Disenchanted

by Heide Goody

  “Unless it’s as a handbag and matching belt,” said Rose.

  “Maybe you need to transform into something smaller,” suggested the wolf.

  The crocodile eyed him suspiciously.

  With a violent bootlegger turn that mowed down a bush, decapitated a row of garden gnomes and caused a wedding guest to faint, Shitfaced swung the cement mixer into a space in the garden centre car park. The vehicle swayed on its suspension and then, thankfully, it was still. Ella yanked the handbrake on with a powerful finality.

  “See?” said Inappropriate. “Chicks love a man who can drive. She’s all hot under the collar and can’t wait to get her hands on your equipment.”

  “You’re a bloody menace,” she told Shitfaced.

  “A sexy menace?” slurred Shitfaced.

  There was a rap at the door. Windy opened it.

  “One-hour delivery special,” said a man in a peaked cap.

  The man passed two parcels into the cab, one wide and flat, the other clearly shoe boxy. Ella looked at the first line of the address: The bastard cement mixer in the bastard car park.

  Windy gave the man a bum-toot of thanks and closed the door.

  “Time to get bloody changed then,” said Psycho.

  Ella looked at them all.

  “Not in front of you lot, I’m not.”

  “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before,” said Passive Aggressive.

  “Well, you haven’t seen mine before.”

  Inappropriate pulled a face of mild disagreement.

  “Well, wireless webcams are so cheap these days,” he said, “it would have been foolish not to.”

  “Ugh!” she spat and battled her way past three dwarfs to the door of the truck. “You know, for what’s supposed to be my special day, you’re not making it very special!”

  Windy deflated like a whoopy cushion as she knelt on him and pushed open the door. She swung down to the ground and snatched the two parcels from OCD.

  “We’re sorry,” said OCD. “I’m sure you’re going to look radiant. Here.” He rummaged in his sack once more and tossed the Solomon jar down to Ella. “Go on, have that. Happy wedding day.”

  Ella examined the jar, felt the weight of it in her hand. It seemed so ordinary. Just a dusty old jar with a snuggly fitting moulded glass lid. There were the faintest of marks around the rim that could have been ancient and powerful runes or merely accidental scratches. It looked as it should be holding boiled sweets or bath salts, not all-powerful fairies. Ella offered up a silent prayer that this was the right jar. If it wasn’t, their plan had been reduced from one hope to no hope.

  “I’m going to get changed in the garden centre toilets,” she told the dwarfs. “No one is to follow me. Especially you, you bloody perv.”

  “She means you,” Inappropriate told Windy as Ella slammed the door.

  There were public toilets next to the café area. Ella scanned the sky, expecting to see a pair of annoyingly twee and helpful bluebirds coming down to assist her. And there they were, weaving joyful and celebratory spirals in the air. What Ella did not expect to see was a badger by the side of the path. Badgers were shy, nocturnal creatures and wisely stayed as far away from humans as they possibly could. Also, badgers were rarely spotted standing on their hind legs, desperately trying to convey a message through the medium of charades.

  Rose, Natalie and the wolf were sitting on the far side of the hedge, when the badger-shaped ogre and Ella burst through. This was made all the harder for Ella by the huge white dress and petticoats she wore. The ogre popped back into his regular shape.

  “Just in case you were thinking of eating me,” he said to the wolf.

  “What? And catch TB?”

  With a grunt and zero care for her dress, Ella broke free of the hedge and tossed a jar into Natalie’s hands.

  “Good work!” Natalie grinned. “This is it?”

  “I’m fairly sure,” said Ella. “Can’t stop. I’ve got to let the bluebirds do my hair. Not sure I can take much more of this Cinderella stuff.”

  “Tha dress looks lovely,” said Rose.

  “Beautiful,” said the wolf.

  “Like a snowman,” said the ogre.

  “It’s very traditional looking and there’s nowt wrong with that,” said Rose. “Saw one like that when I was but a kid.” She looked at Ella’s shoes. “But tha’s never wearing them on tha feet, is tha?”

