Rosemary and the Book of the Dead Read online

  My tummy flipped over. Who wore pop socks?

  Frances, of course.

  I skidded over to the back door and unlocked it, quickly surveying the skyline. It was chilly for June, a clear night. The moon looked full and seemed to be glinting at me cheekily. I blinked and shook my head in an attempt to dispel those daft thoughts. The moon didn’t glint — that wasn’t real. But the pop sock that I retrieved from the bin most certainly was.

  I carefully locked the back door and headed out through the kitchen, back upstairs to bed.

  How on earth would I sleep now?

  But strangely enough, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt myself drift off into nothingness once more.

  I woke up the next day with that feeling you get when something exciting is going to happen but you’re not sure what.

  It was Friday, and we had no plans for the weekend, apart from a family dinner, as Mum, who had already gone to work, would be home around 6 p.m., and it seemed like a nice way to start the weekend.

  The sun was shining weakly, and it looked as if it was going to be a warm June day.

  I washed and pulled on my checked blue summer school dress and went downstairs. Nobody else seemed to share this fizzy feeling that I could feel in my tummy.

  Lois was hogging the rocking chair, eating panny cakes (her new addiction), which she had toasted, plain, and cut into four.

  Dad was always quiet in the mornings, and today was no exception. He was hugging his coffee and studying his tablet.

  “Oh!” he cried out in surprise.

  Lois and I looked up.

  “Looks like we’ve got a reply already to my advert!”

  I threw Lois a troubled look, which she returned with a grin and her impersonation of an angry baby rhinoceros. (You have to put your face down towards your chest and pull your eyebrows into a frown and then do an overbite with your bottom teeth.) I know it was supposed to make me laugh, but all I could manage was a weak smile.

  “Great!” Dad continued, starting to type. “I’m going to reply and tell her to come for an interview tonight at 5 p.m., as I’m working from home today.”

  “If we don’t like her, we don’t have to have her, do we, Dad?” I asked quietly, knowing it was a long shot.

  “Look, Rosie,” Dad smiled at me, “if you two don’t like her, then I don’t suppose I will either. And there will be loads of replies, don’t worry. We’ll probably be seeing quite a number of potential childminders.”

  Dad frowned.

  “What is it?” I asked nervously.

  “Nothing really, probably just a typo. I asked for a confirmation of their DBS certificate from any applicants, and she said she has a CFW certificate.” Dad shook his head, confused. “Probably a new thing I haven’t heard of … Crime Fighting W…” He trailed off.

  “Clever Friendly Woman?” Lois offered up, munching on her panny cake.

  I raised my eyebrows. “More likely Clueless Forgetful Whinger …”

  “Look, girls, whatever it stands for, it will be something sensible, no doubt, and nothing like anything you two can guess.”

  Nevertheless, the interview with the potential new nanny occupied my thoughts all day.

  At afternoon break time, Adi and I sat in the contemplation “apple” space.

  “What’s wrong, Rosemary? You’ve barely been listening to what I’ve been saying,” he complained.

  “Sorry, Ads. I’ve been thinking about the new childminder, and I’m dreading who will turn up tonight at 5.”

  “Don’t call me Ads.”

  “Soz.”

  Adi looked up into the sky. I wasn’t sure why; perhaps he was looking for some inspiration.

  “Did you listen to anything that I said before?” he asked me seriously.

  I paused. He didn’t look annoyed that I hadn’t been listening, so I guess it was safe to tell the truth. “Sorry, no.”

  He tutted and shook his head. “I just might have the answer to your childminder problem.”

  “What?” I must admit I was a little suspicious.

  “Why don’t you look in your mum’s spell book and do a spell to summon back all your old houseguests or something?”

  I found myself grinning, a smile that started slowly as I realised what he was saying, and which now was beginning to reach my boots. “Amazing idea, Adi! You’re a genius.”

  Adi blushed. “Yeah, I’ll take that.”

  5

  The New Nanny

  As soon as Lois and I got home after school, I made the most of Dad being upstairs while he helped Lois take her uniform off. I dashed into his small office, where I knew Mum kept her Book of Shadows, which is basically a book containing spells.

