[Brenda & Effie 04] - Hell's Belles

by Paul Magrs

‘I’m going to try and bring Alex’s mum back,’ she told Brenda. ‘I want to save her. Or at least try. Will you wait here until midnight? It isn’t long now. Forty minutes. If I’m not back then with Magda – then you must go. You’ve got to get this little one away. But we’re going to try to change history – and rescue his mum . . .’

  Effie turned then, without a backward glance. She threw open the chip van door and dashed out into the terrible night.

  Brenda watched her go. What a strange woman, she thought.

  In Flagrante

  Magda Soames had an awful lot to put up with. Her life with Fox might have seemed, from the outside, rather glamorous and easy. She had everything she wanted. She had the perfect child. She had an array of famous and fascinating friends. She had seen the world.

  She had decided that, on the whole, the world wasn’t worth seeing. Not all of it. It was pretty much overrated in her eyes.

  I never used to be cynical like this, she thought miserably, as she traipsed across the valley floor. It’s Fox who has made me like this. Together we have seen too much, done too much. We’ve left the whole world standing still.

  There’s no magic in it any more.

  And now here she was. Ready for another tawdry confrontation. Ready to have a catfight with yet another of Fox’s mistresses. Why did she even bother? Why did she leap to the bait each time? It wasn’t like she was even jealous. Not any more. Not for a long time. She’d had quite enough of his raspy blandishments. She’d seen quite enough of that dreary old todger of his.

  Still, something in her found it galling that he kept popping over to Karla’s meditation trailer to give her one. That frightful, blowsy hag. What did she have going for her?

  Once more into the breach, thought Magda wearily, and threw open the caravan door. It wasn’t even locked. They didn’t care, did they? They didn’t even care who saw them up to their mucky, nasty business.

  And there they were. Karla supine and splayed on her narrow truckle bed. Fox perched awkwardly on top of her with his best worsted trollies concertinaed about his trembling thighs. All goosefleshy and pink. Magda shuddered and gave a discreet cough. Then she spoke up.

  ‘You are welcome to him, Karla. Look at the state of him! That sorry old arse waving about in the air. Ugh.’

  Fox groaned and ceased his forlorn efforts. He glanced back at his wife, yanking at his trews. ‘Magda. You’re always so melodramatic.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about it, Fox, you repulse me.’

  Resting perilously on his side, he reached for his smoking materials. Beneath him he could feel Karla trembling copiously. As if she was about to erupt. And in quite the wrong way.

  Fox lit his fag and told his wife, ‘We got carried away, my dear. The excitement of the movie. Of everything we’re making here.’ The draught from the doorway was wicked on his nethers. He had another go at making himself decent.

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, buster. That’s what you’re making.’

  Karla sat up. She almost dislodged her lover in the process. ‘Cool it, Magda. It’s the sixties. We’re only having a bit of fun.’

  Magda could have run over there and smacked her in the face. ‘Fun, she says! You bloody demon woman! I could . . . I could . . .’ But something was holding her back. There was a primal force about Karla. A savage beauty to her nakedness and her sexuality. It repelled as much as it attracted. It was like happening upon some ancient goddess, Magda thought wildly. As if, with one glance, Karla could destroy her rival.

  Karla spat at her, ‘Come and have a go. I could do with a good fight. I’d like to see you try, missus.’

  They were interrupted by someone running up to the caravan and scattering loose bits of slate. The figure loomed up behind Magda and banged hard on the trailer’s open door.

  ‘It’s me! Brenda! I heard the shouting. What’s . . . ?’

  Karla was appalled to see yet another face gurning at her from the doorway. She pushed Fox away from her and seized the satin bedsheets. ‘What are you doing here? Get out! This is a private caravan, expressly for the purposes of meditation!’ ‘Her again!’ Fox growled.

  Brenda gabbled breathlessly, ‘Look, you have to listen to me.’

  Magda snapped, ‘Is this another one you’ve been knocking off, Fox?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  It was only then that Brenda got a good look at Fox and Karla. Immediately she wished she hadn’t. ‘Oh! Goodness! I’m sorry for bursting in like this.’

