by Ian Edwards
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t see you.’
‘Yes, sorry about that,’ the voice apologised. ‘How can I help you?’
As far as Harry could tell, the voice appeared to be coming from an open doorway behind the counter. Fixating on the ancient till on the desk, rather than speak to an empty space, Harry said, ‘I’d like to buy a pair of man’s pyjamas, please.’
Harry stood for several seconds before a voice replied. ‘Third pile to your left, about half way down.’
Harry turned and moved along to the third pile of clothes.
‘Sorry, I meant my left.’
Harry turned around and started going through the assorted pile of clothes. After a little while he came across a pair of neatly folded white cotton pyjamas. He slid them out from the pile.
‘Are they OK?’ the voice asked.
‘Do you have them in extra-large?’ Harry asked.
‘That’s the only size we have, I’m afraid.’
Harry looked at the label. An embroidered XL confirmed that they were in fact what he was looking for.
‘How much do I owe you?’ He asked, placing the pyjamas on the counter.
‘Ten pounds.’
Harry peeled a £10 note out of his wallet.
‘You’re not local are you?’ The voice asked.
‘No. I’m down for the Fair.’
‘In that case it’s fifteen pounds.’
Harry thought back to the previous evening, and whilst he would not normally compromise his principles and allow himself to be exploited in the marketplace, the thought of James in his birthday suit convinced him that fifteen pounds was still money well spent. He placed the money on the counter and squeezed the pyjamas into the carrier bag alongside Old Man Ernie.
‘You can leave the little guy.’
‘Sorry?’ Harry said, confused.
‘The little guy in the bag. You can leave him if you like.’ The voice explained.
‘No. Sorry, the little guy stays with me,’ Harry said, whilst clutching the carrier bag to his chest.
‘Oh, OK. Suit yourself. Have a good day.’
Harry glanced once more at the till, and made his way quickly out of the shop.
*
Amy stood outside the Clothes Coven. She assumed that this was the place Frances had suggested, although looking at the window display she thought she’d be lucky to find something that post-dated the VE day celebrations.
As she stepped towards the door, it opened and an elderly man in a dishevelled suit emerged. He was holding a carrier bag to his chest and what looked like a doll’s head poking out of the top. He smiled at her and held the door open, allowing her to enter the shop. Nodding her thanks Amy entered the shop.
*
Harry had one more stop to make. Yesterday he had spotted a couple of old ventriloquist dummies in The Magic Wand. He had dropped his own dummy, Old Man Ernie, on the floor a couple of days ago and now his right leg kept falling off. Alan had suggested he keep it as part of the act and had even devised a couple of simple gags about coming home from the pub legless. However, Harry had grown attached to his dummy, treating it almost like a child or a pet, and he felt a compulsion to fix it at all costs.
As he approached The Magic Wand, Harry glanced at the sign. It really did look like Gandalf was fiddling with himself. Shaking his head, he opened the door and made his way down the aisle to where he knew the dummies were, sitting next to a box of what appeared to be several styles of comedy Groucho glasses, with fake noses and hairy eyebrows. Harry thought novelty items such as these were better suited to joke shops rather than magic shops, but there was obviously a market for them.
Harry placed his plastic bag on the floor as he studied the two dummies, one male the other female. They looked to Harry like an old married couple, and he momentarily wondered whether he should split them up. Reaching over he picked up the male doll, examining its legs.
‘Looking for a dummy, is it?’ Merlin asked from behind the counter.
Harry turned and smiled at the man. ‘I have a dummy, thanks,’ he said, nodding to the bag on the floor. He picked it up and carried it, along with the male dummy to the counter. ‘In fact, I’m just looking to buy the leg.’
‘Leg? What do you want with just a leg?’
‘Well, the thing is, Ernie, my dummy, his right leg keeps falling off and I thought I could replace it. With this one.’ Harry held the dummy out to Merlin.
Instead of taking the proffered dummy, Merlin took a step back. ‘There’s a strange aura about you. Blue it is, like the sea.’
