Storybooks. She was too old for foolish storybooks. Nevertheless, she traced the title with a curious finger. Fiction books were frowned upon in her world. But the front cover with a girl sitting on a pile of books enticed her. Matilda by Roald Dahl. One of her classmates had brought a secret stash of books she'd stolen from the library in her hometown. Constance didn't like the idea. But when the only book left was this one, the other more exciting looking stories having been snapped up, she reluctantly opened it and found herself transported. An ordinary girl who temporarily possessed magic powers to defeat her nemesis? Constance read it over and over again, fearful that it would be snatched away from her. She hid it inside the cover of another book and hid it under her mattress. One day she was sure that Miss Broomhead would discover and confiscate it but Constance kept it in her vast memory bank, storing it away for when she needed it most.
Like Matilda she wished she could shoot sparks out of her eyes, focus enough to vanquish her teacher, her goaler. Miss Trunchbull may be dangerous but Miss Broomhead was far more deadly. She had magic on her side and no amount of poltergeist activity would help her if she knew just how it was done. Constance's life would not be worth living. She trembled at the thought.
How she longed for a Miss Honey to rescue her, take her away from this endless nightmare of being under Miss Broomhead's thumb. Her family had made a deal with the devil and she wished she could be anywhere else. She was starting to feel dead and hollow inside. She could feel a dullness in her voice, see it in her eyes. Only thinking about the book gave her hope. One day she would be free and off to teacher training college. Miss Broomhead could stretch her tentacles there but she couldn't entirely get her once she was an adult in the eyes of the law.
Four more years. She needed to bide her time. It was destroying her, this need to be vigilant and obedient at the same time. The book had stirred something in her that he'd never felt before. It had opened her eyes as to how Miss Broomhead really was and the more she understood it, the more she battled against revealing what she knew. Self-preservation kicked in but it was a struggle.
She wasn't to know what real living was until she would escape. To enjoy the early mornings with a cup of tea, her own familiar and no fear. To be her own mistress and not have to account for her activities and time. She wasn't to know that someone like Miss Cackle existed until she plucked her to safety and security. She loved her life at Cackle's Academy. She discovered that it was all she ever wanted. She wasn't to know that with the help of Miss Cackle and the most irritating student that she ever had the misfortune to meet would eventually save her from the dragon. Mildred Hubble. And friends.
She hadn't realised until after that, that she had been mistaken about her rescuer. Amelia Cackle most certainly saved her in some way, yes. She thought she had been a Matilda. And in a way she had been. But after all of the flurry and drama, she had discovered that really she was Miss Honey. Someone who needed to stand up to her abuser and rescue herself. Her inner child? Was Matilda her inner child? She wasn't sure. Fiction was not her strong point.
And after all, she still had the precious book. It was in her bookcase, safe and sound. It was one of the few things she'd been able to leave with. Her own secret rebellion. Miss Broomhead had never been able to take that away from her and now never could.