“No idea,” said Neville. “Must just have been a lucky guess. She’s alright, that Brenda, for all she’s a right slapper.” He stood by the edge of the cave and through some more twigs on the fire.
“Now, Neville, she’s just got her own way of worshipping the Mother Goddess. I think she’s a high priestess, she just doesn’t know it.”
Neville felt he’d probably been sick that day in R.E. “You’re not going to be like that when you get older, are you?”
“Nah, I’m a one-tree kind of a squirrel. She was reet helpful during the summoning ritual though. And she bought me those boots.”
Neville looked at her. “I bought those boots. They weren’t cheap, you know. Why on Earth did you think Brenda bought them?”
“Well, I assumed she’d got them for me to keep me quiet after I stumbled in on one of her sessions yesterday. I mean, there was a note, but it didn’t say who they were from, only that they hoped I’d look beautiful in them. The grammar and spelling were a bit off as well, so I assumed…”
“Emily, I wrote that note in soddingElvish. I didn’t think I could be more obvious.”
“Oh, right. I guess.”
As they ate, Neville suddenly realized she’d said the words ‘summoning ritual’. He rolled his eyes mentally. He could ask her about it, but he found he could already play the conversation in his head. He’d say he’d been coming anyway before the ritual had even commenced, and she’s say that was a very mortal way of looking at things and why couldn’t an all-powerful being start to answer a prayer before it had even been made. He’d point out that she could just have asked for his telephone number. She’d say the spell also made him fall in love with her and besides, where was the fun in that. He’d say that casting a love spell on him would be like giving Belgian chocolates to a diabetic. They’d kiss and make up. Their first argument as a couple resolved satisfactorily in his own head, he got on with enjoying the wedding feast.
Epilogue
Six days later, a taxi pulled up outside the Book Cottage. A tanned if not quite fully sunburned Verna Baldwin got out, tipped the driver and gathered her possessions from the boot. Leaving the other two on the pavement, she wheeled the largest of the three suitcases, which had a bag of duty free wrapped round the handle, into the store.
“Ey up, Emily-love. Everything been okay? I’ve had a great time. You should have seen them beaches, right beautiful they were and such weather. Oh, it does you good to get away, it does. Now, I’ve got a bottle of Sangria for ye mam and a wicker donkey for yourself, only the tail broke off going through customs. Right, now, d’ya give any more thought to letting that Neville Blackly take you out ta pictures or summit?”
Emily Blackly was wrapped head to toe in a blanket. A drink of hot lemon sat next to her, steaming away. She looked up from a book on natural child-birth that she’d found knocking about the store room.
“Ay, manner o’ speaking, manner o’ speaking.”