by Laura Wood
“No!” I said loudly. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with you!”
Pym gave me a long look with her bad eye. “Poppy, love, I know you think it’s the end of the world now, but we have to do what is best for you. You need to have a real chance to make some friends your own age and to learn—”
I pushed my chair back and ran out of the trailer before she could finish, almost tumbling over my own legs, as they seemed to be moving so much faster than the rest of my body. I stopped running when I got to a big oak tree that looked particularly sympathetic, and I sat down underneath it with my knees pulled up to my chest and treated myself to a good old cry.
After a couple of minutes I heard a cheerful whistling approaching, and noticed Luigi sauntering over, one hand in his tweed jacket pocket and the other holding a lead, at the end of which an enormous lion was happily trotting along.
“What ho, Poppers!” Luigi called, and he made his way over and sat down next to me, leaning his back against the tree trunk. Buttercup headbutted me affectionately and then sprawled out on the grass beside us.
“Just out for our afternoon perambulations,” said Luigi, breaking the silence. “Stretching the old beanpoles and all that.”
I stayed quiet. Luigi twirled one neat, curling end of his black moustache. “Thing is, old bean,” he broke in, “school, you know, it can be a wonderful place for a gal like you. Meet loads of chums, have some larks, midnight feasts and the like. Even learn a bit, I should think, in a tip-top place like Saint Smithen’s. Went there myself, you know, back in the day.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said with a sniff.
“Oh yes,” he replied, “back when I was Little Lord Lucas. Had a splendid time.”
“But what if they don’t like me?” I said quietly. “What if I don’t fit in there?”
Luigi looked at me in surprise. “Not like you, Pops? YOU? Place is full of clever kids, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
“Well, there you are, then,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Stands to reason, dear girl. Only the most terrible idiot could dislike you, and the place is full of clever clogs. THEREFORE, they’ll love you. Can’t argue with that.”
“But won’t … won’t you miss me?” I asked, plucking at a piece of grass.
Buttercup roared mournfully and covered her eyes with one big paw.
Luigi swallowed hard a couple of times. “Miss you? Well, I should think rather frightfully, old girl. Why, place won’t be the same without you.” Buttercup put a comforting paw on his arm. “Thing is, Poppers,” Luigi continued in a slightly wobbly voice, “we’re all so terribly fond of you, you know. Have to do what’s best for you.”
I gave him a watery smile. “But I won’t fit in,” I tried again. “I’ll be … different.”
Buttercup gave an angry growl and buffled me with her head.
“Well said, my little Buttercup, I quite agree. Who wants to be just the same as everyone else?” asked Luigi. When I didn’t reply, he poked me in the ribs and said, “And if you hate it, then Buttercup and I will bust you out ourselves.”
“Promise?” I asked
“Solemnly swear it on the graves of all my ancestors,” said Luigi, placing his hand over his heart. “And there are scads and scads of them.”
“Well. The library did look nice,” I said carefully.
“Oh yes,” said Luigi. “Millions of books, I should think.”
“And midnight feasts do sound pretty fun.”
Luigi pulled me into a big hug. “That’s my girl.”
When I went back to the trailer, Pym was just pouring steaming hot chocolate into my favourite mug. That is the nice thing about Pym’s visions – she always knows just what you need, and just when you need it.
“I’m scared,” I said.
“I know,” said Pym, taking my hand.
“But I’ll … I’ll try it.” I tried to sound brave, but my voice came out a bit squeaky.
Pym squeezed my hand. “Of course you will,” she smiled. “Poppy Pym, you’re the bravest girl I know, and this is a big adventure.”
And then we both had a big, teary hug. Then everyone else came rushing into the trailer and we had big, teary hugs all around.