  ‘Go away!’ rasped the old man. ‘We’ve got no clothes on!’

  Magda tutted. ‘I’m sure she can see that for herself. God, you disgust me, Fox. Well, I’m off. I’m taking Alex and I’m going.’

  ‘You’re drunk!’ Fox roared. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Don’t you dare try to drive anywhere with my son!’

  Karla stared daggers at her lover. ‘Fox, this is all very well. But I’m already due on set. I’m late.’ She gave him a light shove and proceeded to hop off the makeshift bed. She seemed completely unabashed by her nakedness, stooping to fetch her dressing gown from where it had been chucked. ‘Well, that’s me ready,’ she sighed, fluffing up her silvery mane of hair. ‘Would the rest of you consider fucking off now?’

  Magda was hunched over and twisted up with loathing. ‘I’ll get you, madam. You just see if I don’t.’

  Karla wasn’t scared. ‘I’d like to see you try, you old soak.’

  ‘If I could, I would curse you,’ hissed Magda. ‘I’d like to curse this whole stupid film. But that’s more your line, isn’t it? Necromancy? Witchcraft?’

  Karla laughed. There was a slightly mad tinge to her guffaws. ‘It certainly is my line. It’s right up my fricking street. And unless you leave me to prepare myself for my big scene, I’ll set a spell on you that’ll make your knockers drop off, you lousy old bitch.’

  Magda turned on her expensive heel, pushing roughly past Brenda as she made her exit.

  Fox gave an impotent bellow: ‘Magda! Wait!’

  Karla glared at him as he fumbled with his underpants. ‘Run after her, Fox, if that’s what you want. But if you go, that’s the last you’ll see of me. I need you here. Right now, with me, when I shoot this scene.’

  Brenda told them: ‘I’ll go after her.’

  They both ignored her.

  Karla continued to berate the old rake as he dressed himself. ‘I mean it, Fox. I need you there. When they put me on the sacrificial slab. When . . . whatever comes. When the devil is supposed to appear. It will help me . . . fake it. And give a genuine performance, if you are there just out of shot. Giving me your support.’

  He tucked in his shirt and felt his dignity returning as he flicked his cuffs into place. ‘My dear, of course . . .’

  Brenda could see that she wouldn’t get through to them. She could hear Magda’s footsteps growing fainter as the spurned woman made her way back to the family trailer. She suddenly remembered what was meant to become of Magda this night.

  She saw what she had to do. Fox and Karla would just have to get on with things themselves. They were in a kind of bubble of shared madness. An erotic, satanic haze. It was fascinatingly wicked. Brenda had to wrench herself away from watching them, and turned to stumble after Magda through the jagged shadows of the camp.

  Evil Stirring

  Meanwhile Effie was stumbling towards the brilliantly lit film set. She paused in mute disapproval at the sight of the near-naked Karla making her way to work. Fox led her daintily by the hand as she minced through the rubble. There was a huge round of applause from the crew.

  This is where it all happens, Effie thought. She could feel the evil stirring in the air. She was trying to get it into her head that this was the film she had already watched. She had already seen the results of this night. And now she was here. Behind the Scenes. Inside the Extra Features.

  Aha. Her attention was caught by other figures, out on the periphery. Other figures not inside the bright cascade of film lights.

>   Brenda. Her Brenda, from the present day. Chasing after Magda, away from the movie set. Now where were they going?

  Precipiced

  Brenda was out of breath already. ‘Magda, you have to calm down . . .’

  Magda wasn’t having any of it. She swayed and lurched into the velvety darkness. Up a steep incline. The road out of the valley. She had walked this way before. These past few nights, when she needed to get away from the madness of this closed-in place. But now she was being disturbed. She was after some peace and a little sit and a swig of her special medicine, maybe. And here came this foolish woman, panting after her. She stopped to swipe at Brenda. ‘Who are you? Go away!’

  Brenda tried to be patient. ‘I’m a friend. Look, you have to realise—’

  ‘What? What do I have to realise? That I have to allow an artist like Fox to behave exactly as he wants? That I just do not understand the freedom that a genius needs?’ She looked stricken in the eerie spill of light from the set.

