I Want to be Me Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Nicky Bright

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador®

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 978 1789012 583

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

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

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Contents

  1.Good Girl, Bad Girl

  2.The Orchestra

  3.The Plan

  4.My Cave

  5.Old College

  6.The Pike

  7.The Secret Vault

  8.The First Battle

  9.Game On!

  10.Rescue Mission

  11.The Red Harp

  12.The Final Battle

  13.Game Over

  1

  Good Girl, Bad Girl

  The great iron gates loom up out of the fog and the small figure of a girl slowly approaches. The gates are high and forbidding and they gradually open as she moves towards them.

  ‘Come in. Come in,’ they seem to say.

  Claudia moves forwards very slowly. She knows that bad things can happen behind these gates. Then she hears a noise and darts behind a stone column. Through the fog she sees a cloaked rider, his horse stamping and blowing steam. She hears a croaky voice call out.

  ‘She’s here! I know she’s here!’

  The rider slowly moves the horse up the cobblestone street, his blade gleaming under the streetlight. Claudia, now terrified, crouches in a narrow laneway.

  ‘Here! There! She’s here!’ the rider cries out, and Claudia hears the sound of the horses coming fast.

  Claudia decides to run for it, back through the gates. She hears the shrieks of the riders as she goes through, and she screams and screams.

  Claudia Ashby jerked upright in her bed, choking back another scream and perspiring profusely. It had happened again. This time it seemed they almost got her – it was so real. She tried hard to collect herself. Her mother, Kate, would be at the door in seconds. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door. ‘It’s okay,’ Claudia called out, stifling a sob. ‘Just another bad dream!’

  Kate Ashby stood outside the door for a long moment, unsure about what to do. What could she do? These bad dreams, nightmares – whatever – were happening far too often, but right now was not the time to ask questions. Tomorrow, when things had calmed down, might be better.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay? Just try to go back to sleep.’

  Inside her room, Claudia’s fear was slowly turning to anger. She wanted to blame someone right now. Of course, she knew who, but she didn’t know why. Why her? Was there something wrong with her? She threw her book at the door. Almost immediately she got up to get the book back. The Hobbit was her favourite book. She looked out the window into the empty street below. The lamplights cast their shadows, but all was quiet. Nothing stirred. Claudia went back to bed and, holding tightly on to her book, soon fell fast asleep.

  The following morning, Kate tried asking questions, but Claudia, as usual, skilfully avoided them and Kate finally gave up. Kate could see that Claudia was still not in a good way and suggested that she go for one of her walks on Port Meadow, a popular nature reserve close to local farmland and quite close to their house, just a few minutes away. It was a popular common, and all the locals treated it like their own backyard.

  ‘You enjoy your walks over there and it’s going to be such a beautiful day. What do you think? It’s early, but that’s the best time!’

  Claudia looked up. She did enjoy her walks there. ‘Oh, all right, I suppose.’ She tried not to appear terribly interested in the idea, but deep down she wanted to go.

  ‘It will be hot. Take a hat! And your mobile!’

  Claudia winced. She’s always telling me to do something, she thought. Still, the sun was shining. It would be good to get out and do something – anything. It might help her forget her bad dream. She often played her flute over there. It helped her to relax. It wasn’t long before Claudia, with white floppy hat and flute, was headed off in the direction of the meadow. And, quite suddenly, there it was!

  It was indeed a beautiful morning. The sun had broken through the clouds, and the meadow, bathed in morning sunlight, stretched down to the river. Claudia loved the openness of it. She saw her favourite spot – a nearby rise with high grass – and quickly disappeared in that direction.

  Meanwhile, a herd of horses, always somewhere on the meadow, had come up from the abbey, on the lookout for some fresh, tasty meadow grass. They shifted about lazily in the mid-morning sun, while a rather frisky roan pony trotted about, always on the lookout for better pickings. This time, having found what he was after, he settled and stood on a small rise where he had a commanding view. He could see the River Isis winding down from the north to the fork at the old boatshed at the south end. There were birds everywhere – ducks and geese in the water, and all shapes and sizes in the air. Apart from the odd bike rider and some walkers, the horses had the meadow to themselves. The cows that usually grazed there were somewhere else. A slight breeze came up and ruffled the pony’s mane. He turned and trotted slowly into the wind, enjoying the freshness of the breeze. Then he stopped quite suddenly. His ears pricked up and he stood stock-still. The old grey mare nearby raised her head. What was that strange noise coming from a tall clump of meadow grass? Perhaps it was the wind. The roan pony looked around. The herd was starting to shift about uneasily. He saw nothing. He began to graze again, and the herd settled down once more. Then, he heard it again! Just the hint of a strange sound – almost a whisper – which seemed to come from behind a low shrub. What was it? He looked up. The birds flitting about above the meadow told him nothing. He slowly moved in the direction of the shrub.

