Granny Magic, Page 4

  Will scanned the grounds looking for Ben, who lived three doors down and had just come back from holiday the night before. He was itching to see if the two of them could wear one sock each and power-hop together.

  ‘He’s absolutely lovely!’ Mrs de Rupertville was saying to Mum. ‘Such a gentleman! And he’s been so kind about the fete.’ A bored Sophie hung on to Mum’s hand and leant backwards, swinging back and forth as Mrs de Rupertville continued: ‘I said to him, I said, “Mr Fitchet, it is so refreshing to have someone in Knittington who knows how things should be done.”’

  Will’s ears pricked up. Fitchet again.

  ‘And I don’t mind telling you he’s been very generous with donations,’ Mrs de Rupertville continued. ‘Just wait until you see what he’s done about prizes for the duck race!’

  They followed the crowd towards the river. ‘Even Mrs de Rupertville likes Mr Fitchet,’ Mum muttered. ‘Never mind that she’s been trying to have that old mill torn down for a decade.’

  ‘One. Pound. Per. Duck,’ Sophie read, as they stood in the queue for ducks. ‘Cash Prizz-es.’

  ‘Prizes,’ said Will. Sophie could never rest until every printed word she could see had been deciphered.

  ‘What’s that say on the balloon, Will?’ On the bank of the river a giant hot air balloon rippled in the breeze.

  ‘Fitchet & Ferret,’ said Will, frowning.

  ‘Right!’ said Mum. ‘I’ve got three tickets, for three ducks. Let’s get to the river!’

  The crowd pushed on to the riverbanks. It smelt fresh and leafy and wet here, and under the noise of chatter was the bubbling rush of river on rock. Will spotted Mr Wood from the allotments standing on the bridge next to Bicycle Bob, and Miss Violet in the garden of the Fleece, near Ben and his parents. Will waved across at Ben.

  Two men in waders and high-vis jackets stepped into the water with long poles, and the crowd began to count down. ‘Ten – nine – eight – seven –’

  The vicar took hold of the cord attached to the net of yellow plastic ducks that hung above the water from the branch of a willow.

  ‘Three – two – one!’

  The vicar tugged the cord, and the ducks spilt into the river. None of their ducks won anything – in fact, Mum’s was third to last – but the race was still fun to watch.

  ‘And now,’ said Reverend Elaine, standing on the stone bridge after the ducks had all reached the finish line, ‘the kind – and, I must say, very generous – sponsor of this year’s duck race is here to give out the prizes. Allow me to introduce one of Knittington’s own, back after many years’ absence, with exciting plans to revitalize industry here: Mr Jasper Fitchet.’

  Everyone applauded as Mr Fitchet stepped on to the bridge. He smiled his twinkly-eyed, pressed-tight grin, and raised his hand up in the air. ‘Thank you, vicar, thank you,’ he said, taking her hand in both of his and looking into her eyes. ‘You’re too kind. I only want to give back to Knittington some of what it gave to me. And that starts here, with this year’s duck race winners.’

  Besides the hefty cash prizes for the first three winners, everyone whose duck had finished in the first twenty places got to pick a parcel out of a huge sack.

  ‘I wonder what’s in the parcels?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Probably something Mr Fitchet is making in his new factory,’ said Mum.

  ‘Look! Ben’s dad won one!’

  ‘And Bicycle Bob!’

  ‘Nearly time for the piggy-back race,’ said Mum. ‘Did you two want to enter that?’

  Of course they did. They’d been practising all week. Their speciality was the flying mount, where Sophie came at a run and jumped up on to Will’s back. It gave them an extra push at the start.

  ‘Ready . . .’ called Reverend Elaine. ‘Steady . . .’

  Behind him, Will could hear Sophie taking her running start.

  ‘GO!’

  Whack! Sophie landed on his back and Will surged forward, shooting ahead of the crowd. He’d never gone so fast before. This was faster than they’d ever managed, even with the flying mount. They were practically airborne! What was going on?

  ‘Woah!’ said Ben, from Rafi’s back.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Olive and Annie.

  ‘Ugh!’ said Will, falling to his knees. He smashed on to his stomach with Sophie on top of him. He felt ill. Like flu ill. Like seasick ill. And his feet were on fire. He’d forgotten about the socks.

