Joel snorted. Mitzi bit her lip.
‘What about this for your Elsie?’ Big Ida had reached across again and picked up the purple bottle of Primitive Passion, managing to jab one of the Ladies League of Light in the eye with her elbow at the same time. ‘Oops, sorry Mrs Webb. Were you after this too? Have to be a bit quicker’n that, duck. What do you reckon, Gwyneth? Would Elsie like it?’
Gwyneth, her head on one side like a chunky sparrow, gave it some consideration. ‘Hmmm, maybe. But our Elsie doesn’t drink much now, does she? Not after that to-do with Clyde Spraggs’s rhubarb and cowslip.’
‘It ain’t for drinking, Gwyneth,’ Big Ida said scornfully, brandishing the purple bottle tantalisingly in front of Mrs Webb’s watering eyes. ‘It’s for washing in.’
‘It’s not for washing in as such,’ Mitzi intervened, valiantly trying to ignore Joel’s hardly suppressed laughter. ‘More for bathing.’
‘Dat rules out your Eldie, den,’ Mrs Webb snuffled, still dabbing at her eyes. ‘She don’t neber take all her clodes off at one go. Undlike some I could mention.’
Like a massive whirling dervish, Big Ida executed a neat groin thrust. Despite Gwyneth’s doubts, the kick-boxing classes seemed to be paying off. Mrs Webb collapsed with a gentle sigh. Another member of the Ladies League of Light started going through her handbag.
‘There,’ Big Ida rubbed her hands together, paying for the Primitive Passion with a flourish, and powering her way towards White Elephant. ‘That’ll teach ’er not to cast aspirations.’
‘Jesus,’ Joel choked. ‘Who writes their scripts? This is brilliant, Mitzi. Just brilliant.’
‘We aim to please.’ Mitzi wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. ‘Oh, dear, poor Miss Higham’s got them now.’
Miss Higham, next door to Mitzi on White Elephant, shot her a desperate glance across the trestles as Gwyneth and Big Ida started rummaging through her wares.
‘You still walking out with that Aubrey, young Joyce?’ Gwyneth asked chattily.
Miss Higham, all of sixty and blushing scarlet, nodded.
‘Thought so. Her Aubrey,’ Gwyneth loudly informed Big Ida, ‘is in retail in Winterbrook.’
‘Ah, it shows.’ Big Ida studied Miss Higham’s handwritten White Elephant banner which announced GIFTS FOR ALL THE FAMILY: PRETTY SAUCERS. SEASONAL FLOWER POTS. FESTIVE ROBINS GOING CHEAP. ‘What’s a festive robin?’
Miss Higham pointed to a heap of rotund brown things in a shoe box.
‘I think you’ll find they’re just socks, Joyce,’ Gywneth began kindly. ‘Brown socks rolled into balls. Not robins. Can’t see what’s festive about old pairs of socks with – well – stuff stuck on ’em.’
‘They’re Christmas robins,’ Miss Higham said archly, lifting one carefully from its confines. ‘Handmade. I sewed all the little breasts on myself.’
Big Ida trumpeted with laughter and Mitzi knew she had to intervene before it ended in bloodshed. Not daring to meet Joel’s eyes in case she disgraced herself, she pushed her way across to White Elephant.
‘Look,’ she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone, ‘they may have started out as socks, but Joyce has worked really hard crafting them into robins. Look at the little lint breasts in – um – lipstick. And the beaks in – er – plastic, and their dear little pipe-cleaner legs.’
‘Oh, give us half a dozen then,’ Big Ida shrugged. ‘They’ll do for the neighbours’ kiddies. Not that I’m convinced, mind. They still looks like socks to me.’
‘But not to a child’s imagination,’ Mitzi said firmly. ‘I might even buy some myself.’
Robins and cash rapidly changed hands and Mitzi scuttled back to Bath and Beauty.
‘Oh, nice,’ Joel said. ‘Socks. Are they for me? A boy can never have too many socks – especially for Christmas.’
Mitzi punched him happily, pushed the festive robins into her pocket, and heaved a sigh of relief as Gwyneth, Big Ida and The Ladies League of Light trundled off in the direction of Nearly New.
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ Joel asked in a brief lull. ‘Or something stronger?’