“That’s enough of that,” said Sharp-Eye Sheila with one last sniffle. “Now that it’s really decided, we should be celebrating!” She pulled out her trusty banjo and started plucking a merry tune. We all spilled out of the tight trailer, and Tina and Tawna – who had been taught by their parents, who were professional acrobats in China – sprang into an elaborate tumbling routine, spinning and flipping and twirling all over the place. Fanella and Boris began performing an exquisite foxtrot, and BoBo and Chuckles spun me round and round until we were laughing and dizzy. We spent the night singing and dancing and laughing like that underneath the stars, but as I looked around, I felt fear gnawing at me like an anxious rabbit chewing on an equally anxious carrot. How could I leave this all behind?
Chapter Three
The next morning I woke up feeling like a nervous kaleidoscope of butterflies was fluttering away in my stomach. (Did you know that a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope? I love it when words make friends like that.) I was worried about making friends of my own. I’d never really had to do that before. I had my family, and we moved around so much that it just wasn’t something I had a lot of practice with. None of my books were especially helpful, because as far as I could tell people just became friends without any special effort. Why weren’t there proper instructions? Were there rules? A special code? A secret handshake? I called a family meeting to discuss this important matter.
My family sat on benches in front of me, and after I raised the question of how to make friends, there was a long, thoughtful pause.
“What would be best,” said Doris, “would be for you to get some practice in. Luigi, stand up with Poppy, and then we can see how it goes. Introduce yourself, Poppy.”
“But I don’t know how!” I said. “That’s the problem.”
“A handshake is always a good idea,” boomed Boris, reaching out and crushing my fingers in his enormous hand and pumping my arm up and down so hard that I found myself being lifted off the ground.
“And you should smile,” added Marvin. I plastered on a big beaming smile.
“No, biiiiiiiiiiiig smile, Tomato, like this.” Fanella flashed me an enormous grin. I stretched my smile out like an elastic band until my cheeks hurt. “Is good,” Fanella said, “but less crazy in the eyeholes, please.” I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do with that particular advice, so I just smiled even harder. Luigi jumped up by my side and I shook hands with him.
“Now, you could talk about the weather, or say something nice,” Luigi said, “like this.” He paused. “I say, you’re looking lovely today, Pops. Love the outfit.” I looked down at my clothes – green leggings with purple leg warmers, a slightly tatty pink tutu and a blue-and-white stripy T-shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary. I shrugged.
“Er, thanks.” I said. “I like your … face.”
“Why, thank you,” said Luigi, looking pleased. “I’ve had it for years.”
There was a polite round of applause and Luigi and I both bowed.
“Perfect,” said Luigi. “We’re definitely friends now.” I felt a bit better, but I still wasn’t quite sure whether I’d be able to put this stuff into practice.
The next few days passed in a blur. I had to get a uniform, and textbooks, and choose a pencil case, and try out all the pens in the stationery shop. I also carried on with my usual circus chores, and my gymnastics and trapeze training, guessing that even though this school was very fancy, there weren’t going to be a lot of opportunities for flying trapeze practice. Somersaulting through the air with a trail of pigtails behind me, I thought about how much I would miss this place. I sle
pt with the Saint Smithen’s brochure under my pillow and looked at all the smiling faces inside it, hoping so very, very hard that somewhere in that school I would find some new friends.
In the end, I didn’t have very much time to feel sorry for myself. Before I knew it, it was time to pack my suitcase. I was sitting on top of the lid, trying desperately to get it to shut, and just mulling over whether I needed to take eight Dougie Valentine books with me or if seven would be enough when I heard a tap at my door. I opened it and there stood Chuckles and BoBo. When Chuckles, who is tall and thin, is particularly overcome with emotion – like he was at this moment – he can’t speak but can only communicate through mime. He drifted into the corner of the room, where he stood weeping. Bobo, who is short and round, has wild curly hair that I help her dye a different colour every week. At that moment it was bright purple, or Purple Pizzazz, as it said on the packet. She burst into the room, fizzing over with questions.
