The Power of Poppy Pendle
Read The Power of Poppy Pendle Online
Authors: Natasha Lowe
CONTENTS
Poppy’s Famous Chocolate Melt-Aways
A Really Delicious Orange Cake
Mrs. Plunket’s Rainy Day Brownies
Marie Claire’s Little Warm Almond Cakes
For my parents—who have always believed in me and encouraged me to follow my passions. Kibet fallow da.
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Poppy
P
OPPY PENDLE WAS BORN ON
THE FLOOR OF A BAKERY,
Patisserie Marie Claire, the fancy French bakery in
the little town of Potts Bottom. Now, people don’t usually give birth on bakery
floors in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, but Edith Pendle did just that. She had no
choice, even though her baby wasn’t due for another two weeks. Poppy pushed her
way out with the speed of an express train and was immediately wrapped up in a
cake-scented tea towel by the kind lady who ran the shop. The customers cheered, and
someone handed Edith Pendle a bag of little warm almond cakes. Sitting up in her
mother’s arms, Poppy breathed in deeply and reached for the bag of cakes. Then she
did something quite unexpected. She gobbled them all down, waved her sugary fingers at
the crowd, smiled, and gave a contented burp.
Although the Pendles didn’t approve of giving birth in a bakery, no
one could deny that their daughter was an amazing and extremely unusual child. By three
months old, she had learned to walk, and could carry bags of shopping up Pudding Lane to
the Pendles’ little brick house. At the post office she usually caused quite a
stir, leaping up and posting all the out-of-town mail through the top letter slot.
“She’s really advanced!” Roger Pendle liked to brag to their
neighbors.
One late autumn day something happened that made Poppy’s already
proud parents even prouder. Mrs. Pendle’s sister, Vivian, had come for a visit,
and it was such a pleasant afternoon that the Pendles decided to have tea in the garden.
Poppy had carried out her high chair and was settled next to Auntie Viv when her mother
came parading across the lawn bearing a strange, pink-tinted cake on a tray.
“I’ve made an orange cake,” Edith Pendle announced,
which was a surprise in itself because she hardly ever cooked. “I got the recipe
from the back of a can of tinned salmon. Apparently it’s full of protein.”
Auntie Viv covered her mouth in horror and Poppy gagged, kicking her feet in the air.
Poor Edith Pendle abruptly stumbled forward, as if she’d been pushed from behind,
and dropped the cake on the grass with a splat.
“Oh dear!” Mr. Pendle said, a hint of relief in his voice.
“My cake!” Mrs. Pendle wailed while Poppy babbled away in her
own private language. She waved her drooly fingers about, and a gorgeous chocolate cake
covered in pink sugar roses suddenly appeared on the table.
“Now, where in heaven did that come from?” Auntie Viv gasped.
Poppy chuckled and sucked on her toes, blowing pale pink bubbles into the air. As they
popped, showers of sugared almonds scattered down.
“It’s Poppy!” Mr. Pendle cried, staring at his daughter
in disbelief. “She’s got the gift, Edith. She’s really got the gift. I
don’t believe it!” Poppy was clapping her hands together, and little
chocolate doves were flying out of them. Mr. Pendle plucked one up and popped it into
his mouth. “Oh, fantastic, Edith! Our Poppy’s magic!”
Mr. Pendle worked in a shoe shop called Happy Feet, selling shoes to the
people of Potts Bottom. It was boring, smelly work, being surrounded by cheesy feet all
day long, and he certainly didn’t want his daughter following in his footsteps.
Now they could stop worrying, because Poppy was destined for much bigger things.
Crouching beside her, he stuck his face close to Poppy’s. “Who’s a
clever girl, then? Who’s going to be a witch when she grows up?”
“I’m putting her name down for Ruthersfield Academy, first
thing Monday morning!” Mrs. Pendle declared. “There hasn’t been a
witch in the family for three generations, not since Granny Mabel! I’m just
tickled pink, I’m so proud. I do wish Poppy hadn’t been born in a bakery
though.” She sighed. “It doesn’t seem fitting, somehow.”
