The hockey incident was soon forgotten. Grace-Ella had secretly been pleased when St Clare’s won the match, by eight goals to six. But she had felt bad for Fflur, who had to suffer a venomous attack from Amelia following the game.
As she practised her spells and potions, Grace-Ella couldn’t help but wish there was some way of using her magic to teach Amelia a lesson.
Within just a few weeks, she had mastered the majority of ‘Spells for Beginners’ and had an impressive collection of bottled potions lined up alphabetically on the shelves in the summer house.
Mrs Bevin had been very impressed with Tickly Tonsils and Stop Sneezing when Mr Bevin came home one evening feeling rotten, coughing and sneezing non-stop. Mrs Bevin had shooed him straight to the spare bedroom to contain the germs, wrapping a scarf around her face whenever she took him any food and drink.
Mr Bevin wanted to say that he only had a cold, not some dreadful tropical disease, but thought better of it.
When the potions were ready, Mr Bevin gulped them down willingly and within a few minutes, was fit and healthy, not a cough or a sneeze in sight.
‘Incredible, Grace-Ella,’ Mrs Bevin beamed. ‘You really are good at all this witchy-witchiness. How very clever you are.’
Grace-Ella couldn’t quite believe that her mother had used her name and the word ‘clever’ in the same sentence. Now that really was incredible.
She was having such a good time being a witch that she desperately wanted to share her secret with her best friends. She hated keeping the truth from them and she really wanted them to be a part of the fun. But she worried that they wouldn’t believe her and would think that she’d completely lost the plot. And even if they did believe her, what if they didn’t want a witch as a friend? What if they thought that she was too weird and stayed away from her? She was in a peppered pickle over the whole thing.
‘Fflur’s coming to play tomorrow,’ Grace-Ella told her parents one Friday evening.
‘You could have given me more warning,’ sighed Mrs Bevin. ‘I haven’t done the food shop yet and she’s always so hungry. Well, it won’t do her any harm to cut down for the day. She’s a lovely girl, just so over … overfed.’
Fflur was dropped off at Number 32, at ten o’clock the following morning.
‘She’s got some homemade Welsh cakes in her bag, just in case the girls get hungry,’ Mrs Penri told Mrs Bevin. ‘Shall I pick her up, say, five?’
‘What do you want to do?’ asked Fflur as she and Grace-Ella sat in the back garden.
Before Grace-Ella had a chance to reply, they heard a shuffling and scraping from the other side of the fence. Up popped Bedwyr, fully dressed in his bug-busting gear – a green jumper with brown leather patches on the elbows, camouflage trousers, a black, fur-rim deerstalker hat and swimming goggles (which he insisted gave him X-ray vision).
‘Is the coast clear? No dangerous Snootyius Ladyiums lurking in the area?’ he asked.
‘All clear,’ Grace-Ella giggled. ‘Jump over.’
‘Snootyius Ladyiums?’ asked a puzzled Fflur.
‘That’s his scientific name for Mam,’ explained Grace-Ella.
Bedwyr landed in the garden, glanced at the back door then dashed across to the girls.
‘Ok, here’s the plan,’ he said. ‘I need to find a Hypothenemus Obscurus.’
‘A Hypotty-what?’ asked Grace-Ella.
‘It’s a beetle to you. An “Apple Twig Beetle” to be exact.’
Grace-Ella was always amazed at how Bedwyr knew the name of every bug that lived on the planet. His ambition in life was to find an undiscovered bug and name it himself.
‘So where will we find these hypotty-beetles?’ asked Fflur.
‘Mainly in the US,’ answered Bedwyr, grinning. ‘But you never know. We might just strike lucky. We could become famous for being the first to find one out of its native land.’
‘You’re mad,’ laughed Grace-Ella. Then, remembering why she’d invited her friends over, she sighed. She’d decided that today she would reveal her secret. Her stomach churned, but she couldn’t back out now. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Before we go on your beetle hunt, there’s something I want to tell you. But you must promise to keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone.’
‘That sounds worrying,’ said Fflur. ‘You’re not ill, are you? Or moving away?’
‘No, nothing like that. Just promise first.’
Both Bedwyr and Fflur promised and waited for Grace-Ella to continue.
‘Let’s go in the summerhouse, I’ll tell you in there.’
Once they were inside, Grace-Ella began.
‘Well, I know this is going to sound completely crazy but … a few weeks ago … I found out that I’m … a witch.’
Bedwyr spluttered with laughter. ‘Oh, Grace-Ella. You do crack me up.’
‘It’s not a joke, it’s the truth,’ she said.
‘Oh, come off it,’ said Fflur. ‘You’re not a witch. It’s just another one of your batty ideas. Like when we decided that we were fairies and were going to live at the bottom of your garden.’
Grace-Ella shook her head. How was she going to prove to them that she was telling the truth?
