Witch is How The Mirror Lied

by Adele Abbott

  “Do you mean you want to take a shower here?”

  “Would you mind? It is your fault I’m in this predicament.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Great.” She snatched the two banknotes from my hand, and then stepped into the house. “We’re about the same size. Maybe you have some clothes I could change into?”

  By the time she’d showered, and changed into my favourite summer dress, it felt like the two of us were old friends.

  “I’m sorry again for the mix-up, Maggie,” I said, as I showed her out.

  “That’s okay, but I still can’t imagine what possessed you to buy that safari suit.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You have my card, so don’t forget what I said. We’re always on the lookout for people to help with these collections. Give me a call if you have any spare time.”

  “I will. Bye, then.”

  ***

  “You took your sweet time,” Winky said when I landed back in the office. “I was beginning to think you’d been overcome by the fumes and died.”

  “I had a charity-bag mix-up situation.”

  “A what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Mrs V didn’t come looking for me, did she?”

  “She did as it happens, but don’t worry, I covered for you, just like you asked me to.”

  “Right? And how did you manage—no, never mind. It’s better I don’t know.”

  I’d just finished rearranging my paperclip drawer when Mrs V popped her head around the door. “Is it safe to come in now?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Has that cat finished with the funny turn?”

  “Err, yeah, he’s fine. It’s perfectly safe to come in.”

  Without once taking her gaze off Winky, she took a few tentative steps into the office. “This is getting beyond a joke, Jill. It’s coming to something when I daren’t come into your office for fear of being attacked.”

  “Attacked?” I glared at Winky.

  “You must have seen what he did when I tried to come in a few minutes ago?”

  “Err, yeah, but I wouldn’t call that an attack.”

  “What would you call it, then?”

  “He was only being playful.”

  “Playful? If I hadn’t got out of here when I did, he would have ripped me to shreds.”

  “Honestly, Mrs V, you really don’t have to be scared of Winky. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, boy?”

  Right on cue, he began to purr.

  “I still say there’s something seriously wrong with that cat.” Mrs V allowed herself to look away from him for the first time. “What happened to your safari suit?”

  Oh bum!

  “I—err—nipped home a while back and got changed.”

  “I didn’t see you leave or come back.”

  “You had your head on the desk, napping, so I didn’t like to disturb you.”

  “I did? Oh deary me. But then, I haven’t been sleeping very well recently. It must be the stress of the driving lessons.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mrs V. It’s all good.”

  “Okay, dear, but I still think you should get rid of that cat.”

  I waited until she’d closed the door, and then let Winky have both barrels. “What were you thinking? Why did you attack her?”

  “You told me to cover for you!”

  “I didn’t say you should attack her.”

  “She’s being a drama queen as per usual. It’s like you said, I was only being playful. And anyway, how else was I supposed to cover for you? I’m a cat, remember?”

  He had a point.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, I had an unexpected visit from my mother, which sent Winky scurrying for cover under the sofa.

  “I don’t think your cat likes me,” she observed.

  “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s not a big fan of ghosts.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  “Ghost?”

  “Yes, I much prefer spirit.”

  “But you live in Ghost Town.”

  “You do realise that isn’t its real name, don’t you? It’s actually called Grande Tramagne, but some idiot shortened that to GT, and then some other idiots decided it would be funny to say that GT stood for Ghost Town. And from that point on, the original name fell into disuse.”

  “Now you mention it, I do seem to remember someone told me the real name.”

  “That someone would be me.”

  “I suppose it must have been.”

  “I intend to campaign for the old name to be brought back.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I thought I’d pop over because I have a couple of things to tell you.”

  “Okay?”

  “First, I wanted to update you on the Ghost Horizons situation. I had a word with Constance Bowler, and she set up a sting, like you suggested. I’m pleased to report that the charlatans who ran that business are now behind bars.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Yes, but it means that we’re still looking for somewhere we can holiday in the human world. You will keep a lookout for anywhere that might be suitable, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely. What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

  “I wanted to invite you to a party to celebrate our wedding anniversary.”

  “I didn’t think it was yours and Alberto’s anniversary for ages yet?”

  “It isn’t. I’m talking about mine and your father’s wedding anniversary.”

  “Hold on. You and my father are no longer married—at least, not to one another.”

  “That doesn’t alter the fact that it’s the anniversary of the day on which we got married.”

  “I’m sorry, Mum, but that is possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What do Alberto and Blodwyn think about it?”

  “They enjoy a good party as much as anyone.”

  “They may do, but I can’t help but feel they might be a little peeved at the idea of their partners celebrating the anniversary of their previous marriage. Have you actually asked them how they feel?”

  “Yes, err—well, not in so many words, but Alberto would say if he wasn’t happy. And Blodwyn isn’t one to keep quiet if she has something to say. Anyway, it’s all organised now. You will come, won’t you?”

  “When is it?”

