Hubble Bubble (10 page)
‘Yeah, okay,’ Doll snapped. ‘I get the picture. And yes, if you must know, I did enjoy it. Every minute of it. Brett and I have had one of the best weekends I can ever remember.’
‘What?
You mean, you and Brett …
All weekend?’
‘Mmmm …’ Doll smiled dreamily. ‘It was wonderful … We only emerged from the bedroom to grab another bottle or two of plonk. We even had profiteroles and cream in bed. It’s amazing what you can do with a profiterole.’
‘Oh, yuk – far, far too much information!’ Lulu pulled an agonised face.
Doll slowed the Polo as they approached the charity shop. As always there was nowhere to park outside it. She smiled soppily again. ‘Brett and I couldn’t bear to say goodbye this morning – it was like being sixteen again. All our old feelings were rekindled. And if I’m not pregnant after this weekend then there simply ain’t no justice.’
Blimey! Lulu was stunned into silence. Maybe there was more to the Wishes Come True Pie than they’d imagined.
She was still pondering on the awfulness of her mother’s sortie into cookery being responsible for Doll and Brett’s amorous shenanigans as she dripped into the shop.
Dark and cavernous, smelling of age and decay and mould, with violently coloured 1970s crockery, 1960s plastic ornaments, and a trillion paperbacks vying for space with racks and heaps and piles of mainly unwearable clothes, it had been Lulu’s workplace and sanctuary for five years.
‘Sorry I’m late – had to wait for Doll to give me a lift because of the rain.’ She shed the Afghan in a corner and grinned at her employers. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
From behind the counter, Hedley and Biff Pippin nodded in unison. They looked more like siblings than husband and wife, both being short, rotund and wearing bifocals. They
even dressed similarly in cords and check shirts. Biff, it was rumoured, had been quite a big name on the underground female wrestling circuit when Hedley had met her at an animal rights rally in the 1960s. It had been mutual attraction at first sight. They were easygoing employers, committed to their cause, and Lulu loved them dearly.
Over several cups of tea and while sorting through the black bags of donated clothes and bric-à-brac which was always left outside over the weekend, she told them about the Wishes Come True Pie – and the outcome – skipping the details of Brett and Doll’s sexual marathon in case it horrified them as much as it had her.
‘Maybe we could get your mother to make us something for our next animal rights rally,’ Biff said, holding up a see-through nightie in purple nylon. ‘We could wish for all the opposition to combust spontaneously.’
‘Er – yes …’ Lulu paused in trying on a beige pac-a-mac. ‘I’m not sure that Granny Westward’s recipes have anything along those lines.’
‘Don’t you believe it.’ Hedley puffed on his pipe which smelt even worse than Lulu’s coat. ‘Them old village women used to concoct potions for every occasion. Why do you think they was all drowned at the stake? Where do the basics for modern drugs come from? Plants, that’s where. Take the poppy – such a beautiful flower – but it’s responsible for most of the world’s problems and—’
‘Er – yes,’ Lulu peeled off the pac-a-mac and cut short Hedley’s rant. He had an unfortunate habit of turning into Tony Benn at every given opportunity. ‘But I don’t think Mum will be dabbling with anything that’ll lead to a raid by the Drugs Squad. It’s all hokum really.’
Biff shook her head. ‘I think Hedley’s right, dear. It’s well documented that villagers used what was readily available to cure ills, alter minds, and make their entertainment. Mitzi may have stumbled upon something rather wonderful, you know.’
Lu folded a heap of two-ply cardigans in neon colours
into a neat display. ‘Do you really think so? You don’t think all those things would have happened anyway – without the Wishes Come True Pie?’
‘Who knows,’ Biff shook her pepper-and-salt head. ‘The only way to find out is to get your mum to try something else. Make a few more meals from your great-gran’s book and see what happens. If they don’t work then maybe it was just coincidence – but there’s only one way to find out …’ A dark shadow loomed in the rain-splashed doorway. Biff became instantly professional. ‘Oh, goody a customer and loaded with bags by the look of it. Hedley, you make sure he buys something as well as dumping off!’
Leaving the customer to Hedley’s killer selling techniques, Lu ducked into the back of the shop to scrunch up the black sacks and stack the cardboard boxes and put the kettle on again. The thought that Mitzi may be able to
make things happen
with her recipes was pretty laughable really. But then, look at Doll and Brett. No one in their right mind would surely want a 48-hour love-in with Brett without being under the influence of
something,
would they?
