Helen Speaks

Olive Framley Entry 17, 6^th August

Dear Talia,

I have some new bookings for my children’s magic show! And it’s the summer holidays for the local primary school, so my young apprentice Maksym has been to Crag Cottage to practise sleight of hand, prestidigitation, and, of course, using his actually levitating shoes.

Maksym was telling me about an old lady who lives in his block, who he and his father sometimes help with grocery shopping, and it made me think that I should probably pay a visit to Shannon, my banshee friend. I mean, having psychic powers doesn’t necessarily mean that she can get all her groceries in.

This is character growth, isn’t it? It honestly wouldn’t have occurred to me that people might need help with everyday things when I was back home in Treville. Maybe I assumed everyone had staff?

I decided to take Maksym with me to see Shannon. His father says he’s pretty good around the house, so I could probably manage some pocket money if he did some of Shannon’s chores, even though keeping that cat of his is costing me a pretty penny.

Well she loved him – cooed over the “little warlock”, and conjured up some fudge from behind his ear with what I’m pretty certain was the classic grandparent coin trick, rather than actual magic, because the fudge looked sticky and a bit out of date, but Maksym chewed it gratefully anyway. While they were talking, I snooped around her cupboards and it did look pretty shocking – half a box of old porridge oats, a dented tin of peaches, some mouldy carrots.

Firenze appeared with Pompom through one of Firenze’s magic portals – Maksym proudly presented Pompom to Shannon who fussed her and then said, “Aw, take ‘em for a little runaround in the garden, Maksy,” in a soft voice and smiling sweetly until they were outside in the gated area that I assume was what she meant by a garden. She turned to me the moment he was out of earshot. “Ah cats, can’t feckin’ stand ‘em. Little snooty independent buggers.”

Pompom isn’t my favourite, of course, but this seemed a tad hypocritical. “And what, you’d prefer a dog?”

“Certainly not! Disgustin’, slobbery buggers. And so feckin’ clingy.”

“You seem to like Firenze.”

“I can tolerate Fee-rent-say, even though you insisted on givin’ him a bloody stupid name,” she said, but she smiled a bit more genuinely. “What brings you here, Jenny Waters?”

I was hesitant then. She told me to spit it out.

“I just wondered… Do you… Would you… What do you eat? Your pantry is practically bare.”

“Ah, like Old Mother Hubbard. That’s why you shouldn’t have a bloody dog. Eat you out of house and home.”

“I just wondered… Would you like me to help you with some shopping? I’m sure there’s some sort of charity… for… you know, the elderly.”

She chuckled at my awkwardness. “I’m way beyond elderly, Jenny Waters. Elderly people are babies compared to me.”

“And what do you..?”

“What do I eat? Oh never you mind, young Jenny.” She coughed a rattling sort of cough. She did look really fragile, Talia. I don’t know if Banshees die. I know they are sometimes described as being like old women, so maybe it’s all… Just part of the look. Like how hoverflies look like wasps, or those orchids that look like moths. Maybe she’s not really an old woman…

“I could help,” I said, and she batted the air with her hand dismissively.

“Naw, Miss Waters, or The Amazin’ Olive or whatever. You’re not putting me in a box and dragging me to the vets to be put down.”

“You’re not a sick cat,” I pointed out.

“Well don’t treat me like one,” she said, turning on me harshly, then she glanced out to the garden.

“Your pets and your little friend have gone back to your cottage, Jenny. Best you go too.”

I didn’t quite know what to think, Talia. She seemed defensive… Like she didn’t want me to think she needed help. Which might mean she really does need help.

What do you think, Talia? I know she’s not just any old lady, but I’m worrying about her now.

No progress yet on catching my intruder. I found a little scrap of something that looked like silk, but it faded away into dust by morning.

Yours sincerely,

Olive.