A cold hand reached for the little girl as the plane soared into the sky. She twisted her head, screaming out to her contented parents as they rose out of sight. But they never looked back. Not even once.
A creaky, distant voice clawed her ears, “ Come, child.” it said, and she turned to face her fate…

“BEEP.” She awoke. The voice was gone, and a warm, sunny light streamed in onto Mumble, her moggy cat, who was settled comfortably in the centre of the Alice in Wonderland quilt. She was home, and she hid her head under the pillow while knocking the batteries out of the alarm clock that had so rudely begun these holidays. Carla’s mum peered in, and prized the pillows off her face, saying “ How are you, ready for your big trip?” Pomegranate red lace surrounded the green interior of her favourite apron, and her daughter knew that she had been cooking pancakes.
“Up, Carla, breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Oh, and don’t forget to get that animal into its carry case. OK?”
“Umhum” was the answer, and her eyes closed.
Ten minutes later she woke again, to a less than impressed mother.
“HONEY! Pancakes are on the table!” her raised eyebrows made a shiver run up her spine.

An hour or so later, with Mumble complaining bitterly, she hauled her earthly belongings into the bus, before crashing onto a seat, the cat cage on the floor. Her dad settled beside with his briefcase and the bags, and they waited while Mum paid the fare.
“Well, were off.” Dad stated the obvious, and he placed his arm around her.
“Meerrummowww” Mumble scowled. He never had liked travelling.
For the fist time in her entire life she was going to in a completely different country to her family. Mr Smith’s profession was rare and he and his enthusiastic wife were leaving for America to tell all likeminded cheese-makers the secrets of success, and, in short, they were leaving there eleven year old daughter behind. Carla thought this very unfair. This would not have been so disappointing, however, but as it turned out, the child’s lively-hood had been placed in the frail hands of her mother’s brother and his wife, both of whom were old and liked to have some company, and, yes, play bowls. Seriously, she was going to be staring at the most boring game on earth for two months! They did not even have any girls her age, just a grown up boy. No one she knew lived in Buckinghamshire. “Mumble will be my only friend,” she thought, “and nothing would ever happen.”
“I don’t want to go, Dad.” she said
“Me neither”
She was surprised. “Really? But you like traveling!”

When the bus stopped, they were outside of the airport. Here it all began.
“ Oh, hello, hello, hello, Candice…no…Clara, I mean, Hello Carla, I am Mrs Pince” She spoke so that every second word was particularly clear, and she peered down at the younger member of the group like she was a stray kitten someone had left on the roadside. That wasn’t all wrong, actually. It was then that she started absolutely loving her beautiful parents.
“Hi,” Carla said while in the outside off heart of hearts cried “DON’T…coddle!”
Perhaps you should know a bit about Mr Pince. First off, she had no kids. (That half explains the coddling, but is no excuse.) Also, she had a dress code of pink and purple, never worn trousers, always had two handkerchiefs up her sleeves (one for each) and a ball of string in her bag. “There is almost nothing that one needs but a ball of string”. Anything else was easily discovered after spending a small amount of time with her. And that’s Mrs Pince.

Carla looked at her mum and dad. They seemed quite confused. It suddenly dawned on the old lady that they were not altogether sure of something.
‘Oh dear, dear, dear me!” (Oh, and that’s another thing, Mrs Pince says everything more than once whenever possible) “ Why, you don’t know who I am, do you? “
Mr Smith coughed uncomfortably.
She proceeded, “ Your lovely, lovely relation could not come on account of her car malfunctioning, so, well, here I am!”
“Right,” said Dad, and family gave there last farewells. Then, they were off into the airport, and Carla felt that Mrs Pince had her in her clutches.”
“Now dear,” She called delicately, “In the car.”

