If Midge was surprised when Jessica told him that she was going home with Robbie Flotsam, he did not say anything. And he soon forgot all about it. For when he arrived home it was to find Mr Haggerthwaite balanced on top of a stepladder in the living room.
‘Dad!’ yelled Midge. In his enthusiasm he grabbed the bottom of the ladder, which began to shake.
‘Hey watch it,’ said Mr Haggerthwaite, but he was grinning.
‘Have you come home to stay?’
‘Oh no,’ said Mr Haggerthwaite quickly. ‘I’m just doing a spot of decorating, that’s all. Your mother asked me to help out.’
He waved the lengths of black and purple cloth that he was busy hanging from the ceiling. Even though he had not made it up with Mrs Haggerthwaite, he was thrilled to be home - even for an evening. Midge was thrilled too. They were both so happy that they did not stop to wonder why Mrs Haggerthwaite wanted huge pieces of purple cloth draped around the living room.
‘And afterwards,’ added Mr Haggerthwaite, ‘I’m going to stay and watch the football on the telly! Your mum said I could. It’s the big game tonight and Kate doesn’t like football. We can watch together.’
Midge beamed. He said hopefully ‘Perhaps you could cook dinner as well?’
‘Of course I could! Chicken and chips, macaroni cheese - whatever you like! Or baked potatoes - they’re still Jessica’s favourite?’
Midge was explaining that Jessica was at a friend’s house, when they heard the front door slam. A moment later Mrs Haggerthwaite was standing in the doorway. Her arms were full of a whole jumble of objects: trails of ivy, twigs from the garden, candles and something that looked suspiciously like a skull (only, thought Midge quickly, it couldn’t possibly be).
‘Hello Midge,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it nice - we’re going to have a lovely new living room. After all, I can’t have consultations in a room that looks like this. I mean, nobody thinks of a witch surrounded by pink cushions and frilly lamp-shades. Do they?’
‘No,’ said Midge. He thought that most people didn’t think of witches living in Bellstone at all, but in dark caves with bats and cobwebs or in ruined towers in the middle of forests. He also thought his mum might have asked Jessica and him before she decided to change the living room around. But he decided not to say anything. He was too happy that his dad was home. And anyway like Jessica, he realised that his mum was not always good at understanding other people’s feelings. She probably thought that just because she would like the living room draped in purple and with twigs dropping on her head, then everybody else would, too.
He was a bit surprised that his dad said nothing. After all, Mr Haggerthwaite was meant to be dead against this witch business. But he just went on whistling cheerfully as he hammered nails into the ceiling. So Midge joined in too. He helped Mrs Haggerthwaite cover the shelves and furniture with bits of moss and twig, and he pinned trails of ivy to the curtains. By the time they had finished it really did look like a witch’s cavern.
‘The football will be on soon, Tom,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite, when they had finished admiring the effect.
‘Oh there’s a while yet,’ said Mr Haggerthwaite. ‘Why don’t I rustle us up something to eat, before the game starts?’
‘There’s no need for that. I can always heat up some nettle soup.’ But maybe even Mrs Haggerthwaite was tired of nettle soup. And from the loud groan, it was clear enough that Midge was. ‘On second thoughts - that would be nice.’
So Mr Haggerthwaite went to have a look in the cupboards. Mrs Haggerthwaite and Midge set the table, but after that they just sat and chatted with Mr Haggerthwaite. It was true that Midge chatted more than Mrs Haggerthwaite did. But then again. even she had more to say than Liverwort, and it was politer too. He just sat on Midge’s knee and burped.
‘You’re in a very cheerful mood, Tom,’ observed Mrs Haggerthwaite after a while. Mr Haggerthwaite was whistling, and he had just begun to fry some onions so that a lovely, sizzling, fried-onion smell was filling the room.
‘I suppose I am. Kate never lets me near a frying pan. I must miss it.’
‘Well, you can cook for us any time,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite. Then she went a little pink, as if she just realised what she had said, and she rushed on quickly before anyone could say anything, ‘So how is business? I’ve been meaning to ask.’
‘Well, I may have some good news there,’ said Mr Haggerthwaite. He was looking a little pink too, although it might have been the heat from the onions. ‘I went round to see Bert Flotsam this morning. You know he owns all those big hotels. Well, he does want his gardens landscaped. And I think he may give the job to me!’
‘Why, that’s wonderful, Tom,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite. She actually sounded as if she meant it.
‘And how about you, Mel? I’ve been hearing all kinds of things about this witching business of yours. Why, everyone’s talking about it - and most folks are impressed. Even Bert Flotsam had a good word.’
‘Well, it’s early days yet, of course,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite modestly. ‘But I do seem to be getting some customers. I had six today!’
‘That’s great!’ And Mr Haggerthwaite sounded as if he meant it too.
