[Brenda & Effie 03] - Conjugal Rites Read online

  Conjugal Rites

  PAUL MAGRS

  headline

  www.headline.co.uk

  Copyright © 2008 Paul Magrs

  The right of Paul Magrs to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 7656 8

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachettelivre.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  A Familiar Voice

  You Don’t Need to Know

  A Feeling in Her Water

  Everyone Listens

  Cod Almighty

  Brenda Tunes In

  Not Everyone is in League with the Devil

  I Think She’s Been Subsumed

  All Togged Up

  Succumbing

  The Punch-Up

  Bacon Sandwiches

  A Function to Attend

  The First Masked Hero Ball

  Conflab

  Phoning in

  Accusations Fly

  What the Prisoner Said

  Stitched Up

  Sanctum

  Note of Terror

  The Screaming Ab-dabs

  The Return of the Repressed

  The Second Ball

  Come Dance with Me

  Hostage Situation

  Together

  Pursuit

  Cop Shop Vigil

  Dark Before Dawn

  Effie at Home

  Whitby FM

  CSI Whitby

  An Unsatisfactory Interview

  Home Safe

  In Reception

  In the Grotto

  Effie’s Hopes

  Stashed in the Attic

  Stepping In

  Creeping About

  Fish Supper

  Open and Shut Case

  We’re Going to Hell and - Hopefully - Back

  Take Me Home

  Phoning In

  Là-Bas

  Brenda

  Strange Arrival

  Elf Imprisonment

  A Horrible Epiphany

  The Grotto

  His Strangely Recovered Aunt

  Mincemeat

  Bleak House

  A Bit Like Xanadu

  A Drink with the Ex

  Reservations and Misgivings

  Noises Off

  Lights Off and Somebody Home

  Shy of Me?

  A Whiff of Black Pudding

  The Reek of Incense

  Doorstep Reunion

  The Enchanted Feast

  March of the Mods

  Ladies in Hades

  The Helpful Seance

  Hellish Ablutions

  Here Comes . . .

  An Awful Jamboree

  Deadly Bargain

  Forced Nuptials

  Effie and Robert

  Mumu’s Revenge

  In the Honeymoon Suite

  Christmas Wishes

  Monster Mash

  Mrs Claus is Informed

  Bedwrecked

  Coffee and Walnut Cake at the End

  Teaser chapter

  Paul Magrs (pronounced Mars) was born in the North East of England. After seven years at the University of East Anglia teaching English Literature and Creative Writing, he now lives in Manchester and lectures part time at Manchester Metropolitan University. He devotes the rest of his time to writing and has published fiction for both adults and children. His two previously published books with Headline, Never the Bride and Something Borrowed, both feature the adventures of the inimitable Brenda and Effie.

  Praise for Paul Magrs:

  ‘I love Paul Magrs, he’s a great novelist, clever and ironic’ Russell T. Davies

  ‘One of the smartest, darkest imaginations in contemporary fiction’ Literary Review

  ‘He delights in creating characters who are both impeccably ordinary and staggeringly strange . . . an ambitious novel by a powerful writer’ TLS

  ‘Paul Magrs is an original talent with a wonderful and sympathetic ear and eye for the hidden craziness of contemporary life’ Shena Mackay

  ‘A latter-day Roald Dahl’ Independent

  Praise for Something Borrowed:

  ‘To pull it off so well requires the combined talents of Alan Bennett, Angela Carter and The League of Gentlemen. The story ends with Magrs paving the way for another sequel and I, for one, can’t wait’ Independent on Sunday

  ‘Magrs conjures an artfully realised, self-contained gothic fairytale world somewhere between Tim Burton and Last of the Summer Wine, with a bit of Wallace and Gromit thrown in, while parts of his prose wouldn’t disgrace the works of Alan Bennett or David Nobbs . . . monstrously good fun’ SFX Magazine

  ‘The concept is great. There is nowhere better than Whitby for windswept spookery . . . Brenda is certainly a huge, larger-than-life character who is also wry and sweet and vulnerable’ Financial Times

  ‘It’s never easy to summarise a novel by Magrs. Mixing comedy with fantasy, high art with popular culture . . . Magrs’ talent for fusing the mundane with the surreal proves an effective way of upending conventional notions about gender and sexuality. Underpinning the melodrama lies the tenderly drawn friendship between Brenda and Effie’ Independent

  Praise for Never The Bride:

  ‘A brilliant extravaganza, gripping, ingeniously plotted, and tragically funny, with unforgettable characters. Paul Magrs is an original talent with a wonderful and sympathetic ear and eye for the hidden craziness of contemporary life’ Shena Mackay

  ‘I wasn’t at all sure I’d read it as I didn’t think it would be my thing. But . . . I was wrong! Instead, I have spent the weekend ignoring my family and absolutely racing through the book. It is wonderful, I love it . . .’ Jill Mansell

