My Sister Jodie (37 page)

‘I've got a whole load of worries, young lady,' said Mum, sighing. ‘And half a dozen of them feature you. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you prancing around at the party in that silly get-up, showing off like anything.'

‘Thanks, Mum,' said Jodie. ‘You're going overboard with the flattery, as always.'

‘I'm just trying to stop you showing us all up,' said Mum. ‘I'm sure it was your idea for Pearl to wear all that witchy nonsense too.'

‘Hey, what about Mr Wilberforce and Frenchie? Weren't
they
wearing witchy nonsense?'

‘Well, they certainly both looked a right pair of idiots, I must admit. I could barely look him in the face. What kind of a message was he giving to the kids? He hadn't even bothered to shave his legs. And as for that Frenchie, well, she looks a bit of a witch to start with, so I suppose she was off to a flying start, but
really
! Anyway, you run off to Mr Wilberforce – and for pity's sake watch that cheeky mouth of yours. Just hang your head and say you'll try and do better, whatever it is.'

‘It's
nothing
, Mum. Mr Wilberforce was singing my praises last night. He thinks I'm Little Miss Wonderful.'

Jodie flounced off, fluffing her purple hair and doing a little tap dance in her high heels.

‘That . . . girl,' said Mum. Heaven knows what adjectives she was adding inside her head.

‘
Our
girl,' said Dad. ‘Why do you always have to be so hard on her, Shaz? I can't see that she's in any kind of trouble. She's right, old Wilberforce thinks the world of her.'

But Jodie had blown it this time. I lurked near Mr Wilberforce's study, waiting for her. Mrs Lewin took the register at nine but I hung on, though I didn't want to get into trouble. Jodie didn't come out of Mr Wilberforce's study until twenty past. Her head was bent, her hair in her eyes. I knew something was horribly wrong even before I saw her face properly. She'd been crying, her eyes still brimming, her eyelashes spiked with tears.

‘Oh, Jodie,' I whispered. I went to give her a hug but she pulled away from me, pushing me hard in the chest.

‘What? What's the matter? What have
I
done?' I gabbled.

‘You haven't done anything, as always, Precious Pearl,' said Jodie. ‘You're the good girl, the clever girl, everybody's favourite storyteller. All the little girls loved your story last night and curled up sound asleep, bless their little cotton socks. But two of my boys wet their beds, Zeph was sick and Dan had nightmares and screamed the place down, yelling that the whispering ghost was coming to get him. I wish!'

‘Oh dear,' I said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

‘And now Dan's running a temperature and Undie's had to keep him in bed, the silly little diddums.'

‘Oh, Jodie, it's not his fault. You know what he's like.'

‘Yeah, a wimpy little tell-tale, out to get me into trouble.'

‘He's
not
. He adores you, you know he does. All the littlies love you to bits. You're brilliant with them.'

‘No I'm not. Mr Wilberforce says I've let them all down, deliberately frightening them. He acted all sad and wounded and said I'd let him down too. I don't know why the old fart's making such a song and dance about a silly little story. It was all
his
idea to have a Halloween party.'

‘I know, I know, but—'

‘How do they know it was
my
story that upset them anyway? It could have been the sight of a daft old man in drag – or how about Undie with her ridiculous
head
. So OK, what was she dressed up as?'

‘A ghost?'

‘Yeah, absolutely. And what does old Wilberforce want me to do? Stand up in front of the whole school and tell them all there's no such thing as ghosts. Is he making Undie do that? Is he hell.'

‘It's unfair, I know. Have you
really
got to get up in front of everyone? I'd absolutely
hate
that. Still, you won't mind too much, will you, Jodie? Then everything can get back to normal and all the littlies can have their proper story time again.'

Jodie looked at me strangely, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘They'll have their story time all right, but not with me. With
you
.'

‘What?'

‘Apparently you and your soppy fairies were a huge big hit with all the little girls. They've all been burbling about you non-stop. You're going to be the chief storyteller now.'

‘No I'm not,' I said. ‘I'm not taking your place!'

‘Yes you are, because Mr Wilberforce
says
so and you're the little goody-goody two shoes who always does exactly as you're told,' said Jodie vehemently.

