Witch Is When the Floodgates Opened

by Adele Abbott

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “Err—yes, of course. All the time.”

  “So—if you could see your way clear to getting me a few books, that would be great.”

  “Won’t you have a problem with the size of the books? Will I even be able to get them into your cage?”

  “You’ll need to get the rodent edition.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  “Of course. I suppose I could have audio books, but they can be rather expensive. No, the rodent edition will be fine.”

  “Okay then. I’ll see what I can do. Bye then, Hamlet.”

  “Bye, Jill.”

  I made my way outside, and stopped to gather my thoughts. I was now book shopping for a hamster. My crazy had just gone up a couple more notches.

  ***

  Grandma burst into my office. She was not a happy camper.

  “Have you seen this?” she said, throwing a newspaper down on my desk.

  “What is it?”

  “Read it for yourself.”

  It was today’s edition of The Candle.

  “Look at those headlines!” She prodded the offending article with her crooked finger. “Read it! Just read it!”

  The headline read, ‘Town Hall Candidate Gone Rogue?’ I skip-read the article, which all but accused Grandma of the misuse of magic in the human world. All of Grandma’s new innovations were very suspicious, and for a long time, I’d suspected magic was involved. But how had The Candle got hold of the story? Who had told them?

  “So?” She spat out the word. “What do you think?”

  “I—err—I don’t know. What do you want to do about it?”

  “We’re going to deny it, of course, but that’s not the point. Where do you think they got that story from?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “That’s the problem. You’re completely clueless. I’ll tell you where the story came from. It came from your friend Dexter Long.”

  “But we had an agreement that there would be no dirty tricks, no smear campaign.”

  “Jill, you have an awful lot to learn. You can’t trust the word of a campaign manager. It’s their job to lie, cheat, and do anything it takes to get their candidate elected. Which is precisely what you should have been doing, instead of being all ‘Miss Goody Two Shoes’ about it.”

  “I still can’t believe he did it.”

  “Why don’t you go around there, and find out for yourself? See what he has to say about it.”

  “I will. I’ll do that. I’m sure he wasn’t behind it.”

  ***

  “Yes, it’s rather good, isn’t it?” Dexter Long laughed. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “You mean you did feed this to The Candle?”

  “Of course I did! It’s the killer blow. Your candidate may as well throw in the towel right now. Lance Boyle is all but elected.”

  “But we had an agreement.”

  “Oh dearie me.” He laughed. “As a campaign manager, I have to say you make a good P.I.”

  “But you promised there’d be no dirty tricks.”

  “Yeah well. What are you going to do about it?”

  I wanted to slap the smile off his face, but he’d no doubt have a photographer close at hand, and then the next edition of the Candle would have a photo of me assaulting him, on the front page. I could see the headline now: Mirabel Millbright’s campaign manager is a thug.

  I’d been completely outmanoeuvred and outwitted. So much for my faith in human nature.

  ***

  The arts and crafts show was in the local community hall. Kathy had taken Lizzie to the competitors’ area to submit her entry for the under tens competition. Meanwhile, I’d been left in charge of Mikey who, as always, was playing his drum. He’d played it in the car all the way there, and he’d been playing it ever since we’d arrived.

  “Mikey!” I yelled.

  “Pardon? Did you say something, Auntie Jill?”

  “Yes. Do you think you could stop playing that drum for a minute?”

  “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

  How did Kathy put up with this? A little magic was called for.

  “Oh, no!” he cried out.

  “What’s the matter, Mikey?” I enquired—all innocent-like.

  “There’s something wrong with my drum! It’s gone all spongy.”

  “What do you mean, spongy?”

  “Look.” He pressed the top of the drum which now had the texture of a sponge.

  “I think you’ve worn it out, Mikey. You must have played it so much it’s gone all soft.”

  “But I love my drum.”

  Oh no. It looked like he was about to cry. Kathy would kill me.

  “It’s okay. I know someone who can mend it.”

  “Do you really, Auntie Jill?”

  “Yes. If you let me have it, I’ll take to him.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “No, you have to stay here. I’ll only be a minute. I’ll take it to the drum repair man, and then we’ll be able to pick it up on our way out.”

  “Okay. Are you sure he’ll be able to mend it?”

  “Yeah, I’m positive.”

  Mikey passed me the drum, and I told him to stay put. Then, I rushed outside and put it in the boot of my car. Fortunately, I made it back before Kathy and Lizzie returned.

  “Did he say he could mend it, Auntie Jill?” Mikey had a worried look on his face, and I felt a pang of guilt. Who was I kidding? I felt no guilt whatsoever—I was just relieved to be shut of that stupid drum.

  “Yes. He said it would be ready by the time we go home.”

  Moments later, Kathy and Lizzie were back. Lizzie was all smiles.

  “The lady said my kangadillo was fantastic!”

  “Was she wearing very thick glasses?” I said.

  “Jill!” Kathy gave me a look.