‘Hey, don’t tell me, your dad’s a wise old wizard,’ said Bedwyr, chuckling.
‘Actually it comes from Mam’s side of the family,’ corrected Grace-Ella.
‘Your mam’s a witch? Now that I can believe,’ said Bedwyr.
Fflur gave him a nudge. ‘Perhaps we should listen to the whole story.’
‘Oh, come on, you don’t think she’s telling the truth? She’s just gone completely Lady Gaga on us, that’s all. Which is fine by me. Life’s too short to be dull and boring, that’s what Taid always says.’
‘I know I sound completely cuckoo. I could barely believe it myself, but I swear it’s the truth,’ said Grace-Ella, looking pleadingly at her friends.
‘Ok, let’s say you are telling the truth,’ said Fflur, ‘what exactly does it mean, anyway? That you can fly around on a broomstick and cast spells?’
‘I’m not sure about the flying on a broomstick bit yet,’ answered Grace-Ella, ‘but yes, I can cast spells.’
‘Really. Show us then,’ said Bedwyr.
‘I’m only supposed to cast spells when I’m alone or with other witches, but I’m sure I can trust you and there’ll be no harm done.’
Grace-Ella picked up her magic wand.
‘Here goes,’ she said, pointing her wand at the plate of Welsh cakes on the table. ‘Up, up and away, fly into the air. With a swish and a swosh, land over there.’
She waved her wand in the air then pointed it at her friends. Slowly, the cakes rose from the plate, twirled in the air then landed in Bedwyr and Fflur’s open hands.
‘You … they … giddy goose,’ stuttered Bedwyr.
‘Did that really just happen?’ whispered Fflur, wide-eyed.
Grace-Ella nodded. ‘Now do you believe me?’
The two bewildered friends stared at Grace-Ella.
‘Oh … my … google-doodle,’ said Bedwyr finally. ‘You really are a witch? That’s just bone-breakingly bonkers. And you called me mad! You’re like Mademoiselle Mad. This is mammoth with a capital M.’
He suddenly started doing what can only be described as some sort of tribal dance around the room, whooping and waving his arms in the air. When he’d finished, Grace-Ella turned to Fflur, who was very quiet.
‘It doesn’t mean that I’m different. Not really. I’m still just me.’
A smile spread slowly across Fflur’s face. ‘A witch. And you can cast real spells. That’s not crazy, that’s amazingly fabulous.’
‘I’m so glad you believe me,’ said Grace-Ella, relieved. ‘But you do promise to keep it a secret? And you do still want to be my friends?’
‘Of course we do,’ said Fflur, hugging her. ‘I can’t believe you’d think that we wouldn’t. You’ve always been my best friend and nothing’s going to change that.’
‘You’re actually stranger than me,’ added Bedwyr, ‘and that takes some doing. Besides, who else would help me look for bugs?’
‘Phew, that’s so great. I’ve been so worried about telling you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t wanted to be my friends anymore.’
‘You silly old moo,’ said Fflur. ‘Who wouldn’t want a real witch as a best friend? This is so cool. Can you show us some more magic?’
The three friends were soon rolling about laughing as books and boots and cups and coats came to life and went flying around the room. They ducked and chased the flying objects as their bottoms were kicked by boots and coats landed over their heads, making them stumble into each other. The summerhouse was a picture of magical mayhem.
At midday, Mrs Bevin called from the back door for Fflur and Grace-Ella to come in for lunch.
‘I’d better go,’ said Bedwyr. ‘Don’t want the Snootyius Ladyium catching me here or she’ll start chasing me with her fly swatter again. Besides, I have to go into town to buy some new school shoes. Mam says I must sleep with my feet in a bag of compost, cos they don’t stop growing. I’m a size eight already. Beetle-scrunchers, Taid calls them. Shame I can’t get the hang of tying laces, mind. The lady in the shop always says, “A big boy like you should have learned to tie your laces by now.”’
He sat on the floor to put on his boots, frowning in concentration as he tried to tie the laces. When he thought he’d got it, he pulled both ends, but they just fell open untied.
‘Let me help you,’ said Grace-Ella, pointing her wand at Bedwyr’s boots. ‘Loop and twist, under and through. Tie up the laces of this shoe.’
Bedwyr watched as his laces carefully tied themselves.
‘The magic will stay on the laces till you’ve learnt how to tie them yourself. Just hold them and let your fingers follow what they do. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’
Grace-Ella and Fflur waved goodbye to Bedwyr as he climbed over the fence chanting, ‘Loop and twist, under and through. Loop and twist, under and through.’
‘So now that you’re a witch,’ said Fflur as they walked to the house, ‘does this mean that you can magic away Amelia?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ answered Grace-Ella.
‘Oh well, but I bet we can have some great fun with your magic, can’t we?’
‘Well, there’s definitely no rule in the book that says magic can’t be used for fun,’ said Grace-Ella, linking her arm through her friend’s.