by Kaye Umansky
‘Well!’ said Albert. ‘That was unexpected. I even sold one of the green vases, did you notice?’
‘I did. Now we’ve only got one hundred and seventy-nine left.’
Albert turned the sign on the door to CLOSED. ‘Come on, pet, let’s go up and get some lunch.’
‘I think I’ll just nip along and see Magenta,’ said Elsie.
Magenta sat scowling behind the counter with her arms folded. The door opened and the shop bell jingled (Elsie had got her way with the bell).
‘Hello,’ said Elsie. ‘How’s it been going?’
‘It’s not,’ snapped Magenta. ‘No shortage of people standing and goggling, but not a single person came in, apart from that silly little mayor. Shouting some nonsense about planning permission, so I turned his briefcase into a toad. Rude little man.’
‘I’m – um – not sure that’s quite the right approach. . .’
‘It’s my approach and I’m not putting up with it. A shop is for selling things, not for being goggled at by people who have a sheep for a town statue. All I’ve done this morning is sit here and get tutted and muttered at from a distance. Somebody even threw an egg at the window. Of course, the window caught it and threw it back, and everyone ran off screaming. You’d think no one had ever seen magical self-defence glass before.’
‘They haven’t,’ said Elsie. ‘I told you, Smallbridge takes a while to get used to new things.’
‘I can’t wait for that. I’m not here to waste time. I’m here to get my specialist products back on the market. I shall spread the word. It’s boring, sitting here on my own. No sign of Corbett. No loyalty whatsoever. By the way, I’ve written an advert for an assistant. As you claim you’re not available.’
She pushed a piece of paper across the counter.
‘ “Shop assistant wanted, apply Magenta Sharp, Sharp Spells, Smallbridge.” ’ read Elsie. ‘Well, it’s brief and to the point. So where is Corbett?’
‘Back at the tower. They’re sulking together. They don’t like it on that common. No trees. Too flat and open. And this morning there was a big crowd outside, just standing around gawping and making comments, watching me brush my teeth through the window. I really don’t see what’s so interesting.’
‘They had a public meeting in the town hall last night,’ said Elsie. ‘About the tower and the shop. And you. Deciding what to do about everything.’
‘Ah. That would explain the visit from that silly little mayor.’
‘Dad did his best to stick up for you,’ said Elsie. ‘But an awful lot of people want you gone.’
‘Too bad. I’m staying put. Oh, by the way, the till drawer’s stuck. Fix it, would you?’ Magenta looked around. ‘Where did you put the box of disposable crystal balls?
‘Over by the dummies. Next to the wands, by the fake spiders. Have you been forcing this drawer?’
‘No.’
‘It shouldn’t stick, being new. What do you want a crystal for?’
‘Because I’m going to drum up some business.’
‘Right. Well, the drawer’s working now. I could stay and help out for a bit if you like?’
‘No point until we have customers,’ said Magenta. Rummaging through the ball box.
‘Oh. Okay, well I’ll come back and see if you need help later, then?’ said Elsie, feeling slightly disappointed to be returning to the Emporium quite so soon.
‘Fine. Fine,’ Magenta said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Down beneath the counter, unnoticed at the back of a dark shelf, the Spellatron 3000 stopped purring for a split second - then resumed.
As Elsie left the shop, a tile slid off the roof and crashed to the cobbles.
She frowned down at the smashed tile. Hmmm, she thought. That’s not a good sign.
The afternoon in the Emporium wasn’t as hectic as the morning. The customers consisted of regulars, plus a few strays who hadn’t yet seen Magenta’s shop, and those who had come along for another look, just to be sure it was as bad as they remembered it. No one seemed in a hurry to leave. They had seen the tower and the shop and now they wanted to stand around and talk about them.
‘Disgusting,’ said Mr Sourman to Albert. He had come in to look at the cheap pens. He sucked noisily at his teeth.
‘What is, Donald?’ asked Albert politely.
‘That witch shop.’ He nodded over his shoulder. ‘Disgusting. The colour, for a start.’
‘I’ve never met Witch Sharp,’ Mrs Snoring mused. ‘Not to speak to. I don’t think I’d want to go in her shop.’
