by Sam Short
"You mean did the spell work?" I said. "No, it didn't, although it was quite imaginative. You can tell Aunt Eva that sharks don't live in canals, though. Sorry, but I still want to live on my boat."
"You tried to hex your own daughter!" said Granny, although she was a fine one to talk. She'd once put a spell on my mother that had guided her to the weight loss aisles of the supermarket every time she went shopping.
"I didn't. It was Eva," Mum mumbled.
"Just because you won't do the dirty work yourself, doesn't mean you're not as involved as that sister of mine," scolded Granny. "Getting somebody else to do it doesn't make you any less guilty. Anyway, you should know magic won't fully survive the trip home from the haven. If it could you would have brought something back to cure me by now."
"Oh yes, Granny," I said, changing the subject. It was best to ignore Mum. My mother trying to get me off the boat was nothing new, and the use of a spell was not unprecedented. She'd once given me a chilli flavoured toffee that she'd brought back from the haven, and it had taken me a few hours to get over my newly acquired fear of the dragonflies that lived on the canal. "How are you?" I continued. "Mum told me about your... problem."
"I'm fine," she said, "I'm sure it will wear off soon. I don't really like talking about it to be honest, it's a nuisance. I had another little accident this morning."
"Are you okay?" Willow asked with concern on her face.
"Oh, I'm perfectly fine, dear. Boris is a little shaken up though. He's a tough old goat, but even he's got his limits."
Mum raised her eyebrows. "What have you done to Boris?"
"Not me, Maggie. It was the dementia. You shouldn't label a person as their disability. It's ableism."
"Okay," said Mum, looking perplexed. "What's the dementia done to Boris?"
"That's better, Maggie. It's never nice to be intolerant." Granny took a sip of tea and adjusted her glasses. "I was mowing my lawn, the part that Boris won't eat due to the terrible smells those naughty cows left on it." She ignored our chorus of sighs and carried on talking. "I put a spell on the lawnmower, but the dementia got it muddled up. Instead of cutting the grass, it chased Boris in circles around his pole until the rope ran out."
"Is he okay?" I asked.
"He's fine, a little shaken up, but the big pile of hay I left for him is cheering him up." She stirred her tea. "The hair will grow back soon enough."
Willow and I exchanged glances, and my sister hid a smile. Poor Boris. It was true what Granny had said though – he was a tough old goat. He'd soon bounce back.
Granny continued. "Then I nearly got knocked down by an old-fashioned car in town when I went to the post office, there's loads of them, all heading out into the country for some sort of show."
"Yeah," I said, "Susie mentioned it."
"Well, they should be more considerate, driving around town like toad of toad hall with their hats and goggles on, they'll kill someone," said Granny.
I pushed my empty plate away from me, smiling as my mother offered me another slice. "The spell won't work any better if I eat another piece," I said, "anyway, I'm full."
"Then I witnessed an argument," continued Granny. "Sam Hedgewick was coming out of the lawyer's office and he was accosted by a badboy, he was using all sorts of naughty words. Even the bad one, and I don't mean f — "
"A badboy?" I interrupted. Granny must have been at Willow's contemporary romance books again.
"Yes, you know the type — tattoos, short hair, and lots of muscles. The type I'd have ended up with if I hadn't married Norman. Rest his soul." Granny's eyes widened. "Maggie!" she said. "Did you check there were no nuts in this cake?"
"Yes, and for the last time, none of us are allergic to them, and Dad choked on a whole brazil nut. He wasn't allergic to them."
"Well, if dying from something doesn't make you allergic to it, I don't know what does," said Granny. "Anyway, Penelope, that young policeman who who's got a thing for you broke the argument up and sent them both on their way."
"Barney? He hasn't got a thing for me." Granny and Willow laughed, and my cheeks warmed. "He hasn't," I protested. "Maybe in school, yes, but not anymore!"
"I agree with Penelope, I don't think he's into her," said Mum, much to my surprise. "I know he doesn't speak like one, but with that fabulous hair, and the way he walks, I think he's..." she lowered her voice. "...One. Of. Them."
