“Hey, there you are,” said Matt. He turned back to speak into a hatch cut out of glass. “This is my sister, Charlotte.”
“Charlotte Samuels. Year Seven?” the woman behind the desk asked.
Charlie nodded.
Matt nudged her. “Answer her, then.”
Charlie blushed. “Y-yes,” she managed.
“Right – if you both wait on the sofa, a buddy from your year will come to collect you.”
They sat, swinging their feet, and before long a boy came. “Matt? Year Nine?” he said.
“Hey,” Matt drawled.
“Hi, I’m Tom,” the boy answered.
“Hey, Tom. Cool cuffs. Love those leather ones.”
“Yeah. I bought them at the market…”
Charlie watched as Matt set off down the corridor with his first friend. How easy he made it look!
“Good luck!” called Matt over his shoulder. “Smile! Be nice!” Charlie couldn’t help laughing at his wicked impression of Mum. She looked around self-consciously in case anyone had heard her, but the corridor had emptied.
Charlie sat there, twisting her fingers, lacing them into each other and out again. It was beginning to feel like everyone had forgotten her. Finally a tall girl with spiky hair rushed in. “Charlotte? Year Seven?” she said quickly.
Charlie nodded.
“Everyone else was busy so I was sent to collect you,” Spiky said in a cross tone. “I’m in Year Twelve,” she added airily, “But I’ll show you around anyway.”
“Hi.” Charlie gave her a wobbly smile.
“OK. So, this is the office” – Spiky began walking quickly along the corridor – “the library” – she waved vaguely with her left hand – “the canteen, the girls’ loos, the art room is up there” – she pointed to some steps – “and the hall is down there. OK?”
Charlie nodded again and tried to look as if she was remembering everything.
“OK, so, um … all the normal rules: don’t run in the corridor, you can’t stay in the classrooms over lunch, Years Twelve and Thirteen get the tables by the window in the canteen, and you can’t go into the common room either – that’s just for us.”
Charlie glanced down the hall and quickly dropped her gaze. Suzy was standing outside the common room with a group of girls around her.
Charlie lifted her eyes carefully and tried to stop herself staring. Suzy was in school uniform, like everyone else, but where other kids looked scruffy and crumpled, she was elegant and polished. Her honey-coloured hair was neatly swept back in two glittered clips and even her nails were painted a baby pink. Charlie looked at her own hands. The nails were bitten down to the quick, and on her wrist her chewed friendship bracelet was ragged and grubby at the edges. Her skirt had twisted and was now back to front, with her shirt sticking out of one side. She hastily swung it back round and began to smooth her crazy curls.
“That’s Suzy Evans,” said Spiky in a tone of great reverence. “She’s in my year. We’re both in the school show,” she added proudly. “I’m a flying monkey and Suzy’s Dorothy, but we’ve got loads of scenes together.” She paused for a moment. “So I’ll leave you here, yeah? Your form room is just back by the library. You’ve got Miss Robbins. She’ll teach you English too.”
Charlie nodded vigorously and looked at her timetable. English was first thing.
“I’ve got to get back to my friends now,” said Spiky. “You know, Suzy and people. Oh,” she looked down at Charlie’s feet, “here’s a tip – no one wears white socks. I know it’s the school uniform but everyone wears grey.” She waved her hand. “See you!”
Charlie glanced at her socks. When she lifted her head a split second later, Spiky had disappeared.
Charlie walked back the way they’d come and tried to remember where the library was. Finally she found it and, next door, her classroom. There was a teacher’s voice coming from behind the door. Charlie took a deep breath and lifted her fist to knock. The voice stopped then said, “Come in.”
With her stomach churning, Charlie pushed the door open. A sea of faces looked up.
“Um… I’m, uh…” She stumbled over her first words. Everyone stared. The teacher waited, expectantly. Charlie opened her mouth but, to her horror, she found she couldn’t say the “ch” of her name.
There was a long pause. Charlie could hear her name inside her head but it was like the sounds were stuck in quicksand: the more she tried to pull them out, the deeper they sank. She tried the “ch”, “ch” for Charlotte. She screwed up her face, willing the word to come. There was a giggle from the back of the class.
