14. Scones, Spirits & Rik Feathers
Scones, Spirits Rik Feathers
Mitzi has organised for a celebrity to come and open the very first Shaman Fest! We agreed it needed a couple of weeks more to sort out, which happened to coincide with an appearance at the local theatre of a once quite well-known comedy actor, Rik Feathers. Apparently, my sister stalked him over social media, until his people reached out and messaged her privately, asking her to stop. At which point she pulled out the offer of free accommodation in exchange for a brief appearance at our event. One phone-call later, to establish she’s not a psychopath– how you can tell from a phone-call I’ll never know– and hey presto, his people have agreed for him to open the first Scones Spirits Shaman Fest.
They are all coming to stay in the cottage, hence two doubles required, in separate rooms. We can offer this. There’s the double bed upstairs and the sofabed downstairs. That should be fine. Rik Feathers was famous for playing the bartender in popular sitcom Troy of the Rovers. He had the catch phrase ‘Everything’s better on ice’. Anyhow, he’s agreed to cut the ribbon, or smash the bottle or whatever Mitzi has in mind, and we’ll get somebody to take some photos and then she’ll try to get it into the paper. It’s all very exciting.
The cottage is immaculate. I’ve put some candles out, bought a couple of new bedside rugs because the others were looking a bit tatty even after a vax. I splashed out on two new starry duvet sets, made up the sofabed ready, put an aromatic sleep spray next to the pillows and a wrapped-up posh soap in the bathroom. Is that enough? What else do famous celebrities expect of their BB?
Mitzi is vague and told me not to worry. She herself is too busy drumming up customers. She’s on publicity hyperdrive and between her spoken-word network and her social media thingies and flyers all over the Valley, she’s sold more than forty tickets at ten pounds apiece. She’s already persuaded the local paper to run an article on her. Chloe helped her with her make-up for the shoot and she looks super-glamorous with her hair cascading in waves down one shoulder and her top falling off the other.
Meet Shaman Mistress Mitzi, in her Scones Spirits
Introduction to Shamanism event.
‘Mistress?’ We’re all in the kitchen and Carl is reading and eating at the same time. I’ve done a trial run on wholemeal apple scones and he’s gamely agreed to try them. He chokes and I can’t decide if it’s the scones or the headline.
‘Too dry?’ I enquire.
‘Too bloody sexy, if you ask me.’ He turns to my sister. ‘You’ll be attracting some wrong ’uns with that picture and that headline, Mistress Mitzi!’ Then he chokes on a crumb.
Mitzi jumps off the kitchen island to thump him on the back.
‘Don’t be silly, Carl, it’s a misprint. I never said anything about mistress, they’ve misunderstood. I said “Shaman Mystery”. Anyway, all publicity is excellent and it’s going perfectly to plan. I’ve had another twenty ticket requests since the article went out.’
‘I bet you have,’ he grins, taking a swig of tea.
‘Another twenty?’ I don’t know whether to be pleased or worried. That’s a lot of tea and scones. ‘How many people are we expecting, do you think?’
My sister says airily, ‘Oh, I don’t know exactly. Fifty, maybe a hundred?’
What? Fifty! A hundred!
‘Where will they all sit?’ I am wringing my hands. ‘I don’t have a hundred chairs, or cups, or scones.’
‘Don’t worry, people will come and go during the day.’ She nips a bit off an apple scone and tastes it tentatively. ‘Not bad, not as good as the plum and date one, though. How are you getting on with the cheese variation?’
‘Who put you in charge of catering, Mistress Mitzi? I’m the taste-tester round here.’
Carl chases her around the kitchen island. These two are so loved up at the moment, it might make me sick, only I’m so pleased for her. It’s taken my sister a long time to find anything approaching this kind of happiness. She’s especially in her element when she’s bossing me about. At least I put my foot down about the costs. We’ve agreed to split the proceeds 50/50. I insisted, what with all the gas and electric I’m using to wash all the linen for tablecloths, cook all the bloody scone variations you’ve ever heard of, and supplying the teas, coffees, milks, etc. Plus, we have all agreed to pay Chloe, who’s taking a day off work to help out.
As Chloe, Carl, Mitzi and I go through the final details, the day before the Scones Spirits spectacular, Mitzi drags into the kitchen a huge zipped-up holdall.
