‘Don’t you believe it –’ Ellis glanced at his watch. ‘Shit, we really should be making tracks.’
‘It’s nowhere near five, is it?’ Lola was suddenly reluctant to break the spell. The moment they walked away from Christ Church Meadows, her birthday would be over. As soon as they were back with Tatty and Glad, the magic would be gone. ‘We’ve got ages before we were going to meet them in the car park.’
‘Ah yes,’ Ellis picked up the shopping bags, ‘but that was before I knew that it was your birthday. Maybe you’ll find yourself another present amongst all the joss sticks and stuff.’
Before she could protest, Ellis caught hold of her hand. Fleetingly hoping there was no sticky residue of cream cake left lurking, she hesitated for a moment as his fingers entwined with hers. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not the holding hands; not the togetherness; and especially not the tingle that had shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her head in less than a nanosecond.
As they retraced their steps away from the river and back towards Christ Church College, now bathed in the low-glow of the spring sunshine, Lola felt as though her feet were skimming across the gravelled pathway. Fifty? Fifty? She hadn’t felt this way since she was fifteen.
She was vaguely aware of people looking at them as they left the Meadows and wandered back towards the town hall. Looking at them and smiling. Maybe they thought Ellis was some highly-successful student celebrating with his mother . . . maybe they thought she was a cradle-snatcher . . . maybe they thought . . .
But right then it truly didn’t matter what they thought. People were smiling at them because they were smiling at one another. Their happiness at being together radiated waves of the same emotion and – Jesus Christ!
Lola yanked her hand away.
‘What?’ Ellis frowned at her. ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘We’re the matter. Skippety-skippeting along here, grinning like idiots, in full view of everyone like damn lovestruck teenagers. I must be mad.’
‘You’re beautiful and it’s your birthday and we’re having fun. Sod what anyone else thinks.’ Ellis grabbed her hand again. ‘Stop being so buttoned up about everything. Tonight, when you get into your jeans and your boots and that black top thing you’ll shed all your grown-up inhibitions. You’ll feel as lovely as you really are. Stop putting yourself down.’
‘But we aren’t a couple, aren’t together. This is crazy –’
‘And fun, as I said. Enjoy it.’
Enjoying it was difficult. Far too difficult. Five minutes earlier – when it had been a simple rush of emotion, a chemical reaction, purely instinctive – holding hands with Ellis and feeling on top of the world had been extremely easy. Now, realizing that she was enjoying it in a totally inappropriate way, was very difficult indeed.
She’d always liked being in Ellis’s company, right from that first time weeks ago when he’d been so kind to her in the greasy spoon caff. The feeling then that she’d thought was mere gratitude, had grown into admiration for his love of life, and, as she got to know him better, into liking him for his friendship and honesty, and then into something really strange that made her smile when he was around.
It was sheer madness. She was more than twice his age, he flirted with happy indiscrimination, and he was already involved with Tatty Spry, to boot. Stifling a hysterical laugh at the preposterous thought that she, Lola Wentworth, fifty years old and allegedly in full control of her faculties, had had one lover who was old enough to be her father and was actually toying with the idea of taking a second young enough to be her child, she snorted with self-derision.
Ellis smiled as they reached the town hall steps. ‘I’m so glad you’ve recovered your sense of humour. Hey, great, the hocus-pocus exhibition is still going strong. Let’s go and see if Gran has stocked up with eye of bat and ear of toad or whatever it is that witches need for a nice goulash.’
Snatching her hand away for the second time and making sure that this time she was out of regrabbing reach, Lola followed him into the town hall. Expecting sitar music and wreaths of purple smoke at least, it was rather disappointing to find that the glorious split staircase – which should have had Scarlett and Rhett in situ – and elegantly panelled conference room were set out much the same as for any other trade exhibition.
True, the air was heavy with incense and there were a fair few New Agers drifting around looking otherworldly, but most of the people crowding round the crystal, feng shui, mystic water, and alternative therapy stands, appeared perfectly normal.
Ellis, exuberant as ever, instantly vanished through the crowd towards a section that promised magical metals, floral remedies and essential oils. Definitely Tatty territory.
‘Gam!’ Glad Blissit, looking like an enraged pixie in her lime green and magenta outfit, suddenly emerged through the melee beside Lola. ‘Am I glad to see you. What a load of old bollocks this is.’
