Business as Usual

Chapter 38 Goodbyes




Agnes was up to her elbows in flour when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She continued kneading dough, quite aware that it was Dawn Summers who was coming down into the kitchen basement. Agnes hadn’t seen the young girl for some days now; she’d coped with the Saturday morning trade by herself as there had been no sign of Spike or Andrew, the young man who sometimes helped out in return for cooking lessons. Even Clem, her favourite demon friend, had deserted her it seemed.

But then the Slayer was back in Sunnydale and a lot of the easy ways of the past couple of months when people, demons and vampires had seemed to survive, with only the occasional blood bath, had been swept aside.

Nancy, one of the vampire children whom Agnes sometimes looked after, had offered to help in the tearooms, but there was only so much china you could afford to lose to breakages before your profits for the week vanished into splinters.

“Hi, Agnes!”

“Hello, Dawn. It’s very nice to see you again.”

Dawn slid onto a stool at the table and helped herself to a handful of raisins from the bowl. “You’re making Fat Rascals.”

Agnes nodded. The cross between a cake and a scone was a great favourite of many demons and vampires, although she had a suspicion that Some People – and she wouldn’t name names in case she was wrong – bought them and then waited for the rock cakes to become stale and very, very hard. They did make wonderful weapons and, of course, didn’t harm the environment when they smashed to pieces on someone’s forehead.

“Are you here to work?” Agnes asked gently, but she already knew the answer. She could tell from the tension in the girl’s shoulders, the way she was letting her dark hair fall across her face so Agnes couldn’t see her expression.

“No, well, that is – you see – oh, Agnes, my sister’s back! Had you heard? Buffy’s back home.” She glanced up and Agnes felt her eyes watering as she saw the blazing joy and delight in Dawn’s face.

“Yes, Spike told me. That’s – well, that’s simply wonderful for you.”

“I don’t quite understand how it happened. I think Willow and Tara and Xander did something – especially Willow. She seems really pleased all the time.”

“And how is your sister?”

Dawn swallowed the last raisin and began to play with the sugar sifter. “Oh, you know, sorta tired and her hands are cut and bruised. And there was a demon thing in the house that came with, but she dealt with that. She – she doesn’t say much – but then hey, she’s probably exhausted, don’t you think? She’s been in some hell dimension.”

Agnes rescued the sifter and began to cube the butter. She couldn’t really understand why Buffy Summers should be tired. After all, she’d been lying motionless for weeks and apart from having to fight her way out of her coffin – which, yes, Agnes had damaged so it hadn’t been that hard – she hadn’t had to do anything recently. But perhaps being dead was tiring.

Oh, Agnes did hope not. She’d been looking forward to a good rest for years. And she wasn’t quite certain why Dawn thought her sister had been in a hell of some sort. Wasn’t the Slayer supposed to be a good person? Wouldn’t she have gone straight to heaven?

Agnes, a true daughter of the Church of England, even after the Unfortunate Events in Hollywood which Had not been Her Fault, had firm beliefs in heaven and hell. The former was presided over by a kindly deity with a long white beard and there were meadows full of flowers and angels playing harps. Hell, of course, was where you went if you were dreadfully bad and devils poked you with pitchforks while you burnt like a sausage until you had atoned for your sins.

In fact, she had had a very interesting conversation with Andrew only a couple of days ago about what happened to you when you died. She was afraid that that boy had a very strong morbid streak in his character.

Anyway, being a vampire made everything more complicated because when she finally died she would just be dust, floating in the wind and without a soul, she wasn’t sure exactly what part of her would go on to the afterlife.

But, this was not the time for these sort of musings. Agnes pulled herself up sharply. Really, she was beginning to get quite weird; she should be thinking of Dawn. “Measure me out a little cinnamon,” she said briskly. “I suppose you feel you should spend your spare time with your sister, instead of working here?”