  ‘An absolutely delicious black comedy . . . quirky, idiosyncratic, wildly funny’ Susan Hill

  ‘Never The Bride is a cornucopia of playfully sinister delights. Funny, poignant, clever and hugely original. I loved it’ Daren King ‘The damp charms of an English seaside town are nicely evoked. Without doubt, Never The Bride will be a Gothic smash’ Guardian

  ‘Utterly original. I was totally charmed by Brenda’s valiant attempts to create a little ordinary happiness and comfort out of the madness around her’ The Times

  ‘A quirky, whimsical, episodic novel that combines perversity, situation comedy and quietly lush moments of poetry’ Time Out

  ‘Utterly believable, immediately enthralling and spiced with a deliciously dark humour. Never The Bride has to be one of the most original and entertaining books of the year’ Attitude

  By Paul Magrs

  Never the Bride

  Something Borrowed

  Conjugal Rites

  For Steve Cole

  A Familiar Voice

  The ladies were poised over their walnut cake and morning coffee in their favourite café, The Walrus and the Carpenter. The café was in the oldest part of town,
at the foot of the 199 steps that led up to the ancient abbey.

  Inside it was small, cramped and chintzy. Effie was petite and hardly noticed this, but Brenda was on the large side and today she felt a bit squeezed in. As they talked, their voices blended with the tinkling of spoons and crockery and they weren’t aware of the young waitress eavesdropping on their every word as she dithered about the room.

  Brenda was saying, ‘I don’t see how you ever make any money out of that junk shop of yours.’

  Effie’s eyes bulged slightly. ‘Junk! That’s nice, I must say.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Knick-Knacks.’

  ‘Antique collectables, I’ll have you know, Brenda.’ Effie looked her friend up and down. What would Brenda know about taste?

  ‘Hmm. What I mean is, you’re hardly ever open. Only about two hours a day. And you absolutely hate browsers, don’t you? You don’t exactly encourage them.’

  Effie shuddered. ‘It’s true. I can’t stand the way they just . . . loiter about.’

  ‘How do you survive?’ All Brenda knew was that in order to make a living out of her own establishment, the cosy guest house right next door to Effie, she had to work her socks off all the time.

  ‘I have my means.’ Effie pursed her lips and sipped her coffee. ‘Anyway, money is overrated. I don’t have many wants.’

  ‘Oh, I do.’ Brenda smiled. ‘Besides, I like to be up and doing. I like work.’

  ‘Well. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it?’

  Effie looked up sharply then as the young waitress pounced on their table and, with a great clatter, started to clear their used dishes on to her tray. There was something odd about her manner. Effie had noticed the way the girl had been hovering around their table.

  ‘And how was that, ladies? Anything else I can get for you, is there?’

  ‘No, indeed,’ said Effie. ‘That walnut cake was rather less moist than we’re used to.’

  The waitress said cheerily, ‘Changed our supplier, didn’t we? And we’re not very satisfied, either.’

  ‘See, Brenda? Everything’s slipping. Hell in a handbasket is the phrase that comes to mind.’

  Brenda was pulling her old woollen coat back on. ‘Well, we’d know about that, wouldn’t we?’

  As the ladies were standing up to go, it was as if the waitress could hold herself back no longer. ‘Excuse me,’ she burst out. ‘It’s Effie Jacobs, isn’t it?’

  Effie frowned. This young woman was new to The Walrus and the Carpenter. The regular staff all knew Effie and they would never behave so oddly forward. ‘It is. What of it?’

  The waitress grinned and gave a slight squeal. ‘I thought I recognised your voice! Oh my God! You’re famous! You’re a celebrity!’

  Effie experienced a moment of alarm. She picked up her handbag. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘But you are!’

  ‘My dear, I—’

  ‘Wait till I tell the others . . .’

  Brenda was completely confused by now, looking from Effie to the waitress and back again. ‘I don’t understand! It’s just Effie. We’re in here every week and no one ever notices her. Why’s she suddenly famous?’

  The young waitress stared into Brenda’s perplexed face. ‘What? Don’t you know?’

  Now Effie was trying to bustle them both out into the street. ‘She’s being ridiculous, Brenda. Let’s go.’ She ushered Brenda to the door, horribly aware that they were being stared at by ladies at the other tables.

  The waitress wouldn’t stop. She called after them: ‘The Night Owls, that’s why! That’s why she’s a celebrity now. Isn’t that right, Effie?’

  Effie thrust open the café door. ‘Come along, Brenda,’ she said firmly.

  Brenda was wedged in the doorway. ‘But I . . . Effie, what’s she on about?’

  ‘She’s quite clearly off her rocker. She’s probably on some form of recreational drug. What’s Whitby coming to?’

