Mitzi watched as he helped himself to a handful of the Pumpkin Passions. Oh well. As he’d been behaving peculiarly ever since the Wishes Come True Pie, she assumed a bit of Pumpkin Passion wouldn’t make much difference.
She watched them force their way, still entwined, into the living room. Were they really happy now? They certainly seemed so. Was that anything at all to do with Granny Westward’s recipes? Did it matter?
The introspection was interrupted by the trick or treaters conga-ing out of the living-room door along with a few bank employees, Trilby Man and the BBC, Biff and Hedley, some of the neighbours and Lavender. The shimmying snake disappeared, high-kicking, into the kitchen.
‘Mum!’ Doll yelled from the living-room doorway. ‘Mum, they’re stoned! All of them! What the hell have you given them?’
‘Nothing – well, just the party nibbles in Granny’s book … you saw the recipes. Just herbal things, little sweetmeats, nothing toxic.’
Doll still looked shocked. ‘Don’t give me that. I’ve seen enough chemical highs in my life, and this is like the last night of Glastonbury. Are you sure you haven’t added something, well, you know?’
‘Nothing,’ Mitzi grinned. ‘Just good old-fashioned herbs. Fun, isn’t it? Oh, come on, love. Join in. Enjoy yourself. Whoops—’
The conga-snake reappeared from the kitchen and made its way up the stairs. Lobelia, hat intact but minus socks, having fought her way out of the downstairs loo, had tagged unsteadily on to the back and was kicking out of sync.
‘Get out!!!!!’ Lulu’s voice screamed from her bedroom. ‘Bugger off! All of you! Mum, what the hell is going on down there?’
‘Just what I said,’ Doll muttered. ‘And why isn’t Lu down here?’
‘She’s – um – still getting ready I think. Oh, that’s a good idea, Brett. Give Doll something to eat to soak up Clyde’s turnip and nasturtium. What? Oh, those are the All Hallows Mallows – totally organic and chemical-free. Honest …’
There was a crash from upstairs and a lot of laughing. Mitzi, deciding to ignore it, ushered Doll and Brett into the living room. Richard and Judy scampered out and headed for the sanctuary of the kitchen and the washing basket. As she opened the door, Mitzi didn’t blame them.
The fire glow, candles and flickering pumpkins were the perfect accompaniment for Juicy Lucy’s sensuously spooky ‘Who Do You Love?’ which was now throbbing loudly from the stereo. Everyone seemed to be paired off, snuggled together, swaying.
Turning to make a comment to Doll, Mitzi blinked. She and Brett were suddenly entwined, gazing deeply into one another’s eyes.
‘Best leave ’em to it, duck,’ Flo chuckled from the depths of the sofa where she was rather surprisingly sitting on Clyde’s lap. ‘Like I said, they needs a bit of a spark. This is a really good party. Come and have a drink.’
Elbowing her way across the room and helping herself to a glass of raspberry and celery and a handful of Pumpkin Passion, Mitzi was about to join Flo and Clyde on the sofa when the doorbell rang again.
‘More bloody trick or treaters I bet,’ Clyde gruffed through his moustache which was now tinged a sort of luminous green. ‘Do you want me to sort the little buggers out?’
‘I’ll go,’ Mitzi swallowed the last large chunk of Pumpkin Passion and swigged back her glass of wine. ‘Hopefully Lav is still wreaking havoc upstairs with the conga-ers so I might be able to prevent this lot getting in.’
Crikey, she thought as she staggered out into the darkened hall, that wine is seriously strong. I feel quite woozy. I can see three front doors.
She fumbled with the door latch and eventually tugged it open a crack. ‘Go away. Please. We don’t want any more – oh!’
Dracula stood on the doorstep.
‘Let me in, Mitzi. It’s bloody freezing out here,’ Dracula lisped round some very scary fangs. ‘Oh, sod the things.’ He spat them into his hand. ‘What’s going on in there? I mean, it looked dark from outside but I thought you’d had a power cut. The wind is playing havoc with the wires up towards Winterbrook which usually means—’
Mitzi blinked at Lance. ‘Why are you dressed like Christopher Lee? It isn’t fancy dress and you weren’t invited, were you?’
