by Mandy Martin
and the wishes, the spelling and the park and the ballet.
“You threw up on the examiner’s shoes! Oh, Esme.” Nat laughed. “But you don’t expect me to believe this is all from some silly pot? You know that sounds crazy, right?”
Esme nodded. “But it’s still true. I was Edward, in cricket. I played at mid-wicket and dropped my first catch, held the second, and told coach I was a rabbit.”
Nat’s eyes became bright brown marbles in his head. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Woah!” He picked up the pepper pot. “So you just hold it and wish?”
“And sneeze, twice I think,” Esme added. “But I wouldn’t. So far all my wishes have gone wonky.”
“That’s because you weren’t doing them right.” Nat grinned. “Your wishes were too personal. Spelling tests? Ballet class? Get real, Esme. You want to be wishing bigger!”
Was it her imagination or did the silver face look eager? A sudden mix of incense and pepper wafted around them. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said hurriedly. “I think the pot has a nasty sense of humour. It took me to a rainy park, made me vomit on my ballet examiner, and landed me in the Spelling Championships. Which I am going to fail!”
“Why? Just make a wish and you’ll breeze it!” Nat said without taking his eyes off the pot. “Can I borrow this? I could use some good luck.”
Esme shook her head. “Bad idea. Besides, I need to hang on to it. Great Aunt Maud is going to be on Dosh in the Loft. I’m hoping the experts will know something about it.” She held out her hand and Nat reluctantly handed back the pot.
“Are we still friends?” Esme asked.
“If you promise not to do anymore wishing around me!” Nat said with a smile. Esme nodded vigorously. She didn’t plan on doing any more wishing at all.
As they left the changing room together, a group of year 3 kids spotted them. “Ooh,” they chanted. “Nat and Esme sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G!”
Esme flushed and hurried away, but even that couldn’t spoil her happy mood.
“Esmerelda, are you ready?” Mum asked, sticking her head into Esme’s room that evening.
“Ready for what, Mum?” Esme looked up blankly from her book.
“You’ve forgotten!” Mum’s face fell. “We’re meant to be going to my art exhibition at the church. You were going to wear the pink dress.” The last word came out with a wobble.
Esme gulped. She had forgotten. With everything at school that week, her brain was a mess. Mum was so proud of her paintings. She met with her art group on a Thursday, on her afternoon off work. Once a year they had a show at the church and tonight was opening night.
“Give me five minutes!” Esme said, jumping up. She looked at the dress hanging on her wardrobe door. Did she really have to wear it? But it was the least she could do, after forgetting Mum’s big night. Mum gave a shaky smile and disappeared downstairs.
Esme pulled the dress over her head, wincing as the lace scratched her arms. If only it were less pink and sparkly. I wish Mum would let me wear the clothes I like, she thought. And then she caught herself. No more wishes! Thank goodness she was nowhere near the pot or the sneezy pepper.
At last the dress was in place. Esme grimaced at her reflection. She looked like a bottle of strawberry milk with bunches. Yuk! She’d much prefer black leggings and a t-shirt. Oh well, it was only one night.
“Don’t you look gorgeous!” Mum said, as Esme ran down the stairs. “Here, let me brush your hair. How about I put it in a plait this evening, rather than bunches?”
Esme nodded. Mum pulled out the de-tangle spray and squirted it at the brush. It flew round Esme’s face and up her nose. She sneezed, twice. Suddenly a loud ripping sound filled the air, and her pink dress lay around her feet in pieces.
“Esmerelda Smudge!” Mum cried. “What did you do?”
“N n nothing,” Esme stammered. “I didn’t even move.”
“You must have,” Mum shouted. “Look at the dress. That was expensive. I worked so hard to buy that for you.”
That was too much for Esme. “No one asked you to! I don’t even like pink. If you cared about what I think, instead of trying to turn me into some silly princess, you would know that. I hate pink and I hate frills and I hate dresses.” She burst into tears.
There was a terrible pause, and then Mum started sobbing too. She sank to the floor and hugged her knees. “You ungrateful child. I do everything for you. It isn’t easy, being a single parent. I try to make sure you don’t miss out. I give you everything I never had as a child. I would have died to have had such a beautiful dress.” She gathered up the pieces of pink fabric and cradled them in her arms.
