The Easter Bwummers

THE EASTER BWUMMERS

A Bewitching Short Story

Gavin Mills

Copyright © 2017 by Gavin Mills

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

Gavin Mills asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Second edition

ISBN: 9798332469770

DEDICATION

Dedicated to all husbands and wives with crazy in-laws.

CONTENTS

1. It’s a Kind of Magic

2. Mission Accomplished

3. Family Baggage

4. Out to Lunch

About the Author

Also by Gavin Mills

1 - IT’S A KIND OF MAGIC

WHY COULDN’T IT just be like baking a cake? You know, baking powder, eggs, milk, flour …maybe vanilla essence. That stuff makes sense. Mix it up, pop it into the oven for half-an-hour and voila, something fluffy and sweet: a cake! No sweat… A walk in the park. But frog’s livers, lizard’s tails, rat’s hair shaved at midnight? This is the stuff of nightmares – and I’m only just getting started!

But if this is a nightmare, it’s still nothing close to the nightmare which started the day we arrived at my in-laws almost a year ago. The nightmare that started the day we arrived at the in-laws two years ago. The day we arrived at the in-laws every year for the past six years, every time we arrived for the annual Bwummer family Easter get-together at Geoffrey and Anthea Bwummer’s cozy and oh-so neat little retirement villa in Nelspruit.

It’s not that I don’t like Jed’s parents. Okay, so I don’t like my husband’s parents. There, now I’ve said it. But it doesn’t really make me feel better. Should it? Of course not. But anyway I look at it, they are not nice at best, on average dysfunctional, But I of all people, should have known. I mean what good is it being a witch, if you can’t look into your quaint little crystal ball, and see that my cozy little relationship with my in-laws would one day make bat-shit crazy cats and dogs on a rampage, look like bosom-buddies!

When Jed first took me to visit his family and parents, I thought they were so sweet. Sure Geoff was a bit overbearing, but I put it down to a father wanting the right thing for his son. And quite honestly, at first I had liked Anthea. Her home was impeccable, she treated her husband like a king, which I would later discover was no exaggeration - and he basked in the luxury.

So cute, so loving – at first. Until I started thinking maybe Anthea was overplaying it a bit.

A year or two down the line, my affection for my loving in-laws had eroded somewhat, to the point where I thought Geoff made Henry VIII seem like a marriage counselor! But still my daddy-in-law relationship in my mind remained somewhat benign.

Wishful thinking, until our wedding day. Yes, our wedding day!

It was to be the fairy tale wedding I had always dreamed of.

Jed was my knight in shining armor – I loved him to bits – and still do. Okay, so things had to be rushed a bit. Pity. But I didn’t hold it against Jed junior. To be quite honest, he wasn’t even around yet! It was our dirty, right there under the stars under our double cab.

So he could have been a bit more patient; waited until we tied the knot. But as Jed junior would soon show the world, he wasn’t one to hang about until the right time. Even the day when he was born, he jumped the gun, pushing me into labor while waiting at the gynie for a check-up! Breaking my water right there in reception – and I had been wearing pale colors. So embarrassing.

We had dreamed of our wedding being in the spring. A garden wedding. But no, as I said, Jed junior made his presence known at a check-up in the middle of summer. So it was to be a winter wedding.

Fair enough though, so he wouldn’t arrive in the summer, but at least he was conceived in the summer – under the double cab, somewhere in the middle of a road construction site.

It was to have been the holiday we had always dreamed of. Camping under the stars, every night at a different place on a road trip right around the country. We had left late because Jed (Snr) had worked late. When selling houses, customers come first – and so does their durned timing. And what a silly woman the wife was; another Anthea it looked like. Yes she wanted the house, then she didn’t, then she did, then she didn’t. Eventually at 9 ó clock on the night we were supposed to leave (in the morning) at long last, she eventually signed the papers and the deal was done.

Jed had been determined not to let the late leave spoil our holiday. In fact, her sale was a reason to celebrate. The final sale that would give Jed his bonus… what a Christmas present. So the minute the deed was done, we packed our already packed bags into the car, and hit the road.

By the time we arrived at Augrabies Falls, both Jed and I had settled down into dreamy peace inspired and soothed by the thought of seventeen days under the stars. A little tired from the late leave and long road, we were both looking forward to jumping into our cozy little two-man tent for the night, little knowing that a half-hour down the line, the wheels would be falling off in splendid style.

Okay, so how could I be blamed? No holiday for three years! This was to be it. We were to be married the following year, so this our last holiday as single adults - it had to be perfect. I wanted to wake up to the sounds of the waterfalls, and step out of the tent to the grand spectacle of one of the greatest natural sights on Earth.

By the third campsite in the park, Jed was getting tense. But I suppose he could be forgiven. Eight hundred kilometers at night after a hard year’s work? But the first one seemed a little small - and too far from the ablutions. The second… Well it was almost on top of the caravan with the television blaring; hello, we were there for the country and nature, not National Geographic by satellite.

The third sloped too much. The fourth… Now Jed was mad.

‘Honestly I… They’re all the same, babes. We’re just going to sleep…’

‘Jed. Come darling. Remember what we said…’

Jed remembered. A holiday under the stars, but I knew he was thinking - not a frikkin’ spider web navigation of the camp site first! We both saw it coming before it even arrived.

Ten minutes later, I had made it quite clear that if it was too much effort for him to care about what I thought, he should stop the car and I would find my own place. I hadn’t really expected him to stop, but he did. And I felt too much of an idiot not to get out. So there I was stranded in the dark in the middle of a black-as-night camping park while my husband sped off into the night-varnished dust.

Only when I looked around at the darkness closing in like a nightmare, did it dawn on me that somewhere out there in the black unknown, spiders and snakes and God knows what creepy crawlies lurked.

I traipsed around aimlessly as my eyes adjusted to the dark, wondering if I should gate-crash one of the caravans or tents I could see, curled into secluded corners under dark silhouetted acacias fighting for height. And all the while, the mighty roar of water cascading by the megaton down the falls somewhere beyond the black, sent shivers down my spine.

So I asked myself, what would any self respecting witch do in a situation like this? I had always known I was a witch. Or at least from when I could remember – and Johnny Reed would never forget. He had said the pudding my mother had slaved over for my 8th birthday party tasted like poo, so I simply proved him right. The smell! He cried and cried and never spoke to me again. A pity. He turned out not half bad – but I could never quite get the picture out of my mind, the brown around his mouth and the tears of disgust on his chubby little cheeks. No one had said a thing to me at the time. It was a full three years later that my mother explained. That I was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and my life would be remarkable. And Lord knows she was not kidding.

A couple more incidents at school and at home eventually caused me to decide to keep my ‘unusual talents’ to myself. And from my 18th year, life took on some semblance of normality - although eventually I started experimenting again. Small things for my own amusement. Never in front of others – not even my father - but I must admit, mama and I did resort to some fun from time to time. I mean who would want to clean a house when automation was at your fingertips?

But right here and right now in the middle of a night stained wilderness, my novel idea pot was empty, being much more geared to city life.

Luckily, before I had the time to give it too much thought – and even more lucky, before I really felt the need to start feeling sorry for myself, I saw headlights cutting through the night somewhere behind the matted trees. Thank God. Jed was coming back.

But when the lights arrived, it wasn’t Jed. It was a khaki green Land Rover, and the man getting out was fatter than Jed and uglier than Jed. Puffy red cheeks from too much brandy and rimless glasses below sweaty blonde curls and sideburns - but a game-ranger; I could live with that. I just stood there not really too sure what to do or say as he approached out of the headlights.

‘Good evening lady.’

‘Good evening sir,’ I felt like saying, ‘a nice cup of tea then?’ So formal and grave, but I suppose polite, so I greeted him back politely.

‘What are you doing wondering about in the dark lady?’

‘Why, just thought I’d watch a chameleon race… What do you think I’m doing? I’m lost and my husband dropped me because we had a fight and I’m scared of spiders and snakes and I don’t know what to do and…’

Well I didn’t really say the chameleon race thing, but what a stupid question! That was when the other headlights arrived.

This time it was Jed – and one look at his eyes as he parked and stormed across, and I knew that I would have much preferred him to keep driving, smiling and waving.

When the ranger opened his mouth to speak, I knew in a flash this could only end bad.

‘Good evening sir. Is this your wife?’

I cringed in anticipation of Jed’s reply, and almost fainted with relief when he offered a simple yes.

‘Well sir. Do you realize where you are?’

Cringe again, relief with the next yes.

‘Well sir. This is a very dangerous place. Do you know there are spiders and snakes. Your wife could get hurt or even killed. Especially if you don’t know…’

He gave Jed the look that said I am a ranger. I am at one with nature. I sleep under the stars and drive with the winds. I am an animal!

Thankfully Jed kept his trap shut. I knew that he knew that if he opened his mouth he would have torn Tarzan’s head off with his words.

The warden hesitated to make sure his words had sunk in. Started talking anyway when he saw they hadn’t, now slightly hostile.

‘Now sir. The way I see it you have two choices. You either set up your tent at the closest site and settle down with your lovely wifey, or you come to the guest chalets and you stay there for the night.’

Jed started politely enough.

‘No colonel. There’s a third choice.’

‘Sorry sir?’

‘A third choice. My lovely little wifey jumps back into my double-cab and we take our tired little asses all the way back to the city, and leave the wide open spaces to you and your impi.

…So guess what? Oh you lucky little man; you get it with no clues: We’re heading back to Jo’burg and civili-bloody-zation!’

Three hours later, we still hadn’t spoken as we retraced the miles we had traveled only a few hours earlier. So here we were. Our dream holiday in shreds and we hadn’t even had our first night. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t. I mean how could he be so mean. All I wanted was the right place - to make it right for him! But I could see he wasn’t about to give in.

There sometimes come times when a girl must take things into her own hands. He wouldn’t know anyway. He would think it was his idea. Simple thought transference. Piece of cake.

I had done it before, but I assure you very seldom. Sometimes I felt bad about it, but not tonight. This was my holiday too, and even if he did act like a dinosaur at times, tonight’s intervention was needed.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Bingo! Here we go. I glanced at him with sheepish eyes. He looked away, then back at me. Even in the darkened reflections coming off the road ahead, I could see his jaw slacken and eyes soften. He reached his hand for my leg, and I slid down a little in the seat so it landed higher than he anticipated. He looked at me with a look of lust tainted submission. Hooked hook, line and sinker, I smiled to myself.

‘Sorry babes. It’s just …I was tired …you know…’

I put on my sexiest petulant pout. ‘I know.’