  Natalie looked down at Ella’s feet and saw that they were pressed into transparent shoes that not only contorted and squashed her feet in the most brutal way but also seemed to magnify the redness and the chafing. It was like looking at a pair of well tenderised steaks stuffed into goldfish bowls.

  “Apparently I am,” said Ella. “Listen, the house is up that way. You can go along and pretend to be guests for the moment.” Ella paused for a moment. “Granny, you might want to ditch the apron and the gun to, you know, blend in. Now, are you happy with the plan?”

  “It was my plan,” said Natalie.

  “Our plan,” said Ella. “The moment Carabosse makes a show, you nab her.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Natalie. “As I said, my plan.”

  Ella squeezed back through the hedge again, hobbling only slightly in the agonising shoes.

  Natalie and Rose gave Ella a few minutes’ head start then gave the wolf and ogre instructions to keep a low profile, and snuck through the hedge themselves. Wedding guests were arriving in considerable numbers, exiting the car park for the short walk up to the posh house on the hill.

  “Reckon I’ll have to do more than lose t’apron to blend in here,” observed Rose drily, slipping it off nonetheless and wrapping it around the shotgun to conceal it. “What on earth does tha suppose that is?”

  She nodded at a large metallic tower that was being lifted from a van by a pair of men in kitchen whites. Natalie craned round to read the text on the side of the van.

  “It’s from Cherry’s Chocolate Fountains.”

  “What’s one of them then?”

  “I don’t know, mum. I’m the one who’s out of their proper time here.”

  “Well, it sounds downright decadent whatever it is,” said. “Must be an American thing.”

  “You think everything ‘decadent’ is an American thing.”

  “Bet it cost a small fortune though,” said Rose. “Stains’ll be a devil to get out, mark my words.”

  They walked along towards the house that lay behind the garden centre. The path was indicated by flower-covered walkways and balloon arches

  “Can you hear that?” said the wolf.

  “Hear what?” said Natalie.

  “That beat. That rhythm.”

  Natalie stopped and listened. She couldn’t hear anything but she could feel something, like dance music for whales, thudding and subsonic.

  “I like it,” she said although she was unable to articulate why.

  “It’s awfully familiar,” said the wolf. “It reminds me of huffing and puffing at straw houses, of what happens when I knock at grandma’s door.”

  “Well, I can’t hear nowt,” said Rose, “and I’ll shoot thee if tha gets any weird ideas.”

  “I’m just saying,” said the wolf. “It makes me want to… I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The wolf nipped off. Natalie sighed; there was no time for this. She gestured to Rose and they continued up the path, beneath countless balloon arches.

  “Someone’s spent hours blowing these up. There’s hundreds,” she said.

  “They taste funny too,” came a squeaky high voice from behind.

  Rose turned and raised a threatening fist. “Zeke, what did I tell thee about tha bloomin’ drag act?”

  Natalie recognised the clothes the wolf had squeezed himself into.

  “Those are mine!”

  “Ella left them behind,” squeaked the wolf, adjusting the balloons he’d stuffed down his top. “She didn’t need them. And I just felt that this was, you know, right.”

  Stop ta
lking like a little girl!”

  “I can’t! The balloons are making me do it!” squeaked the wolf.

  Natalie gave a balloon boob an experimental prod but decided that she had higher priorities.

  “Tha Gavin’s surely not spent all this money on his getting married to that hoity-toity Myra girl?” said Rose.

  “He’s not my Gavin anymore though, is he?” said Natalie. “But I’ve got to admit. This is amazing. It looks like a film set or a coronation or something.”

  “Blummin’ heck,” said Rose.

  “What?” said Natalie.

  “I knew I’d seen that dress afore, that one tha Ella is wearing.”

  “And?”

  “It’s the queen’s!”

  Natalie stared at her old mum. True, to Natalie’s eyes, Rose had skip-jumped thirty years in age but she didn’t think the old woman had lost her marbles just yet.