‘Me neither,’ said Mrs Lardy. ‘I don’t think we should encourage her. What if a bad spell gets in the wrong hands?’
Elsie gave a tired sigh. Here we go again, she thought.
‘It won’t,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t sell bad spells.’
‘What about the dear, innocent little ones, though?’ said Miss Winnie Whippet, who didn’t have any children. ‘Suppose they get their darling, precious hands on something dangerous?’
‘She doesn’t do dangerous,’ explained Elsie patiently. ‘There’s a whole, wonderful range of stuff, suitable for all the family.’
‘Is that so?’ said Mr Sourman. He sneered at Elsie. ‘You think everyone should have access to magic, do you?’
‘Actually, I do. Magic is perfectly safe if you follow the instructions.’
‘And you would know, of course.’ Mr Sourman gave Elsie a knowing stare. ‘Being so pally with her.’
‘Are you buying that pen, Donald?’ asked Albert. He sounded chilly. ‘Shall I put it in a bag for you?’
Mr Sourman ignored him. His mean little eyes were fixed on Elsie.
‘She’s taught you a few little tricks of your own, am I right?’
Here it is, then, thought Elsie. The storm in the teacup. She had known it would come up one day.
More people had come into the shop now and were listening while pretending not to. The angry man with the flat cap and the beard was among them, stamping around giving angry little snorts because he couldn’t see what he wanted (thick black chalk to make an angry poster).
‘Are you actually planning to buy anything today, Donald?’ asked Albert.
‘Well, Albert, I’m not sure if this is the kind of establishment I want to spend my money in,’ said Mr Sourman. ‘What with that girl of yours liking a little magical dabble. Tell your dad what I caught you doing with the tea. Go on, missy!’
There was an audible gasp. Nobody talked to Elsie Pickles like that. She was always so nice. So polite and helpful. Whatever did he mean by it?
‘Donald,’ said Albert coldly. ‘I’ll thank you not to speak to Elsie like that.’
Albert was a mild-mannered man who rarely raised his voice. But every now and then, he exploded. You always knew when he was rising to the boil because his nose would twitch. It was twitching now.
‘Never mind, Dad,’ said Elsie. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I’m speaking my mind,’ said Mr Sourman. ‘You’re too soft, Albert. Letting your daughter go running off into the forest, learning how to do bad spells, mixing with the wrong crowd.’
‘Quite right!’ suddenly chipped in angry beard man. ‘What’s Smallbridge coming to? Witches opening shops! Towers appearing overnight! Shop keepers letting their kids run wild. Outrageous!’
Well. That’s how it began.
Albert, as we know, is a stickler for good customer service. But that afternoon he broke one of his own rules. Rule Eighteen. Do Not Get Into Arguments With Customers.
He broke that one in a big way.
Chapter Seven
THREE WITCHES
The following morning, three new witches arrived in Smallbridge.
The trio marched purposefully up the high street, all armed with large shopping baskets, one of which was on wheels and contained a large yellow teapot. Elsie, had she been there, would have recognised them immediately. Wendy Snipe, the Wise Woman of Clackham Common; Maureen, the Hag of Heaving Heath and Madam
e Shirley, Fortune Teller to the Stars. Elsie had met them in the Sorcerer’s Bazaar.
Wendy was the plump one with the grey curls and beaming smile. Maureen was thin and mournful with the traditional black robes. Tiny Shirley was dressed like some sort of mad clown and went nowhere without her teapot.
The residents of Smallbridge were once again taken by surprise. Witch sightings in Smallbridge were rare. Certainly not three at a time. People’s jaws dropped open. People whispered. People nudged each other. Some of the ruder ones pointed.
The children were hugely excited. A magic shop, a tower with a rude raven, something called Tickle Dust and now more witches! This was the best week ever! It certainly beat climbing on the sheep.
As the three witches paraded down the street, there came the hasty pulling-down of shutters and the slamming of doors. Of the shopkeepers, only two stayed outside. One was the fishmonger. He had wanted to go in, but at the sight of three witches, his legs had gone wobbly and wouldn’t obey him. So he just stood stock still, giving a rather good impression of one of his fish – mouth agape and eyes staring. The other was the greengrocer, who continued to set out his apple display. He wasn’t from Smallbridge and he wasn’t witchist.