‘Oh, yes – thank you. A litre of Merlot would go down a treat,’ Mitzi sighed, ‘but as the village hall doesn’t have a liquor licence – yet – tea will have to do. Two sugars please. And we could have had the Green Gowns with them but Tarnia’s fed them to her cronies.’
‘Shame,’ Joel said cheerfully. ‘You’ll have to make some more just for me. I’ll see if they’ve got some biscuits for dunking as a poor substitute, shall I?’
She watched him push his way through the crowd, luxuriating in the tingle. She loved him. It was foolish but irrevocable. And maybe, after Tarnia’s warnings, she should have done without the sugars and definitely the biscuits, but what the heck.
A sudden rush of Bath and Beauty customers meant she had no time to ponder on it. She’d have to save it for later. Maybe the South Beach Diet, whatever it entailed, might be a good idea after all.
‘Mitzi!’ Tarnia thrust her way through the throng and screeched to a halt in front of the stall. Her face, if it hadn’t been set in stone, would have been contorted. As it was, her eyebrows had disappeared into her spiky fringe and her mouth was slashed into a rigid rectangle like a post box.
‘My people,’ she waved an agitated hand towards the huddle in front of the stage, ‘have just been abused by some of your – your riff-raff!’
Mitzi groaned. Lav and Lob? Clyde pressing his home brew? Trilby Man Telling It Like It Is? Tarnia’s entire family giving away the dreadful secrets of her origins? There were so many options.
‘I was giving them a swiftie tour of the hall,’ Tarnia continued, ‘as you do. And they were very, very impressed – so we went backstage to see what improvements had been made in the audio-visuals, and we were just having a cup of coffee and some of your nibbly cakes – those little green ones were so delicious they ate all of them and were asking for the recipe – and then … and then …’
Dear oh dear, Mitzi thought. ‘And then what, Tarnia? Don’t tell me old Baden Wiggins flashed his long johns at them? You know what he’s like. He’s been doing it all his life. Everyone just laughs – although I suppose it could be a bit unnerving for newcomers—’
‘It was far, far worse than Baden Wiggins!’ Tarnia spat. ‘It was people … people we went to school with – June and Sally and that funny Ronald who did embroidery a lot – with no clothes on! Not a stitch! And they were singing! Loudly! Some of the most disgusting lyrics I’ve ever heard in my life! My people were horrified. Horrified! I’m afraid I can’t allow you to use the hall any more! This is too much!’
Mitzi closed her eyes. Bugger and sod. Why on earth couldn’t Trilby Man have held off on the Hair rehearsals until after the Fayre? If Tarnia’s High and Mighties were mortally offended it would certainly sound the death knell for The Gong and the village hall.
With no warning, Mitzi suddenly felt herself lifted from her feet. A pair of strong hands clasped her waist, a waft of clean skin and lemon shampoo and warm maleness enveloped her, and a pair of firm lips were kissing her very thoroughly indeed.
Out of practice and completely bowled over, Mitzi only hesitated for a split second, then she kissed him back. It was absolutely blissful. The tingle travelled from her toes to her head in a star-spangled fizz. On and on and on it went. The village hall and Tarnia and the roar of the crowd simply melted away.
‘Oh …’ she gulped giddily when the kissing had stopped and Joel had returned her feet to the ground. ‘Oh …’
Tarnia, it seemed, wasn’t even capable of an ‘oh’. Her face was a study of shock and awe.
‘Hello,’ Joel grinned the melt-down grin. ‘I’m Joel Earnshaw. Mitzi’s lover. And you must be Mrs Snepps. How nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.’
Still dizzy, Mitzi blinked. He’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him. At last. And it had been the best ever kiss in the history of kissing. A million, zillion times bette
r than Lance. Ooooh.
Tarnia, still stunned, mouthed wordlessly. It was a wonderful moment.
‘Er …’ Tarnia eventually gurgled, gazing at Joel with ill-disguised lust. ‘I haven’t heard anything about you at all. But it’s – er nice to meet you too.’ She nodded towards Mitzi, admiration battling with a million questions in her eyes. ‘What were we talking about before … before …?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Mitzi whispered. Her lips seemed to have been collagened. They felt as though they belonged to someone else. ‘Um – it seems to have gone right out of my head.’
Tarnia, still looking unbelieving, did the post-box thing with her mouth again. ‘Mine too. Er – you must both come to supper one evening. Soon. Very soon … Mitzi, I’ll ring you.’
