and looked Walpurgia up in the index at the back. She was amazed to discover that it was a real place and was actually tucked in the mountains in Germany.
‘That’s miles away, though,’ she sighed.
‘What’s miles away,’ asked Mary-Clare, looking over her shoulder.
‘Germany.’
‘Yeah it is. Probably only takes a day to fly there, though.’
‘What do you mean, fly?’ squeaked Bridget.
Mary-Clare looked at her curiously. ‘In a plane,’ she explained, looking at Bridget as if she was simple-minded. ‘What did you think I meant? Grow wings?’
Bridget was stunned. A plane! She hadn’t thought of that and she was sure Araminta hadn’t either. She could hardly wait to get to Araminta’s place the next afternoon and tell her.
She burst into the kitchen where Araminta was sitting in a rocking chair by the back door.
‘Araminta. I’ve thought of a way you can go to Walpurgia,’ she panted.
‘What? Really? What is it?’ asked Araminta eagerly.
‘You told me you could only get there by flying, so why don’t you go in an aeroplane?’
Araminta’s mouth dropped open. ‘Goodness me,’ she said faintly. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? It’s obvious now you tell me. But I wouldn’t know how to go about it.’
‘We can go to the travel agent and ask,’ Bridget told her. Why don’t you put your shoes on and I’ll go with you.’
Araminta was flustered but finally dragged out a pair of old leather shoes from a cupboard under the stairs. She insisted on taking a large umbrella in case of rain, even though the sky was clear and cloudless. Eventually they set off for the travel agency. When they got there, Bridget had to do most of the talking. Araminta was even more flustered when she saw the coloured brochures with the different routes she could take for her journey. Finally she asked the price and shook her head.
‘I’m afraid I simply don’t have that kind of money,’ she said sadly.
Bridget tried to cheer her up as they walked back to the house.
‘I’m afraid I’ve Fallen on Hard Times,’ said Araminta apologetically.
‘That’s okay, so have we,’ agreed Bridget knowledgeably. ‘It’s The Downturn.’
‘So it is, cried Araminta. ‘I wonder if I would have enough money for the plane trip if I sold the house,’ she ventured at last.
‘It’s bound to be worth heaps,’ said Bridget. ‘It’s so big.’
But Araminta shook her head. ‘Not many people want big old houses these days, and my one needs a lot of work, which I really can’t afford to pay for. I asked an agent a few years ago when I was hoping to get something a little smaller and he said it would be very hard to sell. Most people want flash new kitchens, not old ones like mine.’
‘I like your kitchen. It’s welcoming. But anyway, my Dad is a builder. I could ask him if it would cost a lot to fix up,’ suggested Bridget.
Araminta looked doubtful. ‘Well, I don’t know. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.’
‘I’ll ask him tonight,’ said Bridget.
Bridget was surprised to find that her father was very interested in hearing about Araminta’s house.
‘The old Nightshade place,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I remember years ago it was really grand. It will need a lot of work though, if the inside is anything like the outside. Does she want me to do it?’
‘Araminta needs money for a plane ticket to Germany,’ Bridget told him. ‘She is going to retire there and she wants to sell the house.’
‘She won’t have much luck with it looking like that,’ put in Bridget’s mother. ‘It looks so forbidding.’
‘It’s a witch’s house,’ grinned Neal.
Mr O’Sullivan went around to see Araminta the next day while Bridget was at school, and they had a long discussion. He came away looking very pensive and had a long chat with his wife, shooing all the children away.
‘Give us some peace and quiet,’ he said in exasperation. ‘We need to talk over something important.’
He wouldn’t say what it was and Bridget couldn’t get any answers out of Araminta either. She rode the broomstick around the yard but still couldn’t see over the wall. ‘This would be heaps more fun if Neal or Mary-Clare was on the other broom,’ she thought. ‘We could play chase or loop the loop.’ Bridget didn’t want to seem ungrateful but once the novelty had worn off, it was rather boring flying sedately in circles behind Araminta.
The next Saturday morning Mrs O’Sullivan wouldn’t let Bridget go out.
‘We’re having a visitor to lunch,’ she said, and no amount of questioning would make her say any more.
At twelve o’clock there was a tap on the door and a beaming Araminta stood there. Mrs O’Sullivan welcomed her and introduced her to all the children, who moved closer together round the table to make room for her.