‘I tell you what. Let’s pull into a B&B in the next town. In the morning, we head out again. So we lose one day, but…’

Lose one day? Was he nuts! I had planned this to perfection for three months. Tonight we sleep under the stars, make love under the stars, was the plan… Now we pull into a B&B in some God forsaken village in the middle of nowhere land? Turn the pout up a notch.

‘A B&B baby?’ I whined huskily. Or that’s what I tried, anyway.

‘Well yeah baby. …You want to go back to the city?’

He was mine, mine, mine. I could have asked him to go to Monte Carlo and he would have been there like a bare… err… bear, …or maybe a pussycat.

‘Let’s go back…’

‘Back? Back where… Home?’

‘No baby. Let’s turn around and go back to the falls. Let’s make love under the stars.’ I smiled coquettishly in the darkness, but he felt it, ‘I brought a little …something.’

The coup de grace. I could see his mind working. A mixture between Tarzan’s Jane and a pole dancer was weaving fanciful thoughts in his brain. I wasn’t going to break his line of thinking.

…I should have, because the pictures won.

‘Listen. I’m really bushed,’ he pipes up, ‘Why don’t we just pull over and camp on the side of the road. In the morning, we pack up bright and early and we’re on our way. It’s not far now.’

Admittedly I had also had enough of headlights for the day, and sexy camping on the side of the road had its own appeal.

At first it was a stunning idea and my little frock turned out to be a hit – even if we didn’t get to putting the tent up, opting rather for our sleeping bags and duvets under the stars, eventually falling asleep with our heads under the car, much like a naughty road side service fantasy. And that was when we made Jed Junior.

Only the next morning, we realized maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, when we heard the commotion around us, ducked our heads out from under the car, and discovered two things: it was daylight - and an army of construction workers were building a road around us. Granted they hid their eyes as we slinked out of our sleeping bags, me in frilly lace and Jed in significantly less. But no harm done really.

What a holiday it turned out to be, traveling by day seeing the sites of a lifetime, and camping by night. It was 5 weeks later that Doc Liebowitz broke the good news which turned out to be not such good news when he discovered we weren’t married.

But again not a train smash. We loved each other and intended getting married anyway. So it wasn’t to be in a garden in summer, but a girl sometimes has to do what has to be done, and the wedding was planned.

When we told Geoff and Anthea, my future mother was over the moon. But she also changed. Gone was the cute little girlfriend, on was a future wife, who had to be trained to look after her son the way he should be. And so began my conscription to matrimonial boot-camp by Anthea Bwummer.

I was going to have to get used to that name: Netta Bwummer.

Hmmm. But there was still plenty of time to grow accustomed. I mean a whole life!

But mama to be turning me into Miss Kitchen Congeniality was one thing; the change in dad-in-law-to-be Geoff, was something else completely - and totally unexpected. His eyes first showed the change. A waning of paternal love and a waxing of …what’s the words? Lust may be a bit harsh, but lech would certainly not be out of play; holding my eyes for too long, holding my hand for too long when we met. The fatherly hug with a squeeze on the end… my end! Okay. Never got as low as my butt crack, but couldn’t help feeling that he wished he had longer fingers.

When first he started his dirty drooling I couldn’t hardly believe it. Was it my imagination? I had thought about chatting to Jed about it, telling him my thoughts. But soon put it out of my mind. I mean what would I say; ‘Hey sweetie. I think your father’s hitting on me…’

‘He’s what?’

‘You know… I think he would like to partake in our wedding night. Maybe not so much you but… Do you know what color nightie he might like…?’

No ways. That was not going to work. Just make sure you never let him pick up on your scent, where possible stay out of his company, and at all costs, avoid his arms. In spite of my growing daddy-in-law-phobia, all was going well until the wedding.

Nelspruit is a lovely place in autumn. Trees turning gold and not the searing heat of summer. Brookes Hill Mountain Lodge run by a flamboyant nutter of a character, Mrs Helga Steenkamp was a fine enough place. But honestly speaking, it was nice for a short holiday or week-end away, but wedding? Well at least it was in the mountains. We went up three days before the wedding to make final arrangements. And daddy-in-law tweedle-dee, and mama-in-law tweedle-dumb came with.

The first night was fine. An early supper and some discussions with the wedding planner, a gay little guy from the area. He looked just like the wedding planner from Meet The Fokkers. And that was also when I first found myself wondering whether Jock could be gay.

Who’s Jock? Sorry about that. I never mentioned him. Jock must have been about fifteen and was Jed’s younger brother. He had always been softer I thought, but made a big play of being rough and tough in front of Geoff. You probably get the message by now that Geoff fancied himself as a bit of a man’s man. No son of his would ever be a poof. Surprise surprise I thought at the time.

Anyway our Jock of the Nelspruit bushveld followed Siegfried the wedding planner around like a puppy dog’s tail. But more about Jock later.

We had just finished lunch on the next day and I was tired. I excused myself while the men smoked cigars and compared war stories, and Anthea oo-ed and aa-ed like an owl on Prozac. I decided to have a shower and then lie down and get some chill time. I was just finishing in the shower when I heard the door to the chalet open. Thinking it must be Jed, I came charging out in my birthday suit, only to find - you guessed it! …No, not the wedding planner. It was daddy-to-be Geoff! I was dumbstruck.

Trying to cover up frantically, I let him have it.

‘What are you doing here Geoff! You are in my room!’

‘Uh. Are you alright? I was just worrying that…’

‘Geoff! I am undressed!’

He smiled like a fox as he turned his head away, having great difficulty getting his eyes to follow suit, and I felt my skin crawl. Thankfully I had still been drying my hair with a towel when I heard him and had quickly wrapped myself up as best I could.

‘Don’t worry love, we’re family now. It’s okay…’ he smiled seedily. If pervy thoughts were bad breath I’m sure he would have stunk the chalet out.

‘No it’s not alright Geoff. You didn’t knock!’

‘Sorry love. I just wanted to talk… To see if you okay. How the nerves…?’

‘Geoff. Please. I’m marrying your son! This is wrong.’

Thankfully he had the decency to look embarrassed. …Just.

‘Sorry Netta. You right. I should have knocked. Maybe I should leave… Come back later.’

‘Listen Geoff. I want to rest. Can’t we talk tonight? I promise we can talk there.’

I managed to keep my voice calm but was fuming inside. Again I did the wrong thing. I should have spoken to Jed. But the night before our wedding? Yeah right. I just hoped that after I had made it clear that the only nookies I was interested in, in the Bwummer family, was with his son – and after we were married. he should go pour some ice water on it. Wrong again! But later for that.

Somehow we muddled through our wedding without serious incident, although I must admit I hadn’t expected Jed to start crying, and I certainly didn’t expect the whole of the bloody Bwummer family to come up to the alter during my wedding to console him, before we had even kissed or taken our vows! I forced myself to breathe and accept that my new family was not quite a full deck, and simply move on.

Then the reception. Too many speeches and too much alcohol. I was getting bored and wanted to do the ladidadidadida thing and take my new husband back to the chalet and wear him out. But I retained a stiffly puckered upper lip, and endured friends morphed into idiots for a full hour-and-a-half longer before eventually the ladida thing came, not a moment to soon.

There was confetti and shouting and streamers and shouting and shouting and shouting, but I was making it through. The last couple would be the Bwummers senior and then we were done and on our own.

Jed turned to kiss his mother and I turned hesitantly to Louis the Lech (Geoff). I reached up sedately to let him peck me on the cheek and then he grabbed me. On my ass. But not a cheeky little drunk boy’s grope. I mean a how deep does the rabbit hole go grope! My head said hold but my body said no, and before I could even think restraint, my hand lashed out and smacked him with a loud crack, right on the gob.

Well I thought his eyes were going to fall right out of his tenpin-ball head. And everyone else stopped in an instant, every eye on me. Jed was looking at me like he had just witnessed Armageddon.

‘I …I …I’m so so sorry…’ I stammered.

Jed said ‘Nett!’

Then the blood that had been rushing in horror from my groped bum hit my head, and I felt like I had steam jetting from my ears.

‘No. I am not sorry!’ Turning on Geoff. And as for you, you dirty old man. I told you… I told you…’

I didn’t know what to say. ‘I don’t know how she can put up with you. And… and I cannot believe that Jed is your son!’

You could have heard a pin drop and you would have needed a bulldozer to lift all the jaws hanging on the ground. I groaned loudly, I think it ended as a whining shriek, and I stormed out back to the chalet, crying my eyes out.

I waited hoping Jed would come. What had I done! I had slapped his father on our wedding day. Right in front of everyone! Did anyone else see? Would they say something if they had? Probably not, I thought cynically. Apart from my brother, sister and step mom, they were all his family friends anyway. Whether you hide it or not, being a witch is not the most conducive condition for friendship. And now, before it even begins, it’s over. All because of that lech. Because my husband’s – or probably by now, ex-husband’s father tried to hit on me!

But Jed did come. And only when he told me the truth: That his father was actually his step father – and that’s why what I said had shocked him so. No one but the family knew, but now people were probably speculating. But he forgave me and I made some semblance of peace with the family, and that is how we came to be going once a year to the Bwummers for lunch at Easter, ever since.

At first I thought they would get better, but the Bwummers obviously had memories like goldfish, and every year the lunches would end the same: disappointed tears from Anthea, furious tears from Geoff, angry huffs from Jed, and lover’s sighs from Jock, not really sure what to do.

And then two years ago they got Dufus. Dufus was a cross Rottweiler Pit-bull. They actually saved him from a dog pound who saved fighting dogs. He had been a puppy when his parents and brothers and sisters had been rescued, from a redneck family below the boathouse at the dam. The puppies were about six weeks old. Geoff was with the reservists (no surprise) and had helped on a sting operation from a tip-off.

For him and Dufus it was love at first sight. I suppose it probably was a good thing that Jed wasn’t marrying Dufus, otherwise their might have been a bad case of strongly conflicting emotions in daddy bear.

Anyway, the Easter he first came home, he was cute and cuddly, and him and I hit it off like a house on fire. He followed me everywhere, his cute little tail wagging, and eyes twinkling and baby teeth nibbling – hard at times. I should have thought – but didn’t.

Then last year, to double down on the normal turn of events, here was Dufus still in love with me. But he had grown! His head was now as high as my skirt and this area became an instant fixation. Thank heavens he only resorted to trying to hump my leg. Could you imagine Geoff’s face if Dufus got further than he, simply because he was a dog. But leg is all he got …when we were eating, relaxing, even sleeping. If my leg had been a bitch she would have been all worn out, and Rotty crosses would be filling the town. Thankfully my leg survived – and wasn’t pregnant.

