Business as Usual

Chap 3 The other customer


Agnes woke suddenly the next afternoon, trying to banish the tail end of a very weird dream. She had been home in England, riding on the little steam train that ran tourists up and down the Watercress Line. She’d been wearing her best dress and new pink sandals, then when she’d looked down, the front of her chest had been stained in blood and the man sitting opposite her had turned and smiled – and it had been Spike. His fangs had been extended but she wasn’t frightened – just concerned that the blood was dripping onto the floor of the train….

“Really, Agnes Pringle! That is the last time you drink hot chocolate before going to bed! It’s bad enough being a vampire; dreaming about them is not a good idea.”

She pottered quietly along the passageway to the little kitchen area behind Willie’s Bar where he had an old refrigerator to keep his beer cold. She’d made puff pastry yesterday and collected it along with the half bag of pig’s blood that was all she had left for her breakfast.

She sighed as she returned to her room and poured it into the lovely Royal Doulton cup that she’d found only a little cracked on the dumpsite the month before.

Some vampires drank their pig straight out of the plastic bags, but Agnes knew once you went down that road, the next thing would be cutting a bread roll with a knife instead of tearing it apart!

She would make mille-feuille as her special of the evening. Lots of demons loved the layers of cream, raspberry jam and puff pastry. She knew Spike did.

There! She was thinking about him again. But, she had to admit, not romantically. No, he was a fellow compatriot in a strange land and she felt she should help him in some way. Especially because he was so obviously upset with this Slayer person being unpleasant to him.

“I wonder if I should try and meet her – explain that for all the bluster and bluff, Spike really does have quite a sensitive side,” she murmured, her hands busy with eggs, sugar, almonds and cherries. She was making Yorkshire Fat Rascals. They sold well and sometimes a vampire who was just setting off on a journey would swop some blood for a boxful to eat on his trip.

“After all, I am a slightly older woman and probably have more worldly experience than the Slayer. Not that I’d want to push in, of course!” She vamped out, bit her lip, forgetting as she so often did that she had fangs, and absentmindedly licked at the resulting trickle of blood.

Agnes sighed. Pushing in where she wasn’t wanted was one of her biggest fears. In the past, people – especially other girls – had been quite scathing about her trying to help. They had called it interfering, which was ridiculous. How could offering a little timely advice be anything but welcome?

And making remarks about her physical appearance had been so hurtful. Her nose was not that big. And the one big plus of becoming – well, becoming undead – was that she no longer needed to wear her spectacles. That had been a big surprise, but a nice one amongst all the other horrid things she’d had to cope with on that dreadful day. The mud had got everywhere!

No, perhaps she wouldn’t confront the Slayer. After all, the poor girl had a sick mother to worry about. For a second Agnes debated whether a bowl of nourishing chicken soup would be acceptable in the circumstances, then decided, regretfully, that perhaps that gesture, too, would be misunderstood.

But surely there must be some way of making the Slayer friendlier towards Spike.

She smiled. Her dear grandmother would have made a love potion! Agnes often thought that was where she got her cooking skills. Granny Pringle could whisk up a little home-made charm for every occasion.

Agnes packed up her supplies for the stall and stacked them neatly in the very useful metal trolley someone had abandoned in the dump. The front wheel was only slightly wonky and as long as you put all your weight on the left side when going round corners, it worked very well.

Yes, Granny Pringle, she thought lovingly. She could see her now, bent over her range, the flames illuminating her dear, wizened face. So clever, so kind. She’d even forgiven those awful local children who called her names in the street.

Agnes had met a lot of very odd people recently and she was quite certain that Granny Pringle had not been a witch! But she had known about love potions. Lots of young ladies in Winchester had come to her cottage, asking for help to catch and hold the attentions of certain young gentlemen.

“A love potion? Well, perhaps not a love one! I’m sure Spike doesn’t want the Slayer to love him! That would be a dreadful idea. But if I made it weaker, then it would be a ‘liking’ potion, wouldn’t it?” Agnes thought with enthusiasm.

Just then, as she pushed the trolley along the pavement, which she always had to remember was called a sidewalk, she saw the shop. The Magic Box.

Well, she didn’t believe in magic. Love potions were not magic, of course; they were the use of nature’s gifts to help you through life. Agnes had once gone to a séance when she was living in Winchester and she hadn’t enjoyed it at all. Madame Rosario had told her that her Great Aunt wanted her to avoid travelling abroad and strange dark gentlemen.

Although, when you thought about it, both predictions had come true.

No, magic was for children and people of very limited intelligence. Still – she parked the trolley safely down the side of the shop and entered the shop, hesitating as her eyes got used to the gloom.

