Gwyneth snaps her folder shut triumphantly and sweeps out, beckoning to us to follow. ‘Exit pursued by a bear.’
We all get up except Jemima, who sits for a moment too long. My heart goes out to her. I know what it’s like to want something so badly and not be able to have it. I can imagine that throbbing feeling she must have in her throat. Holly and Ivy are whispering and glancing over at her. She straightens her back and stands.
‘Stupid play, anyway.’ She heads away from school. I chase after her, her ponytail bobbing ahead of me.
‘Jemima.’
She ignores me, walking briskly.
‘Jemima.’
She stops and turns, tears streaking her face.
‘You can have my part if you want. I really don’t want it.’
‘How kind of you to give me your cast-offs.’
‘I don’t mean it like that. I’d rather not be in the play at all. Honestly. I’m not being nasty. It’s just…’ It’s impossible to give her my part. I should have known she’d be humiliated by the offer. ‘I just. I want you to have it. Please. You’d be doing me a favour.’
She seems uncertain for a second, then looks over my shoulder to Holly and Ivy on the far side of the yard. They are still whispering. Jemima glowers at me and now there’s no uncertainty in her eyes. There’s just plain hatred.
‘You are weird. So weird. My mother knew your mother and she told me what you are.’
I don’t answer. Hate is searing, the smell of it like singed grass.
‘She said that you can put curses on people.’
There’s a vacuum of air between us, like we are stuck inside a bubble. It’s too hot. Burning from the inside out. Burning from the outside in.
‘That it runs in the family. That you are a witch. That your mother was a witch.’
I wish the bubble could float me away.
I close my eyes and imagine taking flight. Soaring up, the school tiny below me. Floating on thermals. Bursting through the clouds in glimmering sparkles. Sunlight kisses my wings, glitters, trails behind me in shimmering waves. I am a part of the air and the sky, and light as a feather.
When I open my eyes, Jemima is gone. The school is empty. I am alone.
7
I’ve had a terrible night’s sleep again. When I arrive at school, I can tell things are worse. Jemima and a few of the others are whispering and lots of kids stare at me as I pass. A minibus crammed with Year Fives is departing for a day on a beach and I imagine sneaking myself in as a stowaway. I don’t think I could get away with it. Dorcas is hurtling towards me at top speed across the yard.
‘Have you heard? There have been lots of curses left overnight.’
I feel cold creep over me.
‘Mabli Evans had one that said she would grow bunions so big that she wouldn’t be able to dance anymore, and she lives for dancing. Megan had a curse that if she took another photo of herself, she’d grow hair all over her face like a wolf, and taking selfies is literally her only hobby.’ Dorcas is out of breath but carries on. ‘There was one in Cadi’s desk and Lewis found one inside his bag, but he couldn’t read it because his baby brother had been sick in it again. I…’
‘Who were they signed from?’
‘The Witch. Have you had one?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me. There’ve been all sorts of sightings and rumours. People think that we’ve woken the witch called Winter. That she has come back from the grave. That she’s cursed us all over again, but stronger this time. That there are even more horrors to come.’
‘Ridiculous.’ My voice struggles to get past my lips. It doesn’t believe itself.
As we walk to class, I can see people reading each other’s notes. I pass Ivy as she finds one white-tacked to her locker and bursts into tears. She crumples it up and refuses to show it to anyone, even to Holly, so it must be bad.
This is terrible. Really terrible. When we get to class, it gets worse. Mr Ricketts has been taken into hospital, so we have to go straight to Gwyneth for registration.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I ask the secretary, but he doesn’t hear me because he is dealing with Branwen’s asthma inhaler. Lewis butts in.
‘He’s been cursed. My mam saw him being taken away in an ambulance and she said he was being sick more than my baby brother is and that is a heck of a lot, let me tell you.’
I feel the tingle of tears at the bridge of my nose.
The others head off to the hall in a state of high excitement. Ivy is telling everyone about her note without revealing the contents. Jemima’s nose is out of joint as she’s not getting the attention. She narrows her eyes at me and I know that our encounter yesterday is not over yet.
I lag behind, realising too late that setting myself apart from the group probably makes me more suspicious.
Someone human must be writing those notes. Trying to cause trouble. For me. For everyone. I know bad things happen around me, but I didn’t make anyone ill.
Unless?
No.I’m not cursing people. I’m not writing the curses.
Unless, you are doing it in your sleep.
I am not doing it in my sleep.
The illustration of the witch called Winter in the corridor is lit by a shaft of glittering sunlight. I stop to look at it. Something still feels not right about it. Why did the Page to Stage production have to be about witches? Why couldn’t we have had a summer fayre like other schools, with fairy cakes and candy-floss and perhaps a mini Ferris wheel? Or a play based on literally anything else?
Something moves in the glass frame, but when I peer closer I realise it’s the receptionist behind me.
‘Come along. Get to class.’ He holds a Witch Point folder tightly. He must have files on every pupil. I don’t like him knowing all that information about me. I wonder if he has information on my mum in his archives. Is that why he’s always watching me?
I have no choice but to walk with him. When we get to the hall, Gwyneth is doing some peculiar yoga moves and grunting.
‘A salutation to the sun,’ she explains and continues to contort herself into surprising shapes. She loves an audience and having the receptionist there gives extra flamboyance to her moves.
Jemima shoves past me, hurting my shoulder, and goes towards Gwyneth. ‘Did you hear, Gwyneth? The witch is back and cursing everyone.’
Everyone gasps. We aren’t telling the teachers. Jemima is breaking the unspoken Year Six code.
Gwyneth stops yoga-ing and puts her glasses on. ‘Is that so?’
‘It is so.’ Jemima is thoroughly pleased with herself. It makes me want to punch her. I loosen my collar and still feel as if I’m being throttled. There should be a law to close schools in this heat.
‘Winter has come to wreak her revenge at last.’ Gwyneth looks over her shoulder. ‘We must tread with care, my company of players, for we do not want to upset the spirits.’
It’s clear that Gwyneth thinks Jemima is making things up to get a role in the play, but she’s happy to play along with the theatricality of it. Everyone mutters about spirits and curses. The air is bubbling with expectation, on a knife-edge of nerves. I bet none of us are sleeping in this heat.