The Courage of Cat Campbell

by Natasha Lowe

  “Mmmmmm,” Ms. Roach said, nodding. “Go on.”

  “Right. I waved it about and nothing happened, of course, and I was feeling a bit upset so I sat down on the floor, and that’s when I felt a spider crawling on me. I really hate spiders! This one was huge. When I realized what it was, I screamed because I was so scared, and I flicked it with the wand. And then,” Cat said breathlessly, breaking into a smile because she knew Ms. Roach was going to love this part, “then it changed colors, lots of colors, and it grew to the size of a golf ball. And when I waved my wand at it again, it started to bounce around the attic, as if it was made out of rubber.”

  “How thrilling for you,” Clara Bell murmured. “That first magical moment!”

  Ms. Roach just nodded, not looking particularly impressed. “So you were really frightened by the spider?” she confirmed, leaning forward slightly.

  “I was,” Cat admitted. “I was terrified.”

  “Mmmmm.” It was a long drawn out “mmmmmmm.” Ms. Roach made a steeple with her fingers and glanced at Ms. Grendel. “Which is when the magic happened?”

  “Yes, yes, exactly,” Cat said, shifting about in excitement.

  “Mmmmm,” Ms. Roach said again, tapping her nails on the table. “What are your thoughts, Ms. Grendel?”

  The magical management teacher frowned. “A huge adrenaline rush brought on by fear can trigger a magical response in a carrier,” Ms. Grendel said. “And once the magic has been activated this way, it will nearly always be out of control.” She gave Cat a somber look. “There are things you can do, but this sort of magic is extremely difficult to manage. It’s not very common, and when I do see magic like this, it’s almost always in a Late Bloomer.”

  “That’s why I want to come to Ruthersfield,” Cat said. “So I can learn how to be a proper witch, just like my great-great-granny Mabel. She was brilliant.”

  “Indeed she was,” Ms. Roach said. “Strong-willed to be sure, but one of our best head girls.” She lowered her head for a moment. “Why don’t we try a simple rolling spell, then?” Ms. Roach said, handing Cat a pencil. “This will show us how well you can handle your magic.”

  “No, no, not on the desk,” Ms. Grendel broke in, waving her hands at Cat. “Do it on the rug over there, please.”

  “It will give you more space,” Clara Bell said gently.

  “Are you sure you can all see?” Cat said, placing the pencil on the edge of Ms. Roach’s oriental carpet. “I don’t want anyone to miss this.”

  “We can see just fine. Now, you have the wand with you, correct?” Ms. Roach said. Cat pulled it out of her pocket. “Okay, good. What I want you to do is wave it over the pencil and in a clear, calm voice say, “Rollypolumdum.”

  “Okay.” Cat nodded. Her heart was racing, and she wiped her hands down her skirt. “I’m a bit nervous,” she admitted.

  “Don’t be. That will only make things worse,” Ms. Grendel said.

  “But nerves are quite normal,” Clara Bell added. “Try to stay calm, Cat. Big, deep breaths. And you might want to turn your wand round the other way,” she suggested gently.

  “Oh!” Cat giggled. She flipped the wand around. “It’s so hard to tell which end is which.”

  “It’s slightly thicker at the handle end,” Ms. Roach said. “A good witch can tell just by feel.”

  “Right.” Cat stared at Ms. Roach. “Sorry,” she whispered, “but what was that word again?”

  “Rollypolumdum,” the headmistress said.

  Cat took a deep breath and waved her wand over the pencil. “Rollypolumdum,” she cried, and the rug shot out from under Cat’s feet, knocking her backward as it rolled across the floor. The teachers leapt out of their chairs.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Marie Claire said with a gasp. “What is happening?”

  Cat scrambled to her knees in time to see the rug gather speed and roll up the pencil, a standing lamp, and all the furniture in its path. As it sped toward Ms. Roach’s desk, Marie Claire tried to get out of the way but she couldn’t move fast enough, and the rug grabbed her shoes and rolled up over her feet.

  Ms. Roach waved her wand in the air. “Consticrabi-haltus,” she commanded, and the rug shuddered to a stop.

