Bobbles and Broomsticks

by Nancy Warren

  She looked down the table to where Sophie sat, not eating anything, and the only person not wearing the cardigan. “He and her brother Boris are old friends. Maybe she came to keep her brother company? Maybe it wasn’t that she liked Charlie too much but that she didn’t like him at all.”

  “Maybe.” I’d be keeping an eye on Sophie Wynter in any case.

  After we’d eaten our fill and drunk more of the sangria than was probably good for a group of women who were about to go out drinking, little groups of two or three women at a time took turns going down to the bathrooms to tidy ourselves and repair makeup. Then it was time to head out.

  We got Beatrice to present the tiara to Alice. When the bride-to-be demurred, Beatrice put one hand on her hip and with the other pushed the tasteful tiara at the bride. “If it’d been up to me? You’d be wearing a huge plastic tiara with a battery pack so the jewels would light up. You’d also be wearing a plastic ball and chain and one of those huge sashes that says Bride. I found one that lights up.” She looked around with a rather evil look on her face. “I’ve got all of those things in my hotel room. It won’t take a minute to get them.”

  Alice burst out laughing and reached for the small, tasteful tiara. “No. Please, anything but that. I promise to wear this nice tiara.”

  Beatrice didn’t let her off the hook so easily. “And you promise not to take it off?”

  “Not unless I’m held to ransom.”

  “All right then.” Beatrice appeared slightly tipsy as she threw a hand in the air and made a motion like a cowgirl about to lasso a horse. Or a cowboy. “All right, ladies? Let’s go.”

  It was a lovely, warm evening, so apart from the sweaters, all most of us had with us were our handbags. From the tapas restaurant it wasn’t very far to our first port of call—The Turf Tavern. Beatrice and Violet walked up front with Alice, leading the way, and I decided to bring up the rear, rather like a border collie keeping my flock together. I was determined that we should at least manage to stay together for the first pub. After that, somebody else could nip at the heels of any reluctant hens.

  We walked under Oxford’s Bridge of Sighs, then headed down the narrow alley that led to one of my favorite pubs. The Turf was ancient, with a series of interconnecting rooms. It was popular with locals and tourists. As we were heading in, a group of women were heading out. It was clearly a rival hen party. The bride was wearing a plastic tiara with battery-powered lights. A pink plastic sash that said Bride lit up her middle. She wore a skintight dress and the highest heels I’d ever seen. They were so high, I didn’t know how she didn’t pitch forward on her face. She took one look at Alice and shrieked, “My sister bride!” And then she threw her arms around Alice, and the way the heels tipped her forward, the pair of them staggered, she falling forward and Alice backward. The rest of the hen party laughed and welcomed us.

  “We just got the place warmed up for you,” one of them said. “Love your cardies.”

  Then they gathered up their bride and headed off down the street. One of them turned to yell, “Probably see you all later.”

  I used to think of Oxford as a very serious, intellectual place, but that was before I lived here. I then discovered that it was one of the most popular destinations for hen parties. Oxford was so beautiful, who wouldn’t want to spend a weekend here? It also featured a nice, walkable center with lots of pubs. Groups of brides and their women friends came from all over for hen weekends.

  Of course, groups of young men also quite liked Oxford for their stag parties.

  Briefly, I wondered how Charlie was making out tonight. He’d insisted he only wanted a quiet dinner with some of his closest male friends, but I couldn’t imagine that they wouldn’t end up turning the quiet evening into one of revelry, especially since I’d met Boris.

  We’d already arranged to have a tab set up at this bar, but Alice went straight up to the bartender and said, “I want to open a tab. These are all my friends. I’m buying them a drink to celebrate my wedding.”

  Alice had drunk about two sips of the champagne at my place and all of one glass of sangria, and she appeared to be the worse for wear. Alice, I feared, was not a drinker. However, the bartenders here were pretty used to partying brides, and all he said was, “Happy to oblige.” And then he motioned to the two tables that Violet and I had already reserved. Not that I thought we’d stay in them for very long, but it was nice to have a place to settle and put our bags and chat for a bit. Violet and I were going to encourage all the women to change places at every pub so that everybody met everybody else.

