The Way to a Woman's Heart

by Christina Jones

  Billy chuckled. ‘The fairies told you so, did they?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they did, Mr Pumpkin Scoffer. They helped more than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘Whatever you say. I’m not going to get into any more arguments with you on that score. You almost spoiled our big moment last week, storming in and shouting “Puck” and all that malarkey, presumably because you didn’t want to be left out of the telly shenanigans, but I’ve said nothing about it because Poll seems to have forgotten about it and I won’t do anything to upset her.’

  ‘But?’ Trixie’s bubble perm quivered.

  ‘But –’ Billy puffed himself up ‘– I’d ask you, now we’re going to be on the telly again, to keep your fairy nonsense to yourself in future.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t have any control over the fairies,’ Trixie continued to smile. ‘They do whatever they like. I’m just a channel for them, but they do help me – and you… as young Ella knows only too well.’

  Oooh no, Ella groaned, looking up from her phone, don’t drag me into this.

  ‘Do you?’ Billy looked at her.

  ‘Not really know as such, but I think I do understand a little more than I did before and…’

  Oh, hallelujah! Saved by Poll drifting into the room, holding George’s hand, looking stunned.

  ‘That was Denise from Dewberrys’ Dinners. She was ringing to confirm that we’re the Weekly Winners… She said we couldn’t be told that we’d won until Gabby and Tom had broadcast it because it had to stay a strict secret and we might have talked.’ Poll looked shocked. ‘As if we would!’

  Ella thought they definitely would.

  ‘Anyway –’ Poll smiled vaguely round the sitting room ‘– we’ll be filmed live again, from here, on Monday the twentieth of July… and if we win that one with the viewers’ votes, we’ll be in the television studio with the other lucky semi-finalist team, for the live audience final on Friday the twenty-fourth of July.’

  At the mention of the dates, Ella noted with deep foreboding that Trixie suddenly looked animated.

  ‘And,’ Poll continued, ‘Denise says we have to cook an entirely different menu on the twentieth, but if we get through to finals night we can use that again, or our original one, or another one again. Isn’t it just wonderful?’

  ‘Yes, it is, love.’ Billy stood up and kissed her cheek. ‘Now, have we got any more of that champagne left?’

  ‘Mmm. I think so… It might be in the fridge, and if it isn’t it should be.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait until Ash gets here?’ Ella said. ‘It doesn’t seem fair to leave him out of the celebrations. And, we’ll have to start thinking of a whole new menu, and he’ll have to be here for that and – Oooh, just look what they’re doing with those prawns.’

  They all stared at the television screen.

  ‘Looks like a satanic ritual.’ Poll shuddered. ‘Not that I’ve ever seen one, of course, but should there be all that blood? From prawns?’

  ‘That’s beetroot sauce,’ Trixie said.

  ‘Beetroot with prawns? Does that go?’ Poll frowned. ‘It’s a very pretty colour, though.’

  The phone started ringing out in the hall again.

  ‘I’ll answer the phone – bound to be someone from the villages having heard the news and wanting to have the latest low-down,’ Billy said, ‘then I’ll go and see if the champagne is in the fridge. We’ll have to have it nice and cold for when Ash gets here. Come on, young George, let’s see if we can find some of that special cherry pop for you, too.’

  ‘Ah, love them.’ Trixie watched them leave the room. ‘Lovely seeing them together, isn’t it, Poll, dear? Like a proper father and son. Billy’s a bit old to be George’s dad, of course, but then, wasn’t Charlie Chaplin still fathering children in his eighties?’

  Poll blushed. ‘I’ve no idea. And Billy is only in his early fifties.’

  ‘And you haven’t reached the change yet, have you?’ Trixie enquired cheerfully. ‘Plenty of time for you and Billy to give George a little brother or sister.’

  Poll gave a little whimper and blushed even more. ‘Er, um, oooh, yes. Who fancies some of my cheese straws with the champagne?’

  ‘Me!’ Ella said, laughing. ‘And some goat’s cheese with your home-made pickled onions.’

  ‘You’ve got a really disgusting palate for a winning cheffette,’ Poll, still flushed with embarrassment, muttered as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and see what I can find.’