‘Now, people, final touches, I need us all and everything we do tomorrow to amalgamate into a cohesive spiritual Hebden Shamans philosophical vibe– yeah?’ She delivers this as she pulls out of the bag and hands to Chloe a tie-dyed bunch of feathers and silky scrap of material with a German Bierkeller gold-tie corset detail.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s your outfit, darling.’
Chloe looks horrified. ‘I’m not wearing that.’
‘You haven’t seen the headdress yet.’
Mitzi produces the article with a flourish. It’s an elaborate flower and feather thing and it makes me think of Pocahontas, on drugs.
‘No, no way.’
My sister says patiently, ‘It’s about evoking the nature spirits. As I said, everything must amalgamate into a cohesive vibe.’
‘And as I said, no.’
I am struggling with the giggles, when Mitzi hands to me a bright purple medieval princess dress, similar to the ones in those children’s books where the fairy godmothers appear at the christening.
‘OK, that’s quite nice.’
But that’s before she pulls out a huge matching, pointed hat.
‘Eh? How the heck am I meant to keep that on my head whilst making a hundred cups of tea, and getting scones out of the oven?’
Now Chloe and Carl are laughing at me, then she hands Carl his outfit.
‘Friar fucking Tuck, Mitzi? Are you having a laugh?’
That’s it, we are on the floor howling; even Mitzi can’t help herself and begins to shoulder shake with a fit of giggles.
‘Please don’t ask me to shave my head like a ring doughnut,’ Carl splutters. ‘I’m hanging onto the last few hairs on my head for all I’m worth.’
It’s hysteria for at least five minutes. Once we’ve calmed down, Mitzi runs through the schedule. It feels well organised. There’s a plan to the day and we all know what we’re doing. I’m chef and on kitchen duty, producing hot drinks and scones, Chloe is waitress for the day and Carl is ticket-handler and security. Mitzi has refused to bring anyone in to help her.
‘Once burnt, twice shy. After that business with Echo I’ve decided I’ll manage this alone. I’m not showing anyone else what I do just so they can run off and open a coven and steal my ideas.’
I feel for her. What a shame she can’t trust anyone to get involved. ‘It’s a lot on your own.’
‘I’m not on my own, you’re all here.’
A warm feeling runs through me. I register that it could be panic, or heartburn, but it could also be actual love and camaraderie. We do feel like a team. I’m excited about seeing my garden come to life. People eating and enjoying my food, like my very own café.
I don’t have long to ponder though, because the doorbell rings and Chloe, who is entirely oblivious, announces, ‘There’s that bloke Rik Feathers at the door.’
Mitzi and I share an excited look and rush to meet him. He’s very laid back, has a lovely smile and very dark quiffy hair that looks too big for his head. There’s a definite hint of teddy boy about him. I wonder how old he is? He looks very tanned, not the fake stuff, too leather satchel to be anything other than a lot of long holidays.
Rik is accompanied by two people, one either side of him, a man and a woman. They are both middle-aged, both dowdy and both look drawn with worry. When they introduce themselves as Titch and Tina, I’m guessing they’re a couple. They seem oddly preoccupied with Rik. They never take their eyes off him, as if he’s a wayward toddler they’re desperately trying to manage. I don’t know what they’re so worried for, he’s perfectly charming and stringing coherent sentences together. He’s also very jolly and agrees to have a couple of photos with Mitzi, which she’s absolutely delighted about.
Carl introduces himself and offers to carry any bags, but they refuse. I can’t help but notice the chink of bottles as our guests pass by the patio door. Oh well, at least it’s only for one night, they can’t do too much damage. I have a million things to do, to spend precious energy stressing about the cottage.
The trio soon get settled in Lavander Cottage which, thankfully, they seem delighted with. I leave everyone to it and get to work on baking another 120 fruit scones. Mitzi wanders around the garden planting tent pegs with silvery ribbons into the ground, to attract the good spirits. Chloe appears dressed to the max in a tight black pencil dress that accentuates every curve; with her hair on top of her head and wearing a pair of teetering platform wedge sandals, she must be nearly six foot.
‘Off out somewhere, love?’
‘Yeah, I’ve not been out for ages ’cos of work, so I’m meeting Charlotte and the gang in town for a quick sesh and then we’re going out for a few in Fax.’