  Sophie scrambled off his back and sat up in the grass, laughing, while Will ripped his shoes off and tore the socks from his feet. The sparkly heels were hanging in shreds. They had unravelled themselves.

  ‘Are you all right, Will?’ Mum was kneeling down in the grass beside them. ‘Did you trip in those giant socks? Oh, I shouldn’t have let you wear those!’

  Will rolled the socks into a tight ball, and put his trainers back on without them. It had nothing to do with tripping, and he knew it. It was because he’d been about to cheat, and the Magic Wool wouldn’t allow him to. The wool will not let itself be used for anything bad, Jun-Yu had said.

  Mum was now fussing over Sophie, who had a grazed knee but was still laughing and saying, ‘Let’s do it again!’ Meanwhile, the race was finishing, and Ben and Rafi came in third. Will, Mum and Sophie stayed to watch them choose packages from the big bag of prizes.

  ‘Wotcha, Wills!’ said Rafi, strolling over with the package under his arm. He had three older brothers and sometimes talked like them.

  Will stuffed the socks deeper into his jacket pocket. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Ben about them today. Rafi would never believe it.

  ‘Bad luck, Will!’ said Ben. ‘You’d have finished before us for sure, with that start!’

  ‘Nah,’ said Will. ‘You guys were great. What’s in the packages?’

  It was jumpers. Knitted hoodies with zigzag stripes the colour of acid drops that almost seemed to be moving. If you looked closely, there were tiny black flecks all over them. They felt horribly itchy.

  ‘Creepy,’ said Ben.

  ‘Mental,’ said Rafi.

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Mum. Will looked at her sideways. Was she just being polite? ‘And what are those envelopes in the bottom of the package?’

  They were announcements of the grand opening of Fitchet & Ferret, together with vouchers to spend on the day.

  ‘Isn’t that lovely?’ said Mum absent-mindedly.

  Strange, thought Will. It didn’t look like her kind of thing. Ben and Rafi didn’t look impressed either.

  ‘Oh, well, Dad’ll be happy,’ said Ben. ‘He loves his.’

  They all looked across the grass to where Ben’s dad was walking towards them. He was wearing a jumper with zigzag stripes of toothpaste green, mustard yellow and pale orange the colour of sick. As he came closer Will could see it was sprinkled all over with tiny black flecks.

  ‘Hey! Aren’t these great? I wish you had one – don’t you wish you had one?’ Ben’s dad was talking much more quickly than usual. ‘I mean, wow! This is exactly what I need and I didn’t even know I needed it until I actually saw it and then it was mine so how lucky is that!’

  Ben’s forehead creased into puzzled squiggles. Rafi laughed, glancing around at the others. ‘Wow, Mr Hobbs,’ he said. ‘Dude.’

  Just then drums and fiddles started playing. Dad’s band was playing for the scary morris dancers, the ones with the masks and black hats, and Sophie loved them. They all moved to the middle of the green to watch. While the sticks crashed and Sophie screamed, Will decided he was glad they hadn’t won the piggyback race. He didn’t want to touch anything made in Jasper Fitchet’s factory.

  ‘And look what happened to them!’ said Will, holding Dad’s socks up by their shredded golden heels. It was the day after the fete, and Will was upstairs at The Knittery. It had turned out that Mum took yoga with Matilda’s daughter, and Dorcas had a grandson in Sophie’s class, so Will was allowed to go and knit with the Gang of Grannies whenever he liked, as long as he wasn’t a nuisance. />
  ‘Pep-In-Your-Step Socks!’ said Dorcas, smiling her thousand-wrinkle smile. ‘Good for tired, run-down people. Has your dad been ill?’

  ‘He had pneumonia last year.’

  ‘That’ll be when Gertie made these, bet you a button,’ said Dorcas.

  ‘Can we re-use that Magic Wool?’ asked Will. ‘Could I make new socks?’ Besides having ruined the fun, Will felt bad about destroying Dad’s socks.

  ‘There are several steps you need to pass through before you can use Magic Wool,’ said Jun-Yu.

  ‘What steps?’ asked Will.

  Just then Hortense ducked into the room through the open window, with binoculars hung round her neck. She had to fold her tall body nearly in half to get through.