But last year’s trip ended in the mother of all fights – with Dufus being the only one trying to make love, unaware that the others were in a very different frame of mind. And again, the first half of the trip flashed by in silence. And on this, the sixth time since our time under the double cab, I had decided it was time for a little magic. …Actually, a lot of magic - on the Bwummers - to make sure I would never have to use home/road-magic ever again.

So here I am, in the kitchen mind you – not some mystical cave or cute little cottage in the woods. A bleedin’ kitchen, trying to mix lizards tails with who knows what. (Sorry. trade secret, what exactly). But a bit of free information: everyone knows it’s the incantation that gives direction, the ingredients that give the boost. You get the words wrong, instead of warm and cuddly you get hot and smokin’. And as everyone who ever knew me will attest, my ways with words leave a lot to be desired at the best of times. And I’ve never baked a cake in my life! So here I sit with a dilemma: get the words wrong… you get it. Get the mix wrong, mixed grill. But the way I figured, the words I got from Sabrina, so should be cool. No, not any Sabrina, THE Sabrina! Queen of the witches - so at least I had that covered.

Witches. What a horrible word. Why couldn’t we have been called fairies – or even unicorns. But witches? Give me a break. I prefer enchantress. That sounds kinda sexy. Anyway back to el-magico. The ingredients and mix? Well I got the recipe right. That I’m sure of. That’s what Google’s there for, right?

But seems there’s a bit of contention as to the mix. The way I see it, rather too much than too little - and I have given it serious thought. I mean, just think of them… Where should we start: Could only be one place. Old Louis the Lech, Geoffrey Bwummer: Six foot three of one time muscle turned to two tone blubber. Okay not all blubber – maybe just his chest slipped a bit and now oozes around his waistline. Big mouthed, too loud chauvinist with wondering hands and feet too easily inclined to be positioned higher than his ass.

His big mouth I can take, his raucous laugh I can stomach on good days, but his innuendos and hands? And the way he treats Anthea his wife! He talks to her like a servant and uses her like a mat. Let’s put it this way, I’m sure he would be a great guy - if only he would agree to a larynjectomy and full frontal lobotomy.

But that said, he loves Jed and Jed junior so I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies – and the fact that we live a half day’s drive away.

Then we have the oh-so sweet Anthea the doormat. Doting wife and homemaker – to the point of being infuriating! Her house is spick and span like a museum. Well I s’pose it is: a museum to Louis the Lech and of course queen Jock, and Dufus the famous leg banger.

If only she took a little more interest in herself – and would stop trying to turn me into something I am not. I can cook for nourishment and this doesn’t always align with taste-bud fantasies, but my culinary non-masterpieces keep her son and grandson alive and kicking – in bed, a little too much! But true confession time: I do not bake!

Then of course queen Jock aka Rambo on estrogen. Now I love gay men. Have always got on with them – like they’re one of the girls. Most times, no threat. …Like Ziegfried, our wedding planner. He was so cute. Especially when he took a shine to Jed. It was so funny. He would pat my boy-to-man hubby on the back and pinch his cheeks and say,‘Ohhh Jed, I know you. One thing I know is men, darling, you know what I mean…?’ and would look at him with flirt painted all over his pretty little mouth. Jed would blush like a schoolgirl and try his utmost not to be alone in a room with him. But you know what, deep inside I think he quite liked it. Who wouldn’t enjoy a bit of flattery every now and then… Ask anyone when you start getting on in years, you can’t be that choosy where it comes from, I say.

What bothered me about Jock though, was that he wouldn’t accept it. At least not in front of Geoff and Jed. Then, it would be talking about fishing and climbing and all those stupid, macho little things men talk about. And he would swear! Like a Trojan.

I thought it was actually quite sad. He emptied his heart out to me last Easter. How he wouldn’t mind looking into fashion design. After all, the best designers in the world are men! I didn’t have the heart to tell him that yeah they were men, but not the type of men Louis the Lech had in mind for his son.

I wished he would just come out and tell his dad. Get it off his chest and carry on with his life. He didn’t have to be his father. Lord be known, one Geoff in this world was more than enough.

Then of course there was the leg-banger. He was not likely to go, so he needed to change. Bang everything else your stupid little heart desires, but this year, please get off of my leg!

So here I am now, running around a kitchen that looks like a reptile body part factory and smells like a Portuguese abattoir, trying to prepare a potion that will get my in-laws to tow my line.

…Oh God. What am I doing? Could you imagine Jed Snr’s face if he knew? He would divorce me. Should I leave it, try and instill some masochistic tendencies in myself and just take it on the butt? Because I know for a fact, that’s where Geoff will be heading.

No ways! I remember last year like I can the mascara smudge the day the interview at the beauty spa never worked out. I said enough. And enough is enough. Just gotta do it right!

So when Jed Snr left this morning – thankfully it was his turn to take Jed Jnr to school, I was up with the sparrows to make breakfast for both of them before they left, for two reasons: First to make sure they ate …Jed Snr was not good at breakfast. If he wanted to starve himself, that was his issue, but little Jed had to be fed. And more important, to make sure their bags were packed properly, and they wouldn’t be home.

Jed looked at me funny when he came down. I was doing eggs, bacon, everything. A brekkie for a king. My king– and little prince. But when Jed Jnr let out a gurgle of delight, that this was so great since we never did fried breakfasts, I knew possibly a little over-kill; as I said, the kitchen is not my parlor of choice.

I sneaked a peak at Jed Snr and I could see he was giving me the look. Yes. The look. That look that says ‘what have you done you not telling me. There is something going on and I don’t know what but I’m gonna find out…’ So I did the obvious thing. As he sat down, I wrapped my arms around him and said, ‘Sleep well lover?’ kissing him on the head. His shoulders relaxed.

We had made love last night. Well okay. We had sex. We hadn’t made love in ages. Sex yes, not ‘make-love’.

When had the game changed? Too often nowadays its becoming like those stupid radio control cars my two Jeds spend so long driving around the house and driving me batty. Push the button here, turn the handle there and whoopa, the damn thing just about drives itself. As I said, sex, not love.

But last night, also because I felt guilty and partly because I had to get my man into the best frame of mind possible, I did a little extra from my side and hey, the results were quite outstanding if you get my point? Sorry… Now I’m being naughty.

Anyway, that little black lace number with my hair all washed and a gentle sprinkle of Jean Paul… He was tired when we climbed into bed and half an hour later, he was just about dead. Well half an hour’s better than nothing, give me a break. And he slept like an angel until he woke up with that stupid phone of his. Honky-tonk piano to open your eyes to? Men!

I help Jed Jnr with his bag, give Jed a hug. He tries to grab me. I wriggle free and giggle. He’s got that look again. No, the other one – and it’s late and Jed Jnr has to go to school and I have things to do. So I huddle them into the car, smile and wave like the sweet little wife I am, still in my sexy black lace nightie now modestly covered in a white towel-gown, and then I turn and dash for my lab or coven or whatever you want to call it.

First the black nightie goes back into the washing then moth-balls for the next big occasion. Hell. I hope I still fit into it for the next occasion. I make a mental note to make that occasion not too far in the future, and I’m into my green paint-stained overall.

No. I do not do the witch thing in special witch attire. As I said, I’m more the fairy kind of witch – which means I probably should have stayed in the sexy little black number, but I’m not going to chance getting any of the yuckee goo I have to face for the next three hours, on it. Could you imagine cuddling up to the aroma of lizards innards? Anyway, I love my overall. The top two buttons are missing and it makes me feel sexy.

Jed has been having issues at work. I can see he’s not happy nowadays. Is it just the work? I dunno. I do what I can to make him happy. I do his food, his clothes. He wanted me to stay at home and do house - I think a bit like yearning for mother dear - and I did!

I would also have liked to head out into the wild blue yonder to discover myself, make my mark. But hey, I know family comes first – to a degree. I stay home, I keep in shape (as much as for him as for me – he likes my tight little ass). I wash, clean, and look after my two children, Jed and Jed jnr. If a man doesn’t want to be happy, there’s nothing I can do about that. …I think it’s also the thought of going tomorrow. Even though he doesn’t say it, I think he dreads it more than I do. But he would never say it. Too much of a faithful son. Sometimes he’s just like a big puppy with those big soft brown eyes that can turn to fires of coal at the drop of a hat. But I love him, and now time for biznis – for both of us.

I don’t know how people can like cutting up reptiles and rodents and little animals. I did it at school with a frog once and threw up all over the lab. They made me clean it up too. I was so mad. Bloody assholes.

So it’s all cut up, in the pot with water and apple cider vinegar and brought to the simmer. Stinks like the sewers of an acid lab.

I keep on going over in my mind, ‘The words spin the deed, the contents add the speed,’ which basically ends up persuading me to top up on my quantities. I want the real deal.

Now there are generally three different ways to spin your magic. Via concoctions you drink, eat or inhale before, during or after some bizarre, frenzied incantations. That’s right folks, no syringes or hypodermics. We were bending minds, quite successfully I might add, long before that stuff came on the scene. Thank Heavens, I hate needles.

But for my little Bwummer case on hand, I need to do one size fits all. Couldn’t very well have different concoctions. What if I mess it up – give the wrong one to Geoff, enhance his already more than obnoxious demeanor. No. One size fits all and hence the potion.

Obviously I have spoken long to Sabrina – told me to make sure I get the words exact and the measurements on point. That of course was before I discovered that no one could agree on measurements. And then the words! Now was it, ‘…and the hair to the lip of the mead’, ‘with the hair to the lip of the mead’ or ‘under the hair to the lip of the mead’.

I try calling Sabrina. No reply. Wonder where she’s gallivanting. Normally on a Wednesday she’s home. She didn’t tell me she’s going anywhere? …Shopping! I bet you she’s going shopping. And didn’t ask me. What I ask you…What have I done?

Then I remember that I told her I’m going away to enchant my in-laws. She had cackled like a witch. Yeah, I know… Anyway that’s probably why she never asked.

The day flashes by without any major hitches - provided the bloody stuff works - and I am just finishing decanting the potion into the little dispenser bottles I dug up in the medicine chest, when my Jed and Jed arrive home. My man is in a hurry, my son is tired. He can sleep in the car. …No not Jed Snr, silly – he’s driving; Jed Jnr. We load the cases, food for the road – I also made some ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches on the coarse rye bread I get from Forno’s – and we’re on the road.

Soon we’re out of the city and out on the open road. I am a little lost in my thoughts and humming to myself, a mixture of excitement, apprehension and guilt. Jed looks at me funny. I never normally hum – or sing or whistle for that matter. Sound projection is not one of my strengths - like baking - except when really mad, but then I don’t normally have to carry a tune.

I feel so bad. What if something goes wrong? What if I kill them or worse … turn Geoff into a pig. I smile. He’s already a pig. Anyway que sera or whatever.

