by Debi Gliori
There was a silence on the other end of the phone, and then Hare gave a sigh so deep, it appeared to have come from underground.
‘No, Miss Chin. I cannot ask this question down the end of a telephone. It is too important. I must see you, I must look you on the face when I ask you.’
‘Erm … um …’ the Chin faltered. Whatever was the matter with this man? ‘Well, if you think that’s really necessary, then by all means ask me when we next meet.’
‘NO!’ Hare yelped, unable to stop himself. ‘I cannot wait that long. Dearest lady, even a day feels like an eternity—’
The Chin stood up, then sat down again. She was curiously unsettled by this peculiar conversation. Hare, normally such a mild-mannered human, was behaving as if he’d swallowed an electric eel. What on earth was going on?
‘I need to see you at once,’ he went on, his voice dropping abruptly to a whisper. ‘Right away. Well … as soon as I take Yoshi to her friend’s house … and she is coming down for breakfast now, so I must go. Say ten past nine? Please say yes? Please?’
What was a witch to do? The Chin rolled her eyes and agreed, but as she replaced the receiver, it dawned on her that she had no idea what she had just agreed to.
Good as his word, Hare knocks at the door of Arkon House at exactly ten minutes past nine.
‘Knock, knock, knock on the door of LURRRRVE,’ yodels the Nose, practically flattening the Toad in her haste to answer the door. To the Toad’s horror, it is Hare Harukashi on the doorstep, face to face with the Nose, who has undergone an overnight transformation into a giggly fluff-brain.
‘Oh, helurrrrrrrr,’ the Nose purrs, a huge smile breaking out across her face. ‘You delightful little fellow. And heavens, what a handsome suit you’re wearing. And a flower in your buttonhole too, you cheeky little chappie – why, you look as if you’re going to a wedding.’
Behind the Nose, the Toad has her head in her hands and is rocking back and forth, making small whimpering sounds of dismay. Across the hall, the Chin is struggling into her coat and counting to ten in an attempt to stop herself from turning the Nose into a louse. How dare she! she thinks. Hare has come to see ME, not to be dribbled all over by her. Jealousy, an unfamiliar emotion, flares in the Chin’s heart. He’s mine, she thinks. All mine.
‘Ooooh, come in, come in, doooo,’ coos the Nose, plucking at Mr Harukashi’s sleeve and trying to drag him inside. ‘A cup of tea? Coffee? Champagne?
‘Oh, for SPAWN’S SAKE,’ says the Chin. ‘Would you SHUT UP for once? One: we don’t have any champagne, two—’
‘Two for tea and tea for two,’ the Nose sings. ‘You for me and MEEEE for YOOOOOU.’
‘TWO,’ bawls the Chin, ‘Mr Harukashi has come to see me about something very important. And THREE—’
‘Three?’ the Nose bleats, batting her eyelashes.
‘Three’s a crowd,’ the Chin snaps triumphantly, snatching Hare’s other arm and propelling him backwards. ‘So we’re going OUT.’ And with a slam of the door, they’re gone.
*
An hour later, the Chin returns alone. In the kitchen, the Nose is sulking by the fire and the Toad is baking cakes.
‘Change of plan,’ the Chin says, pouring herself a cup of tea with an unsteady hand. ‘The school concert is to be held at Mishnish Castle instead of the school.’
The Toad stops stirring and peers at her. ‘Was that the reason Mr Harukashi came round earlier?’ she asks. ‘Just to tell us that? Couldn’t he have phoned instead?’
‘Mmmmnh?’ the Chin mumbles, turning away to hide the sudden blush that is setting her face alight. She is still reeling from what Mr Harukashi has said; not the bit about the change of plan for the concert, but the bit when he got down on his knees in a puddle and asked her to—
‘Are you all right?’ the Toad says, gliding into view in front of her.
‘YES!’ squeaks the Chin. ‘Fine. I’m fine. Never better. Why d’you ask?’
‘Your face is like a beetroot,’ the Toad remarks; then, realizing that this probably wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, ‘I mean, your face is all, er, red. Rosy red. You look like a rose.’
‘MY LURRRRRRVE is LIKE a red, red ROSE,’ the Nose sings, glaring into the fireplace and adding, ‘How selfish you are, Chin. Keeping that lovely little Mr Harukashi all to yourself. Mother always said that we should share.’
‘Mother? gasped the Chin. ‘Mother was a grumpy old troll who never shared so much as a cold with us.’
