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Business as usual by Lilachigh
 
Chp 43 Life was Beautiful Then
 
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Business as Usual




Chapter 38

Life was Beautiful Then


“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens,
Brown paper packages tied up with string,
These are a few of my favourite things…”

Agnes found herself singing out loud as she worked, her hands automatically kneading dough, making pastry, sorting cutlery. She knew she was trying to cheer herself up because the night before had been very stressful and she’d hardly had a minute’s sleep this morning worrying about things. Spike and his growing obsession with the Slayer that was taking him further and further away from the vampire community; young Eric and Nancy, vampire children growing up without a father to guide them and lastly a disastrous accident that had happened the night before involving her experimental dish of the day – the one she remembered eating in Los Angeles with poor dear Richard - slices of rare beef, spread with mustard, wrapped round with blood pate and simmered in pig’s blood.

“When the dog bites, when the bee stings,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don’t feel so bad.”

Conscientiously she’d made two separate dishes – one with the blood pate and extras for her demon customers and one without for the Unturneds who often asked for hot snacks around ten and eleven in the evening as they were heading home from the cinema or The Bronze. But somehow the two dishes had become mixed up and a large Unturned gentleman and his partner had coughed violently, spattering themselves and their friends with a sticky mixture of mustard and demon blood sauce, making an incredible mess.

Agnes sighed: those customers would not be returning!

“Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes – ”

She’d never had a white dress - let alone one with a sash made of blue satin. The closest she’d come to a dance frock was the one she’d worn to the tennis club dance the year she left school. Agnes thumped the pastry with a clenched fist – she could still feel the wash of bitter unhappiness that memory caused. She hadn’t wanted to go but her mother – determined her daughter should better herself locally – had made her.

Agnes had sat on a little chair at the side of the dance floor, knowing that her smile was fixed so firmly to her face that her lips would never feel normal again, wearing a dress she’d made herself from a pink material that had looked pretty in the shop but puckered when sewn and made her fair hair and pale face look even more washed out than usual.

Her mother had been helping in the kitchen and Agnes knew she would feel much happier if she’d been allowed to do the same. Then, suddenly, David, a young man who sang in the church choir with her, who had once walked with her in the fields close to home, asked her to dance!

She had stood up, her heart beating so fast she thought it would jump right out of her chest. Oh, how she’d loved David, even after he eventually married a rich girl far more suitable to his political career than little Agnes Pringle.

But for one hundred and twenty seconds he had held her – his arm round her waist, his hand – a little clammy, she now recalled – holding hers very tightly.

Agnes looked up from swirling her pastry knife round the edge of the jam plate tart and smiled. For two minutes she’d been so happy: the two minutes they had moved jerkily around the dance floor together – she realised later that learning to dance at an all girls school meant she tended to lead which caused problems – had been the most wonderful two minutes of her life.

Then someone had tapped her on her shoulder – her mother had been taken ill and needed Agnes to take her home. So she had. Mother had been ill for some time and choir practice had been one of the things Agnes had had to give up. She had cried herself to sleep night after night. Would she and David ever have been more than a dream? She would never know but was only too aware that she had never felt anything like that for any other man. Indeed, she’d refused to marry dear Richard because she knew she didn’t love him in that way.

And she had never danced again.

Before the Unfortunate Experience in Hollywood, she often dreamed of that night, of that one turn on the dance floor. Strangely, though, in all the dreams in all the passing years, she was wearing a white dress covered in sequins, her hair had miraculously gone several shades blonder and she was four inches taller. Oh, and she could dance like Ginger Rogers!

She sighed, twisted the pastry strips into latticework for the top of the tart and popped it into the oven. How lovely that would be. Agnes had adored all the dresses that lady had worn in her wonderful films, although, of course, completely impractical when you were cooking all day and serving vampires and demons at night! Thank goodness a very sweet Chinese lady vampire had set up a laundry three passages down from the Willow Tree basement. The pipes that heated the Sunnydale Library ran through her cave making the drying of clothes so much easier. She was a godsend to Agnes where tablecloths were concerned because as friendly as some of her demon customers were, there was no disguising the fact that they were very messy eaters.

“Food, glorious food!
Hot sausage and mustard,
While we’re in the mood,
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys,
What next is the question - ? ”

Agnes broke off in mid verse: there were too many questions in her life at the moment, that was the trouble. And she really needed no reminding of hot mustard, thank you very much! She was dreading the Unturned gentleman returning to the tearooms with the bill for his dry-cleaning. She wasn’t at all sure that you could get demon blood and mustard stains out that easily.