Dawn’s hands trembled slightly and the cinnamon cascaded from the spoon onto the tabletop. “Sorry! I’ve missed her so much! And she says she’s missed me. We can do all sorts of things together, can’t we? Shopping and movies. We could go ice-skating – I know she loves that. And just, I don’t know, just hang. It’ll be cool.”

Agnes briskly grated the zest from an orange and a lemon and added it to the mixture. “That all sounds like fun. And have you spoken to er, Buffy, about these plans? She might have some ideas of her own.”

Dawn frowned. “Well, not so much spoken to her about them, no. You see, she’s only just got home and so she’s busy trying to catch up with things like bills and patrolling again – oh sorry, Agnes, did I make you jump? I’ll pick up the cherries; the floor isn’t that dirty. And, of course, Willow and Xander and all the others want to spend time with her, too. But when things get back to normal, everything will be great. I just know it will. But I can’t keep on working here, can I? You do see that, don’t you, dear Agnes? I mean, that might be the very time when Buffy wants us to go out together.”

Agnes nodded and swiftly mixed egg yolk, water and salt together and brushed it over the scones before putting them in the oven. “Oh, I quite understand, Dawn. I’ll certainly miss you, but your sister must come first. Tell me, though, won’t she have to get a job herself? I mean everything costs such a lot these days and with your dear mother gone…..”

Dawn jumped off the stool and headed for the stairs. “Buffy work? Oh no. She’s the Slayer, she hasn’t got time to sit in an office. There must be plenty of money in the bank. Mom always had money for us. And Willow and Tara are living with us, too. I expect they’ll help out.”

She turned and with a swoop of long arms and flying black hair, enveloped the vampire in a tight hug. “Oh Agnes, you’ve been great. Thank you for being you. And you do know I would bring Buffy here to meet you except that – ” She paused, embarrassed, and Agnes patted her shoulder.

“Don’t fret yourself, Dawn. I do understand. But you pop in whenever you’re passing.”

Dawn gave her a brilliant smile and clattered away up the stairs. Agnes watched her go, then sat in the silent kitchen, listening to the hum of the stove, the odd clickings and crackings that came from the old building above her.
She felt suddenly rather old and weary. She’d grown very fond of the teenager and would miss Dawn; knew she wouldn’t “pop in” no matter how often she passed by the shop. No, Dawn was starting a new life with her sister and would have no time for anyone else.

Agnes flinched as the smell of burning scones filled the kitchen. Her Fat Rascals were now burnt offerings to some lesser god and she scraped them into the garbage, cross with herself.

“Really, Agnes Pringle, you aren’t fit to be let out alone,” she muttered. “What a waste. Just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Now just set to and make some more otherwise you’ll have a queue of hungry demons lining up all tails and claws and crossed horns.”

The early evening trade was quiet and Agnes was glad of the chance to sort out bills and receipts, wondering why there seemed to be so much paperwork involved in running such a small business. It wasn’t that she needed the money, of course. She still had the majority of dear Richard’s money gaining interest in the bank, but still, waste not want not had always been her watchword.

When the bell over the door rang, she looked up and smiled in welcome as Andrew came into the tearooms. She was about to ask why he hadn’t been around when she realised he was glaring at her. A sort of “please don’t speak to me, please don’t, I don’t know you,” frightened sort of glare.

Two other young men followed him in – one very small with plump little hands and the mouth of a spoilt child, the other tall, dark-haired, with cold eyes that were expressionless, although his voice was registering disgust. “And just what are we doing in here?” he asked disdainfully. “This place’s a dump. Don’t tell me you’ve taken up tea drinking, Andrew?”

“Of course not, but I’ve – I’ve got to get doughnuts for my mom,” Andrew said swiftly. “It’s the only place open in the evening that has fresh ones just made. And I thought we could have coffee – and, you know, Warren, plan things!”

“Mother’s little helper! Not cool.”

“You never saw Hans Solo buying doughnuts.”

