The Misper

by Bea Davenport

  ‘Not pleased to see me?’ Ellie practically batted her lashes at him. I thought I might be sick.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s just – Anna and I need to have a chat –’

  ‘Anna!’ Ellie held out her hand across the table. I just looked at it, as if she was waving a dead fish at me or something. She kept her hand held out for a few seconds too long and then pulled it back when she realised I most definitely wasn’t going to take it. She kept her smile on, though. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. Your dad’s always talking about you. He didn’t tell me you were so pretty, though.’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘He’s just been saying how he doesn’t approve of my clothes or my make-up or my friends. Or just about anything I do.’

  I watched as Ellie worked to keep her lips stretched into place. ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said. ‘I just know he dotes on you.’

  ‘Wrong,’ I said. I dragged my jacket from the back of my chair and started to pull it on. ‘He doesn’t even like me anymore. Or my friends. He’s just said so. Right, Dad? But then I guess that’s fair, because, you know what? I don’t like the company he keeps either.’

  ‘Sit down, Anna,’ Dad said. ‘You’ve hardly eaten anything.’ He turned to Ellie. ‘Look, could you just leave us alone for another half hour or so? Haven’t you got any shopping to do?’

  Ellie gave another forced smile, her brow wrinkling. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Sure? You usually do.’ Dad was being really sharp. I stood there, my jacket half on and half off, glancing from one to the other.

  ‘I could just stay and have a coffee?’ She turned to me. ‘I could referee. Anna?’

  I put my other arm into my sleeve. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to ask whether I mind you being around? My dad might be stuck with you. But I don’t have to be.’

  Dad looked as if he couldn’t decide which of us he’d like to kill first. I took my chance and strode to the door. I could hear their raised voices behind me and I saw that they were having an almighty row and that other people in the restaurant were staring at them.

  Outside, I blinked. My eyes were watery. It was a cloudy afternoon, but it felt bright compared to the inside of the restaurant. I almost stepped out into the road without looking and a car blared its horn at me, making me jump back. I got the next bus home, went in and found Mum sitting watching some corny old film on the TV. I put my arms around her from behind and offered to make her some tea. I told her what had happened with Dad and his girlfriend.

  ‘Trouble in paradise, eh?’ She gave a little smile that I probably wasn’t meant to see.

  9

  ‘Bela Lugosi’s Dead’

  The next day was even weirder. Zoe called round late in the morning and we went into my bedroom to put some music on.

  ‘So?’ she said, sitting on my bed. ‘Your dad moved back in yet?’

  I stared at her. ‘What’re you on about?’

  Zoe lay back on my bed and propped herself up on one elbow. ‘You didn’t believe me yesterday, did you? You think I’m nuts, trying these books out. So I’ve decided. The first big experiment is for you.’

  I turned the music down a notch. ‘I don’t get it. What’s my dad got to do with anything?’

  Zoe inspected her nails. They were painted black with little silver teardrops on top. ‘I could only think of one thing I know you really, really want. And that would be for your mum and dad not to be divorced. Right?’

  ‘It’s too late for that, though.’

  ‘Yes and no. The thing that I’m realising is that there is always a way. Your mum and dad got divorced, but they could also get back together, right?’

  I half laughed. ‘And how’s that going to happen?’

  ‘Wicca, Anna. I’m going to make it happen. I started work on it yesterday, while you were out for your lunch with Absent Dad. I got a really good feeling about it. So good I half expected he’d be here with his suitcases when I called round.’

  I held out my hands. ‘Well, he’s not. Although…’

  Zoe sat up. ‘Although what?’ Her eyes gleamed.

  I sat down beside her on the bed. ‘He did have a right old row with his girlfriend.’

  Zoe snapped her fingers in triumph. ‘That sounds like a good start to me. I just have to keep working on it.’

  Downstairs, the doorbell pinged and Mum answered it. She called up the stairs. ‘Anna, Kerry’s here.’ And we heard Kerry’s heavy footsteps making their way towards us. We looked at each other and sighed.

  ‘Isn’t that vanishing spell more urgent?’ I said.

