(Vegetables) Chapter Twenty Eight: Proving Once Again It’s All About Who You Know

The young man, who recently had been dangling from the barn rafter, was called Darryl, and he played double bass for Duke Wellington’s Big Band Noise. His worry in the barn was indeed well founded – Felindre took one look at his hands and fished out her portable first aid kit, which was only slightly smaller than her home one. Morwen led her and Darryl to the breakfast room, where they could do first aid in peace and with plenty of light.

As Felindre carefully pulled all the splinters out and slathered on a combination antiseptic and analgesic cream, a knock came on the door and a worried looking face appeared around the corner. It belonged to a middle aged man with a quiff and a shiny 1950s suit, who came into the room, followed by Rosa.

“Darryl, are you ok? Can you play?”

“Yeah, Duke, I’m ok. I’ve just lost all feeling in my hands, and believe me, that’s a good thing,” replied Darryl.

“How long is that going to last?” the Duke asked.

Darryl looked at Felindre, who was carefully putting her first aid bits and pieces away.

“Dunno,” she said absently. “Could take a while.”

“Right,” said Duke. “Bugger. That’s our bass line gone for the evening. Nevermind, we’ll manage.”

“Fel plays double bass,” said Rosa, helpfully.

Felindre gave her a look that said “why did you have to say that?”

Duke gave Felindre a look that said “really? You?”

“Really?” he said, out loud this time, in a tone of utter disbelief.

Felindre shut the lid of the first aid kit box with a snap, and Morwen and Rosa both flinched. Darryl was too busy watching the dust motes in the sunlight⁷⁵ to notice that the metaphorical temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees.

“Oh, you think women can’t play bass, do you?”

“Er, no,” said the man. “But, er, the bass is a big instrument…”

He trailed off, quailing under Felindre’s steely gaze.

“And I’m so small, is that it?”

He very sensibly kept quiet.

“Darryl, can I borrow your bass? And your music?” Felindre asked.

“Wha’?” Darryl replied. “Oh, yeah, sure, whatever…”

“Right,” said Felindre. “Come along Duke. Let’s take a look at the music, and I’ll show you that someone as little and delicate as me can play something as big and heavy as a double bass.”⁷⁶

Meekly (and very sensibly, if you ask me) Duke followed her out of the room.

Rosa and Morwen looked at each other. Darryl looked out the window, possibly watching pink elephants playing croquet on the lawn.

“She’s really pissed off, isn’t she?” said Rosa. “I’d better go after her, in case she really loses her temper. We don’t want any more injuries.”

Morwen’s phone made the noise of a donkey braying as Rosa left. It was notification of a text from Richard, saying “You ok? Still travelling? Ring me when you get there. X PS Sissy, plz deliver this txt – thanks”

“So, you’ve decided to stop blocking Richard now?” said Morwen.

Sissy said nothing. Darryl looked confused.

“Why are you talking to your phone? And why are the elephants performing Hamlet?”




“Mum,” said Morwen, “have you ever had weird results with your cooking?”

“Well, dear,” Ruth said, as she was cutting up apples for apple pie. “There was that one time I used purple cabbage in a soup and the whole thing went blue, but other than that, no. Why do you ask?”

“I got this cookbook – the art and science of fruits and vegetable’s, it’s called, and all the recipes I made from it had unexpected effects.”

“Some people, especially if they’re not used to too much fruit and veg, can have some, er, unexpected effects.”

“I’m not talking about digestive issues, Mum, I’m talking about making them susceptible to suggestion, and making them fall in love, or at least lust.”

Ruth stopped chopping apples and looked seriously at her daughter.

“Morwen, are you trying to tell ask me if I’ve ever made any magic potions?”

Morwen squirmed in her seat, suddenly feeling all of seven years old.

“Of course I haven’t,” Ruth went back to her apples. “Oh, maybe an occasional glamour to tidy up a cake before a show – I’m still not as good as I’d like to be with icing – or a bit of a pinch to make up for a missing taste in the ingredients. But I’d never do any full-blown potions. It’s not polite.”

“Oh,” said Morwen, looking crestfallen. “I was wondering if it was something in the family or something.”

“Of course it is, darling, and to be honest, myself and your father have been wondering when you’d finally get around to asking us about it. If it’s veg though, best thing to do is to talk to your dad. He’s got contacts. And I’ve got half a dozen pies to bake for this evening. Unless you’d like to help?”

“Dunno, Mum, the last thing I tried baking caused a riot.”

“Best go talk to your father then. He knows all the history and theory and stuff. And he’s better at explaining these sorts of things. He’s wandered off again, but I’m sure you can find him.”

Morwen got up and headed for the door.

“Morwen, love,” Ruth said.

Morwen turned back to see her Mum bearing down on her to give her a big, slightly floury and apple-scented hug. Ruth pulled back and smiled at Morwen, wiping her eyes.

“I’m proud of you baby. Welcome to the family tradition.”




Daffyd was in the veg garden, adjusting his scarecrow⁷⁷.

“Those pigeons are getting braver,” he said to Morwen.

Morwen scowled, seeing several pigeons perched on the high garden wall. One took off and flew away.

“Felindre’s had great success taking potshots at them with a slingshot. Just watch out for the rabbits, they’ve been causing havoc in the park,” she said. “Can we talk, Dad? Somewhere private?”

“Is everything alright?” Daffyd asked, looking concerned.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Morwen.

“Let’s get some tea in then, and you can tell me all about it.”

Over thick-stewed tea, brewed in a battered teapot on the woodburning stove in Daffyd’s workshop, Morwen spilled the beans about all the weirdness that had happened to her ever since picking up “The Art and Science of Fruit and Vegetable’s” in the remainders bookstore. Daffyd listened carefully, without saying anything other than the occasional “oh” and “mm-hmm”.

“And then Mum tells me we’re actually a family of witches, and I need to talk to you about the history. And now I’m just confused,” Morwen finished plaintively.

“Hmm,” said Daffyd, thoughtfully.

There was a long silence.

“Dad?” queried Morwen.

“Can I see the book?” he asked.

“It’s up in the house,” she said.

“Well, I can’t say about the book ‘til I have a look at it,” he said. “But sounds to me like it’s not just you. No one in our family’s been able to cast a suggestion spell powerful enough to cause a riot in, oh, at least three hundred years. And even they say there was them hallucinogenic mushrooms involved.

“No,” he continued. “I reckon it was a group effort. Who was it baking again?”

“Well, there was me, Rosa and Felindre,” Morwen said.

“Just three of you?”

“Well, Richard showed up later on, and helped fix the mixer. Did a good job too – it now doubles as a woodchipper.”

“Well then,” said Daffyd. “Sounds like you’ve found a coven. Three witches is traditional, though you sometimes get four. You’re all the same age though, so I think it’s more likely to be an elemental quartet than a maiden-mother-crone thing. Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?”

“No, Dad,” said Morwen. “And before you ask, it’s still early days with Richard.”

“Ah,” said Daffyd, looking faintly embarrassed. “Tidy. Can I have a read of the spell book now?”

“Sure, I’ll go fetch it for you.”
___


⁷⁵ Or the dancing fairies, who knows?
⁷⁶ For the sarcasm-impaired, she was very definitely being sarcastic.
⁷⁷ This was not your common or garden scarecrow. This scarecrow was the epitome of the scarecrow art, and looked like it would wander off around the garden at any moment. The local wildlife were terrified of it.