  ‘Well?’ asked Matilda. Hortense had been on the roof of Jun-Yu’s flat, at the back of The Knittery, spying on the factory. ‘What’s the little blighter up to?’

  ‘Milk bottles!’ said Hortense, her eyes as round as her glasses. ‘Mr Fitchet is having milk delivered to him at the mill.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Ivy, without looking up from her knitting. She had her feet up on the table, showing off flowered leggings. Ivy always wore something flowered. ‘How dastardly!’

  ‘What steps?’ asked Will again.

  ‘Well,’ Jun-Yu said, nudging the purple glasses up her nose, ‘first you need to have been knitting steadily for a year.’

  Will rolled his eyes. ‘A year?’

  Jun-Yu nodded firmly.

  ‘There’s nothing done without trouble, dear boy,’ said Dorcas, ‘except letting the fire go out.’

  ‘And then, old bean,’ said Matilda, ‘you need to learn Harkening Stitch.’

  ‘What’s Harkening Stitch?’ asked Will.

  ‘It’s the most important stitch of all,’ said Hortense.

  ‘And the hardest,’ said Ivy.

  ‘But you need it for every powerful pattern,’ said Dorcas.

  ‘What does it do?’ asked Will.

  ‘It makes you heed your Best Self,’ said Jun-Yu.

  ‘Heed?’ asked Will.

  ‘Listen to,’ said Ivy. ‘It makes you follow your conscience.’

  ‘We only teach it when we’re sure the person has taken to knitting,’ Jun-Yu went on, ‘and only if we think they’re persistent and reliable. Once the person masters it, they make a whole Harkening Jumper, and then we know we can trust them to be magical knitters.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Holly, who was coming up the stairs with a large tea tray. ‘Or maybe they’ll make you knit three Harkening Jumpers and then still say you’re not ready!’ Thunk. She put the tray down on top of the unravelled socks.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Jun-Yu, sliding the tray off the socks. All the grans treated the things knitted by Gran as if they were sacred artefacts.

  ‘Have you really made three Harkening Jumpers?’ asked Will.

  ‘Well. Two and a half,’ said Holly.

  ‘We just want to make sure you are solid in the basics,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘You can’t be too cautious.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ said Holly. She turned to Will. ‘Your jumper looks like a Harkening one.’ He’d worn it every day since he’d chosen it at Gran’s.

  ‘I’ve been itching for a look at that jumper, Will,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘I wonder if you’d mind . . .’

  Will took the jumper off, while Jun-Yu pulled the lamp closer to the table. She held the jumper gently, as if it was a newborn baby, and laid it down in the glow of the lamp. ‘Sure enough,’ she said after a minute. ‘Solid Harkening Stitch.’

  ‘I can spot it at fifty metres by now,’ said Holly, crossing her arms.

  ‘It makes me feel happy when I wear it,’ said Will.

  ‘Being your Best Self always does,’ said Dorcas.

  ‘Have a look at this,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘Have you noticed this little bee embroidered on the inside of the wrist?’

  Will nodded. It was about the size of a five-pence coin, and silky smooth. He had no idea why Gran had put it there. ‘She never put it in anything else she made us. Sometimes our initials, but never a little picture like that.’

  ‘How odd that it’s got Magic Wool in it too,’ said Hortense, pointing to the stripe with the gold running through it.

  ‘Normally Harkening Jumpers don’t,’ Jun-Yu explained. ‘Because people don’t know about Magic Wool until they finish making theirs.’

  ‘Is it . . . Gran’s Harkening Jumper?’ asked Will.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘No, this not a beginner’s jumper. Your gran made this jumper for someone else.’

  ‘I think I remember her working on that,’ said Hortense. ‘It was just before Easter.’

  ‘So,’ asked Will, ‘a person can make a Harkening Jumper for someone else?’

  ‘It’s best when you make your own,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘But it might be nearly as effective if someone really skilled made one for you. And if they put Magic Wool in it.’

  ‘Can I start one now?’ Will asked.

  ‘How about if we begin with something a bit simpler and see if you actually like knitting first,’ said Dorcas, with a smile. Will remembered that he had kind of hated knitting when Gran had tried to teach him once. But that was before he knew what knitting could do.

