Franklin's Emporium

by Gill Vickery

  ‘It’s gloves you want, isn’t it my dear?’

  ‘Yes please, white lace ones.’

  She got up in a swirl of cinnamon skirts, the little mirrors glinting like raindrops. She moved a pile of midnight blue cushions and reached for an ebony box dotted with pearly moons. She lifted the lid. ‘Choose.’

  I plunged my hand in and took the first pair I touched. ‘How much?’

  ‘Ten pounds.’

  I paid and the old lady gave me the gloves in another blue and white stripy bag.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She smiled, nodded and went back to her knitting.

  I wove my way back through the chairs and tables to the lift and pressed the call button. It didn’t light up. I groaned. I was going to have to carry this lump down seven flights of stairs and walk all the way home.

  I hitched Maisie up, leaned her over one shoulder and looked round the terrace. The old lady pointed with a knitting needle. Away in a corner was an open door with ‘Stairs’, painted above it. I groaned again and set off.

  I was done for when I got back to the house and I was worried about what might happen if I bumped into Minty and Adrian. They’d be very surprised to see me carrying a baby, especially one that was a mini-Maisie. Luckily for me they were still in the marquee making party arrangements. I panted up the stairs and into Maisie’s room without them seeing me.

  I dumped Maisie on her bed. Now what? I thought. Nothing happened – she stayed a baby.

  I thought harder. The first gloves had turned Maisie into a baby. Maybe I had to take them off.

  It’s hard getting gloves off a baby. They’ve got these really small, wriggly hands like demented starfish. It’s even harder trying not to wake them up while you’re doing it.

  Once I’d got the gloves off I didn’t know what to do with them. Maisie wouldn’t want them. I decided to put them in the paper bag and get rid of them as soon as I could.

  I got the bag out of my pocket, took the new gloves out and put the first pair in. Just as I shoved the bag back into my jeans, Maisie opened her eyes wide. She took one look at me, screwed her face up and bawled.

  ‘Shush!’ I hissed at her.

  She screamed even louder.

  Think! I told myself desperately. What had made Maisie drop off to sleep before? Of course: putting the gloves on.

  I jammed the new ones on her hands. A whole screwed-up little fist fitted into the palm part. Maisie stopped shrieking and hiccupped.

  ‘Nice Maisie,’ I said.

  She glared. Her mouth quivered and opened to let out a scream. The glove magic began to work. She managed one evil look from under half-closed eyelids then sagged into the green dress like a deflated balloon and whiffled a small snore.

  I sank onto the end of the bed in relief.

  Maisie began to change. I watched in horrible fascination as she went from baby to toddler in seconds. It made me feel a bit queasy, especially the teeth suddenly bursting out of her gums.

  As she grew older her fingers got caught up in the lace and I had to untangle them and poke them through the finger holes. It wasn’t that creepy as the growing began to slow down once Maisie got to about six or seven.

  I decided to leave. I definitely didn’t want to be there when Maisie woke up. Not with the designer dress all crumpled and specky with drool. Not to mention the wet patches.

  I quickly changed my soggy T-shirt and ran downstairs into the hallway. I cannoned straight into Adrian. He gave a snort, ‘pfff,’ and clutched his midriff.

  ‘Sorry! Sorry!’

  ‘Not your fault, Alex,’ Adrian puffed.

  He took a few deep breaths. ‘We heard screaming coming from upstairs. I was on my way to investigate.’

  He squinted at me suspiciously. ‘What was going on? You and Maisie haven’t come to blows have you?’

  ‘Oh no, Uncle Adrian.’ I laughed cheerfully.

  Adrian narrowed his eyes even more suspiciously. I never laugh like that. I usually laugh sarcastically.

  ‘Cats – it was tomcats fighting – they screamed like babies. Horrible.’

  Minty appeared. ‘Well, what was it?’ she demanded. She sounded stressed. Maybe the party arrangements were getting to her.

  ‘Tomcats, Araminta, brawling,’ Adrian said.

  ‘Really?’ Minty wasn’t stupid.