‘Do I need an invite to my own home – er – ex-home?’ Lance frowned. ‘And I didn’t know you were having a party, did I? Oh yes, I vaguely remember you said you were having a little bash tonight for the neighbours, but I didn’t expect – Christ! What the hell is that? Who’s upstairs?’
‘Half of the youth of Hazy Hassocks and a few other people.’ Mitzi beamed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to beam but her mouth gave her no choice. ‘Anyway, now you’re here you might as well come in.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Lance stepped into the hall, patting his vampirish, gelled-back hair into place. ‘And – is that dope I can smell? It is, isn’t it? Mitzi, I thought we grew out of all that stuff during the early seventies? And what have you done to your hair?’
She beamed a bit more. Lance looked very handsome as Dracula. He had the right bone structure. And he’d been complimentary about her hair – well, almost. The beam upped a few degrees. ‘If you weren’t coming to my party, why are you all dressed up? It suits you, though. Bloodsucker.’
Lance looked even more shocked. ‘To be honest, Jennifer and I are on our way to Tarnia’s. She’s having a Halloween Ball. I needed my white scarf to complete the outfit. I left it here, remember? And as we were passing …’
Mitzi shrieked with laughter. It surprised her. She wasn’t sure where it had come from. She hadn’t been planning on laughing. The fact that Lance and Jennifer were going to a ball at Tarnia and Snotty Mark’s bad-taste palace was surely no laughing matter. She tried very hard to stop, but couldn’t.
‘You have been smoking, haven’t you?’ Lance narrowed his made-up eyes at her. ‘It always made you go giggly.’
It had, Mitzi admitted hazily to herself. Years and years and lifetimes ago when she and Lance had been very, very young, and hippiely in love. All that sort of recreational nonsense had come to an end when they married and got a mortgage and babies and responsible respectability, though.
‘You look nice with make-up on,’ she beamed at him. ‘Even more like David Bowie. In his Ziggy days of course. And no, I haven’t smoked anything at all. It’s probably Clyde’s wine – or maybe the Pumpkin Passions …’
‘That bloody recipe book!’ Lance was laughing too now. ‘What on earth have you concocted tonight?’
‘Masses of stuff and we’re all having a lovely time. Much better than anything Tarnia can put on, I promise. You’d find out if you stayed, of course, but no doubt the Bride of Dracula would have something to say about that, wouldn’t she? Ooooh – blimey! That was quick.’
Jennifer, white faced, black eyed, red lipped, wearing a strapless meringue wedding dress with realistic blood trickling from puncture marks in her neck and very pretty diamante-studded fangs, suddenly loomed in the doorway.
Mitzi blinked. Jennifer always gave her a shock. It was like looking at her own photograph twenty or thirty years ago. Lance had truly gone for the younger model.
‘I’m not keeping him, Jennifer,’ she smiled hugely. ‘He’s all yours.’
‘I know,’ Jennifer didn’t smile back. It might be the fangs of course. Or the fact that she was freezing in the off-the-shoulder flimsy frock. ‘I just wanted to make sure he was all right.’
The physical similarity was where it ended, Mitzi thought dizzily. Jennifer had no sense of fun whatsoever.
‘He’s fine. I’ll just go and get his scarf – the one that Flo slept with, wasn’t it? I found it in the washing basket so it might be a bit furry …’
She was still giggling as she lurched towards the hall-stand. Grabbing what she hoped was the right scarf she lurched back again. ‘There we go. Give Tarnia my love won’t you? And tell her I’ll see her soon. Have a great time. ’Bye!’
She closed the door on them and almost immediately th
e doorbell rang again.
‘Oh, sod off, Lance,’ she giggled, tugging the door open again. ‘Whatever you want this time it’s no good – just sod off and – oh!’
Mitzi tried to rein in her grin and stop her stomach looping the loop.
The tall, dark, beautifully thuggish pumpkin-rescuer with the diamond ear-stud stood on the doorstep. He looked quite apologetic. ‘Sorry, I’m not Lance – but I’m pretty good at knowing when to sod off. Shall I go now?’
Chapter Thirteen
Fighting a very out-of-character urge to drag him bodily over the doorstep, Mitzi managed to smile through her confusion. ‘No, no – please stay, of course. Come in … That is – um – you are here for the party, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘Coincidence, isn’t it? If I’d realised that you were to be my hostess when I grabbed your pumpkins – er – well, no …’
Mitzi trilled with laughter. She really wished she could stop doing it. Closing her mouth didn’t seem to help much. She took a deep breath. ‘Did – um Lu invite you?’
