Business as Usual

Chapter 20 “Have Cakes – Will Travel”



Business was brisk this evening – Agnes shifted wearily on tired, aching feet and sold the last of the spicy cheese straws that several demons enjoyed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so many customers. Vampire and demon activity in Sunnydale seemed to have increased tenfold over the last few days.

There was a strange atmosphere in town: it was as if the air itself was thicker, darker, even though - if Agnes was to believe the gossip! – the sun shone just as brightly during the day. But even at night, the moon seemed to struggle to illuminate the earth. She’d also noticed that the little birds were absent – the ones she fed every evening with the stale crumbs from her storage boxes.

She’d picked up on all the rumours, of course – hell gods, end of the world, great fun, are you coming?, there’s going to be a party. Several demons had asked for picnic boxes for when the great day finally arrived. They wanted a front row seat but didn’t see any reason to go hungry during the big event.

But Agnes wasn’t really concentrating. It meant nothing to her, except that she was earning a decent sum of money for once and her savings were growing nicely. Spike hadn’t visited the tea-stall for some days now and that had left her feeling sad and bereft.

She’d seen him. Oh yes. She bit her lip at the memory and crashed two plates together so hard they cracked. The grapevine had been very busy one evening, letting her know that Spike had been in a fight and had come off second best.

She hadn’t even stopped to think – she’d just picked up her First Aid Box and hurried through the tunnels to the lower cavern of his crypt.

Now she felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over her. How silly and naive she’d been, climbing the ladder, all ready to dole out help and advice, to assure him they were still friends and she would nurse him back to health.

But of course he hadn’t been alone. As she’d peered up through the entrance to the top cavern, she’d seen the Slayer there. The real Slayer, not the robot. And the Slayer was kissing Spike, so obviously they had made up their argument and there was no way Agnes was going to play gooseberry.

She’d almost fallen down the ladder in her haste to get away, but was quite sure that the two people in the room above were far too absorbed in each other to hear her.

When she’d got back to the safety of her little room behind Willy’s Bar, she’d tried to work out why she was so upset. She knew she should be pleased for Spike if the Slayer was at long last being nice to him.

But – and Agnes struggled to be fair – she didn’t trust Buffy Summers! Oh, not because she was the Slayer, obviously the young girl would stake Agnes in the blink of an eye, and that was fine because that was what Slayers did. No, it was the girl herself whom Agnes didn’t trust. She’d seen her after Joyce’s funeral with that tall, dark haired vampire and they’d looked very – intimate. Agnes had the nasty feeling that she could hurt Spike very badly indeed.

She sighed. She missed Spike; missed her friend, the English accent, the memories of home, shared backgrounds and culture. It wasn’t that she didn’t like American vampires and demons. Of course she did. She’d met some very nice people over the past few years, and one in particular she had loved. But there was no denying the fact that they were foreigners and looked at life – and death – in a slightly different way. And none of them had even heard of The Archers on the radio! Spike could tell her all the latest goings on in Ambridge although she had no idea where he discovered the information.

Oh, how she missed The Archers. Every Sunday morning, sitting in her kitchen, after the early church service, the sun streaming through the window, listening to the omnibus edition of the everyday story of country folk, breakfasting on hot buttered toast and cups of very hot tea.

“Tum te tum, te tum te tum, tum te tum te tum tum – oh, I do beg your pardon!” She realised an extremely fat demon was standing at the counter, looking plaintively at her and wincing as she hummed the signature tune to her favourite programme.

“I’ve come to settle my debt.”

Agnes peered up at him. Buried in the folds of bright orange fat were three very red eyes and she remembered now. A couple of weeks before, she’d made this demon a vast iced cake, three tiers high, covered in purple icing and flavoured with spinach and aniseed. Not the nicest tasting cake in the world, she had to admit, but the demon had loved it.

Sadly, he’d eaten it all in one sitting, fallen off his chair and had to be carried away by his friends before paying her for the cake.

“How very kind of you to remember,” she said with a warm smile. There! If you trusted in the good in people, they came up trumps for you!

“I haven’t got any money.”

“Oh.” Agnes’s belief in the good in people took a turn for the worse.

