Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  Jo was terrified. Frantic, she glanced round looking for a means of escape.

  “My mate’s got itchy fingers…”

  The younger man reached in his pocket and Jo glimpsed a flash of steel – a knife! He laughed as he wandered round the room then picked up a Chinese vase, turned and threw it against the fireplace. The vase crashed against the tiles and shattered.

  “Hurry up. I’ve got clumsy hands.” He looked round for another object.

  “Leave it out!” Distracted, the older man loosened his grip.

  Jo seized the opportunity and pulled herself free but both men had their backs to the door and Jo had no way of escape.

  Oh Lord, please don’t let them hurt me! She thought of Thomas and his angelic face as the two brutes came closer, their foul aroma made her cringe. Jo realised that they were enjoying themselves! She reached out blindly and prayed that she’d connect with something to hurl at them.

  “Looking for something lads?” Ken’s deep growl pierced the room.

  The men spun round and Jo saw the knife gleam. She screamed!

  Ken leapt forward and with a sickening crack, grabbed the man’s arm and knocked him down. The knife fell and the man cried out in agony as his partner bound over a chair to make his escape but crashed headlong into Harry, Elvis, Bertie and John who had him pinned to the floor in a flash.

  “You’ve broken my arm!” The older man howled. Elvis kicked him and he writhed in agony.

  “Let’s get you on your way.” Ken spoke.

  The men were wrenched to their feet and shoved through the hall then plunged out onto the gravel.

  “Don’t come anywhere near here again.” Ken towered over them. “D’you hear me?” He bellowed. The men were terrified and realised they’d made a terrible mistake.

  “You’re not welcome and you’ll be best advised not to come back!”

  Ken, Harry, Bertie and John made a formidable wall.

  “Sorry Mister, sorry!” The men scrambled to their feet.

  Elvis ran forward and aimed a kick, but missed and fell flat on his back as the men ran away.

  “Still got a pint on the table haven’t we lads?” He said as Ken tugged him to his feet.

  “Bleedin’ hoodlums.” Ken mumbled as they all returned to the hotel. He stooped to pick up the abandoned knife and buried it deep in his trouser pocket.

  Hattie locked the door. John held Jo in his arms and soothed her, she was shaking.

  “You alright Darlin?” Harry asked. “That bastard hurt you?”

  “I’m fine Harry.” Tears threatened but Jo didn’t want to cry. “I don’t know how to thank you all.”

  “They won’t bother you again.” Ken said. “I can assure you of that.” He glanced at John. Their eyes locked and John nodded.

  “I think we all need a drink.” Bertie took control. “Set them up Harriet!” He ushered everyone into the bar.

  In the middle of the floor, Pippa crunched her way through a t-bone. Her tail thumped against the carpet when she saw them.

  “Some guard dog you are.” Ken leaned down and tickled the dog’s ears.

  “Have we missed something Sweeties?” Paulie appeared. He was linked to Tracey and Stacey and they hooted with laughter as they fell into the bar. Harry shook his head. Robbie followed with the remaining guests and they all sat down.

  Seeing a full bar, Hattie opened the bar hatch and stood behind the counter.

  “OK, what’s everyone drinking?”

  Jo shuddered as she remembered the attack. It was a stroke of luck that Hattie had heard the front door and gone to find Jo. When she saw the men push Jo, Hattie had raced to fetch Ken.

  Jo studied the make-up spread out on the table and chose a foundation. She heard a knock on the door and Hattie bustled in.

  “Why are you knocking?” Jo asked.

  “Never know what I might find.” Hattie thrust her bag down and wrestled her arms out of her jacket.

  “There won’t be anymore shenanigans with Room Two if that’s what you mean.”

  Jo selected a tube of foundation. “After witnessing the silent code that passed between them all last night, it makes me wonder who the hell I’ve got staying under my roof?”

  “He’s a gypsy, make no mistake.” Hattie flopped down on the window seat and put her feet up. She stretched her legs. “He’ll have got word to the boss man on the Hill about the trouble last night.”

  Jo stared out of the window where John’s expensive car gleamed in the sunshine. Hattie was probably right. John had slipped out last night when everyone was drinking in the bar and Jo didn’t know what time he’d eventually come back.

