A Head Full of Magic, page 2
“Midweek cinema trip and pasta here we come!” Celeste scoffed loudly, glaring at me before popping on a large pair of sunglasses.
It was like I was wearing a sign that read: ‘Don’t Come Anywhere Near Me’.
She rolled up the car window and it whizzed off down the road.
BANG!
I slammed the front door open after running as fast as my long, skinny legs would take me. Away from school and away from them. Another flake of cherry-red paint dropped to the floor from the door-handle-shaped dent I had created behind it. I didn’t mean to slam it so hard.
I seemed to be wound up a lot lately. Especially when the school bell chimed at the end of the day, because I couldn’t wait to escape the mean giggles and whispers and snores between Celeste ‘The Best’ and her two sidekicks.
After they drove off, I raced home via Farrow Park and without getting attacked by its army of swooping, pooping pigeons. I made it back in nine minutes flat. Pretty impressive, I’d say, given my full bladder and a near-miss with a Honda Jazz outside.
I heeled off my school pumps and legged it upstairs for a wee.
“Is that you, Cindy?”
“No, Nan, it’s me,” I shouted from the toilet.
“What are you doing here so early? Didn’t you want to hang around with your friends after school and make the playground look untidy, like me and your grandpa used to?”
Nan mentions Grandpa Willie every day. What he would make of the bin strike and the temporary traffic lights down the road. What he used to like for lunch (not Mum’s soup that’s for sure!). We all missed him. Such a lot had changed in the last year that it was hard to believe it hadn’t been longer.
“Not today,” I replied as I angrily hurled the hand towel into the empty bath before climbing up to the third floor. We might not live in the biggest end-terrace you’ve ever seen but judging by how fast my breathing gets when I reach the top, it certainly feels like the tallest.
Nan had been adamant she was fit and healthy enough for our spare attic-room when she sold her flat. Her legs still had bags of life in them apparently and she didn’t want Mum or I to be uprooted from our bedrooms simply because she was moving in. Something about needing the best views, and the exercise to keep her young.
I knocked on the door then walked straight in, to be greeted as always with one of Nan’s infectiously warm smiles. My breathing levelled and I felt calmer already.
Nan’s room was incredible with a chosen place for everything. Every nook and cranny brimmed with photos, trinkets, and baskets containing more trinkets! Houseplants spilled over colourful pots next to her armchair. Bright, thick leaves tickled the ceiling as the smaller plants nestled inside the shelves that surrounded her cosy window in the middle of the wall.
I had helped Mum paint two walls blue and the other two white before Nan moved in. She arrived a couple of days later with a thick pair of yellow curtains and some matching blue, white, and yellow cushions that filled the room with life. It was a bit like being on a beach only without the sand, particularly as a vibrant canvas of St. Lucia proudly occupied the space behind her bed.
Nan took a break from writing in her reddy-orangey notebook beside the window to ask, “Why not, baby?”
Sir Barclay straightened his back and glared at me as I tried to think up a convincing excuse. What could Nan do about it anyway?
“I just didn’t feel like playing tonight, that’s all.” I scratched the little rice-crispie-sized mole on my left cheek. “And I was bursting for the toilet.” Technically that part wasn’t a lie.
“Well then, that makes two of us.” She smiled. “Be a love and put the kettle on for me, would you? I’ll spend a quick penny myself then we can finish our game of chess before your mum gets home and gives us both a grilling for you not doing your homework.”
“Deal!” I said. Nan and I swapped places and she left the room humming.
I flicked the switch on the kettle which bubbled loudly, much to the annoyance of Sir Barclay, who glared at me and twitched his plump chest at being disturbed. Fluffy, grey layers of white-tipped feathers overlapped each other around his neck as the kettle continued to boil. His sharp, needle-like nails scratched the perch as he turned away and blatantly flashed me his bottom. Clearly pleased with his efforts, he then flapped back around to resume his glaring position.
