A Tangle of Magic Read online

  Perhaps it’s something that’s too small to see, thought Penelope, yawning. But I can find out in the morning. Time to sleep now. She turned the light off again and didn’t give it any more thought. She was already half asleep when Coco slunk into the room, jumped up on to the bed and burrowed under the duvet, but the cat crept out again a moment later. She tapped Penelope on the nose with a furry paw and started sniffing at the air. Penelope opened her eyes, blearily.

  ‘That’s it! The fire smell! I don’t smell of fire any more!’

  Coco continued to tap her on the nose in distress.

  ‘Stop it, Coco,’ grunted Penelope, pushing the cat aside. Coco mewed in protest, but crept back under the duvet. Feeling the cat’s comforting warmth on her feet, Penelope allowed herself to slide into the land of dreams.

  If a person has smelt of fire all their life, it’s a little confusing when that smell disappears overnight. But Penelope felt even more confused the next morning, because when she went into the bathroom she found a strange girl staring back at her from the mirror above the sink. The girl in the mirror had Penelope’s small nose, Penelope’s dark-green eyes and Penelope’s pale skin, but she didn’t have limp grey strands sprouting from her head – she had a wild tangle of hair as red as fire.

  ‘Who are you?’ Penelope asked the girl in the mirror. The girl didn’t reply. Penelope pulled a strand of hair across her face; it was bright red. She blinked. The red-haired girl blinked, too.

  ‘Impossible,’ she murmured. The mirror-girl said nothing, but Penelope saw her lips move at the same time as her own. She sat down on the closed lid of the loo and tried to breathe calmly. She counted to ten three times, as she often did when she needed to calm herself, but this morning it didn’t help at all. Click-click . . . Her tongue had started clicking madly. What was going on? She no longer smelt of fire – but instead she had flame-red hair. How was that possible? And what did it mean?

  Suddenly Penelope missed her mother more than ever. She wanted to throw herself into her arms and lay an ear against her chest, listening to the heartbeat, the way she’d done as a small child. She wanted her mum to stroke her new red hair and say, ‘Penny, my Penny, you’re my daughter, you smell good to me no matter what! And whether your hair’s grey or red doesn’t change what’s on the inside.’

  But that was exactly it! Penelope wasn’t so sure that nothing had changed inside her. Yes, she realized, she really did feel completely different from usual: incredibly light, and somehow permeable, and much more alert. In fact, she could sense an incredible strength in the centre of her being, blazing a trail up her spine. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but Penelope wasn’t used to it, so it scared her a little.

  Coco slunk into the bathroom, looked at Penelope and wound herself around her legs. Penelope stooped to stroke the old cat’s grey fur, wiping a tear from her cheek with her other hand. She was glad Coco was there. The cat nudged Penelope’s hand hard with her nose, which meant that she was hungry, and that Penelope should kindly go downstairs and shake some biscuits into her bowl.

  ‘It’s OK, sweetiepie.’ Penelope straightened up and took a deep breath, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. OK, then! If Coco could act as if this was a perfectly normal morning, then she could too.

  5

  Post

  Filled with new determination, Penelope picked up her comb and dragged it through her new red hair, wincing as the tangles snagged and pulled. Never mind! She abandoned the comb, washed her face with cold water and ran downstairs.

  Granny wasn’t up yet – probably sleeping in, as usual. Coco meowed in annoyance and Penelope obediently shook cat food into the bowl. She set the kettle to boil and spooned verbena leaves into the teapot. What next? Today was Saturday: no school, thank goodness. And Granny wasn’t collecting Mum from the hospital until late-afternoon. Penelope was full of energy – she couldn’t spend her day waiting around inside. She felt an urge to go outdoors – to the forest or the stone circle, or even just for a run across the fields.

  She was pouring the hot water into the teapot when there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘Come in, it’s open,’ called Penelope. The next moment, the postman was standing in the dragon house.

  ‘I have a delivery for the esteemed Mrs Elizabeth Burke.’ He put down a large parcel and wiped a hand over his brow. Penelope smiled in sympathy – Granny’s enormous coin collection never stopped growing. ‘Well, I’d better be on my way. Oh, and that’s a very pretty hair colour, by the way. A little daring, but pretty.’ And then he was gone.

