by Paul Magrs
‘Just read the rest of the letter,’ Effie says, eyeing me beadily.
So I do.
‘It took a whole day of trains and changing and more trains before we got past Newcastle, and then a tiny little rural halt somewhere near the place where he said this portal was. The three of us found ourselves on a narrow lane, winding aimlessly between fields. The sun was broiling hot. There were sheer walls of heat haze around us and the hedgerows were humming with insects going crazy. He appeared out of nowhere, skimming through that cloudless blue sky on his green chesterfield sofa. I must admit, my heart gave a little leap when I saw him again, appearing all magically like that…’
I sigh. ‘Oh, get on with it, Robert. He doesn’t have go on about his romantic entanglements…’
‘Penny, Gila and I hopped over a stile into the cornfield where he’d landed. There was this whirlpool in the air between us and him. It looked like more heat haze at first. But it wasn’t. It was the portal into his other world. We stepped through without a qualm. There is something about his presence which is so calming. He’s so strong and somehow you never doubt for a second that he can do what he claims.
‘He took us across this gap in the dimensions and, the next thing we knew, we were standing in his court. A kind of castle from another age, populated by lords and ladies from another species. It was all breathtaking. It made you forget what mission it was you had come on. We were feted and celebrated for several nights and days. We were exalted visitors, whom the king had brought himself. We drank wine from golden goblets and were encouraged to feast on the most wonderful foods that came from all quarters of his magical realm…’
‘Oh dear,’ says Panda. ‘I bet I know what’s coming next.’
I read on. ‘Well, days and days passed, and it was almost a week. We were aching, our sides splitting with eating too much of the wonderful grub the faerie people kept bringing us. Our faces were aching from smiling and laughing. They seemed such a lovely, genuine folk, these elf type beings who were so pleased to serve us and make us our friends. They listened to us telling tales of our adventures. I’m sorry, Effie and Brenda, but I’m afraid we were bragging when we regaled them with stories about the monsters and demons we have done battle with in Whitby. The elves were amazed and all were agreed that our world sounds such a frightening and complicated place. How right we were to seek solace and peace in the world of Faerie under the care of the all-powerful Erl-king.
‘It was Penny who realised what they were saying. ‘Oh no,’ she told them. ‘Oh, we don’t intend to stay here. We’re only here on a mission. We haven’t come here to live. Though this is a very nice place…’ The elves all chuckled to themselves and hummed strange songs at us.
‘We were starting to feel a little disturbed by now. Were we going to find ourselves trapped here? Had the Faerie king tricked us? He came to me, in the room in the castle I was sharing with Gila and he told me that we would indeed be staying as long as he saw fit. He wanted all three of us for playthings, he said. He thought we would have no objections. And then he told us, laughing, how time moves differently in his world to our own, and that chances were, time in Whitby had leapt forward a hundred years. Most people we knew there would be already dead. We needed to stop worrying. Our cares were at an end now.’
‘I knew it,’ says Panda. ‘Lotus eaters! They’ll be stuck there forever, gorging themselves in an erotic haze of forgetfulness.’
Effie shoots him a sharp look. ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
He glowers back at his erstwhile owner. ‘You know very little about me and what I know, dearie,’ he growled. ‘But what I do know is that all the old legends and tales will tell you that it does no good to get too entangled in a world of faerie enchantments like our young friends have. They will take some extricating, believe me.’
I rattle the crinkly parchment pages of Robert’s letter, keen to read the last few paragraphs. Strange how it feels so old. The ink on the paper is faded, watery blue. The pages feel as if they have been dampened by rain or dropped in the sea and dried on a radiator. This letter feels like it has travelled impossible distances in order to get to us.
Robert continues: ‘I went to my friends and told them what my secret Faerie lover had told me. By now even Gila looked cheesed off with his games. Penny was cross, too, remembering how he had once disguised himself as a sexy Irish waiter in her favourite café and led her a merry dance. She flinches when I tell him he’s decided to keep us all for sexy playmates. She says something very rude indeed in response to that.