‘Well, I still think we ought to share everything,’ the Nose mutters. ‘Starting with Mr Harukashi. Bags I get to sit beside him at the concert.’
‘Never mind, Chin,’ the Toad says, trying to make peace. ‘I’ll sit next to you, so you won’t be on your own.’
‘Whatever are you talking about, Toad?’ the Nose says. ‘Read my glossy blush-pink lipsticked lips. You. Aren’t. Going. To. The. Concert.’
At this, the Toad gulps, puts down her wooden spoon, and gulps again. Her eyes fill with tears and she takes a deep breath. Inside her, something goes SNAP! ‘YOU,’ she bawls. ‘YOU, NOSE, ARE THE MOST FOUL, SELFISH, GRABBY, UGLY, MEAN OLD WITCH THAT EVER LIVED.’
‘Thank you,’ the Nose says happily. ‘I do try my best to be vile.’
‘I WISH I HADN’T WASTED A PERFECTLY GOOD LOVE POTION ON A TROLL LIKE YOU!’ the Toad shrieks in fury.
Oooops. The Nose springs out of her seat and grabs the Toad round her throat. ‘What. Did. You. Sssssay?’ she demands. ‘Love potion? What do you mean?’
‘I … I … I … I …’ the Toad wheezes. ‘I … ca … n’t … brea … the.’
‘By the time I’ve finished with you, breathing will be the leassst of your problems,’ the Nose hisses, tightening her grip. ‘What did you mean love potion? Are you telling me that you sneaked a love potion into my tea?’
‘N-n-n …’ the Toad gasps, aware that if she tells the truth, the Nose will probably tear her limb from limb. Then inspiration strikes. ‘NO! I didn’t just give you one love potion, I gave you seven. Seven super-strength, shaken-not-stirred potions, each one guaranteed to turn even the most wicked witch into a little puff of fluffy loving-kindness.’ She heaves a theatrical sigh, chokes back a sob and continues, ‘But you, Nose, you are without a doubt the strongest and most powerful witch ever to draw breath. My seven love potions simply bounced off you. They didn’t change so much as a hair on your head. You’re still as foul and WICKED as ever.’
At this, a strange expression crosses the Nose’s face. Instead of looking furious or insulted at the Toad’s attempt to change her nature, she looks decidedly smug. Smirking to herself, she places the Toad on the table and peers at her.
‘Hmmmm,’ she says. ‘Well … you failed, Toad. You failed to change MEEEEE, wonderful and WICKED MEEEEE, potion-resistant MEEEEE. You silly old fluff-brained fool of a failed frog – d’you know what? I feel so sorry for you I’ve decided you can come to the concert after all.’
The Toad blinks. What fresh hell is this?
‘Yerrrrrrs,’ the Nose says. ‘You can go as a handbag. An old one. An old bag. Teee-heeee-heeeee. You won’t even have to dress up.’ And with this final insult, she stamps out of the kitchen and heads for the pool.
Seventeen:
Tonight’s the night
A line of car headlights stitch through the twilight towards Mishnish Castle. Our audience is arriving. Tonight is the night of the school concert. Aaaaargh. Watching all the cars coming towards us is making me feel so nervous I think I’m going to be sick. Except Mishnish Castle is so huge, I probably wouldn’t be able to find a bathroom to be sick in. Ever since we got here we’ve all managed to get lost at least once, our cries of ‘Where am I?’ echoing along corridors and staircases, because the castle is even bigger inside than out.
We’re all busy dressing the nursery children in their costumes. They look brilliant, parading up and down excitedly in front of an enormous mirror, then playing Hide-and-Seek behind the curtains. We’re get
ting ready in a first-floor bedroom which is bigger than our school hall, and when it’s time for the concert to begin, we’ll all walk very slowly down the main staircase into the huge hall where our audience will be waiting.
‘Wid you look at that statue!’ Craig elbows Shane in the ribs, his face turning brick-red with embarrassment. ‘That’s no decent. He hasnae got any pants on.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Shane whispers. ‘There’s a picture in the bathroom with a psswhsss and she’s whssspssss with a big shhhpsss.’
Craig and Shane burst out laughing, but I’m not really paying any attention to them because I’m watching all the mums and dads arriving outside. Grandparents have been invited as well – Yoshito’s dad is helping two old ladies to clamber out of his car, and Mum and Dad have promised to bring Granny and Grandpa MacRae. Gulp. This makes me feel even more nervous, since it’s Grandpa’s bagpipes I’m going to be playing in roughly half an hour.
