The Power of Poppy Pendle (7 page)

“And doesn’t your daughter attend the academy?” Mrs. Pendle said.

“Heavens, no. We don’t have enough magic in this family to bend a teaspoon!”

“Really!” Edith Pendle’s lips tightened as she ushered Poppy outside, and she didn’t speak again until they were in the car, driving home.

“What have you got all over you?” Edith finally snapped, glancing at Poppy in the rearview mirror. “You’re covered in something sticky.”

“Chocolate,” Poppy admitted, not mentioning that it was from a batch of frosting she had been allowed to make.

“Honestly!” Mrs. Pendle gave a succession of heavy sighs. “I’ll have to give that a good soaking tonight.”

“Mum, she’s a nice girl,” Poppy blurted out, wanting her mother to understand. “She’s my friend.”

“Poppy, she goes to the elementary school,” Mrs. Pendle shot back. “Lots of girls are going to want to be your friend, simply because you’re a witch.”

“But Charlie’s not like that. She doesn’t care that I’m a witch, and she’s funny, Mum. I really like her.”

Mrs. Pendle gave another dramatic sigh. “You should have told me she wasn’t a Ruthersfield girl. I trusted you, Poppy.”

“Mum, if you knew she went to the elementary school, you wouldn’t have let me see her,” Poppy said, starting to cry.

“Listen, sweetheart.” Mrs. Pendle’s voice softened. “Daddy and I know what’s best for you, and right now you really need to be concentrating on your magic.” She reached back a hand and patted Poppy on the leg. “So for your own good, Poppy, you’re not to see that girl again.”

“But she’s nice,” Poppy said, huddling by the car window. “I like her, Mum. She’s the only friend I’ve got.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Poppy. There are plenty of nice girls at Ruthersfield. Girls just like you who are special.”

“I don’t want to be special,” Poppy wept, kicking the back of her mother’s seat. And then she said the words that had been building up inside her for months. “I don’t want to be a witch.” It felt so good, Poppy said them again, louder this time. “I don’t want to be a witch, Mum. I hate magic.” She could see the back of her mother’s neck stiffen. “Mum, I truly don’t want to be a witch,” Poppy shouted. “Please try to understand.”

“Now, Poppy, you’re just having a bad day,” Mrs. Pendle said at last. She switched on the radio. “We all get those once in a while.”

Poppy kicked her mother’s seat again in frustration. “It wasn’t a bad day. It was one of the best days ever. I loved being with Charlie.” Her mother didn’t reply, and Poppy banged her fist on the door panel, needing to be heard. “Listen to me, Mum. I don’t want to be a witch,” she said, but her mother had turned up the volume, drowning out Poppy’s words. Poppy slumped back with a sigh, sinking down in her seat. She saw her mother glance at her in the rearview mirror and turned her head away, feeling invisible.

As soon as they got home, Poppy charged straight upstairs. “I know you don’t understand this now,” Mrs. Pendle panted, following right behind her, “but you will when you’re older, I promise. Charlie would be a distraction for you, and this is an important year, Poppy. You can’t lose your focus.”

“She’s nice,” Poppy sobbed, flinging herself down on her bed. “And Charlie’s parents don’t mind if she reads cookbooks.”

“Charlie’s parents don’t have a little witch in the making, do they?” Mrs. Pendle clucked. “Now, how about this weekend we all take that trip to the Museum of Magical Discoveries I promised you? They have a whole display on Great-Granny Mabel and her hair invention.”

“Mum, please go away,” Poppy whispered, crying into her pillow. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Well, there’s no need to be rude, Poppy. I was only trying to be nice.”

“Mum, I really hate magic,” Poppy pleaded, lifting up her head and looking at her mother out of red, watery eyes. “I hate it. I hate it. You just never listen to me.”

“I’m going to put the kettle on.” Edith Pendle sighed. “Really, I’m just exhausted by all of this.” She smoothed Poppy’s skirt down. “Think about my museum idea, sweetheart. We could all do with a day out.”

Poppy turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes. Living here was unbearable. Nothing she said made a difference. Her mother would never understand how she felt.

“She doesn’t recognize the opportunity she’s got.” Maxine from next door sympathized over a cup of tea later that afternoon. “What an honor it is to go to Ruthersfield. You’ve done everything for Poppy, Edith.”

“We have.” Mrs. Pendle nodded, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “And Ruthersfield’s not cheap, let me tell you! I’m not complaining, mind you, but I do wonder sometimes if Poppy really appreciates what we’re giving up for her.”

“Yes, and I’ve never heard you complain once,” Maxine remarked.

“Well, you want what’s best for your child, don’t you, and that Charlie—” Mrs. Pendle inhaled, gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I’m sure she’s the one who’s been putting ideas into Poppy’s head, turning her against her magic.” She leaned forward. “I don’t mean to sound hard-hearted, Maxine, but Poppy is not to see that girl again.”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more. She’ll thank you in the long run,” Maxine murmured.

