Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy Page 3

  “Sorry, Mum,” Pearl said.

  Grandma cleared her throat.

  “Sorry, Grandma,” they chorused.

  “Oh well,” Aunt Lucy said. “It’s official now, so let’s toast the happy couples.”

  We all raised our glasses—even Grandma.

  “To Amber and William, and Pearl and Alan.” Aunt Lucy proposed the toast.

  “Amber and William, and Pearl and Alan.” Everyone clinked their glasses together except Grandma who was already halfway down hers.

  Despite Grandma’s warnings about the food, the meal was delicious, and thoroughly enjoyed by everyone—including Grandma, even though she’d never have admitted it.

  “Who will you go to your mum’s wedding with?” Pearl asked when we were on dessert.

  “I’ll be on my lonesome,” I said, scooping up a spoonful of jam roll and custard. “Unless, I can bring Barry.”

  “Sorry, no animals allowed.” Aunt Lucy laughed. “What about the man you went to the karaoke with. What was his name again?”

  “Drake. Drake Tyson.”

  “How do I know that name?” Grandma said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know him all that well. We met when I was walking Barry.”

  “You should get in touch with him,” Pearl said. “Ask him to go with you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I was relieved to hear a knock on the door. Anything to divert attention away from me.

  Pearl went to see who was there.

  “Oh hello?” I heard her say. “Did you want to see Jill? Why don’t you come through?”

  “Well, well,” Grandma said. “Look who it is.”

  I was looking, and the puzzled expression on my face must have matched that on Drake’s.

  “Hello everyone,” he said.

  “We were just talking about you.” Grandma’s smile was more scary than reassuring. “Were your ears burning?”

  Drake stuttered something unintelligible.

  “Grab a chair.” Aunt Lucy came to his rescue. “You’ve missed dinner, I’m afraid, but there’s plenty of jam roll and custard.”

  “Thanks.” He took the seat beside me. “I love jam roll and custard.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be here. One minute I was wondering what to put in the microwave, and the next I was knocking on your door.”

  I turned to look at Grandma. She smiled a knowing smile.

  Despite the manner in which he’d been delivered to the house, I was glad of Drake’s company.

  After getting his bearings, he seemed happy to join in the celebrations.

  “Will you be taking Jill to the wedding?” Grandma asked.

  I gave her a death stare—like she’d even notice—or care.

  “Wedding?” Drake looked at me.

  “My mother’s. My late mother’s.” Man this was complicated.

  “She’s a ghost?” He helped me out.

  “Yeah. She’s marrying Alberto. Her childhood sweetheart.”

  “Is he Italian?”

  “Welsh.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, Drake.” Grandma hadn’t done with us yet. “Will you be taking Jill to the wedding or not?”

  Floor, please open up and swallow me—right now.

  “It would be my pleasure.” Drake smiled. “If that’s okay with you?” He looked to me for approval.

  “Of course it’s okay with her,” Grandma said. “She’s got no one else to go with.”

  And while you’re at it, floor, open up and swallow Grandma as well.

  “Don’t forget I can read your mind, young lady.”

  I’d been excused washing up, and had managed to manoeuvre Drake out into the garden where I thought we might have some privacy.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “You don’t have to go to the wedding if you don’t want to. Grandma can be a bit of a bully.”

  “I do want to.” He took my hand. “Provided you haven’t already planned to go with someone else.”

  “Didn’t you hear what Grandma said? No one else wants to take me.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment, but if you’d like me to accompany you, it would be my pleasure.”

  “Okay. It’s a date then. Well, not a date date, more of an appointment.”

  “Appointment? How romantic.” He laughed.

  “You know what I mean. It’s good of you to take me, but it doesn’t mean it has to be a date—I’ll shut up, shall I?”

  “Yeah. Quit while you’re behind.”

  After Drake had left, Pearl and Amber caught up with me.

  “Do you like him?” Pearl asked.

  “Yeah, he’s nice. You do realise that Grandma magicked him here, don’t you?”

  “We guessed. He didn’t know which way was up when I answered the door.”

  “Still it’ll be nice for us all to have partners for the wedding,” Amber said.

  I managed a smile, but was worried that this might make my juggling act with Kathy’s birthday even more difficult.

  Chapter 4

  Level two spells were—well—a whole new level. Although I was excited to have moved up, I was terrified that I’d mess up big time in front of Grandma.

  Somehow, I had to find time to practise, but it wasn’t easy with all the cases, paid and unpaid, which were starting to stack up. I’d set the alarm an hour earlier than usual, so I could devote a little time to magic before I set off to the office.

  Grandma did at least give me prior warning of the spells which we’d be focussing on in each lesson. I was fortunate that I found memorising the mental images fairly easy now. Amber and Pearl had both admitted that they still struggled to commit spells to memory quickly, which probably explained why they’d been stuck on level two for so long.