Suddenly, as she was making her drop scone mix, she heard a very odd sound from the shop above her head. The Willow-Tree was closed for business, the door firmly locked. There was no way anyone could be up there – but she could hear footsteps quite clearly on the floorboards – and not just steps, but a sort of tapping! It was almost as if – Agnes shook herself but couldn’t help the comparison – someone was dancing across her shop floor!

Clutching her rolling-pin, Agnes crept up the stairs. If some young Unturned teenagers were making trouble, then she would retire back into the basement and go for help through the tunnels. But if it was a demon - she put on her cross expression, all fangs and wrinkles, wondering fleetingly why she no longer thought of it as her ugly face.

“Whenever I feel afraid,
I hold my head erect,
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect
I’m afraid.”

Just as she pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, she stopped singing, wondering if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. If someone had broken into the tearooms, broadcasting her presence wasn’t the most sensible thing she could do!

“Oh!” Agnes squeaked as she stared round. An extremely red demon was standing, peering into the glass cake cabinet, his feet beating out a rhythm as he hummed a little tune. Two wooden- looking demons stood stolidly on either side of the doorway and Agnes could see immediately that there was no escaping that way.

“Ah, Miss Pringle, I presume!” The demon spun round, teeth very white in his scarlet face. “How nice to meet you and how splendid to find this oasis of calm in Sunnydale.”

Agnes clutched the rolling-pin tighter, shimmered her face back to human and smiled nervously. “Er…how do you do?”

“I do very well, thank you. Very well. Busy…yes, always busy in my line of work.” He spun round, his feet tapping faster and faster. “I was hoping for something to sustain me before my night’s endeavours begin. Tea and scones, perhaps? Fruit cake? Or perhaps something hot and spicy? Something to burn the tongue, send flames scorching through the body! Your fame has spread into many dimensions, my dear Miss Pringle, including mine.”

Agnes blinked. Famous? How silly. There was no way she was famous. Did he think she was stupid? She was only too aware of how demons used words to get their own way. “I can certainly give you tea but I must ask you to stop dancing. I’m not licensed for entertainment.”

The demon smiled again and Agnes felt a flicker of fear run through her body: there was a very odd odour coming from him. She was used to some demons sometimes smelling disgusting – she had wiped up more slime and ooze during her life in Sunnydale than she cared to remember – but she had never smelt anything like this before. This was death, decay – and the smell you got when the pork crackling was left in the oven too long.

“ So, your human desire to obey rules and regulations remains with you, Miss Pringle? How interesting.” He raised an eyebrow at her as she served his food – she’d compromised with toast thickly spread with Marmite paste that an English vampire brought back regularly from his visits home - and a pot of tea.

Agnes bit her lip, watching as the strong white teeth snapped through the toast. She wanted to turn and walk away, but had the dreadful sensation that if she moved her feet they wouldn’t just start walking! Her head ached; she could feel fingers poking at her brain. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. This was her home and no demon was going to browbeat her here.

“I’ve always thought that rules and regulations can be helpful and make the world a better place for everyone. I don’t see that being Turned should alter my opinion. Every world has its own rules – I’m sure yours does too.”

The demon munched toast, savouring the bite of the topping and wishing he was called more often to England as he did enjoy Marmite. He stared at the odd little vampire in front of him: she wouldn’t like his world, although one of her oldest friends was recuperating there, gathering strength for his return to this world. Mentally, the demon reached out again, trying to worm his thoughts inside her mind, discover the secret she was concealing – because everyone had a secret and although she wasn’t the reason for his being in Sunnydale, it would be interesting to discover what Miss Pringle was hiding, to see her twirl and spin and -

He hissed as his thoughts plunged into a sea of multi-coloured kittens frolicking in a snowdrift but underneath the fluff and pink he found – ah!!!

“I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things
I’ve never done before.
I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart too flight
I only know when he began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night.”

Agnes was appalled to find herself singing, the soprano voice that had been the backbone of the church choir quite secure on the high notes. She tried to stop, but couldn’t until the last line echoed round the tearooms. With a shudder of relief, Agnes felt herself free from whatever had been holding her in place against her will.