  Penelope’s senses tingled.

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ she called after him. ‘A letter? In a dark envelope?’

  ‘What?’ The postman turned. ‘Not that I know of.’ But he started to rummage through his sack anyway. Sure enough, a dark-grey envelope surfaced.

  ‘Holy mackerel! How did you know that?’ His forehead crinkled in puzzlement, but Penelope just shrugged. He passed the letter to her quickly and was off outside to his van.

  This letter is from someone like me, thought Penelope, and her tongue clicked. What exactly someone like me meant, she had no idea, but somehow she knew that whatever was in the letter, it wasn’t good.

  A printed sticker on the front read, To Lucia and Penelope Gardener. Another sticker on the back read: Sender: L. Gardener.

  L. Gardener? Who on earth was that? Penelope had no other relatives except for a great-uncle, and his name was Ben Herbert.

  ‘OK,’ Penelope said to herself, setting down her tea. ‘So I’ll open it, then I can find out a bit more about this L. Gardener.’ But then she paused. Her mother might not want her to read this letter, and Penelope didn’t like the idea of upsetting her. But what was the problem? It was addressed to her too, after all!

  ‘I’ll just take a quick look,’ she said to herself, and held the envelope over the still-steaming kettle. ‘I can stick it back together again afterwards, and Mum will never know.’

  Coco mewed, arched her back and swished her tail through the air, as if she was afraid.

  ‘Calm down,’ Penelope said, frowning at the cat. ‘I don’t think any wild dogs are going to jump out of it!’ The flap of the envelope loosened, and she peered inside.

  What was this? No letter. No card either. The envelope contained just one thing: a five-pound note.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Penelope. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Pennyyyyy!’ A shrill voice resounded through the house. Granny Elizabeth was standing on the wooden staircase. Her face was as white as her linen nightdress. Hastily Penelope stuck the envelope closed and shoved it under the heavy parcel.

  But Granny wasn’t looking at the letter. ‘Your hair! Oh, good heavens, child, your hair!’ She was staring at Penelope as though a stranger was standing in the kitchen, not her granddaughter. Penelope was confused – and then she remembered: she had red hair now. In all her puzzlement over the grey letter, she’d completely forgotten!

  Penelope tossed her new red curls over her shoulder, determined to be brave. ‘My hair looks pretty. Well, the postman thought so, anyway. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘You mean someone’s seen you like that?’ cried her grandmother, clutching the bannister in horror. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

  Suddenly, Penelope felt very cross: she couldn’t believe how Granny was reacting! Granny sleeps till all hours, she thought, and when she finally surfaces all she can do is kick off. She could at least have asked me how I actually feel about this, and . . . Unable to bear it, she stamped her foot so hard on the wooden floor that dust billowed into the air.

  Granny’s face had set into an expression of determination to match Penelope’s. ‘That red tangle is coming off right now. Sit down, and I’ll get the scissors,’ she said, and turned towards the bathroom.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Penelope shouted at her granny’s retreating back. Now she was really angry. ‘Cut off whatever you want, but not my beautiful new hair!’ And she raced outside,
the door crashing violently against the side of the dragon house.

  Penelope ignored Granny’s screeches of protest and stumbled down the steps. She tore across the meadow, heading for the forest, nearly tripping into a ditch in her haste to run as far away as possible. A deer emerged as Penelope reached the first line of trees, glancing at her curiously, but she didn’t even notice. She raced over the dew-soaked woodland grass as if she was flying, as if her feet were airborne, touching neither grass nor earth beneath her. A fiery tail of hair streamed out in her wake, glowing in the sunlight like red gold.

  6

  A Grey Homecoming

  Darkness was falling by the time Penelope returned to the dragon house. It was dark and empty, and Penelope felt suddenly worried. But of course, she realized, Granny Elizabeth was collecting Mum from the hospital. On the kitchen table, propped against the open package of old coins, stood a note on yellow paper:

  We’ll be back very late, you might as well go to bed.

  Regards, G. E.