  “Thank you,” Marie Claire said, panting and resting a hand on her heart. “Cat gets a little overexcited, but she has such passion!”

  “She certainly does,” Clara Bell agreed. “And passion is so important for Late Bloomers.”

  Cat looked at Ms. Roach, trying to gauge her reaction. “My magic is powerful, isn’t it?”

  “Your magic is out of control,” Ms. Roach said soberly. “Now if you could both step outside a moment, please, I’d like to talk things over with the committee.” Clara Bell held up a pair of crossed fingers as Cat and Marie Claire left the room.

  At least Cat knew she had someone on her side, but it was still complete torture waiting to be called back in again. They sat in the secretary’s office, and Cat rocked back and forth on her chair, wondering how Marie Claire could remain so calm. The minutes ticked by and Marie Claire flipped through a Ruthersfield alumni magazine while Cat stared at Ms. Roach’s door, desperate to know what they were saying about her.

  When Ms. Grendel and Clara Bell finally came out, it was impossible to gauge anything from their faces. Before Cat could ask Clara Bell how it had gone, Ms. Roach appeared at the door, motioning them back into her office again. As soon as they were all seated, she let out a long breath.

  “This was not an easy decision, Catherine.” Ms. Roach picked up a piece of paper and studied it. “You know we have very few Late Bloomer places available.”

  “But I’ve definitely got the gift, haven’t I?” Cat said.

  “You do, but it’s clearly a recessive gene and, because it was adrenaline triggered, almost impossible to control. Not like with your mother and Mabel Ratcliff, who were dominant carriers of the magic gene.” Ms. Roach cleared her throat. “Ruthersfield does not have the resources to support your sort of magical ability, Catherine. You would need a one-on-one aide, constant monitoring, and the sort of special-needs help that Ruthersfield is not equipped to offer. We could not have you performing magic with the other girls.” Ms. Roach shook her head. “It just isn’t feasible, I’m afraid.”

  Cat felt like she was going to be sick. Her mouth had gone dry, and she twisted her fingers together.

  “I am sorry to be so blunt,” Ms. Roach said, “but I do feel that honesty is the best approach here.”

  “I’ll work harder than anyone,” Cat whispered, needing to make Ms. Roach understand.

  “I’m sure you would. And Ms. Bell lobbied hard on your behalf.” The headmistress’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Unfortunately we can only take the best. Hard work and dedication are important, but so is your level of talent.”

  Cat felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

  “I’m very sorry, Catherine,” Ms. Roach finished up softly, “but we will not be offering you a place.”

  “Please,” Cat said, hating to beg but unable to stop herself. “Can’t I even sit the exam?”

  “I’m sorry.” Ms. Roach shook her head.

  “Come on, chérie.” Marie Claire hoisted herself to her feet. “We appreciate your time, Ms. Roach. I am sure you must be very busy.”

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Cat managed to say. She stood up and walked to the door, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she could hold in her pain.

  Cat walked quickly down the corridor, not waiting for Marie Claire. Some of the girls gave her curious looks as she passed, but she ignored them all. “That’s Poppy Pendle’s daughter,” a girl with long ginger hair and freckles said, not even trying to keep her voice down. “I see her at the bakery all the time. What on earth is she doing here?”

  “Who cares? She’ll never come to Ruthersfield,” her friend replied. “Ms. Roach wouldn’t allow it.”

  Cat dug her nails into her palms, refusing to cry until she got outside. She pushed th
rough the heavy front door and ran down the steps. With no one to see her, Cat let out a wail of sadness so raw and sharp it startled a black cat sitting nearby, and he ruffled his fur in distress. Sinking onto the bottom step, Cat buried her face in her hands. How could she tell her parents she had failed, and Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom? Peter had been right about her odds, Cat realized. She had never really stood a chance.

  “Cat,” Marie Claire called out, limping her way slowly down the stairs. Cat couldn’t answer. Her throat was too full of lumps. “You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.” A deep shudder swept through Cat. She turned around and saw the pity in Marie Claire’s eyes. “I know how much you wanted this,” Marie Claire said.

  “Even if I’d done the most amazing magic ever, I don’t think Ms. Roach would have given me a place.”