“Rumpelstiltskin!” a boy shouted and everyone laughed.
Charlie’s cheeks were growing hot and she could feel tears prickling in her eyes. In desperation, she tried her surname: “SSSSamuels,” she burst out, a little too loudly.
Realization hit the teacher. “Oh,” Miss Robbins said as she shuffled through the pieces of paper on her desk. “I have a Charlotte on my list,” she said slowly, as if Charlie was stupid. “Is that you?”
Charlie nodded miserably.
“Good. Well, take a seat. Next to Sara.” She waved her hand in Sara’s direction.
Sara stared for a brief second, then said, “Oh, Miss, Nicola sits here, remember? She’s at the doctor this morning.” She hastily covered the empty desk with her arms.
“Right.” The teacher looked around impatiently, and then pointed to a desk on its own. “Just sit there for now. We’ll find somewhere proper for you later.”
The chair scraped noisily as Charlie pulled it out.
“Back to work, everyone … concentrating please…” Miss Robbins clapped her hands. “Charlotte, you’ve joined us halfway through a project so you’ll have to work hard to catch up.”
Charlie nodded and stared at the handout Miss Robbins had given her.
The Brothers Grimm.
Below that, the words swam about in her wet eyes. She blinked to clear them. Stupid voice! Stupid words. “Ch,” she whispered softly to herself. There. She could do it. What was wrong with her today? Her stutter hadn’t been this bad since she was little. She closed her eyes and tried to listen to Miss Robbins.
“The fairy tales you know today are very different to the tales documented by the Brothers Grimm. The tales of their time were frightening, heavy with morals, often about death. Some were distorted versions of true events, told as a warning. I’m going to tell you a story behind a fairy tale. See if you recognize the tale it became…”
Charlie breathed in and out slowly. She could feel eyes staring into her back. Not only was she the new girl, she was the new girl with the stammer.
“…it’s the story of a woman named Katharina, a famous baker in the seventeenth century. A man called Hans was jealous of her ability, and, desperate to learn the recipe for her popular gingerbread, he proposed to her, but she refused him. To escape Hans, Katharina moved to a cottage in the forest and continued her baking. Hans denounced the baker as a witch. She was brought before the court, but no evidence of witchcraft could be found, so Katharina was set free. Hans and his sister Grete tracked down Katharina’s cottage in the woods. In their fury, they killed the baker and threw her into her baking oven.”
Charlie knew the story was “Hansel and Gretel”, but there was no way she was risking her voice again. She kept her head down all morning and let her hair hang over her face like a curtain.
At the lunch bell everyone rushed up out of their seats and the room was filled with people chatting and laughing in little groups. Charlie couldn’t bear to stand up and walk through them all, so she sat at her desk, fiddling with her hair and sneaking little looks around. The girls seemed very giggly. Spiky was right – they were all wearing grey socks, not white. No one was wearing a friendship bracelet either. Charlie pushed hers under her shirt cuff. She’d made it with her old friends, but here, in her new life, it suddenly looked out of place and babyish.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Oc
casionally Charlie saw the back of her brother’s head drift past, in a throng of thirteen-year-old boys. She shook her head, marvelling at Matt’s ability to make friends wherever he went. Charlie pulled her hair over her face and tried to look like she didn’t mind being by herself.
That night the family ate dinner while sitting on the kitchen chairs with plates balanced on their knees. Charlie played with her food as Matt told Mum and Dad about Broomwood.
“It’s so great!” he said. “Everyone’s really friendly. Can I have Felix over next week? He’s really into spray-painting, and he said he’d show me how he makes T-shirts and stuff.”
“Sure,” said Mum. “What about you, Charlie? How are you doing?”
“Mmm,” Charlie nodded. “Fine.”
“That’s good!” said Mum. She sounded relieved. Charlie looked down.
“Ugh! This bacon is chewy,” said Matt. He lifted a long string of rind.
“It’s not brilliant,” Dad admitted, “but it was on offer!” he added proudly.
“Hey, Charlie,” Mum changed the subject really unsubtly, “how are you getting on with your room? Have you unpacked those boxes yet?”