Ugh! Did I mention I hate birds? Every last one of them. Well, apart from penguins because they’re cute and technically can’t fly. How amazing would it be to fly? If I found out I could fly, I’d be off. Celeste ‘The Best’ wouldn’t see me for dust. I’d head straight to St. Lucia to see where Nan was born and soak up some sun. I’d still hate birds though—especially the ones that attacked me in Farrow Park last week.
I’ve been working on my ‘top five most horrible and annoying birds’ list for ages and I think I perfected it yesterday.
5. Cockerels. Too loud.
4. Geese. Too spitty.
3. Seagulls. Too greedy.
2. Pigeons. Too flappy.
1. Sir Barclay. Too annoying. I could fill an entire notebook with his annoying habits.
What kind of name is that for a parrot anyway? I once asked Nan why she named him Sir Barclay, and she said that was the name he appeared with. When he randomly perched his pompous bottom on her windowsill the day before Grandpa Willie’s funeral, a little, metal name tag dangled around his neck that read Sir Barclay Wigbert Titus Smythe.
Yes, that’s right. Sir Barclay Wigbert Titus Smythe. Who does he think he is? Royalty? He might like to strut around like he’s some sort of king, but I’m not falling for it. In my opinion he’s nothing more than a lumpy, grumpy, chess-pinching feather-face.
I tried to ignore the pesky parrot, choosing instead to sit on the stool opposite Nan’s comfy green armchair to study where we had left our game before school earlier.
The chain flushed. Nan wasn’t as nimble on her feet these days, so I knew I had a good few minutes to make her tea before she was back in the room with us. I heard Sir Barclay shuffle and felt his eyeballs attacking my face. Why did he always have to stare at me? Ever since he arrived it was like he didn’t want anything to do with me, which was fine, as I didn’t want anything to do with him either. His rudeness made my blood boil faster than Nan’s steaming kettle.
Without thinking, I snapped, “What is your problem, you ugly, little bird? You’re not going to put me off my chess moves this time. I don’t know what you’re up to, Sir Feather Bum,”—I wielded one of Nan’s teaspoons in his direction—“but any more of your chess-piece-pinching funny business, and I’ll make sure the window is locked good and proper the next time you nip out for a night flap!”
“Squawk!” Sir Barclay replied.
Good. That had rattled him.
“Squawk!”
I could tell he wasn’t happy with me as he had started to flap his feathers and dip his shoulders.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” I said, as I poured hot water into Nan’s mug. “I won’t hurt you, not really. Although I hear African Grey parrot-feathers make the softest cushions.” I giggled to myself as I squeezed out the teabag.
“SQUAWK!”
Okay, perhaps I had gone a little further than I intended with my tormenting, but he deserved it. Twelve months I had put up with his rudeness. If you asked me, someone needed to teach him a lesson.
“Don’t worry, Sir Barclay,” Nan chirruped reassuringly from the door. “I’m almost back.”
I could hear Nan gasping for breath at the top of the stairs.
“Squawk! You touch one feather on my head, Miss Fleur ‘You-Can’t-Play-Chess-for-Toffee’ Marie, and I’ll pinch your king this time, as well as your rook and your queen and your bishop. Squawk!”
I dropped the teabag and gasped. That didn’t just happen, did it? I was hearing things. Surely, I must have been hearing things. My hands shook and went cold. Sir Barclay didn’t really just say that out loud, did he?
Nan once managed to get Sir Barclay to say, “I’m the finest reflection you’ll ever meet!” but that was it. She had certainly never taught him to say anything else.
“Here I am,” Nan said. “Now then, what have I missed?
CHAPTER THREE
Birdrobe
I never lost all my chess games to Nan until tonight. At first, I thought I was distracted by the corks we were using as replacement pieces, but they hadn’t put me off before. The only reason Nan and I started using replacement chess pieces in the first place was because so many of our original pieces had disappeared.
Our latest brainwave of labelling corks was fine and functional in the beginning, when only one or two pieces were missing, but the number of corks had fast overtaken the number of traditional chess pieces we now had. At this rate our board would soon resemble a wine cellar, and Nan would still probably thrash me.