  “In a couple of weeks at the Grand Tramagne Social Club.”

  “I thought you’d just have a small get-together at your place.”

  “It wouldn’t be big enough. Not for the number of people we’ve invited. It’s a pity you can’t bring Jack with you.”

  “Yeah, well that’s never going to happen, is it?”

  “But you’ll be there?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Great. It starts at eight.” She gave me a ghostly peck on the cheek. “I’d better get back because I’ve left Alberto peeling the onions.”

  “Bye, Mum.”

  ***

  Freda Bowling lived in Little Bigging, a village located some ten miles from Middle Tweaking. She answered the door with curlers in her hair. Two curlers, to be precise. I suspected that she’d somehow managed to miss those two when removing the rest, and I wondered if I should say something. In the end, I decided against it, but Freda must have seen me staring at them because she said, “You’re probably wondering about the curlers?”

  “Err, no, I hadn’t even noticed them.”

  “They won’t all fit on my head at the same time— my head’s too small, so I have to do it in two parts. I put the majority of them in, and then when they’re done, I put in the two which I didn’t have enough room for the first time around.”

  “I see.” Oh boy! “Charlie Cross said you wanted to talk to me about Myrtle.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I was sorry to hear what had happened to her. Why don’t you come through to the lounge while I make us both a cu
p of tea?”

  Once we had our drinks, I tried to focus on the interview, but it wasn’t easy because my gaze kept being drawn to those two curlers.

  “Charlie told me that you cleaned for Myrtle for a while.”

  “That’s right. Just while she was laid up with a bad ankle.”

  “How did you feel when Myrtle let you go?”

  “It wasn’t a problem. I always knew it was a temporary arrangement, and besides, Middle Tweaking is too far away for me to take on work there on a permanent basis. Most of my regulars live in and around this village.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  “No, I can’t drive. I take the bus everywhere.”

  “How did Myrtle come to contact you in the first place?”

  “A friend of a friend. Gina Bailey, who lives here in Little Bigging, recommended me to a friend of Myrtle’s. If it had been a permanent position, I’d have turned it down, but I knew I’d be able to cope for a few weeks, and the extra cash came in handy.”

  “Did you have a key?”

  “Yes, in fact I still have it. I tried to give it back to Myrtle, but she said I should hang onto it in case she needed me again at some future date.”

  “Did you ever see any strangers hanging around the house while you were working there?”

  “No, but then I had my head down, working, most of the time.”

  “Did you know Rob Evans?”

  “I don’t think so, but then I don’t know many of them by name.”

  The two curlers were still in place when I took my leave.

  Chapter 13

  Jack and I had a lovely day together on Saturday. We did a little shopping in the morning, grabbed lunch, and then, as it had started to rain, we went to the movies. It was ages since I’d been to the cinema, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even if the popcorn and drink did cost more than the cinema tickets. The only thing that spoiled an otherwise perfect day was that Jack had to leave straight after dinner because he was staying overnight at the hotel, ahead of his course on Sunday.

  The next morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn, and was about to roll over and go back to sleep when I remembered that I’d promised to go on a picnic with Kathy and Lizzie.

  I know what you’re thinking: Jill’s going to moan again. Well, you’re wrong. The sun was already shining through the bedroom window, so a picnic in the park sounded like the ideal way to spend my Sunday. I had a spring in my step, as I jumped out of bed, showered and got dressed.

  What? Okay, I lied about the spring in my step part.

  Kathy had said we’d take her car, but rather than have her come out to Smallwash and then drive back into town, I’d said I’d take my car to her house, and leave it there. As I set off, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the birds were singing, and there was no sign of Mr Ivers. The perfect start to what promised to be a fantastic day.

  What the—?

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Daubed on the bridge were the words: JILL IS A WITCH. They’d been painted on the opposite side from the previous occasion.

  “When did this happen?” I said to the young man in the toll booth who, judging by the hair-free skin below his nose, had given up on the moustache.

  “When did what happen?”

  “The graffiti!”

  “Oh yeah. It was like that when I got here this morning.”

  “What about the guy who worked the nightshift?”

  “Gordy? He said he didn’t see who did it. He was probably—err.”

  “Asleep? Again? It’s just not good enough. If he’s being paid to work the nightshift, he should be awake.”

  The young guy shrugged. “I can give you a form to complete if you want to make an official complaint.”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “It doesn’t usually.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Me? I’m Chris, but everyone calls me Cheesy, on account of my surname.”

  “Don’t tell me; let me guess. Is it Wensleydale?”

  “No.”

  “Leicester, then?”

  “No.”

  “Camembert?”

  “You’ll never get it. It’s actually Board. Chris Board.”

  “I don’t get it—oh, hang on. Cheeseboard?”

  “Yeah.”

  Wow! Just wow!

  “O—kay, anyway, we have to put a stop to this graffiti.”

  “I was going to call head office to get it removed.”