“Not yet,” Charlie answered. “I’m g-g… I will, though.” Mum looked at Dad again.
Great. Now she’d added another worry to Mum and Dad’s list. Charlie clenched her teeth together and willed her voice to work better tomorrow.
Tuesday was bad.
Wednesday was worse.
By Thursday Charlie felt like her throat had completely closed. She couldn’t understand it. She’d always had a stammer and, yes, there had been periods where it had been really bad, but not like this. It felt like her words were at the bottom of a deep well and every sentence meant hauling them up, heavy and dripping with sludge.
On Thursday morning Charlie had maths. Mr Wyatt was picking on people to answer questions. Please not me, please not me, went the voice in Charlie’s head.
But sure enough, Mr Wyatt pointed straight at her. “Charlotte?”
Charlie knew the answer was cosine. But she could feel her skin prickling and her palms sweating at the thought of speaking out loud. Please, she told her body silently, please don’t stammer again, not in front of everyone. Please don’t let me down. But something about the “C” was locked away, deep at the bottom of the well. She ran through letters in her head. She could manage a “T”, her tongue decided. So, rather than risk humiliation by stuttering all over the place, Charlie said, “Tangent.”
“No, no,” said Mr Wyatt, disappointed. “Anyone else?”
Charlie had taken to hiding in the library every break time so she didn’t have to talk to anyone. As she passed people in the corridor, she tried not to make eye contact. She pulled up her hood and yanked her long curls across her face. She got in the habit of following people wherever they were going, so she didn’t have to ask anyone the way. Mostly this worked and she made it to lessons by letting the flow of people-traffic lead her along – until Thursday lunch, when, without thinking, she followed a group of girls straight into the hall.
A large group was gathered around the piano by the stage and a teacher was calling out, “Who’s next?”
Charlie backed away hastily into the doorway.
A girl bounced on to the stage. “Me, Miss Knevitt.”
“Ah, Suzy!” The teacher’s voice softened. “Let’s hear your best ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.”
Charlie held her breath as Suzy Evans lifted her head and began to sing. Her voice was perfect, soulful. It made tingles run along Charlie’s spine.
“Magic,” breathed Miss Knevitt as Suzy reached the top notes.
Then, abruptly, Suzy made a funny face and a strange noise came out of her throat. It sounded like a loud croaaaakk. Suzy went bright red and clapped her hand over her mouth.
The audience giggled and Miss Knevitt shuffled her music papers. “I think we’ll leave it there, dear,” she said. “Don’t want you straining your voice.”
Suzy looked down, mortified.
Charlie fidgeted. There was that weird crackle in the air again. She wriggled her shoulders up and down to shake it off. She lifted her head and saw a girl watching her. The girl was sitting on a chair at the side of the hall with her legs tucked under her, Buddha-style, and her socks were neon-yellow with green stripes, brazenly flaunting the school rules. She wore enormous glasses that were balanced precariously on her tiny face, and her red hair was cut short. She looked like a little pixie playing dress-up. There was a funny expression on her freckly face, like she was squinting. As she stared at Charlie, she screwed up her eyes even further.
Charlie backed away and rushed to the library. She breathed out slowly. Poor Suzy. How embarrassing! She winced in sympathy. And why was that glasses girl looking at Charlie so strangely? Charlie stayed hidden between the aisles until the bell went.
After school Charlie played with Annie while Dad made dinner. Dad had been to London yesterday about a job opportunity. From the sounds of things, it hadn’t gone well. She could hear him crashing and bashing the pots in the kitchen as he moved in-between the packing boxes.
She set up the wooden train track for Annie and whizzed Thomas the Tank Engine over the bridges and into the tunnels again and again.
“Story, Charlie?” Annie said hopefully.
So they lay on the cushions by the sofa and Charlie read her “The Little Mermaid” from The Big Book of Fairy Tales, Annie’s current favourite. Somehow, even though she couldn’t trust her voice at school, it felt stronger when she read to Annie. Annie loved all the different accents and she liked Charlie’s scary witch cackle best of all. “Wa-hah-hah-hah!” They shouted it together. It felt wonderful to be talking again. She made a wicked witch face and Annie grinned back.
