#mrs phelps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maybeimamuppet · 2 years ago

Text

once upon a time

hello everyone!! long time no see lol oopsies

i hope you’re having an amazing week!!

this one is a bit different from what i’ve done so far so i hope you all enjoy it!! this one has more to do with mrs phelps bc i think her relationship with matilda is criminally underrated and underexplored :)

tw for

child abuse/neglect

and please let me know if i missed anything so i can add it in :D

enjoy!!

—————

Matilda met one of the most influential people in her life when she was just two years old.

Her brother went off to school and her father went to work like they did every day. Her mother went off to her salsa and ballroom dancing class like she did every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for bingo and bridge.

Matilda gets herself dressed and brushes the few teeth she’s started growing. Makes herself breakfast and brushes her hair. And she looks out the window.

She’s taken to doing this a lot. Watching the other young children play outside with their mothers and fathers and wondering why her own won’t do that with her.

Today, all the children drag their parents down the sidewalk, chattering and skipping excitedly, trying to get their parents to go faster. Matilda opens the curtains a little further, trying to see what they’re rushing towards. She can’t see.

She slips off the sofa she was perched on and heads to the door. She has to stand on her tiptoes to open the door, but she manages after her chubby hand slips off the doorknob a few times.

Matilda toddles her way down the sidewalk and sees all the neighborhood children surrounding a bus. Her neighbor, Mrs. Phillips, told her to mind strange vans, but for some reason this one seems to be okay for all the parents and children.

Her mother says she’s not to be seen by anyone else in the neighborhood, so Matilda hides behind a nearby shrub and waits for the crowd to clear. It seems to take hours, but one by one, the children and their families clear out. Matilda emerges from her bush and makes her way to the bus.

The steps up to it are nearly as tall as her, so she has to lean over each and kick her legs to make it up. She pants for breath as she climbs up the last one and looks around to see where she’s found herself.

A kind looking lady with a very strange hat pops out from behind a shelf. She yelps a bit at seeing Matilda standing there, and blinks at her in confusion. “Hello there, sweetheart, what’s your name?”

The lady has a very intriguing accent. Matilda steps closer, looks up at her, and says, “I’m Matiwda.” She grimaces. She’s not Matiwda. But her mouth doesn’t always move the way she tells it to. She tries again, making extra sure to annunciate every syllable. “Ma-til-da.”

“Very nice to meet you, Matilda. I’m Mrs. Phelps,” the lady says. “How old are you?”

“Two,” Matilda responds. Thank goodness she learned how to read the calendar. Her parents forgot her birthday this year.

“Are your parents here? Where are they?” Mrs. Phelps asks. Her voice has suddenly got much higher. Matilda doesn’t care for that. She never understood why people don’t talk to babies normally. Not that she’s a baby, of course.

“Out,” Matilda says.

“Outside?” Mrs. Phelps asks, trying to look for them out the windows. Matilda shrugs. Probably not, but she can’t say where her parents are for certain.

Matilda looks around at all the things on the shelves. She grabs one from her height and holds it aloft between her little hands. “What’s dis? This?”

“That’s a book, you must have seen one before,” Mrs. Phelps explains. She gently takes it from Matilda and shows her how to open it. “See these words? Someday you’ll be able to read them.”

Matilda holds it close and looks over the cover. To her, they just look like squiggles. She squints up at the woman. “Read?”

“Yeah, you know. All the letters have sounds that make words. Like speaking, only… in print.”

Matilda squints at her again in disbelief. Mrs. Phelps sighs and gently takes it from her.

“Let’s start smaller, shall we? Let’s try… this one,” she says. She grabs a colorful one off a lower shelf about Matilda’s height. “Come.”

Matilda hesitates, but sits on the dusty carpet next to Mrs. Phelps. The kind woman puts an arm around her and opens the book, beginning to read aloud.

“This is A, and A says aah, ahh, and ay. A begins apple, avocado, and airplane.” Matilda looks as she points out all those things in the picture on the page. Mrs. Phelps lets her look all she wants before she turns the page. “This is B, and B says buh. B begins ball, book, and baby.”

Matilda looks up at Mrs. Phelps this time. The woman who introduced her to the most amazing thing.

She stays there until Mrs. Phelps finishes the book, and then stands up. Her mother will be home from dance soon. Matilda is sad. She found herself in such a wondrous world here, she doesn’t ever want to leave.

