[Brenda & Effie 00] - A Treasury of Brenda and Effie Read online

  Brenda and Effie turned a few heads walking through Whitby in their Roman gowns. Effie cut quite a figure in her drop-waist, artfully draped white dress. Her bare arms sported a few too many bangles. Scarf-like pieces of cloth fluttered behind her. Brenda didn't think the shiny gold turban Effie was wearing was terribly authentic to the Roman look. At least she hadn't gone full Carmen Miranda or anything.

  Brenda was more modestly attired in a many layered toga, which aimed to cover as much of her as possible. There was only so much she could do with make-up and the last thing she needed was people spotting the stitches that kept her appendages attached.

  To start with, they revelled in the attention they were getting and the shouts of “Nice costumes, ladies!” They soon realised that a few of the people staring must have been cursed with bad luck by previous party-goers. One man walked straight into a lamppost and a woman ended-up upside down in a bin. This was a timely reminder of their mission and they decided to hurry along before anyone else could get cursed.

  The party was well underway when Brenda and Effie arrived. Brenda paused just inside the hall doorway to hide their bag of counter-curses and take in the atmosphere. She was impressed by the printed backdrops of slightly saucy Roman banqueting scenes. Everyone had got into the spirit of the thing. People were lounging around on sofas indulging in the plentiful buffet and toasting one another with wine. In a stereotypical pantomime of ancient times, one man was holding a bunch of grapes above his partner's head, encouraging his giggling boyfriend to have a nibble. The togas and costumes on display ranged from full and flowing like Brenda's, to others that were revealing rather more than their wearers may have realised in their reclined positions. Admittedly, some of the party-goers looked rather less Roman wearing pink sashes proclaiming 'We Will Rock You!'

  Effie elbowed Brenda and whispered “Are you having one of your turns? Remembering banquets back in Roman times or something?”

  Brenda looked at her friend with raised eyebrows.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  Effie shrugged.

  “I'm a couple of centuries old, not a few millennia!” Brenda stated huffily. “Though I do vaguely recall a fashion for Bacchanalia back among the Bloomsbury set...”

  Brenda's musings were interrupted as they spied Pippa across the room. The petite party planner looked lovely in a pale green toga. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders. She reminded Brenda of a hummingbird, as she pointed out where everything was, her finger jabbing towards the seats and nibbles. They shuffled over to the wine table, keeping their backs to Pippa. Effie downed a large glass of red, insisting that they needed to blend in. Effie topped up her wine glass again and then grabbed them a recently vacated chaise longue. She looked very at home reclining on cushions, sipping wine and casting a critical eye over the room.

  Brenda perched on the end of the couch feeling conspicuously out of place. She started to relax as she realised no one was taking much notice of them. They were all too busy enjoying themselves. She watched as people talked, laughed, ate and drank. Every so often there would be a spontaneous call and response of the choir's motto: “Who will rock you?” “We will rock you!” It made her jump the first time, but after that, it became part of the hubbub. There was an activities corner where two young men were enthusiastically bashing at each other with rubber swords and clumsily trying to defend themselves with toy shields. Nearby, a group of women were gathered around a table making gestures that were recognisable to Brenda as meaning 'You go on… no you go first… Oooh, should we really'. Eventually a middle-aged lady brandished a pen and took a piece of paper from a stack on the table. She carefully bent over the paper, covering it from prying eyes and scribbled something down. Then she carefully rolled the paper up, secured it with a ribbon and grinned at the others. This was the signal for the rest of the group to dive for pens and paper. Brenda and Effie exchanged a knowing look. They had found their target.

  Now all they needed was a distraction. Normally they blundered straight into the middle of their enemies’ plans and violence ensued, but Brenda clonking someone over the head would not be appropriate here. Luckily, most of the choir were well in their cups and this meant singing ensued. Across the room one of the younger women sang out “Whoa, we're halfway there...” Before they knew it Brenda and Effie were the only ones not 'Livin' on a Prayer'. Once the singing started it looked unlikely to stop, as the choir were pelting out tunes with gusto. Unfortunately, people were still spread out across the hall.