  ‘Er, no,’ said Brenda. ‘That’s not what I was going to say at all.’

  Magda staggered onwards, up the twisted slope, sending scree rattling in her wake. ‘That’s what he usually says. That I do not understand. I am just an ordinary woman. A drunken floozy. I cannot give a genius like him the stimulation he needs. Well, let that succubus Karla stimulate him all he wants. I’m getting my son and me out of here.’ Her voice was getting shriller as she went. Small stones flew up behind her, hitting Brenda’s shins as she grimly kept up her pursuit.

  ‘We’ve already sent your son away,’ Brenda told her.

  Magda was brought up short by this. ‘What?’

  ‘My friend Effie and I. We’ve – hopefully – managed to get Alex away to safety.’

  Magda teetered right at the edge of the path. ‘What are you talking about? Alex? Alex!’ From here could be seen the whole gypsy-like encampment. From here it was obvious that all eyes were on the main set and the stone of sacrifice glowing molten gold in its centre. For a second Brenda thought Magda was going to run straight off the side of the path. She cast one hand out towards the Soames trailer, at the valley edge. Brenda was shocked to see how far away it seemed, and how high up they had come during their breathless conversation.

  ‘Sssh, it’s all right, Magda. We are on your side.’

  Magda’s voice was cold and savage. ‘How can you be? Stealing my child . . . !’

  ‘Not stealing. Helping. Oh dear.’ Brenda found herself wrestling with the woman, who, it turned out, had a tenacious, wiry strength. She was trying to push past Brenda; to turn back on the narrow path, desperate now to return to her son.

  ‘But . . . who has taken him?’ she screeched in Brenda’s ear. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in my . . . the other Brenda’s catering van. They’re leaving here before everything kicks off.’

  ‘Other Brenda?’

  Brenda coughed embarrassedly. ‘There are two of me here.’

  Magda’s hands flew up to her raddled temples. ‘Oh, I can’t cope with this.’

  ‘I know. But we will keep him safe. It’s just important for you to understand that your silly husband and Karla have been dabbling in things they shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I could see that for myself.’

  ‘No. The occult.’

  ‘But Fox is always so against it . . . he always says—’

  ‘Nevertheless, Karla reeks of it. And she has reeled him in, the foolish man. And tonight . . . it’s what you’d call their apotheosis. Everything going on over there. On that set. It’s for real.’

  Magda took in a shuddering breath. ‘I don’t believe it.’ But Brenda could tell she was frightened. She knew it was all true.

  Lighting Effects

  Despite herself, Effie was quite fascinated by the behind-the-scenes action on the film set. All of that very focused, almost frenzied activity just before the director called out: ‘Action!’

  The extras were milling around the central stones in their hooded robes. Their torches flung long, wavering shadows up the valley walls. Cloying smoke streamed through the air and Effie found herself trying her hardest not to cough. She listened to the chanting and could almost have believed she was attending a quite genuine witches’ sabbat.

  There was Karla, with a gossamer-light negligee draped over her shoulders, and the rest of her shockingly, tantalisingly nude. She was being led along by this pack of sorcerers, towards the main altar. Effie stared at her and marvelled at the woman’s ideal form. Perhaps, if you were perfect like that, then you would feel no shame, as other mortals did. Maybe you’d feel the need to flaunt yourself like Karla did. Would Effie feel like that? If she were like Karla? She drew back into the shadows, pursing her lips. Of course not. Nothing would make her behave like Karla. Nothing on this earth.

  But there was definitely something very compelling about the scene as it unfolded before her. Not least the déjà vu that she felt tugging at her with every second that passed by.

  The druidic figures helped Karla to lie in place on the stone. Her last wisp of clothing was whirled away effortlessly. She was bound hand and foot and lay uncomplaining as the rather catchy chanting reached a climax.

  And there were lights, too, hovering all about her. Amazing, mesmerising lights. Psychedelic and very fitting, Effie supposed, for 1967. This had been the era for all of that, hadn’t it? For lurid colours and acid trips. But surely . . . these lamps they had on set were far too primitive to create these kinds of effects? This was rather like watching the finished movie. These were some kind of special effect, dubbed on to the film cells afterwards . . . and yet here they were right now. Live.

