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Business as usual by Lilachigh
 
Chp 11 A Nasty Shock
 
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Business as Usual

Chp The Nasty Shock


Agnes was hurrying home from the Sunnydale Swimming Pool and Keep Fit Centre. Not that she’d been swimming or keeping fit, but the showers there were nice and hot and in all the comings and goings, no one ever noticed that she changed into her swimming costume, then went straight into the shower, bypassing actually going into the pool. Not that she had anything against swimming, but she did find that the chlorine made her hair go a funny colour.

Having a good wash was one of the practical disadvantages of becoming a vampire. It was all very well keeping to the dictates she’d been brought up with - wash as far down and as far up as you can every morning - but sometimes the little sink in her kitchen hardly seemed adequate and it was difficult to wash your feet properly.

So the showers at the swimming-pool were extremely useful once a week and it was a good opportunity to use the lovely lavender scented talcum powder and body spray that a – well, she had been going to call him a friend, but she wasn’t certain that was the right word – had given her when she first arrived in Los Angeles, a few years ago.

Agnes remembered him every time she took a shower, which wasn’t really appropriate, of course, because although he’d been a widower and quite free, she knew she had let him down rather badly. He had asked her a very special question and because she had delayed in giving him her response, he had left town and she had never heard from him again.

She was smiling to herself, recalling how much he had enjoyed her chocolate cupcakes, when she reached Willy’s Bar and realised, with a thrill of worry that there was a light on behind the curtains in her room.

Had she left a lamp burning? It had been nearly dusk when she left, not dark but safe enough to walk through the streets as long as she kept in the shadows as much as possible. And she always did.

She stared at the square of light in the darkness. She was usually so careful about her little lamp. Electricity was expensive. Willy always charged her extra and although Agnes had a sneaking feeling that if she told Spike this he would make certain the bar-keeper didn’t, she was reluctant to do so. After all, this was Willy’s income. One had to be fair. Business was business and just because she always made him a large batch of Cherry Bakewells every week was no reason to expect preferential treatment from her landlord.

No, she had definitely not left the lamp burning and Willy wouldn’t arrive at the Bar until much later in the evening. Sadly, she decided, she had a burglar.

Agnes frowned and felt her face slip into that distressing state that she could feel with her fingers but had never been able to see clearly.

She had very little to steal. Her savings – the little she had! - were wrapped in an old stocking and hidden inside a very battered brown china teapot. No one would ever think of looking in that.

But in the room were all her little mementos of her time in America – sadly she had none of her life in England - her recipe books, the china dog with Present from Hollywood written on it in real gold, even her precious patchwork quilt that she’d spent so many long afternoons making while she was shut indoors out of the sun. This room was her home! It might be small and furnished with old, ramshackled pieces of furniture, but it was still her home and no one had a right to rob it.

And – her heart went cold – there was Little Ted who sat on her pillow and whose fur had soaked up so many stupid tears over the past few years. Whoever this robber was, he should never have Little Ted!

With a most regrettable growl, Agnes flung herself through the door in a cloud of lavender water, her eyes glowing almost orange with anger and fear, fangs out, fists at the ready.

She stumbled over the Welcome doormat and would have fallen, except for Spike’s strong hand under her elbow. “Bloody hell, Agnes. Watch where you’re going. I know our bones heal quickly, but what’ll I do for a cuppa if you’re out of action for a week?”

“Spike!” Agnes felt her face shiver back into human form but not quickly enough obviously, because a voice said, “You’re a vamp, too? Jeez, Spike, you could’ve told me. You said it was a friend’s place.”

“She is a friend. Agnes, this is Dawn. She’s the Slayer’s little sister. Dawn, this is Agnes Pringle. She runs the tearoom in the dump. Your sis knows all about that.”

“Oh she knows everything about everything! Pity she doesn’t know how to make me human!”

Agnes raised her eyebrows at Spike but he was gazing down at the teenager sitting on the bed and, for the first time ever since they’d met, Agnes thought he looked worried.

“Dawnie’s had a bit of a shock recently. Seems she isn’t quite like the rest of her family.”

“I used to be a ball of green energy,” the girl said defiantly, looking up from where she was busy tearing the skin off from around her thumbnail. “I never existed until a few weeks ago. Everything else I remember, everything that happened when I was little, is a lie. Everything!”

“I’ve been trying to keep an eye on her,” Spike muttered. “She’s OK some of the time, then it all becomes a bit much for her and I find her wandering around down town, or she comes over to my crypt and sits and cries.”

Privately Agnes wondered exactly what that was supposed to achieve, but decided that getting Spike’s attention was probably high on the teenager’s agenda.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Dawn.”

“‘Very nice to meet you, Dawn,’ ” the girl mimicked back at her. “Don’t lie! Of course it isn’t nice to meet me. You don’t know me. That’s the whole point. No one knows me. There isn’t anyone to know!” And she flung herself face down on the bed and began to sob, dramatically.

