by Anna Dale
‘Something more pressing’s come up,’ said Miss Quint. ‘Our trip will have to be postponed. Do stop scowling, Arthur. A little delay won’t matter. Mrs Carruthers said in her letter that we could pop round any day we liked. We’ll go tomorrow instead.’
‘Don’t suppose I’ve got much choice, have I?’ Arthur said.
‘No, so perk up, do! You’re being a party pooper!’ Miss Quint dropped her purse into the bag and gave Arthur a firm push. ‘I’ve put bread and butter on the list and fillings for sandwiches, and some fairy cakes and pastries as well. Don’t be tempted to get anything cheap or out of a jar. No peanut butter or chocolate spread or anything like that. There’s a Right Honourable and a Duchess amongst this lot.’
‘Can’t you go?’ complained Arthur, who did not derive much pleasure from supermarket shopping. ‘There are so many aisles. I won’t know where anything is.’
‘Take Susan with you,’ said Miss Quint, who had become aware of a familiar, irksome presence sidling up to her. ‘She’ll be very helpful, I’m sure.’
‘Her again?’ said Arthur, recognising the girl in the gingham dress as the one he had seen two days previously. ‘Why has she started to hang out here? Hasn’t she got a home to go to?’
Miss Quint glared at Arthur with just the right degree of displeasure to make him back out of the door.
Arthur glanced resentfully at the girl who had been foisted on him. ‘Come on, then, what’s-your-name,’ he grumbled.
‘It’s Susan!’ she said, and tried to hold his hand.
‘Get off!’ said Arthur, horrified. ‘Hold this if you want to hold something!’ He pushed the shopping bag into her arms and started to walk away. ‘Let’s go, Suze. We’ve got a lot of shopping to do.’
‘All right,’ Susan said amiably, ‘but afterwards, do you think there’ll be time to have a go on the swings?’
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Chapter Eight
The Tea Party
Miss Quint turned out to be wrong about Susan. On the shopping trip she was not helpful at all. While Arthur dashed up and down the aisles, hunting high and low and ticking things off the list when he found what he was searching for, Susan ambled after him, clutching the shopping bag to her chest and gazing at everything in awe. When they had arrived at the supermarket, Arthur had asked her to find a few items, but it had been almost too painful to watch her floundering without a clue and in the end he had given up and taken the task upon himself.
As they traipsed back to the bookshop, each holding one handle of the bulging shopping bag, Arthur kept giving Susan curious sidelong glances. She was the oddest girl that he had ever met. Her dress sense was disturbingly nerdy, but it was her strange behaviour that gave him the most concern. Susan was not a talkative person and she tended to stare a lot. When she did speak, she often used old-fashioned words and phrases that he had heard his granny utter from time to time. Everyday sights like people talking on mobile phones would cause her to stand and gape, and the roar of a motorbike would make her jump out of her skin. She seemed to be like a tourist from a faraway place, and Arthur’s heart, which had hardened towards her, slowly began to soften.
After ten minutes of stumbling along the pavement with their achingly heavy load, Arthur thought that they deserved a rest. He remembered that Susan had asked if they could stop at a playground, and despite the mile or so it added to their journey, he decided to take her to the park.
It being a warm day, the playground was busy, and they had to wait in line to have a turn on the swings. Susan did not seem to mind. In fact, she looked completely content and at ease standing in a queue with the other more fidgety children. It was as if she had finally returned to the environment in which she felt most at home.
When her turn came, she spent the first minute kicking her legs out in front of her, then quickly folding her knees. Gradually, she gathered momentum, soaring higher and higher; the chains that held the swing squeaking and clanking under the strain.
‘Thank you, Arthur,’ said Susan, when she had finished her go and left the swing wobbling enticingly, awaiting the bottom of the next eager child. Susan’s face, which was usually blank or conveying puzzlement, had lit up like a sunbeam.
‘That’s all right,’ said Arthur, smiling. ‘It beats making tons and tons of sandwiches, which I reckon is how we’ll be spending the rest of our afternoon.’
