The Courage of Cat Campbell (6 page)

“No thanks, Mamma.” Cat opened the freezer. She dug about for the box of toaster tarts and took out two cardboard-looking squares. “I know, but I like them,” Cat said, before Poppy had even commented.

“Fake, artificial, and disgusting.” Poppy shuddered, although she didn't really look mad. “I don't know why I even allow them in the house.”

“Because I'm your daughter and you love me,” Cat said, popping them into the toaster.

“It is funny the way life works,” Marie Claire mused, arranging croissants on a tray. “Your mother loves to bake, Cat, and you, who grew up in a bakery, have no interest whatsoever and would rather eat these toaster tart things!”

“Cat doesn't have to be like me,” Poppy said. “She'll probably end up flying airplanes like Antonia Bigglesmith!” She smiled at Cat. “Honestly, I don't mind what you do as long as you're happy.”

“Oh, Mamma, thank you for saying that.” Cat wrapped her toaster tarts in a napkin. Perhaps telling her mother wasn't going to be so hard after all. “Sorry to rush, but I'll miss the bus if I don't hurry.”

“Don't forget your jacket,” Poppy said, which Cat had every intention of doing. It was still twitching about in her cupboard, although the magic seemed to be wearing off. Luckily she had an extra pair of gloves and an old scarf she could put on since her others had escaped through the window.

“I'm really not cold, Mamma.”

“You shouldn't run and eat at the same time,” Marie Claire called after her. “It is not good for the digestion.”

But Cat didn't hear. She was already out the back door, leaving the warm, muffin-scented kitchen behind. Sprinting up the canal path, Cat arrived at the bus stop at exactly the same time as the bus. She clambered on, out of breath, and was about to sit down next to her friend Anika Kamal, when she saw Peter waving at her, pointing to the seat beside him. Cat hesitated a moment. She looked at Anika and shrugged, then moved down the aisle toward him.

“What is it?” Cat said. “Why aren't you back there with your brainy friends?”

“Have you told your mum yet?” Peter asked, launching right in. “Because I've been thinking about it, Cat, and I don't trust you. You're going to get yourself into trouble.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say,” Cat replied. “Anyway, I'm going to tell her after school. I promise.”

“So you haven't tried any more spells?”

“Not really.” Cat scratched her nose, staring past Peter out the window.

“You're completely fibbing, Cat. I can always tell because you scratch your nose and won't look at me.”

“And you are so annoying!” Cat snapped. “Thinking you know everything.”

As the bus turned down Glover Lane, Cat said, “Oh, Peter, please shift over. Can I sit by the window?” Not giving him time to answer, Cat clambered across Peter's long legs, squishing herself into his seat and forcing him to change places. She pressed her face against the glass just as the bus rumbled past the large gray stone building of Ruthersfield Academy. “They look so graceful, don't they?” She sighed, watching flocks of girls swoop down on their broomsticks. “Just like big, purple swans. Oh, there's Clara Bell!” Cat shrieked, banging on the glass as the magical history teacher landed outside the school gates. Cat yanked open the window and stuck her head out, waving madly. “Hello, Ms. Bell!” Cat shouted, causing most of the girls to turn and look. She couldn't wait to tell her she was a Late Bloomer too! Holding on to her hat, Ms. Bell waved back, her curls blowing about in the wind. “Oh, she sees me, she sees me,” Cat squealed, paying no attention to the snickering Ruthersfield students pointing in her direction.

Cat turned to Peter, her eyes all aglow, forgetting she meant to be mad at him. “Just think, Peter. I could be flying to school next year. Flying on an actual broomstick!”