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGH.
Things I’d rather be doing tonight than
playing my pipes:
a) Singlehandedly defending Planet Earth from an alien invasion, armed with nothing more dangerous than a blunt spoon (that’s me with the spoon, not the aliens).
b) Eating a bowlful of the nursery tadpoles. Raw. Without salt or pepper.
c) Climbing Ben Screeeiiighe in a pair of buttered flip-flops.
d) Grooming Annabel’s grumpy* pony, Polka, with a broken-handled toothbrush.
‘Lily?’ Vivaldi’s piercing whisper drags me back to the present. ‘Look at the dogs.’
I drag my gaze away from the drive, where my entire family are gazing up at the hugeness of Mishnish Castle with their mouths open. Behind Vivaldi, Jamie and Annabel’s ancient black dog, Petra, is running round and round the furniture, leaping over chairs, crashing into tables, skidding into nursery tots and generally acting like a mad puppy. Considering Petra has spent the last ten years of her doggy life snoozing by the fire or s … l … o … w … l … y waddling upstairs to collapse on Jamie’s bed, tonight’s sudden burst of speed is remarkable.
‘PETRA!’ Jamie roars. ‘COOL THE BEANS, WHAT?’
‘Oh, good LORD,’ Annabel yelps, leaping across the room to catch a toppling lamp. ‘Calm down, dog.’
‘Whatever has got into her?’ Jamie makes a lunge for her, but fails to grab hold of her collar. ‘SIT!’ he roars, but Petra ignores him completely, running out of range, dancing around in circles and barking madly.
‘I’ve never seen her like this before,’ Annabel says, sounding puzzled. ‘It’s as if she’s seen a ghost or …’
Or a Waywoof perhaps? Daisy’s invisible dog is running in circles around poor Petra and winding the old dog up like a clockwork toy. Petra can see WayWoof, as can Daisy, Vivaldi and I, but nobody else can.
‘DAISY?’ I yell, and across the room, a small monkey looks up. Daisy is busy getting her furry leggings pinned on.
‘WHAT WANT IN’ NOWWWW, LIL-LIL?’ she yells back.
I can’t yell at her to call Way Woof off, so I point at the orbiting dogs and waggle my eyebrows. Fortunately Daisy gets my message, and to my relief, WayWoof stops mid-circuit and trots obediently over to her side. Phew. Petra immediately stops cavorting around and slumps down onto the floor, exhausted.
‘Right, Lily dear,’ Mrs McDonald says. ‘It’s time.’
Downstairs, a clock begins to chime. Oh, help. Surely it’s not seven o’clock already? My stomach flips and I feel cold all over. OH, AAAARGH. It’s time for the concert to begin. Beside me, Vivaldi takes her guitar out of its case and softly plucks a chord.
Oh, lucky her.
One thing you can’t do with a set of bagpipes is softly play anything. Softly? Bagpipes don’t do soft. I lift the lid, and there they are, collapsed in a little heap, the drones sticking out like giraffe legs. Lying in their case, they look almost pathetic, like a big, flat, tartan balloon. As I reach out for them, I remember that bagpipes were instruments of war. Bagpipers used to lead the Scottish clans into battle. The Highland chieftains didn’t send in the cannons or the archers to soften up the enemy. They sent in the pipers. Cleverly, they chose to stun the enemy with LOUD music. They knew that after five minutes of being forced to listen to DEAFENING reels and strathspeys, the enemy would agree to anything. Take our lands, our castles, our sheep, our cows, our treasures – even our women and children, they would beg. Take anything you want, but please, turn … the … volume … DOWN.
I blow air into the bag, tucking it under my arm and slinging the drones over my shoulder. All of a sudden I feel good. I’m ready. Between my elbow and my ribs, my pipes are swelling like a sail. They’re ready. Across the room, Miss McPhee has the littlies all lined up. They’re ready. Mrs McDonald opens the door to the hall, and downstairs, our audience has fallen silent. Everything is ready.
I take a deep breath. Let’s begin.
The MacRae family find themselves behind Mr Harukashi and his guests. Jack is sitting behind an old lady with a big nose who is balancing a vast lumpy handbag on her lap. Being Jack, he doesn’t notice when the handbag blinks. Mum is behind Hare Harukashi and Dad is behind a woman with long silvery hair who is sitting so still, she might be a statue. Granny and Grandpa MacRae have turned right round in their seats and are looking behind them. This is because they don’t want to miss a single note of their grand-daughter’s pipe playing. They are staring at the top of the grand staircase, waiting for Lily to appear.