  “It belongs to the queen?”

  “It’s same as t’queen’s wedding dress. I saw it in t’Telegraph and Argus when I were a lass.”

  “So?” said Natalie. “It’s a nice dress.”

  “No,” said Rose grimly. “It means summat. That flamin’ fairy godmother. She’s always up to summat.”

  “Do it again,” said OCD. “Again.”

  Ella muttered darkly under her breath and tried to modify her hobble into something more dainty as she walked from one end of the corridor to the other.

  “She’s not gliding. We might need to get a trolley or something!” OCD yelled.

  The dwarfs had taken her into a side corridor in The Bumbles to add those supposedly important finishing touches. However, it was clear that OCD wasn’t happy with the basic material he had to work with.

  Only Shitfaced, Windy and the bluebirds remained with OCD, the others having scuttled off on God knows what errands. The bluebirds attempted to help by carrying Ella’s wedding train for her. Shitfaced attempted to help by modelling a ladylike walk which, as far as she could tell, involved mincing about a bit, tripping over one’s own feet, bouncing off the wall and then picking a fight with a mirror.

  Ella was further distracted by the almost inaudible but omnipresent dance beat that was coming from somewhere. It had a catchy, almost sensual rhythm but what distracted Ella most of all was how much it put her in mind of the thrilling sensation she had felt every time she had played along with the fairy tale stories she found herself in.

  “Was that your best effort?” said OCD.

  The rhythm had carried her from one end of the corridor to the other without her realising.

  “It was good enough, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “It’ll have to do,” said OCD sourly.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “It’s not my fault someone didn’t pay enough attention during her deportment lessons. This way.”

  Windy and Shitfaced held the doors for Ella and she did her best to appear at least a little regal as she walked through into the orangery.

  The tables had been laid out for the wedding breakfast (according to OCD’s fascistically precise plan, she noted) and the room was empty but for a solitary dancer. This was odd for a number of reasons, foremost of which was that the dance beat was barely audible in here. Nonetheless, he appeared to be lost in music, thrusting his arms and swaying from side to side with his eyes closed in rapture.

  “Roy?” she ventured.

  His eyes snapped open and he gazed up and down at Ella. She was horribly aware of the fact that she was in full bridal regalia. In normal circumstances, such attire would strike fear into the heart of an unattached man, but these were far from normal circumstances.

  “Oh, my angel! My vision!” he gasped in wonder.

  “Um, hello.”

  He rushed towards her with the unselfconscious and child-like movements of a drunk but Ella was quite certain alcohol had played no part in this.

  “You all right, Roy?” she asked.

  “Marvellous!” he said, wide-eyed. “You look so perfect, Ella.”

  “That’s very… kind of you.”

  “I need to ask you a question,” he said.

  “Oh, I bet you do,” she said and forced a smile.

  “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

  “Um. Was that the question?”

  “No, silly. Will you make me the happiest man alive and help me find the groove?”

  “The groove?”

  He dropped to one knee, hips still rolling to a silent rhythm.

  “Marry me, Ella!”

  This was part of the plan, Ella told herself. This was what she had discussed with her grandma and her twenty-something mum. This was all just a charade. He was under some magical influence and she was playing along. It wasn’t real, and yet…

  Roy was before her right now and he was asking her to marry him. And she found herself wondering, what objection did she have to being married to this man, apart from the fact that she was a stubborn spinster who didn’t like being told what to do? They were friends, good friends even. He understood her, cared about her. He made her laugh. They were comfortable around each other. And he was attractive enough (he was going to be as bald as a coot within five years but that just gave him a human edge).

  Did they have a shared outlook? Well, that was tougher. He was of that breed that lived in a world beyond that of mere mortals, where the right school and the right tie ensured you a job for a life as a merchant banker or Tory politician, where the year was divided into shooting, skiing and sailing, where you could probably commit armed robbery and get away with a slapped wrist from a high court judge. She… Well, Ella definitely didn’t live in that world. But was that insurmountable?

