sunk it would be a yellow submarine.’
‘She could use it as a shoe.’
‘Or a slipper.’
‘She’d slip all right, wearing a banana skin!’
After lunch Bridget thought about the old woman. ‘She definitely said riding lessons. Maybe there was a pony somewhere behind all those trees. She said the lessons were free so my wish must really have come true.’
Gradually Bridget’s desire to ride a pony overcame her fear of the witch.
‘I’m going out Mum. I’ll be back soon,’ she called, as she ran out the back door.
‘I want to come,’ called Patrick. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere interesting. You can’t come today,’ Bridget flung over her shoulder as she sped down the street.
As she approached the old house, Bridget had a sinking feeling in her stomach.
‘Riding lessons,’ she told herself firmly, and knocked on the door.
The old woman opened it.
‘Oh good. You came back,’ she beamed. ‘Not many do, I find. But the lessons are very good value, I’m sure you’ll agree. Come in my dear. You can call me Araminta. And you are?’
‘Bridget,’ murmured Bridget as she stepped into the hallway.
It was rather dark inside but that was probably because of the trees pressing close to the windows. There were oddly shaped vases set in dark recesses in the walls, and a flickering light came from a partly open doorway.
‘Come around here to the back,’ said Araminta firmly, leading the way across the creaking floorboards. Bridget followed closely behind as they passed a row of closed doors.
‘This must be quite a big house,’ she ventured.
‘Far too big for me,’ sighed Araminta. ‘Never mind. Here we are.’
She flung open a door, which led out to a sunny brick courtyard. Araminta beamed and turned to study Bridget.
‘Exactly the right age to learn’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Now we’ll begin with the basics. Stand with your feet apart and knees bent. Head up and bottom in, that’s the way.’ She continued talking as Bridget stood as she was told. ‘Of course in my day we only rode sidesaddle. It wasn’t considered proper to ride astride. But then, we only wore skirts and I can see your jeans would make things much easier.’
‘Er, yes,’ agreed Bridget, wondering what this was all about. She felt rather foolish and there didn’t seem to be any sign of a pony anywhere.
‘Head still, dear,’ said Araminta. ‘That’s very good. Perhaps you’d like to try a tiny ride now.’
‘Yes please,’ agreed Bridget, wondering if Araminta was quite right in the head. She seemed perfectly normal but there were none of the things like bridles or saddles that Bridget would have expected to see.
Araminta turned to a small cupboard built against the house and produced two twiggy brooms. One was tall and blackened with age while the other was smaller and more bristly.
‘This hasn’t seen the light of day for many years. I outgrew it when I was fourteen, but it is perfect for a beginner. We won’t be going very far to begin with.’
Araminta handed a bewildered Bridget the smaller broom. ‘Sit astride it, dear,’ she advised, ‘and hold on firmly but not too tightly.’
‘She’s mad,’ thought Bridget, ‘but I suppose I’d better humour her.’
She stood astride the broomstick and yelped in astonishment as it lifted gently to hover in the air a metre above the ground. Araminta chuckled and heaved herself onto the other broomstick. That too, rose into the air as Araminta called ‘follow me,’ and patted the handle gently. The two brooms rose a little higher then swooped in a circle around the back yard. Around the tree trunks they went, higher and higher.
Bridget was too surprised to be scared. She clung tightly to the broom and was amazed to find it didn’t even wobble. After a few minutes, she risked turning her head to look around her. There was a large brick wall around the yard and Bridget tried to peer over it, but the broomsticks were not flying quite high enough. Round and round they went until finally Araminta patted the handle of her broom again and they glided gently back down to the courtyard.
‘That was lovely,’ sighed Araminta. ‘I should do it more often.’
‘It was awesome,’ cried Bridget. It was fantastic. Can I have another turn?’
‘Not today, dear. The broomsticks will need to rest. It’s been ages since they’ve been out and about and they are quite out of condition. I’m going to put the kettle on now. You will stay for cocoa and biscuits, won’t you?’
She looked so hopeful that Bridget didn’t have the heart to refuse. Araminta led the way into what Bridget was relieved to see was a perfectly normal kitchen, although rather old fashioned like the rest of the house. Bright copper saucepans hung from a rack on the wall next to a string of onions, and the shelves held containers labelled flour, sugar and raisins, just as you would expect. Even the preserves were ordinary things like peaches or crabapple jelly, rather than exotic bottled objects for wicked magic making.