‘Is this the right way to Sharp Spells, lovie?’ Wendy enquired of the fishmonger. ‘Nice-looking fish you got there, I might pop in later.’
The fishmonger gaped fishily.
‘Speak slowly, Wendy,’ advised Maureen. ‘I don’t think he understood you.
Maybe the poor fellow’s hard of hearing?’
Wendy raised her voice and spoke in crisp, clear tones. ‘WE ARE LOOKING FOR A SHOP CALLED SHARP SPELLS! ARE WE HEADING THE RIGHT WAY?’
‘It’s down the alley on your right, ladies,’ said the greengrocer helpfully. ‘Had breakfast, have you? You know what they say about apples being good for you.’
‘Thank you, young man,’ said Wendy. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ She pointed at the fishmonger. ‘Shark got his tongue?’
‘Just a bit shy. We don’t see many witch ladies like yourselves in Smallbridge. More’s the pity.’
‘Flatterer,’ said Shirley. ‘I’ll think I will have a bag of those delicious-looking apples.’
Elsie and Albert leaned on the counter next to each other. Both of them felt a bit down in the dumps. They were open and ready for business as usual. But the shop was deserted.
‘It’s early yet, Dad,’ said Elsie, as the clock ticked. She moved to the window and stared out.
‘Mm.’ Albert sounded worried.
‘Someone’s sure to come in.’
‘Mm.’
‘Here comes someone now— Oh! Oh my!’
‘What’s wrong, love?’
‘Three witches just walked by! I know them!’
‘You do? How’s that, then?’
‘I . . . met them in a . . . shop,’ said Elsie vaguely. She tended not to talk much about magical things around the family. It made all of them a little bit uncomfortable. ‘Magenta went to school with them. It looks like whatever she did to draw in customers is working’
‘She’s lucky,’ said Albert glumly. ‘I’ve a feeling we won’t get anyone in today. Not after yesterday’s . . . incident.’
The ‘incident’ had involved loud voices and shouted accusations and people taking sides. There had been pushing and shoving and fist waving. Toes were trodden on. Miss Winnie got one of her headaches. It wasn’t what you expected when you went to buy a stamp.
At one point during the scuffle, a lemon squeezer fell out of Mr Sourman’s overcoat pocket, along with a tube of glue and a box of matches, none of which had been paid for. That was the thing that really did it for Albert. He had thrown both Mr Sourman and angry beard man out of the shop. Instead of a nice shop, the Emporium had become a nasty shop where there were fights. A shop to be avoided.
‘Sorry, Elsie, love,’ said Albert. ‘I can’t believe I did that. It went against every customer service rule there is. I’ve given the Emporium a bad reputation.’
‘You were standing up for me! And I’m pleased that you did, so thank you, Dad,’ said Elsie. ‘Cheer up. They’ll be back when they need a sink plunger or a bar of soap.’
She hoped she was right.
‘I’m trying, pet,’ said Albert. ‘But sometimes I get tired of Smallbridge. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Emporium. But occasionally I think about living somewhere completely different. Where people – I don’t know – smile a bit more.’
Elsie had never thought that her dad might feel that way. The shop was his world and she always thought he loved living in Smallbridge. But she also knew how much she loved staying in the forest with Magenta, seeing completely different things and meeting new people. Elsie couldn’t remember her parents ever even having a holiday, so it wasn’t really surprising Albert might get a bit fed up with the same old routine.
She wandered across to the doorway and gave a little sigh. Albert came out to join her. He put an arm around Elsie’s shoulders. Nuisance crept up with an old shoe he’d been saving. It was all a bit depressing.
And then, suddenly, Joey arrived and everyone cheered up!
Inside Sharp Spells, Magenta’s first three customers were inspecting the merchandise. They picked things up, shook things and sniffed things, throwing them back any old where, which is the way that witches like to shop. Magenta stood erect behind the counter, trying to look and act like Elsie. Relaxed. Welcoming. Helpful. It didn’t come naturally.
‘Well,’ said Wendy. ‘You have done a nice job and no mistake, Madge. ‘Very nice little shop.’
