Business as Usual

Chapter 9 A Good Idea



Agnes was up to her elbows in dough when the door to her little room at he back of Willy’s Bar burst open and Spike strode in. He flung himself down on her bed – thank goodness, she thought that she always adhered to her mother’s instructions and made her bed every evening when she got up!

But there were limits! “Spike – feet!” she said, holding her doughy fingers above the mixing bowl and waiting until the vampire had swung his dirty boots off her nice clean patchwork coverlet.

Spike scowled up at his friend, searched for his cigarettes, then scowled again at her raised eyebrows. What was it with the bloody women in his life and smoking, for god’s sake? He was dead! Wasn’t going to get any deader.

“How do you get a girl to like you?” he blurted out.

Agnes sighed and plunged her fingers back into the pastry mix. She was making apple turnovers and she’d learnt from bitter experience that good puff pastry couldn’t be achieved with only half your attention on the job. Luckily, one of the pluses of being a vampire cook was that your hands were so cold, they were ideal for making pastry!

Well, when God shut a door he opened a window.

“Have you had a falling-out with Harmony? She seems like a sweet girl, not one who would argue.” Except for the trying to kill me, she thought silently, but decided not to mention that because she didn’t believe in making a problem worse.

“Harm? God, no, she likes me already. Look, you’re a woman, Aggie, what do women want from a man?”

Love, respect, a nice house with one of those white picket fences, a big garden, an Aga in the kitchen, children, fat grandchildren and a dog, were the words that sprang into Agnes’ head, but she somehow had the feeling that wasn’t quite what Spike had in mind.

“Sometimes we want you to be what we think you could be if you tried.,” she said slowly.

“What?”

“Well, it’s a bit like cooking, Spike. You see all the ingredients on the table in front of you and know that with time and patience they will turn into something else. You told me once about your first girlfriend. The one who turned you. She obviously saw something in you that she thought worth pursuing.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. Dru’s idea of pursuing had been all about chasing terrified girls down dark alleyways to tear out their throats and bathe in their blood.

“So does this girl you want to impress really know you?”

Spike lay back on the pillows and considered the question. Did Buffy know him? The real him? No, she had no idea. But – there was a connection between them. It had been there from the first time he’d seen her at The Bronze. He knew that and he was pretty certain she did, too, although she’d never admit it. Poncing around with Riley Finn, pretending to be in love.

“She won’t let me show her how nice I can be. Perhaps I should just march up to her and make her bloody well love me! Women like men to take charge, don’t they?”

Agnes sighed. She was keen to help Spike, but he was such a – she struggled for a word – complicated man. She couldn’t think of many girls who would react in the right way to the scenario he was describing.

“Spike, perhaps you should try a more traditional approach first.”

A lean white hand swooped round her and whisked away a loose piece of pastry. “Reminds me of the kitchen when I was growing up,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of the pastry on his fangs. “Are you putting blood in with the apples?”

“Well, I was going to use cloves, but there’s a little blood in that cup over there. Just add a few drops to the apple mixture. But not too much, it’ll ruin the flavour.”

“So what sort of poxy traditional approach should I try on her?” he said, watching as the pastry was rolled, folded and rolled again.

Agnes shut her eyes for a second, trying to remember back to when she was younger. There had only been one beau in her life. His name had been David. He’d sung in the same church choir as her; a beautiful tenor. She could still hear the echoes of his voice in her mind, see the fine blonde hair that fell across his brow, the white ruff of his robes around his pale neck.

David had come from a very wealthy family: his parents owned the local manor, although Agnes knew they weren’t proper gentry. His father had made his money building nasty little houses that ate up the countryside for miles. But locally they were important people; David’s mother had big ideas for her only son and Agnes Pringle was not at the top of her list – or anywhere on the list! – of marriageable girls.

But once, when Agnes had come down with chicken pox and been unable to go to the annual summer church picnic, David had called round to see her. He’d given her a little gift, hardly winced at the spots all over her face and been so kind, saying he would miss her. They’d gone for a walk along the river path and once his hand had brushed hers and she’d wondered, hoped….

She’d hugged his kindness to her for weeks, even after his engagement to the Hon.Davina Ponsonby-Smythe was announced.

Agnes gave herself a little shake as she came back from long summer days in Winchester.

“Chocolates!” she said firmly. “All girls like to be given a nice box of chocolates. Especially one with a pretty ribbon round it. I know they can be expensive, but then if she’s worth it, money is no object, is it?”

Spike picked up the pastry cutter and pushed it against the ball of his thumb, watching distractedly as beads of blood welled up. He had no intention of actually spending good money on chocolates. He’d nick them from a shop.

Would the Slayer like them? He frowned, shook the blood into the apple mixture and licked his thumb. Well, Agnes was a pretty good judge of etiquette, he reckoned. And he could practice what he would say. He’d make Buffy see that he could change. He’d make her love him.

Yes, a box of chocolates. It was a bloody good idea.

Tbc.