Everyone else is looking at the scenery: Craig’s looming black clouds against Yoshito’s bruise-coloured sky. Back in the school hall, the bits of scenery looked enormous, but here in Mishnish Castle they are dwarfed by the high ceilings and vast staircases. In fact, the scenery looks a bit lost, propped up against the far end of the hall. There’s no stage here, no curtains to swish open or shut at the beginning and end of the concert. However, Mr Fox and Mr Dunlop, Jamie and Annabel’s dad, have worked wonders with lights and speakers and microphones, and they are both sitting at the back of the hall behind a table full of controls and remotes and switches, ready for the concert to begin.
The grandfather clock begins to chime the hour. One, two, three … eleven, twelve, thirteen … Mr Dunlop shrugs and shakes his head. Finally the clock stops chiming at nineteen o’clock. Marvellous. Time to begin. The audience falls silent.
* Polka has already bitten Craig, and if Shane hadn’t been so quick to react, he would have launched him into orbit with a well-aimed kick. The best word to describe Polka is ‘foul’.
Eighteen:
Lucky word: Yes
Upstairs, a door opens. There’s a second’s pause and then the audience hears a sound as old as Mishnish Castle itself. Wilder than the wind and a hundred times louder, it’s the sound of Lily MacRae leading her entire school downstairs into an evening to remember. As the sound of the pipes skirls and swoops around Mishnish Castle, windows shake, chandeliers tinkle and car alarms go off outside on the driveway.
Tears spring into Grandpa MacRae’s eyes. He is so proud of Lily he thinks he might be about to explode.
Tears spring into Mr Dunlop’s eyes too. In a downstairs alcove, he’s just seen his priceless P’ing vase explode into a thousand pieces. Bagpipes are LOUD.
Tears also spring into Mr Harukashi’s eyes, for his beloved Mischin has just whispered, ‘Yes,’ in his ear.
Yes, she would love to.
Yes, she has finally realized that life without Hare and Yoshito would be no life at all. Being a witch is all very well, but you can’t hug a cauldron, and broomsticks never bring you breakfast in bed.
Yes, she wishes to be a Miss no longer. To be Mrs Harukashi Mk 2 would be an honour.
Yes, from fairy godmother to Oddmother, the Chin is delighted to accept Hare and Yoshito’s proposal of marriage.
*
‘YESSSSSSS!’ yelps the Toad, practically falling off the Nose’s lap in amazement at this unexpected turn of events. ‘RESULT!’
Disguised as a handba
g, she’s been eavesdropping on the conversation between Mr Harukashi and her sister, so she knows exactly what the Chin has just said ‘yes’ to. YESSSSSSS! There will be a wedding at last, she thinks, tears not only springing into her eyes, but springing out too, gushing over the Nose’s lap and making her knees all wet.
As Lily marches through the audience, followed by the rest of the school, the Nose leans down and mutters into her handbag, ‘What are you hissing at, Toad?’
And before the Toad can stop herself, she blurts out the Chin’s marvellous news.
‘I’m so HAPPY!’ she squeaks. ‘The Chin is going to marry dear Mr Harukarrrghhhhhhh—’ But she doesn’t get to finish whatever she was about to say, because now the Toad is tumbling end over end, falling to the floor. Towering above her, the Nose has stood up – and she’s furious, she’s RAGING, she’s so incandescently angry that sparks are shooting out of her mouth, her eyes, her ears, her nostrils and, I am sorry to say, her bottom.
She is so infuriated that for a moment she is on the verge of throwing a Compleat Wobblie, which would turn the entire west coast of Scotland into a melted pile of volcanic ash. Her feet stamp on the floor, nearly skewering the poor Toad on the end of one of her vicious high heels. She looks exactly like a toddler having a particularly bad tantrum, and all around her, heads are turning to glare and make shhhhhing sounds. Who is this horrible rude old lady who is interrupting the concert? Before the Chin or the Toad can shut their sister up, Grandpa MacRae steps in. Grandpa MacRae used to be a pipe major – which, as everyone knows, is no job for the faint-hearted.
‘Would you sit DOON, lassie,’ he hisses in a penetrating whisper. ‘I canny see a thing for all your FUSSING.’
