Beswitched (24 page)

O
n the last morning of term, Flora knew before she opened her eyes that something was different. The air was tugging at her—that was the only way she could describe it. It was like being sucked in by a very gentle vacuum cleaner. The past was as solid as ever, but she could hear a very, very faint background murmur that might have been the roar of all the mixed noises of the future.

Home.

For the very first time since her arrival at St. Winifred’s, she had a powerful sense that her real home was nearby, as if the space between past and future had narrowed.

Her own calmness surprised her. She didn’t say anything to Pete, Pogo and Dulcie until after breakfast, when they all went back to the bedroom to strip their beds and finish packing. “I can’t describe the feeling, or explain it. I just know I’m going home—my real home, in the future.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Pogo said. “We thought the magic might be waiting till the end of term. Do you know when it’s going to happen?”

“No. I don’t really know anything. It’s just a feeling.”

The others were silent. It was a shock to remember, in the turmoil of the last day, that Flora did not belong to their world.

Dulcie said, “I was hoping you’d come back next term. I suppose that’ll be the other Flora.”

“I can’t wait to ask her what she got up to in the twenty-first century,” Pogo said, “but I’ll miss you. You’ve been an asset to this bedroom.”

“Hear, hear!” Dulcie said.

Pete sat on the edge of her bed, her head hanging forlornly, and said nothing.

There was another silence. Today, the four of them were going in four different directions. Flora was to take the train to London, where a Mrs. Markham, who was the other Flora’s aunt, would meet her at Paddington. Pogo was off to Birmingham, to stay at her uncle’s vicarage with all her brothers and two girl cousins. Dulcie was going home to Merrythorpe, and Pete’s parents were coming to pick her up on their way to Scotland.

Dulcie’s lower lip trembled. “We won’t ever see you again. When you get home to the future, we’ll all be so old that we’re dead!” A tear rolled down her cheek.

“If you’re still alive,” Flora said, “I’ll look you up.”

Pete raised her head. “Do you promise?”

“OK—if I can find you. I’ll do my best.”

“How funny,” Pete said. “You’ll be just as you are now, but I’ll be as old as Harbottle.”

This was a very weird thought. By the time Flora saw her three friends again—if she ever did—they would have done years and years of living. She wished she knew what would happen to them all, especially Pete. She was sure Pete’s life would be interesting.

Pete said, “You might not recognize me.” An idea lit up her face—you could always tell when Pete had an idea. She dived to open her overnight bag and took out her purse. From this, she took a ten-shilling note.

Pogo whistled. “Ten shillings! You’ve still got ten shillings at the end of term!” This was worth fifty pence in Flora’s time, which wasn’t such a big deal, but in 1935 it was a small fortune.

“My people like me to have plenty of money, in case of emergencies. And this is an emergency.” Pete tore the note in half—Dulcie let out a squeak of horror. “I’ll keep one half of this,” she said, “and Flora, you take the other half. Then you’ll know who I am when we meet again. Even if I look like Harbottle.”

“A typically melodramatic gesture,” Pogo said. “What if Flora can’t take her half to the future? Ten bob wasted!”

“I’ll still have my half,” Pete said impatiently. “I’ll always keep it, and that way I’ll always remember you. And I promise I’ll start looking for you as soon as you’re born. I’ll do my best not to die before then.” She pushed one half of the ten-shilling note into Flora’s hand.

“I’ll never forget you—any of you.” Flora looked at Pete, the person she would miss most. The others were lovely, but Pete was more. She was as quick and brilliant as a kingfisher, with a huge appetite for living and laughing and throwing herself at new things, and Wimbledon would seem very flat without her. “Thanks for being so nice to me, and I’m sorry I was a bit of a pain at first.”

“Yes, you were,” Pete said, grinning, “but not as painful as I was.”

“You’ll miss Neville marrying Virginia,” Dulcie said. “There’s no need to pinch me, Pogo Lawrence—we all know they’re madly in love. Virginia never stops reading his letters.”

“Can’t you think about anything else? Too much romance isn’t good for a brain like yours.” Pogo picked up her overnight bag. “We’d better go downstairs. It was fascinating to meet you, Flora. The other Flora might turn out to be perfectly nice—but you’ll always be the fourth musketeer.”

“Thanks.” Flora’s eyes prickled with tears. She would miss Pogo’s dry humor and sharp mind. “Say hi to Neville—and maybe drop a hint that Stalin isn’t as wonderful as he thinks.” Suddenly, scraps of the future were rushing back to her like pieces of a jigsaw. “I’ve just remembered that my dad has a dartboard with Stalin’s face on. I don’t think anyone likes him anymore.”

Pogo was startled. “Are you sure? Well, I’ll try. But I’m afraid he won’t listen.”

“And Dulcie—give my love to Lady B. and Dorsey.” She’d miss Dulcie, too. It would be oddly lonely, falling asleep without Dulcie and Mr. Bunny a few feet away in the next bed.

“I will.” Dulcie hesitated for a moment, then flung her arms around Flora and hugged her hard.

Pogo put down her bag. “For once, I think a group hug is called for.”

The four of them hugged.

Pete squeezed Flora’s hand, the one clutching her half of the ten-shilling note, and whispered, “Remember!”

There were twenty-three girls on the train to London, under the easygoing guardianship of Miss Bradley. They were all wildly excited, chattering like starlings. In Flora’s compartment, Dorothy Sykes passed round a bag of sweets—bull’s-eyes, which Flora didn’t like because they tasted of cloves and stung your tongue. She took one absent-mindedly. It sat in her cheek, cold as a pebble. When was she going home? Was it possible to swap bodies with the other Flora without anyone noticing? Her half of the ten-shilling note was still scrunched in her hand. She had managed not to let go of it while getting on the train. She was hoping that if she held it tightly in her hand, she could take it back to her own time.