Lola laughed. ‘I thought you were here as Tatty’s henchman?’
‘Not on your life. I only came along for the ride out. It’s years since I’ve been to Oxford. Not that I’ve got to see much of it, only a glimpse through the windows, the rest of the day has been a lot of hippie mumbo jumbo. I should have come with you and young Ellis. Did you get all your shopping done?’
‘Yes thanks. Ellis is carrying the bags. I think he’s in that scrum over there looking for Tatty.’
‘Oh, she ain’t there. She’s upstairs with the bigwigs. She’s spent all afternoon stocking up on new paraphernalia for her shop. Damn daft idea of young Posy’s to encourage her to offer massages and what-have-you, if you ask me. Tatty don’t take much persuading to go way over the top with stuff. And of course, she was mighty miffed that Rose Lusty had snaffled young Malvina Finstock from the Cressbeds Estate and –’
‘Malvina who?’
‘Finstock. Funny little girl, lots of earrings in her tongue, shaven-head – oh, you must have seen her around the village. Any road, Malvina’s been to college, see, does all the real trendy stuff in hairdressing and beauticiany things. And Rose has nicked her for the salon, because of Posy saying we should be offering everything to everyone like we’re some sort of damn United Nations rescue mission. Tatty really wanted Malvina for her place, so she’s gone right over the top this afternoon and got herself reregistered, which is why she’s upstairs.’
Assuming that possibly Tatty would need to be registered as a masseuse, Lola nodded. ‘Well, yes, good idea to keep it all legal. And it’s a good idea that, um, Malvina can offer a more modern sort of hair styling. Not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with Rose’s, er, more traditional styles of course. And I think that a lot of people will enjoy Tatty’s aromatherapy massages, and she’ll build up a good client list.’
‘It ain’t the bloody aromatherapy she’s signed up for,’ Glad said, shoving her way into a particularly crowded corner. ‘It’s the bloody tattooing.’
Lola blinked. Okay, so maybe there wouldn’t be a huge call for henna tattoos in Steeple Fritton, but as she and Posy and Ellis and Flynn were pulling out all the stops to get people into the village for all manner of things, and keep them coming back, it made sense . . .
‘Wouldn’t that be something that, um, Malvina would be able to do though, in Rose Lusty’s?’ Lola asked when she finally ran Glad to earth in front of a table displaying what looked like desiccated dog turds. ‘The henna tattoos?’
‘Bless you, they ain’t henna tattoos, duck. They’re the real McCoy. All needles and blood and gore. It’s what Tatty used to do, her trade, so to speak, before she went all airy-fairy alternative.’
Lola was speechless. There truly didn’t seem to be anything she could say. Tatty was a tattooist. Of course, it made sense. She’d always assumed the name came from the way Tatty looked and dressed, or was maybe a diminutive of Tabitha or something . . .
It seemed she’d got so many things wrong today. ‘And she’s going to be doing it again? Running a tattoo parlour? In Steeple Fritton?’
‘Ah,’ Glad nodded her head, making the magenta hat leap up and down. ‘We’ll have the blame village filled with bikers and builders and squaddies and all manner of unsavoury blokes. Smashing!’
They’d moved on from the desiccated dog turds to a stand which apparently offered immediate spiritual enlightenment through the wearing of silver bells. Glad picked up a small selection and studied them carefully.
‘Do you think these would suit me? No, don’t answer that, duck. I reckon I’m a touch too old for dressing up like Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. Oh, I wish Tatty’d get a move on, I wants to get home and catch Star Trek. Mind, if she’s got her talons into young Ellis they’re probably fornicating somewhere in a quiet corner.’
Lola tried not to look horrified. It was difficult. The shaft of jealousy that had lasered through her almost took her breath away.
‘Get away with you,’ Glad cackled. ‘I was only joking. Don’t reckon even someone as flighty as Tatty’d manage to do it here. Mind you, can’t say the same for our Ellis . . .’
Frantically wanting to change the subject, Lola rushed towards a stall that seemed to be full of small multicoloured pyramids.