The tea party was a resounding success. Arthur and Susan were recruited to hand things round and the guests happily tucked into the inviting range of sandwiches, which the children had indeed been roped into making. It had not escaped Arthur’s notice that the customers were a motley crew. He had already spotted the guest who was wearing a breastplate and gauntlets (which the man had had to remove in order to eat a cream puff). It appeared that several others had opted to come in fancy dress as well.
Returning to the kitchen to refill a plate of sandwiches, he found himself wondering yet again where Miss Quint had chanced upon these people and how she had attracted them into the shop. He had meant to confront Miss Quint with these questions, but she had proved difficult to pin down. As soon as he had spied her and pushed through the crowd to talk to her, she had slipped away to the opposite side of the room, almost as if she were avoiding him.
Arthur and Susan were reunited at the kitchen sink after all the food had either been eaten or dropped on the floor. Susan turned on the taps.
‘The cucumber sandwiches were popular,’ commented Arthur.
‘Everything was,’ observed Susan, sheathing her hands in yellow rubber and dipping them into the bowl. And it was true; in double quick time, their entire supermarket shop had been polished off.
‘Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby said she liked the eclairs the most.’ Susan selected a dish mop and began to clean a plate.
‘Mrs who?’ asked Arthur, a tea towel clutched in his hand. ‘Was that really her name?’
Susan nodded.
‘I’ve heard that name before,’ said Arthur, picking up the plate that Susan had stacked in the drainer. ‘Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby. Yes, I’ve seen it written down. Was she the lady in black?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no!’ said Susan. She tossed her head twice, flicking her plaits behind her so that their ends did not dangle in the soapy water. ‘The lady in the black frock was Nurse Matilda.’
‘Nurse Matilda?’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Susan said. ‘I heard her say so.’ Since her go on the swing, Susan had acquired a new decisiveness. She lifted a pile of china from the worktop and let it sink gently into the bowl.
‘But Nurse Matilda’s not real,’ said Arthur, confused. ‘She’s a made-up person. My sister, Beth, drew a picture of her at junior story club. The picture’s stuck to our fridge. I’m certain Nurse Matilda is a character from a book.’
Susan shrugged and busied herself with her dish mop.
‘Oh, good, you’ve made a start.’ Miss Quint popped her head round the kitchen door to check that the washing-up was under way. ‘Hasn’t it been a wonderful afternoon?’ she said.
‘Not especially,’ Arthur replied. He wiped a plate with exaggerated care and placed it on some others on the worktop.
‘You’re a plucky pair,’ said Miss Quint with admiration. ‘As a reward for all your hard work, how would you like a trip to the seaside? We could take the van to Plentiful Sands!’
‘Sounds nice,’ snapped Arthur. Normally, he would have been thrilled at the prospect of a day at the beach, but the eager-to-please note in Miss Quint’s voice merely added to his worries about the gathering of peculiar customers downstairs. He eyed Miss Quint with growing unease as he dried a handful of teaspoons. ‘When are your guests going to leave?’ he asked.
Miss Quint’s face turned azalea pink.
‘Yes,’ joined in Susan. ‘When are they going home? I’
m jolly tired, Miss Quint. I think I’d like it if they went.’
‘Soon, I hope,’ said Miss Quint, her smile beginning to lose its radiance. ‘I’m feeling a bit done in myself. This hostessing lark takes it out of you. I’ll put it about that it’s time they took themselves off. All right?’
From the kitchen on the first floor, Arthur and Susan heard the bell jingle-jangling time and time again. When they had finished the washing-up and were confident that all the customers must have left the shop, Susan peeled off her gloves and Arthur threw down his tea towel. Together they raced downstairs.
When they reached the bottom step, Arthur and Susan saw that the bookshop had emptied itself of everyone that did not belong there. They flung themselves into the chairs by the fireplace, greatly relieved.
