Unexpected Magic (15 page)

When they got home, the first thing Mother did was to take the plastic bag in her finger and thumb—with a shudder, because plastic is made in factories—and throw it away. The thing Tim called a mushroom rolled out onto the Persian rug. It was quite round, bright pink, and fluffy like a baby chicken.

“It looks like the bobbles on my slippers!” Nina said. She stroked the toadstool as she used to stroke her slippers. Everyone stroked it. It felt lovely. Mother looked it up in her toadstool book, but it did not seem to be there. So, because she was busy trying to make sloe jam and chopping the wild onions to cook with the other toadstools, she told Paul to throw it away.

The others helped Mother. Mother was determined not to make jam with sugar, because that came from a factory. They were all busy scraping out honey jars and trying to suggest that brown sugar was almost Natural, when Paul came back.

“I can't throw it away,” he whispered. “It's grown to the carpet.”

It had. Nina and Tim went to look. The round pink ball had put out a firm little stalk and was now growing in the middle of the Persian rug.

“Leave it,” said Nina. “It's so pretty.”

After that, they were even busier, leaning over the jam pan scooping hundreds of little tiny stones out from the boiling sloes. Nobody thought about the fluffy pink toadstool, until Tim came shouting proudly: “I got
two
mushrooms now!”

He had. There were now two round furry pink toadstool-things growing in the Persian rug.

“I think,” Father said doubtfully, “that we ought to throw it away now, before it does that again.”

But Tim said it was
his
mushroom. Nina said it was exactly like her slippers now, and Paul said it was interesting. And Mother settled it by rushing in with another toadstool book. “I've found it! It doesn't say it's pink, but I'm sure this is it. It's called Lady's Slipper and I think you can eat it.”

Just then, the sloe jam boiled over, and everyone forgot about the two round pink furry toadstools. When they had wiped up all the black, burnt syrup, Paul thought to go and look at them again. There were now four round pink furry toadstools growing in a neat square on the Persian rug. Paul was so interested that he said nothing.

Soon after that, the jam was done. They tasted it. And it was clear that a jar of honey, even mixed with a packet of brown sugar, had not done anything for the sloes. It was acutely, horribly,
uneatably
sour. They all had to clean their teeth. When she had done that, Nina went to look at the pink toadstools. There were now eight of them, almost in a ring.

“I think they double every hour,” said Paul.

“Let's look again in an hour,” said Nina.

They did, while Mother was cooking the other toadstools for supper. By that time, there were sixteen round pink furry toadstools growing in a proper ring on the Persian rug. But they forgot them again after that, because Mother served the boiled toadstools with the chopped wild onions. Quite a number of them, despite being beaten with a hammer, were as hard to eat as the soles of their handmade sandals. Some of the others did not seem quite as nutritious as Mother's books said they were. Everyone felt rather unwell. But the worst part of the supper was the wild onions. Father, as he chewed them—they had all got used to good, hard chewing that summer—remarked: “Plenty of taste in these onions.”

There was indeed plenty of taste. In fact, there was too much. For the rest of the evening nobody could taste anything but wild onion. They could still taste it when they went to bed, and they went to bed rather early, all feeling a little seedy.

Meanwhile, the sixteen round pink furry toadstools quietly became thirty-two round pink furry toadstools. These thirty-two became sixty-four, and these sixty-four … All through the night, silently and mysteriously, the round pink furry toadstools doubled in number, once every hour. Soon there was no room for a ring of them. Soon …

When everyone came down in the morning, still tasting wild onions, the floor of the living room was a mass of fluffy pink. Fluffy pink had grown up the walls and was just meeting in the middle of the ceiling around the light. Fluffy pink had begun to spread to the kitchen. That was when Father put his foot down.

Mother, he said, was welcome to any daft ideas she wanted. But she was to have them on her own. If she tried to make any of the rest of the family take part in her crazes, Father said, he would leave, and he would take Tim and Nina and Paul with him. And, to prove that he meant what he said, he took all three children out for the day and left Mother to get rid of the toadstools.

Mother's latest craze is playing the violin. But she does it by herself. If the rest of the family keep all the doors shut, they hardly notice it at all.

“I
shall take the children for a lovely day at the seaside tomorrow,” said Auntie Bea.

The children felt miserable. Auntie Bea was huge, with a loud voice. She had been staying with the Pearsons for a week then, and they all felt crushed and cross.

“You needn't bother to drive us, Tom,” said Auntie Bea. “I can easily go by bus.” This was Auntie Bea's way of telling Mr. Pearson he was to drive them to the seaside.

Mr. Pearson looked very cheerful. “Isn't that lucky? I have to take the car for its inspection tomorrow.”

When Auntie Bea decided to do something, she did it. She turned to Mrs. Pearson. “Well, you can help me carry the things, Eileen.”

Mrs. Pearson hastily discovered that she was going to the dentist.

“Then Nancy will help,” said Auntie Bea. “Nancy's so sensible.”

“No, I'm not,” said Nancy.

“So that's all right,” said Auntie Bea. She never attended to anything the children said. “Nancy can look after Debbie, and Simon can carry the things.”

The number of things Auntie Bea needed for a day at the seaside would have been about right if she was going to climb Mount Everest. Mr. Pearson helped her pile them in the hall, in twenty-two separate heaps. Auntie Bea was so afraid of losing or forgetting some of them that she wrote out twenty-two labels, each with their names and address on it, and tied them to the bundles. Meanwhile, Mrs. Pearson cut up four loaves to make the number of sandwiches Auntie Bea thought they would need.