  Kerry had brought leaflets about her church concert and she wanted us to come along. ‘I’m singing,’ she said. ‘And there’ll be a party afterwards. I’m really excited about it.’

  ‘Singing, as in, just you, on your own?’ I asked.

  ‘No!’ Kerry gave a little snort. ‘I’ve got a hopeless voice. I’m just in the choir and I’m right at the back because the minister says I sing flat. And I’m not cute like the little kids.’

  Zoe made a shocked face. ‘He sounds very supportive, I don’t think. I’d be tempted to tell him where to stick his sheet music.’

  Kerry gave another giggle. ‘I don’t mind, really. Though I was really embarrassed when he shouted at me for being out of tune. It was in front of everyone. Some of the others were singing off-key at me all the way home.’

  I thought: Kerry really is a kind of a magnet for bullies. Even at her church. How does she do it? Compared to most people, we really were quite nice to her. Most of the time.

  Zoe narrowed her eyes. ‘Want me to get him for you?’

  Kerry went wide-eyed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Mean Music-Man,’ said Zoe. She waggled her long fingers. ‘I’m a practicing witch now, you know. Want me to make something happen to him?’

  Kerry shook her head. ‘No, stop it. Don’t even joke about things like that.’

  ‘Go on. Just a little accident where he sits on his baton or something?’

  I sniggered, but Kerry folded her arms. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that. And you’re not really – you know – doing anything stupid? My minister says anything to do with the occult is really, really dangerous.’

  Zoe waggled her eyebrows up and down at me. ‘It could be, for him. It’s priests like that who make me want to sell my soul to the devil. Satan’s got to be a better bet, right?’

  I remembered that, a while ago, Kerry refused to see the vampire films everyone else was into because her church told her not to. We’d all had a bit of a laugh about it, but Kerry took it all very seriously.

  ‘I said, stop it. I mean it,’ Kerry said.

  Zoe shrugged. ‘Just looking out for you. Some people are so ungrateful.’

  ‘Anyway, will you come to the concert? I can give two tickets away.’ Kerry paused. ‘I haven’t anyone else to invite.’

  I groaned inside. Kerry had a great way of pushing my ‘guilty’ buttons.

  ‘A Nazi choirmaster and you singing flat,’ said Zoe. ‘It sounds like an unmissable event.’

  Kerry didn’t seem to absorb sarcasm. It just seemed to bounce back at the giver, without her saying or doing anything. ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘What shall we do now? This music’s really depressing. Can we put something else on?’

  ‘Got any hymns?’ Zoe sneered. Then she suddenly remembered she hadn’t finished her homework. ‘Better go,’ she said. ‘That’s me busy for the rest of the day, I reckon. I’ve got a pile of it.’ She gave me a little glare. ‘What about you, Anna? Got homework?’

  I pretended to sigh and gave my forehead a little slap. ‘Yeah, I forgot, I have, actually. I’d better get on with it. My mum goes mad if I do it last thing on a Sunday night.’

  Kerry got up. ‘I always do it as soon as I get home on a Friday,’ she said. ‘That’s
what you two should do.’ Behind her back, Zoe was silently mimicking her.

  I saw both of them to the door and after about ten minutes I got a text from Zoe. All clear?

  I texted back. Zoe rang the doorbell again and I let her in, giggling and glancing round to make sure Kerry was nowhere to be seen.

  We put the music back on, louder this time.

  ‘What is it about Kerry, though?’ I asked Zoe. ‘Have you noticed? Even her priest picks on her.’

  ‘It’s like she wears a sign above her head saying “kick me” and everyone else can see it,’ said Zoe.

  ‘If she would just kick someone back one time, it mightn’t be so bad for her,’ I said.

  ‘She’s like a big, dripping, wet puppy,’ said Zoe. ‘The trouble is, Anna, people could start picking on us too, because we’re always with her. She’s ruining our street cred. I’m not going to that church-y thing for a million quid.’

  ‘We told her we’d go,’ I said. ‘We can’t let her down. It’d be really mean.’

  ‘I didn’t make promises,’ said Zoe. ‘That was you. I didn’t sign anything.’