After soup and muffins Mr O’Sullivan announced, ‘this is a farewell lunch for Araminta because she is flying to Germany to live next week. The good news is that she is selling us her house to live in.’
What a pandemonium followed. All the children wanted to know about the house and whether they could have their own bedrooms.
‘Can we afford it?’ Bridget whispered to her mother.
‘Yes, we can,’ her mother whispered back. ‘The house needs a lot of work but your father will be able to do it in his spare time. Araminta has sold it to us for much less than we will get for this house, so things will be a lot easier for us. We are going to keep Marmalade the cat and look after her as well. We still won’t have enough money for a pony or riding lessons, though.’
‘That’s okay,’ grinned Bridget. ‘There are much more exciting things in life than ponies.’
She looked at Araminta who winked at her and chuckled.
‘I’ll leave the brooms in the shed for you, Bridget. I’m sure you’ll find them useful.’
‘Thanks. I will,’ said Bridget gratefully.
And she did.
The Last Broom
‘Caitlin Ashby, are you listening?’
‘Sorry, Ms Borage.’
Caitlin jumped slightly in her seat and looked guiltily at her teacher. It was a hot afternoon and she had been looking longingly out the window. She could hardly bear to wait until school was finished for the week so she could take off her hot uncomfortable uniform and play by the river.
‘I want this homework completed by Monday morning,’ the teacher said sternly. ‘I won’t accept any excuses.’
‘Yes Ms Borage,’ the class chorused.
The bell rang and the girls streamed thankfully out of the classroom.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Caitlin’s friend Holly sighed. ‘Ms Borage can make the most interesting lessons boring. I nearly went to sleep.’
‘Me too,’ agreed Caitlin. ‘Oh bother. I’ve left my textbook behind, after all that. I’ll run back and get it.’
‘Hurry, so you don’t miss the first broom,’ urged Holly.
Caitlin sprinted back to the empty classroom but there was no sign of her book on her desk.
‘Ms Borage must have picked it up,’ she wailed. She was turning back to the door when she spotted the familiar red cover half concealed by a pile of papers on the teacher’s desk. Thankfully she grabbed the book and thrust it into her schoolbag before running back to the school gate.
‘No more room. We’re full up,’ called Miss Sedgely the driver, as Caitlin panted to a stop beside the broom. ‘You know I can only take thirteen. You’ll have to be faster next time.’
Disconsolately, Caitlin watched as Miss Sedgely gave the broom a sharp tap with her wand. The broom rose rapidly into the air and flew off towards the town. Holly waved a sympathetic hand as Caitlin flopped down onto the grass to wait.
She was soon joined by another half dozen pupils.
‘Oh no! We’ve got Wandering Willie!’ A red haired girl made a face as a decrepit broom wobbled along beside the gate.
Miss Wilhelmina Wil
son was the worst driver on the broom run. She was an elderly spinster, whose fine white hair fell in wisps around her face and shed hairpins constantly. She turned an anxious gaze on the waiting pupils.
‘Hop on, my dears,’ she quavered.
The broomstick hung in the air rather unsteadily, as the girls threw their legs across it and held tightly to the wooden handle. Caitlin found herself sitting between the red-haired girl and one of the prefects, who considered herself far too old and important to talk to any of the Junior girls. Miss Wilson tapped the broom with her wand and gave it the command to start. The broom gave a half-hearted jerk and sank lower. The girls screamed and put their feet on the ground quickly.
‘We’ll need to give it a helping hand. It’s getting a little old and tired,’ Miss Wilson called apologetically over her shoulder.
With a resigned sigh the pupils obediently started running down the road, their sturdy black shoes clattering on the tarseal. Caitlin was so hot she thought she would melt. Her bag bounced up and down on her shoulders, with the sharp edge of her lunchbox poking painfully into her back. Her whole body was itching and uncomfortable in her black uniform, and her skirt flapped heavily around her calves. She could feel the heat radiating from her face and her hands were slippery with sweat where they grasped the broom handle.
Slowly the broom gained height as the girls panted in relief and slumped over the handle. They cruised along the road and came slowly to a stop for two of the riders to get off. Starting off again required yet more running. Everyone groaned and the prefect said a rude word under her breath.
‘It would have been quicker to have run home myself,’ thought
The Weekend Witches and Other Stories Page 9