On arrival at the Bwummers about four hours later, Geoff and Dufus charge down to our car to meet us. Dufus makes straight for my leg (what a surprise). Jed laughs embarrassed. Geoff makes a snide remark about his dog having good taste but going for the wrong buff. If he were closer, I would have clobbered him (again), but it’s hard to walk with 50kg of pit-bull panting around your thigh. Jed is giggling like a schoolboy.

if out of appreciation for a sick joke, nervousness at how I’m gonna react, or wonderment at how I’m going to get the mutt off. I don’t.

I keep my dignity while trying to kick Dufus in the nuts. Very hard with slobber dripping down your leg. Anthea appears for her Easter annual ritualistic greeting thing. Before she even offers me a coffee I’m invited into the kitchen to help her do her dirty work (at this time of day?) while father and son head off to the terrace, thankfully Dufus in tow, but no idea where Jock is – another trial to come.

I can already see how this is panning out. Me getting ‘how to be a good little house-wife 102’ while hop-scotching away from El-Gropo like a jackrabbit, and we haven’t even started Act 1!

There are times when drastic action is required - like performing one of my Oscar winning ‘classic beauty while fainting’ cameos. Goes off flawlessly …oh how I love drama. Jed is concerned… Hallelujah, he noticed! Small mercies. Good thing I didn’t have to go into Act 2.

He asks if I’m, okay. With a brave in-the-face-of-adversity smile, I say I’m fine …maybe just a cup of tea – and if on offer, a small teeny bite to eat? Little Jed is also looking a bit bleak after the long trip.

Sandwiches arrive with juice. Yes! You guessed it. Juice would surely be perfect for me to slip a Mikki! I chomp down the cheese ham and tomato sandwiches, almost wishing them down Jed Jnr’s throat between him trying to dominate the conversation, with grandstand Geoff encouraging.

But where’s Jock…? He is needed in this little pantomime.

Thankfully he arrives just in the nick of late night snack time, so to speak. I get up like a gracious guest and offer to do the honors serving the juice. For a second I thought my man was going to fall off his chair. The way I see it, there’s always a first time, so he should just relax. I smile and wave sweetly.

I pour mine, then pour the potion into the juice, and pour the four. Well not actually. Dufus is still a problem. I mean you can’t really serve a dog a glass of juice without looking unusual. But method in my madness, I keep my head and offer to clear the plates, Anthea looks about to weep with joy at her protege in the making: her patient hours dedicated to making me a fully fledged member of the-weaker-sex-chain-gang is paying off.

In the kitchen, still some potion left. I find Dufus’ food bowl. Empty… Bingo! I know where they’re keeping the pellets so no sweat, food in the bowl and potion in food. Okay, ‘no sweat’ is simplifying a bit. Trying to dish up dog food and spike it, while not making a sound as 50kg of horny hound tries to eel his way around your leg is not ‘no sweat’, but eventually done.

2 - MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, I get back just in time to see Jed picking up the tray to serve the orange-juice.

I rush over, ‘No baby! I offered, relax. …Geoff?’ I hold out the tray and offer the closest glass. He takes it. Armpits relax…

I decide not to take chances with Anthea and Jock. They are so unpredictable they might take mine or Jed’s. I pass them each their juices and chink the whole of my loving in-law family – except for Dufus who from the gluttony in the kitchen, if things go to plan, will soon be turning over a new leaf.

At first, I think nothing’s happening. Geoff sinks into his regular armchair like an overworked sloth, Anthea slinks back into the kitchen, little Jed Jnr is on the lounge floor playing with the new PSP computer gadget the in-laws had given him despite my begging them not to. …Isn’t it strange how you feel pins into the rectums of effigies might at times just be justified?

Jed and I are on the two-seater couch, with the tropical fish tank on our one side and flat-screen TV above the fireplace opposite. Then something starts changing. Slow mind you. But change nevertheless. For the first time ever, there is a lull in the conversation not piled full with Geoff’s mundane verbiage.

Jed sighs and speaks, ‘Ahhhh… what can we say…’

What can we say? Gee I have a great idea, if it’s Louis the Lech we’re talking about, I suppose nothing would be out of the question. But that said, he isn’t talking. His eyes have taken on a slightly bovine glaze, unfocused into the near distance. Okay, far distance, although most times he can’t think or see further than the end of his nose.

I am now fully alert. The change has begun. I know it! I glance furtively at Jed. I had given him a drop or six of juice as well. Yeah I know: You don’t fix what’s not broken, but maybe there are a few burs there that could do with smoothing…

And then Dufus ambles in. I watch him, nerves strung tight. This is the litmus test; the tongue-tip test, so to speak: Is he coming for my leg?

I wait and watch, half dangling my calf out as sacrificial bait. He stands at the door, looking around in a daze, undecided. He looks at my leg. I hold my breath as he takes two steps forward. He’s coming… It hasn’t worked. I get ready for the anti-leg-bonk sidekick. And then he stops, his head swings to Jed Snr, anguish in his eyes. He lets out a long heart wrenching whine. Like the-world-is-against-me-and-why-me whine, and lopes over to Geoff, brushing up against his leg like a lovesick cat.

I suppress my feelings of elation. It worked! My leg is off the hook. I swear, even as he ambles over to my loving husband, gone the man-killer stalk, now a slight mince in his step. A decidedly more feminine, softer gait. He has changed! It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see. Even Jed is surprised. He bends down and pats the stupid mutt.

‘What’s up Duf, love problems?’ he consoles.

‘What’s this about love problems?’

It’s Anthea coming back from the kitchen. Again a surprise. The apron is gone. Hell I didn’t even know she had skin under that thing. It’s like almost embarrassing. Like seeing her walk naked. I have never seen her without it. She struts towards the coffee table, jabs the melancholic Dufus with an impatient foot.

‘Get out of my way, you brain-dead hund’ she says to him.

Dufus wails his indignation. It’s the first time mummy has ever been unkind to him. At the coffee table, she picks up Geoff’s packet of smokes, takes one, grabs for the lighter and lights it.

Jed is shocked.

‘Mama!’ he says, alarm clear in his voice. Did he sound a bit like Dufus? ‘You don’t smoke! …I never knew you smoked?’

‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know, sonny boy,’ she chortles not unlike a witch. Please God no!

‘There, there doll. Come relax. Take some weight off your feet. Although we all know, no extra weight there,’ Geoff beams graciously.

I’m gob-smacked. A string of words from Louis the Lech without an I or off-color innuendo? The first flicker of panic and I feel my face flush. A change yeah - that’s what I had in mind. But not a sex change!

‘I’ve been thinking doll. You are always working, killing yourself. And I’ve been thinking…’

Okay, I think: Thinking would be pushing it or maybe testament to the fact that he didn’t want to return his brain to his maker unused, but still…

‘I was thinking how about I make Easter lunch for tomorrow.’

Geoff stands and stretches like a ballet dancer. Now I am really concerned, firstly about the flip flop in my parents-in-law - and Dufus – and now what we could possibly expect for lunch tomorrow. I must remember to hide the insecticides, pesticides and oven cleaner. At least Jock seems still in character.

Then Jock speaks. ‘Well at least he’s not sitting around trying to hump the shit out of your leg, although one tasty piece of leg if you ask me. Let’s face it, my big brother knows his oats when choosing a piece of meat. If you ask me…’

‘Jock!’ Jed Snr is clearly alarmed. ‘What’s got into you guys… Too much grape juice?’

‘Hey calm down big brother. I’m just saying your taste in delectable women is …sexayyy’.

I suppress a nervous giggle. When I get nervous, I rant, giggle or eat. We had just done munch, so eat was off the menu. It wasn’t the time to rant. It was the time to disappear into the woodwork. So I giggle.

Jed is on his feet, ‘What are you giggling at? Has everyone lost it? We didn’t even have punch.’

I find that hysterical. Control is not my best suite under pressure. ‘It’s funny Geoff. Relax baby…’

‘I agree with Jock.’ It’s Anthea standing back from the table, cigarette hanging from her mouth, pelvis pushed forward, legs apart and hands on her hips, looking me up and down. My flush turns to geyser.

‘What?’ Jed says, his voice exasperated.

‘About Netta…’

‘What about my wife?’

‘Well let’s just say if I were to swing with women, I wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with her.’ Anthea and Jock look at each other, dirty thoughts in lusty eyes and crack up laughing. When in doubt, giggle, so I join them.

‘She has got a point though,’ from Geoff who giggles, knuckles to face like an adolescent school girl.

‘Dad! Mom… All of you… What’s going on. This is a joke, right…?’

And then Dufus howls and rolls on his back to have his tummy tickled. That is it. We are all cracking up. Jed looks at us clearly irritated, …mad. And he storms out.

He is just at the door when Jock has his chirp, ‘You sure you want to leave your wife with us, big boy?’

Jed storms out and slams the door and his family, me included are almost on the floor laughing - them from perverted glee, me from nerves and now fear: was I safe with these imbeciles?

The laughter dies a staccato death in dribs and drabs. A silent lull. Each milling over our own thoughts. Me, how the hell to get out; work out what to do. Them probably thinking of ways to ravage their son-and-brother’s little wife. I have to get out.

Then I get it.

‘Listen. I need to go… you know. Don’t need any sour-pusses tomorrow,’

I smile sweetly. Geoff is first off the mark. ‘Of course my dear. You go to your husband. Anyway, I need to get busy in the kitchen. Maybe… You know any good recipes? Maybe we could…’

‘Would love to dad, but…’ Dad… Dad…? I actually called him dad? Must be more wound up than even I think! Sabrina. Yes. That’s it. She got me into this. Well not actually, but she could have at least made sure I knew what I was doing. God. I don’t even bake cakes! How was I supposed to know how to make magic potions.

‘Listen… I should go.. Maybe later…’

‘You run along honey, get yourself looking pretty and be nice. I’m sure we can get to know each other much better later,’ Anthea leers.

‘And try not to dream what I must be like…’

Was this really Jock? Had he become Dufus? Had he and Dufus changed personalities? Yes. That was it.Somehow, Heavens know how, Geoff is inside Anthea and she is in him, and Dufus and Jock have swapped personalities or bodies. I need to get out, so I smile and wave. They hardly notice, Anthea picking her teeth with a matchstick, Jock looking at his nether regions like he was discovering them for the first time, and Geoff waltzing into the kitchen to try on aprons.

I can sort Jed out later. I need to sort this out first. Get hold of Sabrina. Find out how deep this rabbit hole can go. Into the garden. Beautiful view. Do I care right now…? My family has gone nuts and I am to blame. But this is what I wanted …isn’t it? At least Geoff was off my tail, literally.

