Hubble Bubble

by Christina Jones

  Doll nodded. ‘The usual suspects in other words. Okay then, I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Have fun.’

  Waiting until Doll had slammed the front door behind her, Lulu picked up the recipe book again. Thank God for that – she was working on borrowed time as it was. Mitzi’s impromptu visit to the hairdresser had given her the opportunity she needed to concoct a few love potions. Now Doll, being her usual helpful interfering self, had eaten into those precious minutes.

  Right. Okay. On with the Apple Love Candles, then she’d tackle the Midnight Apples. Guaranteed to work every time – well, according to Granny Westward’s handwritten notes anyway: ‘guaranteed to work powerful love magic – but you must be very, very careful because …’

  Lulu decided to ignore the next bit that warned the use of Midnight Apples may border on manipulation. It was only a bit of fun anyway, wasn’t it? She was pretty sure the black halter-neck top would do more for Shay than any amount of apple love magic.

  She lifted the tea towel and peered at the puree and herbs. Mercifully, it had stopped bubbling but now looked and smelled like a foetid cowpat. Eyes watering, trying not to inhale, she pushed the bowl to the far side of the table. Richard and Judy, who had jumped up to investigate, backed away, spines arched, tails bushed into identical grey bottle brushes.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Lulu assured them. ‘No one’s going to eat it. It’s for the love candles, although I’m not sure about the smell being much of an aphrodisiac. Maybe it’ll sort of evaporate …’

  She yanked up her sleeves a bit more. She was having to modify Granny’s instructions because the apple candles were supposed to been made weeks before the event – but then they hadn’t had freezers in those days, had they? Surely all she had to do was gloop the puree into the molten wax, leave to cool, then shape it into – er – candley shapes and bung them in the freezer for half an hour or so?

  The recipe book had said the candles must be pink, and had advocated a liberal additional of cochineal for the purpose. Lulu had bypassed this by melting down a dozen pink dinner candles from the living room, carefully removing the wicks and hanging them over the back of a chair for later use. So far so good – now for the Midnight Apples.

  There were two love spells under this heading, both a bit iffy in Lu’s opinion. The first love divination, according to Granny’s book, was amazingly simple: it involved you holding an apple in your hand until it became warm, then, at the stroke of midnight, passing it on to the object of your desire. If they ate it they’d return your love. Easy-peasy.

  Pretty sure that even if she managed to remember to hang on to an apple all night, by the time she handed it, sort of clenched and sweaty, to Shay he’d merely lob in the nearest bin, Lulu felt she ought to go for the second apple love spell as a back-up.

  Of course, this one would have been so much easier if Shay’s name had been Ian or Ivan. Carving his curvy initial into a relentlessly glossy Braeburn which kept skittering across the table was proving very difficult. The pile of discarded apples with zigzagged hieroglyphics jabbed into the skins was growing by the minute. ‘S’ was the trickiest bloody letter in the whole damn alphabet, Lulu thought, as she gouged away, remembering to leave enough room on the other side for her L.

  By the time she’d finished, with a vaguely recognisable S and L, there wasn’t much apple left, but still now all she had to do was remember the little incantation as she handed it over at midnight. She peered at Granny Westward’s spiky writing.

  ‘I conjure thee apple by these names that what man tasteth thee may love me and burn on my fire as melted wax.’

  Blimey! Lulu raised her eyebrows. Granny Westward must have been a pretty hot babe in her day. She really wished she’d known her. This was great stuff.

  Scraping the apple residue into a heap, making sure that the engraved apple and the smallish one she intended to clutch all night were put safely at the back of the crockery cupboard, she took a deep breath and began to tackle the love candles.

  Richard and Judy fled to the washing basket as the fumes swamped the kitchen, and the whole procedure was far more tricky than she’d envisaged, but half an hour later, six squat, barrel-shaped, pink candles, complete with reinstated wicks, were sitting in the freezer.

  The fact that they still smelt appalling, and had bits of lumpy puree and herb sticking out of them like a bad batch of Lincolnshire sausages, was neither here nor there. At midnight, when Lulu approached Shay with a double-whammy of apple magic, they’d dance and gutter and light the way to everlasting love.

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ the back door flew open. ‘What the hell is going on in here?’

