By Dawn Knox
a glass of Merlot
Betty
Bentwhistle stared at the flyer someone had left in the reception of Muscle
Bounders Gym.
Ichabod
Bunch stared back at her from the leaflet with mesmerising eyes.
Ichabod Bunch
Clairvoyant and Medium
Extraordinaire
Let Ichabod connect you with those you no longer
see
Thursday 28th March at Basilwade
Community Hall
Betty
couldn’t think of anyone she no longer saw and who she wanted to connect to. But
it wouldn’t matter, she could still go along for the spectacle… and those
compelling eyes. She would ask Sydney if he’d like to go.
Sydney Jugg
had been to Betty’s for dinner on four occasions. He’d also fixed her shower and
mended a dripping tap. And he’d mentioned he might look at her U-bend or P-trap
or something. Exactly why he was going to inspect it, she’d no idea but it was
another excuse to have him to herself for the evening. She’d spotted him weeks
ago when he’d joined the gym and had been assigned Vilya Chekarova as his
personal trainer. Betty had never taken to the rude woman and she felt sorry for
Sydney who was obviously not used to training in a gym. If it’d been up to her,
she’d have found a much gentler personal trainer for Sydney… but it hadn’t been
up to her – she was simply the receptionist. And then Vilya had stolen Sydney’s
brilliant idea for a new business. It had failed miserably, but Betty wasn’t
surprised. Vilya was neither intelligent, nor a ‘people-person’. If Sydney had
been allowed to develop his three-course smoothie idea himself, Betty had no
doubt he would be a millionaire by now.
But Sydney
was brimming with ideas and given the support of a good woman, he would one day
be a successful businessman. And she was just the sort of good woman to offer
him the support and encouragement he needed. Indeed, she was the sort of good
woman to look after him for the rest of his life – if he’d let her. But one
thing at a time. While marriage was firmly on her radar, she suspected it was
not on his… yet. She wasn’t sure what a ‘Spring Chicken’ was but it suggested
something young and fresh. These days, she was feeling more like an old boiler.
In a few more years, she’d have gone off the boil completely and she would be
doomed to a lifetime on her own.
“A medium? What
for?” Sydney asked, as he helped himself to another spoonful of Betty’s beef
goulash.
“Oh, you
know,” she said, passing him the rice, “it might be fun.”
“But don’t
mediums talk to dead people?”
“Mmm.”
“Is there a
dead person you want to talk to?”
“No, not
really. I just thought it might be interesting… and I’ve bought the tickets. I
thought I’d try lamb hotpot on Thursday and then we could stroll down to the
hall…”
“Lamb
hotpot? That’s my favourite. Oh, well okay, if you’d like to go. Wouldn’t you
prefer to go on your own while I have a look at your stopcock? It needs a bit of
attention.”
“It would be
so nice to go together and I’d like you to meet some of my
friends…”
“Oh, all
right.”
Sydney was
torn. On one hand, it was lovely to be spoiled and plied with delicious meals.
On the other, he had a feeling Betty was offering more than stews and pot
roasts. Occasionally, she let slip a comment which implied she expected them to
be together many years hence. Yes – marriage was definitely on her mind.
During the long hours at work when he was bending and soldering copper pipe, he
mulled the idea over. Would it be so dreadful? Betty wasn’t bad looking. She fed
him, fussed over him and generally made him feel special. So special that it had
been many weeks since he’d opened his Book of Grievances and he was sure that he
was beginning to forget some of the injustices which he’d experienced. But – and
it was a large ‘but’ – he didn’t want to feel he was being manoeuvred into
something which hadn’t been his idea.
The lamb hotpot
had been followed by apple pie, and Sydney felt it would be rude not to
accompany Betty to Basilwade Hall. She’d said that some of her friends would be
there but when they arrived, she seemed to know everyone. They sat next to
Betty’s best friend, Florrie Fanshawe.
“Pleased to
meet you,” said Florrie, shaking Sydney’s hand and fixing him with a determined
stare which seemed to say Don’t even think about messing with my best friend,
Betty.