Her number is ringing. Come on Sabrina – answer, I plead into the handset. ‘I am not here at the moment, please leave a mess…’

‘Fuck!’ I never swear but heavens above. ‘Sabrina. You need to call me. Please… We have problems..’ I cut the call off. Start thinking how she will take the ‘we’. Will she think it is a threat? Will she get the message? Will she rather not face my music or will she have my back. Oh God. I shouldn’t have said that last part. Why do I always talk so much? Jed keeps on saying ‘I get it! You don’t have to give the blow by blow. If I get it I get it. Get it?’

I’ve blown it – and the phone rings.

‘Sabrina… Sabrina..?

‘Your local friendly witch baby. What’s up?’

‘We have a problem…”

Oh no! She picked up on it. She’s gonna roast me. ‘No no. I’m under pressure. Me… My problem..’

It seems like an eternity of silence before, ‘I see… So tell me about …this problem.’

I tell her the whole thing. Not the whole whole thing. She knows the part up to the kitchen. Hell. I’d told her so she would tell me what to do in the kitchen. But I tell her about getting to the Bwummers, emptying the potion into the juice after dinner…

‘What juice?’

‘Huh?’

She asks it again.

‘Orange,’ I say…

Silence again, then a slightly quivery voice, …not quite sure if laughing or in shock: ‘Oh no…’

‘Oh no?’

‘Oh no…’

‘Oh no what, Sabrina? What’s oh no…?

‘I told you didn’t I?’

‘Told me what for goodness sake. What?’

‘About citrus?’

I am fuming, frustrated, pensive and pissed off. ‘What about citrus Sabrina. What?’

‘Mix the potion with anything: Water, food, milk. Even saliva. But stay away from citrus. It does strange things…’

‘No shit Sabrina! My family has gone cuckoo. They swapped bodies or minds or something… I don’t know! They’re all crazy. Even the dog, he thinks he’s my semi-gay brother in law!’

‘Okay. Let’s go back a little. Find out where we are. Measurements… Did you stick to the recipes?’

‘Well …yeah…’ I hesitate a bit. She picks it up. ‘Please say you didn’t go over the amounts…’

‘Well maybe a little here and there…’

‘Netta!’ I can hear the concern now. ‘How much over? Try to think. This is important.’

‘About double,’ I mumble hoping she’ll hear wrong, but can’t think of a relevant word that rhymes with double –apart from bubble and trouble. …Not relevant.

‘Double? …Did you say double…?’

Seems no point in answering.

‘Oh no… Oh no…’

Not this again! Now I’m really worried. ‘Oh no what Sabrina? What have I done?’

‘Double drops with citrus mix? My dear you have created a perfect storm.’

‘A perfect what? Stop Sabrina please… What do you mean…?’

‘Well let’s put it this way, you can expect the next few days to be interesting at the very least…’ she chuckles.

I’m in tears. I turn to the house. Jock is standing at the window, thumbs in his belt staring at me, a thin smile smeared across his pale skinny face. I smile, wave and turn away.

‘How long does it last…?’

‘Don’t really know love… DD with OJ. Sweetheart you must take notes. This is…’

‘Screw the notes Sabrina! This is my family. My life!’

I hear Sabrina recomposing herself. ‘Okay. I have heard. Just heard, okay? Don’t know if… I’ve never tested it myself. But…’

‘Get on with it. Please!’

‘Okay. Flakes of Bleubenbec.’

‘Flakes of Bleubenbec? …Bleubenbec! What is Bleubenbec? Where do you get it…’

‘Okay. It has a long and colorful history and…’

‘Stop the okays and history lesson Sabrina. I’m outside in the garden. My man run to the garden-flat thinks we’re crazy, and my in-laws have lost it! What is…’

‘Garlic. …Cloves of garlic.’

‘Garlic?’

Am I hearing right.

I push my handset harder to my ear, cover my other ear with my other hand. It’s starting to get cold.

‘Garlic?’

‘Garlic.’

‘That’s it. Just garlic?’

‘Well, with a bit of air fur crystal’

My heart drops again. ‘Air fur crystal?’

‘Dandelions. Should be millions up where you are this time of year.’

I can do this. There is a way out. No one will ever remember.

Geoff asked me to help prepare lunch. There’s a chance. And then I remember the Alliumphobia. Hereditary so I’d heard. Psychosomatic, hereditary. It didn’t matter. It was hopeless: the Bwummers have a phobia for garlic. Worse than bleeding vampires. There is no ways they are just going to start devouring copious quantities of garlic.

‘How much?’ I ask

‘How much what?’

‘How much garlic Sabrina? How much do they have to eat? The Bwummers have Alliumphobia. They don’t do…’

‘They have what?’

“Alliumphobia. A strong… a phobia about garlic.’

‘That does pose a problem. Okay. We’re gonna have to do the silver goose-liver cocktail. …Don’t ask. Grill silver-goose livers. Add some chilli and herbs, then add the garlic and dandelions – raw mind you. Yeah remember, raw! Then liquidize, pour into cocktail bowls, put some parsley and an olive on top and voila, you’re done.’

I’m mesmerized. Flabbergasted. Elated. ‘Silver goose livers? I don’t even know where I’m gonna get garlic. Where do I find Silver Goose Livers in… You know where I am?’

‘Okay. Good point. You’ll have to do chicken livers.’

‘Chicken livers?’

‘Yeah I know, not the same taste, but about the same effect.’

‘Sabrina. You.. you….’ And then it hit me. Chicken livers – same effect!

‘And one last thing. Very important. When everyone has finished, you need to declare in a strong clear voice,‘Trip Away’.’

‘Trip away? …Declare? What do you mean?’

Sabrina sounds indignant, ‘Well. Just say it, you know. Trip away… Trip away!’

‘Trip away…’ I think about it. That I can do. ‘Brina you’re a genius. I love you. Must go’.

I cut off before she even answers. There is a way! I charge back to the house. Have we got chicken livers? Have they got garlic? They won’t have garlic. Where can we get?

‘I was thinking of driving into town in the morning. Last minute odds and ends. Was wondering if you want to come?’

It’s Anthea. She never goes into town. I’m caught off guard. I have to do my thing – but hey. They haven’t got garlic, that’s for sure. Chicken livers? With Anthea’s cooking, unlikely.

‘Ah Anthea… Mom.. That will be great!’

‘Enough of the mom thing girly. Thea will do just fine. Maybe around nine o clock? So we can get back?’

‘That would be great …Thea. Super! Some things I want to get too. Maybe concoct something of my own for lunch…’

I can feel her trying to see into my head. I tell my face to smile sweetly and eyes dance. I hope everything is listening.

She smiles and turns. ‘See you in the morning. Got some things to do myself. By the way, that color dress is made for you, but you should maybe think of lifting the hemline a little.’

Is she really hitting on me? I blush and look at my feet – and hemline. Maybe she’s right. I’m sure Jed would like it. …Maybe not Jed jnr. Different view from down there. …It was bad enough before with Louis the Lech, but now Thea the dyke? This is a whole different ball game.

I charge into the kitchen. Geoff is wearing an apron boasting a buxom topless waitress – which somehow matches his new facial expressions. Is that a limp wrist? It is! Geoff is doing the limp wrist thing.

‘Netta. Just in time. I gave the place a bit of a clean you know. Don’t want to say it…’ he sneaks a furtive glance at the door. ‘Dust devils everywhere. And the fridge! You wouldn’t believe it…’

I jump at the opportunity.

‘It looks stunning dad – and the fridge. You’ve tidied it? I can’t believe that. …Can I have a look?’

Before he can answer, I open the fridge. I ooh and aah …but meanwhile inside: Damn! No chicken livers and obviously no garlic.

‘It looks wonderful Geoff. What are you making tomorrow? I was thinking maybe I do a little starter. Something I’ve wanted to do since I found it. It’s… You’ll see… Maybe we just need to get to know each other better.’

He glows with maternal love, ‘Oh Nett, I am so glad you say that. I was just thinking… I am so glad you like my fridge. I’m thinking of… But first what starter you want to make?’

I giggle (doing a lot of giggling lately). ‘Surprise! …So why don’t you keep yours a surprise too. Each our own little secret. I’m going into town with mom (sigh) in the morning and …do you need anything?’

‘No. I think I’m all good. If I need anything may I shout?’

‘Only with pleasure – but knock first!’

An embarrassed snigger. ‘Yes I know. I am so embarrassed. That was naughty of me. Sorry. I’ll knock.’

I hesitate, almost lean over and peck him on the forehead. Almost. I could maybe live with Mrs Louis the Lech.

‘Okay, later…’ and I’m off to find my man. I get outside and am confronted by Jock. He is dressed in leathers, for God’s sake. Not sure if he’s going for Hell’s Angels or Village People. Either way, It’s not Jock.

‘You want me don’t you. I can see it in your eyes…’

‘Not now Jock. I’m not in the mood.’

I try step past him. He moves to block my path, and grabs for my wrist. I am angry now and really have to fight the urge of kneeing him in the nuts. Leathers or not, he’s still Jock.

“You want me. I know. You just don’t want Jed to know you got the wrong brother. You wanna feel me, yeah? I want to…’

‘Jock. Enough! I’ll call your mother. I swear it. I’ll call Jed! I’m on my way to him…”

‘Go then baby. Lie to yourself. But don’t worry. I’m not jealous. I’ll be waiting when you come crawling back…’

I turn to answer but there is no answer. Checkmate. I head for the small garden cottage in the back garden, a short stroll past the pool and up the sloping verge. It’s quite a nice cottage actually. A split level, higher in the front where the main bedroom and lounge have quaint little white window terraces looking out over the pool. I’m up the stairs in a flash and then hesitate.

What am I going to say? Jed knows something is up. My husband is nobody’s fool. …Dumb at times but certainly not a fool.

Jed is lying on the bed tracing cracks on the ceiling with his finger when I walk into the room. He doesn’t even look up. This is not good. The ranting Jed, first prize - easy meat; the upset Jed, workable. But the silent Jed. No signs -no action plan. …You wait and see. Maybe a glass of wine? No. That will go down in flames. …Tea! Tea is safe. And I smile and wave and head for the kitchenette. Safety in distance.

‘What do you think that was all about?’ he shoots from the bedroom. I almost drop the kettle. ‘What dear?’

‘I’m coming babes. Tea…’

Silence. Thank God. But all I’m doing is deferring the inevitable. So how do I play this… Dumb? He knows me too well - I may be stupid but not that dumb. Express concern? Heaven knows I should be concerned. I am concerned! Concerned enough to go with Lettie the Lech to town in the morning to buy garlic to pump down the throats of my vampire in-laws – to get them to be like they were before! Am I nuts? …Losing it?