‘Doll, actually.’
Doll? How did Doll know him? She hadn’t mentioned it, had she? Mitzi’s eyebrows rocketed into her hairline. And there she was thinking Doll and Brett were love’s young dream and all that. Dark horses indeed.
He looked worried. ‘Didn’t she tell you? Hell – you must think I’m the worst kind of gatecrasher.’
‘Not at all – I’m sure she told me but my memory’s hopeless. Please do come in, it’s freezing out there.’
‘Thanks. Wow,’ he stepped inside and looked round the navy-blue and gold hall with appreciation. ‘Fantastic colour scheme. And—’
Anything else he may have been going to say was drowned by the conga-ers whooping and screaming down the stairs and vanishing back into the living room. A split second later, Lav and Lob, who had become detached, splintered off on their own towards the kitchen.
The pumpkin rescuer grinned. ‘This looks like my sort of party.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Joel. Joel Earnshaw.’
Joel. Nice name. Strong but unusual. It suited him. Names were so important, Mitzi thought, still slightly woozy. She’d always felt she’d never have fallen quite so much in love with Lance if he’d been a Cyril.
‘Oh, right, yes – um, I’m Mitzi Blessing.’ She shook his hand and immediately wished she hadn’t. The electricity jolted her to the soles of her feet. Sure she was blushing, she yanked her hand away. ‘Doll’s mother.’
If he said something naff like ‘never in this world!’ or ‘surely you mean sister?’ she’d hate him for ever and ever and ever.
‘That figures.’ He grinned a bit more. ‘And Mitzi? That’s another fantastic Hollywood name. Great style. Doll told me about Dolores and Tallulah. Is it a family tradition?’ Mitzi sucked in her breath and nodded, hoping that the manic laughter and inane grinning had stopped. Doll seemed to have told him an awful lot. Oh, dear. How long had this been going on? ‘Well, yes. My childhood was made hell by it so I thought I’d inflict the same suffering on my kids.’
She laughed, reasonably normally, to show she was joking and this time Joel joined in so it wasn’t too embarrassing.
Mitzi attempted to stop the laughing again. ‘No, honestly. I’m not that cruel. They were just unusual names at a time when everyone was calling their daughters Kate or Sarah or Louise. And we thought they were pretty and original. And—’ deciding that Joel was probably bored witless by the ramblings, she ushered him towards the living-room door’ —anyway, make yourself at home – oh, er on second thoughts …’
The living room looked like a Bacchanalian Revel. Brett and Doll, it appeared, were revelling more than most. Juicy Lucy, stuck on replay, was pulsating loudly to aid the gyrations.
‘Hi, Joel!’ Doll waved a bare arm from the depths of the sofa. ‘Glad you could make it. You’ve seen Brett before, of course.’
Joel nodded politely at the half-clad Brett. ‘Not quite so much of him, but yes, we’ve met. Er – hi.’
Brett raised a laconic hand in greeting. Mitzi sighed in admiration. How cool these youngsters were about relationships. Steering Joel away from the sofa, and making introductions on the way, she indicated the food and drink. ‘Just help yourself. There’s plenty of everything, and more in the kitchen.’
The conga-ers, clearly exhausted, were knocking back some of Clyde’s more dubious mixture straight from the bottle. Everyone else seemed to be laughing. Joel, having helped himself to a glass of turnip and elderflower and a plate piled with Pumpkin Passion and All Hallows Mallows, had somehow squeezed himself on to the sofa with Doll and Brett.
Before Mitzi had time to worry about a ménage à trois breaking out in the living room, one of the teenage trick or treaters grabbed her round the waist and whisked her towards the dancing bit by the fireplace.
‘C’mon, babe,’ he grinned fetchingly from beneath his baseball cap. ‘Betcha know how to salsa, doncha?’
Upstairs, Lulu put the finishing touches to her make-up. The conga-ers had disrupted the preparations somewhat, but now she was almost ready. As always, her bad temper had evaporated. Being moody took so much effort. She could never be bothered to stay grumpy for long.