  “He’s obviously made good but you wonder what it took to get him there?” Hattie mused as she watched Jo put her makeup on.

  “They’re thick as thieves.” Hattie thought about the guests. “The Hunts, Ken, Bertie and certainly His Lordship can all trace their roots back to Romany stock, they’ve a bond.”

  “The unwanted visitors realised that too.” Jo said. Word would have spread on the Hill that Jo had protection from their own.

  “You’ll not have any more trouble.” Hattie yawned and folded her arms.

  “I can’t fathom why Pete Parks sent me the flowers.”

  Jo changed the subject. She felt Hattie’s grim mood as she smoothed foundation over her skin, then rummaged around the make-up and found a compact. She flicked it open and dabbed translucent powder on her nose.

  “Because he’s a stupid prat who thinks he can always get what he wants.” Hattie thought about Pete’s bemused face as she’d left him choking in diesel fumes.

  A mini bus pulled onto the drive and Hattie watched Harry, Elvis and the girls climb into it. Harry patted Tracey’s behind, clad in tight white jeans. Bertie and Ken joined them and the vehicle set off for Butterly.

  “Are you alright Hattie?” Jo asked cautiously.

  “I’m fine” Hattie snapped. She watched Jo apply lipstick.

  “You weren’t too late last night?” Jo had left Hattie to lock up.

  “Not if you can call two o’clock early” Hattie shrugged.

  “What is the matter?” Jo had never seen Hattie so grumpy and wondered if she’d upset her.

  “Oh I don’t know. It’s hard to fathom men out isn’t it?”

  “Are you referring to any particular man?”

  “No one ever pays me so much as a glance.” Hattie said.

  “Bertie would give his right arm to get a kind word from you.”

  Hattie whipped her head round and stared incredulously at Jo. Bulls Eye! Jo smiled. Hattie was smitten with Bertie!

  “He’s always too pissed to notice me.” Hattie looked desolate.

  “He’s probably pissed because you’re so horrible to him.” Jo gathered her make up and stuffed it into her bag. “Come on. Get your miserable arse in gear. Let’s get up to the Hill and see what Gypsy Rose Lee and her buddies have to say, we could both do with a look into the future.”

  Hattie picked up her jacket.

  “You won’t need that.” Jo said. Get your buttons undone and strut your stuff.”

  Hattie glanced at her neckline.

  “Aye you’re right.” She looked Jo up and down. “You look like a bleedin’ gypsy in that get up.”

  “Is that a grin I see on your miserable face?” Jo smiled and slipped her feet into gold high heels.

  “Dorothy would have a fit if she saw you.”

  “Dorothy is the last person we’ll see on the Hill.”

  Jo tweaked the tight, animal print Capri pants with matching top.

  “I couldn’t resist Hattie, it cost a fortune.”

  She twirled and put her large designer sunglasses on her head. “I feel so sexy in it.”

  “Hardly a Country House Hotelier.” Hattie shook her head.

  “Oh come on, loosen your buttons and get in the car. Let’s escape from here for a couple of hours.”

  Jo pushed Hattie out of the door into the suns
hine then ran across the gravel, where her car was parked next to John’s. She climbed in and pressed the button to let the top down.

  She heard a tap on a window.

  Jo looked up and saw John, his knuckles poised on the glass. She was tempted to abandon the car and rush up the stairs and into his arms. She revved the engine.

  “Come on, get in!”

  Jo yelled to Hattie, who flung herself onto the passenger seat. Jo thrust forward and narrowly missed John’s car as Hattie slammed the door and the car gathered speed. Jo roared out of the drive.

  “See you!” She waved in John’s direction and they giggled like school girls as they hurtled off along the main road to the Fair.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I see a man from over the water. He speaks in a different way but you’ll know what he means.”

  Hattie sat on a plastic covered floral banquette, inside a large chrome caravan, surrounded by cut glass ornaments and gleaming chinaware. A wizened old lady sat opposite and cradled a crystal ball in her knarled hands. Hattie stared at the translucent skin, blue veins like ribbons of ink bulged beneath the aged membrane.

