The Time Spell Read online

  Judi was born in London and grew up in Cork. She now lives in Limerick with her family. She has three children and a cat called Domino. Domino does not have any superpowers – as far as she knows. In her spare time, Judi likes to read, play Scrabble and grow tomatoes.

  Books by Judi Curtin

  FRIENDS FOREVER: THE TIME SPELL

  JUDI CURTIN

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published 2011

  Text copyright © Judi Curtin, 2011

  Illustrations copyright © Sara Flavell, 2011

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-141-33504-9

  For Dan, Brian, Ellen and Annie

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  I lay back and closed my eyes. I could feel blades of grass tickling my neck. The sun was warm on my face. I was sleepy, after hours of sitting in the back garden doing nothing.

  ‘I’m wasting my life,’ I moaned.

  Tilly giggled. ‘I don’t know about your life, but you’re certainly wasting that ice cream.’

  I opened my eyes just in time to see the lump of ice cream slipping from the cone that I was holding. I tried to grab it, but despite my efforts, it slithered through my fingers and on to the grass beside me. It sat there like a small, lost, out-of-season snowball.

  In temper, I squished the cone in my hand and then threw the whole soggy mess into the hedge.

  Tilly continued to lick her ice cream into a perfect, neat sphere that was never going to topple anywhere.

  ‘Why do you say you’re wasting your life?’ she asked. ‘I’m having a lovely time.’

  I sighed. ‘It’s the summer holidays and all we do is … stuff. We get up in the morning, do stuff, we go to bed and then the next day we get up again and do some more stuff.’

  Tilly used her tongue to press her ice cream deeper into its cone.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I like the stuff we’ve been doing. We’ve been shopping, we’ve been to the beach, we’ve been to the park and we’ve gone for loads of cycle trips. We’ve been to the cinema a few times. We’ve been bowling. We’ve –’

  ‘But that’s all just us having a good time.’

  ‘And the problem with us having a good time is?’

  I felt like thumping her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having a good time,’ I said. ‘But basically that’s all useless stuff. We’re young and we’re smart and we have nothing to show for the last few weeks. What have we done that’s important?’

  Tilly was now nibbling the upper edges of her cone with her perfect straight white teeth.

  ‘How can the two of us do anything that’s important? We can’t invent a magic food that will put an end to world hunger. We can’t persuade all the armies in the universe to stop fighting. We’re only twelve, remember.’

  ‘Stop being so sensible,’ I said, before realizing that someone who could eat an ice cream as carefully as Tilly was never going to be anything except very, very sensible.

  ‘Anyway, I am going to make a difference to the world,’ she said, ignoring me. ‘I’m going to work really hard at school. Then I’m going to go to college and become an environmental scientist. I’m going to find a way to reverse global warming. I’m going to save the planet.’

  How sensible was that?

  ‘That’s very noble of you,’ I said. ‘But that will take forever. And I don’t want to wait forever. I want to make a difference to the world now.’

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to hear that.’

  I groaned.

  Why did my mum always have to sneak up on people? Didn’t she know when a conversation was supposed to be private?

  ‘So, Lauren, you want to make a difference to the world?’ she said.

  I nodded cautiously, knowing there had to be a catch. When my mum is around, there’s always a catch.

  ‘Then you can bring this parcel to the post office for me,’ she said. ‘It will make a difference to your cousin John because he’ll get his birthday present on time, and it will make a difference to me because if I don’t have to go to the post office, I can watch the first episode of that new reality show that’s starting this afternoon.’

  I groaned again. My mum is addicted to reality TV, and helping her to watch more of it sooo wasn’t the kind of difference I wanted to make.

  Mum continued. ‘I hope John likes his present. I love getting presents, but I hardly ever do.’

  ‘Poor Mum,’ I said, laughing. ‘Nobody loves you. Maybe you should go on a reality show yourself and you could make a few million new friends.’

  Mum pretended to be hurt and I pretended not to notice.

  ‘Well … get a move on!’ said Mum.

  ‘I have to do everything around here,’ I protested. ‘Why don’t you ask Stephen or Amy?’

  ‘You know Stephen’s much too small to go to the post office on his own,’ said Mum.

  I sighed. My little brother is nine, but he’s Mum’s pet and she treats him like he’s a baby.

  ‘And I suppose Amy’s washing her hair again,’ I said.

