Charley Chambers

by Rachel Kennedy

‘Because I said so. Now eat your food.’ Although she didn’t know about Charley’s magic, Linda Chambers knew her daughter was different. And she worried about her constantly.

  When Charley was safely inside her bedroom, she sank to the floor and sighed. The day had been too much for her and she felt utterly exhausted. Abbie was always brilliant, but she could never understand completely how helpless Charley felt. Having powers was meant to be a gift. To Charley, they seemed more like a curse.

  She sat with her head buried in her hands for the next hour or so, her legs pulled in close so that her chocolate-brown hair spilled over her knees. Eventually, she climbed up from the floor and took out her laptop, settling herself on the bed as it started up. Once it was ready, she opened up the internet browser and began typing the usual things she searched for: moving objects, breaking things without touching them, mind control.

  The same links came up as always: telekinesis, psychokinesis, you’reafreak.com. Okay, that one didn’t really pop up, but it was how she felt.

  Closing down the page in defeat, she picked up the phone and dialled.

  ‘Hello,’ came the familiar voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘Gran? It’s me . . . I really need to talk to you.’

  Dorcas Blightly lived in a small cottage with her two cats, Mosley and Bap. Charley adored them; she’d always loved animals but had never been allowed a pet of her own.

  ‘Get a black cat,’ Abbie had always joked, as if she were some sort of witch – though the idea wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

  Dorcas watched out the window as her eldest granddaughter raced up the path. Before she could heave herself from the chair, there were three loud raps at the door.

  ‘Come in, darling,’ she said once she eventually reached the door, ushering the young girl inside.

  ‘I’m sorry to just appear like this. I just need–’

  ‘Charley, don’t be so silly. You can always talk to me.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Gran. It’s getting out of control.’

  ‘All right. Start from the beginning.’

  Charley spoke for what felt like a lifetime, telling her gran everything there was to tell. She knew she was taking a huge risk, confessing her secret to someone so close, but she felt she had no choice.

  ‘Charley, have you ever heard of telekinesis?’

  ‘I’ve read about it, but I don’t really understand it all,’ she replied honestly.

  Dorcas hesitated. ‘Well, my mother, your great-grandmother, she was what you would call telekinetic.’

  ‘Wasn’t she the crazy one?’ Charley asked, immediately feeling bad. Dorcas laughed, feeling a sudden rush of sympathy for her mother.

  ‘Not my words,’ she said gently. ‘She wasn’t crazy. She was like you, always making things happen without any explanation as to how.’

  ‘What did she do?’ Charley asked, her interest piqued. ‘Did she manage to stop them – her powers?’

  ‘No, she couldn’t make them go away. But she learned how to manage them.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Charlotte, I’m afraid there is no easy cure. She simply had to teach herself. It took a great deal of time and effort, but eventually she began to understand her abilities.’

  Charley’s heart sank. ‘You mean I have to learn on my own? How can I do that when I don’t know why it happens? What if I end up hurting someone, Gran? I’ve done it before. What if it’s worse this time?’

  ‘I can’t give you all the answers, dear. I can only tell you what I know. But one thing’s for sure, you’ll find a way. Trust me, I know my granddaughter.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘You will.’ There was no point in arguing. The trip had been about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Maybe she would get a black cat after all.

  Charley stayed off school the following day, telling her parents she had a migraine. Her mum told her to go back to bed, though dubious of her daughter’s sudden strange behaviour.

  ‘Honey, I’ve brought you some tea and biscuits,’ Linda called at just after ten.

  No answer.

  She pushed open the door to find Charley in bed, the covers pulled tightly over her head. ‘Sweetheart, I’ve made you a drink.’

  ‘Thanks,’ came a muffled reply from under the quilts.

  ‘Head still sore?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Have you taken any painkillers?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Charley, are you sure nothing else is bothering you? Is it what happened at school yesterday?’ Despite the ceiling caving in, the school was still open as normal, the history department out of bounds while it was being repaired.

  ‘What? How do you know about that?’ Charley gasped, suddenly jumping out from under the sheets.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I know?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Gran?’

  ‘Charley, what’s got into you? The ceiling of your history class collapsed, all the parents were informed.’

  ‘Oh,’ she whispered, realising she’d got the wrong end of the stick. Her secret was still safe.

  ‘Is that what’s wrong? Maybe you have a concussion. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?’

  ‘No, Mum.’

  ‘It could be post-traumatic stress. Maybe we should go see a doctor.’

  ‘Mum, I’m not a baby. I didn’t hit my head and I’m not traumatised. I have a migraine.’ Charley didn’t want to lie to her mum, and she definitely didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but what else could she do? ‘I’m sorry, okay? I just feel really lousy today. Would you mind if I went back to sleep?’

  Linda gave up, realising she wasn’t going to get anywhere. ‘Of course, darling. Just give me a shout if you want anything.’

  ‘I will.’

  Abbie sat in her usual seat, preparing herself for another one of Mrs Beattie’s horrendous classes.

  ‘Hey, where’s your loser pal today?’ called a voice from the back of the class. It was Gary Bishop, a complete jerk and friend of Aiden Cunningham.