There was nothing I could do about it. What made it even worse was having Sir Barclay stare at me from his perch the entire time, sporting a humongous smirk.
“Everything all right, baby?” Nan whipped my prized queen away with her pawn, seconds into our third game. “It’s not like you to make silly mistakes or have you decided to give your old Nan a fighting chance at winning a full house for once?”
I wish. I couldn’t focus on our game. I couldn’t focus on anything apart from what I thought I’d heard before the game. And I had heard him. Hadn’t I? Unless the radio was on. Although I didn’t think Nan was listening to anything when I came up to her room. It had to be Sir Barclay, didn’t it? It did. It was. He had spoken to me. There was no mistaking it.
How was it possible that I could hear Sir Barclay talk now, when I’d never heard him before?
“Checkmate.” Nan had acquired all my whites mixed with a couple of cork pieces too. “Fancy one more for the road? I think I’m on a roll!”
“Do you mind if we call it a night?” I said. “I think I could do with an early one. It’s been a long day.”
Nan cupped my face and rubbed her thumb up and down my cheek. “Of course, I don’t mind. Just promise me that you’ll tell me if anything’s bothering you, won’t you? You’ve got a lot going on with this being your last term before high school.”
I knew the calm in my head wouldn’t last long. Maybe the silver lining to learning Sir Barclay could talk, meant that I was able to worry about something other than Celeste, Ruby, and Anais for a change. That was until Nan mentioned school.
“I will,” I lied. “But everything’s fine, I promise.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, praying for forgiveness if Nan ever found out I’d been untruthful to her. “I’m just tired, that’s all. We had double-maths today, so I must’ve used up all my concentration reserves.”
Nan nodded in agreement and twisted her earring. “Just like your father. He had to think properly when it came to maths too! Sleep tight, baby.”
“Night, Nan. See you in the morning.”
“Squawk! Night, night, chess loser! Squawk! Sweet dreams!”
My heart jumped. It caused an uncontrollable squeal to escape my mouth, which made my legs dither and knock me into the end of Nan’s bed. I shot Nan a worried look as I scanned back and forth between her and Sir Barclay, flustered and confused.
“Fleur! My goodness! Are you okay?” Nan pulled herself up from her chair.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, baby?”
My eyes flickered towards Sir Barclay who twitched his head and flew towards the perch in the far corner of his cage, seemingly delighted with my reaction.
“Nothing,” I replied, quickly backing out of the room. “Must’ve been something outside. Told you I was tired.”
Nan raised her eyebrows towards me then across at the annoying waft of feathers snuggled in the corner. She sat back down with an electric glint in her eye but when I blinked, she was just staring at me with concern.
I had been wide awake since 4am. My shin was throbbing, and I couldn’t sleep, not even for five minutes, which is unheard of. Usually, I sleep like a log after a bath and a couple of chapters of my favourite book, but not last night, not after what happened between me and Sir Barclay.
Mum has always joked that I can sleep through anything. She was once so worried when she couldn’t wake me, that she switched the vacuum cleaner on right next to my head to make sure I was still alive.
Only last night was different. I was more like a jack-in-the-box or a dolphin. Did you know that dolphins rarely sleep? And if they do, only half their brain shuts down, which means the other half is wide awake. Well, that was me all night, unable to sleep properly, and restless from the minute my head hit the pillow.
I hadn’t a clue what was going on outside, but it was exhausting. If it wasn’t annoying birds twittering outside my open window or tapping their beaks against the glass, it was what sounded like a million voices drifting through the night. People chatting, dogs barking, cats screeching. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Sir Barclay put them all up to it for fun just to stop me from having any shuteye.
“Come on, Fleur! Shake a leg! If you don’t hurry up this porridge will be stone cold.”
It was good to know at least Mum had enjoyed a full night’s rest.