I try to keep a friendly smile on my face, though inwardly I’m seething with frustration. Really? A big night out tonight? The night before the big Fest thing? For the first time, in the garden, when we’re paying you to be here?
But what comes out of my mouth is: ‘Great, have a good night, love. Don’t forget we’re going to be very busy tomorrow.’
‘Bye, love you.’
As she slams the patio door behind her, I know it. I’m on my own. My eyes drift around the kitchen, seeing it for the first time. It’s a total bombsite, like a bad Celebrity Bake Off episode– flour everywhere, trays of scones waiting to be put into containers. Jam to dollop into pots, butter to be curled into ramekins, cream to be whipped, tea pots to be cleaned, all the boxes of old china to be washed and dried. I’m contemplating a mini-breakdown and wondering if I could get away with it when Mitzi waltzes into the kitchen with a clipboard and two bottles of unopened prosecco.
‘How are you doing?’ she asks breezily.
‘I’m struggling, Mitz.’ I feel like crying. ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and I don’t think I’m going to get done. I’ve got to get all that crockery unpacked and put in the dishwasher, I’ve got to pack up all the scones, prepare a load of mixture for tomorrow, iron the tablecloths, dig out the napkins and maybe iron some of them, wipe down all the chairs—’
‘Stop right there,’ she commands me. ‘No ironing. I don’t believe in it. It’s an offence against women. If people are fretting about a creased tablecloth then they’re in the wrong place. Chairs, that’s Carl’s domain. Scones, cups– you’ve got it. Are you forgetting, you are Janet Jackson, Superhost?’
Never have I felt so hoist by my own petard. I could kick myself. When did I mention Superhost to Mitzi?
‘Open one of these.’ She hands me a bottle of prosecco. ‘I was taking this round to Rik on request of his helpers, they’re a very thirsty bunch. Anyway, it will be the third he’s had, so you enjoy this one and I’ll be in to help you in a bit, to stir or dry or whatever you need.’ She hands me a bottle, and then grabs me in a hug. ‘You know what, Janet, I think this just might work tomorrow.’
I hug her back then take her by the shoulders and look her in the eye. ‘Yes, and it will be down to you, you bloody lunatic. I’m so proud of you.’
Mitzi wells up and shakes me off.
‘Oh stop, don’t get me all emosh. I’ve got to stay cool until this time tomorrow night, when I can collapse. Thank you, darling sis, for all your support.’ She stands up straight. ‘Right. Focus, charm the celebrity, here we go...’
She lets herself out through the patio door and I give in, break open the prosecco and slam on the 80s’ tunes. I can do this. Of course I can do this. If I was running a café I’d be doing this every day.
I’m well on the way with an almost empty bottle of prosecco, piles of clean old china washed and dried on the side, the scones in Tupperware containers, the cake stands I’ve dug out of retirement, all hand-washed and dried. It’s then that a text pops up on my phone that I ignore, as I’m expecting yet another instruction from Mitzi. However, when I eventually get round to reading it, it’s from Mitch. I leap and drop the phone down the sink. Mitch. In touch!
See you tomorrow, hope there’s a genoa scone
What? Why is he coming to a Scones Spirits thing? Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. The pressure is on, to make this thing go well and somehow now also to look half-decent. I check the time. Oh no, it’s midnight! Where did the time go? I’ve still got hours of cleaning up to go, and I’m knackered. I need to go to bed and get some sleep and then I won’t look half-dead, even if I am. I must go up to bed, right now! I can get up really early to do everything else. Is midnight too late to text back? Bugger it.
There’s a whole stack with your name on it
Hardly sexy talk, is it. I’ve no idea how to flirt in a text. Genoa scone, there isn’t even such a thing. I’ll put some extra cherries in a couple and call them Genoa. What if he actually turns up? I’m too tired to fret.
I’m just turning off the kitchen lights when Carl and Mitzi pile in through the patio door, both staggering. I turn the lights back on.
‘He’s hilarious,’ Mitzi giggles.
‘Boy, he can put it away.’ That’s Carl, looking very much the worse for wear.
‘Have we anything else booze-wise? He’s asking—’
I cut Mitzi off. ‘At midnight?’ I can’t help but give a reproving shake of my head. I’m so bloody puritanical, and let’s face it, stressed and tired.