  ‘Get lost, asshole,’ she snapped, as a load of hissing came from the back.

  ‘No need to be rude. Just wondered where your freaky friend was, that’s all.’ A couple of them joined in, laughing as they made jokes at Charley’s expense.

  ‘Enough,’ Aiden barked. He was sitting in his chair, doodling something on a piece of paper. He looked just as moody as he always did.

  ‘We’re only having a laugh,’ Gary smirked. ‘What, do you fancy her or something?’ The boys just about wet themselves laughing at the very thought.

  ‘I said, enough,’ Aiden replied through gritted teeth, getting up and heading for the door just as Mrs Beattie arrived.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘You most certainly are not!’ she exclaimed as he marched out of the classroom.

  ‘I think he most certainly is,’ Cam laughed, causing giggles to erupt from across the room. Mrs Beattie’s anger was evident, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Abbie decided it would be fitting if steam were to start surging from her ears.

  ‘Open your books and start reading. NOW!’

  Aiden stormed down the hallway and out the double-doors that led to the staff car park. His friends could really get to him sometimes, and this time they’d pushed him over the edge.

  With a surge of anger, he swept his hand through the air in front of him. He watched the little blue Nissan Micra rock from side to side, the windows shattering instantly. He walked up to the wreck and this time, with no magic involved, began to kick the car repeatedly with his steel toe-cap boot. Once he was finished, he gave it a last jolt, causing the registration plate that read B34TT1E to break in two. As he stalked off, he turned back and glanced at the security ca
mera which was camouflaged on top of a lamppost. It exploded, and he smiled as he continued on his journey away from the school grounds.

  At three o’clock, Charley pushed back the covers and stared up at the ceiling, hoping that this one wouldn’t come down on top of her. She was done sulking. It wasn’t doing anyone any good and it certainly wasn’t making her feel any better.

  She sat up, scanning the room for something she could use. Her eyes settled on the wooden photo frame that held a picture of herself, Jess and her parents. Concentrating, she fixed her gaze on the frame, pouring all her energy into what she was trying to do. After what felt like a lifetime, she gave in, letting out a huge sigh of disappointment and flopping back on the bed. Why couldn’t she do it? Surely if she had the ability to make things move, it couldn’t be that hard to do it as and when she wanted to? Apparently it was.

  She manoeuvred herself out of bed and raced down the stairs.

  ‘Mum, I’m going out,’ she called, flinging her coat and shoes on.

  ‘Charley, you’ve been off sick. I really think it would be a good idea for you to stay indoors.’

  ‘I’m not sick, I had a headache. It’s gone now.’

  ‘I’m afraid my answer’s still no.’

  ‘Mum, I need to . . .’

  ‘Charley, I don’t know what has got into you today, or last night for that matter, but my word is final. You’re not to go out. Now let’s drop it, please.’

  ‘Fine, all right. I won’t go out.’ Linda looked at her for a second, wary of her daughter’s sudden surrender, but when Charley began to take her coat off and kick her shoes away, Linda smiled, happy that she was finally doing as she was asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed, relieved that there hadn’t been more of a fight. Charley smiled sweetly and wandered through the living room and into the hall.

  ‘Charley, don’t you dare,’ Linda yelled, suddenly realising what she had planned. As she looked out from the front door, she could see Charley racing down the street, almost out of view, in just her T-shirt, jeans and bare feet.

  By the time Charley reached the end of the road, her feet were bleeding from repeatedly pounding the pavement’s hard, uneven surface. She used the cobblestone wall next to her to balance as she picked what seemed to be a sharp piece of glass from one of her toes.

  ‘Looks sore,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Aiden . . . what are you doing here?’

  ‘Walking. You?’

  ‘Erm . . . running, I guess.’ She straightened herself, aware of how ridiculous she must have looked.

  ‘Who you running from?’ he asked sceptically.

  ‘My mum. She wouldn’t let me out. I was off sick.’

  ‘I noticed.’ There was an awkward pause as they both tried not to look at one another. ‘You have no shoes on.’

  ‘Nope,’ she answered, not sure what else to say.

  ‘Dare I ask why?’

  ‘I wouldn’t . . . I mean . . . it’s not important. Why are you talking to me anyway?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why are you talking to me? It’s bad for your reputation to be seen talking to a freak, you know.’

  ‘Who said you were a freak?’

  ‘Your friends . . .’ She looked down at her bare feet. ‘I’m probably not helping my case, running about the streets with no shoes on.’

  He was quiet for a moment, before saying, ‘We all have our reasons. Listen, I have to go just now.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Well . . . bye.’

  ‘See ya, Chambers.’

  ‘Bye,’ she said again.

  And then he was gone.

  ‘He actually said, “See ya.”? Like, he used your name?’

  ‘Well, he used my last name. But he was . . . different.’

  ‘You mean he wasn’t an asshole?’

  ‘No, he was . . . nice.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ve ever heard Aiden described as nice before.’