‘Thank you, Tom. But I thought you didn’t approve of me going professional? In fact, I thought you were dead set against the idea.’
Mr Haggerthwaite looked awkward. ‘Well, I am. Or rather, I was. I wondered if you knew what you were taking on. Bellstone is so set in its ways. But if you can show them - and make a go of it - then good for you, I say!’
Mrs Haggerthwaite looked terribly pleased. Then everyone fell silent for a while, but it was a friendly silence, and on Mrs Haggerthwaite’s part, a thoughtful one.
Midge squeezed his hands together with excitement. He could not believe that his parents were being so friendly towards each other. He wondered whether they actually missed each other, now that they were living apart. He wondered whether, if business was good, and they found they did not need to worry about money quite so much, there might be less for them to fight about. He wondered whether his father was going to come home for good.
Then he crossed his fingers under the table and hoped and prayed that Jessica did not arrive back too soon. She was sure to rush in and spoil things if she did.
It was a wonderful evening. Mr Haggerthwaite served sausages and fried onions with gravy and lovely creamy mashed potato. There was a salad of home-grown tomatoes on the side, because Mr Haggerthwaite did not consider a meal to be a meal without some of his home-grown vegetables. The tomatoes were an early variety and still rather green, but Mrs Haggerthwaite and Midge assured him that they were lovely, and that the tartness complimented the spicy sausages beautifully. Then there were baked apples filled with bubbling jam, and served with Mr Haggerthwaite’s custard (which was beautifully smooth, unlike Mrs Haggerthwaite’s, which always had lumps in it).
They were just sighing with fullness and contentment when Mr Haggerthwaite realised that the football would be coming on, and they all rushed though to the living room.
Mr Haggerthwaite’s team won by three goals. The yell that he gave on the first goal almost took the ceiling off, and Liverwort immediately scuttled away under the sofa.
Midge was thrilled, because their team had not won all season.
Mrs Haggerthwaite was thrilled, because she had said a special Incantation of Good Fortune, and it had worked.
Mr Haggerthwaite was the most thrilled of all; in fact, he was so thrilled that he kissed Mrs Haggerthwaite. Then he looked terribly surprised and went very red, and she looked very red too, but they were both smiling.
And it was then that Jessica arrived.
* * *
As Mr Haggerthwaite and Midge were still watching the highlights from the game, Mrs Haggerthwaite invited Mr Flotsam into the kitchen. Jessica, who was just as pleased as Midge to see her dad back home again, badly wanted to go into the living room. But she did not feel that she should leave her mum and Mr Flotsam to have their chat without her. So she sat down next to Robbie at the kitchen table and waited for Mrs Haggerthwaite to burst into joy and excitement about all the free publicity she was going to receive.
At first, it seemed that this might happen. As Mrs Haggerthwaite listened to Mr Flotsam, her eyes grew large as saucers. But then they began to glitter in the dangerous way that Jessica knew so well. With a suddenly leaping heart, Jessica realised that her mother was not pleased at all.
‘I see,’ said Mrs Haggerthwaite shortly when Mr Flotsam had finished. ‘So what you want is a nasty sensationalist little column! And a picture of me with a black hat and a broomstick no doubt! And easy spells for readers to try at home! As if I would ever break my vows of secrecy in that way! Well you can just think again! Because the answer’s no!’
‘Oh come now,’ said Mr Flotsam genially. ‘Think of the publicity! And as to the spells – why I’m sure you have plenty of silly ones that we could use.’
Of course Mrs Haggerthwaite did not think any of her spells were silly. And as the discussion continued she grew more and more cross. The article was a rotten idea, she said, and Mr Flotsam was rotten for suggesting it. In fact, in her opinion, he was nothing but an ignorant, publicity-crazed buffoon.
At this, Mr Flotsam grew red in the face. He started shouting at Mrs Haggerthwaite, and in a moment they were hurling the most horrible insults at each other. Jessica and Robbie looked at each other, dismayed.
‘You’ll be sorry for this!’ Mr Flotsam yelled at last. ‘You - you - old witch!’
‘Middle-aged!’ Mrs Haggerthwaite yelled. ‘But otherwise right!’
It was at this moment that Mr Haggerthwaite came into the kitchen with Midge. Mr Haggerthwaite looked very surprised indeed to see Mr Flotsam sitting there.
‘Why hello, Bert,’ he said. But before he could say anything more, Mr Flotsam had turned his angry face towards him.
‘And as for you!’ Mr Flotsam shouted. ‘You are the last person I would ever allow near one of my hotels! You can just forget that contract! I am never doing business with a Haggerthwaite again!’
‘I don’t understand -’ began Mr Haggerthwaite, but it was too late. Mr Flotsam had grabbed Robbie and stormed out of the house.