Poppy made a loud noise like a raspberry, and a tiny gray cloud formed and
hovered about twelve inches above the tea table. “Oh, look, she’s at it
again!” Mr. Pendle exclaimed. The Pendles watched in excitement as the storm cloud
erupted, pouring water down onto the chocolate cake. Then Poppy scrunched up her face,
turned the color of an overripe tomato, and burst into tears.
Straight after breakfast on Monday the Pendles telephoned Ms. Lavinia
Roach, the headmistress at Ruthersfield Academy. Ms. Roach had never heard of a baby
performing magic before. “This is really quite astonishing if what you are telling
me is true,” she told Edith Pendle. “But before I put Poppy down on our
waiting list, I would appreciate seeing the child for myself. Sometimes parents go to
rather extreme lengths to get their girls into Ruthersfield. We are, as I’m sure
you well know, Mrs. Pendle, the only accredited school for magic in the country. And we
are very selective.”
“Oh, just wait till you see our little Poppy,” Mrs. Pendle
said. “I’m sure you’ll be suitably impressed!”
So the next afternoon Poppy was promptly brought over to Ruthersfield for
her interview. As the Pendles were ushered into the headmistress’s office, Poppy
kept trying to climb out of her carriage and trot back toward the door. “No,
sweetheart,” Edith Pendle insisted, grasping her daughter by the hand so she
couldn’t escape.
“Looks like she has other plans,” Ms. Roach said, smiling down
at Poppy.
“Well, she doesn’t understand what an honor it is to be
here,” Edith Pendle said, tugging her daughter into the room. “This is quite
an occasion for the Pendle family.”
“I brought this with me,” Poppy’s father began,
carefully extracting a sheet of white paper from a cardboard tube and unrolling it
across Ms. Roach’s desk. “Our family tree,” he announced, bursting
with pride and pointing a finger at the chart. “Well, my wife’s family tree
really. That’s Great-Granny Mabel right there,” he said, tapping at the
paper, “but I’m sure you know all about her.”
“Indeed!” Ms. Roach lowered her head in reverence. “What
an honor for you all, being related to Mabel Ratcliff. One of the best head girls
Ruthersfield ever had.”
“And look,” Roger Pendle said, breathing heavily over the
chart. “Her great-great-great grandmother Irene had the gift as well, you see, so
it runs in the family. We can go right back to the thirteenth century.”
“Certainly quite remarkable, Mr. Pendle. Now, please, won’t
you all sit down?” Ms. Roach suggested. “I’ll ring for some tea and
biscuits.” Poppy immediately climbed up into one of the chairs facing Ms.
Roach’s desk, and started to suck on her fingers. “While we wait, why
don’t you show me what sort of magic little Poppy can do?”
“Right then, come on, sweetheart,” Mrs. Pendle said, tickling
her daughter under the chin. “Show this nice lady your tricks.” Poppy blew a
raspberry, but nothing happened.
“Make some chocolate birdies appear,” her father encouraged.
Poppy paid no attention, and it was only when the school secretary brought in a tea tray
that she began to get excited.
“Is Poppy allowed a biscuit?” Ms. Roach said, offering round a
plate of chocolate shortbread. “We have a wonderful chef here at Ruthersfield.
Everything’s homemade.” Poppy gurgled, bouncing up and down in her chair.
Little marshmallow balls started to burst out of her lap and onto the desk, like popcorn
exploding from a popcorn maker. One of them landed right in Ms. Roach’s cup of
tea.
“Now that’s my clever girl,” Mrs. Pendle said, planting
a kiss on Poppy’s forehead. The soft, sticky balls were bouncing about all over
the room, but Poppy ignored them, munching away on a biscuit. When she had finished, she
licked her fingers, gave a satisfied sigh, and blew out hundreds of tiny gold stars.