  Effie nudged Brenda and whispered “leave it to me, I've got an idea.” Brenda was unsure whether to be thankful or fearful. You could never tell with Effie's ideas. In a lull between songs, while some of the choir members debated, Effie wandered over to the most vocal group. Brenda couldn't make out everything Effie was saying but she thought she heard “something in the theme… Antony and Cleopatra… that's almost Roman… do you know...”

  Soon, the party-goers had gathered in a semi-circle around Effie, who struck a pose in front of them. Her arms framing her face and her hands straight up above her head. She winked at Brenda. The choir burst into a rowdy rendition of ‘Walk like an Egyptian’. Effie jutted her turbaned head. Brenda's eyes widened in surprise as Effie started doing dancing impressions of hieroglyphics. The rest of the guests carried on singing even though some of them were suppressing laughter and others were staring with horrified fascination. Pippa made a beeline for Effie but couldn't intervene without making a scene in front of her clients.

  Brenda realised that Effie was glaring at her between dance moves. She was wasting Effie's splendid distraction. Brenda slipped out of the hall and retrieved the bag of scrolls they had prepared earlier. She walked back in while Effie was doing a particularly energetic hopping walk with head movements. She grinned. Silly old bird. As nonchalantly as she could she wandered from table to table, swapping out the curses people had left lying around for their counter-curses.

  Effie's interpretive dance was coming to the end as the choir repeated the chorus one last time. Brenda grabbed the last of the curse scrolls and dumped the whole lot into her bag, just as the party dissolved into applause. She wasn't sure if they were applauding themselves or Effie, but she gave her friend a big clap. Effie's face was distressingly flushed as she made several bows and basked in the humorous adulation. Brenda decided her friend was enjoying herself a little too much and hustled her away from the crowd.

  After the applause died down, Pippa glared at them for a second and then called for everyone's attention. She paused and then solemnly announced: “We will now form a procession and complete our prayers to the great God Mercury,” she said.

  “We must cast our prayers into the deep, dark sea. Those that wronged us will feel the touch of the cold and briny depths.”

  There were oohs and aahs, as flaming torches appeared at the entrance to the hall, carried by some brawny young men in short togas.

  “Friends, Romans and countrymen,” Pippa said as pointed towards the young men near the door. “Follow these fine fellows to the pier and don't forget your prayer scrolls!” There were murmurs of excitement as people filed towards the exit, the least obviously tipsy choristers being handed flaming torches as they left.

  Pippa turned and marched towards Brenda and Effie. She jabbed her finger at them as she approached.

  “How dare you crash my event! Get out of here before I call the Police.”

  “I'm afraid we can't do that, lovey,” Brenda replied as she stepped in front of Effie, who was still too breathless to respond. Brenda held out her hands in a gesture of placation.

  “We think you're in trouble. Those party game curses of yours are coming true.”

  “Don't be ridiculous, curses are a load of superstitious nonsense. It's just a game.”

  “Games have a way of getting out of hand here in Whitby. Haven't you noticed the rash of bad luck sweeping the town? People getting into little accidents, nasty things happening?”

&nbs
p; Pippa shook her head, but her eyes held a little uncertainty.

  “We need you to give us that coin, lovey, the one you're clutching in your left hand,” Brenda said, slowly stepping towards Pippa.

  Pippa stepped back, putting her hand behind her back.

  “No, it's mine.”

  Brenda took another step forward, looming over the petite party planner.

  “It belongs back in hell, where it came from.”

  “Hell isn't real, you batty old woman,” Pippa said, as she backed into one of the chaise longues.

  “I'm afraid it is. We've been there and some tricksy being masquerading as Mercury has been influencing you through that coin.”