‘Are you a witch?’ Bridget asked nervously, as she accepted a large mug of milky cocoa. She had to ask. Why else would Araminta fly on a broomstick?
‘Yes of course, dear,’ smiled Araminta.
‘But you don’t wear a pointy hat or a cape,’ protested Bridget. ‘Or even witch shoes.’ She looked at Araminta’s feet, which were cozily encased in pink fluffy slippers.
‘Bunions,’ sighed Araminta. ‘Those pointed shores have a lot to answer for. And the hat would never stay on unless I used elastic, which was never very comfortable. I did have the cape although I cut most of it up to line the basket when Marmalade had her kittens.’ She nudged a sleeping golden cat with her toe. Marmalade purred and opened an eye, then settled to sleep again on the mat beside the door.
‘What sort of things do you do?’ asked Bridget eagerly. You couldn’t stay scared of someone so comfortable and ordinary as Araminta. ‘Do you make magic spells and fly all over town and stuff like that? You are a good witch. Aren’t you?’ she asked uncertainly.
Araminta made a face. ‘Good or bad, hmm. Well a witch isn’t a true witch if she is totally good but then no one ever is. Even you aren’t good all the time, are you?’
She looked at Bridget with her head on one side and Bridget thought guiltily of the essay she had never finished but told her teacher had been lost on the way to school.
‘Er, no,’ she said uncomfortably.
‘But you’re mostly good, just as I am,’ smiled Araminta. ‘I couldn’t have been a truly wicked witch anyway. I wasn’t clever enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
Araminta sniffed. ‘My spells never really worked properly. My love potions always ended in tears and people demanded their money back. I couldn’t turn men to toads or give people warts or anything like that.’
Bridget shuddered. ‘I should hope not!’
‘I was finally stripped of most of my powers,’ went on Araminta sadly. ‘Barred from the Witches Association meetings and only able to practice in a very minor way.’
‘But you can still fly on a broomstick,’ objected Bridget.
Araminta shook her head sadly. ‘Only in my own back yard,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t even go high enough to get over the wall and that’s my whole problem.’
Bridget drank her cocoa and nibbled on a chocolate chip biscuit as Araminta poured out her troubles.
‘I’m getting old and my bones are full of rheumatism. Now if I could fly any distance, I could retire to Walpurgia. There is a resort for retired witches there, even ones who aren’t much good, like me. Once you get there you have to give up all your magic, but its very well run. They have card games and picnics and knitting classes and everything.’ She sighed blissfully but then looked downcast again. ‘But unfortunately I can’t get there. It’s on the other side of the world. Witches can only cross water by flying and my poor old broomstick won’t manage more than a few kilometres.’
‘That’s very sad,’ said
Bridget sympathetically.
‘No matter,’ Araminta brightened up. ‘You’ve made me feel young again. Can you come for another flight tomorrow?’
Bridget agreed happily and skipped home again, her feet hardly touching the ground.
‘What’s wrong with Bridget?’ commented her older brother Connor a few weeks later. ‘She hasn’t mentioned ponies for weeks. She must be sickening for something.’
‘I’m not,’ said Bridget indignantly. ‘I’m just growing up, that’s all. Ponies aren’t the only things in the world, you know.’
Connor pretended to have a heart attack at this, while Bridget glared at him.
‘I think it’s wonderful that Bridget is giving up her spare time to keep an old lady company, and help her around the house,’ said Mrs O’Sullivan soothingly.
Bridget felt a little guilty about this. She had finally told her mother where she was going most afternoons and weekends, but actually it was no hardship at all. She was really enjoying visiting Araminta and flying around on the broomstick. She was getting much more skillful and balanced and had even managed to ride sidesaddle as Araminta did, although it wasn’t as much fun.
‘It’s a pity we can’t swap houses,’ she thought one afternoon as she walked home. ‘There’s Araminta in a huge house with six bedrooms and we’re stuffed into something not much bigger than a matchbox. Our house would be too modern for her, though. She doesn’t seem to use any electrical appliances or even have a television. I wonder if Walpurgia actually exists?’
Bridget dragged the atlas out that night
The Weekend Witches and Other Stories Page 8