For my late grandmother Illeene MacLeod,
my inspiration when I was young,
and for my daughter Sian,
my inspiration always.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it
- Roald Dahl
Two strong legs stood rigid on the soft mattress, bouncing softly as a pair of beady eyes stared through the wooden bars of the cot. Her small, chubby hands gripped on tightly as a stream of saliva flowed from her mouth, causing the neck of her babygro to dampen instantly. She’d woken from her nap early as usual. Her mother was downstairs and completely unaware, as the infant was yet to make a sound.
She scanned the room, big baby eyes taking in all the sights before her: the music box that Mama played every night before bed; the giant teddy which was too large to sleep with but great for daytime cuddles; the reindeer snow globe Gran had given her for Christmas. The same things she looked at every day after naptime. She smiled.
As she peered out from the enclosure, she noticed her pink rattle slowly making its way across the floor. She let out a giggle. It had never done that before. It rolled over to the teddy bear and stopped when it hit its foot. The teddy fell over. Another giggle.
She could hear the sound of Mum’s footsteps below, leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs. Without warning, there was a loud crash as the picture that hung above her dresser came tumbling down, clattering off the floor and sending shards of glass all over the place. The snow globe fell next, shattering as it hit the hard surface, water exploding from its centre. Her music box did the same, slamming off the floor and breaking in two. The ballerina that turned ever so elegantly inside was twisted and bent.
No giggles.
The tiny one-year-old let out an ear-splitting shriek as she looked upon the mess in front of her.
‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong?’ The voice was muffled as her mother dashed for the stairs, heading quickly to her daughter’s bedroom. ‘Hey, honey, what’s the ma–?’
She stopped still as she surveyed the broken glass, the puddle of water, the battered music box. ‘Oh my word, what on earth happened, darling?’ Not expecting an answer, she scooped the child into her arms and took her downstairs, looking back, bewildered, at the disarray behind her.
The school bell gave off its piercing ring and a flurry of bodies hurried towards the entrance, some eager to return to class, most looking forward to sheltering from the rain that had been falling steadily for the past ten minutes.
Charley shrugged her shoulders and let out a sigh, forcing herself to walk slowly towards the doors. Her favourite time of the school day was over, the time where she could be alone, the time where she could just be Charley.
Charley Chambers wasn’t an ordinary teenager, she was magic. Rather, she had magical powers – of sorts. The only problem was, Charley didn’t know how to use them. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She was perfectly capable of releasing her powers, she just had no idea how to control them, which could occasionally get her into a bit of bother.
Okay, a lot of bother.
Like the time she set Mr Jenson’s trousers on fire, and the whole school had to wait outside for an hour until the fire brigade were sure it was safe. Or the time she knocked coffee into Shirley O’Donoghue’s lap from twenty yards away. Luckily the coffee was only lukewarm, but Charley – and the rest of her class – had had the great privilege of hearing Shirley whine about her ruined Gucci sweater for a month after.
The thing is, no one actually knew it was Charley doing all these things: causing accidents, spilling drinks, prompting Fred Anderson to walk in front of a bus – yes, that actually happened. He was all right, thankfully, but he had to spend a month at home encased in several different plaster casts while his bones fused themselves back together.
Might sound great, having magic, being able to make amazing things happen, being more powerful than everyone else at school. Well, everyone else, full stop. But for Charley, it was more like a nightmare. Every day she lived with the fear that someone would discover the truth, find out she was a freak. But even worse, she was terrified someone would get hurt again. Really hurt. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
‘Chambers? Gonna move from my seat?’ The harsh voice jolted Charley from her trance, causing the group of boys in front of her to fall about laughing. All but one.
‘Aiden . . .’ Charley stammered, collecting her things in a panic. ‘Sorry, I just . . . I didn’t even realise I was at the wrong desk. I’m sorry . . .’ More laughter erupted as she stuttered her apologies, fumbling over her books.
‘Shut up,’ Aiden snapped at the boys, causing the room to fall silent. ‘Stop whimpering and just move, yeah?’ He shot her a sarcastic smile as she manoeuvred herself from his chair.
‘Ignore them,’ Abbie snapped, her voice raised. ‘They’re just a bunch of lowlifes with nothing better to do.’
Abbie Gibbons was Charley’s best friend. Actually, she was more like Charley’s only friend. But she was a good one, and there for Charley no matter what.
‘You okay?’ she asked, swinging back on her chair so that it was balanced on just two legs. Her long, auburn hair was knotted tightly in a thick plait and hung casually over her left shoulder.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Charley smiled, trying her best to brush off the embarrassment of what had just happened.
‘Just checking. Why were you sitting in Aiden’s seat anyway?’
‘I dunno. I was too tired to think about it. I just sat at the first desk I came to.’
‘You not been sleeping again?’ Abbie questioned, blowing a sticky, pink bubble with the gum she’d been ferociously chomping on.
‘Not well,’ she admitted. ‘I’m knackered all day, then as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m wide awake.’