  We waited until everyone was sitting and then, as soon as the first drinks had arrived, we got everyone to stand up and reseat themselves in order of how long they’d known Alice. It was a great icebreaker, as we all then tried to work out when we’d first met Alice, and there was lots of laughing and changing places. This put Alice’s cousin Ginny on one side of Alice, as she’d indisputably known her longest, and Sophie, who’d only met the bride an hour before the hen party, on her other side as the one who’d known her the shortest amount of time.

  Beatrice stood up. She said, “Now, while it’s early and we can still make our tongues behave, I want to go around the table and each of us tell how they met Alice and one thing about her.”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea,” Ginny said. “Because I’m her cousin and I’ve known Alice the longest, I think it’s only fair that I should start.”

  Alice already looked embarrassed. Ginny was ten or fifteen years older than her cousin and seemed very patronizing. “Please, don’t tell some mortifying story about when I was a baby.”

  She shook her head. “Alice, the most wonderful thing about you is I don’t think there are any embarrassing stories.” She turned to the rest of us. “Alice was always well behaved as a little girl. She loved animals, crafts and reading, of course. She was very clever at school. She used to watch my mother knitting. And she said that she wanted to knit too. Mum started her off making a scarf, and Alice worked so carefully, unpicking the thing if she made even the slightest error.”

  That sounded very much like Alice. A perfectionist in all things.

  As we went around the table, we learned that Alice had been a fierce competitor in field hockey and that she’d loved a certain boy band that had us all mocking her fiercely even as I, and I bet most of the other women, privately admitted to having had a similar crush, and even, perhaps, a poster of said boy band on our teenage bedroom walls. When it was my turn, I talked about how Alice taught classes for me in my knitting shop, and she was as patient with her students as she was meticulous with her own work. Okay, it didn’t elicit gales of laughter, but it was true, and Alice looked truly touched by my words.

  We came around, at last, to Sophie Wynter. She was drinking something that looked like a martini, one of those clear, lethal drinks that are all alcohol. “I’ve known Alice for the shortest length of time, as I just met her this evening, so I can’t tell a story about her, but I can tell you that when I was engaged to Charlie—”

  She was interrupted by a gasp of distress. Needless to say, the gasp of distress came from Alice. “Engaged?” Her entire face sagged with shock.

  Sophie raised her fine eyebrows. “Oh, dear, I suppose Charlie hasn’t told you all his secrets.” Then she gave a nasty, superior smirk that made me long to smack her. “Anyway, we went to a charity event, and there were tarot card readings. It was all in fun, but I’ve never forgotten my reading. The woman said, ‘You and your fiancé will travel a twisting road. But you will end up together eventually. It won’t be your first marriage, but it will be your happiest.’”

  Into the stunned silence, she lifted her drink in a mock toast before sipping.

  Ginny said, “Everybody knows fortune-tellers are a bunch of fakes. I once had one tell me I was going to marry a movie star. Well, that didn’t happen, did it?”

  Unfortunately, now that we’d been split up, I wasn’t sitting near Violet anymore. I tried to catc
h her gaze, but she wasn’t having any of it. Violet had done a short stint as a fortune-teller, and she wasn’t a fake. Unfortunately, she also wasn’t very tactful, and she tended to give people the truth about their future, even if it was negative. This had made her very unpopular at the village fête for Moreton-under-Wychwood. I saw her looking at Sophie Wynter now with an intent gaze. I wasn’t sure how her ability to see the future worked, whether she had to touch the person or could simply concentrate on them, but she was staring at Sophie so hard, the woman looked over at her. “Have I got a smudge on my nose or something?”

  In a loud voice, Beatrice said, “Okay then, who’s next?” Which only showed how rattled she was, because we’d all now shared our reminiscences.

  There was a small pause, and then Ginny, who might be a bit annoying but who was also kind, said, “Oh, I remember another story about Alice I think you’ll all like.” And so the moment passed, and the rest of the women had nothing but kind things to say about Alice and fond, humorous, and sometimes tearful stories of their friend.