  Lulu, still trying to reclaim the kitchen, bared her teeth at Flo. ‘Just clearing up … Er – Mum’s not in and we haven’t started yet …’

  Flo clanked several carrier bags into the mess on the kitchen table and proceeded to unload them. ‘No, I know that. I’ve just bought the booze. I promised your Mum we’d do the drinks if she made the eats … Crikey, Lu, she hasn’t left you in charge of the food, has she? It’ll be all rat dropping veggie rubbish. Our Clyde won’t touch none of that.’

  Ignoring this slur on her culinary abilities, Lulu looked at the ever-growing collection of bottles with mounting horror. There was an awful lot of elderflower and rhubarb, and swede and dandelion, not to mention parsnip and sloe.

  ‘This is our special,’ Flo said, flourishing a bottle under Lulu’s nose. ‘Rosehip and apple champagne.’

  Lu’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, right. Apple … Apples are very important tonight, you know.’

  Flo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Christ, Lu, you haven’t got mixed up in that mumbo-jumbo, have you? Them cakes your dad gave me were bad enough, and our Gavin says your Mum was buying all sorts of weird stuff in Big Sava … It ain’t natural.’

  ‘Actually, it is. Very natural. See, tonight, Halloween, is really Samhain – the end of summer in ancient religions. Samhain means the feast of apples and—’

  ‘Spare me the details.’ Flo frowned. ‘It’s all weirdo to me. Give me good old Halloween any day.’

  ‘What with the witches and ghouls and ghosts and things?’ Lulu laughed.

  ‘Yes, well. They’re proper. Right and proper for the occasion. You know where you are with them. All this new-age stuff fair gives me the heebie-jeebies – oh, there’s someone at the front door. Shall I get it?’

  ‘It’s probably Mum back from the hairdresser,’ Lulu said, wondering how ballistic Mitzi would go over the state of the kitchen. ‘She’s probably forgotten her key. I’ll let her in – oh, and thank you for the drinks. I’ll – um – see you later.’

  Flo, not taking the hint, remained rooted to the spot.

  Bugger, bugger, bugger, Lu thought, as she hurtled through the hall. She’d never get the kitchen back to normal and have a bath and do her hair and her face and squeeze into the black halter-neck in time. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone?

  She tugged the door open. The darkly icy night howled round her, swirling dead leaves into the hall with a dry rasping menace.

  ‘Mum – look, I got a bit behind with stuff in the kitchen but it won’t take five minutes and – oh my God!’

  Lob and Lav stood beaming on the doorstep. ‘Not too early, dear, are we?’

  The Bandings, all in wrinkly limp black layers, with witches’ hats atop the cycle helmets, pushed past her. ‘Oh, how lovely and warm! And what a delicious smell! Is that pumpkin pie? Are we too early for the food, Lulu, dear? Only we didn’t have any tea so as to save ourselves.’

  ‘Er, yes, well, you are a bit early … Mum isn’t here yet and we haven’t put the food out and well … maybe if you’d like to wait in here with Flo …’ Lu ushered them away from the living room and into the bombshell of a kitchen.

  Flo cackled with laughter. ‘Blimey – look at you two! “Secret black and midnight hags” could have been written about you. And don’t you look at me like that, young Lulu. I know me Scottish Play off by ’eart.’ />
  Lulu had more than Flo’s familiarity with the Bard to worry about. The Bandings had spotted the remains of the apple magic.

  ‘Oh, lovely! Apples!’ Lav clapped her Cyndi Lauper lace mittens together and homed in on the apple mountain. ‘Are they for starters?’

  ‘No they’re bloody not,’ Lulu hurled herself in front of the kitchen table. ‘I – I’ll make you a sandwich if you’re that hungry.’

  ‘Ooooh, super. Cheese and pickle would be nice, dear, thank you.’ The Bandings clutched their pointy hats in excitement. ‘And perhaps a small side salad?’

  ‘Ill leave you to it, then,’ Flo headed towards the back door. ‘Tell your mum me and Clyde’ll pop round about eight-ish. Oh, and be careful when you take the stoppers out of the swede and dandelion – it’s a lively little vintage.’

  Whimpering to herself, Lulu tugged out a sliced white loaf, piccalilli and the remains of the cheddar cheese. Bugger the Bandings! They were now going through the fridge with spindly fingers, exclaiming in rapture over half-empty tins of cat food and shrivelled cucumbers. She still had so much to do.

