Androshorts: The Village Witch

"Really?"

"Really," he said taking another reaffirming sniff. "what do I get if I'm right first time?"

"It depends on how confident you think you are?"

"99.9%." he said.

"Suggest something,"

"If I'm right you have to let me take you out to dinner."

"And if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong? Simple, I have to take you out to dinner."

"So you taking me out to dinner is pretty much assured then?"

"Yeah."

"OK then, try you luck."

"I think your secret ingredient is..." he paused for dramatic effect, "Jeyes Fluid..." It was the dark pungent chemical his Gran used neat on spots in the garden her Labradors used as a toilet.

Ella folded her arms raising her great bust in the process exposing the top of a smooth cleavage, her mouth hanging open in shocked surprise and the corners of her lips raising in a smile. "You're the first person that's EVER got that!" she almost screeched and giggled just the tiniest bit, "I suppose I'll have to allow you to take me out to dinner?" She looked over her shoulder as if she was waiting for something or someone, the same going on he'd seen at the pub on that first Saturday.

"Yeah," he said simply, ignoring her disconcertion.

"Stevie," she said, "this... look, there's a real chance that dinner out won't end well, perhaps..."

"It'll be fine Ella, honestly. After all, we are only talking dinner here aren't we."

"Yes, well... you saw what Henry was like the other afternoon, it seems every time I sit down with someone to enjoy a meal or a drink, some bastard has to come along and mess it up."

"Perhaps we could go to a different pub?"

The teacher noticed that she seemed distracted by that suggestion, "Come to my place," she said, "I'll cook you something." She grinned a little and it was almost like... like she didn't want him to come, or... or she didn't believe that he would turn up.

"OK Ella, when?"

She thought for a moment, "Wednesday?"

"Excellent, what time?"

"Eight?" she grinned a sad grin, almost if she knew this dinner wasn't really going to happen. She looked over her shoulder again.

"Look Ella, are you really sure about this?" he gave her his best 'feel sorry for me' smile and desperately hoped she would still say yes. She grinned back at him.

"Yes Stevie, I DO really want to have dinner with you but..."

"But what? "

"But..." she took a deep breath, "people listen to my neighbours and fellow villagers and my dinner dates get cancelled at the last minute or they just don't turn up... and I end up eating a rather large dinner on my own, or the same stuff for two nights in a row."

"But I won't do that to you Ella."

"No, you probably wouldn't - at the moment."

"Ella," he took both of her hands in his, "I'm guessing that you've been let down before..."

"Once or twice," she butted in.

"That's not the type of guy that I am."

She took a long disappointed sigh, "OK Stevie, eight o'clock, my place, bring your spare apostrophe."

"I'll bring wine, what's your favourite?" He looked at her with a hint of challenge to his voice.

"Surprise me," she had a look in her eye that said she accepted his challenge, whatever it might have been. "Now, we were going to have coffee and biscuits weren't we."

He asked her about her other products, the ones that didn't include strong garden cleansers. "I started making lotions and potions with my grandmother and I took over the business when she died. I can't really remember doing anything else. The shop has been here for donkeys years, and we always got a lot of local trade, neighbouring villages and across the county. I sold some bits and pieces through ladies magazines, recommendations and repeat business. Then the internet came along and the coachloads of tourists and wham-bam, I now have two Facebook pages, an excellent website a lad in London runs for me and now I send my lotions and potions across the world. I have some larger producers wanting to buy my recipes, but I'm holding out. I make more than I need so..."

"The original Rosie was your grandmother?"

"Nah!" she said with a giggle, "that's just a tenuous link to Rose the village witch! She's the one that disappeared the night before her execution!" she waggled her fingers to suggest spell-casting, "she's the reason the village is on the coach tour route. We started it in the seventies but changed it to Rosie's a few years back and I stuck with it when we got famous. Now it's the brand of course and I've copyrighted it."

"Wow, international success, world is your oyster."

"Yeah, kinda."

She handed him his coffee, it smelled really nice, he took his first sip and it tasted even better. She handed him a packet of Hobnob biscuits and he took two from the top. The moment he opened his mouth to take a bite, there was some commotion at the front of the store and they both walked back through to investigate.