  I backed towards the door. ‘Yes, I saw them. That big black and white one from next door and a Siamese I haven’t seen before. It was a chocolate point,’ I added, describing my best friend’s cat, hoping it made my story more believable.

  ‘Siamese, that would explain it,’ Adrian said. ‘They can make one hell of a noise.’

  I fled outside. The garden flares were stacked neatly by the marquee, which meant Adrian wouldn’t need to go back to the Vermin Shed. That suited me fine. I needed a rest after everything that had happened.

  I’d left my book behind but it didn’t matter. I’d got a whole stack of others in the shed. I’d bought them from the Black Cat Bookshop at Franklin’s. I chose one of my favourites, The Mummy’s Revenge, and settled back in the old armchair. I immediately got lost in the story and forgot all about Maisie and the gloves. I reached one of the best parts where the mummy is lurching through foggy London streets bemoaning its fate, tearing bandages from its ravaged visage with hands that are nothing but shrivelled claws, their nails curved into blackened talons. The last wrapping tears away and the mummy’s hideous face, shrivelled and leathered, feels the first breath of air on its skin for thousands of years.

  A tap at the window broke the spell.

  I looked up. There, peering at me through the window, eyes burning with hatred, was the mummy.

  Chapter Six

  THE MUMMY’S REVENGE

  The mummy’s head wobbled at me from the top of a skinny neck, knobbly as a stick of Brussels sprouts. Its lipless mouth opened, its tongue flapped in its almost toothless mouth and it croaked, ‘Help me.’

  No chance. I was staying safe inside the Vermin Shed.

  The thing disappeared. The door handle began to rattle.

  I leapt out of the chair and turned the key in the lock. The door shook as the mummy pounded on it. ‘Let me in!’

  Never.

  The mummy appeared at the window again. Its face was screwed up in fury and its withered fist hammered on the window till I thought the glass was going to break.

  ‘Alex, come out and help me!’

  It knew my name? I looked more closely at the wizened face pressed against the glass. Even though it looked like a squashed toad I recognized the scowl. The green dress flapping round the bony shoulders was familiar as well. And the lace gloves on its clenched hands.

  The mummy-thing was Maisie.

  A horrible thought crept into my mind. This was my fault. I’d got the second spell all wrong. I’d asked the liftman to make Maisie, ‘much, much older,’ and he had, literally.

  ‘I didn’t mean make her ancient,’ I muttered guiltily as I unlocked the shed door.

  The second I was outside, Maisie clamped a claw-like hand on my wrist and shook me, hard. She had a lot of strength for someone that old.

  ‘You’ve got to help me, Alex.’

  Long nails dug into my skin. The ancient eyes, like wrinkly raisins poked into a pudding, spilled tears. ‘Mummy and Daddy threw me out. They didn’t want to listen to me.’

  I wasn’t surprised; I didn’t want to listen either but I couldn’t help it. Mummified Maisie was horribly fascinating.

  ‘You will help me, won’t you, Alex. You’re always reading about this sort of thing – you understand how it works. You can make me myself again.’

  I didn’t particularly want Maisie to be herself again, acting superior and trying to make my life a misery with her sneering and her taunting, but she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Of course I was going to help. Anyway, I felt guilty for fooling about with magic and making a mess of it.

  Maisie began to wheedle. ‘You’re so clever
, Alex. I know you can do it.’

  She was pathetic.

  We went to Franklin’s. It took a while. Maisie’s tottering, 3,000 year old legs were like sticks and I was worried they’d break if we went too fast or she tripped. I just hoped no one was going to stop me and ask what I was doing with bad-sight-of-the-week clinging to my arm like a living nightmare. To take my mind off it, I told Maisie the whole story of the liftman, the wishes and Harriette’s Haberdashery.

  She wasn’t pleased. ‘It’s your fault. You’ve done this to me.’

  I couldn’t deny it. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ I said. ‘I’ll get it right this time.’

  The claw squeezed tighter, like a manacle. ‘You’d better.’

  We reached Franklin’s at last and Maisie followed me through the revolving doors into the lobby.

  The grockle family were on their way out. I accidentally trod on one of the little kid’s toes. He yelped and stuck his tongue out at me. Maisie peered over my shoulder at him. He howled in terror.