So what if Shay had taken Carmel to the cinema? They’d have to come home at some point, wouldn’t they? And because Lob and Lav lived in the eighteenth century they certainly wouldn’t let him entertain ladies in his bedroom, which meant he’d be arriving home alone – and she’d be waiting. Oh, not in a stalkery sort of way. Just in a friendly, neighbourly, why-not-come-and-join-the-party sort of way – and if, just if, it happened to be before midnight then all her cooking and conniving wouldn’t have been in vain.
She swirled round in front of the mirror. Because there were mounds of clothes and junk everywhere, the view was somewhat limited, but what she could see was okay. The halter-necked top was a bit skimpy, but nicely balanced the long black-tiered skirt. And the black and silver beads and braids set her hair off a treat. Maybe she’d used a little too much kohl. Nah. No one could have too much kohl.
Right, she thought, closing the door on the devastation of her bedroom, all she had to do now was shimmy downstairs, slap on the smiley party face, trust in Granny Westward’s witchery – and it might turn out to be quite a good evening.
Jesus!
Something musical of her mother’s was rocking the house to its foundations. Ah, yes – Led Zeppelin. Mitzi really did have some peculiar tastes for an oldish person, Lu thought, wincing at the decibel level. And as she’d embraced these thundering bands for about forty years it was amazing that she wasn’t as deaf as a post.
The living room, flickering dark, boomed and thudded. Shadowy figures were just about visible. Lots of them. Skirting the more obvious danger zones, Lu helped herself to a glass of wine and a slice of something glutinously black and treacly.
Blimey! Was that her mother dancing with a lad in a baseball cap? And Doll looking almost casual in black trousers and a white shirt that surely wasn’t done up at all? And what was she doing on the sofa with Brett and – hell! Joel Earnshaw?
Downing the wine in one, and spooning the treacly goo into her mouth, Lulu circulated the party periphery. The music was pretty cool really, she thought, as her body seemed to liquefy and move with the back-beat. And the decorations were dead clever, all those candles flickering, all those little skeletons and witches and bats and spiders swirling in a gentle circle and … ooops!
‘I’m so sorry,’ she tried to disentangle herself from a group of Mitzi’s Baby Boomers. A man with a trilby hat grappled with her for far longer than she felt necessary. The silky halter top slipped to an all-time low. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
Really, Clyde’s wine must be an extra strong vintage. Usually it took more than one glass of it to make you see treble. She felt quite unsteady, and rather light-headed and all sort of warm and giggly. Not bad at all.
‘Are you okay?’ Doll, buttoning up her shirt wrongly, had staggered from
the sofa and was weaving her way towards Lulu. ‘Your eyes look funny. Have you eaten some of that p-p-p-pumpkin stuff?’
‘Not sure. Was it black and sticky?’
‘Don’t know!’ Doll shrieked with laughter, then clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry – I haven’t felt like this since – well, probably never actually … I need some water …’
Deciding that she was possibly slightly steadier on her feet than her sister, Lu grabbed Doll’s hand and led her towards the kitchen.
Richard and Judy smiled happily up from their push-me-pull-you configuration on the stand-by food table and purred in blissful harmony. They’d probably eaten the Pumpkin Passion too.
With the door closed, the roar of the party dulled to an acceptable drone.
‘So?’ Lu poured Doll a haphazard glass of water and steadied herself against the draining board. ‘What’s going on out there? With you and Brett and Mr Sexy Dentist?’
The words all seemed to slur into one another.
‘Nothing,’ Doll emptied her glass and refilled it. Watering down Granny Westward’s snackettes was clearly a good idea. She began to lose her bewildered look. ‘I asked Joel to come along because he doesn’t know anyone in Hazy Hassocks or Winterbrook and he’s a nice guy. That’s all. Why? Oh, come on! You don’t think that we’re – you know – do you?’
Using both hands on the draining board to stop the kitchen slipping away, and speaking with studied deliberation, Lulu shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what to think. You’ve changed so much recently. Did I pronounce recently properly? Oh, good … Er – no, you know, you and Brett …’
Doll blinked. ‘Yeah, well it surprised me too. And no, I don’t think it was anything to do with the Wishes Come True Pie before you start down that road – oh—’
The kitchen door flew open and Lobelia, now with flashing devil’s horns adorning her plastic witches’ hat and the cycle helmet, skipped in, beamed at them, picked up a plate of sandwiches and skipped out again.
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