The pub was decked with bunting and
everyone was various shades of drunk. The party had begun at midday and had, so
far, consisted of every customer who had ever visited the pub coming to drink
the free beer, and, sometimes as an afterthought, pass on their congratulations
to their genial host. Kathleen shook a
very large number of hands, but as she could think of very little to say she
mostly smiled. She wondered what sort of impression she would be making, a tiny
eccentric woman with a dubious reputation beaming happily at the local drunks.
Tom was in his
element and he seemed to have an infinite supply of friends, which, Kathleen
concluded, is probably the usual way with innkeepers. After a while it all became a bit too noisy
and so she retreated into the pub kitchen where the bar staff were preparing
food. They all knew her well and they gave her somewhere to hide for a while;
they sat her on a stool and gave her cake.
They all found the whole thing extremely funny but they were very fond
of their boss and were delighted that he was so happy.
None of Kathleen’s
friends attended the daytime part of the party; they had decided that the two
groups really wouldn’t mix. Kathleen had hoped that Celia and Owen might be
there as they had been invited to the earlier do and had been to the pub
several times before, but she knew that it was now very unlikely that Celia
would attend at all. This was something that had been worrying her all day, but
she was trying to put it to the back of her mind. It was hard for her to
imagine celebrating without her closest friend.
Eventually she was
dragged back in for the toasts and some sandwiches. This was fine as it only
involved listening – Tom had made it clear that she was rather shy and that she
wouldn’t be giving a speech. No-one seemed to mind. After that there was
dancing, which was lovely and fun.
***
Two hours later the day guests has all
gone home and Tom was coming down from his convivial high. He sat in the lounge
bar nursing a mug of tea and looking unusually pale. Kathleen realised, with
some shock, that it was his turn to feel overawed. She wondered if he would ever properly get to
know any of her friends. They sat in
silence with her hand resting in his – she couldn’t think of anything very
helpful to say.
‘What are they like?’
he finally asked.
Kathleen tried very
hard to put his mind at rest.
‘Well, you’ve met
Celia…’
Tom nodded.
‘She’s very nice,’ he
said, warily, ‘but things were a bit difficult when she was here’
Kathleen blushed –
she realised that she shouldn’t have brought all of that up again. She really
hadn’t been herself.
‘She might not be
able to come anyway…’ she said, ‘…sadly. She’s been unwell…’
‘The others are also
very nice…’ she continued, ‘they’re all my closest friends’
‘And they’re all
witches’ mumbled Tom, clutching his large mug of tea even closer to his chest.
‘Yes, but then so am
I…’
This was a
conversation that they had had many times in the last few weeks. They had
established that they definitely loved each other and that they would
definitely get married, but everything else had been left a bit up in the air.
Around them Tom’s
staff were making preparations for the meal. They pulled in a large oak table,
covered it in a dark green table cloth, and then laid it. The cutlery and
crockery and the wine glasses were all Tom’s finest. Most of the stuff had been
hidden away in drawers and cupboards for a long time; this was not the kind of
do that he was normally asked to host.
After much efficient
to-and-froing and a lot of busy bustling the table was ready, with seven chairs
for the guests. It was time. Kathleen stood up and pulled a small round device
out of her jacket pocket. It was a penny polished to an extraordinary
brightness. This was a teleport beacon,
enchanted with a unique trace signature – all she had to do now was to switch
it on. She held it up next to her face.
‘Rhusio!’
She placed the penny
on the table and went back to her wine. The others would be there as soon as
they picked up the trace.
George arrived first, dressed in a
comfortable brown smoking jacket covered in black cat hairs. He appeared momentarily confused about where
he was but then settled down to talk to Tom, whom he had never met before. This
was one encounter that Kathleen was quite happy about – George put everyone at
their ease. His method was to appear
mildly befuddled, ask lots of subtle but apparently vague questions, and learn
a large amount very painlessly. Tom was
soon telling him the trials and joys of being a publican and both of them were quite
content.