The demon smiled: he always smiled; he’d learnt from a master of the craft that pleasant words lulled people into a false sense of security. “So, Miss Pringle, you do have a secret, something hidden in your mind that you refused to share with me. Hmmmmm.” He hummed a tune under his breath…..pushed with his mind again and standing up, flung his chair away, caught Agnes by the hand and sent her spinning across the floor.

“Dance, Miss Pringle, dance!”

There was a crack of light and Agnes realised her flowered apron and sensible dress had vanished and she was wearing the wonderful white-feathered dress Ginger had worn when dancing Night and Day with Fred.

She was vaguely aware that the wooden demons had cleared the other tables and chairs to the side of the room and she was spinning in her partner’s arms as he sung in her ear,

“Night and day, you are the one
Only you beneath the moon or under the sun.
Whether near to me or far, it’s no matter darling where you are
I think of you,
Day and night, night and day.
Night and day, day and night,
Under the hide of me there’s oh such a hungry yearning,
Burning inside of me…. ”

With the demon’s voice purring in her ear, Agnes felt her feet skim the floor, a strange heat roaring through her body and for a minute she was back in England, she was dancing with David, spinning round and round and she was young and thin and pretty and yes, there was a hungry yearning burning inside of her. If only…the words scorched her mind…if only…. She would leave her mother to take care of herself, return to the choir, go out with David and as her whole skin seemed to flare with fire, she knew her whole life was about to change…

Then with a strength of will she hadn’t realised she possessed, Agnes came to a juddering stop, pulling herself out of the red demon’s arms. The white dress vanished and her apron, still stained with mustard and blood, reappeared. She shook her head. She refused to be sorry about losing David, about caring for her mother. He had never, ever been hers. But her mother had. She sighed; another world, one now gone. Agnes knew that you must live the life you had, not the one you wanted.

The demon smiled: he was angry that she’d managed to stop dancing before she burst into flame, but he admired her courage in doing so. “So your secret is out, Miss Pringle. A life lost to duty, a love lost to daughterly devotion.”

Agnes felt the strange heat fade from her body and her nice, familiar chill return. “Is that what you do?” she asked sadly. “You make people confess their secrets?”

The demon shrugged and gestured to his companions to put the tables and chairs back in order. “They have to tell the truth. Face up to reality.”

Agnes sighed. Like most people she dealt with the realities of life every day. ‘If only – ’ were, in her opinion, the two saddest words in the whole world. “I’m sure you know your business better than me, but that isn’t always a good idea,” she said gently. “When the dog bites, when the bee, stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t feel so bad. The song says it all, but sometimes your favourite things are in your imagination. As long as you realise that, it can’t do you much harm.”

The demon didn’t look convinced. He finished his tea and stood up. “Thank you for a most interesting time. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

Agnes produced his bill because business was business and she didn’t like this demon enough to treat him to hot toast. He looked a little surprised, but obediently placed some money in her hand.

“I’ll report back to our mutual friend that you are in good spirits. Now, Miss Pringle, sadly I must leave you. I have – “ He clicked his fingers and the two demons left the shop – “an appointment with a young lady. ‘I’m getting married in the morning! Ding dong, the bells are going to chime!’”

Smoke began to billow around him and Agnes watched in relief as his body vanished into the clouds and hissed out of the ceiling. A mutual friend? She could only think of one person that could be – which was impossible, of course.

Business was very slack that night. Spike stayed away; Agnes had no doubts that he was chasing after the Slayer. And there was no sign of Dawn or Andrew. She thought there must be a fire somewhere in town because the clamour of fire engines rent the silence several times.

When the last customer had gone, Agnes locked the front door, put out the lights and sat in the dark, her white cat on her lap, gazing out into the empty street. She felt weary and sad and her feet ached. Kicking off her shoes, she sighed with the relief of wriggling her toes on the cold floor.

What a very odd day and night it had been: she would be glad when tomorrow came. She hadn’t thought about David for a long time and now she couldn’t get him out of her mind. How silly she was. He would be quite old now but she wondered if he ever remembered her, what he would think if he could see her now! Ignoring the stupid tears that gathered in her eyes, she stroked the cat’s soft white fur and sang,

“Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can dream of the old days
Life was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again.

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn’t give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

tbc



Acknowledgements:

Lionel Bart, Trevor Nunn, T.S.Eliot, Andrew Lloyd-Weber, Alan Jay Lerner, Frederick Loewe, Cole Porter, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein 2nd.

























 
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