Disenchanted

by Heide Goody

  Table of Contents

  Once upon a time…

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Disenchanted

  Heide Goody & Iain Grant

  Pigeon Park Press

  ‘Disenchanted’ Copyright © Heide Goody and Iain Grant 2017

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except for personal use, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9957497-0-2

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9933655-8-4

  Cover artwork and design copyright © Mike Watts 2017

  (www.bigbeano.co.uk)

  Published by Pigeon Park Press

  www.pigeonparkpress.com

  info@pigeonparkpress.com

  Once upon a time…

  There was a little girl called Ella Hannaford who loved to visit her Granny Rose.

  Granny Rose’s house smelled of fruit cake and beef gravy and the little cigarettes that Granny smoked. And the beds in Granny’s house were big and bouncy (although Granny Rose would give Ella a clip round the ear if she was ever caught bouncing on them). And in Grandma’s living room — the living room she kept for ‘best’, not the one for everyday — there was a glass-fronted sideboard full of treasures, like Granddad Doug’s darts tankard and a pair of little silver peacocks and Granny Rose’s delicate crystal bell and a painted plate of the most beautiful sunny beach with the message ‘A gift from Bournemouth’. And in the garden there were chickens. Sometimes one of the chickens would lay an egg and Ella was allowed to carry it into the kitchen if she was careful. And Granny would ask her if she had spoken to the chicken or if the chicken had spoken to her and Ella would always say no. And then there would be egg sandwiches for tea or fried egg for breakfast and Granny Rose’s fried eggs would taste better than the ones Ella’s mum cooked because Granny used a secret ingredient in all her cooking and that secret ingredient was lard.

  In short, a visit to Granny Rose’s was a visit to the most magical place in all the world.

  On this summer’s afternoon, the sun was warm in Grandma Rose’s garden and Ella was wearing her favourite yellow sun dress. She sat with her dollies on the lawn and made sure that they were all looking at her as she organised the picnic. Grandma had given her a cloth to put upon the grass and she smoothed it under her hands as she arranged the tea set.

  “Who wants a cup of tea an’ a sammidge?” she asked the dollies.

  Dance Sensation Barbie and Malibu Barbie each had an arm up, so Ella knew what they wanted. Baby Chuckles had eyes that were meant to open and close when she was laid down or picked up but one of the eyes was stuck closed in a permanent wink. Ella knew what that wink meant and today it meant, ‘I’d like a cup of tea an’ a sammidge, please’.

  Ella realised that there was a dolly in their little circle that had not been there before. This new dolly was taller than the Barbies, and she had wings that were as shiny and inviting as sweet wrappers. Ella didn’t remember putting her there, and wasn’t sure how she was standing up; the Barbies always toppled over. She reached out to touch the fabric of the dolly’s dress. It was soft, like a rose petal or maybe the toilet paper that some of her friends had in their houses. Her other dollies’ clothes were shiny and a bit scratchy.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” said the dolly, smiling at her.

  Ella snatched her hand back. One of her friends had a doll with a string that you could pull to make it talk but this one was smiling, and looked as if it was waiting for Ella to answer.

  “Want a sammidge?” she asked in a small, uncertain voice.

  “We can do better than sandwiches,” said the dolly in a voice that reminded Ella of the crystal bell that she wasn’t supposed to play with. “How would you like some cake?”

  The dolly swept a dainty arm over the cloth and the tiny tea set tinkled as cakes appeared on it. Ella stared. These were not the sort of cakes that Granny might cut her a slice of. These weren’t ginger cakes or scones or fruit cakes or any of the ‘good and honest cakes’ that Granny Rose made. These cakes looked dainty and fluffy and were decorated with colourful icing and Ella reckoned that they didn’t have any lard in them, not even an ounce. These swirling colourful bites were even more beautiful than Mr Kipling French Fancies, which was what posh people had for their teas.

  Ella reached out for one and then she stopped. There was a rule about this, wasn’t there? The rules were important. Her mum and Granny Rose had told her many times. She started to sing quietly, to remind herself.