  “How can you say that, chérie?”

  “Because of what Mamma did. You saw how most of the teachers looked at me. And the girls. Ms. Roach doesn’t want anything more to do with our family. She’s scared I’ll turn out like Mamma.”

  “You know this is not your mother’s fault,” Marie Claire said, putting a hand on Cat’s shoulder.

  Cat knew Marie Claire was right, but she also needed someone to be mad at. “I just wish Mamma hadn’t done those things,” she whispered.

  “Come on, chérie, let’s go home.”

  “Not right now. I can’t. I want to see Granny and Grandpa.” And Cat started to run. It hurt so much: being given what she wanted more than anything else in the world, and then having it snatched away from her because she wasn’t good enough. She’d never be good enough according to Ms. Roach.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  Anywhere but Home

  CAN I STAY HERE TONIGHT?” Cat said, curled up on her grandparents’ sofa.

  “You can’t run away from your troubles, Cat,” Grandpa Roger said, rubbing the arms of his chair.

  “Oh, let her stay for the night,” Granny Edith clucked, putting a cup of tea down beside Cat. “Just till she feels better. She’s had quite a shock, not getting in to Ruthersfield. We all have,” Edith added. “I can’t pretend I’m not a little bit upset myself.” She stroked a hand over Cat’s hair. “I mean, if anyone should have been offered a place, it’s our Kitty Cat.”

  Cat sipped her tea, glad that she hadn’t gone straight home. Granny Edith tucked a blanket around Cat’s feet, and the soft murmur from the television was comforting, even though Cat wasn’t used to watching it so early in the day. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Mamma?” she asked in a small voice. “About what she did to you both?”

  “Old history,” Grandpa Roger said sternly. “We all wanted to forget about it.” He gave Granny Edith a hard look. “Maxine should never have told Cat.”

  “It just doesn’t seem like Mamma,” Cat said. She rubbed a corner of the blanket between her fingers. “Weren’t you mad at her? How could you forgive her?”

  “Poppy had every right to be furious with us,” Grandpa Roger said. “We didn’t listen to her, Cat. We did some things I really regret. I hate to say this, but we weren’t good parents.”

  “Yes, we were,” Granny Edith snapped back, taking Cat completely off guard. She had never heard her grandmother talk this way before. “We only wanted what was best for her.”

  “But we didn’t listen to what Poppy wanted.” Grandpa Roger looked serious. “You know we didn’t, Edith. We messed up in a big way, and I don’t blame her for turning us to stone.”

  Granny Edith fiddled with her wedding ring. “We made mistakes, I’ll give you that,” she muttered. “But things got out of hand.” She drooped her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment. “I hate thinking about the past. Let’s leave it at that.”

  All of a sudden her grandparents looked so sad and old that Cat leaned over and gave Granny Edith a kiss on the cheek. “You’re both wonderful,” she told them. “Best grandparents in the world!” Cat hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “I think Ms. Roach was worried my magic would get out of control like Mamma’s did.”

  “Now, don’t go blaming your mother because you didn’t get a place,” Grandpa Roger said. “Ms. Roach might be tough, but she’s always been fair.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come on, Catkins. I’m taking you home.”

  Poppy was frosting cupcakes in the bakery kitchen, piping swirls of buttercream on top of buttery golden cakes. She put down her piping bag as Cat walked in holding on to her grandfather’s hand.

  “The wanderer returns,” Grandpa Roger joked, picking up a little cake. “These look delicious, Poppy.”

  “Take some back to Mum,” Poppy said, talking to her father but looking straight at Cat. “I’m so sorry it didn’t work out, Cat. I know how much you wanted this.” Poppy licked a blob of frosting off her finger. “If I could give you my magic gene, I would, willingly.”

  Cat nodded, finding it difficult to speak about what had happened. The hurt inside her was still too raw. “I know, Mamma.” She turned to Marie Claire, who was sitting at the table sipping a cup of caffe latte. “I’m sorry I ran off, Marie Claire.”

  “That’s all right, chérie. I quite understand,” Marie Claire replied.

