Not Just a Witch (2 page)

The Boothroyds’ house was across the river in a wide, tree-lined street between the university and the zoo. They had been quite old when Basil was born and they dressed him like babies were dressed years ago. Basil slept in a barred cot with a muslin canopy and blue bows; his pillow was edged with lace and he had a silken quilt. And there he sat, in a long white nightdress, steaming away like a red and angry boil.

The Boothroyds left. Sumi and Daniel settled down on the sitting-room sofa. Sumi took out the list of spellings.

‘Separate,’ she said, and Daniel sighed. He was not very fond of separate.

But it didn’t matter because at that moment Basil began to scream.

He screamed as though he was being stuck all over with red-hot skewers and by the time they got upstairs he had turned an unpleasant shade of puce and was banging his head against the side of the cot.

Sumi managed to gather him up. Daniel ran to warm his bottle under the tap. Sumi gave it to him and he bit off the teat. Daniel ran to fetch another. Basil took a few windy gulps, then swivelled round and knocked the bottle out of Sumi’s hand.

It took a quarter of an hour to clean up the mess and by the time they got downstairs again, Sumi had a long scratch across her cheek.

‘Separate,’ she said wearily, picking up the list.

‘S . . . E . . . P . . .’ began Daniel – and was wondering whether to try an A or an E when Basil began again.

This time he had been sick all over the pillow. Sumi fetched a clean pillow-case and Basil took a deep breath and filled his nappy. She managed to change him, kicking and struggling, and put on a fresh one. Basil waited till it was properly fastened, squinted – and filled it again.

It went on like this for the next hour. Sumi never lost her patience, but she was looking desperately tired and Daniel, who knew how early she got up each day to mind her little brothers and help tidy the shop before school, could gladly have murdered Basil Boothroyd.

At eight o’clock they gave up and left him. Basil went on screaming for a while and then – miracle of miracles – he fell silent. But when Daniel looked across at Sumi for another dose of spelling he saw that she was lying back against the sofa cushions. Her long dark hair streamed across her face and she was fast asleep.

Daniel should now have felt much better. Sumi was asleep, there was no need to spell separate and Basil was quiet. And for about ten minutes he did.

Then he began to worry.
Why
was Basil so quiet? Had he choked? Had he bitten his tongue out and bled to death?

Daniel waited a little longer. Then he crept upstairs and stood listening by the door.

Basil wasn’t dead. He was snoring. Daniel was about to go downstairs again when something about the noise that Basil was making caught his attention. Basil was snoring, but he was snoring . . . nicely. Daniel couldn’t think of any other way of putting it. It was a cosy, snuffling snore and it surprised Daniel because he didn’t think that Basil could make any noise that wasn’t horrid.

Daniel put his head round the door . . . took a few steps into the room.

And stopped dead.

At first he simply didn’t believe it. What had happened was so amazing, so absolutely wonderful, that it couldn’t be real. Only it
was
real. Daniel blinked and rubbed his eyes and shook himself, but it was still there, curled up on the silken quilt: not a screaming, disagreeable baby, but the most enchanting bulldog puppy with a flat, wet nose, a furrowed forehead and a blob of a tail.

Daniel stood looking down at it, feeling quite light-headed with happiness, and the puppy opened its eyes. They were the colour of liquorice and brimming with soul. There are people who say that dogs don’t smile, but people who say that are silly. The bulldog grinned. It sat up and wagged its tail. It licked Daniel’s hands.

‘Oh, I do so like you,’ said Daniel to the little, wrinkled dog.

And the dog liked Daniel. He lay on his back so that Daniel could scratch his stomach; he jumped up to try and lick Daniel’s face, but his legs were too short and he collapsed again. Daniel had longed and longed for a dog to keep him company in that tall, grey house to which his parents came back so late. Now it seemed like a miracle, finding this funny, loving, squashed-looking little dog in place of that horrible baby.

Because Basil had gone. There was no doubt about it. He wasn’t in the cot and he wasn’t under it. He wasn’t anywhere. Daniel searched the bathroom, the other bedrooms . . . Nothing. Someone must have come in and taken Basil and put the little dog there instead. A kidnapper? Someone wanting to hold Basil to ransom? But why leave the little dog? The Boothroyds might not be very bright, but they could tell the difference between their baby and a dog.