‘I have no choice but to beg and besiege him. We go back to his throne room before the feasting and the entertainments begin that evening. I’m virtually on my knees when I’m asking him to give us Frank, and to let us return to our own home. I try to explain what the situation is here, and what danger Brenda is in. He looks very thoughtful and for a moment I think he’s going to cave in to my fervent pleas.
‘‘I hear you, Robert. And I agree that everything should be done to save the life of the formidable Brenda. Hers is a destiny that transcends the ambitions of those bloodthirsty lady novelists from Haworth. I will do everything I can to help you.’
‘‘Really?’ I ask, expecting trickery. Oh, you ought to see him, Effie, Brenda. He’s more gorgeous than ever in the guise he wears in his own dimension. He’s all tall and broad and kitted out in forest green with leaves tangled up in his long dark hair. I’m doing my very best not to just give up, chuck the towel in, and let myself be his sexual slave for all time.’
Effie purses her lips. ‘He does talk some bally nonsense, that boy.’
‘Sssh,’ I say. ‘This is the important bit. Listen. They’re going to make a bargain.’
‘The Faerie king stood up on his high table so that he had the attention of the full Faerie court. He was quite an impressive sight, striding about, kicking over goblets and a flagon of crimson wine. He called out to all and sundry: ‘Listen all of you, as I make a bargain with these children from the world of human beings. And listen, you sons and daughter of the sacred Noel and Marlene…’
‘Penny looked at me. ‘Noel and Marlene?’ she whispered. I shook my head. It wasn’t worth going into while the king was in full flow.
‘You three children may take that monster Frank back to your everyday world with you. But in return you must send me somebody back.’
‘What?’ we all gasped.
‘She will not come willingly. But you must persuade her, or drag her here against her will. Who knows, perhaps she will return to my realm quite happily. Perhaps Mrs Claus has longed to come back to my side after her long years of exile in her Christmas hotel.’’
This makes Effie perk up at once. ‘What? Eh? What was that bit about?’
I try to give her the gist quickly. ‘Erm, it appears that the king will let our friends return here with Frank, so long as they swap him for Mrs Claus. He wants your mother back, Effie.’
The old dame’s face goes slack. ‘H-he’s my father, isn’t he? And he wants my mother back…’ Her face darkens. ‘No! He can’t have her! I’ve only just got to know her… I never knew what it was like to have a mother. Just those endless aunts. I know none of you lot can stick her, but Mrs Claus is all the mother I’ve got. I will not allow that tyrant to whisk her away again.’
‘Goodness,’ says Panda mildly. ‘Don’t you all have very complicated lives and domestic arrangements here?’
I say to Effie, ‘Maybe this is what your mother is waiting for, Effie?’
She looks livid, just about smashing her sherry glass in her hand. ‘No! He hoodwinked her! He cares nothing for her, and certainly nothing for me! When she became pregnant with me in that weird place he lives, he was absolutely furious. When I was born he banished me back to Whitby. That’s how I ended up living with my aunts. Imagine how my mother must have felt. She had run away from her home on the back of his black
horse. She had left behind everything that was familiar. Her little baby was something of her very own… but he would not let her keep me. And it was years before she got away and came back to this town. And by then it was too late. I was a grown woman. I was an old biddy who had never really known her mother. Mrs Claus too knew that it was too late for us to have a mother-daughter relationship. But, miraculously, we have been managing to get on. I am pleased she’s here and that I know her. I will not be a party to a scheme that involves sending her back to that preening bilingual tyrant.’
‘I think you mean bisexual,’ Panda points out.
I try to make her see sense. ‘Your mother’s a psychotic killer! Don’t you remember all the horrible things she’s done in the past! She’s an evil crazy old beast of a woman.’
‘That’s my mother you’re talking about!’
