A Spoonful of Magic

by Lynne Roberts

  Chapter 3. In a Jam

  Tracey surprised her mother by bringing a handful of teaspoons with her to the table when they sat down to lunch.

  ‘Um, Mum, I’d like you to do something for me,’ she asked politely.

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Could you tap each spoon in turn on the table and make a wish?’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘It’s a game, sort of,’ said Tracey lamely as Andy and Ryan spluttered with laughter. ‘I have to work out which spoon is the magic one somehow,’ she whispered to the boys. ‘Nothing worked when I tried it. I think it really does only work once for each person. I thought it might only work once a day but that wasn’t it, either.’

  ‘There are seven spoons here,’ Mrs Hughes pointed out. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to do that with all of them?’

  ‘Please,’ begged Tracey. ‘And make your wish out loud so we can hear it.’

  Mrs Hughes gave her an exasperated look but picked up the first spoon. ‘I wish I was twenty years younger,’ she said, and tapped the spoon on the table. Tracey and the boys gasped in dismay but to their relief nothing happened.

  ‘Here. Try this one,’ said Tracey shakily, passing her mother another spoon. ‘And this has to be a different wish. Try to wish for something a bit more, well, ordinary this time.’

  Mrs Hughes sighed. ‘That’s not much of a game,’ she complained. ‘A wish should be for something exciting, shouldn’t it?’

  Tracey gulped. ‘Well, yes…’ she began.

  ‘Right,’ said her mother briskly. ‘Here goes.’ She grasped the second spoon and tapped it firmly. ‘I wish I had a brand new sports car,’ she said. Andy and Ryan rushed to the window but the Hughes’ usual slightly battered station wagon still stood on the driveway.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Mum,’ called Ryan and ran outside to look in the garage, which to his disappointment was empty. He came back in disconsolately.

  ‘Really Ryan, anyone would think you believed in this,’ said his mother incredulously.

  ‘Just checking,’ muttered Ryan, red faced with embarrassment. ‘It might have worked,’ he said defensively to Andy, who was trying hard not to giggle.

  Mrs Hughes tapped the next three spoons in turn, wishing for a luxury mansion by a lake, a maid and butler and her own personal shopping mall.

  Andy was impressed. ‘Your Mum is seriously good at this,’ he said to Ryan. ‘Perhaps we should have asked her advice on what to wish for.’

  Ryan nodded and reached for another piece of bread. He dipped his knife in the jar and dropped splotches of strawberry jam across the tablecloth.

  ‘Oh, Ryan,’ his mother said in despair. ‘What a nuisance. I do wish you children had better manners. Use a spoon please, not your knife. Here.’ She leant over and placed the next spoon firmly down on the table by the jam jar.

  Tracey reached out to pick up the spoon and add it to the pile, when she found her arm would not work. In spite of herself, her mouth formed a sweet smile and she asked her mother politely, ‘may I have the spoon please, mother?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said her mother, handing it across. ‘Now there are two more. Do I keep wishing or has the game finished?’

  ‘It’s finished now, thank you,’ said Tracey quietly, while her brain spun wildly as she looked across at Ryan and saw the place next to him was empty.

  ‘Andy must have had his wish undone,’ she thought. ‘I’ll bet he’s back in my bedroom.’ At that moment Andy walked into the dining room and sat down. Mrs Hughes blinked when she saw him. She was sure she hadn’t seen him leaving the table. Shaking her head she decided the children must be playing tricks on her.

  Tracey put the spoon tidily beside her plate. ‘This one works,’ she thought. She wanted to tell the boys but found she was unable to whisper to them. ‘Why couldn’t it have been the shopping mall or the mansion,’ she thought wretchedly. ‘Now we're stuck with good manners.’ She tried to rest her elbows on the table but found she had to sit quietly with her hands neatly folded in her lap instead.

  Mrs Hughes was struck by how unusually quite the children were. She decided it must be part of their game and watched in amazement as they ate.

  ‘Please would you pass me the butter, Ryan? asked Tracey softly.

  ‘With pleasure, sister dear. Here you are.’ Ryan handed her the butter dish with a flourish after lightly dabbing at his lips with a table napkin.

  ‘May I offer you an apple, Andy?’