Joel chuckled as she teetered away from Bath and Beauty. ‘I overhead what she was saying about withdrawing her support. One of the things we were taught at college to get you out of a tight dentistry spot – always try to avert a disaster by causing a diversion.’
‘Some diversion,’ Mitzi said softly.
‘But okay?’
‘Bloody amazingly okay.’ she tried to smile but her lips were still tingling. ‘And it worked. Shame it wasn’t for real.’
‘What?’ Joel leaned closer, the lights from the village hall dancing sexily from the diamond ear-stud. ‘That kiss was as real as it gets for me. And about sodding time. Or do you mean about me being your lover? Well – we could always – bloody hell! Look at that!’
Mitzi, still floating, looked.
There was a huge schemozzle over by the stage. Tarnia and her High and Mighties were dancing around hugging and kissing and emitting little shrieks at one another. Trilby Man, the Bandings, Gwyneth and Big Ida, and The Ladies League of Light all seemed to be egging them on. Everyone else was laughing.
‘Oh dear,’ Mitzi said faintly. ‘How very fortuitous. Another diversion.’ Tarnia and her Great and Good entourage, now looked as if they were taking part in the love-in scene from Hair.
Joel shook his head. ‘What the hell did you give them to eat? Sexed-up cookies?’
‘Um – not quite. I mean, I knew the Green Gowns were supposed to have – er – aphrodisiac properties. I think I may have used a touch too much saffron …’
‘Maybe,’ Joel tried to keep a straight face. ‘That’d account for the group touchy-feely bit – but why are they all slowly turning bright green?’
Chapter Nineteen
‘Then what happened?’ Biff Pippin, filling the charity shop window with glittery evening dresses in Christmassy colours, paused in draping them ham-fistedly over some Barbara Goalen-thin headless mannequins. ‘Did Tarnia have your Ma’s guts for garters?’
‘No way.’ Lu posed in front of the cheval mirror admiring herself in a 1920s cocktail frock while being buffeted by various elderly people who, having collected their pensions from the Winterbrook post office next door, were searching for warm jumpers without too much moth. ‘Mum was frantic that Tarnia would go all snippy and say they couldn’t use the hall any more. But she didn’t. She laughed about it, and her bigwigs all seemed to think it was the best fun they’d had in ages, and apparently none of them could remember a thing about the Hair rehearsal.’
‘There’s a mercy,’ Biff mumbled through a mouthful of pins. ‘Oooh, look at that fog out there. Getting thicker by the minute. A real pea-souper. Go on then – so Tarnia’s still okay about the Hazy Hassocks hall is she?’
‘Yeah. Tarnia actually rang Mum after the Fayre and asked for the recipe for the Green Gowns, without the face-paint effect of course, and some of the Bigwigs want Mum’s recipes too for their parties oh and Tarnia asked Mum loads of questions about Joel, then she invited them both to go to dinner or something. I think Mum said it would all have to be after Christmas.’
‘And did they all stay – er – amorous and green for long?’
‘It wore off after a couple of hours, Tarnia said. Apparently all her cronies thought it was dead funny. You know what rich people are like – always chasing new experiences. I reckon Mum might have struck gold.’
Hedley bustled through from the back of the shop carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. He lifted it to head height as he negotiated the jumper-searching pensioners. ‘Fog’s getting thicker. Bit of a pea-souper if you ask me. Ah – that frock suits you, young Lu. Having it for the wedding are you?’
‘I wish. Nah – my bridesmaid’s dress is really normal and girlie – not bad though, considering. Actually I was wondering how much you were going to ask for this. Shay’s taking me out tonight and I’d really like to wear something new – well, newish.’
‘A fiver,’ Hedley said.
‘Done. Er – can you take it out of my wages, please? Only not this week because I’ll need all my cash for going Dutch tonight and—’
‘Have the frock on us,’ Hedley beamed. ‘You deserve it after that puppy-farming business, and me and Biff are so pleased that you’re happy with Shay.’
‘Thank you!’ Lu pirouetted across the crowded shop and kissed Hedley’s cheek. ‘You are the nicest man in the whole world – after Shay of course.’
‘Of course. And does this mean there’s going to be a second wedding for your mum to cope with in the very near future?’
‘Crikey – I hope not! Me and Shay are still doing the hearts and flowers falling in love bit. We don’t want to spoil it with mediocrities like mortgages and weddings and – dear God – babies. Mind you, Mum might be a different matter.’