“What are you doing? Packing? What are you packing? Have you packed your umbrella yet? Don’t you think umbrella is a funny word? Umbrella, umbrella, umbrella…” She pulled some balloons out of her pocket and started creating an inflatable umbrella, and then an inflatable me holding the inflatable umbrella, and then an inflatable BoBo, holding the other hand of the inflatable me, holding the inflatable umbrella. Chuckles’s silent weeping became more elaborate and he clutched at his heart before slipping, noiselessly, to the ground.
A large, square head stuck itself around the door. “What’s going on in here?” boomed Boris as he squeezed into the room with us. Chuckles began silently beating his hands on the floor.
“Chuckles is a bit upset, and BoBo was just helping me pack,” I said. “I can’t seem to get my suitcase to close. Might have to leave some of my Dougie Valentine books behind…”
Boris looked over at my suitcase and laughed a loud, rumbling laugh. “Oh no, Poppy. I can close that easily. No problems.” And he picked me up with one hand and lifted me over his head so that he could squeeze around by the bed. “Pass me a few more of those books…”
I handed over an extra six Dougie Valentine books.
Placing one hand on the lid of the suitcase, Boris pushed it closed as easily as if it had been empty. “BoBo, come here and clip it shut, will you?” he asked.
Reaching out to help Boris, BoBo let go of the inflatable, weeping Chuckles she was making and it deflated with a sad sigh. Then she shuffled over, trailing my bed sheet along with her and knocking more things off shelves on her way. It took quite a long time but eventually, everything was packed and then it was time to go.
Saying goodbye is the worst. The actual, stinking worst of the worst. The pits, really.
The whole troupe came out to wave me off as I climbed into Luigi’s van with my battered suitcase. Doris had packed me some ham and cheese sandwiches wrapped up in waxy brown paper.
Sharp-Eye Sheila started playing “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” on the banjo and everyone sang.
The Magnificent Marvin pulled a pound coin out of my nose and handed it to me, before bursting into noisy tears.
Fanella handed him a very elegant lacy handkerchief, which he honked his nose into a couple of times before rolling it into a ball, stuffing it between his fingers and making it disappear. Fanella looked a bit miffed for a moment, until a white dove appeared carrying a large white hanky and dropped it in her hand. She dabbed her own eyes with that as she told me to “Kill them dead, Tomato.”
(“It’s knock them dead, dear,” corrected Doris.)
Then everyone hugged me and the next thing I knew Pym and I were tootling down the road, on our way. I waved and waved at everyone as they grew smaller and smaller in the back window, until they were like specks of dust that you could only see if you screwed your eyes together just right. And then I kept on waving for a bit longer just to be sure.
When I finally turned around to face the front, I had a sore neck from where the seat belt had been digging in, and I found Pym concentrating very hard on driving, her seat pressed right up against the steering wheel, and her nose, eyes and hair just poking over the top. She pushed a button on the CD player, and I heard a famous actor with a voice as smooth as a horse, reading one of my favourite Dougie Valentine stories. I was glad that Pym knew I didn’t want to speak just then, that I was full to my fingertips of so many feelings there was no room in me for talking. Instead, I settled back and picked at a sandwich as Dougie and Snoops tackled a counterfeiting ring from South America.
Eventually, after we had been driving for a while, we both relaxed, and it was during a spirited game of I-Spy (especially tricky with Pym, who sometimes plays I-Spy with My Inner Eye) that we pulled up to a huge pair of iron gates and began to crunch over a long gravel driveway. There were lots of cars around, and out of them poured boys and girls of every shape and size. There were children everywhere, shouting, hugging, chasing each other. I felt very small. I looked across at Pym and she was glancing quickly about her, taking everything in like an inquisitive blackbird.
“Well, lovey, here we are,” she said quietly, peering over the steering wheel. Then she let out a long, slow whistle. “And very nice it is too.”
Pym was right. As I looked through the window, the main school building stretched out in front of us, long and low, with the September sunlight gently warming its golden stones to a rosy glow. On either side of the wide gravel path were perfectly manicured lawns, and in the distance I could see tennis courts and more students sprawling beneath shady oak trees. The murmur of their laughing chatter spilled through my open window. Peeking round the back of the school, I could see the edge of a large, tall glass building full of feathery green fronds and bright splashes of colour that stretched all the way into the impressive domed roof.