Mystical
music suddenly began to play, heralding the appearance of Ichabod Bunch. He
swept on to the stage, his voluminous, black cloak billowing behind him and then
seizing the microphone with a bejewelled hand, he raised one arm and with
fingers outstretched as if reaching for something, he closed his eyes and began
to hum.
“What the…?”
muttered Sydney, looking at the ridiculous, cloaked man.
“Shhh!” said
several of the people round Sydney.
He glanced
about. Surely people weren’t taking the charlatan seriously? Apparently, they
were.
Ichabod
Bunch was suddenly silent. His eyes flew open and the audience gasped. Slowly he
turned his head, allowing his gaze to sweep across the eager faces, as if
searching for someone special.
“Oooh!”
several women said as his staring eyes rested on them momentarily and then moved
on.
Ichabod
placed his hand on his chest, the stones in his rings catching the light as he
breathed in and out.
“I’m
receiving a message.” His eyes closed and most of the audience leaned forward in
anticipation.
“Yes, I am
thinking of the letter M,” he said in the voice of one whose mind was meandering
through the clouds and stopping periodically to chat to angels.
“Ooooh!”
said the audience.
“Does the
letter M mean anything to anyone?”
Nearly every
hand shot up.
Ichabod’s
eyes flew open.
“Ooooh!”
said the audience.
“You,” he
said pointing at the woman next to Florrie Fanshawe, “what does the letter M
mean to you?”
The woman
patted her hat to ensure it was in place and rose. “I’m Maud Wilson and this is
my daughter Mary…” she indicated a young woman sitting next to her whose face
flushed crimson as everyone’s eyes swivelled from her mother to her. “Maud and
Mary. That’s two M’s,” she said triumphantly.
“Excellent!
Excellent!” said Ichabod, “That M was coming through very strongly and now I can
see why. The message I’m receiving is from someone with thinning hair. A
pleasant looking gentleman who cared for you deeply when he was amongst
us.”
“That must
be my Harold!” Maud said excitedly, nudging Mary with her elbow.
“Yes, that’s
correct,” said Ichabod, “he tells me that Harold is his name. He says that
things may have been cloudy for some time but there are blue skies ahead.”
Ichabod turned away but Maud hadn’t finished with him.
“So, can you
tell me if my Mary is going to find a husband at long last?”
“Mum!”
whispered Mary, aghast.
“Oh, and ask
Harold what he did with the silver sugar tongs,” added Maud
“Mum!”
“Well, when
you’ve got the ears of the dead, Mary, it’s best to get as much out of them as
you can. Harold never gave me any hope when he was alive. It took until after
he’d died for him to offer me blue skies.”
“Oh!” said
Ichabod with a great show of disappointment, “I’m afraid Harold seems to have
gone, but he sent his love.”
“Typical!”
said Maud with a sniff.
“Shhh!” said
Mary; head bowed to hide her flaming cheeks.
Ichabod had
moved on.
“I have a
clear picture of a ginger cat. Does that mean anything to
anyone?”
“Ooooh!”
said the audience.
Nearly every
hand shot up.
A week later,
over steak and kidney pudding, Betty said she was thinking of booking a
clairvoyant session for them both with Ichabod Bunch.
“Whatever
for?” Sydney asked, his mouth full of suet pastry and meat.
Betty was
vague, “Oh, you know,” she said.
Sydney
didn’t know.
All he knew
was that during the last seven days, Betty had hardly uttered a sentence which
didn’t contain “Ichabod said…” or “Ichabod thinks…” She was remarkably well
informed about Mr Ichabod Bunch.
“More?”
asked Betty, piling another spoonful of pudding on his plate. Sydney decided
he’d wriggle out of the session later. But first, he’d finish his
dinner.
Unusually,
she’d hastily cleared the table as soon as his knife and fork touched the plate
and suggested they wait a while for coffee.
“Why?” he
asked.