"Ella the witch is a dirty ol' bitch! She'll fuck an old man in the back of a van, She'll open her gob and suck on his knob..." it went quiet as he they thought about a next line, couldn't, and it just finished with an extended idiot laugh in childish male voices just shy of breaking, "Nnnaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!"

Steve was no stranger to this kind of bad behaviour and was at the door and opening it, peering around seeing several faces he recognised from his classrooms and the backs of some heads he could only guess at by the outdoor coats and by their associates. "Michael Smith, David Hollis, Colin McAdam!? I will be speaking to you and your parents about his tomorrow morning!"

"Stevie please..." she said, "they didn't mean anything by it, leave them be, it's... nothing... just kids being kids..." he saw her holding back her tears.

"Not my fucking pupils!"

"Steve," she all but sobbed, "it's fine... really..."

"Ella?!" he all but shouted at her, "are you trying to tell me that you're OK with that?"

"It's complicated..." she said.

"No it isn't, some ignorant little shits abused you outside your own shop, and you seem happy to let it carry on. Look, if you don't stand up to..."

"Steve, please..."

"That idiot oaf Henry, and those nasty little hooligans just need to be told just where they stand..."

"That's just how things work here Steve."

"No! This is the 21st century Ella, no one does that 'small village - don't rock the boat shit' anymore! You have to..."

"STEVIE!" she snapped, "please, it's none of your business, just let it go..."

"But..."

"I said let it go," she pushed her face into her cup and continued to drink in silence.

Steve had been involved in Police projects to reduce crime and had been well trained to spot children being abused and even their parents, and had used his training for real several times so couldn't let it go without a final fight. "You can't solve a problem until you admit there is one."

"And sometimes not even then!" she snapped back with a forced smile.

He raised his hands in surrender, "Sorry, won't mention it again, promise."

"I'm sorry Stevie, I... I told you, it's complicated."

"Still up for dinner on Wednesday?"

"Yeah, why not." She said with a deep breath.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," she said coming back to herself, "bring wine." She gave him a big smile.

He downed the last of his excellent coffee, "See you back to the Lane of one or more traitors?"

She smiled that perfect smile back to him, "That's fine Stevie," she said, "I'll be here a while yet, but thank you."

"I'll wish you a very good night then Ella," he leaned in to touch his cheek to hers, but she turned her face and purposefully kissed him. Again, it felt electric and it took his breath away. Whatever his previous thoughts had been about Ella and how much she wanted a date with him, that kiss, wow!

"Goodnight Stevie," she grinned at him again, actually looking coy for once. He backed out, leaving with a bow; in response she gave a most modest curtsey then stopped, looking embarrassed but pleased. "G'night Stevie!" she blushed bright red, and he walked back to the pub with the tiniest spring in his step.

In school the very next morning he saw the three boys plus two more he figured to be the faster cyclists in the hallway as they headed into the school Monday morning assembly, and far from the embarrassed, slightly nervous looks his experience taught him to expect and was still wondering how he was going to handle it and the possible parental punch-ups, all four of them walked past him without a care in the world, as if they were completely innocent.

He looked at them all and shook his head; as Ella had stated the night before it really was none of his business. In response to his shaken head the for boys giggled and kept eye contact; sweetly, and without any form of malice or guilt. It was most unlike them, and the village to be honest. Strange.

He stepped forward to them with a smile himself. "So what did you five little hooligans get up to last night? Mischief no doubt?"

"No Mr Clements," said Gavin, the quietest and most believable of them, we were at David's house all day."

"Yeah," said David, "My birthday, so we did back to back Star Wars, all eight films, all day!"

"That good?"

"Yeah!" said David, "it was brilliant!"

"Thought you'd have all been out on your bikes on a nice evening like last night?"

"Naaaaah!" they all said at once. Strange again. It was definitely them, but now they had all become world class liars overnight as there was no hint of guilt or guile.

Once his charges were into the hall, he read the notices, led the prayers, sang the songs, then out to begin that days learning.