  ‘Now wait a minute. . .’ The dad picked the boy up and advanced towards Maisie. She hissed like a maddened snake and the whole family stepped back. The other children began to cry and Maisie hissed louder than ever.

  ‘Stop it!’ I dragged Maisie to the lift and banged on the lift button. The doors opened immediately and as soon as the old man pulled the grille to one side I shoved Maisie inside.

  I didn’t bother discussing the rules with the liftman. I knew them by now – only too well.

  ‘I ask of Harriette a final pair,

  Of white lace gloves for her...’ I glared at Maisie, ‘...to wear.’

  I turned my glare on the liftman. He was very, very still in his shadowy corner. According to everything I’ve read in fantasy, there’s a rule of three in magic. I’d asked Harriette for three pairs of gloves and now I was making a third wish from the liftman. It was my last chance to get Maisie back to normal. I thought flattery might help.

  ‘My wish of you, O mighty mage,

  Is, make this girl her rightful age,’ I gabbled.

  Nothing happened. My mind whirred. What else did he want – respect? That snarky thought made me feel a bit uneasy; the old man had tried to help me put my accidental spell-making right. I thought up another verse and spoke more humbly.

  ‘I beg you through my flowing tears,

  Restore her to her proper years.’

  I wasn’t actually crying but it was the best I could do on the spur of the moment. It worked. The lift jerked upwards to the third floor with its rows of units and browsing customers. The liftman pointed with his gnarly finger. Through the strolling groups of shoppers I saw the top of Harriette’s blue pavilion.

  We got out and I turned to thank the old man. Too late, the lift doors were closing and I only caught a glimpse of him. His hand was raised in farewell and his face looked sad. I waved back, though I don’t think he saw me.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Maisie snarled.

  I turned away from the lift, steered her towards the tent and parked her behind a bank of ostrich plumes to screen her from shoppers.

  This time Harriette was a young woman and she was waiting for us. She held a sandalwood box, studded all over with brass suns. She opened it. There was only one pair of gloves inside.

  Maisie started trying to tear off the gloves she was wearing. She couldn’t manage it by herself and I had to do it for her. It wasn’t pleasant; the leathery ridges and bony lumps on her hands kept getting snagged in the lace. And she was shaking.

  I managed it at last and tried to stuff the gloves in my pocket. It was already full with the first pair of gloves I’d put in the bag and forgotten about. I put the second pair into the bag and squashed the whole lot back into my jeans.

  ‘Hurry up!’ Maisie snarled.

  I worked the new gloves over her mummified hands.

  Maisie held them up and stared, mesmerized.

  ‘How much?’ I asked Harriette.

  ‘Fifteen pounds,’ she said in her smoke-on-the-wind voice. I paid her the last of Maisie’s money and she went behind a curtain at the back of the tent. We got out as fast as Maisie’s ancient legs would let us. It was the last I ever saw of Harriette.

  ‘C’mon.’ I led Maisie to the stairs, tucked away in a corner. We had to go past a fancy dress unit which was a good thing as Maisie didn’t look out of place next to the zombie outfits on display.

  Halfway down the stairs Maisie began to change again. Her mahogany skin flaked off in strips like old wallpaper. Ancient brown stumps of teeth wobbled free and dropped with a ‘plink, plink, plink’ on the stone steps. I decided I didn’t want to see any more and ran down the stairs. I waited at the bottom. Maisie’s footsteps got nearer. They stopped. I turned, slowly, hoping to see Maisie back to her normal self.

  She was.

  Chapter Seven

  TRAPPED

  On the way home Maisie’s mouth was sealed tighter than a super glued envelope. She stared straight ahead and marched on, head up, the grubby green dress flapping round her. People stared, and not in the way she was used to. They laughed. She took no notice. By the time we reached the house I couldn’t help admiring her. She hadn’t complained once.

  We went in by the back door and up to her bedroom without Minty or Adrian catching us. I closed the door, leaned back on it and breathed a sigh of relief. Maisie pulled off the gloves, dropped them on the bed and went into the bathroom. I heard the key turn.