“Oh, you
know.”
Again, he
didn’t know.
Almost
immediately, the doorbell rang and Betty, with eyes sparkling and cheeks aflame,
sprang up to open the door. It was Ichabod Bunch.
So, the
proposed session had actually been booked for this evening!
For a
second, Sydney toyed with the notion of walking out. That would teach Betty to
manipulate him! But there was something in the way her eyes lit up at the
mention of that man’s name that stirred feelings deep inside Sydney. Why didn’t
her eyes glow like that for him?
He would
stay. After all, he’d met Betty first and he was jolly well going to stake his
claim. You couldn’t get steak and kidney pudding like that anywhere in
Basilwade.
Vagueness
and generalisations, thought Sydney, how could Betty be taken in by such
rubbish?
Ichabod had
spoken for twenty minutes but said precisely nothing and Sydney had just started
to fidget, when the clairvoyant suggested he see them both privately.
Betty agreed
at once.
“You can
wait in the kitchen, if you like, Sydney,” she said.
Reluctantly,
Sydney left. He listened at the door but could only hear deep mumbling and
girly, giggles. Betty didn’t laugh like that at any of his jokes!
He sprang
away from the door and pretended to inspect the cactus on the windowsill when
Betty came to fetch him.
“Ichabod
will see you now,” she said, her face glowing, “Oooh, he’s so—”
Sydney
rushed out before she could finish the sentence and enlighten him.
“Ah, sit
down, Sydney,” said Ichabod, “I understand you’d like me to probe the future for
you…”
“No,” said
Sydney, “I’m quite happy to wait until it happens.”
“Excellent!
In that case, my work here is done.” Ichabod rose.
“What?”
“I propose
to see the lovely Betty next Tuesday for another session. I trust that’s all
right with you?”
“What? Well,
no actually. That’s not all right with me.”
“I see,”
said Ichabod sitting down, “Well, in that case, you will need a very good reason
why she should miss our appointment.” He nodded wisely, “It appears to have
escaped your attention, but Betty is looking for someone with whom she can share
her future. If, for argument’s sake, she should find someone between now and
Tuesday evening, there would probably be no need for her to consult me.”
Ichabod rose
again, “Oh, and by the way…” he paused theatrically, “grudges and grievances are
not attractive. Not to women, anyway. It might be time to get rid of the
book.”
“B…book?”
How did he know about Sydney’s Book of Grievances?
But Ichabod
had swept out of the room.
When Betty
appeared with coffee, Sydney had made up his mind. She wouldn’t be keeping the
appointment next Tuesday with Ichabod Bunch. Sydney would propose marriage to
her. Not today, of course, that would be rather premature, but he’d hint at it
before Tuesday so she’d have no need to see the clairvoyant, and then when the
time was right, he’d get down on one knee and pop the question.
He opened
his eyes wide in an Ichabod-like expression and fixed Betty with his gaze,
trying to convey the depth of feeling he was experiencing.
“Are you all
right, Sydney? Your face has gone all weird. Have you got indigestion?” she
asked.
About the author
Dawn’s third book
‘Extraordinary’ was published by Chapeltown in October 2017. She has stories
published in various anthologies, including horror and speculative fiction, as
well as romances in women's magazines. Dawn has written a play to commemorate
World War One, which has been performed in England, Germany and France. www.dawnknox.com
Links to previous stories in the series:
1) A Question of Timing: https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=A+question+of+timing
2) In MaryWorld: https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=in+maryworld+
3) Knit and Natter: https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=knit+and+natter
5) Sydney Jugg’s Book of
Grievances: to be published.
Hugs from Dawn
Author
of:
'The
Great War - 100 Stories of 100 Words Honouring Those Who Lived and Died 100
Years Ago'
‘Extraordinary’
Tales to take you out of this world.
“Welcome
to Plotlands” 1930s romance set in Essex.
“Daffodil
and the Thin Place” YA adventure story.
All available on Amazon.co.uk
All available on Amazon.co.uk
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