Relaxing after a busy afternoon was not something that Scallywag, Trunk and Miss Quint seemed to be able to manage. Rather than flopping into the chair behind Mr Hardbattle’s desk, Miss Quint stood fretfully beside it, staring out of the window at some unseen spectacle in the street. Scallywag was similarly ill at ease, but she was seated on the doormat with her head tilted and her ears pricked. The only part of Trunk that was visible was the knot in the end of his tail. Unlike the other two, he was not preoccupied with whatever was outside. He had travelled the length of his shelf and hidden behind a flowerpot, which was a sure sign that everything had got too much.
‘What’s up with everyone?’ asked Arthur.
Susan shook her head. ‘Don’t know.’
Arthur got up from his chair. He trod past Scallywag, who was now lying down, making snuffling noises at the bottom of the door, and walked to the window to see what had secured Miss Quint’s interest. She flinched when Arthur edged up beside her, but did not avert her gaze. Arthur squinted through the layers of age-old grime on the windowpane and was shocked to see a large group of people assembled on the pavement outside. He might have supposed that they were holding a demonstration, but as far as he could tell they were not wielding placards. He rubbed his sleeve on the glass so that he could see more clearly.
‘Miss Quint,’ he said after a minute of peering intently, ‘why are all your guests standing around outside the shop? Why haven’t they gone home?’
Miss Quint gave a feeble moan. ‘I’ve wished and wished that they’d go,’ she said, more to herself than to Arthur.
‘Perhaps we should call them a taxi,’ Arthur suggested practically, ‘or rather a whole rank of them.’
Miss Quint sighed and patted her nostrils with a handkerchief. ‘I’m not sure they’d be able to pay the fares,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t any money to lend them. I’ve only got coppers left in my purse. Everything else went on food for the party.’ Miss Quint turned to face Arthur. Her cheeks had lost their healthy pink tinge. She looked drained and tearful, and, unusually for Miss Quint, she appeared to be lost for words.
‘Who are those people?’ asked Arthur suspiciously. ‘Magic wasn’t involved in their coming here, was it? You haven’t done anything stupid?’
Miss Quint blanched. ‘Susan, dear!’ she called in a high, quavering voice. ‘Would you be a poppet and run upstairs to fetch the keys from the saucer in my bedroom so I can lock the shop?’
Susan jumped to her feet. ‘Yes, of course I will, Miss Quint,’ she said and trotted up the steps.
Arthur’s suspicions deepened when he saw the bunch of keys that Miss Quint had requested, hanging from her belt.
‘But, Miss Quint –’ he began.
‘I know,’ she said, following Arthur’s befuddled gaze. ‘I wanted Susan out of the way. I think it’s time I owned up.’
Guilt-ridden and contrite, but not so humbled that she left out the part about how lonely and miserable she had been, Miss Quint confessed that the guests at her party had been characters from books. She explained to Arthur that she had only needed to wish for them to be real and the magic in the bookshop had done the rest.
Arthur was tongue-tied with fury, but after a moment, he found his voice. ‘Miss Quint!’ he raged. ‘Mr Hardbattle said you mustn’t! What’s the good of instructions if you won’t read them? I can’t believe this! What were you thinking of?’ When he had calmed down, Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. ‘So, what are we going to do?’
Miss Quint took a hopeful peek outside. ‘They might move off in a minute,’ she said.
‘Move off? Where to?’ said Arthur, exploding with anger again. ‘You can’t just put them out on the street and expect them to fend for themselves! They’ll end up living in cardboard boxes. They might be mugged or kidnapped, and that guy with the sword is bound to take someone’s head off if he swings it about like he’s doing now. You’ll have to get them back in here and undo all your wishes.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried that?’ whined Miss Quint. ‘I did my utmost to unwish Susan, but as you’ve seen she’s still flesh and blood.’
‘Susan?’ Arthur took a step back. ‘You mean she’s one of them? You’re telling me that I’ve been out shopping with a fictional character?’ His astonishment melted away as the realisation sank in. ‘Does she know?’ he asked quietly.
Miss Quint shrugged her shoulders. ‘She seemed to when we first met, but I think she’s forgotten. That’s why I got rid of her just now. I thought she might be a bit upset to be reminded.’