‘There’s that bottle of Southern Comfort,’ Carl remembers, slurring slightly.
‘How old is it?’ It’s been around for ages as none of us really likes it.
Carl reaches into the back of the top cupboard to retrieve it, while Mitzi does a melodramatic yawn.
‘You take it round, Carl. I need to get some rest for tomorrow.’
‘Do I have to?’ Carl slumps. ‘I’m exhausted, I can’t smile any more.’ Looking at me, he explains, ‘He’s really funny, Janet, but he just never stops.’
Mitzi wipes the dusty bottle and hands it back to Carl.
‘Carl’s right, Rik’s never off. He isn’t paying those people to look after him, he’s paying them to be an audience. They were overjoyed to have us in there and now I understand why. No wonder they sloped off for a chat as soon as we arrived. You should pop round, Janet,’ my sister says craftily.
Yeah, right. I’m not falling for that one. It wouldn’t matter how funny he is, he’s not better company than my electric blanket and my magazine.
‘Night night,’ I say firmly.
Carl groans. ‘I want my bed too.’
Mitzi takes charge. ‘Look, just nip over there, Carl, drop the bottle off and come straight back. Big day tomorrow and all that. Use me as an excuse if you like. We’ve got to get up at six.’
I’m convinced I’ve misheard. Never, ever, have I heard those words come out of Mitzi’s lips.
‘Six? Did you say up at six?’
‘Er... yes, Janet, this is a big day for me. Anyway, I’m often up with the dawn.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes, then I go back to bed and sleep in till later.’
‘Right...’ I had never considered that Mitzi’s lie-ins were a consequence of an up-with-the-dawn habit, and now, I wisely decide, is not the time to challenge her.
Carl reluctantly heads to the door with the Southern Comfort.
‘Send me a text in half an hour, so I can use it as an excuse to come back. Please.’
After a lightning-quick shower, I pile into bed exhausted, set my alarm for 5.45 a.m. and collapse.
*
What’s all the noise? It’s 2 a.m. and I’m now wide awake. Down in the kitchen, sniggering and holding half-eaten scones, are Rik Feathers and Carl. Carl attempts to speak but spits scone crumbs all over the kitchen and erupts into a coughing fit that has Rik in hysterics.
‘Janet, Janet, I can exshplain,’ he manages finally, tears in his eyes. ‘I wa’ jusht bringing Rik in to show him what we’re planning for tomorrow.’
I can’t produce even the faintest hint of a smile. My sense of humour is locked away in a deep dark chamber never to be recovered.
‘BED NOW,’ I bellow. ‘And you,’ pointing at Rik, ‘OUT.’
I literally push the booze-drenched Rik out of the door and quickly lock it. Carl has fled upstairs– I can hear him dash to the attic at gallop speed. I take a look at the mess. It’s not too bad, a few scones short and a pile of crumbs, it’s retrievable. The bloody idiots. I shuffle back up to bed, yawn deeply, fling my head on the pillow and it’s lights out.
*
It’s 3.30 a.m. I wake up, almost unconscious, and switch on the light. There’s yet more noise. If it’s Rik bloody Feathers he’s going to get an earful. Downstairs, the kitchen light is on, and there is Chloe, standing at the cooker, happily tossing a pancake beside a very tall young man who is holding a plate to catch it.
She sees me. Says, ‘Hi, Mum. This is Spencer.’
Spencer immediately flushes hot red and struggles to know what to do with the plate. In the end, he sheepishly hides it behind his back.
‘All right, Ma Chloe?’
He makes his way over, hand outstretched for a formal shake, but I bat it away.
‘No handshakes before eight a.m., love. Keep the noise down. Do not touch the scones.’ I reverse out of there, turn the light off, turn the light back on, on account of the shocked squeals, and back upstairs I collapse into bed after adjusting the alarm to seven. No way is this going to be a 6a.m. day.
*
The first Scones Spirits Introduction to Shamanism Event is agogo. From the moment I open my eyes it’s full throttle. I throw some clothes on, aware I’ll need to change into my princess frock later.