A tall, distinguished gentleman looked up from where he was writing in a ledger and said, “Good evening. Can I help you?”

“Oh, you’re English!”

She hadn’t meant to sound so rude and forward, but she was so surprised to hear yet another English accent. Goodness, did Sunnydale have a whole British Society she had not found yet?

Agnes moved to the counter, smoothing her hair. She could sense that this man was not a co-vampire; but she could see no need to inform him of her unfortunate transformation.

“Yes, hello! Rupert Giles at your service. Late of England – Bath, actually.”

“Oh Bath! I went there on a coach trip once. It was lovely. The buildings, the Roman Baths, the lovely tearooms. Oh – ” She realised Mr Giles was holding out his hand and she clasped his fingers and gave them a small shake saying, “Agnes Pringle. Late of Winchester.”

Giles smiled warmly, his eyes kind. He had met a lot of women like Agnes before. The backbone of English society, the type of women who were loyal members of the Women’s Institute, even if they never ran for office. Women who were aunts, babysitters, home helps, who gave up their careers to care for elderly parents. She was a breath of home; as comforting as hot buttered crumpets.

“I’m very fond of Winchester. I’ve been to several services in the cathedral.”

Agnes realised she was still holding his hand and dropped it nervously. She glanced round the shop and gulped. Bottles and boxes of weird objects, strange customers obviously enjoying browsing through the shelves.

“Are you here on holiday, Miss Pringle?”

“Oh no! Well – no. I’m – resting.”

Well, that wasn’t a complete lie, she reasoned. She was officially dead, so she supposed she was “at rest”.

Giles tactfully changed the subject. He could tell by her shabby clothes and strangely grubby appearance that she had fallen on hard times. The contrast couldn’t have been more different to the stunning blonde woman who was impatiently tapping the counter top for his attention.

“Please wait,” he said. “I am just dealing with this customer.”

Agnes turned her head and gasped at the brilliance of the blonde hair and sparkling eyes that burnt dangerously into hers. The high-heeled shoes, the tight dress. Did this woman have on any underwear? It must be very thin if she did. Agnes tried to picture herself wearing a red dress like that over her interknit vest and knickers and failed.

“Oh please! Do serve this young lady first. I can wait…only too pleased to wait.” She backed away from the counter.

Giles was deeply irritated. He hated to see a fellow countryman being pushed aside by this presumptuous girl who wanted some old amulet and a bloodstone. He parcelled them up, aware that somewhere in his mind a bell was ringing. But he paid it no heed. He took the money from the slender, scarlet-tipped fingers, rang up the sale and turned back to Agnes.

“Now, Miss Pringle. I am so sorry about that. I’m afraid Americans have very vague ideas about queuing.”

“Oh no, that’s quite all right, Mr Giles. Such a beautiful woman if a little arrogant. I just wanted….well, I need a charm to make people like you.”

Giles frowned and felt a wave of sympathy sweep over him. Poor dear. Wanting friends and having to rely on magic to get them.

He reached behind him and took a small paper packet from a drawer. He didn’t think there was anything in the powder apart from sherbert and talc, but if it made Miss Pringle feel better about herself, then that was all to the good.

“Try this,” he said helpfully. “I’m sure you’ll feel – ”

“Oh, it isn’t for me!” Agnes said swiftly. “I would never dream – never dare to – no, it’s for a young gentleman friend of mine.”

Giles nodded, not believing her for an instant. He parcelled up the powder, said goodbye and watched her leave, wondering if he would ever see her again. What a strange, pathetic creature, he thought sadly. He would have bet a million pounds that she had no gentleman friend who needed someone to like him.

Of course, if Giles had bet a million pounds, he would have been badly out of pocket later that night. Agnes had mixed the powder into a cup of chocolate and stood in the dump tearoom, watching Spike drink it as he tucked into the Fat Rascals.

Agnes smiled to herself as she watched the blond vampire stalk away into the night. She hoped he would meet up with the Slayer who disliked him so much, but even if he didn’t, he’d be sure to find someone who liked him a lot.

She decided she would close up early and wearily pushed her trolley back towards Willie’s Bar.

Just as she reached the doorway, she yelped as a tall, fair-headed man swung in from the other direction.

“Sorry. Didn’t see you there, ma’am,” he muttered and headed for the bar.

Agnes parked the trolley and slowly followed him. He had seemed a nice, well-spoken young man. Looked a lot like a soldier. He might well be a good friend for Spike to have.

She felt a little flutter of excitement. She loved arranging things for people and if she could get the two of them to be good pals, then that would be a fine achievement. Wouldn’t it?
tbc