  ‘Why thank you. They look delicious,’ replied Andy. He took the apple carefully and began to peel and slice it onto his plate before eating each segment in turn.

  The good manners didn’t only extend to the meal. Ryan was aghast to find himself offering to clear the table and wash the dishes and Tracey clamoured to help. Andy obviously thought he was an honoured guest and engaged Mrs Hughes in polite, though somewhat stilted conversation as Ryan and Tracey washed the dishes.

  Mrs Hughes answered politely, although she was puzzled as to why Andy should be interested in how her bridge lessons were going. She also found it bizarre that he would want to discuss the value of houses in the neighbourhood and whether refinancing the mortgage was a serious option. She sighed in relief as they filed outside quietly then shrugged in resignation. ‘The game probably won’t last long. Then they’ll be back to normal. I may as well enjoy it while I can.’

  The children found, to their horror that the manners appeared to have ‘stuck’ to them.

  ‘I really feel we may have profited by more discussion on this,’ Ryan found himself saying, when what he’d intended to say was, ‘Tracey, you idiot. Whatever possessed you to give the spoon to Mum?’

  ‘You have a valid point,’ cooed Tracey. ‘I respect your opinion and admit matters could be in a better situation.’ She tried to glare at Ryan but found herself locked into a smile instead.

  ‘I feel that I have imposed on your hospitality for long enough,’ put in Andy politely. ‘I still have chores to finish at home so I must regretfully take my leave and thank you for your kindness. I will thank your mother as I leave.’

  ‘Do you have to leave so soon? I had hoped you would join me in experimenting with the Geiger counter,’ Ryan confided. ‘But naturally your chores take precedence. Perhaps we could meet again tomorrow.’

  ‘Not after school,’ replied Andy in shocked tones. ‘I have to give all my spare time to my homework and my violin practise and of course I have to help around the home.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Ryan, even though he wanted to scream and throw himself on the ground. He found himself shaking hands with Andy, who walked quietly and confidently to the door.

  ‘I am retiring to my room,’ gasped Tracey.

  ‘What a good idea. A rest is always to be encouraged after a repast,’ replied Ryan, who went to his own room as fast as his polite well-mannered body would take him. Fortunately the manners didn’t affect his thoughts. Ryan lay on the bed wondering what they were going to do. ‘At least Tracey has the spoon again,’ he thought dismally. ‘We’ll have to wait until Dad gets back from his golf game and then ask politely if he will wish for us.’

  This plan was doomed to failure. Tracey’s excellent manners prevented her from interrupting her father as he described his day's golf and to her horror, Tracey heard herself suggesting that she tidied the shed for her father while he relaxed with a cool drink. Mr Hughes was highly suspicious of this.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ Tracey was forced to say. ‘I only wish you to be as happy and relaxed as you deserve.’

  Mr Hughes raised an eyebrow at this but his wife winked and told him it was a game the children were playing.

  ‘Long may it continue,’ Mr Hughes said dryly, as Ryan collected the wheelbarrow and began to industriously weed the garden.

  The next morning Tracey asked her father if he would help her.

  ‘What is it? You’ll have to be quick. I’m leaving in f
ive minutes,’ said Mr Hughes brusquely.

  ‘This will only take a minute, father,’ smiled Tracey. ‘Please tap the spoon and make a wish.’

  ‘I don’t have time for these silly games, Tracey. I’m surprised at you, at your age, fooling around with wishes.’

  ‘Please father. I really would appreciate it,’ Tracey murmured.

  ‘If it’s this game that’s making you so polite, then maybe I should wish it continues forever.’

  ‘Please don’t wish that, begged Tracey, turning pale at the thought.

  Mr Hughes sighed. ‘I wish for a fine day,’ he said, and tapped the spoon on the table. ‘There. Will that do?’

  Tracey gave a sigh of relief. Thanks, that’s perfect Dad.’ She beamed and tested her return to normality by swiping Ryan’s piece of toast as he was about to bite into it.

  ‘Hey, get out of it,’ he said indignantly. ‘Oh good, we’re back to normal. I thought I was going to suffocate if I had to be polite any longer.’

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Tracey thankfully, through a mouthful of toast.