She pushed right past me and stalked off to our bedroom. I didn't dare follow her. She stood in front of the whole school at half past nine, her crazy hair brushed back, her head held high. Her skirt was hiked up high above her knees and she was wearing her red high heels. There was a little gasp as she clacked across the stage. Mr Wilberforce glared at her footwear, but decided not to be distracted.

‘Now, Jodie, you have something to tell the younger children, haven't you?' he said.

‘If you say so,' said Jodie.

‘I do indeed say so,' said Mr Wilberforce sternly.

‘Right. Well, pin your ears back, you little ones,' said Jodie. ‘Apparently
some
of you got worried by my Halloween story last night, which was very silly, because it was only a
story
. I made it all up. Mr Wilberforce wants me to tell you that there's absolutely no such thing as ghosts. People might dress up as ghosts for silly parties, but there aren't any
real
ghosts, OK?'

The little ones stared at her, stunned. The Juniors shifted around uncomfortably. The Seniors smirked.

‘Whoooo!' someone whispered, and there was a ripple of laughter.

Jodie's pale face went pink. ‘No ghosts,' she repeated. ‘No sad white whispering women. Mr Wilberforce says she's a figment of my imagination, so remember that, right?'

She tip-tapped off the stage. Mr Wilberforce let her go, though he shook his head at her. At the end of assembly he beckoned me. I knew what he was going to say. I so want to write that I utterly refused to take over the bedtime storytelling from Jodie. I
did
mumble to Mr Wilberforce that Jodie told wonderful stories and that I was sure she'd never tell the little ones a ghost story again.

‘Are you
really
sure, Pearl?' said Mr Wilberforce.

‘Oh, absolutely,' I lied.

‘Mmm. The trouble is,
I
'm not so sure. Your sister Jodie is a law unto herself, a lovely girl in many ways, but a problem child. I've got to think of the other children. I can't risk having them frightened into fits every night. No, dear, I'd like you to take over bedtime duties for the moment. Miss
Ponsonby says the little girls were enchanted by your story. I think you ought to write it down and show it to Mrs Lewin.'

I couldn't help being thrilled, even though I felt so bad about Jodie. So I said yes, I'd be happy to tell the girls a story every night. I had to tuck the little boys up too. I knew enough not to tell them a pumpkin fairy story. (I was planning new stories about the gooseberry-bush baby fairies, the giant sunflower fairies, the ever-so-good-for-you broccoli fairies – an entire
allotment
of fairy stories.) I told the boys badger stories instead – Mr Badger, Mrs Badger and their two children, Bobby and Bessie.

Harley sloped into the little boys' dormie when I was in mid flow. My throat dried and my voice trailed away.

‘Go on, Pearl,' said Zeph.

‘Tell us more!' said Dan.

I tried hard to ignore Harley and carried on telling the story. It was very babyish and twee. Mr Badger smoked a pipe of dandelion tobacco and wore long green dockleaf slippers, Mrs Badger chalked her white headstreak every day and painted her long claws, and Bobby and Bessie wore cute denim dungarees and attended Badger Infant School. Jodie would have groaned and fidgeted, but Harley lolled on the end of Dan's bed, seemingly absorbed.

When I'd finished and tucked them all up under their duvets, Harley walked with me to the door.

‘They're loving your story,' he said. ‘I hope you're not going to traumatize them by having little Bobby ambling off and getting run over.'

‘Of course not. My stories never have any sad or worrying bits.'

‘Unlike Jodie's stories.'

‘Oh, don't. I feel so bad taking over from her. She says she couldn't care less now but I know she
does
. And people keep making silly ghost noises around her. They're all so horrible.'

Jodie was hunched up on the sofa with Dad, watching television, when I got back. Mum was dozing in her chair, a cake recipe book open on her lap. I went to sit on the sofa too. Dad's arm wound round me automatically and I cuddled up close. But then Jodie stretched and stood up.

‘Where are you off to, Jodie?' Dad said.

‘Oh, things to do,' she said.

I swallowed. ‘Can I come too?' I asked.

‘No, I've got things to do. Without you,' said Jodie. She walked off, whistling.