‘Yes, but can I buy the leg?’ Harry wasn’t in the mood for any more of Merlin’s nonsense. The man was clearly mad. Or a charlatan. Or perhaps both. In any case, Harry didn’t want to be hanging around to find out.
‘The leg you say?’ Merlin replied at last, finally taking the dummy from Harry. ‘Why the leg?’
Harry sighed. ‘I told you, my dummy,’ he picked up his bag and retrieved Old Man Ernie, ‘has a dodgy leg. It keeps falling off.’ As if to emphasise the point, Ernie’s leg slipped from its right trouser leg and on to the floor. ‘See?’
‘And you want to replace it?’
‘Yes, please,’ Harry confirmed.
‘With the right leg of this dummy?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Well, you can’t. You’ll have to buy the whole thing. Fifteen pounds.’
‘Can’t I just give you a tenner for the leg?’ Harry thought this was a fair deal.
‘Fifteen pounds,’ Merlin repeated. ‘For the dummy.’
Harry sighed. This was going nowhere. He was just about to barter Merlin down a couple of pounds when the door tinkled indicating someone had entered the shop.
Merlin tore his gaze from Harry and his pleading to the newcomer. ‘Mrs Prowse, lovely to see you. They’re over there,’ he pointed to the aisle where Harry had found the dummies.
‘Thank you, Merlin,’ Mrs Prowse replied and set off in search of her items. On finding them, she marched straight to the counter.
‘Sorry, Mrs Prowse, I’ll just finish with this gentleman and I’ll be right with you. Now, where were we?’
‘I wanted to buy the leg for a tenner,’ Harry repeated.
‘Just a leg, is it? This man wants to just buy the leg, Mrs Prowse. Would you believe it?’
Mrs Prowse said that she didn’t. She looked from Harry to Old Man Ernie and let out a small yelp. Pointing a finger at Harry, she said, ‘My husband. What is he doing with my husband?’
Merlin took a closer look at Harry, then Ernie. ‘Alf?’ was all he could say.
‘Why have you got a dummy made up to look like Alf?’ Mrs Prowse asked.
‘And he wants to buy a leg, too,’ Merlin confirmed. ‘Strange aura about him. I don’t like it.’
Harry had no idea what was going on. ‘Look, I just want to buy this leg,’ he pointed at the dummy, now laying on the counter.
‘What do you want a leg for?’ Mrs Prowse asked.
‘This one’s falling off, I want to replace it,’ Harry explained yet again.
‘What will you do to it?’ Mrs Prowse again.
‘I’ll put a couple of pins in it, and…’
‘Pins? Pins in his leg, is it? It’s witchcraft, that’s what it is,’ Merlin shouted. Mrs Prowse crossed herself as though to ward off the devil.
‘Sorry, I really have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Harry said. ‘I just want to buy the leg. No, sorry, I’ll take the whole bloody dummy. Here…’ he reached into his pocket and took out fifteen pounds.
‘I don’t like this at all,’ Mrs Prowse said.
‘Nor do I,’ Merlin agreed.
‘Can I have that dummy, please,’ Harry held out his money.
‘Not for witchcraft, is it?’ Merlin said, before snatching the money.
‘Of course it’s not for witchcraft. I’m a ventriloquist…sort of. I have an act. I make him talk…’
‘Talk?’ Merlin fr
owned.
Harry had just about enough of this. ‘Yes, ventriloquist dummy. That’s what this is. You put your hand up them and make them talk. Without moving your lips.
‘I can see your lips move,’ Mrs Prowse pointed out.
‘That’s because I’m not doing it now. Look, Can I PLEASE just take the dummy and get on my way?’
‘Why yes, of course,’ Merlin said eventually. ‘You should have just said so. Would you like a carrier bag?’
‘No thanks, I have one here,’ he held up his bag, placed Ernie and his new dummy inside, on top of the pyjamas and made to leave the shop. As he did so, he caught sight of Mrs Prowse’s right hand, clutching a pair of Groucho glasses. Against all his better instincts, Harry had to ask. ‘Mrs Prowse,’ he said. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you want with a Groucho glasses?’
‘They’re for the Fair, obviously,’ she replied.
