‘Wilde. Wait up.’
It’s Lewis. His shirt is grubby and his shoes are worse for wear. I feel sad for him. He’s such a nice boy.
‘Hi, Lewis. How’s it going?’
‘Good, ta. I’ve been swimming this morning. Wanted to stay there all day but they’d send me home from school tomorrow if they found out I’d bunked off today and I don’t want to lose my part in the play.’
‘Because of the axe?’
‘Exactly.’
I’m so jealous of the swimming.
‘Still, at least if I got sent home I could go swimming again.’
Where there’s Lewis, there’s logic.
‘Did you go to the waterfall?’
‘Yup. It’s freezing. Makes you get ice-cream head, you know?’
I do know. I got it when I went surfing off Caswell Bay. It’s not much fun in reality but in this heat it seems like a glorious memory. ‘I haven’t been there yet.’
‘Seriously. You have to go. It’s stupendous.’
We move as slowly as we can to the hall for rehearsals. If we were walking backwards, we’d probably get there faster. Lewis sees the axe prop and practically leaps across the room to try it out on one of the boys’ arms.
The class is thin on the ground. Dorcas is here already, holding a cauldron and a big wooden spoon. She puts it down when she sees me and comes straight over.
‘Are you OK? I gave Jemima such a mouthful yesterday. I was going to come back, but my mam grabbed me and made me go shopping with her.’
The boy Lewis is pretending to strike with an axe takes his arm away at the last second and Lewis stumbles and brings the blade down with a thud on his own foot. ‘Argh!’ Though it’s only made of wood it must really hurt because his head becomes a beetroot. I want to help him, but Gwyneth comes in and grabs all the attention as per always.
‘Focus in, guys. I said, focus in.’ She clicks her fingers and we straggle towards her and sit on the floor. She runs through notes for the play. I look around at my classmates. Lewis, whose heart is gold and head is bright red. Dorcas, the best friend I have ever had. Branwen, who I don’t know well yet but seems alright. The boy who was being axed, Cai – that’s it. Susan, red-eyed as always. Holly. No Ivy. No Jemima. All the others look tired. These curses have really taken it out of us and, I’ve just realised, have only been aimed at people in this class. I give Gwyneth a dirty look.
Dorcas leans over and whispers to me. ‘She is loving every minute of this.’
Gwyneth glares in our direction, then starts. ‘Our motivation is to bring a mirror to life. The curses are real. Winter is real. We are all going to die terrible, terrible deaths and it is all Winter’s fault. That’s what we want to say to our audience. With the amount of energy you lot are putting into your characters, you wouldn’t be able to act your way out of a paper bag. We want people to be afraid of the ancient curse. To be unable to sleep at night. To clutch at their hearts as the sun goes down and breathe a sigh of relief when…’
She’s interrupted by the receptionist banging on the glass. She tells us to sit and contemplate our acting. We all start chatting as soon as she’s gone. Dorcas leans in close.
‘Do you still think it’s her?’
I nod. It’s the only explanation. We watch her like hawks as she chats to the receptionist, who is flicking through his Witch Point folder.
‘How does she know so much about us?’
‘Well, he has access to all our records, and they look pretty buddy, buddy to me.’
‘You’re right.’
As we watch, Jemima appears and talks to them. She comes into the classroom. She sits quietly next to Holly. I don’t know where Ivy is. Jemima seems curiously subdued. I expected her to be gloating and proud. I look around my classmates. Everyone looks tired and miserable. What’s happened to us?
Gwyneth comes back in, wailing as if in agony. Whatever this is, it’s going to be bad.
‘I have a terrible announcement.’ She sits heavily and lets us wait, enjoying the drama. ‘Prepare yourselves for grave news.’
We take a collective breath in.
‘Ivy has been taken ill.’
Holly fidgets.
‘She is not well enough to perform in the play. As we are so close to performance, we will have to make rash casting decisions.’
I see Jemima sit up straight, a hopeful expression on her face.
‘I will now play the role of Winter myself.’ Gwyneth plays the martyr, pretending she’s doing it for us and not for herself.
Silence.
‘What’s wrong with Ivy, Miss?’ Lewis is so kind about everyone. He is genuinely concerned.
‘She has some kind of inexplicable bug. Sickness. Diarrhoea.’
We all squirm. No one wants other kids to know that they have diarrhoea.
‘I think the curse may be upon her.’
No.
‘I’m afraid I shall have to take over the role of Winter!’
Double no.
My hand flies up. ‘Miss, Jemima could play the part.’
Whatever I think of Jemima, that’s what should happen. I watch Gwyneth. She acts as if she is considering this casting, scratches her chin, folds her arms, muses. She is not a good actor at all.
‘No, no. I fear it would be too much to put upon her.’
‘It wouldn’t, Miss. I could do it,’ Jemima begs.
‘No, no. I think it’s best if I take on the burden.’ Gwyneth adopts a pseudo-brave expression and I loathe her. ‘It will no doubt bring in a crowd. I have quite the following on social media. I shall need to spend some time learning the lines, so you must all go to your various groups and lead yourselves today. We shall fit it all together this afternoon. Fear not, I will not let you down. Once a professional, always a star!’
She flounces outside.
‘What’s really wrong with Ivy?’ Cai asks Holly. We all listen in, some of us pretending not to.
‘I don’t know. She’s like vomming everywhere. I took her curse note out of the bin at home and it said that being the lead had gone to her head and sickness would bring her back down to earth. I think the fear has gotten to her.’
I take Dorcas to the opposite wall. ‘Convinced it’s Gwyneth yet?’
She gives a low whistle.
‘We are going to catch her. I’m not sure how yet, but we are.’
‘It’s not fair that she’s going to play the lead role. We’ll be a laughing stock.’
I pretend to string up a noose in my role as hangman and watch Gwyneth take an overly dramatic bow to an invisible audience. She planned this all along. I just know it.
Lots of the class are whispering. We are all under suspicion, but no one is pointing at Gwyneth. Branwen and Susan are pointing at me. They turn away when I glare in their direction. Rachel and Manon point at Jemima then shake their heads and assess me too. Lewis is pointing at a splatter of sick on his trousers. No one is talking about the real culprit, who is starting to sign imaginary autographs for imaginary fans.