Glubbslyme

  About the Book

  Glubbslyme is a little bit different from most of my other books. It’s a story about Rebecca and her amazing magical toad, Glubbslyme – but Rebecca herself doesn’t tell the story. The illustrations inside aren’t done by Nick Sharratt simply because I didn’t know him long ago when I wrote the book.

  I’ll tell you how I came up with the story. I used to take my daughter Emma for walks in Richmond Park, and near the Kingston entrance there is a place called the witches pond. We used to circle this pond every day and I’d make up stories about the witches who were tipped into the pond long ago. We made up a seventeenth century witch called Rebecca. She had a very bossy, opinionated pet toad called Glubbslyme who helped her with all her black magic spells.

  They became such real characters that we wouldn’t have been surprised if Glubbslyme had come leaping out of the water and sat on our welly boots. In my story Glubbslyme does exactly that – and Rebecca’s life is never going to be the same again.

  I had great fun wondering how a seventeenth century toad would react to modern inventions like cars, television – and toilets! I also loved making up Glubbslyme’s magic spells. All the herbs and potions come from a real seventeenth century herbal book – but I don’t really think they’d be magic. I wonder what you’d ask for if Glubbslyme granted you a magic wish.

  This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form (including any digital form) other than this in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Epub ISBN: 9781407045795

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  GLUBBSLYME

  A CORGI YEARLING BOOK 978 0 440 86858 3

  First published in Great Britain by Oxford University Press, 1987

  Corgi Yearling edition published 1990

  Reissued edition published 1995

  This edition published 2009

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1987

  Illustrations copyright © Jane Cope, 1987, by permission of Oxford University Press

  Cover illustration by Nick Sharratt

  The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Corgi Yearling Books are published by Random House Children’s Books,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘My Dad says this is a witch’s pond,’ said Rebecca.

  Sarah didn’t say anything. Rebecca wasn’t sure she was listening. She was too busy experimenting with Mandy’s lipstick. She drew a shiny pink smile on her face. Mandy had a shiny pink smile too.

  ‘Can I have a go with your lipstick, Mandy?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘No, use your own,’ said Mandy.

  Rebecca didn’t have any lipstick. She had only ever used red ice lollies or red Smarties, and the results weren’t very successful. She longed to try Mandy’s real lipstick.

  ‘You let Sarah borrow it, so why won’t you let me?’ said Rebecca, although she knew why.

  ‘Sarah’s my best friend,’ said Mandy, and her shiny pink smile stretched.

  Rebecca had always thought she was Sarah’s best friend. They went round together at playtimes and passed little notes in lessons and got the giggles and told each other secrets. But that was at school. Now it was the holidays and Sarah seemed to want to spend most of her time with Mandy, just because they lived next door to each other.

  Rebecca couldn’t stand Mandy. Mandy didn’t seem to think much of her either.

  ‘Sarah’s my best friend too,’ said Rebecca. ‘Sarah, did you hear, my Dad says this is a witch’s pond.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ said Mandy. ‘What are you, some sort of baby? Do you believe in big bad naughty witches then, little diddums?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t,’ said Rebecca, going as pink as the lipstick. ‘But there did used to be witches and my Dad says they used to duck them in this pond.’

  ‘My Dad says. My Dad says. You don’t half go on about your Dad. Who cares what your Dad says?’ said Mandy.

  Rebecca cared. She loved her Dad more than anyone in the whole world. She didn’t have a Mum any more so Dad was especially important. She loved him even when he was cross because the shopping and the washing and the cooking needed doing and she didn’t always feel like helping. She loved him even more when he was cheerful and they played daft games of noughts and crosses and made up stories and sang silly songs. She loved him most of all when they had a special day out together. They had once had a lovely jam sandwich picnic in the park, by the pond. Dad had told her all about the witches and Rebecca had been very interested.

  Sarah and Mandy didn’t seem at all interested.

  ‘They weren’t daft story-book witches with pointed hats and broomsticks,’ said Rebecca. ‘They were often just lonely or a bit loopy.’

  ‘Like you, you mean,’ said Mandy, and Sarah giggled.

  ‘And people picked on them and accused them of witchcraft and tortured them,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘What did they do to them then?’ asked Mandy, brushing Sarah’s short hair into a very modern style.

  Dad hadn’t gone into the torture part, but Rebecca invented a great deal because they were listening properly at last. Rebecca was very good at making up disgusting tortures and even Mandy looked impressed. Sarah kept making sick noises and perhaps it was no wonder her hair was now standing on end.

  ‘So what happened to them?’ Sarah asked. ‘Did they die after all that torture?’

  ‘No, I told you. I knew you weren’t listening,’ said Rebecca. ‘They took them to this pond and then they did the water test. They tied their left thumb to their right big toe and their right thumb to their left big toe—’ Rebecca tried to demonstrate. She overbalanced on the grass and Mandy cackled, but she still had Sarah’s attention. ‘They tied them up in this sort of knot thing and then they threw them in the pond – splosh!’ said Rebecca. ‘And if they sank they were innocent. If they bobbed up again then they were guilty and they were taken away and burned.’

