‘But I can’t write a story!’ Gwen cries, scraping her chair backwards and folding her arms, as though the blank page might scald her.
I wave her pencil around like a wand. ‘What if I told you that this is an enchanted pencil?’
Her eyes widen but she purses her lips, willing herself not to smile. She’s still not sure.
I tilt it towards her. She twirls it between her fingers, examining it from all angles.
Something must convince her – the way the silver paint catches the light, perhaps – because she tucks her seat back under the desk and begins to write. She writes furiously, her tongue protruding and her fingers gripping the pencil so tightly that her knuckles turn white.
The story, when she reads it aloud to the class, is a magical tale of adventure. She beams proudly through the applause, and then says,
‘The magic pencil worked!’
I hold it up and frown theatrically.
‘Silly me!’ I laugh. ‘This isn’t the magic pencil. It looks like you didn’t need it after all.’
Gwen gasps. Then a smile spreads across her face.
This is the best thing about teaching, I think to myself on my drive home. Igniting someone’s inner magic. It’s on days like this that I am reminded why I chose this career.
Not that I don’t believe in ‘real’ magic. In fact, no-one knows this, but I have my own guardian angel. She’s guided me through many a difficult decision, always speaking such wisdom. But I’ve never seen her. She always stays hidden, crouching beyond the heather atop the mountain, her voice carrying on the wind while I take in the view.
I pull up outside my house and a knot forms in my stomach. Something’s wrong. My daughter’s car is here.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table, mascara running down her face as she sobs into her tea. Another argument with Jamie, no doubt.
‘Oh, Alice!’ I drop my bags and clatter through the hall with my shoes still on, wrapping my arms around her wordlessly. She buries her face into my coat.
It’s time, I think. She needs to meet the guardian angel. To decide, once and for all, if this relationship is worth saving.
The air is unusually still up here today, our laboured breathing from the long climb the only sound. I hang back and allow Alice to stand alone. The tingling sensation across my skin tells me that the guardian angel is nearby, and I thank her under my breath.
When Alice re-appears, her face is bright.
‘Well?’
‘There’s no angel here!’ she giggles. ‘But it’s so peaceful I could hear myself think. I know what to do now. Thanks, Mum.’
She kisses me on the cheek and skips ahead. I stand for a moment, stunned. A butterfly flutters out from behind the heather, its wings glinting in the setting sun.
‘Goodbye!’ I whisper, and with a newfound spring in my step, follow my daughter back down to earth.