  I gave a mock-pout.

  Zoe gritted her teeth. ‘I’m wearing a wig and dark glasses and a coat with the collar turned up, then,’ she said. ‘Anyway, who’s to say I’ll be able to set foot in a church? After all my dark practices? The priest might take one look at me and hold up his big cross and I might get burned.’

  ‘That’s just Dracula, you mad thing,’ I said. Zoe could be difficult, but then she would take the mickey out of herself and it would all feel OK.

  Over breakfast, Mum showed me a picture in her newspaper of a girl band I used to like, before Zoe got me into the better stuff. I looked at it and shook my head. ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I haven’t liked them for ages.’

  Mum said nothing for a moment. She took a gulp from her mug of tea. Then she said: ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot. You like all that depressing stuff now, don’t you?’

  I paused. Mum raked her hands through her messy bed-hair. ‘I’ll look out for anything with – I don’t know – Bauhaus in it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bauhaus. They had a record, a famous one, when I was at school. It was supposed to be the start of the goth movement. I’ll remember it in a minute.’

  I looked at her with my mouth a little open. ‘Are you just making this up?’

  ‘I am not.’ Mum got up and moved her breakfast dishes towards the sink. ‘That’s going to drive me mad, now. I was a bit older than you are now, when it came out.’

  ‘Was it good?’ I was still finding this a strange conversation to be having with my mum first thing in the morning.

  ‘It was awful,’ she said. ‘I thought it was one of the worst things I’d ever heard. I just can’t remember the name of the record.’

  ‘Right.’ I started to laugh.

  Mum laughed too. ‘You search for it. Bauhaus. I bet you can find the video online. I’m surprised your Zoe hasn’t heard of it – it’s just her sort of thing.’

  I went over to her and put my arms around her waist as she stood at the sink washing up. I gave her a little squeeze and went upstairs to get dressed for school. She tried so hard, my mum, that sometimes it made me physically hurt inside.

  10

  Curse

  Maybe something my dad said got to me a bit, but I plagued Zoe to make sure she went to Kerry’s church concert. We dashed in just as it was about to start and shuffled onto the end of a pew near the back.

  Zoe huddled close to me. ‘It’s freezing in here,’ she hissed. ‘And I hate churches. It’s the smell. I can’t believe you’ve made me come.’

  ‘It’s just incense,’ I whispered back. ‘I’d’ve thought you’d love it.’

  ‘It’s not the incense. It’s... I don’t know... old stone. Funeral tears. Judgement.’

  I linked her arm and hugged it to me. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Anyway, they’d be great names for some perfumes. Funeral Tears, Old Stone. We should suggest them to Dead Bouquet.’

  The church choir shuffled onto the altar. It was just as Kerry had said: the cuter smaller kids at the front and the older kids, including Kerry, at the back. I could see her scanning the church to see if we were there, so I gave her a little wave.

  We suffered almost an hour of hymns, with Zoe leaning her head on my shoulder and making fake, quiet snoring noises in my ear. At the end, the minister made a little speech.

  ‘I’d like to thank everyone for supporting us this evening. It’s taken a great deal of hard work to get to this standard. We have some talented young singers – and of course, some not so talented, but we include everyone.’

  ‘He means Kerry,’ muttered Zoe. ‘And I bet she knows it.’

  ‘We believe that it doesn’t matter that some here are not able to sing well. We think the important thing is that young people take part and spend their time in this useful way,’ the minister went on.

  ‘He shouldn’t be going on about it.’ Zoe glared at him.

  ‘Not like you to stick up for Kerry,’ I murmured.

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Zoe looked down and examined her fingers.

  ‘... And I hope that you will all give generously to the collection buckets on your way out.’

  Everyone clapped politely and we sprang up to be first out of the door. Kerry was slow to reach us. ‘Did you like it?’ she asked.

  I elbowed Zoe before she could reply. ‘Thanks for asking us,’ I said, not answering the question. ‘Did you have a good time?’

  ‘Sort of. The minister says maybe I shouldn’t be a singing part of the choir next time. He says maybe I should just help with the teas or something.’