“Coming.” I yawned as I slowly began my morning routine which, coincidentally, I’ve condensed into six very simple steps:
1. Shower and dress.
2. Shove curly, big hair into plaits.
3. Eat breakfast (if Mum’s made her vile porridge, then hold breath to eat it).
4. Tray to Nan (if Mum’s made her vile porridge, tell Nan to hold breath too).
5. Brush teeth.
6. Shoes on and away.
At best, I’d say it takes me eleven minutes, leaving me plenty of time to walk through Farrow Park and into school without looking like a sweaty frizz-ball, and before the bell rings. Winner.
“There you are.” Mum plonked a kiss on my head as I sat down at the dining table. “I thought I was going to have to use a bucket of water to bring you around this morning.”
“Why? Did you think it would be better than using the vacuum cleaner this time?” I had the world’s biggest stretch before gingerly testing the temperature of the porridge against my tongue to make sure it wasn’t too hot.
“Bit of a smarty-pants are we this morning? You’re just like your dad, that’s the kind of thing he would say.” Mum smiled sadly before shaking her head and reaching for the fruit bowl. “Here then, you’d best chop this into your breakfast to fuel that enormous, smarty-pants brain of yours.” She threw me a banana.
“I’m alright, thanks,” I said, catching it. “Not hungry today—porridge is fine.”
“Are you alright, love? You’re not yourself lately. Is everything okay at school?”
You mean apart from the fact that Celeste ‘The Best’ looks at me like something she’s trodden on, uses me as a verbal punchbag, enjoys battering my ankles during hockey practice, and—oh yeah, finding out I CAN HEAR SIR BARCLAY TALK?!
I somehow managed to control my breathing and slowly stirred my porridge.
“Everything’s fine, Mum,” I lied. I was getting good at this now.
“As long as you’re sure?”
I nodded. This lying business was draining but I had managed to keep her off the scent again.
“Is Nan’s ready?” I asked, before finishing my last spoonful. “I’ll go and see if it’s to her taste, if so.”
“It’ll be the first time in twelve months if it is!” Mum said jokingly, as she spooned the gloopy porridge into a bowl and placed it on Nan’s tray.
Poor Nan. It must feel strange for her living with us after a lifetime with Grandpa Willie, but we’re much better for her than a care home. She knows it deep down, but I guess it doesn’t stop her from missing him. I miss him too. And Dad, but that’s different. Dad isn’t dead. He’s just gone away for a bit to clear his head after the shock of losing Grandpa Willie. Only no one told me clearing his head meant he would be gone for months and months with no phone call or anything.
Grandpa Willie was ‘Porridge Maker Extraordinaire’ as Nan tells us every morning. Which basically means Mum isn’t, but she keeps on trying. Anything to keep Nan happy and her mind off Dad, who still hasn’t phoned her back like he said he would.
“Morning, Nan!” I beamed, opening her bedroom door with my foot. “Meals on wheels, at your service.”
“Squawk! Ooh yummy, another bowl of grey, lumpy slop. I bet she can hardly wait. Squawk!”
My stomach tightened. I hadn’t imagined things yesterday, then. It hadn’t all been some dreadful daydream.
“Squawk! You’re very quiet. Did you think I was all in your head? Sorry to disappoint you. Squawk!”
I’m pretty sure he would be quiet if he was suddenly faced with a know-it-all talking parrot and no idea how or why it had happened. Surely this was odd for him too, unless he could flap around and chat to anyone he fancied. And if he could, would they even be able to understand him anyway? None of it made any sense.
“Well. . . I. . . err. . . I don’t know,” I said, swallowing a large lump in my throat. “Where’s Nan?”
Nan’s bedcovers were all neat and tidy, and her teacup was empty except for one last sip, which she always left out of politeness. There was no sign of her anywhere.
“Squawk! It’s secret business. What’s it to you?”
The nerve of the bird! How rude! Of course, it’s my business. She’s my nan not his.
“Do you talk to everyone like this?” I snapped.
“I should be so lucky. Months I’ve waited for your nan to find someone who can hear and understand me. Months! Squawk! And who do I find out has the precious gift of Animalation? You! Fleur Marie Bottom. Marvellous. You don’t know your bishops from your pawns, so what chance have I got in finding Dame Genevieve now?”
“Animalation? Special gifts? What are you on about?”