Cat was so eager to get home that afternoon she ran the whole way, not bothering to wait for the bus. A waft of curry scent hit her as she jogged past the Indian restaurant Anika's parents owned, and Mrs. Kamal waved to Cat through the window. As she raced down the canal path a light fog hung over the water, and the air was as cold as a glass of lemonade. She would tell her mother right away if there weren't any customers in the bakery. But when Cat pushed open the door, the shop was crowded with people, which often happened when the weather turned cold. Throwing her backpack down behind the counter, Cat put on an apron and immediately started to help. The air was warm and spicy with the scent of gingerbread. Poppy only made it during the month of November, and even though Cat didn't like to eat it, she loved the way it smelled.

“Yes, Maxine, what can I get you?” Cat said, smiling at Maxine Gibbons. Nothing could spoil her good mood today, and Cat held her secret close. She was filled with kindness toward everyone, even horrible, mean-mouthed Maxine.

“You're in a good mood, Cat,” Maxine said, staring at her suspiciously. She patted a hand over her pink chiffon head scarf, which covered the rows of tight curlers Maxine never seemed to take out.

“It's a beautiful day,” Cat replied, pulling her sweater down over the magic wand.

“Mmm, if you say so. I think it's freezing cold and miserable.” Maxine sniffed. “I'll have a white crusty loaf and an éclair. One of those nice big ones with lots of cream in them.” She turned away and immediately started talking to Mrs. Plunket, from the post office.

“Please,” Cat whispered under her breath, reaching for a paper bag and wondering if Maxine would ever learn some manners. Crouching down behind the counter because the éclairs were on the bottom shelf, Cat could feel the magic wand pressing against her leg. She glanced around, but no one could see her back here. The wand had been in her pocket all day and she hadn't touched it once, although she'd been tempted during lunch and recess. Now, just meaning to hold it for a second, Cat slid the wand free. Then, before she could stop herself, she pointed it at an éclair and whispered the word, “Aloftdisimo!” Cat had been thinking about this spell since breakfast, wanting to try it out. It had looked so easy in the book, a tiny, little, move an object spell, and even though she had a strong feeling this probably wasn't a good idea, Cat simply couldn't resist. Her arm started to tingle, and the fizzy feeling shot through her body. She held up the paper bag and pointed the wand at it. “In there, please,” Cat whispered, watching the éclair rise. It flew into the bag, and Cat twisted the paper shut, giving a soft squeal of delight. She scrambled to her feet and handed the bag to Maxine, beaming with pride. “Here you go,” Cat said. “One éclair!”

“Better be a nice one,” Maxine snapped, as the bag crackled open and the éclair floated out. “What in heaven . . . ,” she shrieked, grabbing on to Mrs. Plunket's arm. “Did you see that?” Maxine spluttered, watching the éclair fly around the bakery. “What on earth did that girl just do?”

A collective gasp rose up from the customers because the éclair was now hovering near the ceiling, as if it were a giant, cream-stuffed bee.

“I've got chills,” Maxine said, her head tilted upward and her mouth gaping open. “A flying cream cake is not normal! You know what this means, don't you?”

Cat was frozen behind the counter. She couldn't bear to watch, but it was impossible to look away as the éclair swooped down, plunging right into Maxine's mouth. There was a long moment of absolute silence, and then everyone started talking at once. Everyone except for Maxine, who couldn't speak, and her mother, Cat noticed, who was holding on to the counter so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

It was Marie Claire who took charge, walking over to Maxine and calmly handing her a tea towel. “Wipe yourself off with this,” she said, although Maxine seemed to be doing an excellent job gobbling up the éclair.

“If I hadn't seen it myself I would not have believed it,” Maxine exclaimed, licking cream from around her mouth. She dabbed at her face with the tea towel, although there wasn't much left to wipe up. Her small eyes sparkled with relish as she turned toward Poppy. “That daughter of yours has got the gift!”

Cat's mother didn't answer. She was staring at Cat in disbelief. Disbelief that was rapidly changing to horror. “Where did you get that?” Poppy croaked, noticing the wand in Cat's hand.

“I . . . I found it yesterday in Gran and Grandpa's attic,” Cat whispered. “That's when I realized I'd got the gene. I wanted to tell you, but I know how you feel about magic and I was scared you might be mad.” Cat's face flushed with heat.

