“Aradia…” Granny tuts.
Aradia smiles sweetly at her then turns her attention to me. “I thought we could take a walk into the village. I need to drop some carrots off to Gloria in the cafe. Oh, Harri, Gloria’s carrot muffins are the sole reason I will never leave Brindlewood. You’ll love them!”
“That sounds nice.” I smile, still thinking about the magic that exists somewhere in my body.
Granny is still grinning at me from her chair. “You guys go get ready. Me and Nettle will clean this up.” The large fluffy cat lifts his head off the kitchen table then sinks it back down in protest to cleaning.
I finish my breakfast and go back upstairs to get changed. I pop my hair in a loose bun and slip on my favourite woollen jumper and a pair of jeans. I catch myself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. My face looks fresh and clear. I amloving this no makeup life. Nobody to impress. Not worrying if my hair is messy or my mascara looks good. Just pop on a jumper and go. It’s so refreshing to be around those who don’t care what you look like or if your roots are showing. They’re simply happy to see you.
I borrow a pair of my granny’s wellies, and one of Aradia’s many scarves. I pick a bright pink fluffy one that stands out from my thick cream jumper.
We walk down the dirt driveway to the main road, sticking to the side of the road near the never-ending thicket. Autumn has well and truly started to settle in. The leaves on the trees have just started to turn the colours of a warm African sunset mixed in with the few green ones left. The breeze has the taste of winter blowing through it. As we walk not a single car passes us. The quiet mid-morning is quite different to central London. Aradia chats about yoga and her chickens. She loves to chat and makes it easy to just listen to her stories.
We soon see the village hall and church in the distance along with the beautiful little cottages that line the main road and stream. We follow it until we reach the green. The green is empty today.The little boys are probably at the school in the town a few miles from Brindlewood.
We make our way over the green towards the cafe. A little wooden sign saying “The Wandering Wisp Cafe” hangs just over the front door, the large bay window dressed in faux autumn leaves and pumpkins. Fairy lights weave around them lighting them up in that soft warm glow you see at Christmas time. Aradia opens the large cafe door ringing a bell above us.
The cafe is quaint and cosy. Little wooden tables and chairs sit around a serving counter which is large considering. Small vases of fresh sunflowers sit on each table tying in the orange decor with their sunshine colouring. Two large brown leather armchairs sit in the bay window next to a small log burner inwhich the embers are just glowing through the wood. Behind the counter a small old woman with a tight perm and thick-rimmed glasses is stood serving a customer. She’s dressed like your typical storybook grandma with a floral dress, stockings and a frilly apron that is wrapped around her plump frame.
She sees Aradia and waves us over. “I’ll just be a second, Aradia, dear.” She smiles.
She finishes with the man at the counter who turns to leave with his takeout coffee. He stops suddenly, surprised by Aradia and my presence. His face turns slightly pink, and he tips his flat cap nervously, his salt and pepper hair just peeking out from under it. He’s dressed in typical farmer attire and must be in his late fifties.
“Good morning, Peter.” Aradia flutters her long dark eyelashes.
He clears his nervous throat. “Ah, good morning, Aradia and…”
“My niece, Harriet,” she replies, still staring up at the man.
“Harri,” I interrupt.
“How do?” He tips his hat again.
“How’s the harvest going?” she asks.
“OK. Been a bit wet this summer, but we’ll make do.” He smiles.
“I’m sure you will, Pete.” The flirtation in her voice is not hidden.
His face is even pinker. Anyone with a brain can tell he’s got a crush on my aunt, and she probably has one on him too.
“Best be off. See you at the harvest market next week.” He waves and slinks off out of the door with his coffee.
“He likes you.” I giggle at Aradia.
“I know he does.” She chuckles back. “But he’s also cautious. He’s from a generation of farmers. Farmers who are very much aware of what our family are. Well, they think we’re evil witcheswho fly on broomsticks at night. They have this superstition that we mess with their crops through magic,” she whispers.
“Do you?”
“If he doesn’t ask me out soon I might,” she teases.
The lady behind the counter interrupts us. “Did I hear correctly? Is this your niece? Oh, she’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, dear! Married? You must be.” She’s sprightly for an older lady.
“Woah, Gloria, you’ll scare the poor girl back to London!” Aradia laughs at Gloria’s enthusiasm.
“London? Frightful place! Too full and smoky!” She screws up her wrinkled face for a moment before looking back at Aradia. “Aradia, dear, have you got the carrots?”
“I do, Gloria.” Aradia places the bag of carrots on the counter. Gloria goes to take the bag, but Aradia stops her. She looks serious.