  “I didn’t mean anything. I just wondered—”

  “I know what you meant,” Kathy said. “I think Lizzie is in with a good chance of winning a prize.” She stared at Mikey, trying to work out what was different about him. “Where’s your drum, Mikey?”

  “Auntie Jill has taken it to the drum repair man.”

  Kathy glared at me. ‘Drum repair man?’ she mouthed.

  I nodded.

  “Look kids!” She pointed. “They have refreshments over there. Why don’t you go and get something?” As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to me. “What have you done with his drum, Jill?”

  “Nothing. It’s in the car. Mikey said he was bored with it.”

  “He just said you’d taken it to the drum repair man?”

  “You must have misheard him. I’m sure he said that I’d ‘put it in the van’. He probably thinks my car is a van.”

  Fortunately, before Kathy could interrogate me any further, the kids came back.

  “There you are, Auntie Jill. I got you a cake.” Lizzie held out what looked like a rectangular piece of rubber, with a little bit of icing on top.

  “That looks delicious,” I said, looking around for a bin.

  The next two hours felt like an eternity, as Kathy and the kids dragged me from one stand to the next. The tables held an assortment of soft toys, jewellery, and various knitted and crocheted items; none of which I would have given house room. But I was under strict instructions from Kathy to be complimentary about everything on display.

  “How much more of this is there?” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you, Jill? The people here have spent days creating all of these lovely things.”

  “But it’s all rubbish.”

  “Shh! Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

  “But it’s true!”

  “It might be, but you don’t want to hurt people’s feelings, do you?”

  If I had to suffer, why shouldn’t they?

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Came a voice from the front of the hall. “It’s time to announce this year’s prize winners.”


  He spent the next twenty minutes giving out prizes for all manner of categories: best tea cosy, best tapestry, best snood—. The list was endless.

  “And finally, we come to the children’s category. This year the prize for the ten and under age group goes to Lizzie Brooks for the kangadillo. The judges all thought this was a very exciting and imaginative piece of work.”

  “Well done, Lizzie,” Kathy said. “Go and collect your prize.”

  Lizzie trotted off to the stage, took the small silver cup and held it above her head. Kathy cheered. She looked at me, so I cheered too.

  “See,” Kathy said. “I told you it was artistic.”

  The world had gone bonkers.

  Chapter 15

  What was with the roads this morning? I’d been sitting in a queue of traffic, which was barely moving, for the last fifteen minutes. Everything seemed to have ground to a halt. People in cars all around me were pressing their horns. As if that was going to do any good. Eventually, I pulled into a side street, and parked. I was going to walk the rest of the way.

  As I got closer to my office, the traffic was still gridlocked. I’d never seen anything like it. Eventually, I spotted a harassed-looking policeman.

  “What’s the problem? What’s causing all the delays?”

  “Don’t ask,” he said.

  “I just did.”

  “Scarves.”

  Huh?

  “I did warn you not to ask.”

  “What do you mean, scarves?”

  “There’s some kind of charity event going on involving scarves: ‘Scarves Around Washbridge’ or something like that. I’d never even heard of it until this morning.” He gave a deep sigh. “I wish I still hadn’t. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m very busy.” With that he walked away.

  Mrs V had mentioned Scarves Around Washbridge a while ago, but what exactly was it? And why would it cause hold-ups like this? Seconds later, I had my answer. A number of people were desperately trying to remove a huge scarf which was spanning the high street, blocking traffic in both directions. One man was attacking it with a saw. Several other people were also trying to cut it, but none of them was having any success. It was as though it had been knitted in some sort of indestructible yarn.

  When I eventually got into the office, Mrs V was looking out of the window.

  “I got stuck in traffic,” I said.

  She turned to face me. “Oh, Jill. It’s terrible! Look what’s happening out there. And everyone’s blaming me. I’ve already had a dozen phone calls. People think it’s my fault. I’m not the organiser; I just agreed to open the event.”

  “There’s a giant scarf blocking the road. I don’t know what it’s made from, but no one can cut through it.”

  “I know. They’re all asking what I intend to do about it. What can I do? I didn’t even know it was there until I received the first phone call. The whole idea behind Scarves Around Washbridge is that people should wrap them around lamp posts, post boxes, telephone boxes, and even buildings. They’re not supposed to put them across the road. Who would do something like that?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  “Your grandmother? I’ve tried to contact her, but she’s not answering her phone. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d done this deliberately, just because they didn’t ask her to open the event.”

  That sounded about right. In fact, it was just the kind of thing she would do.

  “Don’t fret about it, Mrs V. It isn’t your fault. I’ll go to ‘Ever’ now and see if I can find her.”

  “Who trod on your bunions?” Kathy said when I charged, red-faced through the door of Ever A Wool Moment.

  “Don’t mention bunions to me.”

  They conjured up bad memories of Christmas. What do you mean you didn’t read the Christmas book? You’d better not let Winky find out.

  “Where is she?”

