‘Firstly, I need some sticky slug slime and three hairs from a mouse,’ she said.
Mr Whiskins scampered off then returned with the ingredients and in they were plopped.
‘A teaspoon of cuckoo spit, five rotting sprouts and a bath bomb to add some fizz,’ she added.
She stirred the potion with a large wooden spoon and watched delighted as it brewed and bubbled from yellow to brown to green.
‘Look, it’s bubbling up all by itself,’ she said in wonderment.
‘That’s the power of magic,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘Now say the magic words.’
‘Bubble and boil and stir it all up. Brew me a magical hiccupy hiccup.’
As she poured some of the liquid into a glass, bubbles darted from the bottom and foam fizzed over the brim.
‘If this doesn’t give me the hiccups, I don’t know what will. Now I’ll leave it to cool in the fridge and get on with the Halting Hiccups potion.’
‘Grace-Ella, lunch is ready,’ Mrs Bevin called from the bottom of the stairs a little later. Grace-Ella walked into the kitchen and froze. The glass of hiccupy potion was in her mother’s hand.
‘Very kind of Dad to make me one of these health shakes,’ she said, sniffing at the potion. ‘It’s got a rather nasty smell to it.’
‘Mam…’
Grace-Ella’s eyes widened in horror as her mother held onto her nose and gulped down the whole glass.
‘Ghastly! Now where is that father of yours? And do sit down, Grace-Ella. You’re standing there like a gawping gibbon.’
Mrs Bevin scooted out of the kitchen calling for her husband.
‘What am I going to do?’ Grace-Ella said.
‘We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,’ Mr Whiskins replied.
Mr Whiskins was right. She’d just have to see what effect the potion would have on her mother. It was her first attempt so it probably wouldn’t even work, she thought.
The Bevins sat at the kitchen table eating their lunch of tuna salad sandwiches. Every so often Grace-Ella glanced at her mother to see if anything unusual was happening.
‘I had the seaweed wrap at the spa. It’s meant to be very good for the skin … hic…’
Grace-Ella paused, her sandwich hovering mid-way to her mouth.
‘That health … hic … shake … hic … seems to be having a rather … hic … gassy effect on … hic … me. What did you … hic … put in it … hic?’
‘Health shake?’ asked Mr Bevin frowning.
‘Yes, the one you … hic … left in the fridge … hic?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Mr Bevin, clearly confused.
Grace-Ella squirmed in her seat as her mother’s hiccups grew louder.
‘The … HIC … health … HIC … shake … HIC!’
With that final hiccup, Mrs Bevin rose from her chair.
‘What … HIC … on earth … HIC … is going on … HIC?’ she shouted as with each hiccup she rose higher into the air.
Mr Bevin stared at his wife. He had no idea what was happening.
Her hiccupping grew louder and louder and she rose higher and higher until she bumped her head on the ceiling.
‘Um … I think I should explain,’ began Grace-Ella. ‘I was trying out some potions and I thought I’d have a go at Halting Hiccups. I made up a potion that would give me the hiccups so that I could see if it worked. It wasn’t a health shake that you drank, it was my hiccuppy potion. And I was only going to take a sip, not drink the whole glass.’
‘Sel … HIC … wyn!’ Mrs Bevin shrieked. ‘Do … HIC … something … HIC!’
‘I’m sure Grace-Ella has everything under control,’ Mr Bevin said, looking anxiously at his daughter.
‘Under … HIC … control … HIC! Can’t you … HIC … see … HIC … that I’m … HIC … stuck to the … HIC … ceiling!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Grace-Ella, leaping from her chair. ‘The Halting Hiccups potion is ready. Just hang on for a minute, I’ll be right back.’
Mrs Bevin didn’t have much choice.
Grace-Ella raced back down the stairs with a glass of bright red liquid in her hand.
‘Here it is. Drink this.’
‘How … HIC … may I ask … HIC … are you going to get the blinkin’ thing … HIC … up to me … HIC?’
‘Um … well … maybe if I stand on the chair and Mr Whiskins stands on my shoulders, he could stretch up and you could grab the drink?’