  Ella shook herself. She wasn’t being asked to marry Roy. Roy was not currently himself and there was only one answer she could give at this moment.

  “Yes, Roy, I’d be delighted,” she said.

  “You will?” Her enchanted fiancé was so happy, she feared he might explode.

  “Of course,” she said. “Come on, we need to tell my father.” She gave a girlish giggle for the benefit of OCD who trotted behind, brandishing his list.

  Three circumspect but nonetheless suspicious figures circled the wedding party on the lawn. They were, in perhaps decreasing order of suspiciousness, the young woman in casual attire from the nineteen eighties, the older, slightly mad-haired woman with the shotgun-shaped bundle under her arm and an extraordinarily hairy woman who didn’t seem to be at all comfortable with the notion of walking upright.

  “Not seen Carabosse yet,” said Natalie.

  “Nor Ella.”

  “You don’t think she’s whisked them away and married them already?”

  “No, love. That shameless cow will want an audience. She’ll want Ella to be centre of attention.”

  “I do love a good wedding,” commented the wolf.

  He was currently devouring a large silver platter of canapes. Little salmon cracker things and folds of cured meat disappeared into his huge mouth at an impressive rate.

  “Where d’you get them?” said Natalie.

  “One of the servant people,” he said. “I asked her if I could have one, grinned at her pleasant-like and she gave me the whole tray.”

  He paused to down a jug of Bucks Fizz before continuing on the canapes. Natalie stared.

  “What?” he said. “I’m famished. Keeping an eye out for your little princess is hungry work.”

  “What exactly are you doing here?” said Natalie. “I mean, at all.”

  “It’s a bet,” said the wolf. “With Ella. With myself. She thinks you can fight a happy ending.”

  “And you don’t?”

  The wolf shrugged and licked the empty platter clean.

  “I think life is like a plate of little snacks. It’s not exactly fulfilling but what can you do but grab what you can and don’t complain when someone comes to take it away from you?”

  The wolf nodded towards a man ambling across the lawn towards them. He loo
ked like he shared the wolf’s philosophy of enjoying the small pleasures in life and perhaps was, by his bumbling steps, enjoying them a little too much.

  “Oh, my God!” hissed Natalie. “It’s Gavin.”

  Gavin gave them a good natured but slightly confused smile.

  “He recognises you,” said Rose.

  Natalie shook her head.

  “No. No, he can’t quite place me.” A sudden panic seized her. “He can’t meet me. He can’t.”

  “Well, it might give him a bit of a shock once he realises it’s thee,” agreed Rose.

  “And it will ruin the wedding and our chance of getting Carabosse.”

  Natalie looked about them. There was no place they could duck into or hide. Their options were either to face him or run away guiltily.

  “I could rip his leg off,” suggested the wolf. “As a distraction.”

  “That might also jeopardise the wedding,” said Natalie.

  “Well I was only… Oh, what’s this?”

  Ella was dashing across the lawn to intercept Gavin, dragging her wedding train and a besuited fellow behind her.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  Gavin turned, his attention caught.

  “Quick, let’s make an exit,” said Natalie and steered Rose towards the marquee.

  “Pursued by wolf,” said the wolf.

  Ella guessed she would find her dad glad-handing the guests and ensuring that everyone (including himself) was well lubricated with drink. And here he was, weaving across the lawn, a glass of wine in his hand.

  “Ella!” he beamed. “Darling!”

  She hugged him tightly. It felt like she hadn’t seen him in ages. And now here was her old dad, back in his old haunts again, in his rightful place. And he returned her hug just as tightly, this gently pickled man who smelled of fine wine and all that was good in life.

  “Oh, it’s such a relief to see you!” he said.

  “Ditto,” she said.

  “I didn’t know if you were still at Thornbeard House. Mr Dainty is a hard taskmaster.”

  “No, I am done there,” she said firmly.

  “Job complete?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You even found his missing Wedgwood teapot?”