Mrs. Phelps notices her sad face and crouches down to Matilda’s eye level. “Do you know what a library is?” Matilda shakes her head. Mrs. Phelps stands and spins with her arms out to her sides. “This is a library. I own it. And I’ll tell you what. Since you and the other children here love my stories so much, I’ll be on this corner every Friday afternoon. Okay? You can come whenever you’d like.”

“Really?” Matilda asks eagerly. Mrs. Phelps nods.

“And… if you’d like, you can get a card to take books home. You can keep this until next week,” Mrs. Phelps continues.

“Keep it?” Matilda asks, looking up at her. The woman nods again.

“You’ll need to take good care of it. Make sure it doesn’t get dirty or wet, and none of the pages get torn. And you’ll need to bring it back next Friday. But in the meantime, it’s yours.”

Matilda eagerly gives her her name and address to sign up for her library card and proudly toddles back home with her brand new book. She hides it beneath the mattress of her bed so her parents won’t see. They’d most definitely ruin it.

She goes to sleep that night with a smile on her face.

—————

By Mrs. Phelps’ next visit, Matilda had memorized the book. She knew all the sounds the letters made. She tried to show her mother what she had learned, but she got shoved aside with a cold, immaculately manicured hand. Maybe some other time.

Matilda spent the next week poring over every magazine she could get her hands on. She can sound out the words, but she still struggles a little with understanding what they mean. Especially the ones in the nudie magazines hidden beneath her father’s side of the bed.

But Mrs. Phelps is true to her word. Every Friday, she’s at the end of the block. Matilda moves on to bigger and bigger books as she herself gets bigger and bigger. Dr. Seuss books, Bartholomew Bear, Winnie the Pooh, Todd Parr, Junie B. Jones, The Magic Tree House. Anything she can. She takes bigger stacks home with her every week.

—-

By the time she turns three, Matilda has read all the children’s books Mrs. Phelps has available. “Goodness, Matilda, you can’t have finished all of those. Don’t you want to keep some for another week?”

“I finished them all. Have you got anything new?”

“Not for children, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Phelps says apologetically.

“What about… for grownups?” Matilda asks, heading to the young adult shelves and browsing.

“Matilda, I think those might be a bit difficult for you,” Mrs. Phelps says, running after her. Matilda just turns around. The bus isn’t that big.

“Can’t I just give one a try? Pleeeease?”

Mrs. Phelps looks hesitant, but she does pull one down off a shelf and hold it. “I think your parents will be happier if you stick to children’s books for a while, Matilda.”

“Oh, they don’t mind,” Matilda says honestly.

“They must be so proud of you, reading all you do,” Mrs. Phelps says as she scans the shelves for others. “Are they in today? I’d love to meet them.”

“Oh, no, Dad’s working and Mum’s at her dance classes all day,” Matilda says. She doesn’t mention the other thing.

Mrs. Phelps hums in disappointment. “Well, maybe some other day.”

Not if I’ve got anything to say about it, Matilda thinks to herself. Mrs. Phelps hands her a couple books to try, and Matilda takes off before she can ask any more questions. “Thank you! See you next week!”

—————

Matilda starts to linger in the bus longer that year. There’s no sense rushing back home just to read the same books she could read here. Mrs. Phelps seems glad for her company. She certainly talks enough for it.

Matilda likes her stories. And she’s learned enough from her parents to know how to tune out things she doesn’t necessarily want to listen to. Mrs. Phelps also makes delicious lemonade.

Matilda starts hunting the bus down on its stops every day, too. She comes by in the morning, picks a book, and reads it in the corner for the morning. Some of the grown ups scowl at the unattended child in the corner. Matilda doesn’t understand that. It’s not like it’s her fault her parents won’t come along, try as she might to get them to.

For the afternoons, she helps Mrs. Phelps sort new arrivals and choose books for people who come by. Mrs. Phelps says it’s nice having such an expert around to recommend books. Sometimes they just chat and have lemonade, and other times Matilda helps tidy up.

In the late afternoons, Matilda takes her selection of books up to the roof of the bus and reads in the light of the setting sun. Mrs. Phelps lets her stay until packing up time is done, and then Matilda walks her stack of books home.

And the cycle begins again the next day.

—————

Matilda feels bad lying to Mrs. Phelps so much.

But in her defense, the woman makes it really easy. Your parents must love having a child like you. They must miss you so much when you’re here. They must be such lovely people to be bringing up a child like you. They must be so proud.

Matilda just has to nod and smile, and change the subject as quickly as possible.