‘Yes,’ said Magenta. ‘I know. Don’t wave the wands about, Wendy, they’ve only got a small amount of power.’
‘And you did it all by yourself, you say?’
‘Yes. Put the wand down.’
‘Must have taken a bit of doing. Getting a whole shop up and running overnight.’
‘It did. Put it down.’
Shirley was fingering the beautifully-draped red kimono which slipped to one side of the dummy, quite spoiling the effect. The string of No Worries Beads came undone and fell on the floor.
‘If that’s broken, you have to pay for it,’ said Magenta.
‘A bit too much red, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ went on Wendy. ‘I know it’s your signature colour, dear, but I’d tone it down a bit. Or sell dark glasses. And you don’t need quite so many posters. And I’d turn off the twinkling letters. They’re wasted in a dreary town like this.’
‘Actually,’ said Shirley, ‘All the S’s have stopped twinkling. It reads Harp Pell the Hop. I noticed earlier.’
‘Really?’ Magenta frowned. ‘That shouldn’t happen.’
‘The floor dips a bit here and there too,’ said Shirley. ‘Feels a bit – insubstantial. Like you could put your foot through it. And the roof’s missing a couple of tiles.’
‘It sounds as though you don’t like anything about my shop,’ said Magenta, sounding a bit sulky.
‘Oh, no, dear, we do,’ said Shirley. ‘I don’t think I know of any witches who’ve opened a shop. You’re a trail blazer. We’re just surprised you didn’t mention what you were planning.’
‘Why should I?’ said Magenta. ‘What do you expect me to do, call you every day to discuss my business plans?’
‘It’s well stocked, I have to say,’ said Maureen, who was over in the children’s corner trying out Fizzy Wizzles (little green sparklers that burned, fizzed out and finally turned into peppermint gum you could chew). ‘Good idea to sell the basics as well as your own spells. That’ll save me having to drag off to the Sorcerer’s Bazaar every time I run out of dried newt spit. I see you have it in three flavours. Can’t say I fancy pineapple.’
‘I’m surprised young Elsie hasn’t helped you out,’ asked Wendy, picking up a red Hide-Me Hat, putting it on and disappearing. ‘Nice and nearby, isn’t she? We just passed by her dad’s shop. But you did it all on your own, you say?’
‘Mmm,’ said Magenta. ‘Tak
e off that hat unless you’re buying it, Wendy, I’ve asked you not to handle the merchandise. I hope you’re going to pay for those sweets, Maureen.’
Wendy reappeared and dropped the hat on the floor. ‘How much are those bats on elastic? I’m thinking of my grandson.’
‘He’d sooner have one of these, I reckon,’ said Shirley, picking up a little gold pot of Tickle Dust and examining it. ‘There’s a red jewel on the lid. What kiddy wouldn’t want that?’ She turned it upside down and read the instructions out loud: ‘ “A pinch down the neck and you’ll giggle like heck! Hand crushed by jolly elves. Under-fives use with supervision.” Sounds like a laugh. How much is this, Madge?’
‘I have no idea, look at the label. Look, are any of you going to buy anything or are you just going to stand round eating and fiddling with things?’
‘There’s one thing you can’t get in this shop and that’s a cup of tea,’ said Wendy. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t think of that, Madge. A café would be lovely. Somewhere to sit and go through what you just bought over a cuppa tea. Right, Shirley?’
Elsie and Joey stood in a shaft of morning sunlight outside the empty Emporium. Bill the basket sat quietly on the cobbles at Joey’s feet. Nuisance was dabbing it with his paw, hoping it would play. But Bill was playing by Smallbridge rules. No floating in public.
Albert, having given up on any customers appearing, had gone upstairs to have a cuppa with Tilda and play with the boys – something he rarely had time to do.
‘She’s opened a magic shop?” said Joey.
‘Yep. Just round the bend, where the dump was.’
‘Great! Good use of space!’
‘She’s not making herself popular. She turned the mayor’s briefcase into a toad.’
‘Oh,’ said Joey. ‘Not so great.’
‘And she’s moved the tower to Smallbridge Common.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. The tower’s on the common, causing a huge amount of drama.’
