'No, miss. I can fall over on a chair, though.'

Granny produced a small black bottle from an apron pocket and shook it vigorously. Jarge's eyes widened.

'You got that all ready for me?' he said.

'Yes,' said Granny truthfully. She'd long ago been resigned to the fact that people expected a bottle of something funny‑coloured and sticky. It wasn't the medicine that did the trick, though. It was, in a way, the spoon.

'This is a mixture of rare herbs and suchlike,' she said. 'Including suckrose and akwa.'

'My word,' said Jarge, impressed.

'Take a swig now.'

He obeyed. It tasted faintly of liquorice.

'You got to take another swig last thing at night,' Granny went on. 'An' then walk three times round a chestnut tree.'

'...three times round a chestnut tree...'

'An'...an' put a pine board under your mattress. Got to be pine from a twenty‑year‑old tree, mind.'

'...twenty‑year‑old tree...' said Jarge. He felt he should make a contribution. 'So's the knots in me back end up in the pine?' he hazarded.

Granny was impressed. It was an outrageously ingenious bit of folk hokum worth remembering for another occasion.

'You got it exactly right,' she said.

'And that's it?'

'You wanted more?'

'I... thought there were dancin' and chantin' and stuff.'

'Did that before you got here,' said Granny.

'My word. Yes. Er... about payin'...'

'Oh, I don't want payin',' said Granny. ' 'S bad luck, taking money.'

'Oh. Right.' Jarge brightened up.

'But maybe... if your wife's got any old clothes, p'raps, I'm a size 12, black for preference, or bakes the odd cake, no plums, they gives me wind, or got a bit of old mead put by, could be, or p'raps you'll be killing a hog about now, best back's my favourite, maybe some ham, a few pig knuckles... anything you can spare, really. No obligation. I wouldn't go around puttin' anyone under obligation, just 'cos I'm a witch. Everyone all right in your house, are they? Blessed with good health, I hope?'