Tea flew from my mouth. "Mum!" I said. "You can't say that!"
"You're being very intolerant today, Maggie," mumbled Granny through a mouthful of cake. "I'm quite ashamed. I didn't bring you up to be like that."
"Especially considering that your brother is one of them," I said.
Mum looked wounded. "Brian's not Scottish!"
"I thought you meant Barney was gay," I said, confused by all of what my mother had just said.
"What do you mean, Mum?" said Willow, looking as bemused as I felt. "Fabulous hair, and the way he walks?"
"That bright red hair of his — it's fabulous, and very Scottish. And the way he walks with that cocky swagger, that's very, very Scottish."
"He's not swaggering," I said. "It's because of his height. It's hard for him to get trousers that fit properly, they dig into his... you know."
"Love plums," said Granny, cutting herself more cake. "He needs to take care of them if you and he are going to be an item."
"We're not!" I said. "I don't understand, Mum. What have you got against the Scottish?"
"I've got nothing against the mortal Scottish, but there's a reason Shakespeare wrote Macbeth. Those evil witch hags up there in the north give us all a bad name."
Willow giggled. "But why wouldn't a Scottish person be into Penelope?"
Mum stood up and began clearing the plates away. "Because they're fighters, not lovers. Have you neither of you watched Braveheart or Trainspotting?"
"What are you talking about?" I said.
Mum turned her back to us and took the empty plates to the sink. "I don't want to speak about it anymore. Haven't you two girls got something better to do than gang up on me with your grandmother?"
"No one's ganging up on anyone," I said, "but no, I've got nothing to do until later. I've got to make a potion for Veronica Potter, and then I'm having a barbecue which you're all invited too, naturally."
"What potion does that painted harlot want?" said Mum.
I bit my lip. "Veronica's lovely," I said. "She wants a potion for Ron, I'm not sure what yet."
"Don't you go putting real magic in it, Penelope," said Granny.
"Of course not, I'd never do that," I said. "I just give my customers what any mortal witch can give — hope, and a bit of a show."
"I'll never understand why a real witch pretends to be a fake witch," said Mum.
"She's hiding in plain sight," said Willow. "I think it's perfect, and yes, Penny, I'd love to come to a barbecue."
"Mum, Granny?" I asked.
"Not me," said Mum. "There are too many mayflies near the canal."
"They already hatched," I said, "and they only live for a few hours. They won't hatch again for a few months."
"My point precisely," said Mum, washing the plates, her arms deep in soapy suds. "If any did survive, they'd be monsters by now. I can't risk one of them landing on my burger, I might not see it, and you know how I feel about eating insects."
"Granny? Do you fancy a nice piece of steak?" I said, not bothering to argue with my mother. She'd once declined an invitation to a cousin's wedding because butterflies were being released as the couple said their vows.
"I can't, sweetheart. I've got a gentleman caller coming."
Mum turned to face us, dripping water over the slate floor. "Oh?"
"Tell us more," teased Willow, leaning across the table towards Granny.
"It's not like that. I'll never love again after Norman. Rest his soul. I've got a Chinese gentleman coming to stick needles in me. I'm hoping he can unblock my spells. They say Chinese medicine is the closest
thing on earth to real magic."
"You'd better keep that magic of yours under control," said Mum. "No spells at all while he's at your cottage, do you hear me? Who knows what could happen."
"I hear you loud and clear," smirked Granny, doing absolutely nothing to convince me.
"Anyway," said Mum. "What do you mean — you'll never love again after Dad? Have you forgotten about Bill?"
"I do not like that terrible man!" said Granny, her glasses sliding the full length of her nose. "I've said it a hundred times, but I'll say it once more in the hope it will stick in those empty heads of yours." She leaned over the table and looked at each of us in turn as she spoke. "Farmer Bill dropped a mouthful of food into his lap and I was just trying to pick it up for him. His reaction in front of everybody in the cafe was over the top, and I certainly did nothing to his cows. That's the last I'll say on the matter!"
The three of us rolled our eyes at each other. "Okay, Granny," I said. "We believe you."
"Speak for yourself," mumbled Willow. "I know what I saw."
