I was busy trying to make sense of this month’s accounts when Mrs V came through to my office.
“You haven’t forgotten you’re supposed to be going to the hotel, have you?”
“Of course not. I don’t need to be there until—oh bum—is it really that time?” I grabbed my bag and bolted for the door. “See you tomorrow.”
***
We were in the Crimson Room at Washbridge Park Hotel. It had been set out ready for our reception, which would take place in just over twenty-four hours’ time.
Say what you like about Marceau, but the guy knew how to organise a wedding. Nothing had been left to chance. Even so, by midday, my patience was wearing thin.
“Are we nearly done?” I sighed.
“Yes, that about wraps it up.” Marceau stood up.
“I’ll walk Marceau back to his car,” Jack said.
“Okay. I’ll see you back home.”
“You can’t leave just yet. The cake is being delivered in twenty minutes time. We need to wait until it’s arrived.”
“Can’t Marceau wait here for it?”
“He has to go and see the limousine people to check everything’s okay with them. It’s only a few more minutes.”
“Okay, but I’m starving.”
“Don’t eat the cake if it comes before I get back.”
“You’re so funny.”
Jack and Marceau had no sooner left than a young man came through the door.
“I’m a little early. I have a cake in the van for Gooder and Maxwell.”
“I’m Jill Gooder. Would you bring it in here, please?”
“Will do.”
So far, I’d only seen a photograph of the cake when Jack and I had chosen it from the glossy brochure. Jack had wanted the smaller one with three tiers, but I’d insisted on four. It was my wedding, and I planned on eating a lot of cake.
A few minutes later, I heard someone outside the door. I assumed it must be the young man, back again. It sounded as though he was struggling, so I hurried over, and pulled the door open.
Whoops!
He must have been leaning against the door, trying to push it, because when I pulled it open, he fell into the room, spilling the bottom tier of the cake onto the floor.
What a mess!
“I’m so sorry.” He looked like he might burst into tears. “I didn’t know you were going to open the door.”
Before I could say anything, Jack walked in.
“What happened?” He stared at the cake that was now splattered across the floor.
“I’m really sorry,” the young man stuttered.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“What are we going to do?” Jack looked horrified. “We’ll never get another one in time for tomorrow.”
“I can sort this out.” I looked at Jack. “But I’m going to need your permission.”
“Permission to do what?” And then I saw in his eyes that the penny had dropped. “Oh, right. Yeah, okay, do it.”
I cast the ‘take it back’ spell, and the cake was as good as new again.
“What the—?” The delivery man stared in disbelief at the cake.
I quickly cast the ‘forget’ spell on him.
“Can you bring the rest of the cake in from the van, please?”
He looked somewhat disorientated but managed to head back outside.
“Thank goodness you’re a witch.” Jack grinned.
“Shush! Not so loud.”
“How come he didn’t remember what had just happened?”
“I cast a spell that made him forget.”
Jack seemed to consider that for a few moments. “Have you ever done that with me?”
“What?”
“Cast a spell to make me forget things?”
“I forget.”
“Jill! Have you?”
“Yes, a few times, but only when you stumbled across me performing magic. I wouldn’t do it now.”
“Promise?”
I gave him a kiss. “I promise.”
***
We drove home from the hotel in separate cars. I had to stop for fuel, so Jack was already home by the time I got back. He was standing on the pavement, talking to Mr Hosey, who had parked Bessie close to our drive.
“Look what Mr Hosey has done to Bessie.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“What do you think, Jill?” Mr Hosey said.
“It’s—err—very—err—I don’t really understand. You do remember that we said we wouldn’t be using Bessie for the wedding, don’t you?”
“I know that’s what you said, but I thought when you saw how good she looked that you might change your mind. You don’t have to worry about the flowers drooping because they’re not real. Although, you can hardly tell.”
To be fair, he had put in a lot of effort, decorating the engine and carriages. There must have been a thousand (fake) white roses on Bessie, and he’d covered all of the seats in white silk. It looked beautiful, but there was just one minor problem: It was still a stupid train!
“We really do appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this, Mr Hosey,” said Jack—always the diplomat. “But as we mentioned before, the limousines have already been booked. Sorry.”
Mr Hosey couldn’t have looked any more disappointed. “Oh well. I hope you both have a wonderful day.” He climbed into the engine and drove away.
I turned to Jack. “Why do I feel like we’ve just killed his favourite puppy?”
***
“What time is the nail woman coming,” Jack said.
“She’s supposed to be here in about thirty minutes, but I wish I’d never agreed to let her do them.”
“Why not? You want them to look their best for tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I trust Deli.”
“She’s qualified, isn’t she?”
“Kind of.”
“It’ll be fine. She’d hardly have her own shop if she didn’t know what she was doing, would she?”
“I suppose not.”
“Do you fancy a cup of tea before she comes?”
“Good idea. After she’s done them, I won’t be able to hold anything for a while.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. By the way, weren’t you supposed to go to that sports thing today?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
As soon as he was out of the door, I magicked myself to CASS. This time, though, I bypassed the west wing, and landed on the playing fields, right next to Reginald Crowe.
“Hi, Reggie.”
“Hello there, Jill.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m a bit disgruntled, as it happens.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“You’ll never guess what the headmistress had me doing yesterday.”
Before I could sympathise with him for having to be the golden-poo collector, someone called my name.
“Jill!” Desdemona Nightowl came hurrying over. “You made it.”
“I promised I would.”
“The final of the mixed relay is just about to start. Come and watch.”
“Who’s winning the competition so far?”
“It couldn’t be any tighter. There are only three points between the house in first place and the one in last. Whichever house wins the relay will take the trophy.”
The headmistress led the way to a small platform where the deputy-head and the heads of house were already seated. On a small table in front of them was the tiniest trophy I’d ever seen.
“Do you like the Gooder Cup?” The headmistress picked it up.
“It’s—err—very—err—”
“Small? It is rather, but it was all they had available at such short notice. It worked out rather well because we were able to use the remaining money to refund those who’d had jewellery eaten by Fluff.”
I’d envisioned the Gooder Cup as a magnificent trophy. Instead, it was little more than a golden egg cup. Typical.
“Ready, steady, go!”
The final was underway.
The pupils, who were crowded around the track, went wild as each of them cheered on their own team. When the runners passed on the baton for the first time, Wrongacre were in front, followed closely by Nomad, then Longstaff and finally Capstan.
The girl running the second leg for Longstaff was incredibly fast, and by the end of the second lap, she’d put her team in front. Nomad were still second, Wrongacre third, with Capstan still trailing behind.
The third lap resulted in no change to those positions, but the fourth and final lap saw the lead change on more than one occasion. As the runners approached the finish line, Longstaff and Nomad were neck and neck. Moments later, the pupils of Nomad house went wild, as they realised they’d managed to retain the trophy.