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Authors: Diane Janes
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Magic Circle.’
‘Well, neither is she.’
‘How would you know? We don’t know anything about her.’
Danny put his plate on the grass before reaching over to squeeze my knee. ‘Come on, Katy,’ he said. ‘Let’s not make a big deal out of it.’
‘Well, I’m fed up with all this silly Agnes business. Things disappearing and everyone pretending to believe in it all. Simon doesn’t really believe in it. He’s only
pretending he does now to be provocative—’
‘How would you know what I believe?’ Simon interrupted.
‘You’re only backing Trudie up because you always disagree with me about everything on principle.’
‘Maybe that’s because you’re always wrong.’
‘Come on, guys,’ Danny pleaded. ‘You’re ruining the whole evening.’
‘You know what I think?’ asked Simon. ‘I think you’re just plain scared – you’re accusing Trudie because the idea of calling up the spirits scares the hell
out of you.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Danny smoothly. ‘You’re not really bothered, are you, Katy? You’ll join us for a bit of the old voodoo and magic if it makes
everyone happy?’
He had edged across, so that he could put his arm around me. He obviously hadn’t a clue how much the whole idea put the wind up me – I knew he would never have pushed it if he had
– but unless I was prepared to invite Simon’s ridicule by making any more fuss, I could see I was cornered. ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, as casually as I could.
‘I’m in, if everyone else wants to do it.’
EIGHT
Marjorie’s friend Pam has started swimming again. The knee op went well apparently, so the surgeon has given her the all clear. While this does afford me a bit of
breathing space from Marjorie, it also introduces another torment, because all the time I’m swimming, I’m constantly aware of their voices echoing off the roof of the pool, like two
birds shrieking in an aviary (either that or a jungle), an impression enhanced by the unexpected appearance of plastic ivy and imitation banana trees which sprouted overnight around the pool on
Thursday last. (The Leisure Services committee evidently has a year-end surplus.) The miniature tree ferns (which Pam thinks are pineapples) don’t survive the week, on account of their
resemblance to oversized hand grenades, which the local youths are briefly able to lob at one another until an edict from Health and Safety intervenes. However, the plastic creepers have been
allowed to stay, so with Pam and Marjorie supplying the sound effects, we only need a monkey or two swinging from the rafters to complete the tropical illusion.
It’s just three days until I am due to keep my appointment with Mrs Ivanisovic. I’m going to book the Travelodge when I get home after swimming – something I’ve put off
until now, vaguely hoping that if I don’t make any firm arrangements the trip to Sedgefield won’t happen. I have waited in vain for some word from Mrs I to say that the 25th is
inconvenient, but there’s been nothing. Silence. Just an ominous silence.
By poor timing, I find myself in the changing room with Marjorie and Pam.
‘He didn’t!’ Marjorie is saying.
They both affect mock horror at whatever it is ‘he’ did, but this is followed by a lot of inappropriately girlish laughter and shrieking, indicative of delight rather than
disapproval. I eventually work out that ‘he’ is a man who has been making advances to Pam. ‘Honestly,’ she says. ‘I said to him – at our age . .
.’
It is obvious that for all her protestations Pam is thrilled by this attention – like a fourteen-year-old the morning after her first date, recounting her experiences behind the bike
sheds. Don’t some women ever grow out of this terrible susceptibility to male attention? Just before I activate the shower, I overhear Pam proclaiming shrilly, ‘I was all of a
flutter.’
All of a flutter. How well that describes it.
‘Well, neither is she.’
‘How would you know? We don’t know anything about her.’
Danny put his plate on the grass before reaching over to squeeze my knee. ‘Come on, Katy,’ he said. ‘Let’s not make a big deal out of it.’
‘Well, I’m fed up with all this silly Agnes business. Things disappearing and everyone pretending to believe in it all. Simon doesn’t really believe in it. He’s only
pretending he does now to be provocative—’
‘How would you know what I believe?’ Simon interrupted.
‘You’re only backing Trudie up because you always disagree with me about everything on principle.’
‘Maybe that’s because you’re always wrong.’
‘Come on, guys,’ Danny pleaded. ‘You’re ruining the whole evening.’
‘You know what I think?’ asked Simon. ‘I think you’re just plain scared – you’re accusing Trudie because the idea of calling up the spirits scares the hell
out of you.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Danny smoothly. ‘You’re not really bothered, are you, Katy? You’ll join us for a bit of the old voodoo and magic if it makes
everyone happy?’
He had edged across, so that he could put his arm around me. He obviously hadn’t a clue how much the whole idea put the wind up me – I knew he would never have pushed it if he had
– but unless I was prepared to invite Simon’s ridicule by making any more fuss, I could see I was cornered. ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, as casually as I could.
‘I’m in, if everyone else wants to do it.’
EIGHT
Marjorie’s friend Pam has started swimming again. The knee op went well apparently, so the surgeon has given her the all clear. While this does afford me a bit of
breathing space from Marjorie, it also introduces another torment, because all the time I’m swimming, I’m constantly aware of their voices echoing off the roof of the pool, like two
birds shrieking in an aviary (either that or a jungle), an impression enhanced by the unexpected appearance of plastic ivy and imitation banana trees which sprouted overnight around the pool on
Thursday last. (The Leisure Services committee evidently has a year-end surplus.) The miniature tree ferns (which Pam thinks are pineapples) don’t survive the week, on account of their
resemblance to oversized hand grenades, which the local youths are briefly able to lob at one another until an edict from Health and Safety intervenes. However, the plastic creepers have been
allowed to stay, so with Pam and Marjorie supplying the sound effects, we only need a monkey or two swinging from the rafters to complete the tropical illusion.
It’s just three days until I am due to keep my appointment with Mrs Ivanisovic. I’m going to book the Travelodge when I get home after swimming – something I’ve put off
until now, vaguely hoping that if I don’t make any firm arrangements the trip to Sedgefield won’t happen. I have waited in vain for some word from Mrs I to say that the 25th is
inconvenient, but there’s been nothing. Silence. Just an ominous silence.
By poor timing, I find myself in the changing room with Marjorie and Pam.
‘He didn’t!’ Marjorie is saying.
They both affect mock horror at whatever it is ‘he’ did, but this is followed by a lot of inappropriately girlish laughter and shrieking, indicative of delight rather than
disapproval. I eventually work out that ‘he’ is a man who has been making advances to Pam. ‘Honestly,’ she says. ‘I said to him – at our age . .
.’
It is obvious that for all her protestations Pam is thrilled by this attention – like a fourteen-year-old the morning after her first date, recounting her experiences behind the bike
sheds. Don’t some women ever grow out of this terrible susceptibility to male attention? Just before I activate the shower, I overhear Pam proclaiming shrilly, ‘I was all of a
flutter.’
All of a flutter. How well that describes it.
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