No time to think of that now; go with concern. Tea’s ready and I head for the room, tray in hand like Mary Poppins. ‘What were you saying love?’ …Sister Theresa.

‘No nothing. Just my folks, …my family. …The bloody dog!’

‘I saw it too. Right after dinner.’ Naughty I know but I couldn’t resist it.

‘Yeah. Did you see? My father… Cooking? …And I didn’t know my mother smoked? Where did that come from? Did you see Dufus? It was like he was a Corgi…’

‘Stress. Must be stress. It can’t be easy getting old, and..’

‘And my brother!’

There is a commotion outside. Jed is up and we rush to the window terrace, looking out at the garden and pool. Quite a nice garden. Lots of color. Things really grow in this neck of the woods. There’s Jock out on his back on the floor below our window.

‘Jock! Are you okay?’ Jed turns on his heel and is outside. I hesitate. What was the idiot doing? Gardening? Yeah right. Was he climbing up to our window? A pervy Romeo? Couldn’t be. He doesn’t like …my type!

I get out just in time to see Jed helping his ruffed weirdo brother to his feet.

‘What were you doing, Jock?’ I ask innocently. It then hits flash-Fred my husband. He looks down at the spot, up at our window, down at the spot like it was about to spill its guts, then at gentle Jock.

‘Yeah Jock, what were you doing?’

Jock looks embarrassed even for Jock. ‘Nothing man. A bit of tinkering, gardening. You know.’

Jed looks around. There is no garden. Just lawn leading up to the terrace, Okay, some leafy tropical spikey things as well. But nothing needing ‘gardening’.

‘Where Jock?’ valiant knight chirps. …Yeah, chirps! ‘There is no garden!’

‘Of course there is. So whaddaya think? I was climbing up? Trying to look in your window…? At what? You think I’d want to see your wife? Is that it? You think that, don’t you. Just because she’s…’

Jed’s jaw is on the floor.

‘Because she’s got curves …in the right places. And legs… Man has she got legs! But she’s my brother’s wife, right? Would I be wanting to…’

‘Jock shut up okay? Just shut up!’

It’s like Jock’s been hit by smelling salts. He shuts up and his eyes are like saucers. Like when you see an alien –or your own pending death!

‘Now enough okay?’ Jed’s got his second wind. ‘I don’t wanna know, okay? I don’t want to know! Just do your brother a favor …and go back to the house – and leave me with my wife with the curves in the right places and great legs. Go dream about her if you want, but just leave us alone!’

Do you ever have times when you wished you had recorded the conversation? This is one. Forget conversation. The whole movie! Jock turns on his heel and snails off like a scolded puppy.

‘Puppy Dufus?’ I think to myself.

Back inside, Jed is in no mood for idle conversation or bed talk. Suits me actually and the night goes out.

It’s only seconds later and I hear the holler. A mad-assed voice that I know somewhere beyond the window.

‘We’re leaving in 30 minutes. I hope you’re up and looking good!’

Was Anthea trying to broadcast to the neighborhood? Come to the door! It’s not as though it’s far… Phone! Hullo? Have you heard about mobile? But I get the message.

3 - FAMILY BAGGAGE

I LOOK LIKE death in the morning. I hate mornings at the best of times. Up here with the heat and the mosquitoes and flies. Maybe not as bad as mid summer, but things that creep should not exist.

I put my face on, do my thing, grab a piece of cheese and some yogurt and just make it up to the house in time to stop Anthea attacking the horn.

It’s not a long drive to town. But still that was too far. I cross my legs self consciously. I have denim shorts on and she is devouring my flesh with her eyes. We both stay silent as we head out. She smiles. Oh god. Here we go.

She looks at me. ‘Have you ever been with a woman?’

Not what I expected. The indirect approach, but there.

‘Anth …Thea! That’s not really something you ask your daughter in law…’

‘Ah don’t give me that b-s. I know what you kids are like… I won’t judge you. Have you?’

‘Anthea no! No. I am not into girls. My word!’

She reaches into her pocket and takes out Geoff’s half empty soft-pack. Takes one out and offers me. I shake my head no, and she lights up.

‘Pity’ Anthea smiles lecherously. I giggle. ‘Anthea what’s come over you?’

‘I don’t know. I was just thinking. …Once I nearly did. She was gorgeous. I would have. We could have. And then…’

‘Then what?’ I ask. Now I want to know. This is hysterical.

‘Then Geoff…’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘I met Geoff around the same time I got pregnant – with Jed, the love of your life – and the rest is history.’

I am gobsmacked. ‘Anthea I’m sorry. I didn’t… Does Jed know?’

She scowls like a mine worker. ‘Don’t be silly! Hi son, your mama might have been a dyke if you didn’t come along.’

She swerves past a car and back into the traffic – and a cop jumps out from behind a bush that wouldn’t hide a squirrel normally. I have never been so happy to see a traffic officer in my life. Anything to divert this conversation.

He directs us to the kerb and comes over. Now I am nervous. Getting thrown in jail was not part of my Easter plans – but now, thinking of it, maybe a very real possibility, with Anthea’s Ms Hyde mouth…

The traffic officer nods his head gravely as he leans down and into the driver’s window.

‘Good morning madam,’ he says gravely.

‘Good morning sir, two hamburgers and two beers to go please.’

He shoots up like he’s just vacuum packed a Pogo-stick.

‘Sorry madam?’ he croaks indignantly.

‘No problem my man, add a small fries to that order …’ she looks away and then back at him square in the eyes,‘…and what time do you knock off sweetie?’

‘Now look here lady, I …I can arrest you for…’

‘Ooh that sounds bad. What say we swap the arresting for a little spanking?’

The Pogo-stick had just gone up three notches. ‘Get out of here and be careful. I am watching you. Now go…Go!’

‘Why thank you officer, have a nice day,’ Anthea giggles. I am giggling too. That was so funny. We ease into the traffic. The moment has passed and we revert to the mundane, peppered with the odd spicy quip of my mother-in-law. But now I am laughing too. I never knew she had such a great sense of humor.

Ten minutes later we pass the sprightly ‘Welcome to Mbombela - Capital of Mpumelanga’ sign. I haven’t quite got used to the name yet. It used to be Nelspruit in the old days. You look at a map, says Nelspruit, you look at road-signs, sometimes Nelspruit, sometimes Mbombela. Schizo village if you ask me. Lots of them nowadays…

Into the main road, traffic like a ghost town. That’s the one nice thing with one horse towns - no traffic. Down the one horse main road and we head for the one horse Super-Spar on the corner at the far side of town. There are four supermarkets in Mbombela. Super-Spar is not the biggest nor the best stocked, but one of the cleanest. Thankfully no traffic means ample parking so we pull up, diagonal park almost right outside, and a few minutes later, relieved to be out of the heat of the street and in the air-conditioned cool of the mall.

I’m pushing the trolley and trying to sneak a chance to head for the fruit and vegetable isle. I have to get that darned anti-vampire stuff, but my new best buddy mother-in-law is taking this getting to know you syndrome to a whole new level. She is co-driving the trolley with me and I feel like I’m running in a three-legged race. But hey, my mantra for this Easter, smile and wave…

And then we bump into Helga Steenkamp. Remember her?

She still runs the Brookes Hill Mountain Lodge (where we got married) just over the hill from the Bwummers and she is stocking up big time for Easter lunch. Obviously her little piece of tourist Paradise lost – is going all out for Easter. She has two trolleys stocked to the brim and she’s jockeying them down the isle like a stock car driver.

Anthea let’s out a squeal of delight which surprises me since I know she can’t stand Helga Steenkamp since our fateful wedding. Helga was and is a garrulous lady who has not yet learnt that still waters run deep, rather going for bubbling brooks make the most noise – or something like that… But at this time in this place, fine by me. I leave the two old duckies catching up on good times they never had, and charge for the veggies. I grab 4 cloves of garlic and rush back, picking up two packs of frozen chicken livers in full stride on the way back, arriving exactly at the moment the two smiling ladies saying they must get together to catch up, both of them knowing that catch up is the last thing either of them would want to do while fish still swam in the sea.

‘Oh there you are, sweetie. Have we got everything now?’

‘I think so Thea,’ I smile sweetly.

I see Helga is slightly pale and a bit harassed looking. I shudder thinking what my flip-flop mother in law might have been saying.

‘Shall we go?’ and I turn our load back towards the check out tills.

‘Bye now, let’s keep in touch,’ Anthea croons back over her shoulder falling into stride beside me, leaving a smile-gaping Helga behind us.

Another two things about small towns, they have fewer till points and shorter queues. It’s only a matter of minutes and we’re out, a bit of a wobble on the way when Anthea offered to split the bill. I insisted it was my treat. Not much argument – Anthea still had that piece of Anthea. Then she ambled off out front and I did the deed, smuggling the garlic out of sight at the bottom of a bag in the process.

I turn towards the car and then I see it. Brushed chiffon in leopard skin. A sarong that hangs so beautifully perfect. Long, but showing leg on the side. …See through. …Just - or just not, depending on your imagination. It is beautiful. I break stride to look, almost falling off my heels.

Anthea is there to catch me. ‘Watch it my child,’ she says, steadying my arm. Then she sees where I’m looking. She looks …hard. Looks at me. ‘You like it?’

‘Nah.’ I start walking again. ‘Let’s go. Things to do…’

‘We’ve got time. Let’s go look.’

‘No Thea. We shouldn’t. Heaven knows what Jed…’

‘Hey. They’re all big boys. Besides. They’re family. Let them work that one out for themselves. Come. Let’s have a look.’

She half drags me protesting a lot harder than resisting, into the shop. Where do they get this stuff? Gorgeous. So soft and flowing. What beautiful colors. The bags and shoes! And then I see it again. Now on a model holding front, center stage of the shop. I touch it and it’s everything I visualized.

‘You’ve got to admit, it’s nice,’ I smile ruefully back to Anthea.

‘Why not slip it on…’

‘Should I?’ I look around. The shop’s quite empty. I grab one off the rail and start to lift it over my head.

‘What are you doing?’ Anthea shrieks.

‘I …I’m trying it on…?’

‘Over your clothes? That fabric? Don’t be silly. Get undressed sweetheart. We do have change- rooms in this neck of the woods. And take these shoes…’

She grabs a pair of sexy copper-shade stiletto sandals, and steers me to the change-rooms. I look at her and hesitate.

‘Don’t worry dear, I’m not coming in to rape you. I’ll be here outside. But I’d love a look see…?’

I smile sheepishly and head into the cubicle. I take off my shorts and top. I have a bra and knickers on. I start to put the sarong on. Bugger it. Why not… I stop and slip out of my underwear. I sheath myself in the sarong and put on the shoes.

