by Sam Short
“She visits now and again,” said Penny. “She’s still got a taste for bacon rind, and she still enjoys playing with Rosie.”
“And she still chases swans,” said Willow, patting the bench next to her. “Sit down, Granny.” She lifted the red knitted cozy from the teapot. “Tea?” she asked. “It’s your favourite, Earl Grey.”
Gladys shook her head impatiently, and looked at her watch. “No, and I told you I wanted to be leaving by ten o’clock. I’d have thought the boat engine would have been running by now and you’d both be ready to pipe me aboard.”
“It will only take twenty minutes to get to the chapel, Granny,” said Penny, “and the organists aren’t due there until half-past eleven. You’ve got time for a cup of tea.”
Gladys held her tongue, but visibly bristled. Young people these days seemed to possess no sense of urgency. She liked to arrive for appointments early, and anyway, she’d told the girls she wanted to spend some time assessing the condition of the small chapel. It had been unused for two decades, and she’d paid the horrible farmer who owned the land it was built on a pretty penny for the old building.
She enjoyed owning a chapel, as decrepit as it was, and she was looking forward to conjuring an organ into existence inside it. Since her witch dementia had been cured, Gladys was itching to use as much magic as possible, and was planning on casting a beautifying spell over the chapel on the night before her wedding.
Her family had attempted to persuade her to get married elsewhere, telling her there were far nicer places available, but her parents had tied the knot in that chapel, and Gladys’s mother always did have good taste. Her parents had loved each other dearly, and Gladys’s mother had turned down her chance of immortality in The Haven, to be buried alongside her mortal husband in the Wickford church cemetery. She wanted to honour them by saying her vows in the same spot they’d said theirs.
She still felt guilty about her first marriage. Gladys had married Norman in the church his mother had wanted to see her son married in, forcing Gladys’s mother to put aside her wishes to see the wedding happen in the little canal-side chapel, but now Gladys could finally make amends.
Gladys considered the teapot for a moment. “No time for tea,” she said, folding her arms.
Penny stood up and gathered the teapot and cups together, placing them on a tray. “Come on then, Granny,” she said, climbing aboard The Water Witch. “We’ll get you to the church on time.”
Chapter Four
Gladys loved The Water Witch. She loved the smell inside the narrow interior when the girls cooked on the gas stove, and she loved the potted herbs and flowers which grew on the flat roof. There was something lovely about travelling along a narrow English canal in a colourful floating home, and she occasionally envied the lifestyle of the girls.
She didn’t like the noise of the diesel engine, though, or the vibrations it made which shook their way up her calf muscles as she stood on the stern — or was it bow — decking with her granddaughters. She remembered what Penny had told her — think about which end you’d put a ribbon bow on if you wanted to make the boat look pretty. Gladys thought it much easier to refer to the two extremities of the boat as the pointy end, and the noisy end.
Knowing she was on the stern decking made no difference to her enjoyment of the short journey. Engine annoyances aside, Gladys revelled in her surroundings, laughing at the ducks which flapped out of the boats path, and taking deep sniffs of the wild garlic as they passed ancient woodland.
When Penny let her take control of the boat, Gladys made sure to remain within the strict speed limit applied by the canal authorities. It was slow going, but so much fun, and Gladys bit her bottom lip as she carefully guided the pointy end into the tiny gap beneath a stone bridge. The walls of the tunnel were so close she could have touched them if she’d wanted, and the musty aroma of wet moss reminded her of childhood adventures in the small cave system which ran beneath the hills surrounding Wickford.
Gladys licked her lips as they passed the Wickford brewery, tasting the mustiness of the hops, and averted her eyes as Lord and Lady Green’s mansion came into view. Perched atop a chalk hill, it loomed over the canal, and Gladys wouldn’t give the wealthy owners the courtesy of her admiration for their home. Was she jealous, she wondered, but felt better when she reminded herself that Huang Towers was ten times the size of the mansion on the hill. She was better than the Greens were, only in a different dimension.
