The Lights Go Out in Lychford Read online

  She’d gone back to her shop, locked the door, and immersed herself once again in her research, ignoring the phone until she’d decided it was time for a break. Then she’d checked her voicemail, nearly dropped her coffee mug, unbolted her door, and rushed out onto the street, only to run straight into Lizzie. Who cried out in shock.

  “Oh, thank God!” said Autumn.

  “Maybe you could, in the current emergency,” panted Lizzie, “answer your bloody phone? And do you have any whiskey?”

  * * *

  They sat up with hot toddies. Lizzie told Autumn the whole story, and the more Autumn heard, the more angry she became. Lizzie seemed to have been genuinely scared by Picton. And her knowing about Lizzie’s ex-husband, trying to use that as a bargaining tool, made it even worse. “So she tried to get you to ask for something. It sounds like she’s doing the ‘granting wishes’ thing. That’s always bad news in stories.”

  Lizzie nodded. “When she told me she could bring him back to life . . . I mean, doesn’t she think we’ve seen any movies about that shit? Does she come from a world without Buffy?”

  “I thought you were going to say it was against your religion.”

  “We are actually about bringing people back to life. Just . . . not like that!”

  Autumn realised that Lizzie was still shaking. She put her arms around her. “What’s important is you were very brave. If she offered to find me true love forever or something—”

  Lizzie immediately perked up. “With Luke?”

  “Will you please stop being so interested in that even when you’ve been shaken up? Right now I’d just like to feel comfortable enough to go on a date with him.” She realised magical powers might be listening and called up to the ceiling. “That’s not a wish.”

  “Because if you did wish for that you’d get—”

  “Something like only having one date with him ever again, probably, something from the department of ironic punishments. Like in The Simpsons.”

  “Right. But in the stories, it’s always the precise legal wording that gets you.”

  The shop bell rang. Autumn looked to Lizzie. “Stay here.” She grabbed from her pocket the protective herbs and charms she now always kept with her and headed into the shop front, only to find Lizzie immediately behind her. “Or don’t.”

  “If she’s come after me, I might be able to ward her off with a blessing or something.”

  Autumn didn’t want to argue. She unlocked the door as quickly as she could and flung it open. There stood Judith. “What time is it?” Judith asked, peering up at the sky in surprise. “I think my watch must be wrong.”

  * * *

  They called Shaun, who said he’d come over at the end of his shift, in about an hour. So they made Judith comfortable in front of the fire. “What’s up?” she said, which was an expression Lizzie had never heard her use before.

  “Nothing much,” lied Autumn, putting a cup of warm—and what Lizzie hoped was ordinary—tea into Judith’s hands. Lizzie was coming down from her own terror, a little ashamed at how much Picton had got to her. It had been the woman’s sheer confidence, the way she’d had all the cards ready to play. Her small improvisations had seemed so slight in the face of that. Lizzie looked to Autumn, wondering if, therefore, it was really a good idea not to at least try to involve Judith in all this. Autumn just quickly shook her head. Lizzie sniffed and realised there was a strange smell about Judith. She moved a little closer. Yes, there was something horrible on her breath. God, was she forgetting to brush her teeth now? Her mouth was also discoloured, like she’d been eating . . . oh no, what had been going on here? Lizzie got a wipe from a box on the counter and dabbed at the old woman’s mouth until she slapped her hand away.

  “Only I were wondering,” said Judith, “if there weren’t anything I could be helping with? Around the house. I mean the shop. Stupid old woman. I work here! Isn’t it time we were opening?”

  “Judith,” said Autumn, “it’s eleven o’clock at night.” Lizzie made a mental note to tell Autumn that it wasn’t good practice to argue with people with dementia. Distraction was what they should do to make her feel more comfortable. If that was really all they were going to do.

  “Oh. Well then, no wonder you don’t get any customers.”