  Regards, G. E.? What sort of tone was that? Not a friendly one, at any rate, thought Penelope, as she cut herself a thick slice of onion bread and drank huge gulps of water from the tap. Oh well, never mind – tomorrow, at last, her mother would be home. She would stroke Penelope’s hair and braid it into two red plaits, then they’d go off to the forest hand in hand – Granny Elizabeth (or G. E., as she seemed to be calling herself now) could stay at home, cut up her linen nightie with her precious scissors, pore over her coin collection and be as unfriendly as she liked. That was absolutely fine as far as Penelope was concerned.

  She went into the bathroom to wash – she was quite grubby after her day spent outside. But after rinsing her hands and face, she simply stood in front of the mirror for a long time, gazing at her hair. How shiny it was, and how soft it felt! It was like a huge, curly red veil that enveloped and protected her, hugging her shoulders and flowing down her back. It’d been such a shock when she’d first seen it in the mirror, only this morning, but now she couldn’t even imagine that she’d ever looked any different. She felt light and free. The strange power she’d felt blazing inside her that morning had settled into a peaceful humming sensation.

  Coco wandered into the bathroom and started to climb up Penelope’s leg. ‘OK, I’m coming,’ laughed Penelope, following the old cat over the creaky floorboards into her room and into bed.

  Just as she was dropping off to sleep, she heard the front door open. Mum was home!

  She jumped up and raced out of the room – but paused on the landing. Her mother’s voice was raised and angry. Penelope could hear her pacing up and down the kitchen floor with quick footsteps. ‘Only five pounds, you said? Unbelievable. Is he trying to taunt me now, after everything he’s put me through? What’s that about? Can you explain it to me, Mother? That blasted man, if only I’d never—’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have Penelope,’ Granny Elizabeth pointed out, in a softer tone. ‘And she’s your everything – you’re always saying so. Besides, he was the love of your life. Hindsight is everything, as they say, but you weren’t to know how things would end up.’

  Silence, apart from the ticking of the kitchen clock. Penelope frowned in the half-light of the landing. What were they talking about? What ‘blasted man’? What ‘love of her life’? And what did all that have to do with the five pounds?

  ‘Oh, and—’ Granny Elizabeth broke off. ‘No, on second thoughts, now that you’ve got yourself so worked up, I’m not going to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Her mother’s voice sounded shrill now.

  Granny was silent.

  Mum’s voice was deadly serious. ‘Tell. Me. What? Mother . . .’ There was a sharp note of warning in her voice.

  Granny sighed. ‘Well, it’s . . . it’s Penelope’s hair. It seems to have taken on a bit of a reddish tone – not that strong, she barely noticed it herself – but you really should—’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ cried her mother. ‘It sounds like I got out of hospital just in time, or we really would have had a disaster on our hands!’

  Disaster? What disaster? For the second time that day Penelope felt angry. She’d thought her mother would be happy about her hair, and now to hear her say something like that . . . ! Yes, the abrupt change was odd – but what was wrong with red hair? Suddenly she felt very alone. The urge to storm downstairs quickly deserted her, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. She crept back to bed and pulled the duvet up to her nose. A wild hubbub of voices pounded in her head: . . . Then you wouldn’t have Penelope . . . He was the love of your life . . . That blasted man . . .

  Could they have been talking about her father? L. Gardener, the sticker on the envelope had said. Could that be Leo Gardener? Leo Arthur, that had been her father’s name. But her father was dead – so how could he taunt her mother? Penelope’s tongue was clicking so hard that the roof of her mouth had started to hurt. And why was G. E. talking about a ‘bit of a reddish tone’? Had she suddenly gone colour blind? It would be impossible to find a redder head of hair than Penelope’s!

  She heard footsteps on the stairs. Penelope turned to face the wall. She didn’t want to see anyone – but her mouth was clicking wildly, and she knew her mother or G. E. would hear. She’d have to stop it right away.

  Don’t think about it. Think about something else, thought Penelope. Something boring, think about something boring. White mushrooms, field mushrooms, horse mushrooms . . . click, click. Toadstools, puffballs, truffles . . . click. The footsteps grew closer and stopped in front of her bedroom door. Porridge, cheese sandwiches, sugar-free jam . . . The latch was pressed downwards. Dandelions, dock leaves, thistles, weeds.