"Right! That's enough of that backchat, Willow!" Granny's face clouded over and she scrunched her features into a porcine scowl.
"No Granny! You've got dementia!" I shouted.
It was too late. Granny clicked her fingers and the audible sizzle that accompanied spells cast in anger vibrated through the air.
Willow shuddered and looked down at her body. "No!" she shouted. "Why would you do that Granny?"
Granny's face transformed from angry to worried in less than a second. "I'm so sorry, my darling," she panicked. "I just wanted to shrink those wonderful boobies of yours for an hour or two. I must have got my spells muddled up."
Mum stood behind Willow and put her hand on her head, testing the strength of the spell. "Don't worry, dear," she soothed. "It's not too powerful. It'll only last for a day, and I'm sure you'll be able to hide them."
Chapter Four
It had been an eventful day at Mum's house, but finally It was time to leave. Veronica was due at my boat in an hour, and I needed to stop off in town to pick up supplies for the barbecue.
"I'd better drive," I said, putting my bike in the back of Mum's car.
Willow nodded, looking down at her feet. "I can't believe she did it."
"You girls look after my car!" shouted Mum from the cottage doorway. "And don't let Willow drive, Penelope. She can hardly walk properly, let alone use the brake pedal."
Willow made a strangled sound which was almost a sob. "I'm not going to drive, Mum," she shouted. "That's the least of my worries — it's summer and I can't even wear my flip-flops, thanks to Granny!"
Mum gave us a wave and began closing the cottage door. She shouted some final encouragement. "Maybe it's a good thing, darling. It will stop you obsessing about those flesh jellies of yours for a day or two."
The door had already closed, so Mum didn't hear Willow's shouted reply. The birds did though, and several flew from the tall trees surrounding the cottage, squawking in offence at Willow's choice of language.
"You'll get the hang of walking," I said as we got in the car. "Are they comfortable?"
Wracked with guilt, Granny had carved two thin pieces of wood into the shape and size Willow’s feet had once been, and taped them to her new baby sized feet. With kitchen sponges glued to the toe end of the wood, Willow could wear a pair of trainers, although balancing was a problem.
"I suppose," grunted Willow. "Come on let's get to your boat. I need wine."
The trip into town only took a few minutes, but negotiating the streets of Wickford took longer. With vintage cars everywhere, and the pavements packed with people admiring the old vehicles, it took over half an hour to find a parking space and get the supplies I needed from the parade of shops on High Street.
Susie had been right — the old cars were beautiful, and with the drivers dressed in clothing from the same era as their machines, it was like stepping back in time.
With ten minutes left before Veronica was due at my boat, I parked in the Poacher's Pocket Hotel car park, and helped Willow out of the car before grabbing the bags of shopping from the back seat, leaving the bike where it was. Willow and Susie were staying on my boat for the night, and I'd need my bike to get back from Mum's when I took my sister home the next day.
Michelle, one half of the married couple that owned the hotel, appeared in the rear doorway of the old building, waving at us as we made our way through the beer garden to the footpath that led down to my boat. "Hi girls!" she shouted. "It's good to see you back, Penelope! Me and Tony came down to say hello earlier but you weren't there."
"Hi Michelle!" I answered. "It's good to be back. I've been at Mums all day."
"We'll come down and see you when it's not so busy," she said, waving her arm to indicate the crowds of people that sat in the garden drinking beer and wine.
"Okay, and thank whoever it was that mowed the grass for me. It was nice to come back to a neat and tidy mooring."
"Oh, that wasn't us, sweetheart. We've been far too busy with the hotel. It was Barney. He did it yesterday, he said your Granny told him you were due home any day."
Willow tittered under her breath. "Told you he likes you."
"You just concentrate on balancing," I said. "You look like you're drunk."
Willow planted her feet a little further apart, but still swayed from side to side as I said goodbye to Michelle. I held both bags in one hand and tucked my other arm through Willow's, helping her through the beer garden and down the shaded woodland footpath towards the boat.
"What was that noise?" said Willow as we neared the bottom of the path.
"Oh no!" I said. "It's Mabel, and it sounds like Veronica's here too. She's early."
