Witch Is When Things Fell Apart (7 page)

“I’m Betty. Betty Longbottom.”

Great name. “Jill Gooder.”

“I’ve just moved in down the corridor.”

“Right. Just you?”

“Yes. I’ve been living with my parents.”

Of course you have. “Do you work around here?”

“At the tax office. I’m a tax inspector.”

Of course you are.

“Boring I know,” she said.

“I suppose it has its moments.”

“Not really, but then I do have hobbies.”

Please don’t tell me about them. Please don’t tell—”

“I collect shells. Sea shells not gun shells.” She laughed at her well worn joke.

The best I could manage was a polite smile.

“I bought cakes.” She held out a large white box. “Would you like one?”

“That’s very kind.” I lifted the lid. It wasn’t a difficult decision—the chocolate one was mine. “Thanks.”

“Have you been to flat seven yet?” I asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Make sure you do. Mr Ivers lives there. He’s a very nice man.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Betty.”

If ever there was a match made in heaven.

Chapter 7

The white smock was a size too big, and the hairnet did nothing for me. How on earth did anyone work these hours? I’d started at Christy’s Bakery at eight pm and wouldn’t be finished until four am. It just wasn’t natural. I was fighting a losing battle with my eyelids. My cover story was that I was a temp employed on the cleaning crew which comprised of me, Jimmy, an enthusiastic teenager, and Alison, the supervisor. Our job was to make sure that the floor was kept scrupulously clean at all times. Jimmy and I covered separate areas of the factory floor while Alison drifted from one to the other, making sure we were doing our jobs properly.

“You missed that corner,” she said, over the noise of the conveyor belt.

“Sorry.” I swept up the two offending crumbs. And I thought that
I
was a stickler for cleanliness. I should have taken Alison to Kathy’s house—it would have blown her mind.

By break time, my back was aching. I wasn’t sure I’d get through another four hours. Surely there had to be a spell I could use?

Everyone had brought their own sandwiches—everyone except me. I’d assumed there’d be somewhere I could buy a hot meal, but I’d been wrong. I had to make do with a packet of crisps and a bar of chocolate from the vending machine.

“Worked here long?” I said. I’d deliberately picked a seat next to Gary, the man who was responsible for loading the delivery vans.

“Too long.” Gary was a werewolf; a very bored werewolf. He seemed more interested in his magazine: Handbell Monthly, than in talking to me, but I persisted.

“So, you like bells?”

He gave me a look.

“Ringing them, I mean.”

“I’m in a choir.”

“You sing too?”

“A handbell choir.”

“Right.” Having exhausted my extensive knowledge of handbells, I tried to steer the conversation, such as it was, onto the subject of cake deliveries.

“Do you load all of the vans?”

He sighed, and put down the magazine. “Since they got rid of Eddie, yeah.”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie Lingard. He and I worked together for six years. Good lad, Eddie was.”

“What happened to him?”

“You’d have to ask the boss.”

“Aren’t they going to replace him?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Why would they, when muggins here can do all the work? They still expect me to have all the vans loaded by four am.”

Before I could ask another question, Gary had picked up his magazine and buried his head in it.

I could take a hint.

The shift ended, and Gary was out of the door on the stroke of four. I hung back a while because I wanted to speak to the drivers who I knew started at four thirty.

The first one to arrive, just after four fifteen, was Pauline, a witch with green and grey streaked hair. The grey was natural; the green, probably not. I remembered that Amber had mentioned that Pauline was the regular driver for the Cuppy C deliveries.

“Hi,” I said.

“You made me jump. I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry. I’m temping on the cleaning crew.”

“Poor you. That job can be hard on the back.”

“You’ve done it?”

“Yeah. Some years ago, mind. It was my first job. I was a temp too, but they kept me on. I drive the vans now.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it. Best job I’ve ever had.”

“Isn’t it hard work having to carry the deliveries from the van to the shop?”

“Not as hard as being on the cleaning crew.” She laughed.

“I’m hoping to get something permanent,” I said. “But I guess you won’t be giving up your job any time soon?”

“No chance—unless they finish me.” She was suddenly more serious.

“Why would they do that?”

“There have been problems with the deliveries. Cakes getting squashed.”

“And they think it’s your fault?”

“No one has come right out and said as much, but there have been a lot of questions. It’s not fair. I take care with every delivery I make.”

“How do you think it’s happened then?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure it has happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Go on. I’m not going to tell anyone, am I?”

“It could be the people at the other end—in the shops—that are doing it.”

“Why would they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to get a refund or to get better prices. The only thing I do know is that it isn’t me who’s doing it.”

The cakes were packed into boxes by a team of four women. There was no way the damage could have been done at that stage because the four worked in such close proximity to one another. Once the cakes were in the boxes, they were passed to Gary who loaded them into the van. Then Pauline took over. That made Gary and Pauline the prime suspects, although having spoken to them, neither seemed to fit the bill. I had picked up one piece of potentially useful information though. Eddie Lingard, who used to work in dispatch, had been dismissed recently. A disgruntled ex-employee might want to get ‘payback’. I’d have to find out from Beryl Christy why she’d got rid of him.

It was time to clock off. I headed back to my room at Cuppy C for a long warm bath, and some much needed sleep.

Aunt Lucy had invited me to her house for dinner—I’d assumed the twins would be there too, but I was wrong.