I’m going to start searching for Pete the second I get home
, she thought.
I don’t care how old she is
.

Virginia, sitting beside her, nudged her gently. “Are you all right? You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m fine.” Flora couldn’t tell her about the murmur of the crowd inside her head, still very distant but getting closer. “I didn’t like saying goodbye to my friends, that’s all.”

“You’ll see them again in a few weeks,” Virginia said. “Perhaps you’re not looking forward to the hols. Where will you be staying?”

Flora had to concentrate hard to get into the other Flora’s mind. “At my aunt Mary’s. I haven’t seen her since I was little.”

“Rather daunting for you, I should think.”

“She—she’s very nice.” The other Flora was moving away, and Flora thought she’d better change the subject before she had to answer any more questions. “What about you? Are you going straight to Vienna?”

“No.” Virginia was smiling. “I’m going straight to London, to stay with my glamorous cousin until my parents join me. Rather a curious thing happened—my father was suddenly offered a professorship at the London School of Economics, and my parents are moving to London. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Oh—that’s so cool!” Flora felt like cheering—good old Harbottle must’ve kept her promise and cast one more spell. Now that Flora knew Virginia was safe, she could leave the past with a lighter heart.

If she ever did leave. The train rattled on, and the unpleasant boiled sweet in Flora’s mouth got smaller and
smaller, and still the past gripped her and refused to let her go. They stopped at a station, where several girls left the train.

Suddenly, Flora was desperately tired. She yawned and shut her eyes.

“Flora? What’s the matter, dear?”

Miss Bradley’s voice was swept away by the roar of all the other sounds—crowds, explosions, snatches of music, whirling round her until her head swam. A scream tore out of her. She was a bullet, shooting forwards faster than the speed of light. She felt herself somersaulting through the empty air and landing neatly in her own body.

The roar stopped, as if switched off. Flora heard only the brisk rattle of a train. She could no longer feel her tight collar or troublesome suspenders. Her school uniform had gone, and she was wearing something light and comfortable. She dared to open her eyes, and saw her own jeans and trainers. Her iPod was on the little table in front of her.

Oh, joy-joy-joy, she was back. She was about to see Mum and Dad—she could call them and hear their voices right now! There was such a lot she had to tell them—so many questions she needed to ask. Had they guessed the other Flora was not their real daughter? Had they missed her?

Her left hand was still clenched into a fist. She uncurled her fingers and found her half of Pete’s ten-shilling note. It was incredible to think that it had been given to her that morning, more than seventy years ago. Had Pete kept her
half? It was yet more incredible, and rather sad, to think that the quicksilver girl who had given her the note no longer existed. She had turned into an old woman, if she was still alive. Flora found her pink purse in the front pocket of her backpack and put the note away carefully.

Something bleeped in her jeans pocket. Flora nearly jumped out of her skin. Of course—her phone. Someone had sent her a text. She dug into her pocket, and her phone fitted into her palm as if she had never been away. She’d been worried about forgetting the twenty-first-century world, but found she was slipping back as easily as a duck slipping into a pond. The text was from Mum. “Dad meeting you—can’t wait to CU at home!! xxxx”

Flora was glad the modern, open-plan carriage was empty. She was shaking so much, she was sure she looked crazy. Mum was waiting for her, with not a clue that her child had nearly been lost to her forever. Her fingers trembling—crikey, the buttons on this phone were tiny—she called Mum.

“Hi, Flora!”

“Hi, Mum.” Flora had to make an effort not to burst into babyish tears at the sound of her voice.

“Did you get my text? Dad will be at the station to meet you—I’m staying here with Granny. We’re both dying to show off the new flat.” (Flora had almost forgotten about the new granny flat in the Wimbledon garage.) “It’s absolutely lovely—what?” A voice said something in the background. “Sorry? You want me to say what?” There was a pause. Mum
laughed. “Granny wants me to give you a message. I haven’t a clue what she’s talking about, but she wants you to know that she looks nothing like Harbottle. OK?”

Flora gasped. “Harbottle?”

“That’s it—she says you’ll understand. See you soon, darling—bye!”

“Bye.” Flora sat very still for a few minutes, gaping stupidly at the phone in her hand.

How did Granny know about Harbottle?

Something very odd was happening inside her head. Her brain was a kaleidoscope at the moment the pieces fell into a new pattern. The other Flora had gone, and without the clutter of her memories, everything was suddenly clear.

Of course! She almost laughed aloud. What an idiot she had been. There had been endless clues—the fact that Pete’s middle name was Flora, the dream about Granny in school uniform, the way Mr. Peterson had reminded her of Dad, the snooty look Pete got when she was being stubborn—and she hadn’t suspected a thing.

What was it the portrait of Mildred Beak had said in the dream? “
If you two cannot be friends, you will never know
.” She knew now, and the truth took her breath away.

21
The Four Musketeers

P
ete was—Granny. She had been at school with her own grandmother.

“Crikey!” Flora whispered. The electrifying Pete and her crabby old granny were one and the same person. It was all obvious now. That magic—or whatever you called it—was incredibly clever. It had sent Flora to save Pete from the awful consequences of pushing Consuela into the quarry, and to stop her growing up into a mean old bag. It was a bit of a shame that the magic couldn’t have kept the two girls away from the quarry in the first place, but Consuela had done pretty well out of her broken leg, and perhaps that was part of the whole picture.