‘Oh, OK.’ Harry knew better than to enquire further.
‘It goes back hundreds of years,’ Merlin added, stopping Harry in his tracks. ‘You see in those days, women were often found to be witches,’ he looked at Mrs Prowse, who nodded in agreement. ‘So, the women took to dressing up as men to avoid being burned at the stake.’
‘Or drowned,’ Mrs Prowse added.
‘Yes, or drowned. You see, if you put a woman in a sack with heavy stones and threw it in the river, you could tell if she was a witch or not.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Harry couldn’t believe his ears.
‘Yes. If she floated, she was a witch, and the villagers burned her.’
‘But if she drowned?’ Harry asked.
‘If she drowned, she was pure of spirit,’ Merlin said. ‘Obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Harry agreed, not understanding in the slightest. ‘So, what happened?’
‘Well, eventually, the villagers realised they were running out of women and decided the best thing to do was stop drowning them in the river.’
‘Presumably only the purest of spirit drowned?’ Harry asked.
‘Yes. Every last one,’ Merlin confirmed.
‘So no witches were found using the river method?’ Harry grinned.
‘Of course witches were found. But not by throwing them in the river.’
‘So how were the witches found?’
‘That was the easy part. The villagers knew who the witches were as they all dressed like men.’
Harry let out an involuntary giggle. ‘And what happened to them?’
‘They were burned, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Harry shook his head.
‘Now, every year, the women folk buy these glasses to wear at the Fair. At the end of the festivities, they throw them on to the fire as a symbolic gesture to the past.’
‘That sounds completely normal,’ Harry said and turned to leave the shop.
‘Will you be wanting any glasses for your female friends?’ Merlin called out.
‘No thanks,’ Harry replied. ‘But thanks for the dummy,’ he held up his plastic bag made his way out of the shop and onto the High Street.
*
You know what they say about a boiling kettle?’ Frankie said.
Alan shrugged. ‘Don’t put your hand in it to test the temperature?’
Frankie laughed. ‘If you stare at it, it won’t boil. It’s like your phone. Staring at it is not going to make it ring.’
Alan and Frankie sat at a table in the Soiled Cassock which provided a view of the High Street, although Alan had hardly noticed. His attention dominated by the silent mobile phone on the table in front of him.
‘You’d have thought she would have called back by now, it’s been hours.’
‘You heard what the woman in the tea room said. The signal’s crap round here.’ Frankie reassured him. ‘She’s probably having a sauna or eating water cress. The last thing she’ll want is you calling her and disrupting the peace and quiet.’
Alan nodded. ‘Probably,’ he said unconvincingly, and turned to look across the bar where James was passing between tables, carrying a pint of beer in each hand.
‘Here you go,’ James said, placing the drinks on the table.
‘What’s this?’ Alan asked, gesturing at the still brown fluid in the glass.
‘The local brew. “Imps Drool.” They make it here, in the cellar.’ James explained, taking a sip.
‘And?’
James waited a moment, letting the flavours settle around his taste buds. ‘Awful. It tastes like feet.’ He took another gulp, ‘Actually, I think it’s a rather acquired taste.’
Alan reached for his glass as his mobile started vibrating and buzzing. He snatched it up. ‘Rosie,’ He barked down the phone.
Frankie and James watched as Alan listened to the caller.
‘OK?’ he said nodding.
‘What’s happening?’ James asked.
Alan put his finger to his lips while listening intently to the call.
James turned to the empty seat where he assumed Frankie was sitting. ‘This doesn’t sound good.’ He leaned across the table and asked, ’Has she found the pens?’
Alan again gestured for silence, stood up and stepped back from the table, his brow furrowed.
‘What’s going on? Has she found Amy?’ James mouthed.
Alan shook his head and said, ‘No thanks,’ and ended the call.
‘Well what’s happening? Is Rosie OK? Has she found Amy?’ the questions tumbling from James mouth.
‘What’s going on son?’ Frankie asked.
Alan frowned. ‘Bloody PPI.’