Sometimes she thinks about telling the truth.

But that would only upset the woman. There’s no sense in doing that unnecessarily. Matilda can handle herself and her situation perfectly fine.

—————

Matilda goes barreling to the library one day in November, when she’s five years old. She has urgent news for the most important person in her life. “Mrs. Phelps! Mrs. Phelps!”

“Heavens, Matilda, what’s the matter?”

“Guess what?!” Matilda yells eagerly. Mrs. Phelps winces and puts a finger to her ear. Matilda quiets herself a bit. No yelling in the library. “I’m going to school!”

“You are?! Oh, Matilda, that’s wonderful! Your parents decided to stop homeschooling you?”

Matilda nods and forces a smile. “I’m a bit nervous, though. I’ve heard my headmistress is really mean.”

“If ever a child can handle a mean old bat, it’s you, dear,” Mrs. Phelps says as she pours their daily lemonade.

“Are you terribly busy after closing time today?” Matilda asks quietly, sipping a gulp of her glass through her straw. Mrs. Phelps ponders this and shakes her head gently.

“No more than usual. Why?”

Matilda fidgets a bit with the hem of her dress. “I, er- my parents, that is, were wondering if you might take me to get my uniform. I’ve got the money for it, but… they’re… busy. Too busy to go before the first day.”

Mrs. Phelps hums and takes a sip of her own. “Of course I will. You’ve told them where you’ll be?”

Matilda nods. She hasn’t, but it doesn’t make any difference either way.

“I’ll do it in exchange for one of your wonderful stories.”

“Deal,” Matilda beams.

————-

Matilda is almost sad to be beginning school. She’s stuck there all day instead of getting to spend time with Mrs. Phelps. She has to wait until dismissal to see her and get new books.

Or so she thinks.

Matilda leaves about an hour and a half earlier than she needs to. Her parents are always at their worst in the mornings. Always shouting at each other and rushing about to get where they need to be in time. Matilda hates it.

She’s standing outside, peering in through the rusty gates at her new, huge, ominous school building.

Matilda was expecting a huge building, but she wasn’t expecting it to look so… old. And dingy. She was expecting lots of children and play equipment and color.

There’s none of that. It looks more like a prison. But school is school, so Matilda is excited.

She hears a familiar rumbling behind her and whirls around in surprise. “Hello Mrs. Phelps!”

“Matilda? School doesn’t start for another hour yet, does it?”

“Oh. I’m early. Because of…” she needs a lie, quick. “Excitement.”

She continues, spouting off everything she can think of that a normal child might be excited for about school. Mrs. Phelps eventually beckons her inside just to shut her up. Matilda complies eagerly.

Mrs. Phelps listens eagerly to her latest story as she helps Matilda do her tie properly. Matilda did her best on her own, but it’s hard doing it from a book. Especially a book she read two years ago.

Matilda rushes out when the school bell rings and goes barreling towards school. “Have a great first day!”

“I will!” Matilda yells back. She waves and rushes in.

And oh, the day she has.

—————-

Matilda had always known she was a bit… unusual. She knew she was a bit more advanced than some of the other children in the neighborhood. She didn’t quite realize how much until she saw the look on her teacher’s face when she listed off all the books she’d read that week.

Miss Honey left in a hurry, leaving the students to their workbooks. Matilda feels a bit of a sinking in her gut when she explains she’s off to have a quick chat with the headmistress. One day in and Matilda’s already causing trouble. Maybe her parents are right about her.

Miss Honey looks a bit shaken when she comes back, and she dismisses them to recess quite quickly. Matilda hesitates a bit before letting Lavender drag her outside. Part of her wants to apologize, but Mrs. Phelps always says she should never feel the need to apologize for being who she is.

—————

“Do you want to hear about my first day at school?!”

“Of course I do! Tell me all about it,” Mrs. Phelps says, beckoning her into the bus. Matilda rushes in and tells her all about the wonderful things she learned and her new friends and how amazing her teacher is and everything she can think of. This time, the eagerness comes naturally. She doesn’t have to lie about a single thing.

Mrs. Phelps smiles seeing her so happy. Matilda smiles back.

——

The terror of The Trunchbull quickly reveals itself. Matilda finds herself wondering if she really did turn a child inside out and throw poor Julius out the window.

Matilda has to work quickly to save poor Nigel from the Chokey. Years of experience lying through her teeth to her parents and Mrs. Phelps gives her enough confidence to make up a good story for The Trunchbull.