  Don’t let fairies come and play

  Tell an adult right away

  She looked solemnly at the new dolly. “Are you a fairy?”

  The dolly shook her head. Ella continued with the song.

  Eating or drinking a fairy’s food

  Will never do you any good.

  She looked at the cakes. Maybe she should just try one? They did look very nice, and they were so small that one couldn’t matter, surely? The Barbies hadn’t come to any harm. And besides, ‘food’ didn’t really rhyme with ‘good’ so she shouldn’t take the song seriously.

  Ella looked round. There was no one about. Ella’s dad, Gavin, was in the front room, sleeping off his Sunday lunch in Granddad Doug’s old chair (which Granny Rose kept even though she never sat in it herself and Granddad Doug had been dead a long time). Ella’s mum, Natalie, had gone to the shed with a big jar to do some tidying up or something. And Granny Rose was in the kitchen and, although the back door was open, Ella couldn’t see her inside.

  “Ella?”

  Granny Rose was looking at her through the kitchen window.

  Ella jumped up, but the new dolly tugged at her dress. “Why don’t you just have a bite of cake?”

  “Granny called.”

  “You can go in a moment,” said the dolly.

  Ella paused, but Grandma Rose could not be ignored, not even for a short while. She ran down the garden path and into the kitchen.

  Granny shook her wet hands and dried them on her apron. She took a bowl of apple trimmings from the side and passed them to Ella.

  “Take these for t’chickens,” Granny said, talking with her Park Drive cigarette wedged in the corner of her mouth.

  Ella took the bowl.

  “Is everything all right out there?” said Granny.

  “Yes, Granny.”

  “Tha looked a mite discombobulated, lass.”

  “I gotta new dolly,” said Ella.

  “Oh aye?” said Granny with a frown. “And where did that come from?”

  “It was just there,” said Ella. “And cake as well!”

  Granny advanced, a worried look on her face (although a worried look on Granny Rose’s face meant that others should be doing the worrying because she was what dad called a ‘tough old bird’ with arm muscles like Popeye the sailor man and hands that could pick up scalding hot pans without getting hurt).

  “Did tha eat any of the cake?” she asked, taking hold of Ella’s hand.

  “S’all right Granny,” said Ella. “I know she’s not a fairy. She told me.”

  “Oh, did she now? Right, tha needs to sit down at t’table so’s I can deal wi
th yonder missy who’s not a fairy.”

  She sat Ella down with the bowl of apple trimmings on her lap.

  “But my dollies are out there,” said Ella. The gloomy kitchen seemed like a punishment.

  “I’ll fetch them shortly,” said Granny. “We’ll have that apple pie with t’dollies when I’m done.” She stubbed out her cigarette, went to the cleaning cupboard and got out a bucket, a bottle of bleach and a plastic carrier bag. “How big?”

  “What, Granny?” Ella asked.

  “How big is t’dolly that’s not a fairy?”

  Ella held her hands apart. Granny swapped the carrier bag for a larger bin liner and then went out into the garden.

  Ella sighed and opened the story book that was on the table beside Ella’s crayons and colouring pad. The book was called Magical Kingdoms for Small Children.

  Ella loved the exotic stories, which were set in exciting places and featured dragons, giants and unicorns. Her mum and dad would read them to her at night. Ella couldn’t read many of the words for herself yet, so she flipped through the book looking at the pictures. She found a picture of a pretty lady with wings.

  “That’s a fairy,” said Ella.

  The differences were clear to Ella. The pretty lady in the book was sitting comfortably inside a buttercup, which meant that she was smaller than Ella’s thumb. The dolly she’d seen outside had been much bigger than that. The lady in the book had delicate wings, like a butterfly, and stood on her tiptoes. The new dolly had stood more like Wonder Woman, from the television.

  Eventually Granny Rose came back into the kitchen. She no longer had the bleach or the bin liner but she did have Ella’s toys. Ella jumped down from her chair.