Maxine gave Mrs. Plunket a knowing look. “I can't wait to tell her grandparents about this! Oh, my goodness, I just can't!”

“But . . . but . . .” Poppy shook her head. “You're eleven years old, Cat. That's far too late for magic to show up. I was only a baby,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, it most definitely is happening,” Maxine said firmly.

“Mamma, Ruthersfield Academy has a special entrance exam for Late Bloomers,” Cat rushed on, deciding that she might as well get this over with now. “I've been reading all about it, and I really, really want to try out for a place.” Her mother didn't answer.

“It's not as fancy as the seven-plus examination,” Maxine whispered to Mrs. Plunket in her not so quiet voice. Seven was the age most girls started attending Ruthersfield Academy. “Not that they'd take Cat anyway,” she continued. “Not after what happened.”

“Mamma?” Cat said. Her mother's lip had started to tremble, and Cat suddenly felt nervous. The shop had gone silent again, but none of the customers were leaving.

“No.” Poppy shook her head, twisting the dishcloth round her hands. “No,” she said again. “You cannot try out for Ruthersfield.”

Cat's mouth went dry. “Mamma, how can you say that? This is my dream. You know I've always longed to be magic.” She stared at her mother. “And I'm happy,” Cat said. “I've never been so happy. You told me this morning that's what mattered. I could do whatever I wanted with my life as long as it made me happy.”

“But not magic,” Poppy whispered. “You know I didn't mean magic.”

“But why?” Cat said in frustration. “Why do you hate magic so much? You never talk about it, Mamma.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “You chose not to be a witch. Isn't that why you dropped out of Ruthersfield? You liked making cakes instead of magic?”

“It's not that simple, Cat.” Poppy shook her head again. “You don't understand. And the answer's still no.”

“Please,” Cat said, turning to Marie Claire. “Tell her, Marie Claire. It's my choice.”

“I do think Cat has a point,” Marie Claire said quietly.

“I don't want to talk about this now,” Poppy said, glancing at her customers. “There are people here waiting to buy things.”

“I think it's about time Poppy told Cat the truth,” Maxine murmured to Mrs. Plunket. “We've all held our tongues for too long.”

“What truth?” Cat looked from Maxine to her mother. “What does she mean, Mamma?”

“Maxine Gibbons, this is not your business,” Poppy snapped, her face drained of color. She sniffed the air. “I smell gingerbread burning.” And without meeting Cat's gaze, she hurried through to the kitchen.

“What is it?” Cat said, turning to Maxine.

Maxine moistened her lips, and Mrs. Plunket put a hand on her arm. “Best not to say anything, Maxine.”

“Please don't,” Marie Claire said rather fiercely, and all the customers murmured their agreement.

Maxine's cheeks puffed. Her lips quivered and her nose twitched. She looked as if she were about to explode. “Your mother didn't drop out of Ruthersfield,” she burst out. “Poppy was expelled. Expelled for doing something so dreadful it still makes my blood run cold when I think about it.” Maxine's words gathered speed like a snowball rolling down a hill. “She turned her own parents to stone. Left them standing outside in the cold for years.” Maxine rolled her eyes skyward. “Poor Edith and Roger! Can't imagine what that must have been like for them. And it wasn't just her parents either. Your mother went around town turning everything to stone. Animals, birds, policemen. Poppy was crazed, out of control. None of us were safe in our beds. We were all so petrified. I didn't sleep a wink for nights on end. Ohh, it was terrifying.” Maxine's eyes gleamed with the sheer delight of telling. “I've always thought it was wrong to keep that from you,” she added.

Cat stared at Maxine, a sick, clamminess creeping over her.

“Great job, Maxine!” Ted Roberts, the postman, remarked, giving Cat a sympathetic look. “I'm sure Poppy would be proud of the way you handled that.”

“Well!” Maxine fiddled with the collar of her coat. “Cat was going to find out sooner or later.”