“Okay,” said Penny, as their destination appeared around a bend. “If you want me to prove I can moor the boat in the correct position, you’d better let me take over.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a fine job,” said Gladys, stepping away from the controls. She wasn’t sure at all, but she’d give the girl a chance.
Hidden by bank-side trees, the small chapel was not visible to canal traffic, but the small pier could be seen, tucked away where the canal widened into a purpose built mooring.
Gladys imagined the chapel was built to serve as a place for narrowboat crews to say their Sunday prayers during the heyday of the canal system, when coal was transported across Britain by countless boats. She also imagined the crews had spent more time in the pubs and hotels which graced the banks of every canal system in the country.
Penny applied gentle pressure to the steering tiller, nudging the bow closer to the shore. Tugging the power lever backwards, she put the engine into reverse, the propeller viciously churning the water behind them and slowing their progress to a crawl. A gentle thud on the hull was the only indication that the boat was in position.
“I knew you could do it, Penny,” said Gladys. “You should have more faith in yourself.”
Penny killed the engine and stepped onto the pier, tying the boat off with a short rope. “I really should, shouldn’t I?” she said with a smile.
Gladys stepped off The Water Witch. The pier was level with the deck of the boat, and it was a simple case of taking a tiny step over the low deck railing onto the jetty. Easy-peasy. The dress she had chosen to be married in was a simple affair, and she envisioned no problems with repeating the debarking procedure on her big day. The creaky old pier would need some sprucing up, but it would be child’s play to cast a spell which would do the job.
Willow and Penny walked alongside their grandmother as they followed the footpath which led through the trees. Gladys was happy to see that the path was wide enough for her guests to gather on and watch her as she stepped off the boat. They’d have a fine view of her magnificence as she gracefully stepped ashore.
The little Chapel came into view around the second small bend in the path, and for the first time since she’d agreed to marry Charleston, Gladys felt a lump in her throat and a tickle in her tummy. She widened her stride and quickened her pace. There was no time for emotion. Emotion was the root of all problems. She was there on business. “Come on girls,” she ordered. “Keep up. I want to have a proper look around before Ethel and Mavis arrive, and I’ve got an organ to make out of thin air.”
Gladys had taken a cursory glance at the chapel when she’d bought it from the farmer, but she’d not wanted to seem too keen, and end up paying above market value. Although money was of no real significance to her any longer, her charitable outlook with her wealth ended at farmer’s deep pockets. Since one of their ilk had rejected her romantic advances in the Coffee Pot Café in Wickford, Gladys had held a deep disregard for the troublesome bumpkins.
Farmer Bill had publicly rejected her, and Gladys had vowed that from that day forward she would remain a widow. Men, particularly farming men, were just too complicated. With her views on men so deeply engrained, it had surprised her as much as everybody else when she’d fallen for Charleston.
Of course, she denied Farmer Bill’s claims when her family confronted her about the incident, explaining that she’d simply been reaching into his lap to retrieve some dropped food. She’d had her revenge on Farmer Bill, naturally. She’d poured a magic potion into his dairy
herd’s drinking trough, which had given the beasts the ability to leap the four-foot high fence which surrounded their field. The rampaging cows had gone on to cause havoc in the town, forcing Farmer Bill to pay for the damage out of his own pocket when his insurers refused to pay out on his claim.
Gladys couldn’t remember the complete list of ingredients which had gone into the potion, but she was certain that milk and an energy drink had been involved. Maybe the hind legs of a frog had been included, too.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to look around the building. The chapel was a simple structure, consisting of four walls and a doorway beneath a sloping slate roof. The thick walls were built from stone, probably hauled out of the nearby Wickford quarry, and the large door was made from oak, secured to the frame by heavy iron hinges.