‘I don’t care! It was her who organised my beheading on cabaret night! It’s her behind some of the most horrendous scrapes we have been through! I don’t care if you’ve managed to forge a relationship with her and worked through your issues – I think Whitby would be a safer place without that nasty old Christmassy bint!’
By now both Effie and I are on our feet, shouting at each other.
‘How dare you!’ Effie squawks. ‘Yelling at me and saying my feelings don’t matter! After everything I’ve done to resurrect your mouldy cadaver!’
‘If it wasn’t for you and your bloody mother, I’d never have need resurrecting! I’d have been perfectly fine as I was!’
Panda flaps his arms at both of us. ‘Ladies, ladies, please! You mustn’t shout at each other so! Please… calm down! We need to work together on this…’
We both turn to stare at him. ‘But we like shouting at each other!’
‘It’s how we work things out!’ Effie adds. ‘How else do you think we solve mysteries?’
‘I can’t stand shouting,’ Panda shudders. ‘I’ve been used to the lovely quiet underneath Haworth…’
‘Well, it isn’t quiet here,’ I tell him. ‘Our lives aren’t all that quiet. They’re usually terribly noisy and with allsorts of gruesome and nasty things going on.’
‘So I find,’ harrumphs Panda. ‘But I really think the two of you should calm down, before one of you does herself a mischief.’
We both fall quiet and look at him. We’ve never really had anyone to referee for us before.
I glance down at the letter from Robert that has caused all these ructions. ‘There’s a last little bit.’
‘Go on, then,’ says Effie wearily. ‘Let us know the worst.’
‘He says: ‘The bargain is struck. We are going to come back home. We will cross the weird spaces between his dimension and ours…’
Effie rolls her eyes. ‘Can’t you tell that Robert’s keen on being a writer? Ooh, he doesn’t half lay it on thick.’
‘I didn’t know he wanted to be a writer,’ I say.
‘Oh, yes,’ she nods. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t told you all about it, ducky, seeing as what great pals you two are. He was giving me the low-down on it all while you were lying there in your coma. It’s been going on for ages. He’s even had a thing or two published, I believe. He had a story in a very respectable literary journal, called ‘Testicles’ or something peculiar.’
‘Tendencies’, I correct her. I’ve got a very strange sensation creeping up on me. ‘Did he say what his story was about?’
‘I can’t remember what it was. I just switched off after a while. He’s very keen on talking about himself and all his activities, is Robert.’
There’s no time to look any further into this intriguing bit of information, and besides it sounds as if Effie hardly knows any more. I must concentrate on the matter in hand. Robert’s over-written missive from the other world.
‘We don’t know when exactly we will arrive back in Whitby. We’re hoping to goodness it isn’t a hundred or even a thousand years later. Obviously we want to arrive back as soon as possible after we left. To this end, the king took us to a special, secret chamber, where he kept some very odd devices and instruments of incredible value. It was a kind of stone cell that he showed us. Hanging on little hooks were about a dozen differently-styled pairs of pinking shears. Each was in a different, glittery colour. He selected a pair of jagged shears that were midnight blue and passed them to me very solemnly. I breathed in his peppermint scent for what felt like the last time. ‘Look after these,’ he said. ‘You must cut very decisively through the fabric of time-space. Do not mess about and make a ragged cut. Slice deeply and surely and you will be taken to where you want to be. There are places in your beloved Whitby where the fabric is thinner and easier to escape through. Perhaps you will find one of these more tender spots…’
‘Then he led us out of this secret place, Penny, Gila and myself. As he took us deeper into that ancient castle he said, ‘I am trusting you to keep your side of the bargain. You know what I mean by that.’ We nodded. And we agreed. Won’t life be so much better with Mrs Claus sent away from our town?
‘And at last we came to a dark, damp room in a turret high above his curious castle. There was a bulky figure within, sitting on a bunk. He was looking very sorry for himself. He looked up in surprise when the Faerie King unlocked his door and we stepped into the cell. ‘Frank,’ I said urgently. ‘Are you all right? Do you remember me?’