Straightening her back, and looking as cool as a cucumber, Pym swerved the van haphazardly into a gap out the front, slammed on the brakes, and jumped out, grabbing her umbrella on the way. I emerged with what I hoped was a totally relaxed smile plastered on my face, but which probably looked more like a mad Halloween mask.
“I don’t think it’s going to rain, Pym—” I began, but she had marched a little way over to where a couple were standing talking with their daughter.
“Here,” said Pym, pushing the button so that the umbrella sprang open in front of the startled family’s faces.
“Wh—” the woman began, but at that moment a student came bombing towards them at a speedy pace. He caught his toe and tripped forward, flinging a stream of soda from the open can in his hand right at the umbrella, which it hit with a mighty splash. Pym gave the umbrella a little shake and then closed it. “Th-thanks,” the woman stammered.
“No problem,” said Pym with a friendly crinkling smile, before making her way back to me.
My knees were shaking as we pushed our way through the tall oak doors and into a cool, echoing entrance hall. This was also full of parents all shouting things like, “TIMMY! HAVE YOU GOT ENOUGH PAIRS OF PANTS?” and red-faced children trying to pretend they couldn’t hear them. Sitting at a small desk in one corner, an oasis of calm in this crazy storm, was a small blonde lady in a very crisp white dress. Pym elbowed her way towards her.
“Hello, and welcome to Saint Smithen’s,” trilled the lady in a voice that sounded like a particularly frilly bit of music. “I am Miss Susan, the chemistry teacher. Are you neeeeeeeew?” She actually made the word new go on for a long time like that. Pym nudged me and I realized I was gaping at Miss Susan like I’d never seen a human being before.
“Er, yes,” I stuttered, my mouth feeling like it was full of sawdust. “I’m P-Poppy P-Pym.”
Miss Susan ran a very clean fingernail down a list in front of her. “And exactly how many Ps is that, dear?”
“Four,” I gasped, managing to regain a little control over my voice.
“Ah, yes, Poppy Pym, here we are. You’re in Goldfinches,
room three. Back out the door, round the side to the next building on your left. That’s the girls’ dormitory. Up the stairs and down the corridor on the right.” And she pressed several bits of paper into my hand, including a map of the main building that was so elaborate I thought I’d never, ever be able to find my way around without it. I’m going to put a copy in here so you can see for yourself. Doesn’t it look complicated? I always think it’s nice to have a good map in a book anyway, it helps you to imagine everything beautifully.
Eventually Pym and I found our way out to the dormitory building and through the labyrinth of hallways to a dark mahogany door with a gleaming bronze sign attached to it. On the sign the word GOLDFINCHES and the number 3 were engraved in elegant script. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open, and Pym trotted in after me, towing my suitcase behind her.
We were standing inside a round room with walls painted the colour of butter. Inside the room were three beds covered in thick yellow blankets, and next to the beds were small white nightstands. Two open doors led off at the sides, one into a bathroom and the other into a sort of study area with three small desks and an empty bookcase. My eyes fell on a girl sitting neatly on one of the beds with her hands clasped together in her lap. She was very tall and very thin, with thick sandy hair cut into a bob, a blunt fringe above her huge blue eyes. Her eyes were magnified behind a pair of thick glasses that gave her a vaguely owlish look. There was a pause.
“Hi, I’m Poppy Pym,” I said, swallowing nervously, ready to put my friend-making classes into practice. I pinned an enormous clown grin on my face and stuck out my hand. “Lovely weather we’re having,” I managed. “Really … er, you know, weathery.” Her eyes slowly drifted towards me, and focused on my face as if only just noticing I was there. Then she smiled and unfolded herself from the bed.
“Are you a Thistle Tweaker?”
Well, I was halfway towards awkwardly shaking her hand when that stopped me in my tracks. “Sorry, what?” I asked, my extended hand hanging unshaken.