Esme shrivelled a little bit inside. Mum had never called her ungrateful before. And it really hadn’t been her that ruined the dress. Or had it? She’d made that wish upstairs, but she wasn’t even holding the pot. And the sneezes came later. Was it getting more powerful? Or more nasty?
“I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to rip the dress. I’ll fix it.”
“How?” Mum wailed. “We have to leave in five minutes.” She pulled the pieces tighter and sobbed even louder.
Esme hurried upstairs in her underwear. This time the pepper pot was going to do something good. She rummaged in her school bag and found the metal pot. It felt warm in her hand, and the face looked impish. “You can wipe that smirk off your face, you will do exactly as I wish, or I’ll throw you in the dustbin.” The face didn’t move, but somehow now it looked wary. “I mean it,” Esme said through gritted teeth. “You hurt my mum.”
She held the pot tight and sniffed at the pepper holes until her nose tickled. “I wish the dress was exactly as it was before I put it on, complete and in one piece, so that Mum isn’t sad anymore.” Then she sneezed, and sneezed again.
Dancing Dad
“Esme!” Mum screamed.
Esme ran down the stairs so fast she slipped and slid down the last three. Ignoring the pain in her bottom, she hurried to Mum. “What’s wrong?”
“Look!” Mum said in awe. She held up the dress. It was whole again, and shimmering slightly. Esme smiled in relief. It had worked.
“What happened?” Mum dropped the dress and held her head. “Tell me I’m not going loopy.”
“You’re not going loopy, I promise. Or, if you are, we both are.” Mum looked up questioningly. “You remember I told you I got all my spellings right because I wished on the pepper pot?”
“Esme, I told you that was just silly,” Mum interrupted.
“No, it isn’t,” Esme said earnestly. “It’s happened lots of times. Today at school I turned into a boy! Ask Nat, he’ll tell you it’s true. And when we were in Aunt Maud’s attic I got taken to the park. And I wished to be good at ballet when I went all spinning-psycho.” She took a deep breath and held up the pot for Mum to see. “Just now I wished I didn’t have to wear the dress, and it fell apart as soon as I sneezed. That’s the trigger. But you were so upset, I wished for it to be all fixed. And it is.” Esme ran out of words and slumped, panting, on the floor next to Mum.
Mum’s mouth opened and closed a few times and then she rubbed her temples. “I think I need a cup of tea.”
“Sorry, Mum. I should have left the pot in the attic like you said. The wishes always go wrong, and the one with the dress – I wasn’t even holding the pot! I think it’s getting stronger.” Esme could see it was on the tip of Mum’s tongue to tell her not to be so fanciful. “I promise I’m not making it up. Wish for something. Anything. Go on.”
The hallway fell into a waiting sort of silence as Mum thought about Esme’s words. Esme guessed she didn’t know what to make of it all and was going to come up with something impossible like wishing them to the moon.
“I wish I knew where your father was,” Mum said, so quietly Esme wasn’t sure she’d heard her right.
Dad? Mum never ever talked about him. What Esme knew, she’d learned from Aunt Maud. Apparently, when she was only nineteen, Mum had run off with a ballet
dancer and ended up in Russia. He’d chosen his career over her when she admitted to being pregnant, so Mum had come home to Aunt Maud. Why mention him now, all of a sudden?
Esme held the pepper pot tightly in one hand and reached for Mum’s hand with the other. Linking fingers with Mum she whispered, “I want to go with Mum to see my dad.” Then she sniffed at the pepper and sneezed twice.
The room didn’t just tilt; it dropped away like a rock, as if they were on the scariest ride at the fair. Esme clung to Mum’s fingers until she knew it must hurt, but if Mum could feel it she was keeping quiet. Darkness sucked at Esme and she began to panic. It was creepier than the corners in the attic, more frightening than the ghostly night walk she’d done with Nat last year for a dare. This was dry-mouth, knotted-tummy, sweaty-hand scary.
And then it stopped. Esme and Mum landed with a bump on soft velvet cushions. It was still dark, but a gentle dark lit by a distant glow. They were in a theatre. Haunting music swirled around them, making Esme think of empty lonely oceans stretching on forever.
As she recovered from the trip, Esme noticed other things. They were in one of the ornate boxes reserved for posh people. But the other seats were empty. She was about to mention it to Mum when she noticed that Mum’s gaze was fixed on the stage. Esme shuffled forward in her seat and rested her hands on the rail.
A single spotlight lit the stage. In the centre, moving to the beautiful music, was a man in