  “I made your favorite cupcakes,” Poppy said. “Vanilla with buttercream frosting.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not too hungry,” Cat said, feeling as flat and deflated as a squashed balloon. “Maybe later. Right now I’d just like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  Cat knelt on her bedroom floor and stared out the window. She had wanted to go to Ruthersfield so badly. Now she would have to stay at the elementary school with kids who were scared of her, worried she might go on a rampage and turn them all into stone. “And that’s so silly,” Cat whispered out loud. “Because I just want to be like Great-Great-Granny Mabel and make my family proud.” Even Anika, her best friend, still wouldn’t sit next to Cat on the bus. The only person she felt like seeing right now was Peter.

  As soon as school got out, Cat packed up some cupcakes and walked over to Kettle Lane, where the Parkers lived. She was grateful that her mother hadn’t made her go back to school for the remainder of the day, because that would have been too awful to bear. During the summer months the flower beds surrounding the Parkers’ cottage bloomed with roses and hollyhocks and blue waving lupines. Right now it looked a little bare, but a patch of bright pink cyclamen still offered some color. Auntie Charlie loved to garden. She also loved animals. The Parkers’ goat bared its teeth at Cat as she walked up the path. Standing on the doorstep, Cat knocked a few times, waiting for someone to answer. Maybe Peter wasn’t home yet, and knowing Auntie Charlie wouldn’t mind if she waited inside, Cat pushed the door open. She stepped into the hallway and a trumpet sounded. “Intruder, intruder,” a voice shouted. “Stop right there; put your hands in the air.”

  Cat dropped the cupcakes and flung her hands up as Peter came charging down the stairs.

  “Yes!” He raised his fist. “It worked! My homemade burglar alarm!”

  “Peter, that scared me half to death,” Cat said.

  “Which is just what it’s meant to do. Look, I rigged up this wire under the rug, and when anyone steps over it, the alarm is triggered and the recording goes off. Adam did the voice for me.”

  “But I’m not a burglar, Peter.”

  “Well, I’m only going to set it at night, Cat. Duh!”

  “I see.” Cat picked up the cupcakes and burst into tears. “That’s clever.”

  “Oh, Cat.” Peter shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

  “It was the opposite of well. It was awful,” Cat said, rubbing a sleeve across her eyes.

  There was a slightly awkward silence. Finally Peter said, “Come and have a Twirlie bar, Cat. That always cheers you up.”

  The kitchen was warm and smelled of animals. Midas, the Parkers’ Labrador, had just had a litter of puppies, and in the corner by the fire was a box with a sick
goose in it. Auntie Charlie insisted that geese made the best pets, although by the look of things, this one didn’t seem to be doing too well. A cage with two ginger-and-white guinea pigs sat on the counter, and Cat could hear them squeaking as she watched Peter root about in his backpack. After a great deal of hunting, he pulled out a rather squashed Twirlie bar. “Knew I had one in here somewhere.”

  “Thanks, Peter.” Cat pulled off the wrapper and took a bite. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk. I just like being here.”

  “Fine with me,” Peter said, starting on the cupcakes. “I really am sorry, Cat,” he murmured at one point.

  “I know.” Cat sighed. “So am I.”

  They were sitting in silence when Auntie Charlie walked in from the garden, wearing a man’s green jacket that was far too big for her, a basket of eggs in one hand. She took one look at Cat’s face and hurried over to give her a hug. “Not good?”

  “Not good,” Cat agreed. “I’m trying to be brave, but it’s difficult because I keep wanting to cry. So can we talk about other things?”

  “Absolutely,” Auntie Charlie said, putting the eggs into a wire basket. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “my chickens are finally starting to lay. I think it was Marie Claire’s music that did it. She lent me some opera, and the chickens really seem to like it.”

  “Hey, where’s Dad?” Peter suddenly asked. “He’s usually home by now.”

  “There’s some sort of crisis going on down at the station,” Auntie Charlie said. She picked up the goose and stroked him. “I’m not sure when Tom’s going to be home.”

  “What sort of crisis?” Peter said in surprise. “Nothing exciting ever happens in Potts Bottom.”

  “I don’t know.” Auntie Charlie kissed the goose on its head. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Chapter Eleven