Most of the windows were cracked or smashed, but Gladys could see they had once been beautiful stained glass. She would repair them when she cast the beautification spell, as well as repairing the broken pews inside, and the weather worn railings which surrounded the chapel. The spell would stay in effect for as long as she wanted it to, and with an additional flexing of her magical muscles she would add a charm to the mix which would make people think it was perfectly normal for a chapel to be derelict one day, and in its former glory the next. She would even be able to stop people wondering why, a day later, it was derelict yet again.
Her guests would have to park their cars alongside the road, a five-minute walk away, but Gladys thought that a short walk was a small price to pay for witnessing her wedding, and spending the night eating and drinking for free in the Poacher’s Pocket Hotel. There was even going to be Pimm’s served as the guests arrived at the hotel, for goddess’s sake. They’d better be grateful.
Gladys led the way inside the chapel, and Penny, ever the pessimist, turned her nose up at the mess. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad,” she said, wiping a finger across a dust laden windowsill.
Willow was more concerned with keeping her clothes clean, and rubbed at a mark on her shorts left by the dirty end of a broken pew. “It’s going to take a powerful spell to clean this up,” she said.
“You leave that to me,” said Gladys. “You won’t recognise this place by the time I’m finished with it.” Gladys ignored the mess and marched down the aisle, imagining the admiring glances she’d be attracting when she did it for real — when the seats were full of guests. The more Gladys thought about her wedding day, the more she was becoming excited about the prospect, and she smiled when she saw the perfect position for the organ. It would look splendid placed along the far wall, behind the altar at which she’d say her vows.
She wasn’t planning on conjuring up an excessively decorative organ, but she wanted it to have a good set of lungs, and at least a dozen pipes. It needed to be audible all the way from the pier after all, as her guests welcomed her off the boat and joined her in the ceremonial walk along the pathway.
“Watch and learn,” said Gladys, cracking her knuckles. “This is going to be a sight to behold.” Sparks fizzed at Gladys’s fingertips, and she muttered a few words under her breath. The words meant nothing, but she enjoyed showing off. Making a spell seem more difficult than it really was, cemented her position as the most powerful witch in the family.
Her granddaughters were progressing in their understanding of magic, but it would be a long time before one of them could weave the invisible strands of magic in the air into a physical object as technically impressive as an organ. Gladys closed her eyes and imagined what she wanted to create, her stomach tingling and her fingertips warm as magic flowed from them.
“Woah!” said Willow, as a shape began to form against the wall.
The air in the room throbbed as the shape grew larger, and dust vibrated on the floor.
“Amazing,” said Penny.
Gladys laughed. “Child’s play,” she boasted.
Wood and metal twisted in the air, expanding and shimmering as Gladys concentrated. With a flourish of her hand, while she pictured a bull elephant in her mind’s eye, the organ’s keys began to form, making a tinkling sound as they lined up in their correct positions.
Gladys paused. Mrs Jenkins had an invitation to the wedding, and Gladys was certain she was still a highly vocal activist in PETA. She waved her hand once more, and the ivory keys vanished, immediately replaced by what she assumed was some sort of viable plastic substitute. Gladys forced one last surge of magic from her fingers, and with a final twisting of materials, and a blast of sound from the organ’s pipes which made Willow jump, the instrument was complete. Gladys waved her hand once more, and a small stool appeared in front of the instrument, the cushion upholstered in a finely woven silver and gold material.
Penny patted Gladys on her back. “That was cool, granny,” she said. “You’ll have to teach me that someday.”
Gladys smiled at her granddaughters. Standing between them in the very position she was going to say her vows from, reminded her of an honour she’d been meaning to bestow upon them. “Girls.” she said. “Don’t get too excited, a screech would really echo in this chapel and hurt our ears, but I’ve got something to tell you both.” She paused for dramatic effect, and smiled. “I know I said I wasn’t going to have any, but you’ll be over the moon to learn that I’m going to allow you to be my bridesmaids, and I’m going to order Maggie to be my maid of honour. Do you think she’d mind wearing a slimming black dress, or would that make her think of funerals?”
