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TheLottieProjectSchoolSchoolHomeHomeWorkWorkFoodFoodToysandBooksToysandBooksFamilyFamilyCourtshipCourtshipSundaySundayLawandOrderLawandOrderSicknessSicknessSeasideSeasideChristmas

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(authoroftheJacquelineWilsonQuizBook)andspecialthankstoeveryoneat

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THELOTTIEPROJECTACORGIYEARLINGBOOK9780440868538

FirstpublishedinGreatBritainbyDoubleday,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks

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WhenmydaughterEmmawaslittleshewaspassionatelyinterestedintheVictorians.ShebeggedmetoplayVictorianimaginarygameswithher.ShealwayswantedtobetheLadyoftheHouse.Iwasgenerallytheservantgirl.I had to curtsy to her and say ‘Yes, my lady,’ and do whatever shecommanded.YoucanseewhyEmmalovedthisgame!WhenshegotolderIreadVictorianbooksaloudtoherwhileshedrew

endlesspicturesofVictorianladieswithbustlesandbuttonboots.Wewrotea series of letters to each other, pretending to be Victorian schoolgirls.EmmawrotealongfamilysagaherselfcalledTheTreadwells.ItwasmuchbetterthananythingthatIcouldhavewrittenatagenineorten.BecauseofEmma’senthusiasmfor theVictorianage,I’dimaginedthat

most childrenwould find it an interesting period in history.When I’d gointoschoolstogivetalksI’doftenseepicturesofQueenVictoriapinneduponthewallaboveaspecialdisplayofVictorianobjects,whitenightiesandlongdrawersandwashboardsandbluemedicinebottlesandjetjewellery.‘Oh, you’re doing the Victorians this term, you lucky things!’ I’d

exclaim.The children would nearly always wrinkle their noses at me in

astonishment.‘WehatetheVictorians.Theyaresoooboring!’So I got it into my head to write about a girl who thinks doing her

Victorianproject isgoing tobe intenselyboring.Theworking titleofmystorywasDoing theVictorians – yuck! I decided thatmyCharliewouldinventaverysimilargirltoherselflivinginlateVictoriantimes.ThisLottiehadtogoouttoworkasanurserymaid–andasCharliedoesherresearchyoucancompareandcontrasttheirlives.MostchildrenwillreadthestorytofindoutmoreaboutCharlieandher

mum,andseehowCharliecopeswhenMumgetsanewboyfriend.Charlieevengetsakindofboyfriendherself.But itwouldbewonderful if justafewreadersgetinterestedintheLottiesectionsanddecidethatmaybetheVictoriansaren’tsoboringafterall!

SCHOOL

I knew exactly who I was going to sit next to in class. Easy-peasy, simple-pimple.ItwasgoingtobeAngela,withLisasittingatthenearesttabletous.I’mneverquitesureifIlikeLisaorAngelabest,soit’sonlyfairtotaketurns.Jo saidwhat ifAngela andLisawant to sit togetherwith you behind or in

front or at the side. I just smiled at her. I don’t want to sound disgustinglyboastfulbutI’mtheoneAngelaandLisaaredesperatetositnextto.Lotsofthegirlswanttobebestfriendswithme,actually.I’mjustbestfriendswithLisaandAngela, but anyone can be in our special Girls’ Gang. Any girl. No boysallowed.Thatgoeswithoutsaying.EventhoughIjustdid.

Butguesswhathappenedthatfirstdayofterm.Wegotthisnewteacher.Weknewwewouldn’t be gettingMrs Thomas becausewhenwe broke up in thesummerhertummycouldbarelyfitbehindherdesk.Hertummycouldbarelyfitbehindhersmock.Youcouldseehertummybuttonthroughthematerial,likeagiantpressfastener.WhenIwasaverylittlekidIusedtothinkthat’showbabieswereborn.They

grew inside themother and thenwhen theywere ready themum pressed hertummybuttonandouttheypopped.ItoldJohowI’dgotitallsussedout.Don’tlaugh.Iwasverylittle.Jolaughed.‘Dreamon,Charlie,’shesaid.‘Ifonlyitwerethateasy.’That’s my name, Charlie. OK, my full name is Charlotte Alice Katherine