  Suddenly the air was shattered by the repeated blasts of a shrill, ear-piercing sound. The roan pony whinnied, then, catching sight out of the corner of its eye something white behind a bush, reared on his hind legs then wheeled and galloped off in pursuit of the other horses that were already heading at a frantic pace for the safety of the north end of the meadow. It was a stampede.

  A family was sitting on the riverbank enjoying some fishing and setting up for a picnic lunch. They were startled by the noise and the sound of the stampeding horses and jumped up in a hurry, dropping fishing gear and food everywhere. The youngest child started to cry and her dad ran up the rise to see what was going on. He saw the herd of horses disappearing up the meadow, and then a young girl in a white hat, carrying something and running off in the other direction. He went back to his family, shaking his head.
‘You heard the noise. Someone, or something, stampeded the horses. It frightened the life out of a young girl. I hope she’s okay.’ He gave a frustrated sigh. The family picnic and fishing trip was over. Everyone was upset. He put his arm around his crying child. ‘It’s all over now. It’s nothing to be frightened about. Let’s pack everything up and head back home.’

  Meanwhile, Claudia had left the meadow and crossed over an old stone bridge, finally reaching the canal towpath. She was giggling strangely, as if all the trouble she had caused was great fun.

  Meanwhile, Dr Ivan Cook was cycling down the towpath to the library, as he did every day. He was happily humming to himself a tune that had been playing on the radio before he left home. Suddenly, as he came out from under the overhead bridge, there was a long high-pitched sound so loud and so unexpected that he lost all sense of where he was going and lost control of the bike. ‘What on earth—’ he called out as the front wheel swerved to the right, putting him on a collision course with a woman with a pushchair. Horrified, he jerked the bike left, but too far left. The bike went straight over the edge of the bank, catapulting the rider into the cold and murky water of the canal.

  Shocked and confused, Dr Cook thrashed about in the water for a few seconds before finding the bottom of the canal and realising that the water was shallow enough for him to stand up. Dripping water and weeds, he dragged himself and his bike onto the bank and sat there for a minute or so, trying to take in what had happened. He then realised that his glasses were missing, most likely lost in the canal when he hit the water. What could he do? Should he go in after them? No, they would be in the mud at the bottom of the canal. No hope. He looked around the bank in the vague hope they might have fallen there. Then he saw her – a small girl wearing a white hat standing on the bank, laughing at him. He raised his fist and shouted angrily and the white hat quickly disappeared.

  The lady with the pushchair, who had seen it all, came over to see if Dr Cook was all right, as did several other walkers.

  ‘What happened?’ he managed to splutter.

  Apart from the noise, the lady had no explanation. She offered to call for help, but Dr Cook insisted that he was okay and that there was nothing anyone could do. He thanked the small group that had gathered around him for their concern and told them that all he needed was a few minutes’ rest.

  Now that he was alone and had had time to regain his breath, he was feeling a little calmer. He quickly realised that the most sensible thing to do would be to go back home immediately, clean himself up and put on some dry clothes. He picked up his bike and removed as much mud and as many weeds as he could from the wheels. Then, mounting the bike, he began the slow trek home, his wheels squeaking and his tyres making a crunching sound as he rode. ‘I must look ridiculous,’ he thought. ‘How embarrassing was that? What a disaster! How will I manage without my glasses?’

  Mrs King was a retired schoolteacher. She was a most proper person who kept an eye on everything and everyone, including the postman. She was often seen peering through her gauze curtains. She had seen the postman from the upstairs window and hurried down. She loved her post. It made her feel connected somehow. In fact, she was a post addict and even ordered catalogues to get post. She saw the post tumble through the letterbox as she reached the bottom step, and quickly knelt down to gather it up. The letterbox opened again. ‘Aha, another letter!’ she exclaimed, smiling broadly, as something was pushed into the letterbox. A sudden burst of sound sent her reeling onto the floor. She was totally shocked and her ears rang with the sound, the shrill sound of whatever it was that had been pushed into her letterbox. Then, quickly, considering the shock, she got to her feet. ‘Nasty! Nasty! Who would do something so nasty?’ She rushed at the door, pulled it open and stepped out onto the pavement. Several neighbours had come out into the street.

  ‘What happened? Who did that? Who was it?’ she asked. Mrs Carter was the only one who had seen anything.

  ‘I saw a young girl in some kind of white hat disappear down there…’ She pointed in the direction of Hayfield Road. It was a long narrow street of old terraces, one side of which backed down to the Oxford Canal. ‘I didn’t see her face. She was carrying something… what an awful noise!’

  ‘My ears are still ringing. I can’t hear properly. Right in my letterbox it was. I fell over with the shock!’ Mrs King drew herself up to her full height. ‘Well, I’m going to look into this. I’ll find out who or what’s behind it!’