  Sarah and Mandy sat still, blinking.

  ‘You’ve got that wrong,’ said Mandy.

  ‘No I haven’t,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘But that wouldn’t be fair,’ said Sarah. ‘If you were innocent you’d sink and so you’d drown anyway.’

  ‘I know. That’s the point,’ said Rebecca. ‘That’s why it was so awful to be a witch.’

  ‘I wonder how many witches drowned in this very pond then?’ said Sarah, leaning forward and staring at the murky water. She scratched her head worriedl
y and destroyed her new hairstyle.

  ‘Look what you’ve done, you’ve mucked it up,’ said Mandy, sighing. ‘Come here and I’ll do it again for you.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I didn’t think much of it actually,’ said Sarah. ‘Here, Becky, do you think they’re still down there? All those witch bodies?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Rebecca, peering too. ‘Here, what’s that long whitish thing out in the middle? You don’t think it’s a bone, do you?’

  Sarah shrieked and clutched Rebecca. Mandy sighed. She gave herself another lipstick smile but it looked strained.

  ‘I’m getting fed up with this park and its silly old pond,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home, Sarah. Come over to my place and we can try out all my make-up. My Mum’s given me heaps of eye stuff and I’ve got my own Pretty Peach perfume.’

  ‘I quite like it here,’ said Sarah. ‘You know, it could be a bone, and those little bits at the end – they’re the fingers.’

  ‘Yes! She probably died reaching out desperately, screaming for help.’ Rebecca screamed too, waving her arms around violently.

  ‘Watch out, you clumsy twit. And how could she wave her arms around? You said they were all tied up to her toes,’ Mandy pointed out. ‘You’re just making it up, Rebecca. It’s all fibs and lies.’

  ‘No, it’s not! Look, my Dad says—’

  ‘My Dad says, my Dad says. She’s starting to sound like a parrot. Can’t you play another record, Parrot Face?’

  ‘Don’t call Becky silly names, Mandy, it gets on my nerves,’ said Sarah.

  Rebecca smiled. Sarah smiled back at her. Mandy stood up. She wasn’t smiling. She glared at the pond. She went on glaring at it. And then she smiled after all.

  ‘They couldn’t have ever drowned witches in this pond,’ she said triumphantly. ‘It’s not deep enough.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Yes it is,’ said Sarah, but she sounded uncertain.

  ‘It isn’t. You look.’ Mandy picked up a long stick, walked to the pond’s edge, leaned right out and stuck the stick in the water. She banged it up and down on the bottom of the pond. A great deal of the twig stayed above water.

  ‘There! It would barely come up to your knees. Are you sure it was witches? Sure it wasn’t fairies? Fairy stories, more like.’

  ‘My Dad says you can drown in only a few inches of water,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘My Dad says! Parrot face.’

  Sarah didn’t object this time.

  ‘You can maybe drown someone, but you can’t duck them,’ she said. ‘And it isn’t deep enough, Becky.’ She took the stick from Mandy and prodded vigorously all round the pond to prove it.

  ‘It’s deep enough in the middle,’ said Rebecca. ‘I know it is. They threw them into the middle of the pond.’

  Sarah threw several stones into the middle.

  ‘I don’t think it’s any deeper in the middle,’ she said.

  One of the stones hit the bony arm and it waved. Sarah gasped but then she saw it was only an old branch of a tree with a twiggy bit at the end.

  ‘I don’t think this was ever a witch’s pond,’ she said.

  ‘Of course it isn’t. It’s just an ordinary muddy old pond in a park and I don’t know why she keeps going on about it,’ said Mandy. ‘Come on, Sarah, let’s go home. I’ll give you one of my Mum’s eyeshadows if you like. There’s a browny one that would really suit you.’

  ‘You’ll give it to me?’ said Sarah.

  ‘You’re not allowed to wear make up,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘I can if it’s just for mucking about indoors,’ said Sarah. ‘Okay then, Mandy. Are you coming too, Becky?’

  ‘We don’t want her,’ said Mandy.

  ‘I don’t want to come, don’t worry,’ said Rebecca. ‘Don’t go yet, Sarah. It is a witch’s pond and it is deep enough. Look, I’ll prove it.’ She started taking off her sandals and socks.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Sarah.

  ‘I’m going to go in and see how deep it is for myself.’

  ‘She’s mad! It’s all muddy and gungy and disgusting,’ said Mandy, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Becky, don’t be daft, you can’t,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I can if I want,’ said Rebecca and she slid down the bank and stepped right into the pond.

  She didn’t really want to. The water lapped icily over her ankles, leaving circles of scum. Rebecca gritted her teeth and paddled in farther. It was like wading through frozen soup.

  ‘Come out,’ Sarah cried from the bank.

  ‘She’s just being stupid,’ said Mandy. ‘Take no notice of the silly baby. Come on, Sarah. I’ve got blusher as well, have you ever tried it?’