  I knocked on the door. ‘Let me know when you’re done,’ I said. I needed to get cleaned up too. All that ancient, peeling skin had creeped me out and made me want a good scrub down. Besides which, there was still the party to get ready for.

  Maisie didn’t answer. All I heard was the shower going and the clink of beauty treatment bottles. She was going to be a long time. I decided I might as well go to my room and pick up where I’d left off with The Curse of the Hunter’s Moon.

  As I lay back on my bed I felt an uncomfortable lump under my bum. It was the paper bag with the first two pairs of gloves. I’d had enough of them. I took the bag out, screwed it up even tighter and lobbed it into the wastepaper basket.

  Maisie barged into my room about an hour later. She was in a bathrobe, with her hair in a towel. One arm was stretched out in front of her and the third pair of gloves dangled between her finger and thumb.

  ‘These gloves you got me are rubbish.’ She dropped them on the floor, wiped her fingers on her bathrobe and held out her hand, palm up.

  ‘Give me my money.’

  I gawped in astonishment. I couldn’t help it.

  ‘I used it all,’ I reminded her. ‘There’s no change.’

  ‘For a pair of scabby gloves? I don’t think so.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘My money, BABY Alex.’

  I felt my temper building up. Maisie knew I hadn’t meant for the magic to happen and I’d done my best to put it right.

  ‘It was three pairs, remember?’ I snapped.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I had to pay for three pairs. Those,’ I tipped my head at the gloves on the floor, ‘and the ones that turned you into a baby and a shrivelled old hag.’

  Maisie went pale. Then she flushed and did her waxy sneer. ‘That ridiculous tale you came up with? It was just a stupid story like the ones you’re forever reading.’

  She was doing what she always did: persuading herself that what she didn’t like didn’t exist or hadn’t happened. It wound me up when she was caught out getting me in trouble and then denying she was involved. She was convincing enough to pass a lie detector test. Adrian and Minty believed her every time. I was going to let it go, as usual, but then she went too far.

  ‘Grow up, BABY Alex,’ she said.

  That was one ‘baby’ too many. I jumped up, ran to the wastepaper basket and fished out the paper bag.

  ‘What about these then?’ I shook the gloves onto the bed.

  Maisie stared at them in horror. Her eyes bulged like gobstopper
s and she recoiled until her back was pressed against the wall.

  ‘Get rid of them!’ she snarled.

  Though I didn’t particularly want to touch them, I picked the gloves up off the floor and managed to get all three pairs into the bag and folded the top over.

  ‘Burn them!’ Maisie ordered. ‘Now.’

  I didn’t argue – burning the gloves was a good idea. I went straight to the fire pit in the kitchen garden. When I got there my heart sank; Adrian was standing in the doorway of the Vermin Shed.

  ‘Ah, Alex, come and help me with the posthole diggers.’ He disappeared into the shed.

  What was he up to now? I followed him into the shed.

  ‘Here you are.’ Adrian ferreted out two digging tools and handed me one. ‘Come on, I’ll show you what to do. We’re going to plant those flares. The gardener’s cancelled; he’s not well.’ He rushed out of the shed.

  I was sorry for the gardener but I was glad for me. Digging holes was better than getting ready for the party, and it kept me away from Maisie. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to get a chance to burn the gloves, at least not straightway. I grabbed a half-empty jar labelled ‘nails – large’, stuffed the paper bag inside and pushed it to the back of a shelf.

  I was worried about leaving the bag there. Adrian was in and out of the shed all the time and might find it by accident. I’d have to get it back as soon as possible.

  I ran out after Adrian and helped him with the flares. He asked my opinion on where to position them and took notice of what I said. That made a change from being ordered around by Maisie. We dug holes and planted the big flares round the pond and along the pathways and the smaller ones around the bottom of the maze hedge.

  When we’d finished Adrian stood back and leaned on his spade, a pleased smile on his face. ‘It’s going to look good.’ He gave me a hearty slap on the back. I staggered. He was too busy feeling proud of himself to notice and I was too happy being out of Maisie’s way to care about being winded.

  ‘Better go inside, get dolled up for the party and all that,’ Adrian said. ‘Time’s getting on.’