‘Always ready to help a damsel in distress,’ said Mr Whiskins, bowing his head gallantly.
Mrs Bevin looked at Mr Bevin. Mr Bevin shrugged. Mrs Bevin sighed in that way of hers.
‘Get a … HIC … move on then … HIC … this is … HIC … all very … HIC … undignified … HIC.’
Grace-Ella clambered onto her chair. Mr Whiskins leapt onto her shoulders and she carefully placed the glass between his front paws. They wobbled a little as Mr Whiskins stretched up as far as he could. Mrs Bevin rocked herself into a sitting position and stretched down as far as she could until she grabbed onto the glass. In one swift movement, she poured the whole glass of red liquid into her mouth.
Grace-Ella, Mr Whiskins and Mr Bevin sat at the table and waited. Mrs Bevin, lying horizontally with her back against the ceiling, closed her eyes and became very still.
After a few minutes, Mrs Bevin’s face turned a sickly shade of green. Her eyes shot open and the three at the table gasped. Just as they thought she was looking normal again, she began to redden. Her face became redder and redder and redder. When they thought that she would surely explode, a hissing puff of smoke escaped from her nostrils.
‘What a magnifibob sight,’ said Mr Whiskins. ‘She looks like a fierce dragon.’
They watched in awe as with each hissing puff, Mrs Bevin slowly descended. Down and down she came, until she was perched once more on her chair. Her face was all sooty, as if she’d just worked a shift down a coal mine. She smoothed down her hair, which had become a little frizzy from the heat.
‘I’m going for a lie down,’ she said quietly. ‘This … this … incident has been very traumatic. I never want it mentioned again.’
Holding onto the table, she sighed in that way of hers before walking unsteadily out of the room.
The kitchen’s three occupants sat in stunned silence, pondering what they’d just witnessed. Eventually, Mr Whiskins spoke.
‘Another success, Grace-Ella. You truly are a magnifulous-splendifulous witch.’
‘Remarkable,’ added Mr Bevin.
Chapter Seven
Hockey Horrors
Mrs Bevin wasn’t seen for the remainder of the weekend. She lay on her bed with an eye-mask on and the sound of the sea playing softly into her headphones.
‘I’m dreading school next week,’ Grace-Ella said to Mr Whiskins as she packed her books into her bag on Sunday evening. ‘We have to practise hockey every day and Amelia’s going to be her usual nasty self and make fun of me and Fflur.’
‘You have to learn to ignore her,’ said Mr Whiskins.
‘It’d be far easier if I could just cast a spell and turn her into a big fat frog so that she would just ribbit off.’
She settled into bed, feeling utterly miserable at the thought of the week ahead.
Monday began with the weekly debate. Mrs Nag insisted that being able to voice their opinions clearly and confidently was very important. St Winifred’s always entered the annual ‘School Debating Championships’ and were currently the reigning champions.
Grace-Ella had never quite got over her first experience at debating, during her first term at St Winifred’s. Mrs Nag had written up that morning’s question on the board. Grace-Ella, who was struggling to learn to read well, squinted at the words, trying her very best to decipher them.
‘Grace-Ella, you can start us off today,’ Mrs Nag had said.
Grace-Ella walked nervously to the front of the class.
‘Um … I don’t think that it’s impo
rtant to have gross beef dinner because most vegetables are yucky and we should be allowed to eat delicious food like pizza every day.’
A classroom of confused faces stared back at Grace-Ella. She felt heat slowly rising from her neck to her face.
Frowning, Mrs Nag said, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Um … the debate question. Is it important to have gross beef dinner?’
An explosion of laughter erupted in the class like a volcano. Mrs Nag closed her eyes and shook her head.
‘That’s enough class. Enough!’ she shouted, trying to regain control over the giggling girls. ‘Grace-Ella, what are we going to do with you? The question asks: Is it important to have grace before dinner?’
Grace-Ella walked slowly back to her table, her head bent and tears pricking her eyes. She didn’t see Amelia stick her foot out as she passed. Grace-Ella fell sprawling across the floor. Quick to help her up, so that Mrs Nag could see what a kind pupil she was, Amelia smirked, ‘You’re such a dumb-brain, Gross-Ella!’