Enright,butnobodyevercallsmethat.JoandLisaandAngelaandallthekidsatschool call me Charlie. Some of the boys call me Cake or Carrot Cake orCakehole,butthey’rejustmorons,thoughtheythinkthey’redeadoriginal.(Notetheinitialsofmyname.Gotit?)ButrightsinceIwasborn,allthewaythroughnurseryandprimary,no-one’severcalledmeCharlotte.Untilthisnewteacher.MissBeckworth.ShewasnewsoIthoughtshe’dbeyoung.Whenyougeta

newyoungteacherthey’reofteneversostrict thefirstfewweeksjust toshow

youwho’s boss, and then they relax and get all friendly. Then you canmuckaboutanddowhateveryouwant.I lovemucking about, doingdaft things andbeing abit cheekyandmaking

everyone laugh. Even the teachers. But the moment I set eyes on MissBeckworthIknewnoneofusweregoingtobelaughing.Shemightbenewbutshe certainly wasn’t young. She had grey hair and grey eyes and a grey andwhiteblouseandagreyskirtandlaced-upshoes,withalaced-upexpressiononherfacetomatch.Whenshespokeherteethwerequitebigandstuckoutabit,butIputallthoughtofBugsBunnyimitationsrightoutofmyhead.

There are some teachers – just a few – who have YOU’D BETTERNOTMESSWITHME!tattooedrightacrosstheirforeheads.Shefrownedatmewiththisincrediblyfierceforeheadandsaid,‘Goodmorning.Thisisn’taverygoodstarttothenewschoolyear.’Istaredather.Whatwassheonabout?Whywasshelookingatherwatch?I

wasn’tlate.OK,theschoolbellhadgoneasIwascrossingtheplayground,butyoualwaysgetfiveminutestogettoyourclassroom.‘It’sthreeminutespastnine,’MissBeckworthannounced.‘You’relate.’‘No,I’mnot,’Isaid.‘We’renotcountedlateuntilit’sfivepast.’I didn’t say it cheekily. I was perfectly polite. I was trying to be helpful,

actually.‘You’recertainlynotofftoagoodstart,’shegoes.‘Firstyou’relate.Andthen

youargue.Myname’sMissBeckworth.What’syourname?’‘Charlie,MissBeckworth.’(See,eversopolite–becauseIcouldseeIhadto

proceedd-e-l-i-c-a-t-e-l-y.)‘Yourpropername?’‘CharlieEnright.’‘We don’t seem to be connecting correctly, Miss Enright. Charlie isn’t a

propername.It’sadiminutive.’

Shewas trying tomakeme look pretty diminutive, obviously. I tried to actcoolbutIcouldfeelmycheeksflushing.IhavethisverywhiteskinthatcanbearealproblemwhenIgetmadorembarrassed.Whenyouhavealotoflongredhairandyougetaredfacetooyoustarttolookasifsomeone’sputamatchtoyou.‘AreyouCharlesEnright?’Ican’tstanditwhenteachersgoallsarcasticonyou.Afewofthekidstittered

nervously.ThatposhpratJamielaughedoutloud.Typical.AngelaandLisawerelookingallanguished,dyingforme.‘I’mCharlotteEnright,MissBeckworth.ButI’veneverbeencalledCharlotte

atthisschool,onlyCharlie.’‘Well,I’mgoingtocallyouCharlotte,Charlotte.Becauseinmyclasswedo

thingsdifferently,’saidMissBeckworth.You’re telling me we do things differently. (Well, I’m telling you, but you

knowwhatImean!)Iwasn’tallowedtogoandsitwithAngela.She’dpromisedtoget to school ever soearly tograb thebestdesk (and theonenext to it forLisa)andshe’ddonewell.Thedeskrightnexttothewindow,withthehotpipetotoastmytoesonwhenitgotchilly.Butallinvain.‘No,don’tgoandsitdown,Charlotte,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Iwasjustabout

toexplaintothewholeclassthatwhilewegettoknoweachotherI’dlikeyoualltositinalphabeticalorder.’Westaredather,gob-smacked.MissBeckworthspokeintothestunnedsilence,holdingherregisteraloft.‘So,AnthonyAndrews,youcomeandsitatthisdeskinthefront,withJudith