“Firstly… thank you,” said Penny, although Gladys sensed her appreciation was bogus. “And secondly, don’t you dare ask Mum to be your maid of honour and then tell her to wear black because it’s slimming. That would definitely be in the top ten of a list of the worst things you’ve ever done.”
“I agree,” said Willow, frowning. “Top five even, and you’ve done some terrible things, Granny.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gladys. “But I disagree. The only way Maggie is going to lose any weight is by the rest of us shaming her into doing it. She lost twelve-pounds in a week once, on a family trip to Pontins, and that was purely through shame tactics. I followed her around making sounds like a greedy piglet every time she ate something. There were tears at the time, but when she got home she was able to fit into the previous year’s school and girl guides uniforms. It saved me and her dad a small fortune. Clothes weren’t cheap back then, you see. We didn’t have Asian sweatshops knocking out cheap tat — we paid good money for quality goods.”
“You did what?” said Willow.
“We paid good money for quality goods,” repeated Gladys.
“You know I didn’t mean that part,” said Willow.
“That’s really awful,” said Penny. “How old was Mum?”
Gladys adjusted her spectacles and looked heavenward. “Let me think… oh yes! Norman, rest his soul, had booked the holiday because…” she lowered her voice, worried the name she was about to utter would be considered sacrilege inside a chapel, “…Margaret Thatcher had just become Prime Minister. We were considering enquiring about refugee status in Canada, but a seven-day all-inclusive break sufficed. That was in nineteen-seventy-nine, so your mother would have been… ten.”
Willow’s gasp filled the small building. “You evil old bit—”
“Hello!” came a voice from behind them, cutting Willow off mid insult. “I hope I’m not too early, but I do like to be punctual. I notice Ethel’s not here yet, I hope she won’t be late on your big day if she’s given the position of organist. I know I wouldn’t.” The new arrival stared at her surroundings. “It’s in a bit of a state, isn’t it?” she said. Her eyes lit up when she saw the organ, and she hurried down the aisle flexing her fingers. “But, oh my, what a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. I can’t wait to try it out, it must have cost a fortune! I bet it sings like an angel!”
Gladys stared at the woman. Mavis Buttersworth. Gladys had expected a little one-upmanship to be involved in the battle to become her organ grinder
, but Mavis had taken it too far. Being early with the intent to impress was one thing, and Gladys respected her for it, but everything else was just wrong. It was sucking up, and Gladys hated a teacher’s pet.
Everything from her shiny shoes and posh frock, to the scent of her fancy perfume, screamed ‘pick me!’ The severest of her crimes was on her head though, and Gladys peered over her glasses as she studied it. “New hairdo, Mavis?” she enquired.
“Oh, yes,” said Mavis, adjusting the corsage on her flat chest. “Thank you for noticing. It’s quite a change for me, but I do love it. I think it’s classy. Very classy indeed.”
If Gladys had been a nasty woman she would have thrown Mavis out of the chapel right there and then. If Mavis thought emulating Gladys’s hairdo would gain her brownie points, she was barking up the wrong tree. Heck – she was barking in the wrong forest completely. Gladys was the only woman in Wickford with a blue rinse perm. Even when they’d gone out of fashion, and the other mature women in town began resembling mutton dressed as lamb with their bleached blonde hair, Gladys had stuck religiously to her tight blue curls.
Mavis had taken a liberty, and Gladys feared that even if Mavis proved to be the better organ player, she wouldn’t be able to see past the infraction. The bouncy blue rinse perm was clouding her judgement. If she had the temerity to try and upstage Gladys at an organ playing session, what on earth would she do on the wedding day?
Gladys was about to speak her mind when the second organist arrived.
“Hello,” said Ethel, from the doorway. “I hope I’m not late.”
“A little,” said Mavis. “The early bird catches the worm is the mantra I live by.”
The damn cheek of that woman made Gladys’s toes curl, and if she’d had hackles they’d have been standing fully to attention. “No, Ethel, you’re not,” she said. “And may I say how wonderful you look? Is that a shell-suit? I haven’t seen one of those for years.”