Ever since, Amelia did her best to confuse and embarrass Grace-Ella during the debating lessons, firing questions at her and using long obscure words that left her completely bewildered and befuddled. That morning was no different. Grace-Ella was relieved when the bell finally rang.
After lunch, the girls gathered in the changing room for hockey practice. Amelia, as usual, was busily barking her instructions at the others.
‘Obviously I’m the one who’ll win the game for us, so you have to make sure that you all pass the ball to me. St Clare’s defence will be no match for me and I’ll easily get the goals in. Ceinwen and Megan, you’ll definitely get picked for defence, so you have to make sure that you don’t give them a chance to score. It might just be a friendly game, but we’re there to win, not to be the losers.’
Amelia turned to Grace-Ella and Fflur, who were quietly getting changed.
‘There’s no way that Miss Fitz is going to pick you two. Grace-Ella, you always spend more time face down in the mud than on your feet. And as for you, Fatty Fflur, you’ll be out of cream puff before you even get onto the field. You should stick to a sport you’d be good at … like a custard pie eating contest.’
Amelia and her friends snorted with laughter.
‘Ignore them,’ whispered Grace-Ella to Fflur, who was blushing crimson.
Just then, Amelia lunged at the bench like a swooping sparrow and snatched up Fflur’s shorts.
‘Give them back,’ snapped Fflur.
‘Come and get them, Fatty,’ laughed Amelia, throwing the shorts to Ceinwen. Fflur turned and made a grab for them, just as they flew to Megan.
‘You’re a rotten crab apple, Amelia,’ said Grace-Ella. ‘Your mum should scrub your horrid nasty tongue with soap and a wire brush.’
Both Grace-Ella and Fflur swiped unsuccessfully at the shorts as they flew from one side of the room to the other. The shorts-throwing came to an abrupt halt as they heard Miss Fitz enter the changing room.
‘Ready, girls?’ she hollered.
Amelia quickly dropped the shorts back into Fflur’s bag.
‘Fflur Penri, what are you doing prancing around in your underwear?’ Miss Fitz asked. ‘Amelia, will you go and start the warm-ups while I wait for this pair please?’
Glancing back triumphantly, Amelia led the others onto the field.
With the warm-ups done, Miss Fitz set the girls into two teams for a practice game. Fflur ended up on Amelia’s team, much to Amelia’s horror. She ordered Fflur to play in goal.
‘Just stand still,’ she hissed. ‘Your lardy jelly bottom fills the goal so you don’t need to move.’
Grace-Ella actually found herself striking the ball a few times and sending it in the correct direction.
‘A marked improvement, Grace-Ella,’ Miss Fitz commented at the end of Wednesday’s session. ‘Keep up the good work.’
Grace-Ella smiled proudly whilst Amelia glowered at her.
On Friday, Miss Fitz announced the team before the final practice.
‘Amelia, you’ll be captain and will play Centre Forward. Rhiannon, Martha, Sophie and Jessica, you’ll be on the wings. Zoe, Lucy and Catrin will play Half Backs whilst Ceinwen and Grace-Ella will play in defence. And Fflur, you’ll be in goal. The rest of you will get a chance next time. And remember girls, this is a nice friendly preseason match. We’re there to have fun and enjoy the game.’
‘I can’t believe I didn’t get picked,’ whined Megan.
‘Don’t worry, Megan. I’ll make sure that you’re on the team,’ said Amelia, pushing her way past Grace-Ella and Fflur.
‘What did she mean by that?’ wondered Fflur.
‘Who knows?’ answered Grace-Ella, shrugging.
For the following twenty minutes, the girls played a half-pitch game, attack against defence.
Amelia grew increasingly frustrated as Ceinwen often managed to get the ball from her before she’d had a shot at goal.
‘Stop tackling me,’ she snarled at her friend. ‘I’m not exactly able to show myself at my best with you pouncing on me all the time.’
‘But that’s what I’m supposed to do,’ replied Ceinwen.
‘Just do what I say and let me score,’ ordered Amelia.
