Escape from Passing Winds: A Catherine Brewer Adventure Story

Blair Denholm

Escape from Passing Winds

Copyright © 2020 by Blair Denholm

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

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This novel is dedicated to my mother, Olive, who had more faith in me than I ever had or ever will.

Special thanks to Ruth Wykes and Kylie Fox.

Chapter 1

Abeam of dazzling sunlight bounced off Catherine Brewer’s full-length mirror, drilled through her twitching eyelids and jolted her into consciousness. She sprang out of bed and opened the top drawer of her bedside table. This would be a breeze – there was no way she was going on that stupid school trip to the old folks’ home today. All she needed to carry out her master plan had been carefully prepared last night – a jar of honey, ground black pepper and salt. She just had to be careful to use the correct proportions of each ingredient, otherwise the deception could backfire. She lifted up the honey jar, took a crumpled piece of paper out of her dressing-gown pocket and read the recipe one final time. A generous blob of honey mixed with a teaspoon of pepper – to be shoved up the nostrils to simulate a blocked and snotty nose with occasional manufactured sneezes – topped off with a pinch of salt for red and inflamed eyeballs. Too easy.

But Catherine was a stickler for detail, and immediately realized that the instructions she’s downloaded from the Internet were not 100 percent clear. The honey-pepper combination: was it for both nostrils or just one? If she didn’t use enough, her sneezes might sound weak and pathetic, but on the other hand, using too much could make her sneeze the entire mixture out of her nose and the gig would be up. She finally decided it was better to use too much than too little – after all, mom and dad wouldn’t know acting from reality anyway. Especially dad, who she’d deceived so many times she sometimes wondered if he was an idiot – in the clinical sense.

She carefully arranged the honey jar and salt-and-pepper shakers on her dresser. Then she picked up the teaspoon and breakfast bowl she had smuggled out of the kitchen late last night. With a grin of satisfaction, she combined the honey and pepper and stirred vigorously until they were thoroughly blended. She thought an eyedropper would be the best way to transfer the ‘flu potion from bowl to nose, but this proved to be a misguided approach; the gunky mixture was too thick to suck up into the tube. Damn, she thought, I’ll just have to sort of spoon it in.

She dipped the spoon into the bowl, gave it a twirl and raised it to her left nostril. She tilted her head back slightly and waited for the honey to trickle in. She stood in this pose for what seemed like several minutes, expecting to feel some sort of sticky sensation, but nothing was happening. She knew she had to act quickly, or the game would be up. Luckily, there was a vase filled with daisies on the windowsill. She tossed the flowers out the window, added a little water to the honey and hurriedly stirred the concoction until it became runnier. This was a stroke of genius – now she managed to fill both nostrils with ease. The only problem was that she had to keep her head tilted way back to stop the stuff from escaping. Never mind, it should thicken up again. And in two minutes it did, to the point where she could hold her head at right angles to the ground again with no spillage.

Next ingredient – salt. She was not at all keen on this part of the plan: she was sure the salt would hurt like mad. She took a pinch of salt and quickly sprinkled a little of the grainy white powder into each eye, shutting her eyelids tight in anticipation of the awful sting. It smarted a little, but not half as much as she thought it would.

Eyes clamped shut, she stumbled her way to the mirror. Gingerly, she opened her eyes. They has turned tomato red and her nostrils certainly had that shiny, wet look you’d expect of someone with a nasty cold. Great, I’ll just stash the evidence, hop back into bed and wait. Half an hour and mom will be up to see what’s wrong.

Catherine’s mother called from the bottom of the stairway, ‘Breakfast’s ready.’ She had cooked blueberry pancakes this morning, her daughter’s favorite. She strode back into the kitchen where her husband, Barry, had sprawled the newspaper over the dining table. ‘Where is that girl? The smell of these pancakes would normally rouse her from the deepest sleep. Maybe she’s sick. Are you listening to me, Barry?’

‘What, Margaret?’ Catherine’s father looked up from the newspaper. ‘She seemed fine last night, but perhaps you ought to check,’ he added carefully.

‘You’re right. I’m sure she’s just overslept. I’ll go and give her a hand getting ready for school. Be back down in a minute,’ said Margaret with an edge in her voice.

Catherine heard the stairs creak and knew Mom was on her way up to check on her little angel. She was a bit disappointed that Mom had taken so long to stir – not because she felt neglected, it was just that the first batch of honey she’d put in her nose was starting to congeal, threatening to set like concrete. For extra effect, she had foolishly decided to pour more of the goo down her nostrils, but she overdid it this time and the stuff had run all over her face.