Bronwyn arrived next,
breathless, and Celia was so close behind her that they collided, toppling over
the table with the beacon penny. There was a brief scramble to get it back into
position but no harm was done. It was
quite clear to Kathleen that the outfits they were wearing both belonged to
Bronwyn – Celia’s green dress was, for her, unusually short and tight; but
Kathleen thought that it really rather suited her. She wondered mischievously
whether Owen would like it and she guessed that he definitely would. Anyway,
however they were dressed, she was delighted to see them. She stood up and gave
them an unusually fulsome hug but asked no questions – she sensed that
something was going on well beyond her knowledge of people.
Stephen was close
behind Bronwyn, less vague than George, but a little short of breath. He
embraced Kathleen slightly stiffly and shook Tom’s hand enthusiastically.
Kathleen had always liked his almost elven old-fashioned politeness and was
very pleased to see him. He settled down to talk to Bronwyn, eagerly accepting
a glass of dark red West Visneorian wine.
John appeared ten
minutes later: despite any efforts that he might have made he looked just like a
rather louche gardener, with a bright purple shirt under a mildly moth-ridden
holey jacket. This, thought Kathleen, might well be how he would dress without
Laurence’s influence. She really didn’t
mind it – at least it wasn’t quite so controlled as usual, but she allowed
herself a moment of disappointment that Laurence hadn’t felt able to come to
the party.
Owen appeared close
to the teleport trace beacon. He looked a little bedraggled but had managed to
spruce himself up well enough in a dark suit and tie. Kathleen suspected that
this was the same suit that he’d wear to any formal occasion be it a birth
blessing, a wedding or a funeral. He certainly looked better in a Rhylic smock.
Celia stood up as
soon as Owen appeared – she looked like a woman being pursued by a bear. He
seemed only very slightly less tense. They approached each other stealthily.
‘We need to talk’ she
said, just before he could say the same thing. The room was full of other people
but they might as well have been stones.
‘What is it?’ asked Owen. Celia looked at him
with wild eyes.
‘I’m sorry about
this, I really am, O’ she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry’
‘What?’ he asked,
‘what do you mean?’
‘I’ve done something
really stupid’ she moaned, tears streaking her cheeks
‘What have you done?
It can’t be all that bad, can it?’
She couldn’t say the
words – they were too blunt, too terrifying. There was only one other possible
approach. She walked forward and put the palms of her hands either side of his head.
Then she kissed him, as passionately as her inexperienced lips could manage,
and hoped for the best. There was a lot
of stored energy in the kiss and Owen was overwhelmed, but he really didn’t
mind. They both felt like they were going over a high waterfall in a barrel; it
was very scary and so very wonderful. They held each other very tightly. But
then they heard a strange noise, as if from another universe. It was clapping.
John whispered, ‘at last’ and this embarrassed them out of their clinch. They
untangled themselves but their hands remained entwined; they had no intention
of letting go of each for a very long time.
Owen was just smiling
– he seemed to be incapable of talk or thought for a while, but Celia suddenly
realised where they were and her good manners resurfaced.
‘Katy’ she said, looking down at the floor, ‘we’re
being so rude… This is your day’
‘Not at all’ said Kathleen, jumping up in delight,
‘it seems now that everything really is all right with the world!’
‘And all manner of
things are well’ murmured George.
There was more
clapping and cheering, followed by good-natured shouts of ‘sit down!’ The new
couple shuffled around, discovering the awkwardness of holding hands.
Eventually they found their seats and drinks were poured. Tom and Kathleen took
their places at the head of the table and then the supper was served.
They ate the
battalions of food that came on to the table, fish, game and fowl, and everyone
soon agreed to what was self-evidently true – that to marry a kind innkeeper
was a sort of heaven. And Kathleen realised that this really was the end of
loneliness and she found it quite baffling; why should such good luck fall on
her? As they ate the witches competed to tell Tom
stories that he could hardly believe, but as he was three-quarters drunk with
wine and love, it mattered very little.
For a moment everyone
was happy as was possible and the shadows seemed to retreat back into the
distant night. But the wisest of them knew that all celebrations must come to
an end, and that dawns may not break as fair. But for that long moment, no-one
cared.
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