  Mum didn’t answer, so I knew I was right. Amy is fifteen, and she spends her whole day washing her hair, putting on make-up and listening to really bad music.

 
Before I could say any more, though, Tilly was on her feet. She delicately put the last sliver of ice-cream cone into her mouth.

  ‘No problem, Deirdre,’ she said. ‘Of course we’ll go to the post office. The walk will be good for us. Come on, Lauren. This is your chance to make a difference.’

  I made a face at Tilly, but she ignored me. She was busy smiling sweetly at Mum, and Mum was busy smiling back at her.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said sulkily.

  ‘I like your hair, Deirdre,’ said Tilly, not moving. ‘Did you do something different with it?’

  Mum patted her hair.

  ‘I got it cut yesterday,’ she said. ‘But you’re the only one who’s noticed.’

  I pretended to get sick. Mum and Tilly have this ‘best friends’ thing going on that sometimes makes me totally crazy.

  But mostly, I try not to care. You see, Tilly’s mum died when Tilly was a baby, and how mean would it be of me not to let her share mine occasionally?

  I took the parcel and the money from Mum and followed Tilly through the side gate.

  One day I’d show them all.

  I would do something amazing.

  Then they’d be sorry that they didn’t listen to me.

  On the way home from the post office, Tilly took a turn leading away from our house.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked, like I didn’t know already.

  ‘To the park. Let’s go on the climbing wall.’

  ‘But that’s soooo boring.’

  ‘Come on, Lauren,’ she said. ‘We haven’t been in ages.’

  ‘We were there yesterday,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it feels like ages to me,’ she said. ‘And you know I need to keep practising.’

  I should mention that Tilly’s a bit obsessed with the climbing wall. She thinks that when she’s older, in her spare time from sorting out global warming, she’s going to climb Mount Everest and raise loads of money for charity.

  I decided to appeal to her sensible nature. ‘Climbing’s dangerous,’ I said. ‘You might fall and hurt yourself.’

  She laughed as she ran ahead of me. ‘I won’t fall,’ she said. ‘I’m too careful.’

  She was right. I stood at the bottom of the wall and watched as she climbed. Every move of her hands and feet was carefully planned, and she never looked like she was in the slightest bit of danger.

  ‘Come on, Lauren,’ she called as she balanced on the ledge at the top of the wall. ‘Hurry up. The weather is lovely up here.’

  I didn’t answer. I took a deep breath as I started to climb, clinging tightly on to every hand and foothold. At last I was sitting on the ledge beside Tilly.

  ‘Isn’t it so brilliant up here?’ she said.

  Again, I didn’t answer. I’d never admit it to Tilly, but I’m really nervous about high places. I like to keep my feet firmly on the ground, and right now I felt very, very uncomfortable.

  Tilly showed no sign of moving any time soon.

  ‘I’m going down,’ I said in the end. ‘It’s a bit cold up here.’

  I scrambled down as best I could, and when I got to the bottom, I felt like kissing the solid ground under my feet. Tilly was beside me in a second.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go up again. I’ll race you.’

  I shook my head. ‘You go. I’ll wait over there on that bench.’

  Tilly didn’t argue and soon all I could see were the soles of her shoes as she made her way to the top again.

  I sighed and went to sit on the bench. There were loads of people in the park, jogging and cycling and playing ball. The sun was still shining, and it was kind of peaceful watching everyone else being so energetic, while I was just sitting doing nothing.

  A few minutes later, an old woman came and sat on the other end of the bench, placing her shopping basket on to the grass beside her.

  What was she doing invading my space and spoiling my peace?

  ‘Hello,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  I didn’t answer. It wasn’t totally rude of me. My parents always say I shouldn’t talk to strangers. They’d be proud if they could see me being so obedient.

  ‘Hello,’ the old woman said again, a bit louder than before.

  It seemed mean to ignore her a second time.

  ‘Er, hello,’ I said, trying not to sound too friendly.

  Why couldn’t she just go away?

  The woman gave a small smile, like getting me to reply was a big achievement.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’

  Great!

  She probably wanted to tell me some boring story about what life was like a thousand years ago when she was a little girl.

  I didn’t answer, but my small nod was enough to make her continue.

  ‘I used to be crazy,’ she said.

  Double great!

  I wasn’t just talking to a stranger; I was talking to a crazy stranger.

  And I wasn’t reassured by her use of the words ‘used to be’. Crazy was crazy, wasn’t it? Only thing was – the woman didn’t look crazy, she just looked old and tired and a bit sad.

  Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I was edging further away on the bench when she spoke again.

  ‘A long time ago, I used to imagine things – all kinds of things. For a while, I couldn’t tell what was real, and what wasn’t real.’

  ‘That sounds awful,’ I said, forgetting that I was trying not to be interested.

  She nodded. ‘It was awful.’

  She stopped talking, and I began to hope that she’d got to the end of the story. Then she spoke again.

  ‘Of course, crazy isn’t a nice word. It’s the word that the boys who shouted at me in the street used to use.’

  ‘That’s totally mean,’ I said, feeling a sudden flash of anger on her behalf.

  She sighed. ‘They didn’t understand. They were just little boys.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I was starting to feel very sorry for this woman, crazy or not.

  She went on speaking in the same quiet voice. ‘The doctors never used the word “crazy”, though. They said I was mentally ill. Anyway, whatever you call it, it wasn’t much fun. But the doctors cured me. They gave me pink tablets and blue tablets and white tablets, and in the end I got better.’

  Now what was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to congratulate her?

  A group of teenagers came and sat on the grass near the bench, making me feel a bit safer. If the old woman started any weird stuff, help would only be a few metres away.

  The woman continued. ‘I still have to take the white tablets – two in the morning and two in the evening. They don’t taste very nice, but they work. And for the past ten years, everything has been perfect.’

  She stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

  ‘Er … I’m very happy for you,’ I said in the end, wondering if it would be rude of me to leave now.

  Tilly was on her way up the climbing wall for what must have been the tenth time, and didn’t seem to care that I was discussing pink and blue and white tablets with a stranger.

  ‘Only thing is,’ said the woman suddenly, ‘I think I might be going crazy again, and that means I’m going to have to dispose of my darling Sattie – even though I love him so dearly.’

  Totally great! Just when I was starting to relax, she was talking of killing somebody – probably her husband.

  Should I tell someone? Who should I tell? Would the police believe me? Was this my chance to make a difference? Could I save the intended murder victim?

  All I needed was a bit more evidence.

  ‘Er … who exactly is Sattie?’ I asked.

  The woman wiped away a tear from one of her faded blue eyes.

  ‘Sattie isn’t his real name, of course. His real name is Saturn. He’s my cat.’

  For a second I was relieved. If
this woman had a husband, it looked like his life wasn’t in any immediate danger. Then I realized that this wasn’t totally good news. ‘You’re going to kill your cat?’

  She shook her head crossly. ‘What kind of a woman do you take me for? When I say I need to dispose of Saturn, I mean that he can’t live with me any more. I need to find him a nice home.’

  I was relieved again. ‘But if you love him so much, why do you want to get rid of him?’

  She didn’t answer for a long time. Her eyes were half closed, and for a minute I thought she had dropped off to sleep.

  Then she spoke quickly. ‘Saturn belonged to an old man who used to live near me. He was a nice man, but he was very strange. He was crazier than I’ve ever been. Anyway, he died a few months ago and poor Saturn had no one else to take care of him. So I adopted him.’

  I smiled at her. ‘That was nice of you.’

  She nodded sadly. ‘I was glad of the company. And at first Saturn and I were very happy together.’

  She stopped talking. I was interested now and wanted to hear what happened next.

  ‘But?’ I prompted.

  I just knew that this was the kind of story where there had to be a ‘but’.

  ‘But lately, I’ve started to imagine things again. Strange things seem to be happening to me, but I know they can’t possibly be true. And they always happen when Saturn is around. He seems to influence my mental state. And, much as I love him, I don’t want to be sick again. That leaves me with no choice. He has to go.’

  It all sounded a bit weird to me, but who was I to argue?

  What did I know about mental illness and multi-coloured tablets and cats that make people think that strange things are happening?

  The woman ended with a final sentence that was almost like a sigh. ‘But where can poor Sattie go?’

  Once again she seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  Suddenly I had a brainwave.

  ‘Why don’t you send him to animal welfare?’ I suggested. ‘They came to our school once and gave us a talk. They love animals there. They find homes for stray cats and dogs.’

  The old woman shook her head. ‘I thought of that,’ she said. ‘But it’s easy to find homes for kittens. Saturn is all grown up. And he’s not … well, let’s say he’s not like other cats. Saturn is a very special cat and he needs someone very special to take care of him.’