  I ran my finger down the index quickly.

  Spell to Find Love. No.

  Spell for Protection. No.

  Spell to Get Rid of Warts. Eugh. No.

  Spell to Give you Confidence. No.

  This was hopeless. Then I remembered Francesca’s Finds, which must have been Frances’ book. That was where we had got the spell we used last year to try to get rid of slimy Marcus, who had tried to worm his way into our family.

  I found it wedged in the bookshelf in between a book of Ear Worms You’ll Never Erase by Curly Slitherer and Dr Ranj Singh’s What’s That Rash?

  This is why I most definitely believe in fate. Because I opened the book up and there, right in front of me, were the words I had been searching for: Summoning Spell.

  I flicked my eyes over the ingredients.

  Lemonade and liquorice root.

  Was that it?

  I read on quickly.

  This is a simple ritual that can be used as a summoning spell, and one which you can use to gain control over others — so use it wisely.

  On a waxing moon, drink a glass of lemonade rapidly and then burn a piece of liquorice root. Once you feel the burps about to start, make sure you loudly say the name of the entity you wish to summon while burping. These vocal eruptions give the spell its power.

  When all your burps have been expelled and the root is burned, bury the ash facing west and lie down for ten minutes to allow the gases to settle.

  I was about to check the cupboards to see if we had any lemonade when Dad reappeared.

  “Sorry, Rosie, no computer time for you. I’ve only got forty minutes before this lady arrives for her interview, so I need to get on.”

  I sloped out of the office, feeling utterly defeated. I didn’t even know if it was a waxing moon, which if I remember rightly was after a new moon and leading up to a full moon. As for liquorice root, I hadn’t had a chance to rifle through Mum’s dried herb collection.

  I took myself up to my bedroom to get changed, noticing on the way that we did have a big bottle of lemonade on the side. Well, that was something. At least we could practise the ‘speaking while burping’ part of the spell.

  At 5 p.m. exactly there was a sharp rap on the front door, and my stomach flipped. I didn’t know whether to rush downstairs and see what this prospective nanny was like, or whether to remain hidden in my bedroom.

  “Come on, Rosie, let’s go down and see who it is,” whispered Lois loudly, as she stuck her head around my bedroom door. She was clutching Bea (as usual) and had her T-shirt on inside out.

  “Lois, your T-shirt’s on the wrong way,” I said frowning, trying to make out what it said.

  Lois shrugged casually. “Well, I’m going down.” She turned swiftly, and I heard the pitter-patter of her feet going down the stairs.

  I crept out of my room and leaned over the bannister, cautiously sneaking a look as Dad opened the door.

  “Hello, come in. Ah, let me help you with that.”

  I watched through narrowed eyes as Dad turned back into the hall carrying an enormous tartan hat box, which completely obscured his face. And following him, looking as if she was bursting to tell a big secret, trying not to grin from ear to ear, was Frances!

  I stared open-mouthed. I really was in total shock. I had to check myself to make sure we hadn’t actually done the summoning spell.

  No, we really hadn’t, and yet Frances was following my father into the lounge, her familiar Scottish burr reverberating around the house like a warm glow.

  “Thank you so much, Mr Pellow. I’m not very good at travelling light, I’m afraid, and I’ve given up on the traditional handbag.” She chuckled as if she’d just told a great joke. “I can never find anything in mine anyway!”

  “Do sit down, Miss Fothermiddle,” I heard my Dad say.

  “Muddle,” Frances corrected him.

  “Yes, I am in one, rather. That’s working from home and trying to look after the kids, eh?” Dad laughed.

  “No, no, dear, it’s muddle. My name is Fothermuddle, not middle. Although I do have plenty of middle, too. Must be my age!”

  I could imagine Frances patting her rotund tummy as she said this.

  Then the door closed, and I skidded down the stairs, nearly knocking Lois over, who had been crouched on the bottom step, hiding behind the menagerie of coats that were hanging over the bottom of the bannister post. We shared a look of mutual delight and excitement.