  Autumn laughed. She reached out and smoothed Judith’s hair, which made the old woman frown at her. “What’s that for? Not like you. My sister Doreen were just doing that. You should pay me more money, all I do around here. So there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Nothing magical’s going on, then?”

  Lizzie saw Autumn look at her awkwardly. Okay, here it was.

  “Yes, there is,” Lizzie said, “and we’re not sure what we’re dealing with. Maybe you can help us.” And she described her scary encounter.

  “Oh, one of them!” chuckled Judith. She stared off into the distance.

  “One of what?” asked Autumn, finally.

  “One of what?” asked Judith. “Oh. Right. I last met a cappy in 1975, I think it were. They talk a lot of nonsense, like to puff themselves up, but they’re just after attention. What she’ll be doing is telling everyone she can sort out everything they need and whizzing around putting all her time into doing all the real world things that need doing to make those things happen, setting them up, when they see she’s made stuff come true, for making even bigger wishes.”

  “Like being taller, or having the body of a Kardashian,” Lizzie said, recalling some of the things the Festival committee had wished for.

  “Only she don’t have the power to do anything about that. The trickster cappy will make people think she can grant everyone’s wishes, and she’ll soak up the praise, and then, just when they’re thinking all their desires, big and small, might actually happen, she’ll vanish, with a sort of echoey laughter, and leave them all in the lurch.”

  “Sort of like an anti . . . genie?” said Lizzie. Was that really all there was to it? She found it hard to imagine that the worst-case scenario for the creature she’d been so scared by was a slightly disappointing local festival.

  “Exactly. You look into her, there’ll be dozens of people she’s promised stuff to, all over town, all being set up for a fall.”

  “So she won’t . . . play tricks on the people asking for things?” asked Autumn, sounding almost disappointed.

  “No. She dun’t have the power.” She looked to Lizzie. “Dun’t have the power to bring your lad back either. Sorry to say.”

  “I’m not disappointed,” she said. She wouldn’t give this thing that. She’d never heard of this creature, not in all the time Judith had mumbled away to them about arcane lore. That was weird, wasn’t it? Well, she supposed Judith was the wise woman in the room, and her subject matter was pretty enormous. She could never have told them everything. “Where’s this thing from?”

  “Dunno,” said Judith. “I never followed one and went to see. Why, did she say she was from somewhere?”

  Lizzie went to stand in the middle of the room, thought for a moment, and, remembering exactly the pose Maitland Picton had struck, pointed upward. Judith wandered over and looked up along her raised arm. “Well, that dun’t tell me anything, you’d need to be in the same place she were, at the same time of night, then I could tell you the stars.”

  Autumn sighed. “Is there anything else you can tell us about this . . . cappy?”

  “Small fry. It likes the sound of people clapping, and it dun’t like the sound of disbelief and mockery. Confidence player, if you like. If you want to drive it off, just boo it a bit and it’ll get all ruffled and march off home. Like a lot of people. But it’s probably not worth the bother. Leave well alone if I were you. What’s the worst that could happen?” She stared off into space for a moment, then seemed to snap back to reality. “Oh. While you’re here, Reverend, there’s something serious we have to talk about.”

  “What is it?” Lizzie wanted to put her hand on Judith, but got the
feeling that, in this moment of being very serious, the old woman wouldn’t have welcomed it.

  “I want you to take the funeral.”

  “You mean . . . your funeral?”

  “Well, whose do you think I mean?”

  Autumn looked a little annoyed. “Judith, wouldn’t you prefer something pagan? I’ve got some ceremonies we could look at—”

  Judith suddenly yelled. “Whose funeral is it? The wise woman and the vicar are friends. That’s how it’s always been. She’s the vicar. She’s . . . a friend.” That had tripped up her tirade. The emotion of that Lizzie had found hard to bear. Judith took a long breath through her nose and composed herself. “That’s it.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Autumn.

  Judith just closed her eyes and shook her head. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I’ll miss you. Journey we’re all on. How you two are going to keep warm I don’t know.”