‘Sod’s law.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Is it still happening, you know . . . at night?’
‘It happens all the time, Abbs. I’m exhausted.’
Abbie had known about Charley’s magic for a while, ever since the time Charley had accidently turned her lemonade to ice just by touching the glass. She’d tried to make up some excuse about the fridge temperature being too low, but when the glass exploded in her hand, she knew she had some explaining to do. She’d been petrified, finally admitting her secret to someone. Turns out it was a good move; Abbie had never been anything but supportive towards her.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing good, let’s put it that way.’ Abbie raised her eyebrows, obviously not satisfied with the vague reply. ‘I burst all the light bulbs. Mum thought we had a power cut, until she stood on the glass and sliced her foot open.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah. And today they’re calling an electrician out to check all the wiring, which is costing them way more than it should, especially since there’s nothing wrong with it.’
‘You still don’t want to tell them?’
‘No way. Although I don’t know how much longer I can hide it. They already think the house is haunted.’
‘Really?’ Abbie snorted.
‘Well, not really. But they constantly talk about all the weird stuff that happens. This morning I made my breakfast disappear. Mum looked completely baffled, then told me I’d make myself sick if I ate too fast.’
‘You can actually make things disappear?’ Abbie raised her eyebrows.
‘Apparently so.’
‘How’d you do it?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘You didn’t do anything different or unusual?’
‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. Click your fingers, or . . . chant some magic words or something.’
Charley frowned. ‘Nope, pretty sure I didn’t snap my fingers together or cast a magic spell. I was picking up my spoon, for God’s sake.’
‘Picking a spoon up isn’t exactly out of the ordinary.’
‘I wouldn’t say so, no.’
‘Do something now,’ Abbie squeaked excitedly. She knew fine well Charley couldn’t, yet she asked almost every day.
‘You know I can’t.’
‘How do you know if you don’t try?’
‘Abbie . . .’
‘Come on. Just focus on something.’ She looked around, searching the classroom for the perfect object. ‘Cam’s water, see if you can knock it down.’ Cameron McCreery was one of the boys who had been mocking Charley just five minutes before.
‘I’m not spilling his water.’
‘Go on. You know you want to.’
‘No, I really don’t. And I can’t. Can we talk about something else, something normal?’
‘Spoilsport.’ Charley glared at her and Abbie held her hands up, backing down.
‘All right, you win. I’ll stop bugging you.’
There was a loud bang as the door slammed shut, Mrs Beattie strutting in quickly, her small heels clacking against the ground.
‘Quiet, please. Take out your reading books and continue from where you left off on Tuesday. I want silence for the next half hour.’
Mrs Beattie was their English teacher, tall, thin and incredibly pretty. She was also impatient, rude and terribly strict. ‘Charley, swap seats with Jonathan please.’
‘But Mrs . . .’
‘No buts. After the constant chatter between yourself and Abbie last class, I want you two separated. Now move.’
Charley turned to see Jonathan collecting his belongings, not happy at all about the switch. He and Abbie hated each other. They couldn’t stand being in the same room, never mind sitting in neighbouring chairs. Even worse, his current seat was next to Aiden, who looked just as unhappy as she felt about the whole situation.
‘Can’t stay away, can you?’ Aiden smirked as she took her seat.
‘Oh no, you’re just far too dreamy,’ she said sarcastically, and he laughed as if he hadn’t been expecting an answer back.
‘Well, I can’t argue with you there.’
‘Are we interrupting something?’ Mrs Beattie snapped, annoyed at being disturbed in her classroom.
‘No, sorry,’ Charley said quietly.
‘If you can’t stop talking, Miss Chambers, you’ll be working outside from now on. Book open, now.’ She did as she was told, feeling foolish yet again.
She took out her book and opened it, flicking through to find where they’d left off.
‘Uh oh,’ she said to herself as she stared down at the blank pages. Something told her she’d had something to do with it, how she’d done it though was a mystery. Every page in the book was bare, the front and back cover still intact. She couldn’t show Mrs Beattie, how would she explain what had happened?
‘Excuse me, Mrs Beattie. I can’t find my book,’ she said as she slipped it back into her bag. Aiden frowned as he watched her hide it, wondering what she was up to.
‘For goodness sake, Charley, are you going to be anything but a hassle today? Go along to the library and ask for a copy, and when you come back, continue to work outside. You’re giving me a headache.’
The rest of English was pretty uneventful. Charley had managed to collect her book and return to class – well, outside the class – without anything disastrous happening. She’d knocked over a stack of magazines, but there was no magic involved, just her lack of coordination and unsteady hands. She was now sitting in her last class, impatiently watching the clock and willing the bell to ring.
‘Charley, would you like to read now, please?’ She looked up, pulled from her daydream by the stout, grey-haired woman who stood before her.
Mrs Macarthur was her history teacher, a lovely but very ditsy lady who’d been showing her age for quite some time.
