by Heide Goody
“Do you have a photo of him?” said Natalie.
Ella frowned.
“Your dad,” said Natalie.
“Oh. Sorry. No. I had some on my phone but that died several days ago.”
“Photos on a phone?”
Ella’s mouth froze in a contorted expression as she formulated a no doubt detailed explanation of how telephones could contain photographs. Before Ella could hit her with some Star Trek mumbo-jumbo, Natalie asked, “Is he happy?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
Ella shrugged. “I think so,” she said, and then, “He misses you.”
Natalie felt both sadness and satisfaction on hearing that. “He can’t know I’m alive.”
“What?” said Ella. “But he has to. He’s going to get married!”
“And having me turn up would ruin the wedding.”
“Aye,” agreed Rose. “The old wife turning up would put a right crimp on tha wedding day.”
“But you said,” said Ella.
“Said what?” said Natalie. “I said we had a wedding to get to. Not to stop.”
“But… but…”
The wolf, still laid out by the stove, gave a lazy snort of laughter. “I like the way she thinks.”
“What?” said Ella.
“She’s talking about revenge, princess,” he said.
“Justice,” said Natalie.
Ella stared from one to the other. She still didn’t get it.
“We’re going to the wedding,” said Natalie.
“Carabosse will be there,” said Rose. “She’ll want thee to meet tha Prince Charming.”
And then the penny dropped. “No sodding way,” said Ella. “I’ve just spent the past week trying to avoid my ‘happy ending.’”
“And now we need you to play along to draw Carabosse out,” said Natalie.
“This is not why I woke you up!”
“Oh, who’s planning whose life for them now?”
“You’ll let dad commit bigamy? And what will you do if Carabosse shows anyway, eh?”
“Give her both barrels,” said Rose.
“Won’t work, grandma,” said the wolf.
“Worth a try though,” said the old woman, gamely.
Natalie pointed at the thick green book on the kitchen counter.
“You found Makepeace Alexander’s book, Ella. You know there are ways of trapping fairies. If only we could lay out hands on a genuine Solomon jar.”
“Ah,” said the wolf, “Funny you should mention that.”
Ella gave a huff of irritation at the wolf.
“You know where there is one?” said Natalie.
“The dwarfs have one,” said Ella.
The twin tub produced a series of unhealthy sounding clunks and pumped thick clouds of steam up against the window. A thought belatedly occurred to Natalie.
“Six dwarfs?” she said to Rose. “Surely, there’s meant to be seven.”
Roy put a hand on Buster’s collar.
“It’s all right old chap,” he whispered. “I know he looks as if his clothes were designed by a committee of sugar crazed toddlers, but that’s not a good enough reason to bite him, I’m afraid.”
Buster clearly disagreed and bared his teeth at the tiny entertainer who was ordering various people to carry amplifiers, run cables across the floor and get their funk on, whatever that was all about.
“You!” yelled the bearded terror as he saw Roy looking. “I need you to help me with a sound check. Stand there.”
Roy obliged.
Disco flicked some switches and a deep bass line came through the speakers. It was so deep that it was almost beneath hearing and could only be felt through the vibrations it sent through his body. It was as soft as a sigh, as intangible as a breath of air. It was a shudder of pleasure up the spine of the world.
Roy gave a thumbs-up to the DJ.
“No, there’s more,” boomed a hugely amplified version of Disco’s voice. “I need you to help me find the groove.”
Roy nodded and looked around, as if he might spot the missing groove.
“Move like me,” came the impossibly loud voice, over that thumping rhythmic sound that got right inside Roy’s head. Roy stared as Disco made small but somehow suggestive gyrations with his hips. They were tiny movements, accompanied by a slightly raised eyebrow. Roy decided that such minimalist dancing was well within his capability, so he mirrored the movement. Disco smiled to show his approval, and then slightly increased the sway of his hips. Roy felt that he must follow suit, although a part of his brain questioned, quite reasonably, what this might have to do with a sound check. The question faded as the swaying increased again.