  It took only a matter of seconds to memorise the first ever level two spell which I tackled, but when I tried to cast the spell, nothing happened. The spell that was causing me so much grief was called ‘listen’. It was meant to give me super enhanced hearing for a period of five minutes, but so far—nothing. I thought maybe I’d mixed up the images, but I double and triple checked, and still it didn’t work.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I shouted at the book of spells. Maybe there was a mistake in the book. Maybe the wrong image had been listed or the sequence was wrong. Was there some kind of help desk I could call? I could just picture it:

  ‘Book of spells - your call is important to us - you are twenty-thousandth in the queue.’

  If I messed up, could Grandma drop me back down to level one? She could, and she would. Or she might do something much worse.

  “Help!” I screamed in frustration.

  “You called?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. My mother’s ghost was hovering in front of me. She looked concerned. “Are you okay, Jill?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m just struggling with this spell, and I’m worried what Grandma might do.”

  “Is this your first attempt at a level two spell?”

  I nodded. “Maybe it’s too soon for me to move up.”

  “Nonsense. Remember you’ve already performed spells well above level two.”

  “Yeah, but I messed those up.”

  “I’m not so sure you did.”

  “I can’t understand why it won’t work. Could the book be wrong?”

  My mother gave me a look.

  “I guess not.” I sighed.

  “Whatever you do, don’t say that to Grandma. It wouldn’t go down well.”

  “So why isn’t it working? I’m sure I have the images memorised correctly.”

  “There’s much more to being a witch than simply being able to memorise the spells. As Grandma so eloquently puts it: ‘Any half-wit can remember a spell’. At level one, you can get away with simply being able to remember the spell, but as you move up the levels it
becomes more about the execution—the focus on the desired outcome. Do you remember when you used the ‘shrink’ spell?”

  How could I forget? I’d been trying on a dress in a shop’s changing room when it had become well and truly stuck. I’d used the spell to shrink myself, so I could get out of it, but I hadn’t anticipated that I’d end up totally naked when my underwear also fell from my tiny body.

  “You saw that?” I blushed.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a common mistake.” She smiled. “Although it doesn’t always have such embarrassing results.”

  I’d felt bad enough at the time. If I’d realised my mother was watching, I’d have been totally mortified.

  “That’s a perfect example of why focus on the desired outcome is so important. It’s what separates the most powerful witches from the rest. What had your desired outcome been?”

  “To get out of the dress without losing my underwear.” I was still wincing at the memory.

  “If you’d focussed on precisely that outcome, then your underwear would have shrunk along with you. With any given spell, there is often a certain amount of flexibility. It’s up to you to use your focus to achieve the outcome you desire. Do you remember the focus you applied when you performed the level five spell? You must bring that same level of focus to every spell from now on. Do you see?”

  “I think so.”

  “Give it another try then.”

  I closed my eyes and shut out everything else. I was no longer aware of my mother’s presence or even of the room around me. Every ounce of my concentration was focussed on executing the spell. I didn’t even have to think about the sequence of the images, it was as if my memory was on auto-pilot.

  “Ouch! Ouch!” I clamped my hands over my ears to muffle the sounds that were assaulting them from every direction. I could hear a dozen different voices. The birds in the garden seemed to be singing through megaphones.

  My mother’s voice cut through the chatter. “Focus on one sound. Filter out everything else.”

  I closed my eyes again, and focussed only on her voice. Slowly every other sound faded into the background.

  “That’s it,” she said in a whisper that almost burst my ear drums. “You should be okay now.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but she’d already disappeared.

  I’d have to learn how to control this particular spell, or I’d end up with perforated ear drums. In the time remaining before the spell wore off, I decided to try to pick up on a single conversation. From the background chatter, I picked out one conversation in particular.

  “Ooh, Ivy. You’re so sexy.”

  Hmm. Maybe I should tune this one out before it became embarrassing.

  “My little Candy-floss.”

  What? It couldn’t be. Was I suffering some kind of side-effect from the spell? I’d recognise that voice anywhere. Mr Ivers was one of my neighbours, and someone I did my best to avoid. He was a film buff who had a degree in boring.

  “Ooh Ivy. Your eyebrows are so hot.”

  Ivy? Who called Mr Ivers, Ivy? Hot eye brows? He had a mono-brow. And, who on earth was Candy-floss?

  Before I could learn any more, the spell had worn off, and my hearing had returned to normal.

  I simply couldn’t take in what I’d just heard. It was hard enough to imagine Mr Ivers with a woman—any woman—but to hear her getting hot and bothered about his mono-brow—I must have been high.

  Even though I couldn’t get rid of the image of Mr Ivers and his hot mono-brow, I was pleased to have mastered the spell.

  As I left the flat, I heard voices. Walking towards me along the corridor was Mr Ivers. On his arm was a voluptuous young woman, with orange hair and matching lips. The two of them were laughing and chatting—totally oblivious to my presence. Normally, I’d have slipped back into my flat to avoid him, but I was too stunned to move. As they squeezed past me, I said, “Morning, Mr Ivers.”