I left Willow to negotiate the last of the footpath alone, and hurried ahead, the sound of barking getting louder as I neared the mooring.
"Get away from me, you monster!" came Veronica's shrill cry.
The trees gave way to freshly mown grass, and I clamped my hand over my mouth as one of the funniest sights I'd ever seen unfolded before my eyes. Veronica was standing on top of one of the picnic benches, swinging her bag at the goose who was attempting to leap up at her. Mabel had never been able to fly due to a condition the vet had called angel wing, but it didn't stop her trying. She jumped up at Veronica again, but Veronica's swinging bag prevented her from getting onto the bench top.
"Get away you beast!" shouted Veronica, much to the annoyance of Mabel, who barked and growled even louder.
Willow giggled as she entered the clearing and stood by my side. "You'd better help her," she said. "We don't want her getting hurt."
I dropped the bags at Willow's feet, and ran across the clearing. "No, Mabel," I shouted. "Leave her alone!"
Mabel looked at me and gave an excited yap, before turning her attention back to her captive victim.
"Help me, Penelope," begged Veronica, teetering on the edge of the table. "I'm too young to die."
Swallowing my laughter, I put myself between Veronica and the goose. "Sit, Mabel!" I shouted. "Sit!"
Mabel whined and tried to look past me at Veronica, who crouched behind my back with her hands on my shoulders. "Sit!" I repeated. "Do you want a treat?"
The white goose immediately sat down on her tail, with her bright orange feet sticking out in front of her.
"Good girl, Mabel," said Willow, arriving at the bench, a bag in each hand acting as counter weights which helped her balance.
"Give her a piece of ham," I said.
Willow retrieved the packet of ham from one of the bags and ripped it open. "Here, Veronica," she said, handing a slice to the shaking woman. "You give it to her, she'll be your friend forever."
"Oh my," said Veronica, leaning over the side of the table, swinging the ham in front of Mabel. "Here you are, you vicious little creature."
Mabel stood up and snatched the ham from Veronicas fingers, swallowing it whole. She gave a contented yap and lay on her back. "You can get
down," I said, bending over to tickle the goose's belly. "She's your friend now."
Veronica climbed off the table with Willow's help, adjusting her bright red skirt as she stepped onto the grass. "I've never been so scared," she said. "Are you sure the vet was right, Penelope? It seems more than a voice box problem to me. She thinks she's a dog."
When a family out for a picnic had stumbled on Mabel worrying sheep in a field, they'd caught her and taken her to the vet, with the videos they'd recorded going viral on the internet. The vet, after much head scratching and research, had proclaimed that Mabel had an elongated voice box, and was probably a little simple. The newspapers had lost interest after a week or so, and Mabel had lived in relative peace ever since.
"Yes, the vet was right. It's quite common, apparently," I lied. "In some countries."
"But, look," said Veronica. "She's doing a poo with her leg cocked."
"Not there, Mabel," scolded Willow. "Not next to Penny's boat."
Mabel finished what she was doing, sniffed her deposit, and ran in a circle chasing her tail. Veronica jumped in fright as the goose barked and sprinted across the clearing towards the canal, where two unlucky swans had glided into view. "It doesn't seem right to me, Penelope," Veronica said. "Perhaps you should have another vet look at her. Geese don't eat ham for a start."
"Geese eat anything," I said. "They're greedy. Come on, let's get you into the boat, make you a nice cup of tea, and brew up this mystery potion for Ron. Mabel won't be back for a few hours, she'll chase those swans all the way to Covenhill, or until they fly away."
"Oh, you've painted your boat," said Veronica, cheering up as I led her aboard. "I didn't notice when I got here, I was too preoccupied with that... goose."
"And you've had the name repainted," observed Willow.
"I had it done last month," I said proudly. "It's all hand painted."
The boat's paintwork had been fading when I'd gone off on my four-month trip, but now it was a bright and cheerful red, with a green stripe along the centre. The hand painted name shone gold in the sun, and I smiled as I remembered the man who'd done it ask me jokingly if I'd curse him if he spelt it incorrectly. How little he knew.