  “By she, I’m guessing you mean your dearest grandmother?”

  “Who else?”

  “She’s in the back—still on the campaign trail.”

  “Right!” I started towards the door.

  “She said she wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  “Tough!”

  “Well, if it isn’t my campaign manager.” Grandma had her bare feet resting on the desk. “You’ve come just in time to apply my ointment.”

  “You can forget that.”

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, then?”

  “You know full well. Have you seen the traffic jams out there?”

  “I’ve been too busy with the election to look outside. So should you be.”

  “That stupid scarf of yours is blocking the main road.”

  “Generating a lot of publicity for ‘Scarves around Washbridge’ though, I’ll wager.”

  “Poor old Mrs V is getting it in the neck from everyone. They all think it’s her fault.”

  “Well, she is the face of the campaign, after all.”

  “You have to remove that scarf, and you have to do it right now.”

  Her gaze fixed mine, and I feared the worst.

  “Or what?”

  “Or—err—or—I won’t be your campaign manager.”

  “You’ve already agreed to do it.”

  “Well, I’ll just un-agree.”

  Her face flushed red, and her wart began to throb. Never a good sign.

  “I mean it!” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  Grandma took a deep breath, and then smiled—the scariest smile you ever did see.

  “The scarf has served its purpose. It will be front page news tomorrow. Maybe now the committee will see sense, and appoint me next year.”

  “So you’ll remove it?”

  “It’s already gone.”

  “All sorted, Mrs V,” I said when I got back to the office. “The traffic seems to be moving again now.”

  “Thank you, Jill. I take it that it was your grandmother’s doing?”

  “Yes, but she hadn’t realised the pandemonium it would cause. She’s very sorry.”

  Mrs V gave me a look. “I very much doubt that, dear.”

  ***

  You’d think by now that I’d be used to my crazy cat, but just when I thought things couldn’t get any more insane, Winky managed to take it to another level.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shush! I’m busy.”

  “What’s with all of those mirrors?”

  He was surrounded by four of them, and was shuffling around, straining his neck, obviously trying to see something.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Of course there’s a problem. Can’t you see it?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Just look at me! It’s obvious.”

  I was clearly missing something. He looked his usual one-eyed, crazy self to me. I couldn’t see anything different about him.

  I shrugged.

  “I’m losing my fur!”

  “Where?”

  “Around the back there. There’s a bald spot. You must be able to see it?”

  I looked a little closer, and eventually spotted a tiny area where the fur was missing. It was miniscule, and barely noticeable.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? What do you mean it’s nothing? How can I let anyone see me looking like this? What will Bella think?”

  “I’d be amazed if she even noticed it.”

  “It’s no good talking to you. You’re just a human.”

  “Hey! Who are you calling a human?”

  “Sup, human—all the same to me. Why should I expect you to notice when you came out with your hair looking like that?”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “The very fact that you have to ask just proves my point.”

  I let the remark go. “So, what do you intend to do about your little problem, then?”

  “I’ve been looking online for a cure for feline baldness.”

  “Baldness is a bit of an exaggeration.�
��

  “What would you call it?”

  “A small gap in your fur?”

  “A gap? I can’t let anyone see me with a ‘gap’ in my fur.”

  “But you hardly ever go out.”

  “People can still see me on Skype.”

  “You’ve got Skype?”

  “Of course I’ve got Skype! It’s on your computer.”

  “I know it’s on my computer, but since when did you have a Skype account on my computer?”

  “I don’t have time to get into that right now. I need to find a cure for this baldness.”

  “Have you tried BaldFelines.com?”

  “I suppose you think that’s funny.”

  I did actually. “No, it’s obviously not a laughing matter.” I laughed.

  “I might have known I’d get no sympathy from you.”

  ***

  Mrs V popped her head around the door. “Lady Phoebe is here to see you.”

  “Oh right, would you ask her to come through, please.”

  I’d asked Lady Phoebe to come to my office, but not to mention it to her husband. She’d been a little surprised and hesitant at first, but in the end she’d agreed. I thought it was only fair to do it this way—after all, I didn’t want to embarrass her. If I could have a word in private, then maybe we could resolve things without any unpleasantness.

  “Good morning, young lady,” Lady Phoebe said. “This is all very cloak and dagger. I was rather surprised when you asked to see me without Cuthbert.”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you what I’ve discovered. Please take a seat.”

  “Thank you. What is that thing?”

  “That’s Winky, my cat.”

  “He’s rather ugly, isn’t he?”

  “Who does she think she is?” Winky said.

  I shushed him.

  “Sorry?” Lady Phoebe said.

  “Nothing, I just sneezed.”

  “So what is it that you have to tell me, young lady?”

  “It’s rather delicate and a little bit embarrassing.”

  “No need for you to be embarrassed, dear. I’ve seen it all and done most of it. Just spit it out. What’s bothering you?”

  “Actually, I thought it might be embarrassing for you.”