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

  She’d arrived at Abbie’s shortly after her encounter with Aiden. After cleaning up her foot and making tea for the two of them, Abbie had ushered Charley through to the living room to hear all about the meeting with – in her words – Newford’s ‘number one wanker’.

  ‘So what else happened?’

  ‘That was about it,’ Charley replied, shrugging her shoulders as she took a large gulp of tea. ‘We spoke for about two minutes, then he said he had to go.’

  ‘That’s a bit dull.’

  ‘What did you want to hear?’

  ‘I dunno. That you zapped him with your superhuman powers or something. Now that would’ve livened things up a bit.’

  ‘Superhuman powers I don’t know how to use. Helpful.’

  ‘You’ll figure it out one day,’ Abbie replied nonchalantly, helping herself to a chocolate biscuit from the tin she’d brought through.

  ‘I thought you said I was never going to work it out?’

  Abbie laughed, choking on her biscuit. ‘Honestly, Charles, I lose track.’

  ‘Uch, I’m doomed,’ Charley replied dramatically.

  ‘Have faith, woman. If it happens, it happens. Now, enough magic talk. You have an essay for Mrs Beastly to do.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yep. For tomorrow. I was told to “make sure you were aware of this”. I did say you were sick, but she was having none of it.’

  ‘Have you done yours?’

  ‘Hell no. I plan to do it later using my good friend, Mr Google, and his two friends, Mr Copy and Mr Paste.’

  ‘Ah, of course.’ Charley giggled.

  The girls spent the next two hours completing Charley’s half-hearted attempt at an essay on contemporary playwrights. Abbie spent most of the time as she’d promised, copying and pasting large chunks of text to use later in her own assignment. Once Charley had what she said ‘would do’ down on paper, she gathered her things up and began preparing for the inevitable – facing her mother.

  ‘Will she be mad?’ Abbie asked as she flung a cardigan at Charley’s head.

  ‘Thanks. Eh, I dunno. She might be to start with, but you know what she’s like. Nice as pie once you shed a tear or two.’

  ‘You devious little bugger,’ Abbie laughed, this time throwing a pair of trainers Charley’s way. ‘Borrow them, too. Can’t have you walking back with no shoes on – people will start to think you’re weird.’

  ‘Bit late for that.’

  ‘Weird is better than ordinary. Ordinary’s boring.’

  ‘Sometimes I don’t think boring would be that bad.’

  ‘Trust me, normal’s overrated. You’re special, Charles.’

  ‘Well, thank you. Your words mean the world,’ Charley replied sarcastically. ‘I gotta go. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yup. In the words of Aiden Cunningham, see ya, Chambers.’

  As Charley turned the handle to the front door, she readied herself for a rollicking. Her mother was as soft as butter most of the time, but in circumstances like these, she could be quite scary. She pushed open the door and slowly stepped inside, scanning the empty room.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’ The voice came from the kitchen.

  ‘I’m back,’ Charley said as she wandered through to where her mother was washing up dishes.

  ‘Okay.’ So it was the silent treatment she was getting.

  ‘Mum, I know you’re angry–’

  ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.’ Charley’s face fell.

  ‘Mum! Disappointed is so much worse than angry. Can’t you just yell at me?’ Charley petted her lip.

  ‘No, I can’t. Because I am disappointed. I’m disappointed that you disobeyed me and I’m hurt that you lied to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘That’s the th
ing, Charley. I don’t think you are. I’m going for a bath before I start dinner. I would say stay indoors, but what would be the point in that?’

  After two weeks of apologies, flowers and doing endless chores, Linda finally gave in and forgave Charley for disobeying her. She hadn’t been mad that Charley had left the house when she’d been told to stay indoors – not really – and she wasn’t even too bothered that her daughter had lied to her; she was a teenager, lying to their parents was what they were supposed to do. She was simply worried. She knew something was . . . unusual about Charley, and she would do anything in her power to protect her.

  ‘You coming to mine tonight?’ Abbie asked as they made their way home from school. They’d taken the slightly longer route past Bryan’s Bakery, something Abbie always insisted on doing.

  ‘I dunno, I guess so.’

  ‘Well that’s enthusiasm for you,’ Abbie replied sarcastically.

  ‘Sorry, I just thought we could go out. I’ve been stuck in my house all week and it’s driving me crazy.’

  ‘Yes, but you won’t be in your house, will you? You’ll be in mine. And besides, my mum’s going out, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Charley grinned. ‘We could raid her booze cupboard, help ourselves to a beer or two.’ She was only joking, but the smile on Abbie’s face implied she had other ideas.

  ‘Charles, you rebel! Two whole beers? I mean, maybe one . . . but two? You might end up drunk.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Charley laughed, hitting her friend on the arm a little harder than intended. ‘You know what my mum thinks about alcohol.’

  ‘You can stay over, problem solved. Anyway, that’s not even what I had planned. I was thinking we could maybe play about with your magic?’

  ‘Abbie, no. I can’t.’

  ‘But you never try.’

  ‘I have tried.’

  ‘Like, once. Come on, I bet we can make it work. You always struggle on your own, but you’ll have me there as your guide. We can do a Ouija board, or a séance!’