Hubble Bubble (33 page)

A pinch of allspice

Beat flour, sugar, eggs and cream together. Leave in a cool place.

Mix together lemons, ginger, beggar’s buttons, china berry, and allspice. Grind small with pestle and mortar.

Whisk into cold creamed mixture.

Spoon into buttered patty tins.

Bake for three quarters of one hour in a moderate oven. The outside of the Dreaming Creams should be crisp and
crumbly, while the insides should be of a soft and chewy consistency.

Note: Making dreams come true is easy with the right herbal magic. This combination is particularly efficacious. Dreaming Creams are made from a powerful country recipe which has been successful for generations. Whether spoken aloud or thought silently, dreams WILL come true if made while eating Dreaming Creams. These sweetmeats are traditionally used for wedding feasts.

‘Maybe we should try and make some sort of love potion for your mum,’ Brett said as he and Doll queued under lowering skies outside the village hall the following Saturday afternoon. ‘From her recipe book. After all it’s supposed to have worked for us – and for Lu and Shay, isn’t it?’

Doll shoved him none too gently in the ribs and stamped her numbing feet. ‘That’s all rubbish and you know it is. Sadly, whatever went wrong between Mum and Joel is too far gone for a few herbs to make any difference.’

‘But Lulu says she made some sort of wishing star meringues to finally hook Shay.’

‘Yeah, right. Lu also says she can’t understand why Mum and Joel have split up because they shared some really powerful apple love magic at Halloween and it can’t have gone wrong. It’s all hokum. As I’ve said all along.’ She gazed up at the heavy sky. ‘Do you think it’s going to snow?’

Brett shook his head. ‘Not according to the forecasts, no.’

It was only ten days before the wedding. The wind was screaming down from the Arctic, ripping at the flapping corners of the
Hair
posters outside the hall. The weather was getting colder and greyer by the minute, but the chances of a white Christmas were still officially about a million to one. Doll, who secretly relished the idea of
walking from Lance’s car to the church in a snowstorm, was very disappointed.

She was also more concerned about Mitzi than she was prepared to admit. Joel, she felt, could lick his own wounds in the sort of secretive macho way men always did. Sure, he wasn’t usually afraid of being in touch with his feminine side, but this time confession sessions were clearly a no-go area. He’d simply refused to talk about Mitzi and Doll had given up trying to make him.

Mitzi, although professing to be fine, was anything but. She seemed to have shrunk back into herself, even more so than when Lance had first decamped with Jennifer. As she’d made such huge life strides recently, since leaving the bank, Doll found this rapid sliding backwards more than a little worrying. Doll knew her mother was desperately unhappy, but she too refused to discuss the break-up. Even Lu, obsessed as she was with Shay, the forthcoming career move, and Pip, Squeak and Wilfred, had noticed.

‘Bloody long wait,’ Clyde Spraggs muttered ahead of them in the queue. ‘Like being in the West End.’

‘You’ve never been to the West End,’ Flo said tartly. ‘And what’s in that bottle?’

‘Dandelion and rosehip with a touch of moonshine. Keeps out the cold.’

‘Give it here then – no, don’t let young Doll have any. She’s carrying, remember?’

‘Why aren’t the bloody doors open?’ Someone else complained at the head of the queue. ‘We’ve been waiting hours and it’s bloody freezing.’

The cry was picked up along the snaking queue. Any minute now, Doll thought, there’d be a Hazy Hassocks riot.

‘Why are we waiting? Oh, w-h-y are we waiting?’ someone chorused behind them. ‘Why are we wa-i-t-ing? Why-oh-why?’

The discordant but mainly jocular vocal complaint was echoed over and over again as villagers from Hazy Hassocks, Bagley-cum-Russett and Fiddlesticks all joined in.

It was, Doll thought, probably far more tuneful than anything else they’d hear that afternoon.

‘Are we going to be late?’ Lu puffed as she and Shay, entwined as always, hurried across the village green. ‘Doesn’t
Hair
kick off at three?’

‘No we’re not and yes it does,’ Shay said, his head down against the wind. ‘It’s only half-two and we’ll be there in a couple of minutes – but I knew we should have brought the car. It’s bloody freezing. I suppose this is where the Afghan comes into its own?’

Lulu nodded. It was. To be honest, the Afghan had always caused her a bit of a dilemma. Should someone as dedicated to animal welfare as she was really spend her life wearing the skins of dead, albeit long-dead, goats? As she’d always been very careful about not eating anything with a face or wearing anything other than man-made shoes, it sometimes bothered her. She’d always justified it to herself by saying the wearing of the Afghan was a living memorial to the animals which had given their lives for the vanity of man, and hoped that they’d forgive her.