  Hattie shot a nervous glance towards Jo, who sat on the other side of the caravan by the door. She made a face at Hattie and stuck her tongue out.

  The old woman put the crystal ball in a velvet pouch and pushed a pack of playing cards across the table.

  “Shuffle these an’ give me three. Make a wish on yon last un.”

  Hattie gently moved the cards up and down between her fingers. She was useless at shuffling and half the pack fell to the floor. She leaned under the table to pick them up and made a rude gesture at Jo.

  The windows in the caravan were closed and the atmosphere was dim and stuffy, it smelt of camphor. Hattie felt hot and uncomfortable. She wiped her brow and returned the cards to the table.

  “Mrs Lee sees your sadness.” The old lady began. “But he was a wrong ’un and you’ll find love again.”

  Hattie leaned forward and focused. The Italian Stallion was certainly a wrong ‘un and Hattie wondered what was coming next.

  “He’s gone. You’ll not see him again. There’s no money from him but money don’t make you happy girl and you can earn yon own way.”

  Hattie wished there was less emphasis on her earning her own way and sighed as she watched Jo lean forward, suddenly interested in the reading.

  “Bonny boys your lads!” Mrs Lee continued. “One will stay close, he’s like his Mammy. T’other will work with flames but he’ll come home safe.”

  The old lady sat back. She was tiny against the large pieces of Crown Derby displayed in a leaded glass cabinet, the rich red and gold tones of the smooth china warmed her deathly pale skin. Hattie fiddled with a lace runner on the arm of the banquette and passed Mrs Lee another card.

  “I see lots of folk, eating and drinking.” Mrs Lee held the card up. “You work hard but there’s one who has the eye only for you.” She gazed at the King of Clubs. “He loves only you and there’ll be money.”

  Hattie handed over the third card and made a silent wish. Mrs Lee’s expression changed. She stared at the card then pushed it back in the pack.

  “What does it say?” Hattie asked. The old lady had moved the cards off the table and seemed to be in a hurry.

  “Nothin’ it don’t say nothin’ you’re reading’s over.”

  Hattie was puzzled but reached for her purse. Mrs Lee looked at her watch and reached for Hattie’s hand. She gently stroked it and shook her head.

  “That’ll be twenty.” She took the money then dismissed Hattie and nodded to Jo to take her place.

  “I’ll come back later.”

  Jo stood up. She couldn’t wait to get out of the caravan. It was hot and oppressive and she wasn’t comfortable with Hattie’s reading. Hattie hurried ahead and ran out into the sunshine.

  “Take care of ‘er, she’ll need it.” The old lady whispered and Jo felt a chill run down her spine.

  “An’ you watch for the one with the blue eyes.” Mrs Lee shouted as Jo clattered down the metal steps towards a queue of people waiting to go in.

  Jo spotted Simon with his girlfriend.

  “Got the winning pools numbers Mrs E?” Simon called out.

  “It’s all a load of nonsense.” Jo told him. She forced a smile and gripped Hattie’s arm then linked it with own and guided them away.

  “Well you’re all gas and gob.” Hattie pulled a face. “What’s with the sharp exit? Too near the knuckle?”

  “You could say that.” Jo steered Hattie past a group of children who held out bunches of ‘lucky’ heather for a pound a piece.

  “At least you’ve got love and money to look forward to.” Jo pushed her sunglasses on. “I should’ve asked her about the strange atmosphere in the conservatory, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “Aye, there’s something odd in there.” Hattie replied. “And it’s no surprise that you’ve got to watch out for blue eyes…”

  “Oh Hattie every man in Cumbria seems to have blue eyes, she’s hardly Inspector Morse is she?”

  There were travellers, traders and tourists everywhere. Hundreds of caravans shimmered in the heat as the girls wound their way through the colourful crowds. Fair Hill was dry and dusty from endless hordes of traipsing feet but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The fair attracted up to thirty thousand visitors each day and was loud and chaotic. Children chased each other and shouted out, some of them were barefoot. Goods of every size and description were for sale - lucky brass horseshoes, lace table cloths, fancy china and glassware, saddlery, pottery, gifts and crafts. Several old-fashioned horse-drawn caravans clustered together around a camp fire. Brightly painted utensils – kettles, dishes, troughs and mugs were displayed and folk haggled until a deal was done.