  “Let’s play dollies now, Granny!”

  “Let me see to t’pie.” Granny had gathered up the dollies, the tea set and the cloth into a basket and she put them onto the table before she turned to the oven.

  Ella examined the basket. “Where’s the new dolly, Grandma?”

  Granny put the pie on the counter to cool. Its crust was crisp and golden and steam wafted from the slits cut in its centre.

  “That were a fairy, love. It had to go,” said Granny.

  Ella’s disappointment made her eyes prick with the threat of tears. “But it didn’t look like a fairy, Granny. Fairies are smaller.”

  “Is that so? And how would tha know that?”

  She turned the book to show Granny the illustration. The old woman stabbed the picture with a finger and looked at Ella. “I reckon tha’s learned a useful lesson about being tricked. Fairies will pop up in all manner o’ guises. Asking ‘em’s no good, they’ll not be truthful. If tha’s thought to ask the question, it’s probably a fairy.”

  The afternoon had started off so exciting. She knew the rules were important but they were no fun sometimes.

  “What is this, anyroad?” said Granny, flipping disdainfully through Ella’s book.

  “Fairy tales, Granny.”

  Granny stopped at a page. “The Good Buttercup Fairy? Blummin’ heck. Stuff and nonsense. Good fairies? Ha! Let’s feed t’ dollies and then we’ll see about reading summat else.”

  Granny and Ella sat the dollies at the table and served up some apple pie. Granny put a jug of double cream on the table and didn’t mind when Ella poured nearly all of it on her slice. It really was very good, and Ella nearly forgot about the new dolly who was a fairy.

  “This un’ll catch her death o’ cold in them clothes,” said Granny, indicating Malibu Barbie in her swimsuit.

  Ella laughed. “She’s from ‘merica, Granny. Like Wonder Woman. Ev’ryone dresses like that, I think.”

  Granny gave Ella a yellow duster to fashion into something warmer for Malibu Barbie, and Ella busied herself silently while Granny washed up. Ella flipped through the book to find the picture she had in mind, then she found an elastic band from Granny’s kitchen table to finish the job.

  “Granny, look!” Ella held up Malibu Barbie wearing her yellow cloak. “It’s like this one!”

  Granny came round and looked at the illustration. It was Red Riding Hood, and Ella jigged in her seat full of excitement at how closely Malibu Barbie’s yellow cloak, fastened at the neck with the elastic band, resembled the red one worn by the young heroine in the story.

  Granny nodded, but Ella saw that she had a small frown on her face as she did so.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Aye, it’s grand enough. You know, a smart girl would do better than going off into t’woods and consorting with wolves and that. And certainly not running around in her unmentionables like Wonder Woman. Give me a girl who can mend a broken fence or fix up a chicken coop any day.”

  “Is your fence broken, Granny?”

  Granny Rose stood up and took down a book from the dark shelf above the fridge freezer. The yellow cover showed a line drawing of a house with images of various tools and decorating equipment within.

  “What is it?” said Ella.

  “The Reader’s Digest Complete Do-it-yourself Manual,” said Granny Rose, pointing at each word in turn. “Tha can have it.”

  “Thank you,” said Ella who didn’t really want it but even at the age of four knew that you always said thank you when you were given something.

  Granny stroked Ella’s hair. “Now I reckon it’s about time to pack tha things away and go wake tha dad.”

  Ella busied herself putting away the toys and crayons until she heard her mum come round through the garden. Then she ran out to meet her. Her mum had a stern expression on her face and an oily rag wrapped around her left hand, which she held in place with her right hand.

  “What’s tha done?” said Granny Rose without much in the way of sympathy.

  “Bloody thing bit me,” said Ella’s mum.

  “What did tha think it were going to do? Let’s get it under the tap.”

  “What have you done, mum?” asked Ella.

