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‘Mum where’d you put my school trunk?’

*Angie is standing at the top of the stairs, calling down to her mother in the kitchen.*

‘I think your father put it in the attic darling. Why do you want it?’

‘Damn.’

‘Don’t swear Angelina.’

‘Sorry Mum. I just need something out of it.’

*She turns away from the top of the stairs and goes to stand under trap door in the ceiling. She looks up at it and takes her new wand out of her back pocket. She flicks it at the ceiling and the wooden panel lifts up and moves out of the way revealing a dark hole. Another flick and a ladder appears from nowhere and leads directly into the ceiling. She pockets her wand again and climbs up. At the entrance she looks around but it’s too dark to see anything so once again she pulls out her wand.*

‘Lumos’

*In the pale light of her wand she takes a look around, not wanting to venture any further into the dark attic than she needs to. There are boxes. Piles and piles of boxes in all shapes and sizes but she can’t see her trunk.*

‘You sure it’s up here Mum?’

‘Yes I asked him to put it up there. It was just gathering dust in the hall way where you so conveniently left it before disappearing for nearly two months, and I thought if it was going to gather dust, it might as well do it somewhere that I’m less inclined to trip over it.’

‘Oh. Right. Sorry bout that.’

‘Yes well. Next time you go away at least tell us where you’re going and not just that you’re going. Just poke about a bit. It’s up there somewhere.’

*Holding out her wand Angie proceeds further into the attic. As she moves around the light from the wand creates strange shadows on the walls and ceiling. Her wand illuminates a pile of boxes. Written on them in thick black marker is her name.*

‘Hey Mum. What’s in these boxes?’

‘Which ones dear?’

‘The ones with my name on them.’

‘Toys, clothes, little bits and pieces. Anything that I didn’t want to throw out.’

*Her mothers head appears in the hole, and she looks around before climbing in properly. Angelina doesn’t notice because she’s looking through the top box.*

‘Oh my God-’

‘Angelina!’

‘Sorry Mum. I can’t believe you kept this.’

*Out of the box she takes a faded childish drawing of a little girl on a broomstick, or at least one assumes that’s what it’s supposed to be, and in the corner in the large uneven lettering of the very young, it says ‘Angelina Johnson, Age 5.’*

‘Of course I kept it. I don’t think I ever threw any of your pictures away.’

*Her mother comes up behind her and peers over her shoulder.*

‘Do you remember when you drew that?’

‘At school on my first day. Everyone thought I was weird because the teacher wanted us to draw what we’d done at the weekend and I drew that.’

‘That’s right. I remember that we got a phone call from her by the end of your first week telling us that you had rather a vivid imagination and that you had difficulty making the distinction between what was real and what was make believe.’

‘Well apparently I’m still having the same delusions about flying and magic. Praps you should book me into some kind of therapy.’

*They both laugh and Angie puts the picture back onto the pile and digs further into the box.*

‘My old Gobstones; Chocolate frog cards; My Barbies? I thought I threw these away?’

‘No you left them in the garden after you beheaded them.’

‘I thought I burnt them?’

‘No, the ones you burnt belonged to Sally from up the road.’

‘Oh that’s right. But for the record I didn’t do it on purpose. She wouldn’t let Barbie go flying and I got mad.’

‘Your first bit of accidental magic. Your dad was absolutely delighted.’

‘Delighted? I was grounded for a week. And on top it of I wasn’t allowed to play with Sally ever again.’

‘Yes but once he got over that he was actually very proud. By that time he knew your brother wasn’t magic you see, and while it didn’t bother me one iota whether either of you could do it or not, it was rather a blow to your Dad. And in our defence it was Sally’s mum who said you would never play with her little girl again.’

‘It’s why he doesn’t talk to me isn’t it? Because he’s jealous that Dad spent so much time with me and not him.’

‘I think it’s one of the reasons, yes. Doesn’t help that you don’t like his wife though.’

‘No it’s the reason. She’s just the cover and the excuse. But she’s such a simpering idiot. I swear if she was white then she’d be a blonde. How does he put up with her?’

‘I don’t know and it’s something I question every time I see them.’

‘Not to his face like I did though.’

‘No, not to his face. What else do you have in there?’

‘Erm… Some dolls in various states of disrepair, a teddy missing his head, and this. Which isn’t mine.’

*She pulls out a hard plastic toy with moveable arm’s and legs and hands it to her mother.*

‘This should be in one of your brothers boxes. Wonder how it got in there.’

‘Well what is it?’

‘It’s a cartoon character from a program he used to watch on telly when he came in from school. Something about giant teenage turtles wh-’

‘What?’

*She takes back the toy and sure enough it’s a model of a turtle, wearing a mask.*
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Angelina Johnson

August 2010

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