‘You won’t be needing them,’ Glad said helpfully over her shoulder. ‘Not with that nice Yank bloke to keep you warm of a night at Sunny Dene.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t be sorry, duck. I wouldn’t be, he’s a looker all right. No, these here,’ she motioned the magenta hat towards the small pyramids, ‘these is all sex aids.’
Dear God. Lola backed away. Sex aids? Sex aids? How sheltered had she been? What on earth could anyone actually do with small Pyrex pyramids?
‘They all contains stuff,’ Glad, obviously an expert, continued. ‘Frisky-making stuff. Like I said, you won’t be needing that with that gorgeous Flynn geezer to keep you entertained under your eiderdown. Oh, look, here’s Tatty!’
Lola had never been so glad to see Tatty Spry in her entire life.
‘All sorted,’ Tatty jangled her bangles and tinkled her necklaces and managed to get her spiral curls caught in her lace cuffs as she rearranged a mass of New Age parcels and bags. ‘Not half as difficult as I’d imagined, being already qualified and registered, all they’ll be doing is sending someone out to inspect the premises for sterility and things, then I’ll get my certificate and we’ll be away. Can’t wait.’ She turned her huge beam towards Lola. ‘Ellis says you’ve had a lovely day shopping, too. I’m so pleased.’
Lola nodded her head stiffly like an automaton. What on earth had she been thinking of? How could she have allowed herself to have even the faintest flicker of attraction towards Ellis? ‘Er, yes, I’ve had a great day. Lovely, thanks. Um, where is he?’
‘Oh, looking at something over there –’ Tatty tossed her curls in the direction of the desiccated dog turd table. ‘He said he’ll be with us in a moment. Shall we wait for him outside? I can’t wait to get home and tell the kiddies the wonderful news that their mummy is going to be a tattooist again . . .’
Chapter Eighteen
The Crooked Sixpence was packed. Lola, who had hardly had time to eat her Sunny Dene dinner and hurl herself into a bath before evening opening time, stood nervously in the doorway.
Self-conscious wasn’t in it. The jeans and the boots and the black off-the-shoulder top may have looked the business in Oxford, with the dim lights and the loud frenetic music and Ellis’s charming company. In the cold light of her bedroom, Lola thought she looked like a sad travesty.
There’d been no time to canvass opinion. When she’d arrived back from Oxford, Dilys and Norrie – doing the dinners with Dom, who was back from university for the Easter vacation, but without Posy who had apparently been at the shop and The Crooked Sixpence most of the day – told her they’d promised themselves a rare treat, a night out at the pub and kept winking and grinning like sly children. Mr D and Mr B were no better, behaving like real prima donnas and singing Vera Lynn songs in high falsettos. Flynn didn’t even show up. So, throwing her long black coat over her new image, Lola had rushed to the pub and just hoped nobody laughed.
She closed the door behind her and nudged her way through the crowd to the bar. Flynn and Posy were serving three-deep customers, the Pinks were playing darts, there was a crowd round the fruit machine, and several young girls, including Posy’s friends Nikki and Amanda, in very short, tight dresses, were trying to outmanoeuvre Glad who was hunched over the jukebox.
‘Hi,’ Posy grinned. ‘Have a good day?’
‘Great, thanks.’ Lola didn’t remove her coat. ‘What about you?’
‘Frantic. Dashing around doing the courier stuff for Ellis and then between here and the shop. Flynn helped me scrape the last of the flyposters off the windows and wash the paintwork, but I haven’t got much further. No brilliant ideas of what to do with it yet.’
‘We’ll have to give it some thought,’ Lola clasped her coat even more tightly round her. ‘You’re really busy in here tonight. What was it like at lunch time?’
‘Hectic,’ Flynn squeezed past Posy. ‘We coped fine, though, didn’t we? Apart from a bit of trouble with the cops . . .’
‘What?
‘Just a bit of after hours drinking, what with us still not having all day opening,’ Posy shrugged. ‘We, er, forgot the time. But it’s all right, honest. They were ever so nice about it.’
‘Yeah,’ Flynn grinned. ‘They said they might have to keep an eye on us in future, but we told them once you were in charge there’d be no more of that sort of thing. Anyway, how did the shopping and the girlie stuff go?’
‘Wonderful,’ Lola still clung on to the coat. ‘But are you sure the police were okay? I mean, I don’t want anyone to think I can’t run this place. And I certainly don’t want the police checking up on me every half an hour.’