She nodded happily to herself. Maybe it would be fun to try one of the other recipes – maybe there was a proper love potion – maybe they could invite Shay round. She gave a little shiver of pleasure at the thought.
‘Lulu, come and look at this lot!’ Hedley’s voice sliced through the delicious reverie. ‘I know we say we’ll never turn anything away – but honestly!’
Biff was kneeling among the piles of detritus spilling from the black bags on the floor. ‘Couldn’t even send most of this lot to recycling! Good lord, some of this is falling apart – and it smells awful. Who in their right mind would wear something like this?’
Lulu looked at the multi-layered, grubby and frayed frock. ‘Er – me, actually. That’s one of mine – and so is this! And this!’
She dropped to her knees and rifled through the bags. Everything belonged to her. Everything she possessed.
Everything she hadn’t already moved from Niall’s loft to Mitzi’s house.
‘Who brought this in?’
‘Biggish bloke,’ Hedley said. ‘Youngish. Flash suit. Flash car outside. Flash young lady with him. He looked a bit familiar. Wouldn’t bloody buy anything, though.’
Lulu scrambled to her feet and ran to the door. Niall’s sporty Astra coupé was pulling out into the traffic. There was an immaculate redhead in a neat black businesslike jacket in the passenger seat. She was clutching a designer handbag and a matching neat black briefcase on her immaculate lap. Niall leaned from the window and gave Lu a mocking wave.
‘Bye, Tallulah!’ His voice rang above the steady pounding of the rain and the swish of the traffic. ‘Dee-Dee and I thought we’d save you the trouble of removing the rest of your tat. This is where it – and you – belong. I hope we never meet again! So long sweetheart!’
Lu stared after the car as it roared off. Damn Niall to hell. It hadn’t taken him long to find a replacement, had it? Not long at all, considering he had so recently sworn he’d love her for ever. Men! Fickle, pathetic and liars the lot of them! Lu sniffed a bit. And the woman in the car had been exactly what Niall had tried, and failed, to turn her into … So – was her heart broken? She shook her head. No, bruised a bit and her pride battered, but nothing terminal … And of course there was always Shay who surely wasn’t fickle or a liar and who was a zillion times better than Niall. Maybe, she thought, turning back into the shop, now was exactly the right time to see if Mitzi’s magic really worked …
So far so good, Mitzi thought as she loaded the holdall. Had she got everything she’d need for the first Baby Boomers Collective meeting? List of names, yes; list of what was possible to achieve and what wasn’t, yes; packets of biscuits to go with the tongue-stripping village hall tea, yes. Permission from Tarnia Snepps to use Hazy Hassocks village hall this afternoon, no; confidence, no; major butterfly attack, yes, yes, yes.
It had been a strange week: she hadn’t expected Lu to have been quite so stricken by Niall’s final goodbye, although of course Lulu had insisted it was hurt pride more than a bruised heart – nor had she expected Doll and Brett to be drifting around like love’s young dream. However, thanks to the neighbours, and her friends, and the Baby Boomers, and Granny Westward’s cookery book, Mitzi certainly hadn’t had a moment to be lonely or bored. In fact she was beginning to wonder how she’d ever found the time to go to work.
And it had stopped raining. Now the end of October was rushing in with icy northern gales and brittle, nose-numbing mornings. The trees were being stripped bare and Hazy Hassocks was disappearing under a carpet of gold and brown and russet. More telling, Richard and Judy had abandoned the washing basket and were draped over the central heating boiler, a sure sign of bitter weather to come.
Happily humming along with Radio Two, Mitzi set out two mugs on the tray and opened a fresh packet of Hobnobs. It was Flo’s turn to pop in for coffee and gossip.
‘Come in,’ she called hearing the knock on the back door, ‘the kettle’s boiling and – oh! What on earth do you want?’
Lance, looking a bit flushed and straightening his hair, grinned sheepishly round the kitchen door. ‘Lovely warm greeting. Thanks, love.’
‘Don’t call me love.’
‘No, okay, sorry – old habits and all that …’ Lance pulled out a chair and sat comfortably at the kitchen table. ‘It’s so cosy in here. Really snug after our all-white and stainless steel. I get quite nostalgic for the days of magnolia and Dralon. And you look – well – wonderful … Retirement suits you.’