They spent and hour in Mrs Pince’s vehicle. It was pink, glamorous, had a personalized numberplate and looked as if it had been bought the week before.
“Does your father ride a Ford?” She asked inquisitively.
“U… I’m not sure.” Carla tried to figure out what she was in, so that her answer would not land her in anyone’s bad books
“He should not.” She said, “They are a terrible kind of machine.”
They drove on in silence.
The child felt it was her turn to talk, “ So, uh, how’s Mr and Mrs Barker?”
“Wonderful, wonderful, extremely well. We have all been waiting with bated breath for your arrival.” As an afterthought she added, “ Do you eat peanuts?”
And so the journey continued, long silences, broken by occasional exclamations of important information that would be vital for Carla's existence. Then all of a sudden, Mrs Pince did something very strange. They had been silent for more than a little while. They were on a highway now, and Carla was enjoying the scenery, and was therefore not paying much attention to her chauffeur. They seemed to have used up all subjects of conversation by now. A pleasant hint of sun was making her warm, and she might easily have slipped off if it had not been for Mrs Pince bursting into a melodious chorus.
It was a Beatles tune, and continued for about five minutes.
Now, The Smith parents had been pretty good at telling their daughter the right way to behave: Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, cover your mouth when you sneeze or chough, as well as other not so logical manners such as, ‘never put your elbows on the table’, but she had never, never, never been told what to do when someone just starts warbling. They had the Beatles, a lovely rendition of ‘God save the Queen’, something that could have been related to Gregorian Chant and a few pieces from ‘The Sound of Music”. She was not bad either. As suddenly as it came, it went.
“What! WHAT!” Mrs Pince exclaimed, veering to a standstill on the side of the highway, “ …wha…how..WHO ARE YOU?”
Carla was understandably confused. “U.., I’m Carla, you picked me up form the ai…”
“LIAR!” A fist smashed into the horn with more strength that was visible in the old lady at first sight, “ I will never give in! Out, this instant, GET OUT, or I shall call the police!”
“But, please…”
“NOW. I have rights, young lady!”
So out she got, and so did Mrs Pince. She was furious, and drew a long umbrella from the back seat of her car, waving it threateningly at the little girl as she stared into her face. There was nowhere to go. They were alone. She thought of her happy parents, at this very moment thinking that she was safe and well.
“Please, Mrs Pince,..”
“My name is Victoria, but you may not call me that.” she said.
“Please,…u…” (looking suitably meek), “Could you take me to Mr Barker’s house?”
After she had contemplated for moment she consented, and backed towards the car. Her eyes never felt the child.
“Get in.” She commanded, and she was obligingly obeyed. Was this a mistake?
Carla reached to close the door, but a piecing scream stopped all movement, “Hands on your knee, thank you!” She really did have the knack for making you feel extremely guilty, and ready to confess, even if you had done nothing wrong at all. The tired, scared and confused little girl sat still, partly from fright and partly because she was so stunned, she did not know what else to do. Suddenly, everything cleared, and as Carla stared at her fretful driver, whose head bobbed with fright as she pulled out onto the highway once more, she realised that she was quite out of her mind.

Mahogany Lane has to be one of the prettiest streets in the world. Quite apart from its large, shady trees, when Carla Smith first travelled down there what really struck her was all the flowers, shrubs and bushes that occupied nearly ever garden. They were all neat and gave of an air of hominess. The trip was spoiled, however, by her current predicament. Mrs Pince had mellowed a little, although she did not seem to be any closer to remembering who her passanger was. The car rounded a small bend in the road, and they turned up a short driveway, lined with hedge. Uncle Barker came into view, and Carla finally breathed.
Mrs Pince waddled up to him, yelling out that the girl in her car was not to be trusted, and had appeared out of nowhere, and all manner of terrible things that were very untrue. Her uncle seemed to be quite amused. Slipping out of the car, she darted into the house, where Aunt Dolly welcomed her, somewhat alarmed, and listened to the story.
“You must not worry about Victoria, Carla, she is really very nice, she just has sudden turns some times. But she is a very good friend, you understand.” Aunt Dolly explained as she hauled bags into Carla’s new room, “It is surprising she is as she is.”
Uncle John, laden with a cup of coffee and some shortbread, had settled down Mrs Pince at the kitchen table, and everything had regained a sense of sanity. Aunt Dolly was kind, and apologetic for the circumstances.
“You see, our car had a problem, and would not start. Ina, our neighbour, was out, and I had no one else to call. I asked that she would call taxi, she insisted that I remain at home, and them I suppose she just hopped into her car and took off. She doesn’t do it to be wicked; she just cannot stand not being able to drive. I hope it was not too terrible for you, darling.” She gave her a comforting hug and they walked back to the kitchen. Shortbread and coco appeared, and Dolly took Victoria home.
Uncle John sat down beside me, “So,” he said, “You have meet Victoria.” He seemed to find the whole thing entirely entertaining, and chuckled into his puffy beard. “Victoria the Conquer, we call her.” He paused, giving in to the tempting baking before him. “One down, ….more to go,…” he chuckled, more to himself than to her. She was soon to find out what he meant.