  Lizzie went to Autumn and took her arm. Autumn was shaking, trying not to show how much she was feeling.

  “Goodbye,” said Judith. “Off on the road. And I won’t see you both. Or I will. One of you. At the end, have to.”

  A car slowed to a halt outside the shop. That, thought Lizzie, would be Shaun. She wondered if he’d seen Judith as far gone as this.

  Autumn gently disengaged from Lizzie and went to the old woman again. “Judith, before you go, I just want to make sure. About the help you’ve just given us.” Judith’s eyes were suddenly alert again, and Lizzie felt she agreed with Autumn’s decision to ask about this a second time. Getting back to her business seemed to give back Judith some of her dignity. “You’re sure that, for this creature, this cappy, it’s not about granting wishes in ironic and awful ways?”

  “No,” said Judith. “Why would it be?”

  “Because that’s how it always is with wishes in stories.”

  The bell rang. Judith got slowly to her feet and went to it. They went with her. She stopped on the threshold. “Magic,” she said, “isn’t like stories.” There was such pain in her voice that it took an effort for Lizzie herself not to start crying.

  * * *

  Next Tuesday evening, Autumn went to the town hall for the monthly meeting of the W.I. After Judith’s late-night visit to the shop, Autumn and Lizzie had taken turns visiting the old woman at home every day, but those visits had been hard work. Judith now didn’t seem to remember anything about that visit, or about “cappies.” And Autumn couldn’t find anything about any such creature online, or in any of her books. How was this even meant to work? Surely the people Maitland had promised the biggest things to, the impossible things, wouldn’t actually be expecting them to happen, so where was the fun for her in that? Still, Autumn knew how secret knowledge was kept in weird corners. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something that offered to grant wishes really should be capable of doing so, and that those wishes should come with horrible reversals. Magic, to Autumn, had always felt like a story being told, whatever Judith had said. She’d been on her way to thinking it was a narrative version of science, in that it connected things poetically. And yet, here was Judith saying that wasn’t true. Perhaps what was going on here was that Autumn’s view was that of a novice, and Judith could see the larger picture. Or was that just imposter syndrome talking? At any rate, in the end, Autumn and Lizzie between them had decided to make sure of the details of what Judith had revealed to them. Hence this visit.

  The hall car park was full, and there were old ladies and, reassuringly, several younger ones, in big coats, smelling magnificent, milling about and talking to each other. There were friendly greetings as she headed in. The Women’s Institute was a worldwide organisation that still, to Autumn, had a feeling of frumpishness about it. All “Jam and ‘Jerusalem,’” as Lizzie had once put it. Their reputation for “evil,” which Lizzie had also mentioned, seemed to be because they had, at some point, got in the face of virtually every other organisation in town. They seemed to stick up for themselves. Which Autumn couldn’t bring herself to think was a bad thing.

  She found the hall bustling, with chairs laid out for an audience, and a desk in front of the stage, where women were gathering, talking, and handing out leaflets. There was that civic polish smell that included old wood and tea bags left too long, which always made Autumn feel both comforted and slightly wary. She found a chair near the back. Swiftly, the spaces around her filled up. Soon it was standing room only. A middle-aged white woman in a trouser suit and silk scarf stood by the table and called the meeting to order.

  “After the successful motion from Ms. Spencer-Pilkington last week,” she began, “you will be happy to hear that we are forgoing the singing of ‘Jerusalem.’”

  Autumn was surprised by the cheer that erupted around her.

  “Rubbish!” shouted a dissenting voice from the back. “It’s a socialist marching song!”

  “The motion noted,” continued the chairwoman, “that the hymn had many meanings, positive as well as negative, but all in all the feeling of the meeting was that the colonialist associations that went with it were oppressive to our sisters in the various African branches of our organisation, a point we shall be putting forcefully to the national council at the next assembly.” A cheer rose around her again, punctured only by a single angry noise a second later from the back row. “Now, for Mrs. Caversham-Thoroughgood’s report on her visit to the Cheltenham Whole Earth Musical Collective and Jumble Sale.”