“And all this nonsense with cooking,” Mrs. Pendle said, watching Maxine help herself to one of Poppy’s dream bars. “I can’t take it anymore. It has to stop.”

“Mmmmmmm,” Maxine moaned, chewing slowly on the dream bar. It was one of Poppy’s own creations. “These are sensational, though. You can’t deny she cooks like an angel.”

Picking up the plate of chocolate marshmallow fingers, Mrs. Pendle walked over to the sink and dumped the whole lot in. Then she turned the water on full blast and shoved the rest of the dream bars down the trash disposal.

When Mr. Pendle got home from work that evening, Mrs. Pendle met him at the door, sniffing tearfully. He took off his shoes and put on his slippers while his wife told him exactly what to say. “You must be firm with her, Roger. For her own good. I’ve tried to explain things to Poppy, but she needs to hear it from her father.”

“Right.”

“She has to understand we know what’s best for her.”

“Okay.” Roger Pendle looked a little puzzled.

“Tell her we won’t put up with any more of this nonsense. Make it clear she can have Ruthersfield girls over whenever she wants, but not that Charlie person from the elementary school, and no more baking.”

“Well, now, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Mr. Pendle blew his nose.

“But it’s so disruptive to her studies.”

“Not even the odd cookie or something? After she’s done her homework?”

“She’s a witch, Roger. That’s what she needs to be concentrating on now. Unfortunately, it’s never just the odd cookie with Poppy.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Mr. Pendle agreed. “We must be firm.” And squaring his shoulders, he marched upstairs to talk to Poppy.

“Well, how did she take it?” Mrs. Pendle asked over dinner that evening. Poppy had refused to leave her room and join them.

“Oh, she understands,” Mr. Pendle said, forking up shepherd’s pie and trying hard not to taste what he was swallowing. It was Super Savers’s own brand and had the smell and texture of canned dog food. “She’s a bit upset, of course,” he added, stirring his dinner around. “But not as angry as I was expecting. I have to say I’m rather proud of myself. Yes.” He straightened his tie and smiled across at his wife. “I believe she took it very well, Edith.”

Upstairs in her room, Poppy threw some clothes into a pillowcase along with her favorite cookbooks and basketball. A deep sadness swelled inside her. She couldn’t stay here anymore, not after the awful conversations with her parents. Besides never seeing Charlie again, her father had told Poppy in the nicest possible way that she wasn’t going to be allowed to do any more cooking, either. “And I love to bake,” Poppy whispered. “I just love it.” The thought of never making another cupcake again was too much for her. Wiping away the last of her tears, Poppy ripped out a blank page of her spell journal and scrawled across it in purple ink.

Leaving the note lying on her bed, Poppy softly opened her bedroom window and looked down. If only her parents could accept who she was and be happy for her. If only they didn’t care so much about her magic. But they did, and there was nothing Poppy could do to change that. She hesitated a moment as she pondered the drop. It was too far to jump, but she had no intention of walking downstairs and out through the front door. Her parents would find a way to stop her. With a resigned sigh, Poppy picked up her magic wand and quickly conjured up a rope ladder. She didn’t like using magic, but this was an emergency. Then, throwing the pillowcase over her shoulders, and without a backward glance, she scrambled to the ground.

Lights were shining through the kitchen window, and Poppy could see her parents staring at the television. The opening credits for
Magic in the Family
were just starting up, and a box of disgusting, artificially flavored, chocolate-filled chocolate cakes called Fudge Monkeys sat between them. Poppy blinked back tears, refusing to cry anymore. A torrent of hot anger suddenly swept through her, and the force of such powerful emotion scared Poppy. She was right to run away. This sort of anger wasn’t good. Not wanting anything more to do with magic ever again, she hurled her wand with all her strength into some rhododendron bushes. It landed with a soft plop, and turning to give one final look at the house on Pudding Lane that had been her home for the past ten years, Poppy clambered over the garden fence and started to head toward town. Although she felt scared and alone, Poppy kept on walking. She had to be able to bake.

Chapter Eight

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Patisserie Marie Claire

P
OPPY KNEW EXACTLY WHERE SHE WAS GOING.
Patisserie Marie Claire had no lights on, but coming from the apartment above was the sound of opera music. Giving a gentle knock, Poppy held her breath and waited. There was no response. Feeling her heart start to race, she knocked more loudly. She kept on knocking until a door in the back of the shop opened and a woman appeared. It was the same woman Poppy always saw serving behind the counter. She was wearing an elegant pink silk dressing gown. As the lights flicked on, Poppy could see that she didn’t look too happy at being disturbed. “We’re closed,” the woman said, unlocking the front door and folding her arms across her chest. She frowned and studied Poppy, a puzzled expression on her face.