I look at myself in the angled cubicle mirrors, seeing me from all sides. I look stunning, sexy. If only … If only… I have to show someone… Anthea. That’s all I have. She’ll have to do.

I sneak my head out of the cubicle and look around sheepishly. No one. Just Anthea standing at the entrance. She sees me. Her face breaks into a smile – like a wolf. Beckons me out. I look around. Still no one. Gotta show someone. I come out and stand coyly.

‘Stand like a woman girl. I want to see you.’

I open my legs and stand strong, my pelvis thrust forwards and my hands on my hips. I’m sure she can see everything. I feel like I’m posing naked – and it feels wonderful! Her hands go to her mouth and she gasps. ‘You are beautiful, Netta. You are truly beautiful.’

I’m blushing - while my mother in law is flirting with me?

But she isn’t. I can feel it. She appreciates me.

‘My son may be a lot of things, but darling when it comes to women, he is not a fool.’ That’s what I was thinking, I think to myself.

‘Now take the dress and shoes off, pass them to me through the door so I can do what has to be done and you get dressed.’

Yeah. She is right. We have to get back. Lunch is less than two hours away. Reluctantly I pass her the shoes and sarong and slip into my drab day-wear and hasten outside.

‘Come lets go.’

Anthea grabs my arm and starts her routine-by-now escort to the door. She’s carrying a shopping bag. ‘What have you got?’ I ask, curious. Then it dawns on me. ‘You didn’t…. Anthea please tell me you didn’t.’

‘Didn’t what darling?’

‘You know. …You didn’t…’

Opening the car, she tosses the bag to me. ‘You looked absolutely gorgeous in it.’

She winks through naughty eyes. ‘Anyway, you just gave a closet dyke a thrill that will last for the next thirty years. If anyone should thank me it should be that brain dead husband of yours, not you! Shall we go now?’

The trip home was one of the best I have had for who knows how long. Maybe even since I was a teenager at school discussing the latest crush or heartthrob. They are different you know… We laugh and giggle and I start wondering if it is such a good idea to set things straight. Was that straight before? Me and Anthea could be friends. I mean really good friends. She is witty, sexy, outrageous. But her heart is pure gold. And then I remember that her heart was probably always pure gold - just the lead lining was so thick. Because if not from her, where did Jed get his heart?

We are both relaxed and jovial. And then we get home. Chalk and cheese about as understated as an ice-block in a snowstorm. We should have known what was to come when we saw Mrs Spyker from across the road, weaving from side to side like a tennis player, trying to see over the Bwummers’ front fence. It’s not a solid wall, but really densely overgrown. To see into the garden one really has to try. And Mrs. Spyker was really trying!

Anthea presses the buzzer and the electric gates open. We pull into the drive and hear a squeal from behind. Mrs. Spyker is rooted to the spot on the driveway, pointing in terror into our yard. We follow her finger, and I feel my blood drain. There is our Jock, the new-found stud, lying spread-eagled on his back, butt stark naked, looking at some swallows circling high above.

I look at Anthea. She is riveted.

Here we go. This is the turning point…. She closes the gate on a poor Mrs Spyker not quite sure if she should be shocked or aroused, and bursts out laughing and laughing and laughing.

And I see the ridiculous humor in the stupid things that trigger us each and every day. And it’s funny! So I join her.

Jock, hearing the commotion, gets up and saunters towards us. Stopping a yard away, posing in his mind like a dock crane.‘Can’t get your eyes off a real man, can you?’ he says to me.

Anthea beats me to the draw, ‘She couldn’t if there was one around. You seen any? Now go inside like a good boy and put some clothes on for lunch. There’s a good lad.’

‘Aw ma…’ He groans. Gives me another long hard look.

Thankfully that is all that is hard. Reminds me a bit of his brother in some ways not spoken about though, I must admit. Then he turns and does his best impersonation of Dirty Harry – in the perverted sense of the phrase.

4 - OUT TO LUNCH

ANTHEA TAKES THE bags inside and I quickly sneak my new little surprise to the cottage. Whatever happens today at lunch, there is little doubt what I have in store will resolve all. And then it’s to the kitchen. It’s gonna be me and Geoff in the kitchen alone, to do our glorious Easter lunch.

But when I get back to the house, I find that streaking Jock was only the warm-up show, the main attraction is still to come. The bedlam coming from the kitchen sounds like a murder in progress. I charge through the entrance-hall and stop dead in my tracks at the kitchen door. It looks like a bomb site. A smeary gooey soapy slippery bomb site.

Geoff is standing at the far end, hands to his mouth in shock like a nun in prayer, his voice quivering as over and over he wails

‘What have you done. Oh lord. My steam-pud! ….What have you done!’

He is looking at his eldest son and heir standing bewildered, his head dripping, soapy water running down his shirtfront, his hands covered in goo dripping onto the floor flooded in a caramel mess of steam-pud batter and soap water. Jed’s eyes are glazed and staring, in obvious catatonic shock.

Jed Jnr is sitting smack in the middle of the mess, goo-gooing away, trying to build mud-castles out of brown smeary goo as his father mumbles incoherently.

‘…Nothing! I don’t know…. Nothing! I was… You told me… I don’t know… Nothing!’

And Dufus, feeling a little left out of the commotion joins in, trying to do Lullaby By Candlelight in C Minor. Anthea is standing just inside the kitchen doorway, a cigarette dangling from her smirking mouth, cackling like a witch. …I’m starting to have my fill of witches.

‘Jed!’ to my husband. …I look at my son, ‘Jed!’

I rush over and pick Jnr up off the floor, trying my best to tango my way out of the mush and avoid the slush.

‘What on Earth happened here?’ I squeal.

‘It’s him!’

Horror on Geoff’s face pointing at his son like he was the anti-Christ.

‘Look what he’s done!’ A picture of total despair. ‘You’ve ruined it. Look at my kitchen. Oh no… Oh no…’

Everyone turns on Jed Snr accusingly. Dufus reaches the chorus break.

‘I’ve done nothing. He… He’s trying to turn me into …you!’

He points at me.

I feel my ears flush. No! This can’t be happening. I wasn’t even here! But they’ll know it’s me. No… It’s in your head, I say. Smile and wave…

‘What is that on your hands?’ I counter.

‘It’s my dessert!’ Geoff wails. ‘This is too much. I can’t take this,’ to me, ‘How do you live with,’ he gesticulates dramatically towards his son again, ‘…this!’

This is not going well.

‘Okay, let’s be calm. …Clean this up. We still have time….’

‘It was him!’

My poor man has not had his say. Not going to happen. Let’s get this over with then…

‘Shame my baby. What happened?’

He begins with a splutter, in a right state.

‘Put the bloody tart in the oven, he says – after the whole day trying to teach me to be …Dolly! Tidying up, washing dishes, arranging dish towels …mopping the bloody floor!’

I don’t quite get it. The floor’s a mess. He sees me looking confused.

‘Okay just listen. He says put the tart in the oven. It took me fifteen minutes to scrape that stuff in in the first place – after fifteen minutes taking powder and mixing it with stuff that should never mix. Still, I was coping. But why didn’t he tell me the bloody oven was like a furnace? I open it and reach in. Jeez man! I started cooking! I slipped and the bloody stuff falls – into the oven’

‘…Upside down! I don’t know what he put in there,’ accusingly at the gasping Geoff. ‘It goes black and smokey and then catches fire. The bucket was still there from mopping the floor. I grab it. His bloody house was on fire! I throw some soap-water in. It spits like a wild thing. Steam all over. I spill some of the water on the bloody floor – and I slip again. The bucket tips into the oven, after almost taking my head off!’

He rubs the back of his neck in turmoil.

‘Well at least the fire is out…’

A deathly hush. Then a gurgle. Anthea. It could only be.

Laughter. Then more laughter. Another voice. Jock has come to see what the raucousness is about. He doesn’t need a synopsis. He is laughing. I start giggling. Geoff looks at me, fingers over his mouth and pursed lips, he joins the glee. Jed looks around dismayed. Looks at me, ‘What you laughing at…?’

‘You baby,’ I smile my sweetest girly-with-an-edge smile and laugh inside, because I feel it. ‘Look at yourself.’

My sweet man looks at himself. Tries to shake the goo from his hands. Wipes it across his soapy face, leaving a brown slime-track. And then his face cracks into that smile that made me fall in love with him, and then the laughter which sent thrills to my tummy.

We are all laughing. Even Dufus has reached his crescendo and feeling the love. We fumble together into a big clumsy hug. We have never group hugged before! Okay so it became a bit claustrophobic and embarrassing when Jock’s hands start going from family to fondle, encountering a quick slap on the wrist from Anthea for his efforts, who’s stroke could easily be misconstrued as too touchy as well.

I push them apart gently. ‘Come. Now why don’t you men just go outside and relax or play or something and let us…’

‘Speak for yourself lover girl, I go with the men,’ Anthea scowls.

‘Yes you do that love. I’ll help Netta. It’s our lunch. You all run along…’ Geoff faffs.

Anthea didn’t need any further encouragement. This party was done. Jed took Jed Jnr from me, and now Jock looked as confused as his brother.

Within ten minutes I had the floor mopped, the oven clean and we were ready to go. Geoff is over the moon, proudly parading around his raw marinated roast. It actually looks really good.

Chicken liver time. I look for the packet. No! It’s not here!

I scuttle around the kitchen like a Pekinese, but no bag. Did we leave it at the dress shop? When? In all the excitement! Did I…? Did I take it into the change-room? I can’t remember. Okay calm down girl. Go backwards… The car! Maybe the car.

‘I’ll be back in a second,’ and I’m out of there. I charge to the car. Lord of mercy. Behind the back seat. Back inside, Geoff has his roast in my clean oven. Damn. It’s gonna be filthy again.

Chicken livers into a bowl. Frying pan and olive oil. Should have got some sherry. Oh well… The oil is simmering. Entré monsieur chicken livers. They hiss and fizzle. Geoff looks up and over my shoulder. ‘My, that smells nice. What you making?’

‘You will see,’ I wink, quivering inside. Can’t he do something else? I have the smelling salts to add. He stands and watches awhile longer. ‘Maybe a little black pepper and herbs?’

‘Great idea.’

I grab the black pepper and crunch a few shakes, a handful of fresh herbs without really looking, break them up and into the frying pan - anything that might add aroma, while I feel like I’m about to fall into the fire. Then he gets bored and starts flitting around the kitchen, tasting here, tidying there. Thank God…

The livers are about done. Dark brown gold with a sizzling sheen. I reach into the packet and feel the garlic. I sneak a glance over my shoulder. He’s at the center-unit messing with the salad. Still a bit of a mess so probably quite a lot to do. This is my chance. Like a grocery thief I skin the garlic and extract four big cloves. Four should be enough, surely? The smell is like a shroud. It is only a matter of time.

