Magic at Silver Spires (11 page)

“Yes, I do. I shall be very sorry to lose you. Your English has come on in leaps and bounds, and you're also a joy to teach. I think all the teachers are feeling sorry…”

“Well, you see, my dad is worried in case something else happens like my accident, because he feels very far away. And I've tried to explain to him that the school can look after me fine, only he won't listen. But there's another important reason why I want to stay at Silver Spires and that's because I want to get better and better at languages…especially English…so I can be an interpreter or a translator when I grow up. But when I try to explain that to Papà he still won't listen, because he's made his mind up about taking me away. So, I wondered if you might be able to talk to him and tell him I'm doing…all right with my English…because you understand about languages…and he might listen to you.”

There. I'd managed to get through the whole speech almost word for word as we'd planned it. Now I just had to wait.

Mrs. Stockton's expression was impossible to read. She'd been looking me right in the eyes all the time I'd been talking and now she was still looking at me, as though she was trying to get inside my brain.

“Well obviously I think you're doing brilliantly with your English,” she said eventually. “You're excelling.” She blinked a few times, as though she'd just been in a daydream and now she was collecting her thoughts. Then she leaned forwards, her hands clasped together, her thumbs rubbing each other. And when she spoke, her voice seemed slower and softer. “Now, this is quite a difficult situation, Antonia, because, as your parents' decision to take you away was very sudden and unexpected, it doesn't really leave us any time to be putting forward an argument against your leaving Silver Spires, however reasonable that argument might seem. Have you…actually talked to your father about wanting to work with languages when you're older?”

“Er…not really.”

Mrs. Stockton blinked again and looked down at her clasped hands. “Does that mean not at all?”

I couldn't tell a lie. “Yes.”

Mrs. Stockton seemed to be sighing, but not in an impatient way. In a sad, hopeless way. “Would it be fair to say you're clutching at straws because you're so sad about having to leave?” she asked.

My mouth felt suddenly dry as I repeated that phrase,
clutching at straws
, silently to myself. Yes, I could easily work out what it meant. I tried to swallow but my throat was hurting.

I couldn't answer so I nodded and looked down and then felt Mrs. Stockton's hand holding mine.

“I think you need to start by having a frank conversation with your parents about languages. If you truly think you might want to follow this kind of a career when you finish your education, then of course, you're right, it
is
important to be bi- or tri-lingual, and certainly English is the language you'd need most.”

I nodded, wondering when I would possibly be able to have this conversation with Papà, and just as though Mrs. Stockton had read my mind, she asked me when I was next seeing my dad.

“Er, he's coming to the Forest Ash Italian evening tomorrow. He's doing the cooking.”

“Well, I think the sooner you talk to him, the better. But I hope you understand I'm stepping out of my role as your teacher here, Antonia, and just giving you the kind of advice that I think anyone would give you.”

“Yes, I understand…” I said quietly, as I wondered to myself whether or not I might be able to see Papà after school today instead of waiting till he came to do the cooking. Then something else jumped into my mind. “Would you be able to come to our Italian evening, Mrs. Stockton?” I asked impulsively. “I mean, then you might be able to speak to my dad, if I've already talked to him a bit about languages and wanting to be an interpreter and everything?”

Mrs. Stockton leaned back in her chair and gave me a sorrowful look. “I'm sorry, Antonia, but I'm away this weekend. I've got a christening…”

My throat felt even tighter then, because my last hope had just died. “Well, thank you anyway,” I managed to mumble as I got up.

“Here…let me…” Mrs. Stockton's chair made a loud scraping noise then toppled backwards, because she'd got up so quickly to get me my crutches. “I'm sorry I haven't been much help.”

“It's okay, I'll talk to Papà about languages and…everything.”

“Yes, do that. It's a good point. I hope he gives it…consideration.”

I was at the door by then. “Thank you,” I said again.

Mrs. Stockton smiled, but still with the sorrowful look on her face so it wasn't really a proper smile, and patted me on the back. “All the best, Antonia.”

And I realized as I went outside to join the others that this was her way of saying goodbye.

So then those tears that I'd been holding back filled my eyes and started to roll down my cheeks.

“Eeet ees a –
come si dice, cara?
Si
, eet ees a transformation!”

Mamma was using her English and it was so funny to hear it when I'd only ever heard her talking in Italian before. She was in the chair by my bed in Emerald dorm, admiring Emily's hair. Nicole and I were actually sitting on my bed, all dressed up and ready for the evening to start, and the others were still rushing around doing their hair and adding the final touches to their outfits.

All my packing, except for last-minute things, was done. Mamma had done most of it, because I couldn't do it very well with one leg and one hand out of action. My friends had stood round watching in a trembling silence, passing things occasionally, but mainly just staring. At one point I saw Sasha put her arm round Nicole and I deliberately didn't look, but I think Nicole was crying a bit. I think that packing was truly the most horrible task of my life, and I knew I'd never ever forget it.

I'd been helping Papà in the kitchen earlier, slowly and carefully chopping up vegetables, grating cheese and whisking eggs, but I hadn't enjoyed it one little bit, partly because of my hand, but mainly because of my sadness again. I just couldn't shake it off. In fact, it seemed to be deepening. Mamma had taken a walk around the grounds while Papà cooked, because it was quite a hot day and she said she wanted to be outside to feel the English sun on her face. Nicole and the others had all gone to decorate the common room and had given me strict instructions to keep out.