Ashwellbesideyou,andthen—’‘ButJudith’sagirl,Miss!’Anthonyprotestedinhorror.‘Cleverlyobserved,MrAndrews,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Andkindlynote,I

call you Mr Andrews, not plain Mister. I would prefer you to call me MissBeckworth.NotMiss.’‘Butboysandgirlsneversitnexttoeachother,Miss,’saidAnthony.He’sas

thickas twoshortplanks– twenty-two–butwhenMissBeckworth’s foreheadwrinkledherewoundherlittlespeechinsidehisemptyheadandtookheed.‘Er,MissBeckworth,Miss.Idon’twanttositnexttoJudith!’‘Well, you needn’t think I want to sit next to you,’ said Judith. ‘Oh Miss

Beckworth,that’snotfair!’MissBeckworthdidn’t care. ‘I said thingswouldbedifferent inmyclass. I

didn’tsaytheywouldbefair,’shesaid.‘Now,getyourselvessortedoutandstopfussing like a lot of silly babies.Who’s next on the register? Laura Bernard,right,sitatthedeskbehindAnthonyandJudith,andthen...’

Ihovered,signallingwildregretwithmyeyebrowstoAngela,who’dgotuphalfanhourearlyfornothing.Angela’ssurnameisRobinson,soobviouslywewouldn’tsittogether.ButLisaisLisaField,rightaftermeontheregister,soitlookedas ifwewereOKafterall. Itwasn’t really faironpoorAngela if I satnexttoLisatwoyearsrunning,butitcouldn’tbehelped.Butitdidn’tworkoutlikethat.‘James Edwards, you sit at the desk at the back on the left,’ said Miss

Beckworth.‘With...ah,CharlotteEnrightbesideyou.’JamieEdwards!Themost revolting stuck-upboringboy in thewholeclass.

The whole year, the whole school, the whole town, county, country, world,universe.I’dsoonersquatinthestationerycupboardthansitnexttohim.

I thought quickly, my brain going whizz, flash, bang. Aha! Suddeninspiration!‘I’m afraid I can’t see verywell,MissBeckworth,’ I said, squinting upmy

eyesasifIbadlyneededglasses.‘IfIsitatthebackIwon’tbeabletoseetheboard.SometimesIstillhaveproblemsevenat thefront–so ifLisaFieldcancomeand sit next tomeagain, then I’mused toher tellingme stuff in case Ican’treaditformyself.Isn’tthatright,Lisa?’ThiswasallnewstoLisa,butshenoddedconvincingly.‘Yes,MissBeckworth,IalwayshavetohelpCharlie,’saidLisa.But Miss Beckworth wasn’t fooled. ‘I’m not convinced that you’re short-

sighted,Charlotte.Quick-witted,certainly.Butuntilyoubringmeanote fromyourmotherandanotherfromyouropticianI’dlikeyoutositatthebackbesideJames.’Thatwasit.Iwasdoomed.Therewasnowayout.IhadtositnexttoJamie

Edwards.Hemovedhischair rightupagainst thewallandshudderedelaboratelyas I

floppeddownfuriouslybesidehim.‘Charlie Cakehole! Yuck!’ he said. But under his breath, because he knew

MissBeckworthwaswatching.JamieEdwardsisthesmarmiestlittleswot,andalwayswantstheteachersto

have him as their pet.Which he is anyway. Because he’s such an infuriatingCleverClogs,alwayscomingtoptoptop.Well,whoonearthwantstobetopoftheclass?‘Whycan’tyoutryharderatschool,Charlie,’Joalwayssays.‘You’rebright.