  “Did you know about this?” I whispered curiously.

  With her eyes wide, she shook her head.

  I pulled her up, and we crept over to the door to try to listen in.

  “And you have your own transport, you say?” we heard Dad ask, trying to do an authoritative voice.

  “Oh yes, there’s nae problem there,” Frances chuckled. I cringed, just knowing she was referring to her broomstick. “And I have my CFW certificate here.”

  We could hear she was rummaging around in her hat box.

  “Here we are.”

  There was silence.

&nbs
p; “Child Friendly Witch?” Dad said very slowly.

  Lois and I looked at each other, horrified.

  “Er, no, no, misprint. It’s meant to say, ‘Child Friendly Which Is All You Need!’ It’s the, er, new thingy out to replace the old checks …” Frances trailed off with a nervous giggle.

  “Right,” we heard Dad reply.

  “I am very flexible, as well,” Frances continued, clearly ticking off each of Dad’s requirements from the advert.

  “Quick, let’s get in the room before she starts doing a back bend or something,” I said, grabbing Lois and pushing her through the door.

  “Er,” Dad looked towards us, “these are my girls. This is Miss Fothergiggle,” he said, nodding towards Frances.

  I don’t know about Fothergiggle, but I could barely hold my giggle in.

  Frances looked horrified. “Just call me Frances, Mr Pellow. Easiest all round, methinks!”

  “Well, yes, where was I? I’m sure I needed to check on a few more things.” Dad looked vacantly at me and Lois and then back to Frances. He paused, looking as though he was unable to take his gaze away from her.

  Frances, meanwhile, sat comfortably on our sofa. Maggie had already jumped up and was treading her lap. Frances had clearly tried to dress more ‘conservatively’, as she had on a dark blue skirt and a cream shirt with a blue blazer, so she looked rather like some eccentric Girl Guide mistress. Yet the familiar pop socks were half-mast, and she wore her big black boots.

  She smiled benignly at Dad, winked at Lois, and glanced at me conspiratorially.

  Finally, after what seemed like an age, Dad spoke. “Well, when can you start, Frances?”

  “How about now?” she replied sweetly.

  6

  The Book of the Dead

  Dad went back to his office somewhat confused looking, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he had imagined the entire encounter. I could see that, to a non-believer like Dad, meeting someone like Frances would feel a bit like an out-of-body experience.

  Usually non-believers (in magic) couldn’t see witches or wizards like Frances and our other ex-houseguests, unless of course they chose to show themselves to them.

  “Come here, my wee girls!” Frances whispered, holding her arms out to us as Dad left the room.

  “Oh, Frances,” I gulped through my tears, “I thought we were never going to see you again! I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me too,” Lois added, snuggling into Frances’ cuddly frame. “Although Paloma told us someone we knew would come and be our childminder.”

  “Did she now?” Frances said thoughtfully.

  “Where are Phyllis and Mr Foggerty and Uncle Vic?” I added, hoping that the arrival of Frances would mean the others wouldn’t be far behind. “And how have you managed to get all your clothes and everything in that hat box?”

  Though large, it was certainly not big enough to contain Frances’ vast array of clothes, shoes, and toiletries.

  “One thing at a time, my love,” laughed Frances, securing her hat box with a click. “Uncle Vic is at our new headquarters, and Phyllis and Mr Foggerty are down in London.”

  I pulled a face. “That’s miles away,” I said, completely dejected.

  “Not as far as you think, young lady …” Frances tapped her nose. “And our new headquarters are in Liverpool city centre, so not far at all. But this means, my loves, I won’t be staying here like before. So, I haven’t got any of my clothes with me this time. They are all back at headquarters.” Frances stroked my hair, noticing how disappointed I looked. “Hey! You know we had to close the portal down in your house, don’t you, hen?”

  I nodded.

  “It wasn’t safe, not with …” She hesitated, as if worried saying his name might conjure him up, “… Mal Vine having found Phyllis. He knew there was a way through to your home, and so we had to close down and re-open elsewhere.”