  Pippa clutched her good luck charm to her chest. Brenda sighed. They were going to have to do this the hard way. She grabbed the long streams of toga material trailing from Pippa's shoulders and quickly wound it around the small woman's torso. Pippa started struggling and screaming, but there were no party guests left to help her. Brenda tied the material tight, pinning Pippa's arms against her sides, the coin still clutched in her left hand.

  “Calm down, I don't want to hurt you. I just need the coin,” Brenda said. Then she slowly and carefully pried Pippa's fingers open. Mercury's winged head was finally revealed. Effie leant forward and grabbed the coin, before Brenda let Pippa's fingers go. She left Pippa tied up but carefully sat her down on the chaise longue she'd been trapped against.

  Effie popped the coin in Brenda's bag and the two women headed for the exit. A stream of invective from Pippa followed them out of the door. Then, they headed off at a trot towards the hundred and ninety-nine steps.

  “We.. huff.. need.. huff... a bloody.. huff.. escalator,” Effie puffed, as Brenda hauled her up the last few steps and into the Abbey grounds. They were too old for all this running around.

  The pair stumbled over to the cliff path where they had observed the previous night's party shenanigans. Sure enough, they could see the flaming torches arriving at the opposite pier. Good job a rabble of drunken singers didn't move faster than a couple of determined women of a certain age. They both stood, breathing heavily, as the scrolls were thrown into the sea with much cheering. They waited while the scrolls sank. Then the first one flew back out of the water on their side of the bay. They turned and headed for the Bitch's Maw.

  “Are you sure those counter-curses will work?” Brenda asked.

  Effie nodded. “Yes, they're very carefully worded to undo all curses inflicted in the last week. I also included a binding spell to limit the power of the being that receives the scrolls. It should weaken their power in this realm.”

  They watched with satisfaction as several of the scrolls shot into the chamber holding the Maw. They slipped through the doorway into the tiny chamber and watched the last of the counter-curses disappeared into the glowing hell-hole.

  “That's the last of 'em,” Effie said. “That'll show 'em, whether it's a trickster aspect of the God Mercury or some demon up to mischief masquerading as Mercury.”

  They continued watching for another ten minutes. Effie commented every minute or so that she was sure it would work. Any second now. Brenda ummed in agreement and started running through a list of shopping she needed to get the next day, while Effie tapped her foot impatiently.

  “What should happen?” Brenda asked.

  “Not entirely sure. Aunt Petunia couldn't really explain in her dog form,” Effie replied, looking embarrassed.

  Finally, there was a strange rumbling noise, like a really big stomach demanding food. The Bitch's Maw yawned open. A mass of paper and ribbon came spewing out, accompanied by the sulphurous stink. Brenda jumped aside as a ragged pile of scrolls landed near her feet.

  The noise slowly subsided and Brenda could have sworn she heard a mutter of protestation. Then the hole snapped shut. .

  They looked at the pile of Maw vomit for a few seconds before Brenda gingerly poked it with her foot. She looked at Effie, who shrugged and shook her head, as if to say “I don't know.” The scrolls didn't react in any strange way so Brenda picked one up and unravelled it.

  “It's one of the original curse scrolls,” Brenda observed.

  “It must have worked, that's why all the curses have been returned” Effie replied, gesturing to the mound of scrolls. “But just to be sure I think we best destroy this lot.”

  “And this,” Brenda said, throwing Pippa's coin on to the pile.

  Brenda rummaged in her bag. From it she produced some matches and the scrolls they had swiped from the party earlier. Then she produced a blanket, a flask and some marshmallows. Effie poured them both a cup of cocoa, as Brenda set fire to the bad luck scrolls. They found a couple of sticks, stuck some of the fluffy sweets on them, and held them over the fire.

  “I think we'd better pay Pippa a visit tomorrow,” Brenda said.

  “Yes ducky, I think it's time she moved her business elsewhere,” Effie replied.

  They smiled at each other. There was nothing like sharing a cup of cocoa and toasted marshmallows with your best friend to celebrate a job well done, thought Brenda. Then Effie spoiled the moment by complaining that she hadn't brought any Baileys to add to the cocoa.