“She’s been saying that for the past hour,” Spike said gloomily. “God, I need a drink!”

Agnes took off her coat and hung it up neatly on its hook on the back of the door. She sighed; she only had an hour to get her last batch of biscuits and scones cooked before she headed for the dump and the evening demon rush hour. “Willy will be in the Bar by now,” she replied. She didn’t hold with alcohol, but she had the feeling that at the moment, the teenager was only too pleased to have a captive audience. “Dawn can stay here with me. One drink, Spike, then come straight back and take her home.”

The door closed behind him with a thankful slam. Agnes sighed again and pulling on her biggest apron, crossed to the little table where all her cooking ingredients were already laid out, waiting for her.

She was kneading the scone dough, adding grated cheese for a more savoury flavour – a big brown Scritfle demon lumbered through the dump every Thursday evening and tended to get extremely irate when there were no cheese scones.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know.”

Agnes looked up. Dawn was sitting up now, peering out from between two curtains of long brown hair. “I don’t.”

“Because I don’t need anyone and – you don’t?”

“Certainly not. And if you feel under that pillow, you will find a nice clean hankie. Blow your nose and wipe your eyes. No one can think clearly with a runny nose.”

Automatically, Dawn obeyed, then she stood up and came across to the table. “Can’t you see how awful everything is for me?”

“I can see you’ve had a nasty shock, but nobody’s died or been dreadfully injured, so I suggest you take a deep breath and concentrate on the positive side of things. At least you were given a lot of good memories, even if they aren’t real. Just think, you could have found yourself remembering dreadful, unhappy things. And after all, we were all little balls of cells once upon a time, so the doctors tell us. Your little cells appear to have been green, that’s the difference.”

“But I’m not really Dawn Summers. Mom and Dad aren’t my parents. Why would they want me? They’ve already got their own daughter, my big sister.”

Agnes sprinkled flour on the table, placed the round of dough on top and attacked it with the rolling-pin. “I’ve never had any children, so I’m afraid I have no first hand knowledge, but I have been both alive and dead for a good many years. From all I’ve seen, whatever a child is or does seems to have no impact on how much they are loved by their mother and father. On the other hand – ” she paused, glancing at Dawn’s wistful face as the girl watched the pastry turn from a mound into a glistening sheet, half an inch thick.

“I have seen several cases where the parents didn’t like their children very much, because of what the child said or did. Loving is one thing; liking quite another. Here – “ Agnes handed Dawn the pastry-cutter. “Press out as many neat rounds as you can, then roll out the scraps and make some more.”

She turned away to start on the biscuit mixture, casting a swift glance over her shoulder, smiling at the look of concentration on the teenager’s face. The devil makes work for idle hands – that had been the favourite saying of the man she had liked in Los Angeles. How very true that was.

“I wish I could cook.”

“It isn’t difficult and quite useful.”

“My mom isn’t well, otherwise I expect she’d teach me if I asked.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“She’ll be better soon, though. Everyone says so. Hey, if you taught me, I could cook something for her. Like a surprise.”

Agnes pushed a loose strand of hair back from her forehead, leaving a smear of flour down her face. “I’m sure we could arrange something. Now, if you’ve finished, perhaps I’d better call Spike and he can walk you home. It’s getting late and I have to bake these scones and biscuits and go to work.”

Dawn went pink. “I’ve been a bother, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

Agnes smiled. “No, you’ve been a great help.”

The girl walked towards the door. “I’ll shout for Spike. I expect he’s lurking just outside. He usually is.” She hesitated, “Is it hard, being a vampire? I mean – ” she gestured round the little, shabby room – “I didn’t know you had to work. I thought you just went around – biting people.”

Agnes shook her head. “Well, lots of us do, of course. But I’ve always seen that as taking the easy way out. I was brought up to make my own way in the world, stand on my own two feet and try and contribute to society. I didn’t ask to become a vampire and no, it isn’t a life-style I would have chosen, but I could see no reason to alter my beliefs when it happened.”

Dawn looked puzzled. “But my sister says – when the demon enters you – ”

Agnes pushed the scones into the oven. “I suppose I was a tiny bit like you, Dawn. I woke up one morning to find I was a different person, but I was quite determined that I should be the best different person I could.”

Dawn opened the door and peered out. Yes, there was the glint of moonlight on a platinum head, the glow from a cigarette. It was comforting to know she’d been right. That Spike would be there for her.

“Do you think I could be like that?”

The vampire wiped the flour from her cheek, leaving a smear of dough in its place. Her eyes twinkled suddenly. “I’m sure you can.”

Dawn smiled back and shut the door quietly behind her. She walked towards Spike, wondering why she felt better, clutching a handkerchief in her hand that still smelt faintly of Lavender water.

tbc















 
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