“You feelin’ it?” asked Disco, his voice so loud and low that Roy felt it in his kidneys. Is that where the groove was to be found? By way of experimentation Roy increased the sway a little more and Disco smiled at him.
“Oh yeah, you feelin’ it, brother. You got the groove and you’ll do what Disco knows is right for ya. You gotta just trust the groove, ma brother. Disco won’t let you down.”
Roy carried on feeling the groove. Disco’s words washed over him, along with the music, and it was all part of the beautiful thing called the groove.
“…cleared the way to the throne for you, brother. All four hundred and something been shown the door by Groovemaster Disco. You gonna take your fine lady as a wife and be the new royals. The House of Avenant, ruling the country. Sounds like a fairy tale, don’t it? Oh yeah.”
Roy nodded. He was in the groove.
Ella positioned herself at the side of the single lane road at the far end of Granny Rose’s drive. There wasn’t a lot of passing traffic but that probably wasn’t the point. She cleared her throat and did her best to project her voice loudly and clearly. “I seem to be in need of rescue. I must get to the wedding which is miles away!”
“Tha needs to say ball!” Granny Rose hissed from her hiding place in the ditch.
“It might not work otherwise,” agreed the wolf, crouched beside her.
“Why would ball work when everybody wants her to get married?” countered Natalie. “It’s a wedding. There isn’t even a ball planned. Is there?”
“No, the old stringy lady is right,” said the ogre, who was doing a surprisingly good job at pretending to be a gnarly oak tree. “Everyone knows the fairy godmother helps poor Cinders get to a ball.”
“Oh gracious me!” howled Ella, putting a hand theatrically to her brow, figuring she might as well go for broke. “I’m going to be late for the wedding, which, by the way, I very much hope is accompanied by a ball. How I wish I could get there!”
“Not bad,” said Rose. “Mention the clothes as well.”
“Oh but what am I thinking?” Ella bellowed. “I simply can’t go like this. If a handsome prince sees me in these rags he won’t even notice me!”
“That was my favourite jumper back in the day!” said Natalie.
“Shush,” said Ella.
“Someone’s coming,” said the ogre.
A clatter of small boots on the road was accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of someone trying to fart a military march.
“Once more to the bastard rescue!” yelled Psycho as the dwarfs rounded the corner. Ella noticed that there were only five of them. She was about to ask who was missing when OCD stepped forward with an electronic tablet.
“Glass Slipper Gambit checklist.”
“The what?” said Ella.
“I’ve chosen you a dress with a one hour delivery off Amazon. I’ve gone for a fit and flare silhouette despite the issue with your hips.”
“What’s wrong with my hips?”
“Nothing’s wrong with them,” snarked Passive Aggressive. “Perfectly decent for a child-bearing hausfrau.”
“What’s next?” said OCD. “Glass slippers! Oh my. This one’s a toughie. I decided that the Disney ones probably wouldn’t fit you, more’s the pity.”
“I like to glue mirrors
on mine, so I can look up girls’ skirts,” said Inappropriate.
OCD ignored the comment and flicked through some images to show Ella. “A non-purist might have gone for some of these crystal covered Jimmy Choos, but frankly I think they’ve strayed too far from the theme. I’ve gone with solid acrylic heels from a specialist supplier. It’s the closest thing to glass, you’ll never notice the difference.”
“They sound perfect,” said Ella, struggling to fake any kind of enthusiasm for shoes that were likely to make her feet bleed.
“The final item on the list is transport,” said OCD. “Should be here any minute.”
“Oh. No pumpkin then?” asked Ella.
“Do you know how hard it is to get hold of a pumpkin in June, Ella? The pumpkin industry is geared around Halloween. No, we’ve had to go for something else in the same sort of colour scheme. Don’t worry, you’ll love it. I think this is it now.”