*
Frances flashed her headlights when she saw Amy walk into the small staff car park alongside the Sanctuary. Amy gave her a wave and strode across the car park. Frances opened the passenger door and Amy climbed into the Range Rover, shutting the door behind her.
‘I’m not late am I?’ She asked, conscious that Frances was staring at her.
‘What are you wearing?’ Frances asked. ‘You like one of the Beverley Sisters.’
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, before your time. You look like you’ve stepped out of 1945,’ Frances told her.
Amy looked down at her dress. ’You said to get something from the clothes shop. This was all they had in my size.’
‘In any event, you look very smart dear,’ Frances said, patting her shoulder and starting the engine.
Amy waited until Frances had left the car park before asking; ‘So what’s this meeting about?’
‘Local issues predominantly. Despite being a very small and traditional community, they have a keen interest in politics and how it affects them. I’d be interested in getting your thoughts on the topics.’ She turned and smiled. ‘You always had a very sharp political mind.’
Amy smiled back. ‘That was a long time ago.’
*
A few minutes later, the Range Rover pulled into the village hall car park. Frances swung into a gap that was intended for two normal sized cars and switched the engine off. ‘Right here we go,’ she reached behind her and took a briefcase from the back seat.
Amy followed Frances across the now full car park and into the hall which, unlike her previous visit, was now full of chairs, all of which were facing the small stage. Frances directed Amy to the only available chairs, situated in the front row, directly in front of the stage.
No sooner had Amy and Frances taken their seats than Lancelot D’eath appeared, took the stage and stepped up to the lectern. The assembled crowd fell silent.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’d like to introduce Ms Frances Shilling, who will present her vision for the future of Maiden’s Dribble.’
Frances gave Amy a brief smile and stepped up onto the stage, acknowledging D’eath as she passed him. She accepted the polite applause, raising her arm, then motioned for silence.
’Ladies and gentlemen, whilst you may know me as “that woman from the Sanctuary,”’ she paused waiting for laughter, when none was forthcoming she conti
nued. ‘But I am first and foremost a citizen of Maiden’s Dribble, and it is in that capacity I address you tonight.’
Amy had seen Frances speak many times during her university days. Frances would always start addressing an audience by telling them that she was “one of them” and then reveal her plans which, in Amy’s experience, were normally slightly eccentric, or as James used to describe them, “totally bonkers.”
Frances continued. ‘We are surrounded by uncertainty. At home and throughout the world.’
Amy looked around the hall. All eyes were on Frances, the audience were hanging on her every word. And Amy knew that Frances was loving it.
‘Independence,’ Frances shouted.
The word caught Amy’s attention. What did she just say?
‘I am convinced that the only safe future for the community of Maiden’s Dribble is as an independent state and I give you…’ Frances paused, turned to the back of the stage and nodded at D’eath, who had suddenly appeared. He pulled a cord hanging down in front of him, and a pair of curtains swept open, revealing a slogan which ran the width of the hall;
MAIDEN’S DRIBBLE: THE FIGHT AGAINST UK RULE AND ITS SOMEWHAT OFFHAND ATTITUDE TOWARDS THE VILLAGE.
From her vantage point Amy could see that each letter had been printed on a sheet of A3 card - probably at the Sanctuary – and stuck on the back wall.
Amy’s thoughts on the slogan were interrupted by the rest of the audience, who rose from their seats and started applauding and whistling. The wave of enthusiasm washed over Amy, who found herself standing and joining in the applause. As she clapped she caught Frances’s eye who gave her a smile.
As the applause subsided, Frances asked, ‘Any questions?’ and laughed as the entire audience put their hands up.
‘What is the legal position?’ A woman asked.
‘Thank you Mrs Hardmount, a very good question.’ Frances said. ‘There are several sub clauses to the Magna Carta, and bye-laws, which allow a settlement the size of Maiden’s Dribble to withdraw from rule of the realm and create an independent state.’
Amy frowned, “really?” she mouthed at Frances when she looked in her direction.
‘Excuse me.’ Another hand went up.
Frances looked out across the hall. ‘Mr Walthamstow-Potts. How can I help you?’