“How was your day at Christy’s?” She scooped another spoonful of mashed potatoes onto my plate. Aunt Lucy’s mash was to die for.

“Very tiring. I didn’t wake up until mid afternoon.” I yawned. “Where are the twins?”

“Working late. They’re stocktaking.” She laughed. “They’ll probably be at it until midnight. They never were very good at maths.”

“What about Lester? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“He’s been busy. Did you find anything out at Christy’s?”

‘He's been busy’
? What did that mean? It was obvious that Aunt Lucy didn’t want to talk about Lester, so I let it go.

“I spoke to the dispatcher and the driver—neither of them seem likely candidates. Pauline, the driver, said she thought the damage might be being done at the shops.”

“Why would the shop owners do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. I think she was clutching at straws because she feels like everyone is blaming her.”

“What do you think?”

“I only had a chance to speak to her for a short while, but she didn’t strike me as the kind of person to do anything like that. There is an ex-employee who I’m going to try to speak to.”

I ignored Aunt Lucy’s protests, and insisted on helping with the washing up. It was the least I could do after she’d made dinner for the two of us. Afterwards, we talked for over an hour while she showed me lots of photos of her and my mother as children.

“You look as though you got on well together,” I said.

“Don’t let these photos fool you. We used to argue more than the twins do.”

“Is that possible?”

“Trust me on that one.”

“Kathy and me are pretty much the same, but we still love one another to bits. Speaking of the twins, I think I’ll go over there and see how they’re doing.”

“Don’t let them drag you into the stocktaking. You know what they’re like.”

The lights were still blazing at Cuppy C. I let myself in the back way, and popped my head into the shop. As usual, the twins were squabbling.

“It’s thirty seven,” Amber said.

“Thirty eight. Are you blind?” Pearl sighed.

“There’s three rows of ten and then another—oh yeah, thirty eight.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t help it. I’m too tired. I can’t see straight any more.”

“Hi!” I walked towards the counter. “How’s it going?”

“It would be going a lot better if Amber could count.”

“You can’t talk,” Amber growled. “At least I know there are twelve in a dozen.”

“I was referring to a baker’s dozen.”

“Liar. You—”

“Is there anything I can do?” I said.

“Thanks, but we’re done now. How did it go at Christy’s?”

I ran through the details again with the twins.

“It must be the ex-employee,” Pearl said.

“It definitely isn’t us.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

They both glared at me.

“Joking. I’m only joking. I’ll talk to Beryl Christy and her ex-employee, and let you know what I find out.”

The twins decided to call it a day.

“We’d better sit at the back of the shop,” Pearl said. “If anyone sees us drinking coffee and eating cakes, they will assume that we’re still open.”

Amber made the coffee—she’d lost the coin toss—and then the three of us helped ourselves to cakes.

“There goes the stocktaking figures,” Pearl laughed.

“You really should start to sell blueberry muffins.” I’d had to settle for a chocolate one—such were the hardships I had to endure.

“There’s a very good reason we don’t,” Amber said, handing out the coffees.

“What’s that?”

“Because we know you’d eat them all.”

That was so true.

“Not long until the reunion now,” I said, through a mouthful of muffin.

“I can’t wait.” Amber gave me a wink.

“Me neither.” Pearl also gave me a wink.

Neither could I. It was going to be so funny when they discovered they’d both had a crush on the same guy. I was seriously considering sneaking into the reunion—I wanted to be there to see their faces when it all came out.

“What’s that?” I’d only just spotted that there was a new poster on the notice board where the school reunion flyer had been.

“It’s the ‘Levels Competition’.”

I walked across to get a closer look. The poster was short on detail. Apparently the annual ‘Levels Competition’ was to be held in one week’s time in the Spell-Range.

“What is it exactly?” I asked.

“Grandma hasn’t told you?” Amber grinned.

“No, she hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Oh dear.” Pearl’s grin matched her sister’s.

I was getting bad vibes again.

“Grandma has entered you for it.”

“She’s done what? What is it anyway?”

“It’s a competition for witches on levels one to five. Witches on the same level compete against one another, and the winner from each level competes in the grand final. The winner of the grand final is fast-tracked to become a level six witch.”

“So in theory, a level one witch could end up as a level six witch?”

“In theory, but it’s never happened. The lowest level witch who has ever won the final was on level four. Usually it’s a level five witch who wins.”

“Oh well, it would have been nice if she’d bothered to tell me, but I guess we’ll have a few laughs.”

“We?” Amber said.

“There’s no ‘we’,” Pearl said. “You’re on your own.”

“I’m not doing it by myself. You two have to enter as well.”

“We can’t. To enter, your name has to be put forward by a level six witch.”

“Why didn’t Grandma put all of our names forward?”

“She has never put our names forward. She says we’d show her up,” Amber said.

“If you’re not doing it, then I’m not.”

“You have to. We want you to. Don’t we, Pearl?”

“Yeah, you have to. You can totally win level two.”

“How? I’ve only just moved up from level one.”

“You’re a natural. And besides, there’s another reason you have to take part.”

“What’s that?”

“Grandma will
totally
kill you if you don’t.”

Compelling reason.

“I don’t suppose it’ll hurt. It might be a laugh.”

“I wouldn’t let Grandma hear you say that. She’s taking it super serious.”

“No pressure then?”