‘Darling, are you all right?’ her mother’s voice echoed behind the closed door.

‘Yes Bob, I’b fide,’ she whimpered in the most miserable voice she could muster. ‘I’b just got a touch ob the ‘plu’.

Margaret’s bird-like head appeared around the edge of the door. The warm look of sympathy on her face could have melted an iceberg, and Catherine felt half the battle was over. She also guessed what would happen next – Mom would go and get Dad, they’d have a brief consultation and quite sensibly grant her the day off.

‘I’ll just go and get Dad,’ her mother said, as if on cue.

Perfect, thought Catherine, all going according to the grand plan. But that honey was getting awfully stiff and hard. She ladled a smidgen more into her nostrils in order to look like a human mucus factory, but by now they were full to the brim and refusing to let any more in. The mixture poured out everywhere, and to make matters worse, the pepper started to take effect. Aaaachooo! The honey-water-pepper combination sprayed all over the bedspread and onto the floor. She grabbed a handful of tissues from her bedside table and started to mop up the evidence. She managed to dry some of it up, but as she wiped her dripping face, her parents, clearly alarmed by the loud sneezing, burst into the room at full tilt.

‘Cathy, darling, you really are unwell by the sound of it. I think you’d better stay home today,’ her mother said.

‘I think so, too,’ her father agreed. ‘And if you’re no better by tomorrow, we’ll make an appointment with Doctor Nettlefold.’

‘Okay,’ said Catherine, affecting a weak smile. ‘Only it’s a shabe I’ll biss the old polk’s hobe.’

Unfortunately, her parents heard none of the last sentence as the wad of tissues she had used to wipe her face had become stuck fast, muffling any sounds she uttered.

‘Pardon?’ her parents asked in unison.

‘Mmff brf grmff!’ she insisted.

‘It’s no good, honey. I can’t understand a single word you’re saying. Not only that, I can’t even see your face under all of those tissues. Let me get them off,’ her mother offered.

Catherine’s heart sank. She knew this wasn’t her lucky day as soon as her mother had called her honey. The irony of it. Now here she comes for a closer look.

Margaret grasped a fistful of tissues and tugged gently. Nothing. The honey mixture had set solid, bonding the tissues to Catherine’s face. She pulled a little harder. Still nothing. She yanked with all her might, drawing a yelp of intense pain.

‘My God, Catherine Brewer,’ her father bellowed. ‘What on Earth is going on here? And why are my feet stuck to the carpet? There’s enough honey in this room to feed the three bears for a week! You’ve got some explaining to do.’

She had to think fast.

‘Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to deceive you and Mom, really I didn’t. It’s just that some of the girls at school have been giving me hell about my grades being so much better than theirs. Those stupid morons are so jealous of me. I thought maybe I could just stay home today and try to forget about how mean they all are.’ She gave a little whimper intended to extract maximum sympathy. ‘Maybe I could read up for the science exam,’ she added, forcing half a smile.

‘My darling,’ her mother cooed. ‘We’ve told you over and over: their jealousy just proves how much better than them you are.’ Don’t I just know it, she silently agreed.

‘But I’m afraid that sitting at home and moping won’t change anyone’s mind about you. In fact, you’re just letting the bullies win, and we can’t have that, can we? Besides, I’ve ironed your best clothes for you to wear on this excursion today. This is a rare opportunity not to be missed. You can learn a lot from older generations.’

Catherine couldn’t bring herself to admit the real reason she had gone to such great pains to avoid going to school. Through a stream of crocodile tears she finally conceded defeat.

‘Okay, Mom,’ she whimpered. ‘I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes. Just one thing, though, could you drive me to school this morning, dad? I don’t feel like getting the bus today.’

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ her father replied, stroking her forehead.

As soon as Catherine saw her face in the mirror, she got even more upset that such a brilliant scheme had fallen apart. It was embarrassing enough for her own parents to discover the truth, but it was ten times worse now that she had to front up at school with her face the color of a squished raspberry. The other kids would be merciless this time. But she knew what to do – a bit of Mom’s cosmetics should do the trick.

When she finished getting dressed, she tiptoed into her parents’ bedroom and began frantically searching her mom’s makeup box. Yes, there was the compact. She gently rubbed some of the dusty brown powder over her still-tender cheeks and inspected her reflection in mom’s mirror, which was quite modest compared to her own –