  Hattie and Jo soaked up the atmosphere as they strolled down the hill and headed towards Butterly.

  “High heels were a mistake.” Jo complained. She wished she’d worn something flat.

  They reached Flashing Way on the main road to Butterly. It was closed to allow sellers to display their horses to potential buyers by trotting them back and forth along the roadway. This was the place to see the finest piebald and skewbald Gypsy cobs as they changed hands from one dealer to another.

  “Watch where you’re walking.” Hattie jostled Jo around mounds of dung which littered the tarmac. They watched in fascination as the sellers enthused over the quality of their horses - talking excitedly about the markings and grace of the beasts that clattered up and down the road.

  “I can’t understand a word they’re saying.” Jo whispered.

  They watched a tanned and handsome young man roll up his shirt sleeves to begin trading formalities with a bare-chested older man, who wore moleskin trousers and braces. They bartered over a fine black and white mare. Both looked hot, sweaty and intent on a deal.

  “It’s Romany.” Hattie explained as they listened to the fast, harsh dialect.

  The men eventually agreed a price then slapped each others hands several times before exchanging a pile of notes. The younger man handed back £20.

  “That’s luck money.’” Hattie said. “It’s part of the deal and has to be returned to the seller, to ensure good luck for the horse.”

  A procession of horses trotted down to the banks of the River Bevan, which flowed in a u-shape around the town. There were horses everywhere - in the river, on its banks, along the roadside and tethered outside pubs and shops. Men and boys stood naked from the waist up in the deep muddy river and washed and groomed the horses ready for trading. Mothers with children sat in the sunshine and groups of young women paraded up and down, dressed in their finest, most colourful clothes. The gypsy girls’ loved short skirts, tight leggings and skimpy tops all teamed with high heels and an abundance of gold jewellery. They flirted outrageously with the men, who preened and showed off their horses - riding bareback at speed down the road as tourists leapt out of their way. The Fair was
a huge courting arena for unattached gypsies, where many met their future partners.

  Outside the Blacksmith Arms a noisy group supped pints of cold beer.

  “Well bugger me, look whose over there.”

  Hattie saw Ken with Bertie and the Hunts enjoying the vibrant atmosphere. Jo lifted her sunglasses and squinted in their direction.

  “Come on, I fancy a beer.”

  She grabbed Hattie’s arm and looking in either direction, jostled them through the mass of people and horses. They ran as a horse and rider thundered down the road, oblivious to the mayhem he was causing.

  “Bleedin’ hell!” Hattie screamed. She narrowly avoided a collision, lost her footing and stumbled.

  Bertie heard her cry and spun round. Seeing Hattie career towards him, he opened his arms and caught her as she fell. He scooped her up and plonked a kiss on her lips.

  “Jeysus Harriet!” He cried out. “Will you take care of yourself, feck you could have been killed!”

  He pulled her roughly into his arms away from the horses and held her tightly. Hattie, shocked by the kiss, pulled back. A blush burned up her neck and spread along her cheeks.

  “But you look even prettier when you blush, so you do.” Bertie smiled and proceeded to kiss her again.

  Jo watched with amusement as Hattie hesitated then returned the kiss, to a roar of approval from Ken, Harry and Elvis.

  “Bout bleedin’ time!” Tracey and Stacey squealed and clapped their hands.

  “That calls for a drink. What you having girls?” Harry asked. He disappeared into the crowded bar.

  Bertie held his arm protectively around Hattie and turned to Jo. He looked her up and down.

  “Dear God, you’ll be driving these fellas crazy in that get up.” He admired Jo’s outfit and looked longingly at Hattie’s cleavage.

  “Did your Mammy never tell you girls to wear a vest?” Bertie sighed and shook his head.

  Hattie wasn’t listening. She was mesmerized by a magnificent horse coming toward them. The crowds parted as it was led down the road. Jo turned to see what Hattie was staring at.