  “Frances, do you have any Scottish batteries?” Lois said, completely changing the subject. “Only, our fridge magnet has stopped working, and I thought as you come from Scotland you might be able to fix it?”

  “Oh dear,” Frances replied, looking a little bemused. “Remind me to take a look at it sometime. By the way, where is your mum, girls? Will she be back soon?”

  “Mum’s got this three-month job on a soap opera, so she’s a bit busy right now,” I said glumly.

  “Oh yes, that’s right! I expect she’ll be home soon, and I don’t want to get in the way of your family meal tonight. Let’s go into the kitchen and see if we can do anything to help before she gets back.”

  We followed Frances into the kitchen and sat at the table while she peeled potatoes. (She said she was sure Mum was intending on us all having sausage, homemade chips, and beans for tea.) I didn’t like to remind Frances that beans were often a no-go area in our house, due to Lois’ copious amounts of wind.

  We chatted companionably for a while, though I could tell Frances was avoiding telling me much about what they had been doing.

  “So why were you in Egypt?” I asked, glancing towards the postcard that was still attached to our fridge by the Scottish fridge magnet. It was true that it had mysteriously run out of battery since the portal had closed down. Previously, whenever anyone pressed it, Scottish music played, and everyone had to stop what they were doing and join in with Scottish dancing for the duration of the tune.

  Lois and I had tried on many occasions to press it, usually to avoid some sort of ‘chore’ we had to do, or if we thought Mum and Dad were about to have an argument. Yet it remained oddly silent.

  Frances barely glanced up but continued peeling potatoes furiously. “We were on our holibobs, pet, that’s all.”

  “So why aren’t you all together now you’re back? Why are Phyllis and Mr Foggerty in London?”

  Frances shrugged casually. “They just are for now … Like I said, since the portal had to close, we’ve all had to disband a little and spread ourselves around a wee bit.”

  “Are you saying we won’t see them again?” I probed, looking serious.

  “No, no, no, dear, just they have a very important job to do right now, that’s all.”

  “Is that horrible man back? Phyllis’ brother who was trying to hurt us all?” Lois piped up.

  I opened my eyes in surprise. I had thought she was drawing a picture of Bea. She had obviously been earwigging. Sneaky moo.

  Frances looked cornered. “Oh no, don’t be a daftie. He’s long gone. We’ll no’ be hearing from him for a wee while!”

  I studied her pallor, which had gone grey. I knew she could feel my eyes boring into the back of her head, and she shifted uncomfortably.

  The silence was broken by my dad appearing, hovering nervously in the doorway of his office.

  “Everyone okay?” He looked from me to Lois to Frances and grinned. “Getting to know one another all right?”

  Frances met my eye and looked slightly uncomfortable. “Oh yes, Mr Pellow, we’re already great friends, aren’t we, girls?”

  “Please, call me John,” Dad said, looking at Frances as if he were trying to work out why she seemed familiar in some way.

  “Yes, Daddy, we are great friends. It’s almost as if we’ve known Frances ALL OUR LIVES,” Lois said with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on her face.

  “Great.” Dad smiled, nodding his head at nothing in particular. “Well, ladies, Mum should be home soon, and then by all means feel free to go, Miss Fumblemaker.”

  “Frances, please…” Frances trilled, sounding cross, which almost made me giggle.

  Dad, still looking a bit dazed, shuffled back into his office.

  “Frances, what’s wrong?” I queried with a whisper. “You don’t quite seem your usual self today. Is something bothering you?”

  The mask that she had clearly been putting on was starting to slip. I watched fondly as she bent over to pull up her flesh-coloured pop socks, which were currently flapping about in a wrinkled mess down by her ankles.

  “Sorry, Rosie, you’re right. I am a bit …” She fumbled around for the word. “Jumpy. Yes, that’s it. I’m jumpy. I don’t know why. My mother always used to say to me when I was like this, ‘What is wrong with you, child? You’re like a piggie who’s been grabbed by the tail.’”