‘Frank looked up and smiled at us. Really, you’ve never seen a sweeter smile. It seems astonishing to say it, but he was delighted to see us. He leapt up and hugged me and I introduced him to the others and he hugged them as well. Penny looked a little perturbed. But Frank was gentle. He was beaming. He said, ‘Will you take me back to my Brenda?’
‘And we said, yes, Frank. We’re going to take you home.
‘It was me – me! – who took out the pinking shears and wielded them. Sllaassshhh they went through the murky air of that cell. They made a fine, neat gap through the fabric of time and space. It split like sheer silk and we all turned to see what lay beyond…
‘‘Go! Go now!’ cried the Erl King. ‘And hope that the pinking shears will lead you home!’
I look up at the others. ‘The letter ends there.’
‘Oh dear,’ says Effie. ‘How odd. That isn’t even logical, is it? I mean, how could he write it up to the point they stepped through the gap in the fabric? Where and when did he write the letter?’
‘I don’t know,’ I murmur, thinking about Frank and the way Robert described him. My lost husband is on his way. He sounds sane again. Gentle. Eager to see me once more.
‘This,’ says Panda, ‘is doing my head in.’
‘So where are they?’ Effie asks. ‘If the king let them go, and they stepped through the hole in the dimensions… where on earth have they got to?’
We three look at each other. We’re all at a loss for words. We need them, that’s for sure. Now it’s just possible that they have been swallowed up in the immensity of all the many million possible times and places they might have vanished into. As the Faerie King said: Robert had to be sure and decisive when he cut with the pinking shears. He had to know where he wanted to go.
Was that boy ever as decisive as that? I wonder.
‘W-what if they’re gone?’ Effie says. ‘We need them, don’t we? We can’t face this thing just by ourselves.’
‘This thing’ she says. This time of tribulation as all those who’ve tried to warn us have called it. She means the fact of the advent of the Bronte sisters coming to bleed me dry.
Could we really face this final trial without the help of our young friends?
Effie’s right. We need the whole of our gang together for this. It could well be our most tricky climax yet.
Seven
THE DAY OF RECKONING UP
It’s quite difficult, getting back to normal during the next few days. It’s the final dregs of a hot Augu
st and we are hurtling towards the summer’s end. The sunlight slants lazily down on Whitby and town is filled with the chatter of tourists and the honking of boats passing through the harbour. My B&B should be completely full, and by rights I ought to be worked off my feet.
But I’m taking it easy. Effie and Panda both insist I shouldn’t over-extend myself as we head towards our greatest challenge on the last evening of the summer season.
‘Is it a religious festival?’ I ask Effie. ‘Why the last day of summer? It isn’t like Beltane or the solstice…’
‘Remember, Charlotte was a school teacher. The end of August means the end of holidays and back to school. It’s a very significant moment to her for planning a sacrifice.’
I try not to think about the horrors to come. I try to stay calm and convalesce. I pop out to the shops to fetch supplies and I stop by charity shops to pick up battered copies of novels by the Brontes. I pore through them, checking for clues, or any indication of their bloodthirstiness or aversion to the supernatural or the unhappily undead.
I also mull over the things we’ve been through recently. Everything seems to be pointing towards this last night in August. This is when it all comes to a head. I feel dreadful because it seems as if I am going to be facing this trial all alone.
‘You’re going to have me with you,’ Effie reminds me. ‘Never forget that. I’ll be there for you. The Bronte sisters would never believe it, but I broke through their conditioning. I refused to kill you or to deliver you to their sacrificial altar.’
We’re having coffee and walnut cake in ‘The Walrus and the Carpenter’ as she says this. She’s hissing across the fresh white tablecloth, doing her usual stage whisper, which, as per usual, can be heard by everyone else in the place. Of course we get a few funny looks as Effie carries on and on about murder and sacrifice. And what’s more, I don’t feel particularly reassured by what she’s saying.