  “Don’t bother. That’ll take forever. I’ll see to it, but I do need you to do something for me.” I took out a pen, grabbed a scrap of paper from the glove compartment, and wrote down my phone number. “Call me on this number if you see anyone putting up more graffiti.”

  “Okay, but like I said, it usually happens at night when Gordy’s working.”

  “Will you see Gordy tonight?”

  “Yeah. I have to hand over to him.”

  “In that case, tell him that I work for the council, and I’m going to be making spot checks. If I catch him asleep, I’ll make sure he’s fired. And give him my number. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell him.”

  ***

  On the drive over to Kathy’s, I pulled into a lay-by and phoned Tatts. I didn’t hold out much hope of being able to contact him on a Sunday morning, but he answered first time. He proudly informed me that his business operated twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and that he would be happy to remove the fresh graffiti for the same price as last time. I agreed, and he promised that it would be gone before I came home that afternoon. This whole graffiti thing was costing me an arm and a leg. The sooner I found out who was behind it, and put a stop to it, the better.

  I’d just parked my car outside Kathy’s house when Lizzie came running down the drive to greet me.

  “Auntie Jill, Auntie Jill, Mummy is orange.”

  “Orange?”

  “You mustn’t say anything because she’ll get angry. Daddy said we should pretend like she isn’t.”

  “Right. I won’t say—” Just then, Kathy came out of the house, and I dissolved into laughter.

  “Don’t you dare laugh!” She wagged her finger at me. “This is all your fault.”

  “How is it my fault? It’s not like I oranged it.” I lost it again.

  “Lizzie, go and get in the car. Auntie Jill and I need to have a quick chat.” Kathy waited until Lizzie was in the back seat, and then she turned on me again. “Why did you let me go through with it?”

  “You said you wanted a tan.”

  “I know I did, but I didn’t want to end up looking like this. There must be something wrong with their equipment.”

  “Deli did say they’d picked it up cheap, second-hand.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention that?”

  “I had no reason to believe it was faulty. And anyway, it doesn’t look all that bad.” If you’re colour blind.

  “If I hadn’t promised Lizzie that the three of us would go out today, I’d lock myself away until this faded.”

  “No one will even notice, I promise. And if they do, tell them you did it for a bet.”

  “You’re really pushing your luck now, Jill.”

  “Sorry. Which park are we going to?”

  “Washbridge Park.”

  “Can I tell her now, Mummy?” Lizzie shouted from the back seat after we’d been driving for a while.

  “Not yet. It’ll be a nice surprise for Auntie Jill.”

  “Tell me what?” I was beginning to smell a rat—an orange one. “What surprise?”

  “Please, Mummy, can I tell her?”

  “Okay, then. We’re almost there anyway.”

  “It’s the Clownathon!” Lizzie blurted out. “In the park today.”

  My blood ran cold, as I remembered the flyers that I’d seen in and around Washbridge. There were to be events all around the town, but the main focus was in Washbridge Park. That explained why there was so much traffic as we got closer. />
  “You tricked me, Kathy!”

  “How did I trick you? I said we were going for a picnic in the park, and that’s what we’re doing.”

  “You never mentioned the Clownathon.”

  “Didn’t I?” She smirked. “I could have sworn I had.”

  “Mummy says you’re scared of clowns, Auntie Jill.”

  “Your mummy is joking. Of course I’m not scared of them.”

  “Not much.” Kathy said under her breath.

  “How could you do this to me?”

  “You surely don’t expect me to feel bad, do you? Not when you’re responsible for me being this ridiculous shade of brown.”

  “You’re not brown; you’re orange!”

  ***

  There was so much interest in the Clownathon that we had to leave the car a quarter of a mile from the park. Kathy and I carried the picnic basket between us while Lizzie walked a few paces ahead.

  “Whereabouts shall we go?” Lizzie had stopped just inside the park gates.

  “Let’s go over there, near those trees.” I pointed to the far side of the park.

  “You’re only suggesting that because there aren’t any clowns over there,” Kathy said.

  “Not at all. I just thought it would be nice to have the shade from those trees. It looks like it will get hot later. Come on, quick, before someone beats us to it.” I began to drag Kathy in that direction.

  “It’s nice here, isn’t it?” I sat down on the blanket that Kathy had brought with her.

  “Where are the clowns, Mummy?” Lizzie looked all around.

  “They’re over the other side of the park, Pumpkin.”

  “Can I go and see them?”

  “Of course you can. Maybe Auntie Jill would like to take you?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “You two go and enjoy yourselves. I don’t mind staying here to guard the picnic basket.”

  Kathy shot me a look, but she didn’t argue. She took Lizzie’s hand and led her towards clown-aggedon.

  Despite my initial reservations, the day was turning out to be okay after all. The weather was gorgeous, the spot I’d chosen was quite peaceful, and best of all, there wasn’t a clown to be seen.