  ‘OK –’ Ella looked at Trixie as soon as they were alone ‘– forget all about Billy and Poll’s breeding programme, what’s so special about those dates that Poll mentioned?’

  ‘You noticed, dear, did you? Well, between us – and the fairies, of course – they couldn’t be better. July, in fairy speak, is known as Maed Monath – the flowering of the meadows. And the twentieth of July is very special for all the fairykins – it’s Ruby Larkspur Day.’

  Ella tried to keep a straight face. ‘Who the heck is Ruby Larkspur Day? She sounds like a bit of a diva to me. You know – ahem – and here we have the latest chart-topping cloned offering from last year’s cloned X-Strictly On Ice Without Talent winner – Ruby Larkspur-Day!’

  ‘Don’t mock, Ella. Ruby is the precious birthstone for July, and larkspur is July’s special flower. They unite in magical power on the twentieth of July. Gemstones and flowers are very important to fairies.’

  ‘And to divas. And to most other women really. The way to a woman’s heart… Or maybe that’s with food?’ Ella pondered for a moment. Yes, definitely with food. Especially if it was created, cooked and served to her, just her, by Ash…

  Although the gems and flowers would be quite nice, too…

  Trixie shook her head. ‘A woman’s heart can’t be bought with gems and flowers though, dear, can it?’

  ‘Can’t it? Er, no, probably not. Too materialistic. No, I suppose hearts have to be given freely – if you love someone, then it’s unconditional, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter what things they can give you or not, you simply love them for being them.’

  Trixie smiled. ‘Underneath all that cynicism and youthful bravado, you’re quite a romantic, dear, aren’t you?’

  ‘Hopeless,’ Ella admitted.

  ‘I was, too,’ Trixie said. ‘But then I loved the wrong person. All my life I loved someone who belonged to someone else. Unhappily belonged to someone else. And he had no idea how I felt. No idea at all. Then he died… and it was all too late.’

  Ella gulped. ‘Oh, God, Trixie, I’m so sorry – I didn’t know… That’s so sad.’

  ‘Don’t make my mistake, Ella, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Ella stared at her. Did she know? How could she know?

  ‘Look, dear, Poll’s told me about your boyfriend in London. Well, not all the details, but enough to make me realise that there must be some problem for you to want to be away from him for three months. And I recognise a girl in love when I see one, dear. So, assuming it’s not the boyfriend in London who’s making you look all dreamy-eyed, I can only draw one other conclusion…’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Ella said quickly. ‘Jumping to conclusions, especially the wrong ones, can cause all manner of problems – and honestly, Trixie, I just don’t want to discuss it, OK?’

  Trixie sighed. ‘Whatever you say, dear. But I’m here, dear, in case you ever change your mind and want to unburden yourself.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘All right, dear. So, where were we? Oh, yes – materialism, fairies and maybe food really being the food of love.’

  ‘I thought that was music.’

  ‘Only according to Shakespeare, and what did he know? But if you add music and flowers and gems and food together, what do you have?’

  ‘The best date ever? A lovely romantic evening?’ Ella sighed, suddenly transported to a daydream of Ash showering her with all of them in some secluded hideaway… ‘Sorry.’ She dragged herself back from the never-going-to-happen scenario. ‘Go on t
hen, tell me – what do we have?’

  ‘You have the pure essence of Ruby Larkspur Day. And, before I carry on with the explanation, are you sure you’re not going to mock again?’

  ‘Sure. Promise. Absolutely.’

  ‘Very well. Larkspur is a beautiful wild flower – so much rarer now what with building all them little houses over the green belt and the use of pesticides and the destruction of the hedgerows and very few fields left fallow, but then, you, being a city girl, don’t know about that and you probably wouldn’t even recognise larkspur, would you?’

  Ella shook her head.

  ‘Shame. I bet you never went on nature walks at school, did you, dear?’

  ‘No. There actually wasn’t a lot of nature round our way. Graffiti, yes. Nature, no.’

  ‘Such a pity, dear. Oh, look at that!’

  They both looked at the television screen. The team from Norfolk had just dropped their Victorian trifle.