Ella heard the sound of something with a large engine coming along the road. She looked towards the sound and a huge orange cement mixer came around the bend, swerving erratically. She saw in horror that a yellow-hatted dwarf was driving.
“Is that Shitfaced? Seriously, you let the drunken one drive a cement mixer? What’s the matter with you?” she yelled at OCD. Shitfaced saw them all waiting, waved at them and then steered directly at them.
“It’s simple statistics,” shouted OCD as they all ran for cover.
The cement mixer narrowly missed a gnarly old oak (that might have taken a small sidestep at the last moment) and came to a juddering halt, the giant drum on its rear revolving slowly.
Ella waved the resultant cloud of dust away. “It’s amazing that he didn’t hit anyone.”
Shitfaced opened the cab door and smacked Passive Aggressive in the face.
“Amazing,” agreed Shitfaced as Passive Aggressive rolled around, clutching his nose.
“Right. Everyone in,” said OCD.
“Oh right, I’ll just take one for the team, shall I?” wailed Passive Aggressive. “No one going to check on me, no?”
“Um,” said Ella. “Do I need to ask? Why a cement mixer?”
“Statistics,” said OCD. “There are three thousand people killed or seriously injured every year in this country from drunk driving, yeah?”
“Ri-ight?”
“But the figures for people killed or injured by cement mixers in a drunk driving incident are statistically insignificant. See how it’s the safe choice?”
“I guess I’m statistically insignificant,” groaned Passive Aggressive.
“It’s orange. It’s round. It’s as fucking near to a pumpkin as you’re going to get, bab,” said Psycho. “Get in.”
With a final glance to the section of ditch where her mum and grandma were hiding, she climbed into the cab with the dwarfs. Once they were squeezed in, Shitfaced cranked it into gear and Windy tooted the wedding march. Ella wished she was next to the window so that she could open it.
“Finally! On our way to your bastard wedding now.” Psycho nudged the steering wheel to avoid an oncoming police car, while Shitfaced drained the last from a plastic flagon of scrumpy.
“Nobody’s actually proposed to me,” said Ella. “It’s my dad’s wedding we’re actually —”
“We’ve not come this far to let details like that get in our way. OCD, you got proposal on your checklist?”
“Have I ever missed anything off a list?” OCD challenged. “I’ve even got a list completion list for double-checking.”
“You’re very organised,” said Ella, her mind switching to something she very much wanted to bring up. “I saw how you even catalogued the things that the big bad wolf vomited up.”
OCD gave a gruff nod of professional pride. “A place for everything.”
“And you still have it all?”
OCD pulled up his sack and rummaged around inside. “Checked and accounted for.”
“Because if you want to get me a wedding present, I very much liked that jar,” Ella said casually.
“Jars are the last thing you’ll be needing tonight,” leered Inappropriate. “Got kinky undies on your list, OCD mate?”
“As a matter of fact,” said OCD, rustling in his sack, “I cleaned up some out of your private collection, Inappropriate. Thought it would save us some time. Lacy, crotchless, latex. Do you have a preference, Ella?”
Ella tried to convey the horror she felt but her words had to overcome the urge to retch in disgust.
“I’ll handle my own underwear,” she said. “And I certainly don’t want underwear that’s been anywhere near this grubby little man.”
“I can order fresh undergarments,” said OCD.
“Wedding present! Fresh undies! My arse!” shouted Psycho. “After all we’ve done for you, you’ve got a bastard nerve. We’ve had you rescued from that tower. We’ve had you rescued from the sea!”
Ella bit down on the obvious retort that she’d actually rescued herself on both occasions.
“Your Prince Charming’s all ready and waiting for you, thanks to us,” said Psycho, “and all you can think about is presents!”
A horn blared. The police car was heading straight at them. Psycho lunged across Shitfaced to steer them back on track, bouncing off the kerb as he overcorrected.
“That’s torn it,” said Ella. “They’re bound to turn around and pull us over now.”
“Nah,” said Psycho. “They’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Bigger than a stolen cement mixer driven by a drunken dwarf?”