That afternoon there was David's Mum ready to collect her son, younger daughter plus one other friend's child she was looking after. Steve approached.

"Aah the Jedi's Mum!" he said innocently.

"The boys told you did they?" she said in a her best Gloucestershire, "David's birthday treat, all I had to do was throw in pizza, Coke, Pringles, cake and let them have the run of the upstairs bathroom, and I never really knew I had six of your worst up there!"

"Really, I must remember that!" said the teacher with a smile.

"And," said the Mum conspiratorially, "the other Mums are over the moon because the whole half dozen were out for the count and in bed and asleep by seven, Young Will over their by half six so Jackie his Mum told me this mornin'."

"I will definitely have to remember that!" he grinned and waved them all off.

He remembered looking at his watch as Ella made coffee, it was seven twenty. Was the whole village in on it? HOW THE FUCK?

As he walked across the square back to the pub and his room for the night he was delighted to see Mr Sharpe the building contractor walking towards him with a big smile on his face holding high the silver keys to his flat and rattling them.

"All finished Mr Clements!"

Steve was about to say, 'and about fucking time...' but settled instead to shake the man's hand and smile and receive the keys gratefully.

"Thank you Mr Sharpe," he said with a real parents evening smile.

"Proper sorry about the delay, only you can't rush craftsmanship see." Then old man looked back over his shoulder proudly at his latest commission, "I even switched the heating on, place will be toasty warm for you."

The made their farewells and Steve walked across to his new flat. The door opened perfectly which he was really pleased about. When he'd looked around the place the first time the door had stuck because of the damp. Walking up the stairs he could smell paint, not too strong but enough to be fresh. Into the living room and kitchen diner he saw that all of his furniture was out and in place, rugs laid and even his crockery and cutlery had been put into the appropriate drawers and cupboards.

He smiled at that, he really hadn't been looking forward to that bit. Into the bedroom, he saw that his bed had been made with new sheets, duvet and pillows and he had nothing else to do other than unpack his clothes bags still in the boot of his car.

He walked back to the pub happy that he would sleep in his own bed in his own house for the first time in almost two months after the quick sale of his place and some staying with friends while commuting. In the pub was Mr Sharpe chatting with the Dan the landlord and sipping on a pint of Poachers best bitter,

"And here's the man himself!" called Dan raising a pint of the dark brown nutty beer that the teacher had become such a fan of. Steve got to the bar with lots of cheers and a couple of back slaps. "Dorothy is in the office finishing off your bill as we speak Mr Clements!"

"Dan, for heaven's sake call me Steve!"

"Now you're no longer a guest, absolutely. Here you go Steve, first one on the house as a village resident!"

There were a few more cheers at that, and cries of more free beer for the other village residents. Steve had the funniest feeling that chances are, seeing as the landlord knew that the bill was being picked up by the county anyway, he was getting charged for it in one way or another.

After a few more pints, he drove his car across the square (hoping that the police were miles away considering the beer he'd drank!) and parked in his very own drive, a space that had previously had a skip or builders vans in it.

He carried his luggage upstairs and put it all away in no time. He unpacked his bags of toiletries into the bathroom, and found that the cleaning materials he'd left in a box ready for his moving in all in various cupboards as well. Many of them showed use and it was obvious that was part of the builders service.

After his second pint he had been introduced to the founder of this particular feast one Elaine Sharpe the daughter of the builder who had been drafted in to arrange the property for him to move straight in. He told her how well it had been done and that he wouldn't change a thing.

He made himself a mug of tea from the items she had left in the food cupboard and fridge, turned on his TV, connected the Sky and finally felt at home.

Wednesday evening arrived and he had driven a few miles out of the village to the nearest town and bought new jeans and a shirt and a bottle of a very nice Caliterra Merlot and at just after half past seven set out for her place.

When her arrived it was to an empty house in darkness and he knocked the door just a bit harder in case she had come home and fallen asleep, something he had done a few times before. He heard a loud meow and looked down to a large black cat that was rubbing itself around his lower leg and purring.

