Mr and Mrs Blearmont
The feud had started when my son lent their son his copy of Harry Potter at school. I had opened the door that evening to Mr and Mrs Blearmont’s furious faces. They had asked me whether my corruption of their boy was intentional or whether I was just stupid? I opted for stupid, which made them even angrier.
This year the children were old enough to go Halloween trick-or-treating on their own, providing they stayed in the cul-de-sac and Will looked after Elspeth. I have to admit I welled up a bit watching Will fix an errant glow-in-the-dark nail back to his little sister’s finger as they left.
When they came back Elspeth was in tears.
“What happened?” I asked in my sternest voice.
“Mr and Mrs Blearmont just went off at us!” said Will, looking injured that I could have thought it was something he’d done. “They started ranting about All Saints’ Day and church and all that gubbins. Said it was a religious day and ‘not for those who seek to profit by witchcraft’.”
I should have warned them not to go to Number 13 but I have to admit I snorted at his excellent impression of Mrs Blearmont. I took their Sainsbury’s bags off them (thoughtful that they made them such a seasonal orange) and led them through to the kitchen where my cauldron was just coming to the boil.
“Now that woman is talking out of her bottom, I’ll have you know,” I said, scooping a cupful of the uplifting potion I had just brewed for each of the children and handing them both a Liquorice Allsort.
“We had Samhain first and they stole it off us with all their goody-two-shoes saints nonsense. They’re just cross that our party was more popular.”
I dried Elspeth’s tears with a flick of my wand and took a Mint Imperial for myself.