  Alice kept her smile on her face, but I could tell that she was shocked by what Sophie had said. When it was time to go to the next pub, I made sure to walk beside the bride. In a low voice, I said, “I think you should talk to Charlie. If you ask me, that woman has troublemaker written all over her. No doubt he rejected her and she’s just being spiteful and bitter.”

  Her face was troubled. “Do you think so? We’ve never really talked about our romantic pasts. Well, I don’t have much of one, and Charlie always says it’s not relevant. He loves me and he’ll always love me.” She turned to look at me. “But wouldn’t he tell me if he’d been engaged to marry another woman? Especially as he invited her to the wedding.”

  “Please, just try to have a good time tonight. Put all of this out of your head. And then tomorrow, you and Charlie can have a good talk about it.”

  “Yes, of course you’re right.” She shook her head. “I’m being silly.”

  By the time we reached the second pub, I could feel Violet’s emotions. They were vibrating, and if I could have painted them, they would have been pulsing with red and black flashes. I held her back from going in and let all the others go ahead of us. In a low, furious voice, she said to me, “I’m going to turn her into a frog. No. Frog is too good for her. Frogs are lovely creatures. Cockroach. I shall turn her into a cockroach.”

  I didn’t have any need to ask her who she was threatening. I was angry with Sophie too, but I didn’t think witchcraft was the answer. “You can’t turn one of Alice and Charlie’s wedding guests into an insect. People will talk.”

  The red and black aura lost some of the spiking around its edges. “I know.” She tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She liked to dye a ribbon of hair down one side of her face, and in honor of Alice’s special day, the stripe was pink. Perhaps a slightly more garish pink than Alice had chosen. “Fine. But if a large glass of red wine accidentally spills itself down her dress, don’t be surprised.”

  I thought I could live with that, and so we agreed that should Sophie Wynter suffer an unfortunate wine-related accident, I wouldn’t say a word. Mainly because it would get her out of the hen party, and then perhaps Alice could go back to having a good time.

  “You were looking at Sophie very intently when she talked about that fortune-teller. Did you see something?”

  Vi made a back-and-forth motion with her hand. “I saw her at a wedding. She was definitely the bride. But the groom was fuzzy. Could have been Charlie, but it could also have been any white man about his age with brown hair. I couldn’t bring him into focus.”

  “I think our job is to make sure that horrible woman never gets Charlie in her clutches. For his sake as well as Alice’s.”

  “Agreed.” She looked at me from under her lashes. “You’re sure you won’t reconsider the cockroach?”

  The Eagle and Child pub was a bit of a walk, but since Alice loved books, and this had been the haunt of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, among others, we’d had to include it. However, there was a rugby team in the big room at the back where we ended up, and our flock of hens began to scatter.

  One of the rugby players attempted to talk to Sophie, but whatever she replied had him scampering off with his tail between his legs. I decided to sit beside her and see what I could find out about her alleged engagement. Alice was upset, and as one of her bridesmaids, I felt it was my job to keep this wedding running smoothly. Besides, I was curious. Had Charlie really been engaged to this icicle?

  Using my friendliest tone, I said, “I haven’t really had a chance to get to know you.” I took the seat beside her, and she seemed unconcerned as to whether I sat there or not. “I think you said you went to school with Charlie?”

  She looked at me coldly. “My brother went to school with Charlie. I’m a few years younger than Boris, and I met Charlie through him.”

  Well, if she could be cold and direct, so could I. “And you were engaged to him?”

  Suddenly, her cold face grew warm and animated. The transformation was quite astonishing. She looked younger and much nicer. “Yes, I was. And I will be again. Make no mistake. Charlie loves me. I’m sure this whole engagement was a stunt to get me back.” She glanced at Alice, who was listening quietly to her cousin Ginny. They were drinking tea. Alice’s glasses slipped a little and she pushed them back up her nose with one finger. “Look at her. She’s like a Victoria sponge. All soft and sweet with nothing in the middle but jam.”