“Oh, yes, bab. Big big things are afoot,” he said, darkly.
Chapter Fifteen
Out on The Bumbles’ lawns, Roy bumped and ground to the irresistible groove that the funky bearded chap had planted within him. Buster barked and worried at Roy’s shoes but Roy just incorporated the dog into his dance.
He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been dancing but it appeared that the furniture and decorations had been set out and, yes, here were the first of the wedding guests, coming up the path and collecting a glass of Bucks Fizz from the waiting staff. This was, of course, Gavin and Myra’s wedding. Their guests were mostly unknown to him and Roy, merely host and friend to the daughter of the groom, didn’t have a specific role at the wedding but he felt the irresistible urge to share his groove with them and funked and strutted his way across the grass.
“Hey,” he called to an elderly couple as they arrived. “Bride or groo-oove?”
“I beg your pardon?” said the woman.
“Dance with me,” said Roy and took her hands in his.
The woman gave him an irritable and confused look.
“I say, are you actually an usher?” said the old man, casting Roy’s hands off his wife.
“Me? No. I’m…” Roy looked down at himself. He was wearing a morning suit with a gold cravat. “I’m getting married!” he declared in joyous surprise. “How could I forget?”
“I don’t think this is your wedding,” the woman said but Roy wasn’t listening.
“Come on, Buster,” he called as he dashed off. “We need to find Ella.”
There were some positives to travelling by ogre, Natalie reflected queasily.
It was certainly fast. They had covered the forty-odd miles between the Cotswolds and Warwickshire in less than an hour. And the ogre, through stealth and some small magic, had avoided being spotted by regular people. He’d kept to fields, forests and canal paths for much of the journey. He’d leapt the River Avon in a single bound and even managed to sneak across the M40 motorway without anyone noticing.
However, there were negatives too. With Natalie held in the bowl of one hand (clutching the still damp copy of Solomon Re-examined) and Rose in the bowl of the other (clutching the still damp rolled up carpet), there was much swinging around and jolting. Speed and stamina the ogre might have had but he was certainly lacking in the suspension department.
“Slow down,” Natalie called to the ogre as they crossed a fie
ld.
“Oh, crikey, yes,” said Rose. “My innards are in turmoil, I tell thee.”
The ogre slowed to a walk. Natalie pointed at a sign for Diggers and Dreams garden centre beyond the nearest hedge.
“We’re almost there. You can put us down.”
The ogre gently placed them on the ground. Rose staggered a few steps before finding her feet. She leaned heavily on the shotgun and took several cleansing breaths as the colour returned to her cheeks. The wolf, who had been loping along in pursuit of the ogre all the way (and had gone under several times swimming the Avon and had nearly been flattened sprinting across the M40) caught up with them, panting heavily.
“Did we” — gasp — “beat Cinders and the” — pant — “dwarfs?”
“Don’t know,” said Natalie. “We need to get to the car park and find Ella and hope she was able to get the jar.”
“Come on!” Rose, shotgun in hand, led the way towards the hedge. She paused before pressing through. “Ogre?”
“Yes?” he said.
“Tha can’t come into t’car park, looking like a great lolloping ogre.”
“Can’t we disguise him?” said Natalie.
“What as? A Ford Fiesta?”
“Maybe you were thinking of putting a dress on him and saying he’s a really ugly aunt,” said the wolf.
“Now, Zeke, tha’s got this far on account of my good nature,” said Rose, “but we all know I’d shoot thee as soon as look at thee.”
“But then, Granny, I wouldn’t be able to point out that the ogre here is a shapeshifter.”
“Is he?” said Rose.
“Are you?” said Natalie.
The ogre smiled and then had abruptly vanished, replaced by a low and long crocodile with a head full of sharp teeth.
“Bloomin’ Nora,” said Rose.
“Impressive, but not much use,” said Natalie. “I can’t see a crocodile sneaking surreptitiously into a wedding.”