I must go and tell Sumi, he thought, and it was only then that he became frightened, seeing what was to come. The screaming parents, the police, the accusations. Perhaps they’d be sent to prison for not looking after Basil properly. And where
was
Basil? He might be an awful baby, but nobody wanted him harmed.

Daniel tore himself away from the bulldog and studied the room.

How could the kidnappers have got in? The front door was locked, so was the back and the window was bolted. He walked over to the fireplace. It was the old-fashioned kind with a wide chimney. But that was ridiculous – even if the kidnappers had managed to come down it, how could they have got the baby off the roof?

Then he caught sight of something spilled in the empty grate: a yellowish coarse powder, like breadcrumbs.

He scooped some up, felt it between his fingers, put it to his nose. Not breadcrumbs. Goldfish food. He knew because the only pet his parents had allowed him to keep was a goldfish he’d won in a fair, and it had died almost at once because of fungus on its fins. And he knew too where the goldfish food came from: the corner pet shop, two streets away from his house. The old man who kept it made it himself; it had red flecks in it and always smelled very odd.

Daniel stood there and his forehead was almost as wrinkled as the little dog’s. For the pet shop had been sold a week ago to a queer-looking woman. Daniel had seen her moving about among the animals and talking to herself. She’d been quite alone, just the sort of woman who might snatch a baby to keep her company. He’d read about women like that taking babies from their prams while their mothers were inside a supermarket. The police usually caught them – they weren’t so much evil as crazy.

Daniel gave the puppy a last pat and went downstairs. Sumi was still asleep, one hand trailing over the side of the sofa. For a moment he wondered whether to wake her. Then he let himself very quietly out of the house and began to run.

He ran across the bridge, turned into Park Avenue where his house was, then plunged into the maze of small streets that led between the river and the market place. Sumi’s parents’ shop was in one of these, and close by, on the corner, was the pet shop.

Daniel had been inside it often when the old man owned it, but now he stood in front of it, badly out of breath and very frightened. It was dusk, the street-lamps had just been lit and he could see the notice above the door.

UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT
, it said.
PROPRIETOR
;
MISS H
.
TENBURY
-
SMITH
.

There was no one downstairs; the blinds were drawn, but upstairs, he could see one lighted window.

Daniel put his hand up to ring the bell and dropped it again. His knees shook, his heart was pounding. Suddenly it seemed to him that he was quite mad coming here. If the woman in the shop had taken Basil, she was certainly not going to hand him over to a schoolboy. She was much more likely to kidnap him too or even murder him so that he couldn’t tell the police.

He was just turning away, ready to run for it, when the door suddenly opened and a woman stood in the hallway. She was tall with frizzy hair and looked brisk and eager like a hockey mistress in an old-fashioned girls’ school. And she was smiling!

‘Come in, come in,’ said Miss Tenbury-Smith. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

Daniel stared at her. ‘But how . . .’ he stammered. ‘I mean, I’ve come—’

‘I know why you’ve come, dear boy. You’ve come to thank me. How people can say that children nowadays are not polite, I cannot understand. I expect you’d like some tea?’

Quite stunned by all this, Daniel followed her through the dark shop, with its rustlings and squeakings, and up a narrow flight of stairs. Miss Tenbury-Smith’s flat was cosy. A gas fire hissed in the grate, there were pictures of middle-aged ladies in school blazers, and on the mantelpiece, a framed photograph with its face turned to the wall.

‘Unless you’d rather have fruit juice?’ she went on. And as Daniel continued to stare at her, ‘You’re admiring my dressing-gown. It’s pure batskin – a thousand bats went into its making. And in case you’re wondering –
every single one of those bats died in its sleep
. I would never, never wear the skin of an animal that had not passed away peacefully from old age. Never!’

But now Daniel felt he had to get to the point. ‘Actually, it’s about the Boothroyd baby that I’ve come,’ he said urgently.

‘Well, of course it is, dear boy. What else?’ said Miss Tenbury-Smith. ‘You’re quite certain that tea would suit you?’

‘Yes . . . tea would be fine. Only, please, Miss Tenbury-Smith, my friend is in such trouble. We’re babysitting and the Boothroyds are due back any minute and there’ll be such a row, so could you possibly give Basil back? Just this once?’