  I was furious on Alice’s behalf. There was more to the bride-to-be than met the eye. Anyway, who wouldn’t prefer a Victoria sponge to a cold, hard icicle?

  In a bright voice, I said, “Well, I don’t think he’s bluffing. I think that Charlie and Alice are going to get married at the church in Moreton-under-Wychwood on Saturday.” I left the rest unspoken. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

  She was still gazing at Alice, but her face went hard. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  Chapter 4

  I woke up the next morning and my first thought was of water. I longed for a very tall glass. Preferably ice-cold. It was that thought that got me out of bed. I wasn’t exactly hungover, but as I downed that long, cool glass of water, I wondered if that last drink at that last pub last night might have been a mistake.

  Still, I’d survived my first hen party. Enjoyed it even. Mostly.

  I put the coffee on and while it was brewing, Nyx came in looking for her breakfast. Her black fur was sleek and shiny, and she looked pleased with herself, as though she’d enjoyed a very successful night out and was definitely in the mood for a fresh can of tuna. She meowed piteously as though she were one can of tuna away from death by starvation. I got the can opener, and as the smell of tuna assailed my nostrils, I groaned. Perhaps the last two drinks had been mistakes.

  “Tuna? First thing in the morning? Really, Nyx?”

  My cat had no sympathy for my delicate state and meowed again. Behind me, Violet’s voice complained, “Pussycat, do you have to make that dreadful racket?”

  I turned and suppressed a grin. My cousin Violet was definitely the worse for wear. Her long, black hair looked tangled, as though she’d spent the night running through dense fields of brambles. Her eyes were smudgy with cosmetics where she hadn’t washed her face properly when she went to bed. Her eyes were puffy and her skin sallow.

  “You look terrible,” I said.

  “Feel worse.”

  I put Nyx’s tuna down, and the cat dove in. “I’ve got coffee on.”

  Violet went straight to the cupboard where my grandmother had kept all her herbs and I had freshened up the supply. She shook her head at me. “Haven’t you heard the term witch doctor?”

  I didn’t entirely approve of the way she was rifling through my precious herbs. “You’re going to make a magic spell for a hangover?” My tone made it clear I wasn’t convinced this was the best use of our craft.

  “I shall make us a special tea that improve
s the energy,” she said virtuously. “Curing a hangover is merely a side benefit.”

  She pulled out lemon balm, dried ginger, three different kinds of mint and some herbs I didn’t recognize. I set the kettle to boil while she poured various herbs into a ceramic bowl. There was an awful lot there for one pot of tea. She must be really hungover. When she was satisfied, she mixed the whole lot together, and then placing her hand above the herbs and moving it in a circular pattern over top, she said, “Herbs for healing and energy true, bring us to health with this earthly brew. Take away what’s toxic and purify with this tea. So I will, so mote it be.”

  Then she dug around in the cupboard until she found an empty tin that had once held chamomile tea bags. Carefully, she poured the mixture inside. “Don’t forget to label this. It’s good for headaches, indigestion—”

  “And hangovers.”

  She stared at me. “Do you want some or not?”

  “I suppose I could try some, for the energy,” I said airily.

  The tea tasted really good. I recognized the ginger and mint, as their flavors were strong. I closed my eyes and rolled the brew over my tongue like a sommelier tasting the finest wine. “Is there some ginkgo in there?”

  Violet sent me a sly look. “Secret family recipe.”

  I’d look in my grimoire. I’d bet that recipe or one very similar to it was in our family spell book. Violet was just annoyed because I was the one who’d ended up with the spell book and not her.

  We drank our tea and then I downed a cup of coffee for good measure. Nyx finished her whole bowl of tuna and lapped a little water before strolling into the living room and jumping up on the couch. She found a shaft of sunlight and curled herself up in it, ready for her post-breakfast snooze.

  I opened the fridge, wondering if sometime in the night some magical creature had slipped into the kitchen and stocked it full of enticing delicacies, but no. This was the fridge of a single woman who didn’t do a lot of cooking. I looked at Violet. “I’ve got some eggs. Cheese. Half a loaf of bread. I could do scrambled eggs and toast. I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard.”