  Eff the Unknown

  Nick Campbell

  A PreDestinationTM Review: “Places You Don’t Know You Need To Be”

  Whitby > North Yorkshire > Yorkshire > England > United Kingdom > Europe > Earth

  Which? Brenda’s B-and-B

  What? Bed and Breakfast

  Where? 666 Harbour Street, Whitby, North Yorkshire, YO21 1DY

  Reviewer: ProfBernardQ, Novice Reviewer, Whereabouts unknown

  Review title: “Eff the Unknown”

  Review:

  Brenda’s Bed-and-Breakfast quite brought me to life. It gives superb value for money and glows with homely vitality, right down to the polish on the wardrobe doorknob and the gleam on the fried egg. Nicely situated for train and tourist peregrinations, as well as escape from the hurly-burly, and a friendly but not overbearing welcome from your hostess is assured. The antiques emporium situated adjacent is equally worthy of your time: the proprietor herself is undeniably one of the treasures of North Yorkshire. A local saying goes, there’s a right way, a wrong way and a Whitby way, and this old gentleman cannot say if there is a better way in which to go.

  There is more to say, of course. I know certain browsers of this website will want, as it were, the whole truth and nothing but. I have dedicated the greater part of my long career, nay my life, to such ideals and must not deny them now. But you may not like what I have to say. That is the cautionary maxim I offer to all, like me, who are perusers of the unknown…

  It was my first trip back to Whitby in quite some time. We had a couple of holidays in the area when I was a boy in Barrow-in-Furness, but that was in the Thirties and I couldn’t but suppose the place had grown quite unrecognisable in the duration, like the rest of the bloody planet. Having made my name in London, I hadn’t even contemplated a return to the north until this very website suggested it. I was clicking away at a terminal in Highgate Public Library when the words floated up. “Your ideal destination is: Brenda’s B-and-B. Why wait? Book now!” And something about it seemed right from the get-go.

  As a widower I live fairly frugally, so I had a bit of pension saved, along with a modest payment from BBC Radio 4 for another documentary script they had decided not to commission after bloody all. I booked the room with Brenda via one quick phone-call and boarded a coach from London Victoria the next day, her warm tones still ringing in my ears. Judy was always telling me I ought to get away from things for a bit, which I normally took to mean digging the garden for the afternoon, but this time I would heed her words. I was getting away from academia, Portland Place and the dirty air of the metropolis. The science journals were left at home and I settled down instead with a pulpy old science fiction adventure. Although, in the end, I had got no further than ‘being watched keenly by intelligences greater than man’s and yet a
s mortal as his own’ before I nodded off in my seat, perhaps I shouldn’t have minded: even this light reading was liable to remind me of certain episodes in my own working life.

  I woke at Scarborough for a timely comfort break and subsequently found myself enjoying the final stretch of the journey with growing abandon. It was only just spring, yet the landscape was flushed with glorious sunshine. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue and it seemed I had not seen grass so green as those moors since childhood. The mood on the coach was similarly carefree. I can’t think of many occasions on the Underground when I’ve been surrounded by people singing, ‘We Do Like to be Beside the Seaside’. Perhaps if they did strike up in such a fashion, I might exit at the next station, yet on this occasion I could almost see myself joining in.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” said a young woman, leaning across the aisle. I initially took her to be a bride, dressed all in white. Closer inspection revealed this to be a polyester tracksuit of a sort never thought of in 1939, even by the enemy. The fabric seemed to gleam in the glorious sunshine. “I was just saying to my husband, we’ve always been told it was grim up north!”

  “Ay oop, trouble at t’ mill, by eck!” guffawed said husband, leaning right across his wife and extending a hand. I saw that he too was wearing a white polyester tracksuit. The effect was hardly prepossessing.

  “Usually we holiday in Glastonbury,” the wife said. “It’s a very moving and mystically significant location. Especially if you make your own muesli. But this is truly out of this world.”

  “Out of t’ world, I think you mean, darling!” her husband chipped in.