by Sammi Cox
In the end Mac decided to order in; pizza, with two large side orders of fries and onion rings.
The phone rang again whilst Mac was enjoying her food, but it didn't interrupt the Tchaikovsky CD that was playing in the background, or her meal. Once she could eat no more, she collected her dishes and returned them to the kitchen, placing the now cold slices of pizza that remained in the fridge. As she moved from one room to another, she passed the phone on the side table in the hall, that was repeating what felt like its relentless cycle: ringing, answer phone message, the whining sound of Jean Potterworth's sad voice. But again Andromache ignored it.
And yet, to her surprise, the cycle didn't end with the voice she expected. The next voice she heard on the phone belonged to Flora Hardcastle.
'Mac, are you there? I suggest you pick up the phone right now or I'll ring your Mum and she'll be round, fussing over you in a matter of minutes. Do you hear me?' The woman's tone was severe.
Flora Hardcastle was Andromache's best friend and mentor. On hearing her voice, Mac ran over to the phone and picked up the receiver. 'Flora! I'm here. You don't have to send Mum around,' she blurted out as quickly as she could.
'How are you bearing up?' Flora managed to ask through all the giggling that followed her potentially empty threat.
'Oh, you know...I'm fine.'
'Really? That's not what I have heard.'
'Who's been gossiping behind my back?' Mac snapped angrily, throwing herself down on to the hard, wooden chair next to the side table.
'Don't take that tone with me, missy, and besides, it doesn't matter who. Now, answer the question again. How are you coping?'
'I'm not sleeping that well, if you must know.'
'Are you taking anything for it?'
'Not at the moment...'
'Well, I suggest if you want to get over this little episode, you do-'
'Flora-'
'I know, I know. You're not stupid. You know what you need. I also think a medium dose of St. John's Wort, just to perk you up and see you through, will do wonders. Do you have any?'
'Yes, I have a few of the teabags you made up for me.'
'Well, I'll send you some more.'
'All right.'
'Promise me you will take these things that will make you feel better?'
'I promise. Now stop fussing will you?'
'We'll see.' Flora paused momentarily. Mac could tell she was trying to work out whether she was hiding anything else. She must have decided she wasn't or that there was no point in attempting to discuss it now, because she changed the subject. 'Now tell me what the police are doing about catching this evil man.'
'I couldn't provide enough useful information, so there's not much they can do, Flora. I couldn't remember many details, and what I did remember wasn't particularly...coherent.'
'OK. If the police can't do anything, where are you going from here?'
'I'll not let him get away with it, Flora,' Mac said through gritted teeth. She could never remember feeling so angry.
'That's my girl! I should hope not too. So?'
'So what?'
'What are you going to do about him?'
'I'm not sure yet.'
'Well, don't rush into anything. Get your head right first. You need to think clearly.'
'Yes, Flora. Thank you. You are making me sound like the crazy one, not him.'
'Just let me know if there is anything I can do.'
'I will, I promise. No rash decisions and wait until I feel better. Got it. Do you know, you are beginning to sound like my mum.'
'I'll take that as a compliment.'
'Thanks for checking in on me, Flora. I appreciate it.'
They said their goodbyes, with Flora threatening to ring again soon to check Mac was definitely all right. As Mac was about to return to the kitchen, the phone went again. Thinking that Flora was having a little joke with her and taking her last comment literally, she automatically picked up the phone.
'Hello, Flora,' Mac answered, in a very dry tone, rolling her eyes.
'Er...is this River Gardens Mystical Service? Can I speak with Andromache Jones please?'
'Oh,' Mac replied, cursing herself for letting her guard down. 'Umm...' She tried to think quickly of a way to get out of talking with the woman on the phone, but her mind went blank.
'Miss Jones? Is that you? It's so good to finally be able to get hold of you. My name is Jean Pottersworth and I have a bit of a problem that I am hoping you will be able to help me with.'
'I'm sorry, Ms Pottersworth, but I don't think I can help.'
'But you haven't even heard what the problem is yet so how can you be sure?'
'Ms Pottersworth, River Gardens Mystical Service is currently closed-'
'But I need your help! It can't be closed! You must be able to help me,' the woman shrieked down the phone.