  Granny Rose gave her a look. It was the same look Ella’s mum gave her sometime. Ella’s mum was good at the look but Granny Rose was a world champion. One day, Ella’s mum would be world champion and Ella herself would have learned the secret of the look.

  “I told thee to go wake tha father, Ella. And none of your questions.”

  Ella scurried to do as she was told. Her dad was sprawled in Granddad Doug’s old chair, his head back and his mouth wide. An empty wine glass dangled precariously between his fingertips, inches above the carpet. His hairy nostril quivered as he snored.

  “Daddy, it’s time to wake up.”

  He didn’t stir. Ella poked him sharply in the knee and attempted to give him the look. He snorted and came awake, peering at Ella.

  “Are you trying to go cross-eyed, squozzle?” he asked.

  Ella tried the look again but it made her cheeks hurt so she gave up. From the kitchen, came the restrained but sharp sounds of Granny Rose and mum arguing at low volume.

  “Are the Thorn girls having a word with each other?” said Ella’s dad. “Then it must be time to go home.”

  Ella’s dad scooped her up in his arms, blew a raspberry on her belly and then carried her kicking and laughing into the kitchen. The argument between Ella’s mum and grandma stopped instantly. Ella’s mum had a large plaster across her left hand.

  “Had a bit of an accident?” said Ella’s dad.

  “Playing silly buggers,” said Granny Rose.

  “Ah, I used to be able to play that,” said Ella’s dad, “but I forgot the rules.”

  Granny Rose tutted at the ridiculous man and Ella giggled.

  Shortly after, bundled up in the back of the family’s Austin Metro with Malibu Barbie in her yellow cloak in her hands, Ella waved goodbye to Granny Rose. Ella’s dad put the car into gear and pulled away. Ella knelt up on the seat and waved faster.

  “And what was that one about?” said her dad.

  “Oh, the usual,” said her mum.

  “Oh, the usual,” said dad in a daft and pompous voice.

>   And that, Ella already understood, was her parents in a nutshell. Her dad’s love was silliness and cuddles and smoothing the edge between the jagged people in his life. And her mum’s love was sharp looks and hard attitudes and a fierceness that both frightened and protected Ella.

  “Granny Rose has got my book,” said Ella, looking back at Granny Rose with Magical Kingdoms for Small Children in the crook of her arm. The trade for the Reader’s Digest Complete Do-it-yourself Manual hardly seemed fair.

  “We’ll get you a different one,” said Ella’s mum. “No more fairy tales anymore.”

  And that was that.

  Chapter One

  The years bleached the colour from the cover and scuffed its edges but, thirty years after Granny Rose had presented it to her, Ella Hannaford still owned the Reader’s Digest Complete Do-it-yourself Manual. It sat on the shelf in her office, between Geoff Hamilton’s Cottage Gardens and Buckminster Fuller’s Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth. The office in question was a cabin built from responsibly-sourced spruce and reclaimed slate tiles, sited in the expansive grounds of the “Diggers and Dreams” garden centre and only occasionally mistaken for a display shed by confused customers. From this hi-tech nerve centre, Ella ran her one-woman, environmentally friendly home improvement and eco building business.

  However, today, the environment had to take care of itself as Ella was faced with a different task, one that was slowly driving her potty.

  Nearly a hundred scraps of card and paper were pinned to her office noticeboard in a labyrinthine pattern. Each scrap had a name copperplated on it. Most of the scraps were pages torn from a security company’s promotional calendar — from the firm where Myra used to work — and they featured cartoon illustrations of the application of handcuffs, leg irons, waist chains, Hannibal Lector-style body boards, muzzles and more. It was surprising, and more than a little disturbing to know that there was such a variety of ways to incapacitate a human, and look cheerful while doing it. A smaller proportion of scraps — those from Ella’s dad, Myra’s fiancé — were written on the backs of old Bordeaux labels. It had amused him to soak them off the bottles and dry them out so that he could comply with Ella’s demand that he used only recycled notepaper. He told her that if he was going to be environmentally aware, it might as well be fun.