The wind punched across the green in icy waves, and not for the first time Lu was delighted to be shrouded in the Afghan’s impenetrable layers. She’d persuaded Shay to walk to the village hall because she was keen to map out the best routes for Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’s future constitutionals. Neither of them had expected it to be quite so cold.

‘Oh, look – Honeysuckle House is on the market.’

Shay looked across the green. ‘It’s not a house and there isn’t any honeysuckle.’

‘Pedant.’

‘Looks nice though. A real cottage. Very tiny – probably only two up and two down? And the sign says it’s to let, not for sale. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could—’

‘Yeah. Perfect.’ Lu sighed. ‘And the garden would be great for the puppies – not to mention being right on the
village green for walks and stuff. The rent is probably affordable too, because it belongs to the vicar and he usually lets it out to deserving cases – which we are. Amy and Frank Worthy had it last – before the trouble. I didn’t know they’d finally gone.’

‘What trouble?’

‘You don’t really want to know about the trouble, do you? Yeah, you obviously do. Well, Amy and Frank looked like Mr and Mrs Middle-England. Retired. Rotary.
Daily Mail
and
Telegraph
readers. Pillars of the church. Genteel and impoverished. Just right for the vicar’s good Honeysuckle House cause. Sadly, they spent all their spare time making videos for the discerning gentleman.’

‘They made porn films?’ Shay laughed. ‘In that dear little cottage?’

‘No, not in there. Somewhere near Epping Forest – they lived a perfectly respectable life in Honeysuckle House. But of course when it came to court and the
News of the World,
the vicar had to give them notice to quit.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Shay laughed again. ‘This place is amazing. And why is the vicar a man of property? I thought they were supposed to give up all worldly goods when they took the cloth. Does he own a lot of property?’

‘Just Honeysuckle House and his Harley-Davidson. He says they’re his pension fund. Oh, but wouldn’t it be brilliant if we could live there?’

They looked at one another and sighed. It would be perfect. But they couldn’t even contemplate it because of Lav and Lob.

‘Forget it,’ Lulu said. ‘I know it’s out of the question. Anyway, we’ve got other things to worry about.’

‘Your mum, you mean?’

‘Mmmm. She’s so unhappy. I hate seeing her like this. I can’t imagine what went wrong. That apple magic is supposed to be infallible.’

‘Sweetheart, maybe it was infallible in your Great-Gran’s time, but not now.’

‘Don’t be daft. Magic is timeless.’

‘Whatever. But even so, they looked really happy that night in Lorenzo’s – it must have been something major to have changed things so drastically. Is she still not talking about it?’

‘Neither of them are,’ Lu said miserably as they slithered off the green and headed for the village hall. ‘Me and Doll hoped they’d get together again at the wedding and at least talk to one another but Joel says he’s not going now. Blimey! Look at that queue! Oh, great – Doll and Brett are near the front. Let’s push in with them.’

Inside the hall, nerves were getting the better of the
Hair
cast. Trilby Man was racing around backstage, barking last-minute instructions, frightening the life out of everyone and getting in the way. Mitzi, who had peered out of the window at the immense queue, felt nothing at all.

It was very disconcerting, this ongoing feeling of total apathy.

‘Right!’ Trilby Man snapped behind her. ‘Let’s get those doors open. Are you sure you’re okay for front of house, duck? You looks as rough as a badger’s arse.’

‘Thanks so much. And I’m fine.’

‘And the half-time refreshments? Can you handle them, too?’

Mitzi nodded. They’d had a sort of co-operative arrangement over the refreshments with everyone in the Baby Boomers bringing something. Sadly, because no one bothered to write it down, they now had far too many sausage rolls and not enough cake. Lavender and Lobelia had provided sardine and mustard sandwiches. Mitzi had halfheartedly made some bits and pieces from Granny’s recipe book. Nothing too controversial, of course, just some of her tried and tested recipes.

She hurried between the rows and rows of empty chairs, and flicked on the auditorium lights. The pain under her ribs was ever present, and her head felt as if it was filled
with cotton wool. She missed Joel so much. They’d so looked forward to this afternoon, too. Joel wouldn’t be here now, naturally. Or at the wedding. He’d already told Doll he’d decided to go back to his parents in Manchester for Christmas.