‘Uh-oh,' said Dad. ‘Have my two favourite girls been having a tiff?'

‘Not really,' I sniffed. ‘Jodie just doesn't seem to like me much any more.'

‘Nonsense. Jodie thinks the world of you, you know she does. She's just having a bit of a hard time at the moment. You know that.'

Dad held me close, his head on top of mine. I felt his chin move as he glanced at Mum, checking she was still asleep. ‘I can't help thinking it was maybe a big mistake to come here. Your mum thought it such a fantastic opportunity – well, I did too, the chance for my girls to have a top-notch education, all for free. We'd have been mad not to go for it. Especially for you, Pearl. You're our little brainy-box and it's worked for you, hasn't it? You like your
lessons and you've made some nice little friends. You've even got yourself a
boy
friend, you cheeky baggage.'

‘Dad! Harley isn't a boyfriend, you know that.'

‘Yes, well, he's a kind lad, and means well, though he can't help sounding a bit of a twit at times. But some of the snotty brats in his class make me boiling mad. I've seen the way they call after our Jodie. I've felt like giving them a piece of my mind but I know Jodie wouldn't thank me for it. It's not working out for her, is it, Pearl? Your mum so hoped she'd settle down here. She's always been a bit wild and maybe she was hanging out with a bad bunch back at Moorcroft, but she was happier there, I'm sure of it. I can't stand to see her all pale and droopy, it just about breaks my heart.' Dad heaved a great sigh. ‘Maybe we should move right away, start over somewhere else? What do you think, Pearl?'

‘I don't know, Dad,' I said helplessly.

Dad gave me a hug. ‘Of course you don't know, poppet. Take no notice, I'm just being silly. We'll sort something out somehow and see our Jodie get her bounce back.'

He settled back into watching his programme on television, a compilation of greatest rock hits. He started humming along, his socked foot tapping, his fingers drumming my arm.

He told me all about the different rock bands and I pretended to be listening, but I didn't take in a word. I was thinking about Jodie, wondering if she was creeping up the stairs, along the corridor, squeezing behind the big cupboard, going through the door, up the spiral staircase to the tower room.
I wondered about following her up there, but it would be so scary going by myself. What if I got all the way to the top and found Jodie wasn't there after all? I thought about being there all by myself in that round room, knowing I had to feel my way down that shaky staircase.

I couldn't do it.

I stayed snuggled with Dad for over an hour. Mum woke up and made a pot of tea. She didn't even comment on Jodie's absence. She said she had a headache and took her cup of tea into the bedroom with her.

‘You see the girls to bed, Joe,' she muttered, as if Jodie and I were still small.

Dad looked worried, wondering what he was going to do if Jodie stayed out really late. But she was back by half past nine, acting as if she'd just popped along the corridor to the bathroom.

‘Right, girlies, beddy-byes,' said Dad, as if we really were tiny tots.

Jodie and I played along with this without conferring. It made everything so much easier for all of us.

‘Hop, skip and into bed,' said Dad briskly.

We hopped and we skipped and then we jumped into bed. Dad came and gave us big hugs.

‘Another one!' Jodie demanded, so I did too.

‘You pair of soppies,' said Dad.

‘Tell us a story,' said Jodie.

‘Once upon a time there was a little girl called Jodie and she had brown – no, purple – hair and a little girl called Pearl and she had fair hair. Jodie put her purple head on her pillow and Pearl put her fair head on her pillow. They fell
fast asleep
,' said Dad.

This was the only story he'd ever told us, and we could chant it all backwards. Then Dad backed out of the room, blowing kisses, and we were left alone together.

‘Can I come in your bed, Jodie?' I asked, keeping my voice little-girly.

There was a silence.

Then, ‘No,' said Jodie.

My heart started thudding.

‘No, because my sheets are all tangled up. I'm getting into
your
bed,' she said, and she bounced in beside me.

I cuddled her close. ‘Let's play Big Sister, Little Sister,' I said.

It was a silly game we played years ago. I was the Big Sister and I had to look after my very naughty Little Sister Jodie.

‘OK, OK, Big Sister,' said Jodie in a funny little lisping voice.