  ‘Anyway,’ Trixie continued, ‘the summer fairies love larkspur, they say it makes dreams come true, and in combination with rubies on the twentieth of July, it has some amazing magical properties. It makes it a fairy party day – hence the food and music.’ She leaned forwards. ‘And because of this I think you should suggest to the others that you all wear the Ruby Larkspur colours on the twentieth of July for luck.’

  ‘Red for rubies?’ Ella nodded, watching the screen with glee as Gabby glowered over the remains of the trifle as they were scooped up into a Tesco carrier bag. ‘Er, OK… We’ve probably all got something red we can wear with our black bottoms. Yes, I’ll mention it. I don’t see what harm it can do. Is larkspur red, too?’

  ‘Blue mostly, dear.’

  ‘You think we should wear blue and red?’ Ella chortled. ‘Together? We’ll look like West Ham Second Eleven Reserves.’

  ‘You said you weren’t going to mock.’

  ‘I’m not – Oh, look, Trixie, let’s keep most of this between ourselves, shall we? I promise I’ll mention about wearing the red and blue to celebrate some rural festival to the rest of them. But I’m not going to say a word about the Ruby Larkspur Day magical thingy if you don’t mind… And, while we’re on this fairy party day subject, what’s so special about the twenty-fouth of July?’

  ‘Is CandleKiss Day.’

  ‘Don’t you mean Candlemas?’

  ‘No, that’s from a completely different calendar. CandleKiss is a fairy festival of lights.’

  ‘Like a miniature Diwali? My best friend Nalisha at home used to celebrate Diwali – we all used to go to her house. It was amazing.’

  ‘It’s not Diwali or Candlemas. No. Do you remember I told you that I made my own candles? Added magical herbs to them? Well, CandleKiss is when those candles come into their own. All the fairy believers make and light their candles and make their wishes on CandleKiss and –’

  ‘The wishes all come true and the frog turns into a handsome prince and marries the scullery maid who is really a beautiful princess and everyone lives happily ever after. The End.’

  Trixie held up her hands. ‘You’re a lost cause, Ella. Too flippant for your own good. But don’t say you haven’t been given fair warning.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The rest of Dewberrys’ Dinners’ eastern area heats more or less passed Hideaway Farm by in a frantic blur of on-screen recipes and recriminations. Ella, Poll, Ash and Billy had far more important things to think about.

  Once the heady euphoria of further success had turned into blind panic, they just tried very hard to forget about the current competition, and concentrate on planning their next menu.

  Having held several in-the-garden-where-it’s-cooler committee meetings when, because of the temperatures and the overexcitement, tempers had become quite frayed, they finally agreed that they should stick with their retro theme for the next heat.

  ‘No point in changing tack now,’ Ash said. ‘We should keep to what we’re best at and provide another pre-nineteen-fifties Farmhouse Feast. Really old-fashioned, farm-grown, veggie meals. That’s obviously what we’re good at, Gabby and Tom loved it, and that’s what the viewers will remember us for. So far, no one has tried anything like it, have they?’

  ‘No,’ Ella said, ‘they haven’t. So, I’m happy to make an Eve’s pudding, but with red, black and white currants instead of apples – because they’re seasonal and we’ve got loads of them in the garden – and home-made custard. OK?’

  ‘Fab!’ Poll said, scribbling it down. ‘But, it still looks like we’re going to have a cheesy starter and a sort of cheesy main, do you think that’s OK?’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘It’ll fit in nicely with the veggie theme, we didn’t have cheese last time, and they’re very different cheesy things, aren’t they?’ Billy said. ‘Ash’s baby leek and new potato soup is only flavoured with a sprinkle of cheese at the end, and my old-fashioned cheese biscuits are quite light in flavour and will just complement it nicely. Whereas your bread and cheese pudding will blow their socks off – bet they’ll never have tasted anything like it before.’

  ‘OK, we’ll go with double cheese, and I’ll have loads of fresh veg from the garden with mine anyway,’ Poll continued, scribbling. ‘Always assuming we have anything worth using in the garden in three weeks’ time, that is. This hosepipe ban is a bit of a killer.’

  ‘Me and young Georgie are on to it,’ Billy said. ‘We’ll be out there first thing in the morning and last thing at night with all the leftover washing-up water and what have you, making sure everything gets a good soaking. George is really excited to be playing a part this time.’