  Autumn couldn’t help it. She actually put her fingers to her arm and gently pinched herself.

  * * *

  “They were,” she told Lizzie, later that night, “sort of . . . brilliant. And yet also really annoying.”

  “Evil annoying?” Lizzie was looking at her over the rim of a mug that said Trust Me, I’m a Vicar. Lizzie made the strongest coffee Autumn had ever tasted.

  “No, really, really good annoying. On my side annoying. Because every now and then I do roll my eyes at how my side does stuff, but then I look at the other side. This lot were so woke. None of them actually congratulated me on my ethnicity, but I was expecting it any minute.”

  “Wow. I must go along.”

  “You really should. Because it will be annoying. But also great.”

  “So why does everyone think they’re evil?”

  “Because they fight the good fight.”

  “That’s one of my lot’s sayings, actually.”

  “Well, this lot are your lot. They’re a Christian organisation. Except they’re out there doing good things.”

  “Hey!”

  “I know . . . I mean . . . but this lot . . .”

  Lizzie sighed at her. “There is no second sentence that is going to make that first one better. But moving swiftly on—no, really, talking over you now—did they say anything about Maitland Picton?”

  “Yeah. They got all huffy when I mentioned her name. She made them a lot of what they called ‘silly promises,’ and then didn’t follow through. One of them called her a ‘con woman.’ They seem to have chucked her out.”

  “This sounds like Judith described, then. Except—”

  “What?”

  “She must have upped her game for the Festival committee. I mean, those guys seemed really practical. They wouldn’t have stood for her bullshit any more than the W.I. would. To get them onside, she must have followed through with actual hard work.”

  “Yeah. Maybe she started too loudly at the W.I., realised that, and so came at the Festival with little stuff, stuff she could actually do, and worked her way up?”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  But Autumn wasn’t sure she was convinced by her own theory. What was this, still nagging away at her? “We’re missing something. I don’t know what.”

  “We do know, however, that this is a magical creature who’s not powerful enough to avoid being kicked out of the W.I.”

  “Do you reckon we should do something about her, then? I mean, Judith said we’re probably able to, and if the W.I. managed
it . . .”

  “Judith also said we shouldn’t bother.”

  “Yeah.” Autumn put her own mug down on the table. This was one of those moments, the big calls she supposed the wise woman had to make. “Still,” she said, “I don’t like that she had a go at you. And I don’t want to let her think she can swan about Lychford, hurting people . . . slightly. Emotionally. Probably. Anyway, I say let’s do our job and kick this thing’s bottom.”

  * * *

  Finding the cappy’s bottom in order to kick it proved to be a thing. Lizzie spent every evening that week going between the various town organisations and the various pubs, asking about Maitland Picton. She got fed up with the number of times people told her about consulting various social media as if she were innocent of the ways of the modern world. She and Autumn had decided they didn’t want to wait for the next Festival meeting, so they needed another place Picton was likely to be.

  They found it at, of all places, the Bowls Club. This was one of a number of local sporting clubs where the majority of the membership didn’t actually play the sport. It was more, Lizzie had always thought, a club for people who found bending down to be a feat of competitive athletics. Her conversations there came up with several positive mentions of Picton, that she was in every Monday night for a small glass of sweet sherry. She seemed, according to the members Lizzie talked to, to be a very helpful person, having offered many of them small favours. Yes, she’d followed through with the promised help, be it a recommendation for a window cleaner or showing up to help move some logs. Yes, the work in every case was done in record time, now Lizzie mentioned it.

  So, here was an organisation Picton had not yet pissed off, an organisation she was still saying all the right things to and walking the walk as well. Which spoke to her being not so powerful, because what sort of supernatural monster moves logs? So Lizzie signed herself and Autumn up for social membership. On the night, Lizzie told Autumn to wear something relatively smart, so of course Autumn came along in something that would have attracted comment in the cantina from Star Wars.