  ‘I’ll have to leave you in a second.’ She pushed the sandwiches towards them. ‘I need to get ready. Er – what time will Shay be arriving?’

  ‘Oh, he won’t be coming, dear.’ Lob dribbled a mustard-covered gherkin down her whiskery chin. ‘We told him this wouldn’t be his sort of thing at all. All old fogies. He’s taking little Caramel to the pictures instead.’

  Chapter Twelve

  PUMPKIN PASSIONS

  Plenty of figs, chopped

  Mashed bananas

  Liquorice, cubed small

  The mashed flesh of two large ripe pumpkins

  A good handful of loaf sugar

  Large spoonful of treacle

  Mixed nuts, chopped

  A handful of Balm of Gilead, powdered

  Beat all ingredients together in large bowl with a wooden spoon until dark and treacly consistency reached.

  Spoon in small quantities on to baking tray greased with best butter.

  Bake in hot oven for half an hour until it takes on the appearance of rich dark toffee.

  Allow to cool before serving.

  Note: All the ingredients in Pumpkin Passions have love properties. They have been used in aphrodisiacs for centuries. Pumpkin Passions can make the most sober person behave in an unseemly and drunken manner. To be eaten with the utmost caution.

  Pauline, love her, had worked her usual magic, Mitzi thought, admiring her shadowy refection in the living-room mirror. Okay, so the image staring back at her was definitely enhanced by the fire glow and candlelight, but even so…

  Gone for ever was the horrific Don King windswept look. The layers were now shorter, spikier and glossy chestnut rather than garish crimson. A long, jagged fringe swept across her forehead, and made her eyes look huge. It had knocked years off her. Even Lu had been impressed.

  Before tackling the hellhole kitchen, Mitzi cast a last happy look round the darkened living room, with its deep jewel colours now embellished by the illuminated pumpkins on the window sills, masses of red and black candles, black cats, bats, witches on broomsticks, grinning tarantulas in gossamer webs and a dozen small luminous skeletons.

  The party food, all from Granny’s recipes, was piled high on every available surface, decorated by tiny ghosts and ghouls; Clyde’s wine bottle mountain was glittering on the sideboard alongside a mass of mismatched glasses; the apple-bobbing tubs were set up on protective bin liners; Richard and Judy were perched on the back of the sofa purring in anticipation; and Mott the Hoople wavered sexily from the stereo.

  Perfect.

  The only flies in the festive ointment were of course the God-awful mess in the kitchen, with Lav and Lob in the middle of it twitteringly helping themselves to an early pint of cowslip and pea to wash down their sandwiches, and Lulu’s unexplained gloomy mood.

  When Mitzi had arrived home, Lu had made the complimentary coiffure remarks, cast evil-eyed glances at the Bandings, stormed upstairs and not yet re-emerged.

  Putting it down to Lulu still feeling raw over the end of her relationship with Niall on a universal party night, Mitzi sighed. She’d assumed that once the girls had grown up the worrying would stop. Hah! She worried constantly about both of them: Lu because she was so flaky about men and everything else, and Doll because she wasn’t.

  Niall had broken Lu’s heart and Brett would probably bore Doll to death. Men! Huh – who needed them?

  Mitzi stopped dead in the hall. Blimey. She’d been using the ‘who needs men’ mantra for years – but suddenly it no longer rang true. She didn’t need Lance any more, of course. She enjoyed his friendship and would never wish him any ill, but there was no need. However, the tall, dark, dangerous man she’d bumped into on the high street was another matter altogether.

  He’d pressed buttons that had remained resolutely unpushed for ages. And she’d never see him again – and even if she did he’d only think of her as a sad old bat with wild hair, damp eyes, a red nose and an inability to hang on to her pumpkins.

  ‘Sod it.’

  ‘Language, Mitzi.’ Lobelia teetered from the kitchen on her way towards the downstairs lavatory. ‘You’ll have to rinse your mouth out with some of Clyde’s cowslip. Very tasty … ooh, have you got two staircases?’

  ‘Just one,’ Mitzi steered Lob carefully towards the cloakroom. ‘And I really think you shouldn’t drink any more.’