  Could it be, perhaps, that these vivid, technicoloured lights above the supine Karla were quite real?

  Effie gasped. She jolted her attention away from the hallucinatory spectacle. As she did, she turned to look into the darkness from where she had come and realised with a sinking heart that Brenda’s chip van was still there. Its shutter was down, but her friend hadn’t made good her escape with the child. And things were surely reaching their climax here in the valley. The chanting was turning to discordant shrieking and the air itself was buffeting her as she turned back to look at the film set. Was she imagining it? A breeze had plucked up out of the still night. Pages of script went scudding across the shale-strewn ground. The pagan robes of the celebrants were swished along in the wind . . .

  This was real, too.

  Effie found that she was frozen to the spot, in the lee of a great rock. These weren’t special effects. This was happening for real.

  She watched Karla writhe on the stone as the lights clustered about her. She watched as Karla let out one almighty scream of triumph and dismay.

  Feral

  Up on the rocky path, Magda and Brenda were also watching the weird scene unfold.

  ‘I can’t take my eyes off it,’ Magda said hoarsely.

  Brenda tried to take hold of her. ‘You must!’ she cried, full of resolute good sense. Everything she had expected was coming to pass. Everything she had warned them of. Now time was getting too tight. They’d never get away from here unless she took Magda in hand. ‘Come on, woman. We can still do it. We can get you away.’

  But Magda was like a feral creature. ‘I can’t run away,’ she spat. ‘I can’t. I have to stay here!’ Brenda flinched from her nails as Magda slashed at her. ‘Oh, Fox. You fool.’

  ‘Magda, come with me,’ Brenda insisted.

  Magda tottered to the edge of the path and started to shriek: ‘Fox! Fox, listen to me! Fox!’

  Carry On Chanting

  Only a couple of yards from where Effie was cowering, Fox had his own vantage point. He was alarmed by the chaotic scene, but determined not to show it. At precisely the most interesting moment he was horrified to hear the voice of his wife echoing off the valley walls. Her drunken soprano ululated back and forth from somewhere above.

  ‘Oh God, she’ll ruin it all, silly old cow,’ he cursed.

&
nbsp; Suddenly he was aware of Effie beside him, yanking at his smoking-jacket lapel. ‘That’s no way to talk about your poor wife.’

  He boggled at her. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The director was crying out, ‘Cut! Cut! Cut!’ all of a sudden, perhaps in recognition of the fact, at last, that what was happening on the set was not of his making. The scene was progressing under its own diabolical momentum. Everyone was staring at Karla’s heaving, bucking form on the glowing altar. The chanting was fading now, into awed murmurs.

  ‘No!’ Karla exhorted them. ‘Carry on chanting! CARRY ON! Don’t stop. This isn’t a film. This isn’t a scene. This is the real thing!’

  At this point a sudden vortex of brilliant whirling light opened up before the stone altar. There were screams from the robed priests and extras and howls of fear from the crew.

  Effie appalled herself by making a noise that sounded just like ‘Glooopp!’ They’ve done it, she thought wildly. They have opened up a gateway into hell. She had seen this awful kind of thing before.

  Fox had seized Effie’s hand. He was gibbering uncontrollably and his fingers were slick with cold sweat. ‘It’s really real. This is what I always said it would be. It’s what I almost imagined . . .’

  Effie couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or what.

  Her attention was now focused on a tall, slender dark shape growing larger in the eye of the vortex.

  ‘A figure’s forming,’ she whispered. She blinked as the form clarified itself. Who was she expecting? What was she expecting him to be? ‘Oh no . . .’ she squawked.

  Slippage

  Up on the perilous stone ledge it was even harder to see what was going on in all that brilliant light. Magda swore at Brenda and yelled, ‘What are they doing? Tell me, woman! You seem to know what’s going on. Explain to me!’

  But Brenda was more concerned then about Magda in her high boot heels, staggering towards the lip of the slate path. She lurched after her, reaching out with both hands. ‘Magda, come back from there, please!’