  Success! Penelope’s tongue tapped one more time, lightly, against the roof of her mouth, and then was still.

  Her bedroom door opened, and Mrs Gardener crept into the dark room. ‘Penelope, love?’

  Penelope didn’t answer, but kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. Her mother sat down on the bed and sighed softly. After a moment, she started to stroke Penelope’s hair. Penelope felt her muscles relax. She’d really missed her mum! She could almost forget that she’d ever been angry with her.

  Snap!

  Penelope stiffened. Was that the sound of a lid being opened? A strange and very familiar smell – a smell like fire – floated up to Penelope’s nostrils, then she felt her hair being stroked again. But it felt different now. It wasn’t her mother’s hand any more – it was an object of some kind. Something cold and hard, like a spatula . . . Penelope sat up and snapped the light on.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Penelope asked.

  Mrs Gardener froze, her mouth open in shock. In her hand was a dripping paintbrush and in her lap sat a large glass bowl, bubbling with grey paste. Penelope sniffed: the familiar stench of smoke filled her nose.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing?’ asked Penelope again. Her mother stared at her, speechless. Penelope touched her hair. Grey clumps of the bubbling gunge hung from her fingers. She felt a burning sensation in her nose, and her eyes started watering.

  Wham! Suddenly everything fell into place.

  ‘You’ve been dyeing my hair all this time! It’s never been grey – it was always red, and you’ve been covering it up all these years with that stuff. But you’ve been away so long that the real colour’s come back!’ Hastily she rubbed the paste off her head. Her mother still hadn’t moved. ‘But why, Mum? Why?’

  No movement. Not a word. Her mum appeared to be in shock. Coco jumped on to Mrs Gardener’s lap and pushed her nose into her stomach, and finally her mother whispered: ‘Because you’re my everything. Because I don’t want to lose you.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked, and the tears ran down her face. Penelope threw her arms around her mother.

  ‘But, Mum, you haven’t lost me – it’s just the opposite! I feel like I’m me for the first time in my life, like I’m complete at last. There’s no question of you losing me
!’

  But this just made her mother cry even more. Penelope was totally confused. She let go of her mother and pulled her legs up to her body so that her red hair flowed over her knees. Her heart was thumping wildly and her tongue as well . . . Why should telling her mother how totally herself she felt with red hair make her cry?

  The moon emerged from behind a cloud, shining into the room and bathing the furniture, her mother and Penelope in its silvery light. Another realization hit Penelope like a physical blow. Suddenly she knew she wasn’t the only one in the family to be blessed with hair like hers: she’d inherited this hair.

  ‘Tell me about Dad,’ she said softly. Mrs Gardener looked up, opened her mouth and nodded silently.

  7

  Love at First Sight

  ‘Your father and I met at an auction for a rundown old cottage,’ Penelope’s mother began. ‘Lots of people had come to bid for it, but I noticed the handsome red-haired man in the dark overcoat straight away. Neither of us bid enough money for the cottage, and when the auction finished, the handsome man said to me, “Now we’ve saved ourselves a bit of cash, how about we go and spend some of it together?” There was such a sparkle in his eyes as he said it that I couldn’t help but agree. But there wasn’t really anywhere to spend our money nearby, so we went for a long walk in the countryside instead.

  ‘Everything this red-haired man said made so much sense, everything he did was so natural and so casual that at first I didn’t notice that he was different . . . that he was simply an impossibility. As we walked, he plucked berries from the bushes for me, even though it was spring. He picked young leaves, pressed them gently against his cheek, stroked them flat between his hands, and in the next moment butterflies flew out from between his fingers. He grabbed me around my waist, lifted me up, spun around, and suddenly we were sitting on the highest branch of an oak tree. He took my hand, looked at me and said, “We’ll be happy together, you and I, and I’ll be there for you, for as long as I live. Would you like that? Would you like to be my wife?” I nodded, as I knew deep inside that he was the love of my life. Even though I barely knew him.’