Flynn shrugged. ‘Trust me. It’ll be fine. Just a bit of teething trouble, that’s all. Everyone gets things wrong when they first start in business.’
‘I don’t,’ Lola frowned, knowing full well she shouldn’t have been playing at teenagers-in-love with Ellis in Oxford and leaving the pub to Flynn and Posy. ‘And has word got out? Do they all think we’re having an after hours lock-in or something? I’ve never seen so many people in here, and on a week night. Is there something else I should know?’
Flynn and Posy exchanged grins, much as Dilys and Norrie had in the B&B. Lola frowned. Had she missed something? What on earth had happened here? She’d only been away for half a day.
‘It was a little idea of Flynn’s,’ Posy said, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t see the poster outside.’
Poster? Lola had hurtled across The Crooked Sixpence’s car park so fast she’d seen nothing at all. ‘What poster?’
‘For ’appy ’our!’ Neddy Pink informed her gleefully, slamming down his Guinness tankard on the bar top. ‘All drinks ’alf price!’
Appyower? Was this some sort of village tribal festival then? Like Harvest Home or Midsummer Solstice? Appy . . . ? The penny clunked into place. ‘Oh! You mean Happy Hour! Right.’
‘I didn’t think you’d mind –’ Flynn poured Neddy’s Guinness with his customary flair, it always went down a storm in Opal Joe’s.’
Mind? It had filled the pub with new customers. Why on earth should she mind?
‘No . . . no . . . it’s a great idea. Wonderful. I’ve never seen so many people and – oh, my God! What the hell is that?’
‘That’s the other little surprise we’ve lined up for you,’ Posy nudged past with two snowballs for the Pink twins. ‘Flynn and I made a joint managerial decision in your absence.’
‘The rep guy came in at lunch time and said we could have it on trial,’ Flynn said, crashing Neddy’s money into the till. ‘We’ve got it for a month. The rental was next to nothing and should earn out real quick if it takes off.’
Lola gazed at the tiny raised dais in the corner, and the proliferation of audiovisual equipment and a whole serpent’s nest of black wires. ‘Um, yes, but
what is it?’
‘A karaoke machine,’ Posy smiled. ‘We thought you’d approve.’
‘Karaoke? In here? Good Lord . . . I mean, well, yes, I can see that it may have its fans, but won’t it be too loud?’
‘Probably,’ Flynn said, reaching across the top of Posy’s head for the makings of a crème de menthe frappe for Rose Lusty, ‘then mercifully it’ll drown out that.’
‘That’, Lola guessed, was Glad’s current Wurlitzer selection of Matt Monro on instant replay.
‘And is this why your parents and Mr D and Mr B were all behaving like starlets backstage at The Palladium earlier, then?’ Lola asked Posy. ‘Limbering up for their big vocal experience tonight?’
‘Probably,’ Posy pulled a face. ‘Mr D and Mr B reckon they can sing like the Beverley Sisters, but my mum is a different matter altogether. She makes everything sound like the National Anthem, all on the one note. Truly dire.’
‘And Norrie? What about him?’
Posy shrugged. ‘He sings in the bathroom a lot. Usually Kenneth McKellar.’
‘Jesus,’ Flynn winced. ‘Was he a punk?’
‘Not really, although he did wear funny clothes. Mind you, my real buzz will come when we get Ritchie and Sonia up there singing “I Got You, Babe” and I can wire their microphones directly to the mains.’ Posy stopped pulling a pint and looked at Lola. ‘Are you feeling cold? I mean, it’s baking in here and you’ve still got your coat on.’
Lola took a deep breath, slowly undid the buttons and slid the coat off.
‘Wow!’ Flynn’s eyes widened. ‘Hot!’
‘Cool, actually,’ Posy grinned. ‘You really must learn to use the language correctly if you want to be accepted by the natives. No, honestly, Lola, you look amazing. Is this what you bought today?’
‘Some of it, yes.’ Lola suddenly felt completely overwhelmed by emotion. She belonged here. Posy and Flynn and the others had become her friends. Real friends. They cared. On top of everything else that had happened today, it was almost too much. She blinked quickly. ‘I thought it all might be a bit young, you know.’
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