Agnes could tell that the smaller boy was trying to sound bored, even though he was being rude about some poor German man. And although his words were off-hand, she noticed that he was the one leaning over the counter, gazing greedily at the cream horns.

“Can I help you?” she asked, trying to keep herself as far back behind the counter as possible. She had the feeling that these young men might not worry too much about her being a vampire, but she couldn’t be too careful.

“Three coffees – black!” Andrew said in a voice that seemed to have mysteriously deepened within seconds.

“And three of those!” The smaller boy had obviously given in to his inner needs and was pointing at the cakes.

The one called Warren sighed ostentatiously, then flung himself down at a corner table. Agnes pretended not to watch as she poured coffee, loaded a tray with cakes and carried it across to them. The boys stopped talking and sat in silence until she left. Andrew refused to meet her gaze and Agnes could see that, gripped tightly together under the edge of the blue and white checked tablecloth, his hands were trembling.

She retreated back to the counter and pretended to be busy adding up columns of figures. A few early demons drifted in, anxious to take on as much carbohydrates as they could before the evening’s action began. Even over the clittering of claws and chattering of fangs, Agnes could still hear a few bits and pieces from the conversation at the far table.

She could hear the Slayer’s name, Spike, and several mentions of the force, although she wasn’t sure what the police had to do with them. She glanced up once and caught Warren looking at her. Fighting back the urge to run, Agnes held the cold gaze for a couple of seconds, then looked away, as if bored. What a very unpleasant young man, she thought. This was obviously the friend that Andrew was always quoting, “Warren says…” “Warren thinks…” were words that she had got quite tired of hearing.

“My poor Andrew!” she thought suddenly and blinked. Why on earth did she think that? Warren might be a condescending sort of young man but he wasn’t dangerous. He was no vampire or demon. Just a young man who thought he was better than everyone else around him. But Agnes knew with a cold certainty that he would not be a good friend for Andrew.

Around five in the morning, when the final customers began to trail out of the tearooms, arguing over the last sausage roll and threatening death and destruction if she didn’t make more of those little spicy vegetable puff pastries, the bell over the door rang again.

“I’m so sorry – I’m just closing – oh, Andrew.”

The young man edged hesitantly into the tearooms, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. “Agnes – I’m sorry – I couldn’t – I didn’t – you see, Warren says…”

Agnes sighed. “Warren wouldn’t like you knowing a vampire?”

“No – yes – I mean – you don’t understand! Warren says….” He stumbled to a halt and looked miserably at the small Englishwoman. “He and Jonathan are like my best friends. We’re like – super-friends! I’ve never had – well, obviously at school, but not since and we’re going to have a great time, Warren has all these plans and – “ His voice trailed away and gazed at Agnes.

“You don’t have to always follow where Warren leads? You can make up your own mind.” But she could tell her words were having no effect: Andrew was experiencing the heady taste of being a member of an inner circle.

For a long minute Agnes was fourteen, back at school, staring from a distance at a group of girls sitting on the grass at lunchtime, laughing, chatting, smiling at each other. She took a few tentative steps towards them, then stopped as backs were turned, the circle closed to her forever.

Because there’d been a test you had to pass to join their gang – go into a local shop and take lipsticks or nail-varnish without paying. They’d called Agnes a goody-goody because she wouldn’t do that and she’d never been able to admit that it had been fear of being caught that had stopped her.

Now she didn’t blame Andrew; she understood what he was feeling, but he was wrong.

“I just wanted to thank you for teaching me to cook,” Andrew said, edging towards the door.

Agnes sighed. “Well, hopefully it’ll come in useful one day.”

Andrew hurried out into the dark Sunnydale street. He felt guilty, relieved, guilty about being relieved, excited about the future. Poor Agnes, she was stuck in the past. Yes, he’d found cooking interesting but now he was about to head out to explore the final frontiers of life with Warren and Jonathan. When would he ever need to cook again?

tbc