“And little jellies in yogurt cups,” Auntie Bea said, racing into the kitchen. “
Such
a good idea!”

Mrs. Pearson was so glad to be getting rid of Auntie Bea for a day that she made them two jellies each.

“I feel like a human sacrifice,” Simon said. “How does she think I can carry all that and manage Honey as well?” Honey was due to have puppies any day now. Simon was too anxious about her to leave her behind.

Auntie Bea came downstairs shaking out a vast swimsuit. It was electric blue with shiny orange hearts all over it. Nancy blinked, and wondered what Auntie Bea would look like wearing it.

“That's pretty,” said Debbie, who loved bright colors. “I shall make Teddy a swimsuit like that.”

“I hope it rains,” said Nancy.

Unfortunately, the next day was bright and sunny. But they missed the early bus, because of Teddy and Honey. Debbie had pinned a scarf around Teddy like a nappy, and she had written him a label too:
Deb's Ted wiv care in Emurjunsy fone Millwich 29722.

As soon as Auntie Bea saw Teddy, she said, “No, dear. We only take things we need today.”

Debbie's face took on its most mulish look, and the argument only ended when Auntie Bea saw Honey drooping joylessly on the end of her lead.

“You can't take him, dear. He might have his puppies at any moment!” Just as Auntie Bea never attended to children, she never attended to whether dogs were she's.

That argument was only finished when Simon found he could not carry all his bundles, even without Honey.

“You'll have to leave the stove and the kettle,” said Mrs. Pearson, very anxious to see them off.

“In that case, we must take plenty of boiled water!” said Auntie Bea. “Think of the germs!”

So Simon's bundles were repacked and they set off to catch the later bus. Nancy went first with a light load of: one tartan rug, one carrier-bag of sandwiches, a first-aid box, and a bundle of buckets and spades. Auntie Bea sailed behind hung about with: one folding chair, one striped umbrella, three pints of milk, a bag of sweaters, a bag of suntan cream, a packet of sandwiches, two dozen hard-boiled eggs, a complete change of outsize clothes, three books, and a radio. Debbie trotted behind that with: a bundle of towels, a beach ball in a string bag and a basket full of jellies and cake, with Teddy defiantly sitting in it too. A long, long way behind came Simon. He was not sure what was in the rucksack, nor what was in his other six bundles, but he could see thermos flasks sticking out of one and an electric torch out of another. His knees buckled under it all, and Honey kept tangling her lead around them. Honey did not seem happy.

“It will serve him right if he has his puppies in the sea,” Auntie Bea said, and counted the bundles to make sure they had remembered them all.

Nothing much happened on the bus ride, except that Honey threatened to be sick. When they got to Millhaven, it was quite late in the morning and already very crowded.

“Crowds, germs!” said Auntie Bea, counting everything again. “We should have caught the early bus.” She hoisted up her twelve bundles and set off happily down the steps to the sand, calling, “Don't bother to help with all this. I can manage perfectly.”

They struggled after her down the steps and caught her up on the sand.

“Debbie,” said Auntie Bea, “you take the umbrella. If Nancy takes the folding chair, I can manage perfectly.”

“No, I won't,” said Debbie. “It was you brought it.”

“Why don't we stop just here?” Nancy asked.

Debbie's refusal brought out the worst in Auntie Bea. She gave a scornful look around at the deck chairs, rugs, and sand castles on the crowded beach, and called out to the man who hired the deck chairs in her loudest, most hooting voice: “My good man, can you direct me to somewhere less crowded?”

The deck chair man scratched his head. “Well, it thins out a bit up there, ma'am, but you can't go in the rocks. Tourists are not allowed on the island.”

Auntie Bea stuck up her head indignantly at being called a tourist and set off at a trot where the man pointed, hooting to the children to come along. They plowed after her, making zigzags around the other families, who all stared, because Auntie Bea kept turning around and hooting at them. To the right were the lovely white waves of the sea, rolling, folding, and breaking with a joyful smash, but Auntie Bea would not hear of stopping. Honey, on the other hand, would not walk. She had never seen the sea before. All she knew was that it was the biggest bath in the universe, and she dreaded baths. Simon had a terrible time with her.

Nancy suggested that they stop for the donkeys, and for the swings, and for one of the ice-cream carts. But Auntie Bea just cried out “Germs!” and scudded on. She would not stop until they had left all the people behind, and there was nothing but rocks. There was a kind of road of rocks stretching into the sea and, at the end of the road, an island. It was quite small—only big enough to hold a tuft of trees.

“The very place!” cried Auntie Bea, and went out over the rocks like Steve Ovett winning a race.

Honey, for some reason, was even more afraid of the island than the sea. Simon had to walk backward, dragging her. When he turned around at the end, he found there was a barbed-wire fence round the island and a large notice on the gate:
ISLAND ISLAND KEEP OUT.

There was no time to wonder about that. Auntie Bea was already charging through the trees. Simon dragged Honey past another notice:
NO TRESPASSERS
, and yet another:
TRESPASSERS WILL BE SORRY
. By that time, Auntie Bea had stopped and he caught up.

“I don't think we ought to be on this island,” Nancy was saying.

“Nobody's afraid of three ignorant notices, dear,” said Auntie Bea. “We're going to camp here.”

Everyone was too tired to protest. They threw down the bundles and thankfully tipped the sand out of their shoes. Honey lay down, panting. She looked rather ill. Auntie Bea prepared to put on her swimsuit. First she spread the rug out. Then she arranged the chair and the screen and the umbrella to make a sort of hut. Finally, she crawled mountainously in to undress.