“Hey! I’m home!” called Mum. She walked through the front door and flung herself down on the sofa, kicking off her shoes.
“Wa-hah-hah!” cackled Annie as she climbed up to join her.
“Oof!” Mum yelped as Annie landed on her tummy. She leaned sideways to Charlie and took her hand. “How are you getting on, love?” she asked.
“OK,” Charlie shrugged.
“Have you made any friends yet?”
Charlie squirmed. “Not yet,” she said. Mum frowned. “But I’m sure I will s-s-s-soon,” she added hastily.
“What about your old friends? Have you called Claire and Amira?”
“No … I just want to settle in here f-f-first.”
Mum nodded.
“Dinner in twenty!” yelled Dad from the kitchen. “Dawn, can you put Annie to bed? She’s already eaten.”
“Come on, sleepy-pie.” Mum picked Annie up, and Charlie waved goodnight.
It wasn’t true, what she’d said to Mum. The real reason she hadn’t called Claire and Amira was because she hadn’t heard from them in ages. They were busy. Charlie had seen their Facebook photos. Busy at Charlie’s old school, in her old street, with her old group, and Charlie didn’t want to hear about it. Tears prickled the back of her eyes and, not for the first time, she cursed Dad’s old boss for making them move. This time last year she didn’t even know what the word “redundancy” meant. She’d been going about her life, her days of stuttering long gone, and she had been happy.
Everyone was quiet at dinner. Charlie couldn’t trust herself to start a conversation. The last thing she wanted was for Mum and Dad to start fussing about her stammer. Mum looked exhausted. Dad was scowling at his food. Even Matt didn’t say much.
The kitchen was full of boxes, so they all sat in the lounge on a sofa covered in old cloth, balancing their plates on their knees again. Dad was halfway through painting, and there were bits of sandpaper, rags, pots of paint and brushes on every surface available. The whole room stank of white spirit. Charlie tried not to breathe too deeply.
Mum put down her fork and sighed loudly. Dad transferred his plate to his left knee so he could lean over and put his hand over hers. “Hang in there, love,” he mu
rmured.
“I’m OK.” Mum put on her cheery voice. “I’m just getting used to full-time work, that’s all. I’d forgotten how physical nursing is!” She gave a little laugh. “It’ll be fine soon. I’m just tired.”
After dinner Charlie carried the plates into the messy kitchen. She could hear Mum and Dad murmuring in the lounge. Their voices were quiet, but Charlie knew what they were saying. It had been the same for the last few months. What would they do if Dad couldn’t find a job? Charlie knew Mum’s nursing salary wasn’t high.
Matt looked at her as they did the washing up, but neither of them said anything. They just listened to the murmur, murmur, murmur of worries drifting through the house.
Early in the morning Charlie had another odd dream. She was in the cottage, but it was long ago. There were candles placed in all the alcoves and she could hear a funny kind of chanting voice coming from somewhere down in the cellar.
Miss Robbins was outside, saying, “Push her in the oven, Gretel!” and the weird orange dishcloth lady kept repeating:
“You’ll regret it! You’ll regret it! I’ll take your voice, Little Mermaid!”
Charlie woke up, all confused. She moved her jaw from side to side and practised her old voice exercises. “La, la, la,” she sang quietly into the darkness.
She kept thinking of that strange peddler woman with the dishcloths. Maybe she’d put a curse on Charlie. Charlie shook her head – now she was being really silly! She reached for her notebook and made a list of logical reasons her stammer was worse:
1) Just started new school
2) Don’t know anyone
3) Strange cottage
4) Weird buzzy feeling
5) Normal to have phases of stammer being worse
6) Worrying about it too much
She chewed the end of her pen and, before she knew it, she’d added:
7) Cursed by peddler
Then she crossed it out again, feeling like an idiot. I just need a break from the weird cottage and everything, she told herself. After school she would go into the village and have a walk around. Then she’d see that everything was totally normal and there was nothing strange going on at all.
How to Catch a Witch Page 2