  He glanced my way, but didn’t speak. As they walked away I heard the woman say,” Who was that Ivy?”

  “No one, Candy-floss,” he replied. “Just some woman who keeps bothering me.”

  I felt as though I’d slipped into another dimension. I’d been blanked by Mr Ivers. That was an all time low even for me. And who on earth was Candy-floss?

  I was still reeling from my encounter with Ivy and Candy-floss when I arrived at the office. If an alien space ship had been parked outside, I couldn’t have been any more stunned than I already was.

  “Have you taken any of my scarves?” Mrs V greeted me.

  “No, why?”

  “Some are missing.”

  How could she tell? The cupboard was creaking under the weight of them, and every drawer in her desk was full of them too.

  “You do give a lot of them away.” To every visitor whether they wanted one or not.

  “There are definitely three missing. Someone’s been in my cupboard. You should investigate.”

  “Investigate?”

  “It’s what you do isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’ll add it to my list.” My ever growing list of unpaid cases. Maybe I should re-register as a charity?

  I’d put off the call for as long as I could. Since my ‘date’ with Jack Maxwell, and after finding out about the Camberley case, I’d wanted to try to clear the air—professionally speaking. We hadn’t had the best of working relationships—understatement of the year? I was nervous because I had no idea what kind of reception I might get. Would I get the version of Maxwell I’d seen on our ‘date’? The one who’d been charming and easy to talk to. Or would I get the other Jack Maxwell? The one I’d come to know and hate; the one who looked at me like I was something he’d trodden in.

  “Detective Maxwell, please.”

  “Who’s calling?” said a bored voice on the other end of the phone.

  “This is Jill Gooder.”

  Now for the moment of truth. Was I still on his black list? I tapped my fingers nervously on the desk.

  “Hello?”

  His voice took me by surprise. I’d expected to be told he was unavailable or at best, that he’d get back to me.

  “Detective Maxwell?”

  “How very formal. I thought we were on first name terms now.”

  “Sorry. Jack. I wasn’t expecting you to—”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Look, I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes today?”

  “How does ten-thirty sound? I can give you fifteen minutes then.”

  “Ten-thirty? Fine. I’ll be there. Thanks.”

  That had gone better than I could have hoped. Maybe Kathy had done me a favour by rigging the raffle after all.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble.” Winky said, as he jumped onto the chair opposite me. “Do you think I could get some food? I’m starving. And some milk too—before you dash off to see lover boy.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Jack and Jill went up the—” He jumped off the chair just in time to avoid the ruler I threw at him.

  “No need for violence,” he said.

  “My relationship with Detective Maxwell is strictly professional.”

  “If you say so. ‘Jack fell down and’—”

  “I have a stapler and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “You should have heard yourself on the phone just now.” Winky mocked, “I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes today. You sounded like love’s young dream.”

  Winky did a scarily accurate impression of me.

  “That’s rubbish.”

  “If you say so. Now, how about that food?”

  Love’s young dream? What nonsense. What did he know? And why was I having this debate with a cat?

  Mrs V handed me a sheet of paper as I made my way out of the office.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a description of the missing scarves. I thought you’d need it when you put out an APB.”

  “APB? Right, thanks. I’m off to see Detec
tive Maxwell.”

  “Such a nice man. Don’t you think you should change first?”

  “Change?”

  “You look a little—dowdy—maybe something a little more alluring?”

  “This is strictly business. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so, dear. Maybe he can help to find the missing scarves.”

  “I’ll be sure to run it by him.”

  It was such a beautiful day that I decided to walk to the police station. As I passed by the bus stop, I did a double take. The shop that Grandma and I had visited only a couple of days before had been totally transformed. The sign read ‘Ever a Wool Moment’—I still preferred ‘Stitch Slapped’. The interior of the shop had been decorated, carpeted and refitted with new shelving and a counter. On the floor were dozens of boxes—some of them open. Two young women were busy stocking the shelves with wool of every colour. I pressed my nose to the glass to get a better view. One of the women noticed me, smiled, and mouthed the words ‘we open tomorrow’. I smiled back. There was no sign of Grandma, but somehow she’d managed to transform the shop, hire staff and was all set to open. How had she managed that? Magic must have been involved.

  Chapter 5

  The last time we’d been in that interview room, Jack Maxwell and I had fought like cat and dog. I wondered how long the current uneasy peace between us would last.

  “Jill,” Jack said, as he entered the room.

  “Jack. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have long.” He took the seat opposite me.

  “That’s okay. I wondered if we might clear the air.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “The other night. On our—”

  “Date?” He smiled. “Did you set the gerbils on your sister?”

  “Apparently, there’s a world shortage of rabid gerbils—who knew? Anyway, the other night, you mentioned Camberley.”

  Suddenly more serious, he said, “What about it?”

  “I know what happened with the family’s private investigator.”

  “Look, I’d rather not get into that.”

  “I can understand why you have such a down on P.I.s after Camberley, but we aren’t all the same.”