He knocked one more time, and bent down to stroke the cat. "So where's the mistress of the house then puss?" he said to the cat. It arched into his hand moving around so his hand was just were it was wanted.

He stopped stroking the cat and it meowed with some feline indignation. As he stood he saw the white socks and blaze on the cat as it walked off down the lane towards the village. "Guess I'll follow you then puss." He said and walked back to the not terribly bright lights of town.

He saw the parade of shops and while the front of Rosie's was still in darkness there was an indication of light from the back so he walked along to a path that he hope led to a rear service area. It didn't.

So back to the front and another knocking session. As he raised his knuckle to knock he heard the strains of music through the glass. He listened and heard Stevie Nicks singing, "...thunder only happens when it's raining, players only love you when they're playing..."

Fleetwood Mac; she'd stood him up but a least she had taste.

He knocked the door sharply and within seconds of that the music became louder and Lindsey Buckingham was 'never going back again'.

He knocked louder and the music stopped and he knocked louder, "Fuck off and leave me alone you little shits!" he heard her shout, which was replaced with 'Don't stop' even louder and when he knocked again it went even louder still.

Bugger!

Phone! He looked up and saw then phone number on the bottom corner of the shop sign and dialled it and halfway through the ring it stopped and went straight to answer machine. He spoke hoping it would play through to a speaker on top of the phone in the way that his did. All that happened was 'go your own way' sounded as if the band were in the shop with her.

"Hi Ella, I'm outside the shop listening to Rumours, and I mean by Fleetwood Mac not the landlady of the pub. I'm guessing you've already had someone knocking on the door tonight hence the din, but... well it's five past eight and I'm at the shop door with a particularly good Merlot." He paused, "But hey, it'll keep, give me a call if we're still doing dinner. If I haven't heard from you after nine, I'll grab a bag of chips and... err... catch up with you... later. See you..."

He waited a few minutes until he heard '...listen to the wind blow...' and figured he'd already waited too long already.

He walked straight to the chip shop and stepped in behind an older couple and ordered his usual, battered sausages and a large portion of chips with salt and vinegar (from the pickled onions -- a new favourite of his) and walked home eating it, an ear cocked for a phone call but to no avail.

He found nothing to interest him on the TV so turned on his laptop. He looked up the website she had told him of, and it showed the amount she charged and he understood how she was doing so well and all backed up by the reviews she had, one from a top flight fashion magazine that told him she was doing just as well as she had claimed.

He checked the pop-ups telling him he had mail, and was pleased to see that not only had his expenses for the pub been approved, he now had access to the council system to look at the school finances.

He logged in and started to investigate. His audit experience soon had him bouncing around the finance system and with the addition of the calculator he was doing sums on exactly how much each pupil cost. Expenses, salaries, utilities and then other forms of income such as the pupil premium; this small community had enough young families struggling to make ends meet and this reflected in the school bank balance.

This area seemed to give him access into other parts of the council system and pretty soon he was looking at details of parents getting benefits to pay rent and council tax; by accident he found himself looking at the council tax status of the entire village and there, hiding among the villagers 'Rosella Mary Pendall' of Vine Cottage, Traitor's Lane, with her national insurance number and while the 'date of birth' entry had '-error14934/73-' in it, the date she had commenced paying her rates was 1839...

1839? Perhaps it was supposed to be 1989 and was just a keyboard error. He checked again, 1839, no two ways about it, and thought about reporting this fault and the date of birth error online but stopped himself. What was he thinking! He wasn't sure had the right to even be in that part of the system let alone call in error messages.

He clicked on the 'payment history' key and started to investigate that. He went back to 1989 and there it was, then 1988, 87, 86, 85, right back to scans of original parish ledgers back to the forties, thirties and then twenties where it stopped.

Rosella Mary Pendall, one and the same.

She must have had the same name as her grandmother, that would explain it of course; but the Rosella Pendall from the forties had been an adult and paying her parish rates long before the First World War which would have meant Grandma Pendall was in her one hundred and twenties when she died...

What the actual Fuck?

He looked to his right and his now cold tea and thought of making another when he saw that it was gone midnight on the clock in the kitchen, so shut down the computer and went to bed.