  ‘If you want to do really powerful knitting you need to quiet your mind,’ said Ivy, putting her knitting down and looking at Will with her shimmery eyes. She was the only one of the grans who wore make-up, and it usually sparkled. ‘It’s not so important now, but it will be later. So close your eyes.’

  Will felt really silly, but he closed his eyes.

  ‘Now put all your other thoughts down until there is nothing in your head except the sounds around you.’

  Will listened. He heard pigeons chuckling on the roof, and bees buzzing outside the window.

  ‘There,’ said Ivy. ‘Now open your eyes.’

  ‘It starts like this,’ said Dorcas, holding up two needles that she’d been fiddling with in her tiny wrinkled hands. ‘Around, under, through, off.’ She handed the needles to Will. ‘Around, under, through, off.’

  ‘Around – under – through – ’

  ‘Would you like to hear the rhyme?’ asked Dorcas. ‘It’s a bit babyish for a boy your age, but it might help all the same. It goes:

  ‘In through the rabbit hole,

  Round the big tree,

  Up comes the rabbit,

  And off goes she!’

  ‘I know that rhyme,’ said Will. ‘We used to sing it with Gran. And there were other verses too.

  ‘Under the fence,

  Grab that sheep,

  Out of the fence,

  And off we leap!’

  ‘Why, that’s the rhyme for purling!’ said Dorcas. ‘Knit and purl are the two beginning stitches in knitting.’

  ‘There were two more verses,’ said Will.

  ‘Gather from the hedges,

  Golden in the dawn,

  Wash it in the river,

  Spread it on the lawn.’

  ‘Card it with a carding comb,

  Careful as you can,

  Spin it with a spindle,

  And give it to your gran.’

  All of the grans put their knitting down. The church clock chimed in the silence.

  ‘Well, cover me in feathers and call me a dodo bird,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Doesn’t that sound like it could be . . .’ said Jun-Yu.

  ‘. . . a description of basic Harkening Stitch,’ said Hortense.

  ‘Your gran was coaching you before you even knew there was such a thing as magic knitting!’ said Dorcas.

  ‘See!’ said Will. ‘She wanted me to make a Harkening Jumper!’

  ‘No one said differently, child,’ said Dorcas. ‘All things in the fullness of time, that’s all. It doesn’t do to rush a Harkening Jumper.’

  ‘Haste makes waste,’ said Jun-Yu.

  ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ said Matilda.

  ‘Adopt the pace of nature,’ said Ivy
. ‘Her secret is patience.’

  ‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,’ said Hortense.

  Holly snorted and put the tray under her arm. The knitting needles in her buns trembled as she stomped down the stairs. ‘Someday is not a day of the week!’ she called over her shoulder.

  For the next two weeks the weather was rainy, and Ben went on holiday again, so Will went to The Knittery nearly every day. During that time, he made a cape for his Iron Man, a scarf for Mum’s birthday, and a soft green hat for himself (well, very nearly).

  Will was so busy learning to knit, he didn’t notice that strange things were happening around town. He wasn’t the least bit interested when Mum said that only two people had showed up for bell-ringing practice. He barely heard Sophie pointing out that Miss Violet hadn’t filled her bird feeders for three days. Even when he and Dad saw Bicycle Bob getting off the bus with two plastic shopping bags, it only seemed a little funny.

  ‘Bob! What are you doing on a bus?’ laughed Dad. ‘I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you in a combustion-fired vehicle.’

  Bob looked startled. He held the bags up.

  ‘My jumper’s coming apart,’ he said. He was sweating. ‘I had to look for another one. I have to find one like it, just like it,’ he said. He turned away, and walked off without saying anything at all about global warming.

  ‘Quiet today,’ said Mum, when she and Will went down to the allotments to harvest the runner beans. ‘Has everyone gone on holiday?’

  ‘Mr Wood doesn’t go on holiday,’ said Will, looking at the empty bench in the allotment next to theirs. ‘Now that he’s retired, he gardens every day, and it’s like he’s on holiday all year round.’

  Mum laughed. ‘Yes, he does say that, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Only every time we come,’ said Will.

  There was even trouble at Dad’s museum, because none of the volunteers were turning up, so there was a pile of tasks that needed doing for the Summer Open Day. ‘I guess that’s one good thing to come out of our cancelled holiday,’ said Dad. ‘We never would have managed all of this if I’d been away.’