  ‘Good for you!’ Mrs Carter, who was equally annoyed, said. ‘I was in the kitchen… I got such a shock I dropped a plate. It didn’t break, but still… if I can help let me know!’

  Not so far away, the front door of one of the canal terraces slammed shut. ‘Is that you, Claudia?’ Kate Ashby called out from upstairs. Kate looked down the stairs as Claudia put her hat on the hatstand. Claudia looked a little red in the face. Kate decided to come down.

  ‘Did you enjoy your walk, Claudia? You were off for a while. Anything interesting?’

  Kate obviously wanted to talk, and in a way Claudia wanted to talk to Kate, but she struggled to say anything. A voice inside of her just wanted to scream. What could she say? She didn’t understand it all herself. She was up one minute and down the next. Eventually, she replied, in a subdued tone.

  ‘I was practising my flute on Port Meadow.’

  As she said this, Claudia looked away, out through the patio windows into the lovely garden. She could see all the way down to the canal. How could she say what was really in her mind? She felt helpless, and even hopeless. She steeled herself, as her mother arrived on the ground floor. However, her mother had something entirely different on her mind, something Claudia had quite forgotten about.

  ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow, Claudia. Surely you haven’t forgotten? Thirteen tomorrow! I’ve asked your aunt to come over sometime after lunch. She is really looking forward to seeing you.’

  Claudia didn’t reply. She just stared up at her mother, and at that point her mother’s tone changed. There was a hint of agitation. Kate Ashby was clearly struggling with something of her own.

  ‘Goodness knows why you won’t have a party, Claudia. Just a few friends and a birthday cake… I really don’t understand.’

  ‘Here we go again,’ thought Claudia. ‘The usual stand-off.’ However, she had become quite clever at avoiding these confrontations with her mother.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing Aunt Jane,’ she said. She moved towards the staircase. ‘I’m going up to my room. I’ve got something important to read for school.’

  She hurried upstairs to her room, leaving her mother standing in the hallway. Her mother sighed deeply. Claudia had avoided talking to her yet again.

  In her room, Claudia looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her hair was all over the place. She thought of the man on the bike, and the letterbox lady. All right, it might have been bad for them, but who felt sorry for her? Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips as anger surged up in her. It was so unfair. But had she been fair to the bike rider? She must never be like one of them – those dreadful girls! She wiped a tear away and tried to smile. That was better! Just a little better!

  The following day, Claudia thought her mother still sounded out of sorts. There seemed to be nothing she could say or do to please her. What Claudia particularly disliked was the way her mother banged the dishes when she was annoyed or tense. That really grated on her. She went out into the garden. The white swan that had been there earlier was still around, and she went down to the bottom of the garden to take a closer look. The swan didn’t stay very long, before drifting off downstream. Claudia stood there, and just gazed at the water slowly moving past her. She tried looking into its depths but could see nothing. What was there, she wondered, in that other mysterious world underwater? Maybe it was a better world?

  She stood very still for several minutes, mesmerised by the l
ight on the water, and the many eddies and swirls created as the water drifted by. In a strange way, that other unknown world attracted her. The water attracted her. She was drawn to it.

  ‘Claudia!’ Her mother’s shrill voice brought Claudia sharply back to herself. ‘Come up to the house!’

  Claudia shook her head, and slowly, with lead in her shoes, made her way back to the house. The postman had just arrived, and her mother handed her a birthday card from her father in Saudi Arabia. This cheered Claudia up immediately. She immediately slipped away upstairs and opened the card in her room.

  The card lifted her spirits. Her father promised that he would see her soon. If only that could be true! She threw herself on her bed and looked around the room. She liked her room. It was her own private space. At least she wanted it to be! There was a small desk that her father had given her, and she kept her flute and music on that, and there were pictures on the walls, one of which was a scene from Harry Potter and the other a print of the Tree Man scene from the film The Lord of the Rings. A rather dilapidated window looked out over the back garden and the canal. A small rather quaint window with an old latch that never seemed to work looked out over the street. At the bottom of her bed was her old brown teddy, which she kept wrapped in a blue knitted shawl that had been given to her on her last birthday by Aunt Jane.

  Claudia propped herself up with several pillows just where the sun came through the window, and started to read her book again. Her mind wasn’t really on it now, however. She could see why her mother was upset, but was it really her fault that her classmates were nasty to her? Maybe it was her fault for not just going along with them, and just pretending. But then why should she give up things that she liked? That awful Stella seemed to hate her. The others followed Stella. It was all just too much. She went over to her mirror on the wall. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked her image in the mirror. Her sandy hair fell down to her shoulders, and her soft brown eyes looked back at her. You’re just like all the others – well, almost, she thought. What have I ever done to them?