‘Give him back? Give him
back
?’ Her voice had risen to an outraged squeak.

‘Well, you swapped him . . . didn’t you? You kidnapped him?’ But Daniel’s voice trailed away, suddenly uncertain.

Miss Tenbury-Smith put down the teapot. Her slightly protruding eyes had turned stony. Her eyebrows rose. ‘I . . .
kidnapped
. . . Basil Boothroyd?’ she repeated, stunned. Her long nose twitched and she looked very sad. ‘I was so sure we were going to be friends, Daniel,’ she said, and he looked up, amazed that she should know his name. ‘And now this!’ She sighed. ‘Now listen carefully. When you have kidnapped somebody you have got him. You agree with that? He is with you. He is part of your life.’

‘Yes.’

‘And would you imagine that a person in their right mind would want to have Basil? Even for five minutes? Or are you suggesting that I am
not
in my right mind?’

‘No . . . no . . . But—’

‘I came to Wellbridge to Do Good, Daniel. It’s my mission in life to make the world a better place.’ She tapped the side of her long nose. ‘It hurts, you know, to be misunderstood.’

‘So you didn’t swap Basil for the little dog?’

‘Swapped him? Of course I didn’t swap him. Oh, I had so
hoped
that you would be my friend. I’m really very fond of boys with thin faces and big eyes. Some people would say your ears are on the large side, but personally I like large ears. But I can’t be doing with a friend who is stupid.’

‘I want to be your friend,’ said Daniel, who did indeed want it very much. ‘But I don’t understand. You’re . . . Are you . . .? Yes, of course; I see. You’re a witch!’

Miss Tenbury-Smith began to pour out the tea, but she had forgotten the tea-bags.

‘Well, I’m glad you see something,’ she said. ‘But the point is, I’m not just a witch; I’m a witch who means to make the world a better place. Now let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen a kangaroo throwing a bomb into a supermarket, killing little children?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Good. Have you ever seen an anteater hijack an aeroplane?’

‘No.’

‘Or a hamster go round knocking old ladies on the head and stealing their handbags? Have you ever seen a coshing hamster?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. It’s very simple. Animals are not wicked. It is people who are wicked. So you might think wicked people should be killed.’

‘Yes . . . I suppose so.’

‘However, killing is bad. It is wicked. And I’m not a wicked witch, I’m a good witch. And I do good by turning wicked people into animals.’

She leant back, pleased with herself, and took a sip of hot water.

Daniel stared at her. ‘You mean . . . you changed Basil into a dog? Into that lovely dog?’

‘Yes, I did. I’m so glad you liked it. I adore bulldogs; the way they snuffle and snort, and those deep chests. When you take a bulldog on a ship, you have to face them upwind because their noses are so flat. It’s the only way they can breathe. Of course, when I changed that dreadful baby, I was just limbering up. Wellbridge is a little damp, being so low-lying, and I wasn’t sure how it would affect my Knuckle of Power.’ She stuck out her left hand and showed him a purple swelling on the joint. ‘If you get rheumatism on your knuckle it can make things very tricky. But it all went like a dream. I really did it for that pretty friend of yours – so polite, and such a nice shop her parents keep with everything higgledy-piggledy, not like those boring supermarkets. Poor children, I thought, they’re going to have such a horrible evening.’

‘Yes, but you see it’s going to be much more horrible if the Boothroyds come and find Basil gone. There’ll be such trouble. So, please, could you change Basil back? If you can?’

‘If I
can
?’ said the witch, looking offended. ‘Really, Daniel, you go too far. And actually I was going to change Basil back in any case, sooner or later, because babies aren’t really wicked. To be wicked you have to know right from wrong and choose wrong, and babies can’t do that. But I cannot believe that the Boothroyds wouldn’t rather have the little dog for a night or two. He’s completely housetrained, did you know?’

‘Honestly, Miss Tenbury-Smith, I’m sure they wouldn’t. I’m really sure.’

‘Extraordinary,’ said the witch, shaking her head to and fro. ‘Well, in that case, let’s see what we can do. Just wait while I change my clothes.’

‘Well, you seem to be right,’ said Heckie as they approached The Towers. ‘The dear Boothroyds do not sound happy.’

All the lights were on and one could hear Mrs Boothroyd’s screams halfway down the street.