The dandelions. Oh God! ‘Forgot something,’ I sing and charge out the back. Thanks for small mercies. At the edge of the grass… Thank Heavens Jock didn’t see them while he was recovering from Peeping Tom time. He would have wasted them! I pluck five. Back inside, garlic in my shorts pocket.

I take them out. Break the dandelions. Into the blender; garlic into the blender. I take the chicken liver frying pan, empty into the bowl and pour them all into the blender, and hit the button. And then the smell takes on a life of its own.

Geoff lifts his head like a parrot.

‘What’s that smell?’

He stands and sniffs the air.

‘I know that…’

He comes over. Oh shit. Here it comes. This is the moment of truth. He is going to freak!

‘That’s garlic, isn’t it,’ he whispers like a conspirator. I giggle (again).

‘Yes. Why?’

He steps back, hands on hips. ‘We don’t eat garlic.’

I giggle again. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know really. We just don’t eat garlic. The smell I think. Our family does not do garlic.’

The giggle. ‘Oh well. It’s never too late to start.’

‘But you don’t understand. We don’t do garlic.’

He is serious now.

‘It won’t hurt. This recipe needs it, dad. Just this once. They won’t even notice it. Please. Just our little secret.’

At first his face remains ever so slightly startled, indignant. Then his eyes narrow. Our secret. The girls’ secret.

‘Ooh I love secrets. But they will know. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…’ his turn to giggle.

I turn the livers into garlic impregnated slush, pour them into serving bowls, add parsley and an olive and I’m done. Not too shabby, even if I say so myself.

‘Looks yummy, But garlic… Don’t say I didn’t warn you…’

I smile and wave and dash to the cottage to get ready. Thank goodness, some respite from the Adam’s Family bar one.

Jed is lying on his back again, tracing the ceiling. ‘They’re nuts! Certifiably nuts. You think they’re doing drugs or something?’

‘Oh baby. Don’t be so silly. It’s Easter.’ I start stripping, then remember the window. I close the curtains and get undressed. Slump down on the bed beside him, trying to make out what he’s tracing. Must be the skirtings. Maybe the cupboard.

‘Anyway, I like them like this’.

Yeah right. Drugs is the least of our problem, matey. Wait ‘til you see their faces with the garlic.

‘Me too actually,’ he smiles. ‘But something is not normal. I know it.’

You have no idea, lover-boy – but for once I manage to keep my mouth shut.

We lie and say nothing for a half-hour, both thinking different thoughts about the same thing: lunch to come. Minutes gone all too fast, time to dress. Dressed, we head for the last supper – or Easter lunch. Same thing. I hope not.

They are all sitting in the lounge. Beside Jock skinning me alive with his eyes, looking quite harmless. Even pleasant. We greet them, kiss, kiss, kiss kiss… and Geoff offers us a drink.

Maybe a little sherry or wine…? Another first. Geoff thought all alcohol but beer was Satan juice. I go with the wine.

Small talk. …The weather. Our trip to town. We leave out the dress shop although Anthea’s eyes could have been a lighthouse, she signaled so strong that there was more. But thankfully no one picked it up. Bored that juicy was not called for, Anthea brought us back to the now,

‘Are we going to do this lunch today then?’

Everyone is quite peckish by this time so no arguments. It’s show time.

‘I’ll get the starters.’ I volunteer. A chorus mumble in agreement and they head for seats. I collect the tray, beautifully arranged just for this moment. Careful not to fall over my feet, Dufus or anything else, I head tentatively for the lions’ den.

I place the food in front of them. All running smoothly. I go to my place, sit down delicately, raise my spoon and wish everyone bon appetite.

‘Aren’t we gonna give thanks?’

It’s Geoff! I didn’t think he knew what a church looked like, let alone how to give thanks?

‘Yes of course’ I say, reaching for the hands next to me, my husband and brother in law. Can we please finish and eat!

‘We give thee thanks….’ Will this never end? But it does.

‘Bon appetite’ I say again, raising my fork, lurking out the corner of my eye to see if everyone follows suite. Everyone is looking suspiciously at my creation.

‘What is it?’ Jock says through a frown.

‘Just chicken livers,’ I smile lightly. I’ll clean the chair later.

‘It smells funny,’ he says, leans forward to get a proper whiff.

‘Eugh!’ he pulls back in disgust.

Everyone is now smelling their food. Anthea looks up. …At me.

The inquisition again. ‘That’s garlic!’

‘Just a little….’ I titter.

‘We don’t do garlic.’ Anthea again.

The three men look like they’re watching a tennis match.

‘Just a little Anthea. Won’t kill you…’

‘And you know that how? This family has never eaten garlic. And we do not start now.’

‘Come on Anthea. Just a little. It’s a special recipe. I so want you guys to try it. …Please…’ I smile my sweetest sweating my ass off smile.

‘Not for you. Not for anyone. You should know that about your husband. You should know that about his family.We do not do…”

‘Eat it!’ I scream.

I am startled. Was that me? Couldn’t be. Then I hear the smack. No. I recall the smack, slamming my hands down on the table as I launched myself to my feet. Their faces look like I’ve smacked them, not the table. Of one thing, no doubt. I have center stage.

I fold back down into my chair. If they don’t eat it, I’m lost and my in-laws stay bonkers. Better no doubt… But still… Wrong! Selfish.

‘Please eat it’ I whimper. ‘Please. …Just for me…’

Silence. Like Madame Toussard’s during the red eye shift.

Then Anthea straightens her napkin on her lap, lifts her spoon resolutely and takes a taste. Darling mother of mine. Take me, have me. Anything. You have saved my life. She swirls her mouth a few times, then her eyes widen in surprise.

‘Hey. This is good!’

Now she has center stage as everyone watches her (and me) bovinating mouthfuls. I hold my breath between mouthfuls, oohs and aahs. And then Jed, then Geoff and finally Jock venture into family uncharted culinary territory.

‘Wow. This is good,’ my trusting hubby lends his support.

Even Jock made sounds more like a cute dog than a mad dog. And they guzzle every last morsel.

Geoff sits back, smacking his lips and wiping his mouth delicately. ‘That was good. How did you do it?’

This is my chance. They have all finished. There might not come another one. ‘Trip away…’ I say expansively and wait for the flash. …Nothing happens.

‘Sorry?’ Geoff says leaning forward, curious.

‘Trip away, …trip away…’ I look. …Nothing.

‘You know… Triiiipp Awwaaay!’ I holler at the top of my lungs..

They are all looking at me like I lost it. Geoff shrugs, gets up, unties the apron he’s worn all days and throws it on the armchair.

‘Think someone’s been hitting the wine too hard - and we’ve only just started.’

He scowls and turns for the kitchen, ‘I suppose I better go get the roast before the bloody thing burns. How did I get into this in the first place…?’

‘Don’t worry baby, let me come help you. After all, it’s Easter,’ and Anthea is up in pursuit. Geoff stops, turns.

‘What did you say?’

Anthea chuckles seductively, sidling up to him. ‘Nothing lover-boy. Just thought you could do with some help?’

‘You called me babes…. …You haven’t called me babes for …twenty years…”

‘So you want me to stop?’ she says huskily leaning around and pinching his bum.

‘Ouch!’ First startled, then a Louis the Lech smile, but now at his wife, ‘Come here you. We got some cooking to do…’

Hand-in-hand chuckling, they turn for the kitchen.

‘Dad!’ It’s Jock. Now what? The downer. Can only be…

‘What is it son? We’re busy,’ another chuckle…

‘I want to be a fashion designer - and I …I’m gay!’

Silence can be golden but it can also be deafening. All eyes on Geoff. He shuffles his feet for a second and levels his eyes on his son.

‘That is not my problem. Deal with it…’

Jock is hurt. Defensive.

‘But how? How you want me to deal with it?’

‘Gayrize, boyrize, designize. I don’t know! Been a lot of places but can’t say there… Do what makes you happy, son. It’s your life. Not mine. If you’re happy, that’s good enough for me.’

Jock is up like a missile, running over to Geoff, hugging him fiercely.

‘Oh dad. …I love you dad! I was so scared…’

‘Well don’t be. Now can we go cook?’

There is nothing like the laughter of a family truly united.

Okay so Geoff does overcook the meat. Maybe all the drama took longer than anticipated, but it is one of the nicest lunches I have ever had. I love my man. I love my family. They are back to normal, …okay, maybe not totally normal. The other characters still lurk inside - but given room to make the odd appearance. …Every now and again.

The next five hours are a blur. All of us learning about each other, who we truly are. And we are family.

And then we pack. Jed Jnr pad-bedded in the back seat and the road back home before us. The sun sets earlier. Winter is coming. Jed Snr and I are both quiet, happy to pad through our own recent memories, and oh so in love and on the same page. It’s a warm feeling. I look at Jed. We smile. He grabs my hand

and squeezes it. We both smile and let the quiet preserve the moment.

You see it’s all about magic. Everything is about magic. We make it or don’t make it. It’s as simple as that. I went out with a few tricks of my own – that could have flip-flopped on their own. Okay, did flip-flop not so on their own. But my magic paled to that which actually stepped up to save the day. We all have quirks and differences. No one is perfect. But once we learn to see past the masks, we realize that the true magic of life, …all

life, is love.

Oh, and Dufus… He loved the chicken livers. Changed him too; he upgraded to entities with four legs. Dogs, cats, rats, mice, tables, chairs, even motorcars (he never quite got the difference between legs and wheels). But it seems my legs are safe from Dufurean infatuation – at least for the short term. And for me, that’s just fine…

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gavin Mills was born in the little town of Springs in South Africa where he attended school at St Brendan’s Christian Brother’s College. After school he had no clear idea what he wanted to do with his life. Engineering sounded good, so he applied and was accepted by the University of the Witwatersrand to study Chemical Engineering. When that didn’t work out, he did two years military service becoming a 2nd lieutenant and serving as transport officer for 52 Battalion out of Ogongo in Namibia in the late ‘70s.

Then into computers as a programmer and later a systems analyst before giving up corporate to become a professional dancer, performing first in SA and later in London, Paris, Spain and Portugal - some highlights being principal dancer at Moulin Rouge Paris, Scala in Spain and Canary Islands, and Estoril Casino in Lisbon.

On returning to South Africa, he performed in the first Miss World Pageant at Sun City in 1992, falling in love with Miss Hungary, who would return to South Africa two years later to become his wife. Whenever not writing or working, Gavin gets his kicks enjoying quality time with close friends and those most precious to him.

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