She can’t do anything to save poor Amanda, but luckily, everything turns out okay for her.

——

“Mrs. Phelps, look!” Matilda says after her second day. “Miss Honey’s letting me do sixth grade work, look! Algebra, history, geography!”

“Oh, how wonderful! You’re certainly bright enough for it. How are things going?”

Matilda tells her all about it, including the next bit of her latest story. This one hasn’t come to her all at once. It comes in… bursts. Fizzes. Like there’s something in the universe doling it out to her in bits. Something that doesn’t want her to know the ending just yet.

“Where is this coming from, Matilda?” Mrs. Phelps asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this story has taken a rather dark turn,” Mrs. Phelps says.

Matilda frowns. She thought she was enjoying it. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you anymore.”

“No! Nonono,” Mrs. Phelps insists immediately. “I just mean… is… is everything alright? Has something happened at home?”

“No, everything’s fine. I’d better go. My… mum’s waiting for me. She hates being away from me. She says every minute is like an eternity, so…” Matilda trails off before she grabs her bag and goes running into the woods towards home.

“I’m by the windmill tomorrow!” Mrs. Phelps yells after her.

“Okay, I’ll find you!” Matilda yells back. She always does, and she always will.

—————

Matilda has just enough audacity in her that night to question her parents.

And she pays the ultimate price for it.

Everything in her is screaming at her feet, her legs, her arms, to move and stop her father ripping the library book apart.

But she doesn’t. She can’t.

She stands frozen and watches in horror as the pages fall to the ground. Falls to her knees to gather them and runs up to her room.

All she can think of as she superglues the book back together as best she can, is Mrs. Phelps’ famous saying. Two wrongs don’t make a right.

But Mrs. Phelps also always tells her to be who she is.

And sometimes, Matilda is a little bit naughty.

How she wishes she could tell Mrs. Phelps about how she glued her father’s hat to his head. But that would only get her a lecture.

——————

In December, Matilda thinks her worst nightmare is about to come true.

She comes home to a delighted mother, for what’s possibly the first time in her life. “Oh, it’s just like winning the lottery!”

“Me?” Matilda asks sheepishly.

“Ew, no, you’re like eating someone else’s bogies.”

Matilda looks down, not hearing what her parents say next. Until her mother says, “It’s the books, Harry, and the stories.”

“Books and stories, is it?” her father huffs. “You know what I’m gonna do tomorrow?”

Matilda shakes her head, desperately clutching her books to her chest. Clutching them like they’re Mrs. Phelps herself. Like if she holds them hard enough the hero from one of their stories will come save her.

But all that happens is her father yelling, “I’m gonna go down to that library and tell that old bag to never let you in again!”

“No!” Matilda protests immediately. “No, please!”

She doesn’t hear anything else her father says before he grabs her by the collar of her blazer and drags her up the flights of stairs to her bedroom. He tosses her unceremoniously to the ground and slams the door after him.

Matilda starts to cry. Reaches out a hand and gently runs a finger over the plastic-covered spines of her books.

Maybe heroes and saviors are only a storybook thing.

—————

The Trunch continues to be a terror.

Matilda continues to fight back.

Mrs. Phelps continues to be a haven.

But in February, everything

crashes

down.

Matilda’s riding high, coming home from tea with Miss Honey. She doesn’t mind the rain beating down against her as she runs home.

Her parents are yelling again.

There’s boxes everywhere.

“What’s going on?”

“Pack your things. We’re moving to Spain,” her father spits in her general direction.

“Spain? But why?”

“Because this idiot, this twit, this shit-for-brains, sold a load of old bangers to the bleeding mafia!” her mother hollers. Uh oh.

Mrs. Phelps is the first person in her mind. The first out of her mouth. “But-but what about Mrs. Phelps?! Lavender, Nigel, Amanda? What about Miss Honey?!”

“Forget ‘em! You’re never gonna see ‘em again!” her father yells.

Matilda bursts into tears and runs up to her bedroom.

The next part of the story arrives.

Matilda can’t bring herself to look at the crinkled, wrinkled rubbish bin in the corner. That’s a problem for another day.

—————

Her walk to school the next morning is a solemn one. She sticks the shoddily repaired book through the bus’ door handle with a short note.

Maybe not all stories have happy endings.

There’s so much more she wants to say. But for once, the words don’t come to her. Not even a proper thank you for all Mrs. Phelps has done for her.