A slight flurry of movement outside caught Arthur’s attention. Somebody new had joined the throng, and that someone was wearing a helmet and a smart, black uniform.
‘Oh, heck!’ said Arthur. ‘It’s the police. We’re in big trouble now.’
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Chapter Nine
A Spell of Unwishing
Afterwards, Arthur was forced to admit that Miss Quint had been magnificent. He had been the resourceful one who thought up the idea, but she had acted as the linchpin, without whom the plan would not have been possible to execute.
At first, Miss Quint had doubted that she was up to the challenge of duping a policeman, but Arthur had assured her that it was worth a try. She had made an unpromising start; tottering out on to the street in her high-heeled shoes, waving weakly and shouting, ‘Yoo-hoo!’ However, Miss Quint had held her nerve and gone on to charm the pants off the humourless policeman. Lying through her teeth, she had managed to convince him that the milling crowd was an untidy queue of book-lovers who were waiting for a famous author to turn up to sign his latest book.
The policeman had been surly to begin with, and, perhaps to save face, he had insisted on confiscating the knight’s sword with the words ‘Simmer down, lad, and hand it over. Knives are for chopping up spuds, not for carrying . . . and . . . and the same goes for swords an’ all.’
The knight had been unwilling to give up his shining steel blade and there might have been a scuffle (in which the policeman would surely have come off worse) if the politician in the black top hat had not stepped in. Fitting his monocle to his eye, the fictional MP for North Lonsdale had said some fine and eloquent things. No one had fully understood what these had meant, but his distinguished tone of voice had had the desired effect. The situation was diffused, the knight gave up his sword and both parties were persuaded to shake hands.
Fooling a policeman was a minor challenge when compared with unwishing a roomful of people.
‘So, how exactly did you go about each wish?’ enquired Arthur after they had seen off the policeman and herded all of Miss Quint’s guests back into the shop. (Scallywag was best at this because she was part sheepdog.)
Miss Quint despatched Susan to put the kettle on the stove and get the cups and saucers out, before applying her mind to Arthur’s question.
‘Well, let’s see . . . um . . . I picked out a book and turned its pages until I found a character that seemed . . . promising. Then I put my finger on their name and wished.’
‘And when you tried to
unwish Susan, what did you do?’ asked Arthur.
Miss Quint was about to give her reply when a fictional fishmonger attempted to involve her in a conversation on whelks. Miss Quint excused herself politely, and pulled Arthur to a more secluded section of the shop. She chose the most cobwebby corner, which was a no-go area for all arachnophobes.
‘What did you ask me, Arthur?’ she said. ‘How did I go about unwishing Susan?’ Miss Quint struggled to remember. ‘I was finding her annoying. She wouldn’t leave me alone, you see. I whispered it under my breath, I think, so she wouldn’t hear. I said, “I wish this darned girl would go back to her book”, or something similar.’
Arthur regarded her critically. ‘You didn’t find the book or point at her name then?’
‘She didn’t have a name, but no, I can’t say that I did,’ Miss Quint admitted. ‘Do you think that would have made a difference?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Arthur, fishing a spider out of his hair, ‘but Mr Hardbattle said that magic won’t be bossed about. If you’d asked a bit more nicely, or been clearer about what you’d wanted it to do . . .’
‘I think it’s worth another stab,’ Miss Quint said, and Arthur was quick to agree. ‘Although there’s one slight snag,’ she added, glancing around them at the dusty shelves.
If Miss Quint had been thinking straight and had not been in such a desperate hurry to people the bookshop with suitable companions for herself, she might have set aside the books that she had used, piled them all together and put them somewhere safe, but Miss Quint had been swept up in the excitement of the moment and had thrust the books back, willy-nilly, on the shelves. If she and Arthur were to match each tea party guest to the book from which they had been summoned, it was going to take a very long time.
‘Let’s start with Nurse Matilda,’ said Arthur, dropping to his knees and scanning the shelves in front of him. ‘She comes from a book with the same name. The author’s somebody Brand.’