Outside, I spot a grey-faced Carl, obviously nursing a chronic hangover, gamely lugging tables and chairs all around the garden, whilst Mitzi points at spaces. She follows up with a sponge and bucket of water wiping everything down, including him across the face, when he moans for the umpteenth time about having a headache. I chase after them with un-ironed tablecloths of every shape and size, and deliver a large glass of water and headache tablets to a grateful Carl.
The sun beams positive rays around the garden that are so hot they burn my neck. It’s going to be a gorgeous day! I stack up the mismatch of china cups, saucers and tea pots onto the tables. Mitzi gives the order at 10.45 that we are all to get changed. I put the dress on that she gave me and it fits, just! The cleavage on this thing is outrageous and the hat is ridiculous. Carl looks impressive, more strongman than monk, whilst Mitzi herself is a wow of rainbow butterfly, with long flowing see-through wings and an astonishing flower crown that seems to defy gravity by balancing above her head.
I attempt to knock up Chloe, to no response, and it’s too late to bother as people are already arriving. Mitzi gets into full performance mode immediately, spinning, dancing, guiding, reciting poetry and demonstrating yoga poses, along with some scarf-waving, some spirit animal manifestations, a gong bath, some Tarot cards... you name it, she does it.
When the time is right, Carl carries Rik Feathers out of Lavander Cottage in a fire-man’s lift, to hit the gong to start the day’s proceedings.
Rik manages a garbled, ‘Like scones and spirits, everything’s better with ice,’ followed by a bang on the gong, after which he collapses into a drunken coma over a terrified pensioner.
Chloe appears about eleven-thirty in costume with Spencer who, it turns out, has had a stint at silver service when a bit younger. Between them they make fast work of collecting crockery and redistributing scones, jam, butter, cream and fresh tea as required.
Midway through the day, Mitzi’s mate Techy Red appears with a clip-on microphone for her to use, as her voice is going hoarse from bellowing. The rush doesn’t seem to stop, and mid-afternoon, another wave of people arrive. Carl has his work cut out fielding traffic; the street is rammed nose-to-tail with people reversing and attempting to park, as well as collecting tickets as they enter. I take one look at the queues and bake up another batch of classic fruit scones, thinking, Thank goodness I bought a load of extra ingredients just in case.
I’m bent over the oven testing the top of the next batch, just about balancing my hat, when I get a tap on the shoulder and a gentle cough close to my ear. I turn around and there’s Mitch. Gorgeous, stocky Mitch with his gentle eyes and wide generous mouth turned up in a smile.
‘Janet, or is it Princess Janet? Are you ever allowed out of this kitchen?’
Well, I don’t need a second invitation. I take the scones out from the oven, whisk off my apron and hand over responsibilities to Chloe and Spencer who are canoodling in the pantry.
‘Mitch, fair sir, have I ever shown you around my lady garden?’
Well, that has us both laughing. I take Mitch’s hand and lead him away from the gong bath that is in full session on the lawn. There must be thirty people laid or slumped at all sorts of angles, their eyes closed, as we pick our way amongst them. There are some snores, some heavy breathing, and a polite acknowledgement from a couple of old guys who are definitely not joining in and are busy pouring tea and building cream scones to enjoy.
Mysteriously emboldened by exhaustion, excitement and the need for some pleasure in a life that can quite often feel like a list of chores, I lead Mitch around the back of the house away from any noise or interference. There, I lean him against the side of the house and kiss him. No asking permission, no nerves, no questions. It was the moment for it. I needed to know. He kissed me back. Oh yes, gentle reader, again and again, he kissed me back.
REVIEW
************************************** 38 x Five Stars for Lavandar Cottage It’s all got mixed up with the Scones Spirits Event, courtesy of Mitzi’s bad IT. I’m over the moon!
Book Security. Rival Shamans don’t send bad vibes, they send ringers. When Mitzi spotted Echo recording the event on her iPhone, Carl and Mitch were good at encouraging a fast exit on her broomstick.
Buy extra rugs. I found my new one curled up into a ball with a turd wrapped inside it. A celebrity turd, no less. Very much the same as an ordinary one.Grrr.Honestly, where’s the respect?
Celebrities are very much like real people. Real,needypeople. The neediest people you’ve ever met. Same goes for Celebrity Alcoholics. They are very much like the alcoholics you meet in real life. With better jokes, perhaps.
Be brave when it comes to would-be lovers. The worst that can happen is you get a fabulous snog.