All it does is fuel her. Make her angrier.

———-

As it turns out, that’s quite useful.

Matilda, with the help of her newfound telekinesis and the other students, run The Trunchbull out of town for good. At least she got to do something nice for Miss Honey.

Her father’s work truck comes rumbling up the dirt road. Matilda almost thinks it’s Mrs. Phelps. The red of the pickup is so disappointing.

Matilda says her goodbyes and prepares to climb into the back. Hopefully she picks up Spanish and finds a new library quick.

She allows herself to hope for the first time in months when Miss Honey begs Matilda’s parents to let her stay.

Her dad, for whatever reason, agrees. With a handshake and hat removal, he screeches off. Hopefully never to be seen again.

Matilda leans the true definition of home that night. Sleeping in that tiny, tiny shed Miss Honey calls a house.

She’s happy.

Miss Honey adopts her just after her sixth birthday.

They both start spending quite a lot of time with Mrs. Phelps. Matilda suspects something is going on between the grownups that she’s not meant to know about. Curiosity burns within her, but she doesn’t ask. She trusts Miss Honey to tell her. And her own mind to figure out what’s going on before she gets the chance to.

Mrs. Phelps comes over for dinner about a month after they move back into Miss Honey’s father’s old house. They’ve spent ages fixing it up after all the damage The Trunchbull did to it. It’s starting to look nice.

Matilda eagerly chatters about what she’s learning in her new advanced classes over their meal, and heads upstairs happy and with a full belly to wash up and go to bed.

She hears raised voices coming from downstairs after Miss Honey comes to kiss her goodnight. Something she hasn’t heard in months.

She slips out of bed and pads her way to the top of the stairs as silently as she can. The floorboards creak a bit beneath her feet, but not loudly enough to be noticed. She hopes.

Miss Honey and Mrs. Phelps are in the kitchen, standing in the light of the chandelier. They’re… yelling at each other. Matilda sits and watches.

“How could you not have known?!” Miss Honey pleads desperately. “Not have seen anything, not have noticed?!”

“I had my suspicions, but you know how clever she is! She-she told me she was alright! Every time I asked, she told me she was okay!”

“Couldn’t you see she was lying?! How could you not see her clothes never fit and her hair was never brushed?! How dirty she was, how many bruises she had?!”

“What was I meant to do?! Ask her if she was being abused?!”

“Yes!” Miss Honey bellows. “Yes! You should’ve seen through her stories! You-you should’ve called someone! Should’ve… should’ve saved her.”

“I wasn’t the one who was meant to save her, Jen,” Mrs. Phelps says. “You were.”

Miss Honey dissolves into tears at that point. Mrs. Phelps pulls her into a tight hug and lets her cry into her shoulder. Matilda stands and runs back to bed.

Mrs. Phelps is still there for breakfast the next morning. Matilda smiles. She’s starting to put the pieces together now.

Mrs. Phelps comes over a lot more after that.

None of them really know what the future will bring.

But Matilda knows one thing.

They’ll all live happily ever after.

—————

thanks for reading!!

i just wanted to give a bit of clarity as to why this took so long (feel free to skip this if you’re not interested lol. but it is important!!)

if you follow me here you may be aware that some of my fics for my other fandom had been stolen by someone on ao3 with the handle of wlwsharks. so i just wanted to say, if you’ve ever thought of plagiarizing someone: don’t!!

it was a silly thing looking back but it was still absolutely devastating to see and have to sort out. every fic i write takes so much of my heart and so so so much energy. i’m disabled, which in and of itself makes all of my fics take much longer to write. this incident only made it longer because i was having panic attacks every time i even thought about posting anything else. it had been doing on for six months and i would never have known if i hadn’t received a comment giving me a heads up.

seeing someone else get (in most cases, more) love and enjoyment out of something they simply copy and pasted than i did for something i spent up to a few months devoting myself to was absolutely beyond gut wrenching. but they’re gone now and things are looking up once again :)

if any of you happen to be in the wednesday fandoms or the owl house or anything like that, please please please keep an eye out for something like this happening again. and if anything you read feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t, please look into it. you could save a writer so much heartache.

anyway!! rant over. much love to you all and i’ll see you again soon. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed!!

lots of love,

ezzy

#matilda #matilda roald dahl #matilda 1996 #matilda the musical #matilda 2022 #matilda wormwood #matilda honey #jennifer honey #miss honey #mrs phelps

7 notes · View notes