And now we were back together in the dorm, admiring Emily's straight hair. She never usually does anything with her hair except tie it back into a ponytail, which gradually comes loose during the day as most of the hair falls out of the hairband. Matron even has to remind her to brush it sometimes. But tonight she'd done something that we'd persuaded her to do once before for the getting-to-know-you party we had in the first term. She'd borrowed my straighteners and made her hair look lovely and sleek.

“Emily, you look bee-you-tee-fool!” said Mamma, which made us all laugh.

“Thank you, Mrs. Rossi…I mean
Signora
Rossi!” Emily replied.

“No, no, you call me Annalisa, plees.”

I was happy because all my friends seemed to really like Mamma, and I also felt proud of her because she looked lovely, dressed up in a flared red and black skirt and a plain black top with red and gold jewellery. She's what my dad calls “petite”, and her hair is a big mass of very dark curls just like mine, although mine is a bit longer.

“Eet ees a spetchal evening from Italy so I 'ave bring for you all a geeft from Italy.”

“Oh, Mamma, that's brilliant.”

“Thank you, Annalisa,” chorused my friends.

“Thees are theengs I 'ave weeth me by good fortoon.”

“I think Mamma means she just happened to have them with her, because obviously she didn't know about the Italian evening when she and Papà first came over.”

Mamma was frowning at me as I spoke and I could tell she was concentrating hard to try and understand what I was saying.

She nodded. “Yes, eet ees correct!”

That made everyone laugh again. But then Mamma was taking things out of a bag. “
Allora
, for Sasha, for zee eyes!”

“Oh thank you, Annalisa,” said Sasha, taking the eyeshadow that Mamma was holding out to her. “It's all sparkly. I love it!”

“Thees ees not for old lady. Better for yong girl, I theenk.”

“You're not old!” said Sasha and Izzy together.

“So, for Eezzee…” Mamma did a mime of painting her nails as she held out some deep pink nail varnish.

“Oh, that's so cool!” said Izzy. “Thank you very much, Annalisa!”

“Cool! Very cool!” repeated Mamma, as though she was trying out a new word to see if she liked the sound of it. “And for you, Brryonee, and also for Emilee, I theenk…
calzini
!” She turned to me. “What ees…?”

“Oh, they're socks!” said Bryony. “They're brill! Thank you very much!”

“They're totally fab!” said Emily. “Let's swap one, so we both get to wear both patterns, Bry.” Then she turned to me. “Tell your mum she's really clever knowing that Bryony and I are the tomboys.”

I quickly translated for Mamma and she said, “Antonia tells a peecture of her friends so I can understand you better.”

Mamma sounded so sweet talking in her broken English and I started to wonder whether I'd come across like that when I'd first arrived at Silver Spires. I didn't think so though, because I knew more English than Mamma, even back in September.

“For Neecole and Toni I geev thees – one for each.” Mamma was taking off the two little identical silver rings that she nearly always wears on the little finger of her right hand.

Nicole looked anxious. She was shaking her head. “
Non posso
…” she started to say. I'd taught her the Italian for “I can't” only the other day. It comes into our play. “Tell your mum I can't take something that she actually wears!” said Nicole. But I didn't translate, because Mamma was reaching for Nicole's hand. “
Si, si, si, cara!
” She slid one of the rings onto Nicole's little finger and the other one onto mine. “
Perfetto!
Weeth verrry small fingers!”

“Are you sure, Mamma?” I asked her in Italian.

“
Si, si
, yes, yes!” said Mamma, laughing as though she was still delighted with herself for speaking her bits of English.

“
Molto gentile, grazie
,” said Nicole, smiling at my mum.

Mum's eyes widened as she turned to me and said in Italian, “Nicole speaks Italian very well and with hardly a trace of an accent! What a clever girl!”

I translated for Nicole and she asked me to tell my mum that I was a very good teacher, which made me and Mamma laugh.

“So, I finding Papà for to help heem,” said Mamma, getting up to go off to the kitchen where my dad had been cooking away for ages.

“Nearly time!” squeaked Emily excitedly as Mamma went out.

“Your mum's so kind!” said Sasha, coming right up to me and closing her eyes to show me her sparkling eyelids. “Look! Does it suit me?”

“It looks great.”

Then Nicole and I put our hands together and compared rings.

“It's such a lovely present.” Nicole sighed, tipping her head towards mine.

I nodded, feeling suddenly shaky again at the thought of Nicole and I both wearing our rings. Would we always wear them? Even in five years' time?

Izzy fluttered her nails. “Nearly dry! It's definitely the coolest nail varnish I've ever worn!”

Then Emily grabbed Bryony's hands and started dancing her around the dorm, doing the occasional high kick to show off Mamma's socks, and saying that they'd got the best present of all.

“Right, make sure we've got everything,” I interrupted, wanting to get organized. “I think I'll take a copy of the play script just in case…”

“Shall we go and help your dad take stuff over to the common room?” asked Izzy.

“Yes, then come back for our masks,” suggested Bryony.

So that was what we did.

When I awkwardly got myself through the common room door with my crutches, I got a shock. It wasn't yet six o'clock, so there was only Mrs. Pridham and Miss Stevenson in the room, looking very glamorous in floaty dresses and high heels.

“Look!” said Miss Stevenson, straight away. “Your dad bought these!”

She was pointing out the bright pink and soft red linen tablecloths that covered the trestle tables, and they certainly looked fab.

“Your father has very kindly made a present to Forest Ash of the tablecloths,” said Mrs. Pridham. “We're very lucky!”

I was staring at all the sparkling silver table dust, and thinking how perfect it looked.

“That was Nicole's idea!” said Emily. “But don't look at that. Look at the balloons. Red, white and green! Italy's colours. Thanks to yours truly!”