  Zoe coughed. ‘What happened to including everyone?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m spoiling it for the others because I can’t keep the tune. He’s right, I guess,’ Kerry shrugged.

  ‘Very charitable,’ sniffed Zoe. ‘Let me hex him, go on. I won’t even charge you for it.’

  I laughed and pushed them both out, avoiding the man who was approaching us with a jingling collection bucket. I didn’t put it past Zoe to put her hand in and take some coins out for herself.

  The next day it was bright, but it had been raining, and the sudden sunshine made the pavements glitter as Zoe and I walked. Zoe glanced behind. ‘Oh, god, don’t look but our Kerry-shaped shadow is on its way. She’s trying to catch us up. Shall we run?’

  ‘No, stop it.’ I gave Zoe a little push. We stopped at the edge of The Cut to wait for Kerry. She caught up, breathing hard, purplish-red in the cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen. At first, I thought it was because she’d been running, but then she gave Zoe a push in the shoulder. ‘You’re evil,’ she said. ‘I hate you. What did you do to him?’

  ‘Hey!’ Zoe was taken aback for a second and then she glared back, brushing her coat as if to get rid of Kerry’s touch. ‘What the hell are you going on about? Don’t push me again, or you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Kerry,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  She started to cry. Zoe groaned and I couldn’t really blame her. Kerry was always crying. You couldn’t help getting fed up with it.

  ‘What?’ I said again, trying not to sound as impatient as I felt.

  Between gulps, Kerry said that the minister at her church had had a heart attack and died. It had all happened out of the blue, about an hour after the concert. For once, Zoe was silent.

  ‘Euw,’ I said. ‘That’s awful. I mean, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘And you said you were going to get him,’ she went on, sniffing up huge globs of snot and letting her tears soak her face. ‘You said you were going to put a curse on him. I hate you.’

  Zoe looked at me, wide-eyed, as if someone had smacked her across the head. Then she started to laugh.

  ‘Stop it,’ I said, gritting
my teeth. ‘It’s not funny. Kerry’s upset.’

  Zoe swung her bag over her shoulder, still laughing. ‘I never did anything to the daft old crow,’ she said. ‘Honestly, you’re such a big kid. If he had a heart attack, it was because he had a bad heart. That’s all. Nothing to do with me.’

  I started to pick a tissue out of the little pack Mum always stuffed into my school bag. Then I gave up and just handed Kerry the whole lot.

  ‘But you said you were going to do something to him. You said you were going to get him. You said -’

  ‘Oh, Kerry,’ I said. ‘Zoe’s right. You’re just being daft. It’s a horrible thing to happen, yeah, but it had nothing to do with her. It’s just a silly coincidence, that’s all.’

  I patted her on the hand. I never really wanted to touch her, for some reason, particularly when she was in tears and all runny and wobbly. It made me feel a bit queasy. ‘Come on, let’s get going. Try not to think about it, eh?’

  Zoe was standing with her arms folded.

  ‘Sorry, Zoe,’ Kerry said, wiping her nose. ‘I was just so upset. I thought you must’ve done what you said, you know -’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Zoe, turning away and striding ahead of us. I told myself I would keep my arm around Kerry until we got through The Cut and then I could let go. The Cut seemed to go for longer than usual, like someone had added on a couple of extra miles.

  When we got to school, Kerry went to wash her face. We waited in the corridor. I grinned at Zoe. ‘Well, you had her completely freaked out,’ I said, with a little laugh. ‘She really thought you’d cursed her mad minister.’

  Zoe put her head on one side. ‘Thing is, though,’ she said in a murmur, ‘I did.’

  I laughed again. ‘Right.’

  ‘No, I really did.’ Zoe grasped my wrist. ‘I used a picture of him from that church leaflet she gave us. I stuck a compass through it. And I said a curse.’

  I raised my hand. ‘Don’t.’

  Zoe’s eyes were wide. ‘You can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Zoe,’ I said, keeping an eye on the door to the girls’ toilets in case Kerry came back, ‘Just tell me this is a joke, all right?’