‘Your mother? Remarrying?’ Hedley coughed on his digestive. ‘Well I never! You kept that quiet.’
Lu laughed. ‘So did she! She doesn’t realise it yet, but me and Doll are very hopeful. We think Joel would be perfect for her, and they’re batty about each other.’
‘Don’t see the problem then,’ Hedley caught the wayward dunked digestive with consummate skill. ‘What’s stopping ’em?’
‘Oh, stuff like she thinks she’s too old for him. His first wife didn’t want kids and Mum reckons that he probably does and that she can’t and—’
‘Lot of bollocks,’ Hedley snorted. ‘Who needs kids when they can have animals? Me and Biff have been more than happy with our menagerie, haven’t we, pet?’
Biff nodded vigorously. Pins ricocheted everywhere and two of the headless mannequins tumbled over. ‘Young Mitzi is a fine-looking woman. And intelligent and amusing and – um – well, a damn good catch for anyone. And I’d heard from Big Ida and Gwyneth and loads of other people that your mum and the young dentist were canoodling at the Fayre. He gave her a right old going over, if you gets my drift.’
‘Yuk!’ Lulu pulled a face. ‘Pul-ease!’
‘Love and sex isn’t just for them under thirty, young lady,’ Hedley said, looking beadily at Biff. ‘Where there’s life there’s hope.’
‘Well I think it’s dead romantic,’ Tammy said, leaning her elbows on the window table in Patsy’s Pantry. ‘Joel’s sex on a stick – for the crumblies, I mean. I wish my mum would get her hands on someone like him.’
‘Your mum’s been happily married to your dad for twenty-five years,’ Viv snapped.
‘Exactly,’ Tammy sighed. ‘Bor-ing.’
Doll, who still couldn’t face tea or coffee, joined in the laughter and tried to look enthusiastic about her lukewarm drinking chocolate. She felt generally great. There was still no morning sickness, no peculiar cravings, but there was something about tea and coffee that made her shudder. And the hot flushes were so embarrassing. She kept getting really weird looks, especially on cold, damp, densely foggy days like today when she had to rush out of the surgery into the high street and unbutton her uniform.
‘Only three weeks to go ’til the wedding,’ Tammy said enviously. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘Not at all. Well, yes a bit. About forgetting Brett’s middle names or falling off my shoes going up the aisle or something like that. Not about the commitment.’
‘And are we having a hen night?’ V
iv stared at her multiple reflections in Patsy’s Pantry’s selection of mirror tiles and patted a stray hair into place.
‘Oh, goodness – maybe just a drink in The Faery Glen or something. As the wedding’s so low key I can’t see the point of going over the top.’
Tammy and Viv, who had obviously been looking forward to outrageous costumes, tequila slammers, male strippers and lashings of baby oil, looked rather miffed.
‘Lunch!’ Mrs Elkins bustled up to their table pushing a trolley loaded with gooey goodies. She glared at Doll. ‘Surprised to see you in here eating my pastries. I thought you’d be out there touting your mother’s so-called home-baking.’
‘She’s managing that fine all on her own,’ Doll said happily. ‘And that’s all it is, you know. Old-fashioned country cooking. It’s not magic. It’s not witchcraft. And some of the stuff that has happened is because she’s only a beginner and may have overused some of the herbs. That’s all.’
‘So you say,’ Mrs Elkins growled. ‘There’s plenty of others in Hazy Hassocks that think your mother has stumbled on the elixir of youth and happy pills all rolled into one. They think she can make things happen with her cooking by adding – well – stuff. They can’t wait to get their hands on her buns. She’s no better than them drug dealers what hang around the Bath Road Estate. Hardened criminals most of ’em.’
Doll screamed with laughter. ‘Oh, come on! The kids selling cannabis on Bath Road are mostly from the public school in Winterbrook – that’s about as desperate as it gets. My mum isn’t hanging out on street corners promising chemical rushes to the innocents – and she’ll never be a threat to your business, believe me. I’ve tasted her stuff. It’s not a patch on yours.’
Mrs Elkins looked mollified. ‘Well that’s as maybe – it’s nice of you to say so … now who’s the double Danish?’
‘Me, please,’ Doll said. ‘I’m eating as much as possible while I can.’
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