With only a few minutes left, Grace-Ella watched as Amelia charged up the field towards them, the ball dancing beside her swiftly moving feet. Grace-Ella looked across at Ceinwen, who was pretending to tie her laces and was not going to try to tackle her friend. It was going to be down to her.
She grasped her stick tightly. Just a few more metres and she’d lunge at the ball and swipe it away from Amelia, hopefully swiping the smile off her face in the process.
Three metres to go … two…
Closing her eyes tightly, Grace-Ella lifted her stick, swung back her arm and … thwack!
She opened her eyes to find herself face down on the ground, a searing pain in her left ankle.
‘Grace-Ella, are you OK?’ she heard Miss Fitz ask as she rushed over to her.
‘Sorry, Miss. I thought she was going to move or block me with her stick, not swing it back like a golf club. I never would have struck so hard if I’d known,’ protested Amelia innocently.
‘Accidents happen, Amelia. It was nobody’s fault. Let’s get you into the changing room to check that ankle, Grace-Ella.’
‘No serious damage, nothing broken but you’ll have a nice purple bruise by tomorrow. I think it’ll be best if you don’t play this time,’ said Miss Fitz. ‘Megan, you’ll have to take Grace-Ella’s position on defence. Now back to class, girls, excitement over. I’ll see you tomorrow at one o’clock.’
‘Never mind, Grace-Ella,’ Amelia sniggered. ‘The best position for you was always going to be sitting on the bench.’
And with yet another triumphant smile, she strutted out of the changing room like a proud peacock.
‘She did it on purpose,’ said Fflur angrily, as she helped Grace-Ella to pack everything back into her bag. ‘She’s such a horrid old moo. I wish we could get our own back on her. She deserves a dose of her own medicine.’
‘Hmm,’ agreed Grace-Ella, as she hobbled back to class.
Chapter Eight
Magical Mayhem
The hockey incident was soon forgotten. Grace-Ella had secretly been pleased when St Clare’s won the match, by eight goals to six. But she had felt bad for Fflur, who had to suffer a venomous attack from Amelia following the game.
As she practised her spells and potions, Grace-Ella couldn’t help but wish there was some way of using her magic to teach Amelia a lesson.
Within just a few weeks, she had mastered the majority of ‘Spells for Beginners’ and had an impressive collection of bottled potions lined up alphabetically on the shelves in the summer house.
Mrs Bevin had been very impressed with Tickly Tonsils and Stop Sneezing when Mr Bevin came home one evening feeling rotten, coughing and sneezing non-stop. Mrs Bevin had shooed him straight to the spare bedroom to contai
n the germs, wrapping a scarf around her face whenever she took him any food and drink.
Mr Bevin wanted to say that he only had a cold, not some dreadful tropical disease, but thought better of it.
When the potions were ready, Mr Bevin gulped them down willingly and within a few minutes, was fit and healthy, not a cough or a sneeze in sight.
‘Incredible, Grace-Ella,’ Mrs Bevin beamed. ‘You really are good at all this witchy-witchiness. How very clever you are.’
Grace-Ella couldn’t quite believe that her mother had used her name and the word ‘clever’ in the same sentence. Now that really was incredible.
She was having such a good time being a witch that she desperately wanted to share her secret with her best friends. She hated keeping the truth from them and she really wanted them to be a part of the fun. But she worried that they wouldn’t believe her and would think that she’d completely lost the plot. And even if they did believe her, what if they didn’t want a witch as a friend? What if they thought that she was too weird and stayed away from her? She was in a peppered pickle over the whole thing.
‘Fflur’s coming to play tomorrow,’ Grace-Ella told her parents one Friday evening.
‘You could have given me more warning,’ sighed Mrs Bevin. ‘I haven’t done the food shop yet and she’s always so hungry. Well, it won’t do her any harm to cut down for the day. She’s a lovely girl, just so over … overfed.’
Fflur was dropped off at Number 32, at ten o’clock the following morning.
‘She’s got some homemade Welsh cakes in her bag, just in case the girls get hungry,’ Mrs Penri told Mrs Bevin. ‘Shall I pick her up, say, five?’
‘What do you want to do?’ asked Fflur as she and Grace-Ella sat in the back garden.
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