Page 31 of A Spell of Midlife Mayhem

Chapter 12

BY FIRST THING ON MONDAY morning, my luggage still hadn’t arrived. When I called the airline, they didn’t know where it was or even seem to care much. They advised me to claim on insurance—which was a great idea in theory, but I hadn’t arranged any.

I’d been to visit Aunt Ruth in hospital yesterday morning, and I hadn’t told her about the broken mirror—I’d save that piece of bad news until she was out of hospital. I was also keen for her to start mentoring me in witchy things, as she put it, but I didn’t want to bug her about it until she was settled at home. There’d be plenty of time later.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t visit today. The bathroom modifications company turned up while I was still eating breakfast. I showed them the downstairs bathroom and left them to it. They could call me at Chirtlewood if they needed anything, or ask Raven, if he was at home. I could always nip back and lock the door if they finished and were ready to leave.

The second day in my new job was exciting. The environment was spellbinding. I spent time with Lydia, Penny and Melissa as they talked to tourists in the house, fascinated by everything they said about the history, the architecture, the furnishings and the people who had lived in Chirtlewood House over the centuries. They’d been a colourful bunch.

The day passed quickly. I learned heaps and was a little sad to leave when closing time arrived at Chirtlewood. But I did have things to do.

I parked in central Kingston and went shopping. I needed at least the basics of a new wardrobe. I only had two outfits of my own. I’d been raiding Aunt Ruth’s wardrobe for things to wear, but her mostly black clothes were not quite my size. I needed my own things. And this was the perfect opportunity to create a new style for myself—a new image for a new me.

As long as it was cheap. My funds were evaporating, and payday was almost two weeks away.

I found the market square. It wasn’t hard; all I had to do was follow the smell of fish. The buildings surrounding the square were old. Older than Chirtlewood House? They all contained modern shops now. I turned and faced one building squeezed between others. It was white with thick, dark wooden beams diagonally across it. The year it was constructed stood out boldly on the front.

A gasp left my lips. It was six hundred years old!

They obviously didn’t have earthquakes here. The entire row of shops would tumble like a house of unglued matchsticks if they did.

I gave up on the market square. Most of the clothes shops were boutiques, and I couldn’t afford their stuff at the moment. I needed to find a decent middle-of-the-range department store. Even better would be thrift stores or op shops, where I might pick up a few things for a fraction of the price of something new.

There were a couple not far away, but I had only an hour before they closed. I’d have to hurry. Though I wasn’t normally one for whirlwind shopping, starting this late in the afternoon left me no choice.

I spent twenty-five minutes in the first shop, rifling through the racks with gusto before leaving with a couple of bags containing two skirts of varying lengths, two pairs of trousers of different colours, a pair of trainers, a pair of loafers and three tops. I’d only had time to try on the shoes. Everything else I bought on faith.

But I wasn’t finished. I entered the second op shop to do it all again. I needed more shoes (because who doesn’t?), more tops and a couple of jackets. As in the first shop, things that I would never have worn when I was with Terry caught my eye. Brighter colours. More adventurous designs.

Reinventing my image was fun!

I was browsing through a rack of smart casual wear when a familiar voice drew my attention.

Melissa. A pair of sunglasses sat atop her hair. She was at the counter, talking to a sales assistant. ‘Excuse me, but do you have any label clothing in today?’

Second-hand boutique clothing? That would be a bargain. Should I go over and say hello to Melissa? Maybe not. I’ve only just met her. She might consider it an intrusion. But if I don’t, would she consider it rude of me? What’s the British convention in this situation?

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