‘Sorry, I was just . . . where are we?’
‘Charley, you must pay attention. Page forty-four, half way down. “On his return to Scotland . . .”’
‘I will, sorry.’ She began reading. Although the words came out clearly from her mouth, her mind wandered away someplace else. Somewhere without books or teachers or students giving her funny looks.
‘Oh my God!’
‘What’s happening?’ Shouts and screams came from all over the room, bringing Charley back to reality. She looked up, and to her horror she saw dust and plaster falling from above her, the ceiling caving in before her eyes.
She started shaking her head. ‘This can’t be happening. Is this . . . no, I can’t be doing this.’
‘Charley! Hurry up,’ Lucy Wheeler called from the door. Everyone was making for the exit, including a shaken Mrs Macarthur. She was waving her arms about, wailing as she scrambled towards the door.
‘Charley, dear, get a move on.’ But Charley stood rigid. She felt as though she was glued to the spot, watching the interior collapse around her.
‘Charley!’ Lucy called again. ‘Charley, come on!’
‘I have to stop this, I have to do something.’ Her head was spinning. Was it all her fault?
‘Honey, let’s go.’ Lucy was now at her side, clutching her hand. ‘We need to go.’ And with that, she pulled Charley forcibly towards the door, giving her no choice but to stumble out of the crumbling classroom.
‘Thank goodness,’ Mrs Macarthur gasped as the girls tumbled into the corridor. ‘Everyone, make your way downstairs in a quick but orderly fashion. Stay together once you’re outside.’ She was trying to keep calm, but the waver in Mrs Macarthur’s voice gave away how worried she was.
Teachers from the neighbouring classes had come out to see what all the commotion was about, and after seeing the destruction they were now ushering their own pupils outside in single file. It wasn’t long before the entire school had been evacuated and the students were huddled together in the pick-up zone, squashed against each other like sardines in a can.
‘Bit much drama for one bloody classroom,’ Abbie barked, pushing her way through the crowd and stopping just behind Charley.
‘Charles, what’s eating you?’ It was a nickname that had grown on Charley since Abbie had first started using it. Somehow, it seemed completely normal now.
‘You didn’t see it, Abbie, it was awful.’
‘Hey, what’s up? You look terrible.’
‘I think it was my fault.’
‘Don’t be stupid, no way could you have done that.’
‘Why not? We don’t know what I’m capable of.’
She glanced at Charley and the look she saw on her face sent shivers up Abbie’s spine. ‘Come on,’ she said, pulling at Charley’s arm.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Away from here.’
The two girls walked along the street, not in any particular direction.
‘So you gonna tell me what that was about?’ Abbie asked eventually. ‘You totally freaked out.’
‘What if that was me, Abbie? What if I did that?’
‘Come on, you don’t know anything so don’t go blaming yourself.’
‘But if it was? I could’ve killed someone.’
‘But you didn’t. You gotta stop beating yourself up when something like this happens. That school is a shambles, it’s like a million years old. It probably had nothing to do with you.’ Her words were kind, but they fell upon deaf ears. All Charley could think about was the fact that it might have been her fault, and despite what Abbie said, probably was.
‘You’re right,’ Charley whispered unconvincingly, ‘I’ll stop blaming myself.’
‘No, you won
’t. But I’m glad you’re at least trying to lie to me.’ The girls smiled at one another and Charley linked her arm through Abbie’s, grateful she had someone so understanding to turn to. But things had to change. How could she be around other people when there was a risk of them getting hurt?
‘I need to do something.’
‘Something as in . . .?’ Abbie pressed, having no idea what Charley was talking about.
‘I need to work out what powers I have. I‘ve got to find out how to use them.’
‘Charles, you’ve said this before, many times. And every time you’ve tried you’ve failed miserably.’
‘And then I just give up.’
‘You don’t give up, you just . . . run out of leads. Look, I know I joke with you, but how is this time gonna be any different?’
Charley sighed. ‘It just will. It has to be.’
‘I still say it was the school’s fault, dude.’
Charley barely said a word at dinner as she sat pushing her lasagne around the plate. Her sister, Jessica, was sitting next to her, occasionally – and deliberately – kicking her beneath the table. Charley didn’t notice.
‘Honey, are you all right?’ her mum asked, offering her the garlic bread. Charley shook her head to refuse and continued to play with her food.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You haven’t said a word since you came home, and you clearly aren’t hungry.’
‘I had a massive lunch,’ she said blankly, hardly hearing her mother’s words.
‘Why don’t you leave it in the oven then? You can have it later.’
‘Okay. May I leave the table?’
‘Of course, pet. But you would tell me if something was bothering you?’
‘Sure, Mum. I’m fine, honestly. Anyway, I have loads of homework.’
‘All right, on you go.’
‘Can I leave the table?’ Jess pouted, the half-eaten lasagne sitting in front of her.
‘Finish your tea.’
‘But how come Charley gets to leave?’
Charley Chambers Page 1