Pulling open the hall’s double doors, Mitzi was almost knocked sideways by the twin onslaught of a northerly gale and several hundred cold people. Her request for tickets was lost in the raucous mêlée.

As they all streamed in, it was like her life in Hazy Hassocks flashing before her eyes. Everyone was there. Well, everyone except Lance and Jennifer because, on their return from London, they’d booked themselves a relaxing-and-tanning health farm break so that they’d look like the village’s answer to Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones at the wedding.

Gwyneth Wilkins and Big Ida Tomms spearheaded the Fiddlesticks faction, and several members of the Bagley-cum-Russett Ladies League of Light had braved the cold and their unreliable minibus to make the three-mile journey. Herbie was there, and Hedley and Biff Pippin, and Mrs Elkins from Patsy’s Pantry, and Carmel and Augusta, and Otto and Boris from The Faery Glen – and, well, absolutely everyone. Except, Mitzi noted sadly, Joel with the dental surgery crowd.

Doll and Lu hugged her. Shay and Brett grinned encouragingly.

‘Are you sitting with us?’ Doll said. ‘We’ll need you to explain what’s going on.’

‘It’s all way beyond me,’ Mitzi managed a smile. ‘The original script was confusing – now our lot have got hold of it it’s totally incomprehensible.’

‘Nice music though,’ Lu said. ‘Are we allowed to sing along?’

‘Oh, definitely. They’re going to need all the help they can get.’

Everyone had already made a beeline for the front rows.
Mitzi, hoping that Joel might, just might, be there, had spread various belongings across six seats immediately in front of the stage.

‘Great seats,’ Brett said as they settled in. ‘Who’s the other one for – ouch!’

There was a huge sense of anticipation as the audience prepared to be entertained. As Mitzi had had the hot-air blowers on since first light, it was for once gloriously warm inside. Coats were shed and glasses retrieved from bags. The lights dimmed.

Everyone went ‘ooooh’.

Trilby Man fought his way out through the lopsided curtains and everyone cheered.

‘Lovely to see you all here,’ he screamed into the microphone. The microphone, far too close to the amplifier, screamed back.

Everyone clapped.

‘We’re just waiting for one or two latecomers,’ Trilby Man shrieked. ‘Then we’ll be underway. I hope you’ll enjoy this afternoon’s show, which is the first of many planned Hazy Hassocks am-dram productions. There will be an intermission between Act One and Act Two, and there are refreshments available at the back of the hall for those who—’

Too late. Mitzi closed her eyes. The audience, chilled to the bone in the queue, needed no second invitation. Chairs scraped back, and with a whooping rush, everyone clattered towards the food tables.

‘For the intermission!’ Trilby Man screamed helplessly. ‘The refreshments are for the intermission – oh, bugger!’

Somewhere in the scrum for the food, with everyone piling their cardboard plates like mini Everests, Tarnia and Snotty Mark arrived. Trilby Man, spotting them from the stage, clambered down the rickety steps and ushered them to two reserved seats at the end of Mitzi’s row.

‘Hair?’
Tarnia mouthed to Mitzi. ‘I thought it was a panto.’

‘It will be,’ Mitzi mouthed back. ‘Believe me.’

Tarnia was dressed in pink and gold and glittered a lot. Snotty Mark, who clearly didn’t want to be there, was wearing a black Paul Smith suit and with his gelled-down hair looked like a funeral director.

‘But,
Hair
?’ Tarnia persisted. ‘Is this suitable? I mean, my charity commissioners think it’s all innocent fun for the village kiddies. I’m not at all sure this is an appropriate use of the premises.’

Mitzi shrugged. She really didn’t care any more.

‘Have a bun, duck,’ Clyde Spraggs leaned over from the row behind and offered Tarnia his heaped plate. ‘You could do with a bit of flesh on them bones.’

‘Well, I really shouldn’t – I’m on the Pratt Diet for the run-up to Christmas – but I’m starving and I’m sure one won’t hurt.’ Tarnia hesitated for a moment, then reached for one of the brown squashy cakes on the top of the pile. ‘That’s very kind of you. Mitzi, is this one of yours?’

Mitzi nodded, watching Tarnia’s perfectly capped teeth sink into the Powers of Persuasion Pudding. Not sure now if it would work or not, she smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll find that the charity commissioners will be absolutely delighted with this afternoon’s production – and all the other uses for the hall. And I’m equally sure that you’ll tell them about your continued and ongoing support for our projects, won’t you?’