  ‘And Ella has explained about the colours you should wear, hasn’t she? And why?’ Trixie leaned forwards in a nice, cosy, mumsy way. ‘And you’re all going to wear red and blue?’

  ‘She has and we are.’ Poll nodded. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea to celebrate Maed Monath – something else I remember from my Old English lessons at school. And we’ve all got red tops and we’re going to wear blue bottoms this time.’

  George chuckled smuttily again.

  ‘Although,’ Poll continued, ‘I’ve never heard of that old country saying.’

  ‘Which one is that, dear?’

  ‘What was it, Ella?’ Poll frowned across the dusky garden. ‘I’m useless at remembering poetry.’

  And Ella, avoiding Trixie’s eyes, muttered, ‘Er, July twenty, wear red for plenty; wear blue with red and keep the family fed.’

  ‘So apt!’ Poll beamed. ‘And clever of you to know that one, Trixie. So, we’re all agreed on everything? And Ella can go and type this menu up and email it to Dewberrys’ Dinners?’

  They all nodded.

  ‘No one wants to change anything?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘Goody,’ Poll said. ‘Now all we have to do is practise and practise and rehearse and rehearse and work out timings – over and over again.’

  And they all groaned.

  ‘Do you know what we need?’ Ash said in the farmhouse kitchen, at the end of the week, after a particularly gruelling rehearsal when Ella knew that she’d never, ever make another Eve’s pudding in her life once this was all over.

  ‘A thunderstorm?’ Ella pushed her damp hair away from her face and held up her hands in front of the constantly whirring fan, and wondered for the umpteenth time why, while the non-stop sultry weather made her look like a wilting wet rag, Ash still managed to look cool, relaxed, sexy and darkly devastating. ‘A deluge of non-stop rain? Sub-zero temperatures? The new ice age?’

  ‘A night out.’

  Here we go again, Ella thought. It’s the feeling sorry for me thing again. ‘Thanks, but we’ve been through all this before and it didn’t end well, did it? Anyway, I’ve been out,’ she said. ‘And at night. Two days ago, remember?’

  Ash nodded. ‘Oh, yes – the night the team from Cambridge made the all-pink Barbie menu.’

  Their life, Ella thought with amusement, was now completely
charted by Dewberrys’ Dinners.

  ‘Yep, that night. Anyway, because Poll was having a meal with her friends Mitzi and Zillah and Joss, she gave me a lift into Hazy Hassocks and I finally met up with those “nice girls” who work with Mitzi.’

  ‘And were they? Nice girls?’

  ‘Amber and Cleo? Yes, really nice. They’re both married and both very loved-up, but despite not having an awful lot in common to start with, we had a drink or three at the Faery Glen in Hassocks and got on really well – and I’ll definitely see them again.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Funnily enough, once we’d got through a couple of bottles of wine, they told me lots of things about the magic and stuff that goes on round here.’

  ‘Yeah, a couple of bottles of wine can do that. It makes you talk about rubbish – but very seriously. You didn’t mention Trixie, did you?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘No – well, yes, but nothing specific, not the dandelion firefighters or the Midsummer Night’s Dream fairy thing. They’d both watched the programme and only noticed – like everyone else – just a slight technical hitch, a bit of a blip that lasted for an eye blink… but I was telling them about the set-up here and said that Trixie believed in fairies.’

  ‘I bet that went down well.’

  ‘It was OK, actually. Amber laughed. She said when she moved down here to Fiddlesticks from Manchester several years ago she thought everyone in the village was barking because they all believed in the moon and stars. They held – and still do – astral magic ceremonies. And in the end she’s just accepted it because, although there was no rational explanation, things did and still do happen.’

  ‘Belief without any understanding or explanation?’ Ash frowned. ‘ Isn’t that just the easy way out? You know, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Ella shrugged. ‘But Cleo lives in Lovers Knot and she said there was a similar thing there too. Only with magical wine. And then there’s all sorts of rumours about herbal magic in Hazy Hassocks and love potions in Bagley-cum-Russet.’

  ‘So I’ve heard since I’ve been doing the ice-cream rounds.’ Ash grinned. ‘Completely bonkers, of course. But I guess it actually makes Trixie’s fairy stuff quite mild by comparison.’