  The young waitress could see by now that for whatever reason, she had embarrassed Effie. Strange. You’d have thought the old woman would be proud of her new-found fame. The girl shrugged and picked up her heavy tray. ‘Oh well. Bye then, Effie. I’ll listen out for you! You’ll be on again, won’t you? On The Night Owls?’

  Effie tossed her head and slammed the door behind her. Crash, tinkle, went the bell.

  You Don’t Need to Know

  They were out on the chilly cobbled street, clip-clopping down the hill towards the harbour. As they mingled with the mid-morning crowd, Effie was the more purposeful. Brenda felt that she was being rather furtive and cross.

  ‘What was that all about?’ she asked, willing her friend to slow down a little.

  ‘She was quite clearly mixing me up with somebody else.’

  ‘She seemed very sure of herself. And she knew your name.’

  Effie gave a short sigh of impatience. ‘Never mind, Brenda. It’s nothing.’

  Here they had to pause at the bridge as the crowds surged back and forth. The gulls were wheeling and screeching and the Esk was a startling sheet of blue. It was a brilliant morning. Brenda thought Effie looked pinched, worried and somewhat exhausted. She appeared even older than she usually did.

  ‘You’ve gone and got yourself involved in something, haven’t you?’

  ‘Now stop it, Brenda.’

  A gap opened in the shoppers and sightseers, and Effie darted into it. Brenda wouldn’t be put off and dogged her heels across the bridge. ‘What is it, some new investigation? You really love it, don’t you? You’re never happy unless there’s something spooky you can go shoving your beaky old nose into.’

  ‘I like that!’

  Brenda was glad to have irked her. Now they were plunging into the warren of shopping streets on the west side of the town. Effie was really hurrying along, forcing Brenda to call out at her back, louder than she would have liked: ‘What are the Night Owls?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘The waitress mentioned the Night Owls. Twice. What are they?’

  Effie was the picture of exasperation. She clutched her bag to her and the two ladies stood glaring at each other on the pavement. ‘Oh, nothing, Brenda. Just leave it, will you? Now look, I’ve an appointment at Rini’s for a shampoo and set. I’m saying goodbye to you here.’

  Brenda felt as if she was being dismissed. She raised her eyebrows and said in a very level voice, ‘See you later, then.’

  Effie softened somewhat. She looked up into her friend’s trusting face and quietly murmured, ‘Look, I’m not being secretive. It’s just . . . it’s not a mystery. It’s not something spooky. You just don’t need to know what it is, Brenda.’

  ‘I see.’ She wasn’t in the slightest bit mollified.

  ‘Bye then,’ Effie said, with a tight smile, and darted into a back alley that led to a quick way to Rini’s Salon.

  A Feeling in Her Water

  That evening, Brenda was playing hostess in her attic rooms to another good friend. Robert was a young man who worked up at the Hotel Miramar. Brenda found him to be handsome, funny and good company. She rather liked it when Effie referred to him as ‘your young man’. Tonight was one of their gentle, gossipy nights, with Brenda pouring out sherry with a sweet glug-glugging noise, the fire crackling and some soothing bluesy numbers playing on the old-fashioned stereo.

  They were considering Effie’s queer evasiveness that morning. Brenda felt rather gloomy about it. ‘It’s a cult, isn’t it? That’s what she’s got herself into.’

  Robert smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Can you see Effie joining a cult?’

  ‘Yes, quite frankly. She comes from generations of Whitby witches. We don’t know what she might be inclined to join.’

  ‘If it was anything important, she would tell you about it herself, Brenda. She trusts you. You’re her friend. She hasn’t got many of those.’

  Brenda went to turn over the record. She came back with the sherry bottle and topped them up. ‘I know. You’re right, Robert. You’re always
right. So level-headed.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I do. Effie and I would have come a cropper a couple of times in our investigations if it hadn’t been for you.’ A series of lurid memories flashed through her mind at this point. It was true, Robert had been very helpful and loyal to them.

  ‘I just help out when I can. I can’t let my best friend get into danger, can I?’

  They grinned at each other and chinked sherry glasses. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange - a young man like you having an old woman like me for a best friend?’

  ‘Not really. How old are you again? Two hundred and six?’

  ‘Hush. No, really. I do depend on you, lovey. And I feel like I’m going to do so even more in the coming weeks.’

  ‘How’s that? Don’t tell me. You’ve got a feeling in your water. Something wicked this way comes.’

  ‘That’s right. I have.’

  He could see now that she was being very serious. ‘I’ve learned to trust your intuition about these things. I’ll be there to help, Brenda. Whatever happens.’

  ‘Cheers, sweetheart. Now. More sherry?’ She filled them up again. As she sat back down, she realised she was feeling a bit swimmy.

  Robert suddenly perked up. ‘I meant to ask. Have you got any of these convention people staying at yours?’

  ‘What convention?’