tell him enough to satisfy him and so he’d leave me in peace.

  But I didn’t really want him to leave me in peace. I found his company exciting.

  “Not exactly,” I replied. “There were no special schools available for me, but I did attend classes the Elders ran in London during the weekends. After my father disappeared, I tried to go less often. It was a source of huge frustration for my mother, but I didn’t want to exercise my magickal powers or enhance my skills in any way. I stopped going altogether as soon as I was 16 and could get away with it.”

  Jed nodded. “I can see why you felt you wanted to make a break from it all.” He hesitated. “Does that mean that if you had carried on studying, you would have been a powerful witch? More powerful than you are now?”

  I frowned, staring back through time, into my past, to the school I had attended in Somerset, and the special classes that had been held on Celestial Street. The years had made many memories dusty, and enhanced others with a false nostalgic glow. I remembered the teachers, their wise crinkled old faces, their curiosity and intelligence, their eagerness to share their own knowledge and to enhance what was already within me. Shadowmender’s benevolent face swam in front of me for a moment.