“But Benzdotas always pay their debts. Otherwise your men have the right to kill and eat me.”

“Oh. How - tidy.” Agnes didn’t think it was particular wise to tell him that she had no ‘men’ in her life.

“So – I give you this.” A hand appeared and he dropped a set of keys onto the counter.

“A car?” Agnes picked them up, confused. No one gave away a car in payment for a cake.

“Not a car!”

“No, no, of course not.” She was beginning to get flustered. She was sure these were car keys, but perhaps she was wrong.

“It’s parked outside Willy’s Bar.”

Agnes couldn’t wait to get home. She begrudged every cake and cup of tea she sold and finally pushed her shopping cart through the garbage dump so fast that she found herself half lying across it, her feet off the ground.

She rounded the final bend and then gasped. There, outlined against the pale dawn sky, stood her very own – well, it was a sort of camper van. She’d seen them around Sunnydale many times. Admittedly it was a little elderly and - as she opened the door, shuddering at the smell of unwashed demon – a little frowsty, but nothing a good bucket of hot water and green soap wouldn’t cure.

As she ran her hand gently across the seats, the first seeds of a great idea began to form in her head, an idea so tremendous that she had to sit down because her legs were shaking. She could live in this van! It could be her home. Agnes blinked away tears at the thought of getting out of Willy’s back room. A real home of her own. She could take driving lessons – admittedly this was not yet a skill she had at her fingertips but how hard could it be? – and then she could drive to the dump every evening.

Or – another wonderful vista opened up in front of her and a little squeak escaped her. She could become mobile! Like the library at home that trundled around the Hampshire villages every week. But instead of books, she could sell cakes and hot drinks and savoury snacks. A mobile van! A new home and a business opportunity all rolled into one.

Cautiously, she sat in the driving seat. She would have to get used to it being on the wrong side, but she’d lived in American long enough for it not to worry her any more. Timidly, she stroked the wheel. “I think I’ll call you Esmeralda,” she said softly and for the first time in months, she felt happy.

Agnes lay awake all that day, plans circling her brain in glorious technicolour. There was so much to do and think about. She was going to have such fun! She would have a sign painted on the side of the van – “Have Cakes, Will Travel” was her favourite at the moment.

Knowing she would never sleep, Agnes got up early, rushed through her cooking and then stood, under the shelter of her umbrella, gazing in fond pride at Esmeralda.

Suddenly, the back door to Willy’s Bar opened and Spike was standing there. “Bloody hell, Agnes. I heard you’ve got wheels!”

Agnes turned, her face joyous. “She’s called Esmeralda! She’s going to change my life.”

Spike stared at a happiness he’d never seen before, closed his eyes briefly, then said hoarsely, “Aggie, I need to borrow it.”

“Borrow Esmeralda?”

Spike took a step forward and she could see the pain and worry etched on a face that was still showing signs of the beating he’d taken recently. “I wouldn’t ask – well, I’d just take it – but – Agnes, this is very important. I need transport.”

Agnes stared at him, watching as her dreams shrivelled up and floated away. “Really important?”

He nodded. “Life and death. End of the world stuff. You’re the only person who can help. I knew when I heard about the van that I could rely on you.”

The little English woman lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, even though the umbrella was shaking in her grasp. This was what friendship was all about, of course, she thought. Not just sharing the good times, or listening to the same radio programmes, watching the same television shows, even arguing together. Friendship was giving up a dream because your friend needed you to.

She didn’t watch as Spike drove Esmeralda away. She knew she would never see the van again. She lowered the umbrella, trying to stop her fingers from shaking. This pain would pass. Death would go on. She would cook and bake and serve the vampires and demons just as before. No one had died. Well, as she was dead already, she couldn’t!

As she opened the door she heard another vehicle drive up and turned to see a long black limousine pulling alongside her. A tall, thin man got out. He was wearing a dark suit, pristine white shirt, sober tie and Agnes nodded improvingly because his shoes were polished to a high, black shine. She was impressed. Willy didn’t usually get such distinguished visitors.

“Miss Agnes Pringle? You’re a hard lady to find.”

Agnes shivered. She didn’t recognise the man, but she knew one thing for sure. Whoever he was, he spelt trouble.


tbc