  ‘I’ll be fine when I have a – a—’ Lobelia hiccuped violently ‘—oh, pardon me. No, I’ll feel much better when we – hic – start on the food. No, no I’ll be – hic – fine now, thank you – oops—’

  ‘Don’t lock the door,’ Mitzi warned. ‘And do you want me to hold your witches’ hat?’

  ‘No thank you.’ Lob attempted to uncross her eyes. ‘It’s superglued to the – hic – cycle helmet and you know we must wear that at all times – whoops!’

  The lavatory door closed with a resounding crash. Mitzi winced. Lulu really should have had enough sense to hide Clyde’s booze.

  The doorbell rang merrily.

  ‘You get it – hic! – oh crikey! There goes my sock!’ Lob called happily from behind the door. ‘I’ll be – whoooo – quite all right, dear …’

  Lavender, tripping over her drooping skirts, beat Mitzi to the door by a nanosecond.

  ‘Come along in,’ she breathed effusively, reeling slightly with her hat dipping towards her nose. ‘Lovely to see you all! The more the merrier!’

  Jesus.

  Mitzi stared in horror as half a dozen of the neighbourhood yobs, baseball capped and hoodied to the eyeballs, trooped through the hall and into the living room.

  ‘Cool,’ the nearest one nodded to her. ‘We was only going to ask for a fiver to stop us chucking eggs at yer door. This is wicked.’

  They’d immediately homed in on Clyde’s bottles, stuffing handfuls of All Hallows Mallows into their pockets, lighting cigarettes and jerking rhythmically to Mott the Hoople in the fire glow.

  ‘No, sorry,’ Mitzi started, just as the bell rang again. ‘Oh, hell! Look! Don’t touch anything! I’ll be back in a minute and—’ she flew out into the hall. ‘Lav! Leave the door! Leave it! Oh, bugger!’

  Too late. Lavender was ushering another batch of trick or treaters into the hall.

  From behind the closed cloakroom door Lobelia was singing ‘After the Goldrush’.

  ‘We let ourselves in through the back,’ Flo announced, emerging from the kitchen with Clyde in tow like the best Whitehall farcical entrance. ‘Goodness, what a racket! We thought we’d be the first. And you look lovely. Black suits everyone – nice trousers. Bit tight maybe … Pauline’s worked miracles with your hair, though. Through here, is it?’

  The next half an hour passed in a blur. There seemed to be a constant stream of people marching into the living room, half of whom Mitzi couldn’t remember inviting. Trilby Man and a clutch of the Baby Boomers, Biff and Hedley Pippin, Herbi
e and all the old bags from Patsy’s Pantry joined her friends from the village and the bank, the neighbours and the trick or treaters munching away at Granny’s nibbles and knocking back Clyde’s booze. Mott the Hoople’s Ian Hunter was now at full husky volume. There was some dancing going on by the fireplace, and a couple she didn’t recognise were struggling happily on the sofa. Lob was still in the downstairs loo singing ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ with the queue outside cheerfully joining in on the chorus, and Lulu remained in her bedroom.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Doll’s eyes opened saucer wide as she unlocked the front door and almost crashed into Mitzi who was carrying two full plates from the kitchen. ‘Have I come to the right party? And wow, Mum, you look fab.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Mitzi thrust the plates at her daughter. ‘It’s got a bit out of control but so far everyone seems to be having a good time. Clyde’s booze can always be relied on to loosen inhibitions.’

  ‘What are these?’ Doll peered at the plates. ‘They don’t look like cheese and pineapple to me.’

  ‘Er – no, I think those are Autumnal Love-Nuts. And those are definitely Pumpkin Passions. And the little green ones are – um – oh yes, Stars of Venus – just lettuce and herbs and stuff, oh and celery and something else – avocado and liquorice I think. All good clean fun according to Granny and – good God, I didn’t know Brett was coming. Hello, love, how – er – wonderful to see you here.’

  Brett smiled and nodded. ‘Hello, Mrs B. You look really different. Nice different, of course …’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Mitzi smiled warmly at Brett. She really wished he’d call her Mitzi or Ma or something. But she’d been ‘Mrs B’ to him ever since he and Doll were at school together and it was probably far too late to change now. ‘Did you walk?’

  ‘No, I drove. I won’t be drinking because I’ve got to be at work early. So Doll can.’ He hugged Doll with enthusiasm and scant regard for the piled plates. ‘I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. Not even for a couple of hours. Ooh, nice, cheese and pineapple.’