'I am sure there are many other people out there who can assist you in whatever it is you need.'
'You say that and yet you don't know what sort of assistance I need! Surely, if you only hear what I have to say, then...'
'I am sorry, Ms Pottersworth. I truly am. But I am currently not up to helping anyone. Goodbye.'
It was so unlike Mac to be abrupt with a potential client, but the woman didn't seem to want to hear what Mac was saying. When she was feeling like this, how could she trust her judgement, her intuition, or even the words that came out of her mouth? No, I am not capable of helping anyone at the moment, least of all myself.
With Flora's words resounding through her mind, she went into her reading room and opened the curtains so that she could see. In the corner was an ancient oak Welsh dresser, containing much of her 'mystical' stock, including crystals, herbs and incense. Rummaging through the numerous baskets, Mac searched out the St. John's Wort tea bags, as well as some chamomile and dried lavender.
Ten minutes later she was sipping a hot cup of the mixed herbal tea, overlooking her back garden. As it was early summer, the garden was beginning to burst into a riot of colour. Flowers were blooming all over, in the borders, the herb garden, even the peas and beans, running up their canes in the vegetable plot were adding their own splashes of brightness. What made Mac smile most of all, however, was how the last of the afternoon sun was shining down on a statue of the Green Man.
Mac stayed where she was, until the sun set, and darkness began to fall. The herbal tea had really helped her in unwinding. She hadn't felt so calm and collected for days. She briefly thought over the phone conversation with Jean Potterworth, and felt a little guilty at the way she had behaved. That being said, however, she still would not have chosen to help her, simply because at this present time she believed that she couldn't.
Another trip to the kitchen was made, this time for a chamomile tea. As the kettle boiled, Mac went through one of the drawers until she found a small square of muslin. Opening it out on the work top, she placed in the centre a generous amount of the dried lavender before tying it closed. She then went into the hall and set it at the bottom of the stairs, so that she would remember to take it up to bed with her.
Once the tea was made, it was back to the reading room, but just as she was about to enter, a key turned in the lock of the front door. Crab was home.
'Hi, Maccy? I'm back,' he called out before seeing her standing in the hall. 'Oh, great! You're up and about, honey.' He dropped all that he was carrying and took her cup of tea out of her hands, placing it on the side table. Putting his arms around his girlfriend, he asked, 'Are you feeling any better?'
'A little,' Mac replied, resting her head on his shoulder. Crab was taller than Mac, with dark brown hair and eyes to match. He was physically strong with fairly broad shoulders, which intimidated some people but he possessed the kindest and most gentlest of hearts, Mac believed. 'I spoke to Flora today.'
'That's good. What did she have to say?'
'That someone has been keeping her informed of how I am coping
.'
'Oh...did she say who?'
'Nope.'
'I suppose they only have your best interest at heart, my love.'
'I know.' She then started to giggle. 'Thank you for telling on me. I have cracked out the herbs.'
'I'm just pleased that you got out of bed, honey. Did you get all those messages that were left on the machine from a ...Pottersbury...Pottersborough...'
'From Jean Pottersworth? Yes, and I have spoken with her.'
'What did she want? She sounded pretty distraught to me.'
'I have no idea what she wanted, but I told her she would have to find someone else to help her. I can't do it at the moment, can I?'
'I know, sweetheart. So what's for dinner?'
'There's pizza in the fridge. I'm about to have my chamomile tea in the reading room and then I'm off to bed.'
'All right, then darling. I won't disturb you. Glad you're feeling better,' he said, pecking her on the cheek.
They relinquished their hold on each other and went their separate ways.
In the reading room, Mac closed the curtains and lit a few candles, a lavender incense stick, as well as a violet-scented one. Then sitting herself on the big sofa in front of the window, she crossed her legs, closed her eyes and began to meditate.
An hour later, she was dragging herself up the stairs, calling out a sleepy 'goodnight' to her boyfriend who was lying on the sofa in the living room watching the television.
Mac's eyes began to close as soon as she fell into bed. The last thing she remembered doing before falling asleep was placing the little lavender sachet on to the warmish-radiator so that the soothing scent of the herb could help her sleep.
Chapter Three: Ambushed