Mitzi made a little tsking noise of irritation. ‘You know damn well the magnolia and Dralon went out of the door when you did. And you can cut out all the soft soap too. What’s up? Had a row with The Harpy? Has she got you on detox again? You’ve only come round for strong coffee and a chocolate biscuit, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, well, no of course, not
just
for a chocolate biscuit …’ Lance shrugged out of his black woollen coat and relaxed. ‘I was passing on the way back from one of the sites and thought I ought to call in and check that everything was okay.’
‘Everything’s fine, as always. And no longer your problem or responsibility. And yes, you can have gallons of non-decaff coffee and as many Hobnobs as you like. Okay?’
‘Great,’ he grinned at her.
Such a relief, Mitzi thought, as she turned away to reboil the kettle, that the grin no longer moved her. For the best part of her adult life Lance’s wide easygoing smile had turned her to jelly. It had taken a long time to recover from his deception. She’d never trust him, or any man, totally again.
He’d aged well, though. Not quite as well as she had, of course, but he was still lean and fit and handsome. And his hair was still brown and silky and he still had more than a touch of David Bowie about him. And his small building business was still buoyant, unlike so many others which had suffered in the recession. Handsome, gentle, kind, amusing and comfortably off. No wonder Jennifer the Harpy had found him irresistible.
No, she shook her head, she wasn’t going to meander along that path – not ever again. She pulled her apricot sweatshirt down over her faded Levis and composed her face into a noncommittal smile as she handed him his mug of coffee. ‘Two sugars. Or are you on to sweeteners now?’
‘Not even sweeteners. Not while we’re on the detox. Chemicals are out. Sugar is great, thanks. And you do look really terrific.’
‘Thanks – I’m thoroughly enjoying my freedom despite my early misgivings. Have you heard from the girls?’
‘Doll rang the other night and Lu popped into the office a couple of days ago. They seem okay. I’m glad Niall’s finally off the scene – always thought he was a complete prat. However, they both told me your attempt at cooking had been successful – which worried me a bit.’
Mitzi flicked the tea towel at him. He’d always teased her about her lack of culinary skills. She sat opposite him, clearing away the clutter, nursing her own coffee mug, and shared the biscuits, chatting with ease about the forthcoming meeting at the village hall. They got on well as friends. They always had.
‘Is this it? The recipe book they were talking about?’ Lance stretched out his hand for the fragile collection of pages held together with an elastic band propped up against the flower vase in the middle of the table. He opened it carefully. ‘Good God – this is amazing. Look at that handwriting – fantastic. And there are some real old-fashioned things in here … God! Suet puddings! Layer cakes! Pies! Pastries! Oh, I think I’ve just stumbled on nirvana.’
Mitzi giggled. ‘There speaks a man who’s spent far too long on pulses and brown rice and those awful bags of mixed leaves that everyone pretends to love. But have you looked at the names of the recipes? They’re really quaint. That’s the one we tried – Wishes Come True – and very tasty it was. A lot of them tie in with dates of the old festivals, see? I’ve been thinking of trying out something a bit special for Halloween. There’s a really interesting one here – look …’
They pored over the book together.
‘All Hallows Mallows?’ Lance raised his eyebrows. ‘Mmmm – I can see them going down well with the trick-n-treating thugs. And what’s Mischief Night Cake? And Firework Frenzy? Hey, look at this one. You should knock up a batch of these for this afternoon.’
‘Powers of Persuasion Puddings?’ Mitzi frowned. ‘Why? Do you think my Baby Boomers will need to be forcibly persuaded that they have the skills and opportunities to change their own lives?’
‘Mitzi, love,’ Lance dunked the last Hobnob in his coffee, ‘I’m sure you could persuade them to do anything you wanted – no, I was actually thinking about feeding a bucketful of Powers of Persuasion to Tarnia …’
They laughed together. As they always had about Tarnia. Mind you, Mitzi thought as she headed to the kettle for coffee refills, Lance may well have a point. If Tarnia got wind of this afternoon’s illegally arranged meeting she could turn very nasty indeed.
‘How do you fancy doing a spot of home-baking?’
‘Me?’ Lance looked as though she’d made an improper suggestion. ‘What, here? Now?’
‘Right here and now – unless of course you have more important things to dash off to …’
‘Nothing at all. Do you mean – make something out of this book?’ Lance stood up and pushed up the sleeves of his pale-blue sweater. ‘Great. Can’t think of anything I’d like more. Right – what do we need?’