  ‘I’m going, Becky,’ Sarah called. ‘I think you’re stupid too. You’ll get some awful disease going in that filthy water.’

  ‘I’m just showing you how deep it is,’ Rebecca called. The water came up to her knees now and she had to hold her dress up. She was starting to shiver.

  ‘Well, if it’s really deep then you’ll be in trouble, you idiot. You know you always keep one leg on the bottom when we go swimming,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘I don’t! Sarah, wait. Sarah!’

  Sarah really was going. She was walking away with Mandy. Rebecca couldn’t believe it. She took another step, trod on something slimy, and screamed.

  Sarah turned round.

  Rebecca screamed some more. The something slimy was only a little piece of waterweed but she decided to make the most of it.

  ‘Sarah! Help, Sarah! There’s all this long slippery waving stuff – I’m stuck in it. You know what I think it is? Hair! Hair from one of the drowned witches.’

  Rebecca hoped Sarah might scream too and come running to help. But Sarah just shook her head scornfully.

  ‘Who do you think you’re kidding, Rebecca Brown? You’re a silly baby.’

  ‘Silly baby, silly baby, silly baby,’ Mandy chanted.

  Then they walked off with their arms round each other.

  Rebecca was abandoned.

  ‘I’m not a silly baby,’ she mumbled, although several babyish tears spurted down her cheeks and rained into the pond. She rubbed her eyes, forgetting about her dress. It trailed into the dirty water. It was her best dress and clean on that day. Dad hadn’t wanted her to wear it, he’d wanted her to wear her old shorts and teeshirt. He didn’t understand that she’d wanted to look as grown up as Mandy.

  She didn’t look very grown up now. She was shivering badly too. But now she was in and soaked she might as well strike out for the middle, just to see.

  So she took a step forward and then another. It did get deeper. She took one more step and the water was suddenly up round her waist. Her dress was really going to be ruined now. Sarah was right, she really wasn’t very good at swimming. She felt very depressed indeed but she didn’t want to drown.

  She tried to take a step backwards, but she got confused and went sideways instead. The water reached her chest.

  Rebecca started screaming for help. Nobody seemed to hear her. No one came to her rescue.

  ‘Then I’ll have to help myself,’ said Rebecca.

  She tried to work out how to do it. She cautiously waved one leg around in the water, trying to feel where it got deeper. And then something suddenly seized her by the ankle!

  Rebecca screamed and shook her leg violently. She overbalanced and went right under the water, her fists flailing. She surfaced, choking and coughing, and clawed at her leg. Something was still clinging determinedly, something slimy and scrabbling.

  Rebecca waded frantically through the water and made it to the bank. She threw herself on the muddy grass, still waving her leg wildly, but the Thing clung on. It was an enormous black toad, with hideous warty skin and two bulbous glistening eyes.

  ‘Get off! Get off me!’ Rebecca screamed.

  The toad stayed very much on, clinging to her with the strength of superglue.

  ‘Get off, I say,’ Rebecca sob
bed, and she reached down and tried to pull at its webbed feet.

  ‘Desist!’

  Rebecca stopped pulling. Her hand hovered above the horny head. She blinked at his huge drooling mouth.

  ‘What?’ she whispered.

  ‘Do not look so vacant, child. I asked you to desist. You were hurting me – and that is my poorly limb too. I had an unpleasant encounter with a fish-hook in the nineteen-fifties and I have been sorely afflicted ever since.’ He paused, his eyes oozing. ‘Why did you attack me in that violent manner?’

  ‘I wanted you to get off me,’ Rebecca sniffled.

  ‘Why? Pray tell me why, when I did take the trouble to attach myself so firmly to your person?’ He sounded outraged, puffing himself up until his black wrinkles almost ironed out. Rebecca was terrified he might burst all over her.

  ‘Because you’re so ugly!’ said Rebecca, cowering away from him.

  ‘Ugly?’ It was a shocked squeak. Then he started deflating with an audible hiss. He shrank until he was a little wizened black ball no bigger than Rebecca’s fist. He slowly and deliberately loosened the grip of his sucker pads, took one half-hearted hop, and huddled on the grass beside her.

  Rebecca stared at him. His eyes were oozing again. A drop of moisture rolled down his warty cheek. It looked almost as if he were crying.

  Rebecca cleared her throat. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She nibbled at a loose bit of skin on her lip. Why wasn’t she running away? She was free of him now, although her ankle still felt uncomfortably slimy. She could pick herself up and run hard and be out of the park altogether in two minutes.

  So what was she doing, sitting here, watching this warty toad, and worrying? Worrying because she’d hurt its feelings. She must be mad. She was mad, because she knew perfectly well that toads can’t talk.

  ‘Can you really talk?’ she whispered.

  The toad raised his drooping head a little.

  ‘I have been talking since I was a mere tadpole,’ he said huffily. ‘I dare say you find my speech offensive too. Pray do not distress yourself. I do not intend to continue our conversation. Permit me a moment to recover and then I will remove my loathly person altogether.’