15

I’ve missed lots of rehearsal, but I don’t care. All this twaddle Gwyneth has spouted about the legend. It’s all wrong. I have to put it right, but I’m worried. They all think I’m weird already, and I just wanted to fit in somewhere for once. Dorcas hasn’t spoken to me or even glanced in my direction, and I bet everyone else has noticed. Today is a dress rehearsal. Gwyneth, wearing a preposterous pointed hat, is leading everyone through what the class are now calling ‘The Gwyneth Show’.

Tomorrow is the end of term. Tomorrow is the show. The pressure is building in the air and inside my brain.

‘Miss, I need the toilet.’

She wafts me away while she tricks the seven sisters into following her into the snow. Tomorrow Lewis will have bits of recycled confetti to shake over them but today he just has an empty sieve which he is wearing over his face like a fencing mask.

I skulk to the girls’ toilets to get away from this claptrap. The picture of Winter pleads with me from the wall.

I know. I promised I’d tell your story and I will.

‘Wilde. Where are you going?’

The receptionist. He’s always wandering around the corridors spying on people. I wonder that he gets any work done at all.

‘Toilet, Sir.’

‘Do you have permission?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, good.’ He holds that file again. It’s like he doesn’t want to let it go. ‘You aren’t feeling sick, are you? I noticed you’ve been off school.’

He notices everything. Mae says he comes from a family of gossips.

‘I’m fine now.’

‘That’s good news. It will be a blessing to have a break in this heat, won’t it?’ He wipes his fingers across his brow and leaves green smudges.

‘Sir. You’ve got green across your head.’

He looks down and his fingertips are covered in green. Taking out a tissue he wipes at them then disappears to spy on someone else presumably. Green fingers. Green ink. Don’t be daft.

The girls’ toilet is a sanctuary. There are no shadows in the mirror to catch my eye. Nothing is reflected but the pink walls, the cool tiles, the empty cubicles. I check for feet underneath the doors. None. In the distance, the bell goes for break. I turn the constant drip of a tap to full and splash my face then use two hands to turn it off properly.

Dorcas comes in. She clearly isn’t expecting me.

‘Oh.’ She stops and realises that she can’t really walk back out without saying anything. ‘I didn’t know you were in here.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you owned the toilets.’

‘I just…’

‘Why are you avoiding me, Dorcas?’ I know the answer, but I want her to say it.

‘I just…’

‘Go on.’

‘OK, I will if you let me speak.’

‘Oh, I’ll let you speak alright, but I tell you what, Dorcas, if it’s so difficult, I’ll fill in the details. Well, Wilde, the reason I’ve been avoiding you like the plague is because I accused you of flying the other night and then did a runner, leaving you shocked and bewildered and really, really, REALLY upset.’

‘It’s just…’

‘Is that it? Is that all you can say?’

‘I can’t process the information. I can’t believe what I saw.’

‘Oh, yeah. Because you saw me flying, right? Where’s the evidence, Dorcas? Or did you just make it up? Because, like you said so many times, there are no facts to support this. And, funnily enough, Dorcas, humans can’t fly. There’s a fact for you. A well-known fact.’

‘I don’t tell lies. You know that.’

‘I know you told me that. But you could have been lying.’

‘If we are going to talk about lying, then why don’t you tell me why you’re doing it?’

‘Flying?’

‘No. Writing the curses.’

This is the sharpest slap I’ve ever received. It takes the breath from my body. I can’t make words. I am so hurt. My head is shaking a ‘no’, but the world is in slow motion and I’m holding the pain in so tight.

‘Just tell me why, Wilde? I can help you.’

I am a balloon bursting. ‘How dare you? How dare you pretend to be my friend and then turn on me like this? I hate you. I hate you.’ I’m grabbing hold of her and snarling in her face. She’s fighting back and she’s really hurting me, but my anger is stronger and won’t be stopped. Suddenly there is someone else there, pulling us apart.

‘Stop. Stop.’

It’s Susan Stevens.

I back away from Dorcas. I’m out of breath and stunned.

Susan Stevens. How much has she heard?

‘I want it to stop now. It’s all gone too far.’ Susan is crying. I’m scared of what she’s heard.

Dorcas is leaning against the sink for support and she looks shocked too.

I can’t believe we’ve had a fight. The only friend I’ve ever really had.

‘Please stop all the fighting.’ Susan’s voice is thin and reedy.

‘It’s OK, Susan. We’ve stopped. We aren’t fighting. Don’t worry about us.’

Susan is shaking like a shadow. ‘She said you were The Witch.’

I flinch and try not to show how deeply it cuts.

‘She said you wrote the curses.’

I don’t say anything. It stings too much.

‘It wasn’t you. It was me.’

The room empties of air. Dorcas manages to make a word. ‘What?’

‘I’m The Witch.’ Susan repeats herself. ‘I am The Witch.’

I open and shut my mouth.

Dorcas can speak but only just. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know it was wrong. It just got out of hand so quickly. I’m so sick of being invisible. No one ever notices me, and if they do it’s to laugh at me, or poke fun at me. Poor little Susan Stevens, she hasn’t got any friends. Poor little Susan Stevens she’s so quiet, wouldn’t say boo to a goose. On it goes, on and on. I’m nobody. I’m nothing. I just wanted to be noticed.’

She is the very opposite of me.

‘I wanted everyone to know how it felt to hurt. I’ve seen everything. I know lots of things. I might not talk much, but I listen. At the start, I listened so I could try to make friends, but no one wanted to be friends with me. Day by day, I just got more invisible. Year by year, I disappeared. When the project started, I decided I wasn’t going to be invisible anymore. I…’

She bursts into fresh tears.

‘You are The Witch?’ The first words I’ve managed.

‘I am The Witch.’

We all turn to a noise behind us.

‘Well, well, well. This just gets better and better.’ Jemima has sidled in. ‘The Witch has been discovered and now she must be tried.’

This is bad. This is very, very bad.