Ifyou’donlystopmessingaboutandworkhardyoucoulddoreallywell.Youcouldcometopifyoureallytried.’IaskedJowhyshealwaysnaggedsoaboutmyboringoldeducation.‘Maybeyou’renotsobrightasIthoughtyouwere,’Josaid.‘Can’tyouwork

itoutforyourself?’Thatmademe feel bad.But it’s hopeless.Maybe I coulddobetter. I’mnot

bottom of the class, mind you. Just a nice comfy middle. But I suppose if IworkedlikestinkthenIcoulddobetter.IcangenerallybeatLisaandAngelaifIwant.Maybe I could come topof all thegirls.But I couldn’t ever beat JamieEdwards.AndI’dfarsoonerbebottomthansecondtoSmartyPants.SoIsliddowninmyseatandsulkedformostofthemorning.Itwashotbut

Jamiekeptmewell-fanned,wavinghishandfranticallyallthetimebecausehekeptwantingMissBeckworthtopickhim.Pathetic.Iwouldn’tputmyhandupevenwhenIknewtheanswers.EveninEnglish,whichismybestsubject.I’vealwaysgotticksandstarsandVeryGoodsallovertheplaceformystories.

MissBeckworth startedapoetry lessonand itwas actuallyquite interestingandthenshereadthispoembysomedippyAmericanladyandyouhadtoguesswhat itwasabout.Likea riddle.Andno-oneknew.Jamieguessed itmightbeabout a river andMissBeckworth said itwas a very good guess – but itwaswrong.Ha.Iknewwhatitwas.Easy-peasy,simple-pimple.Itwasatrain.AndIsattherewiththispleasedfeelingthrobbingthroughme,thoughIactedallcoolandbored,slumpedinmyseat,armsfolded.. .waiting.WaitinguntilshewasjustabouttogiveupandthenIwasgoingtoputmyhandupafterallandmaybeyawnabitorfiddlewithmyhairandthenIwasgoingtogo‘It’satrain’likeit

mustbeobvioustoeveryone.Oneuptome.AndyaboosuckstoJamie.‘Thinkreallyhard,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Can’tanyoneguess?’Andshelookedstraightatme,almostasifshecouldseeinsidemyheadand

lookatthetraingoingpuffpuffpuffroundmybrain.Istillwaited.Iwaitedjustafractiontoolong.Becauseshestoppedlookingat

me,andjustasIwasunfoldingmyarmsreadytoputmyhandupshesaid,‘It’satrain!’Andeveryoneelsesaid,‘Oh,atrain’,‘Ofcourse’,‘Igetit’,andAnthonyand

those of his ilk scratched their heads and said, ‘Youwhat?’ and ‘Why is it atrain?’and‘Ihatethissoppypoemstuff.’Idrummedmyfingersonthedeskinirritationandmuttered,‘Iknewitwasatrain.’Jamielookedatmewiththosesnootyeyebrowsofhisdisappearingrightup

underhisfloppyfringe.‘Oh,sure,’hesaidsarcastically.Well,Iwouldn’thavebelievedmeeither.ButIdidknow.SoIfeltevenless

likejoininginnowandIdrewtrainsalloverthebackofmynewschooljotter–large looming trains about tomash andmangle small snobby boys tied to therailwaytracks.Thenwehadtowriteourownpoemabouttrains.Icanusuallywritepoems

quitequicklysoIdidasillyonefirstonapieceofpapertornoutofmyjotter.

I folded it up and put TO ANGELA AND LISA –PASS IT ON – and then quickly

passed it on myself while Miss Beckworth’s head was turned. It got abouthalfwayacrosstheclass.MissBeckworthlookedupatthewrongmoment.Uh-oh.‘Ah!’saidMissBeckworth,pouncing.‘Someonehaswrittenapoemalready,

andthey’resoproudofittheywanttopassitroundthewholeclass.’Sheglancedatit.‘Whoistheauthorofthislittlerhyme,hmm?’Iputmyhandup. Ihad to.Half thekidswerecraning round to lookatme

already.IthoughtImightbeindeadtrouble.MissBeckworthwassuchafunnyold-

fashioned teacher. Ididn’tknowwhat shemightdo topunishyou.Maybeshehadacanetuckedupherskirtandshe’dwhipitoutandwhackmeone.Butallshedidwascrumpleupmypoemandsay,‘Idon’tthinkthisisquite

EmilyDickinsonstandard,Charlotte.Nowwritemeaproperpoemplease.’Idecidedshemaybewasn’tsuchabadoldstickafterall–soItriedhardwith

mypoem.Idecidedtobeabitdifferent.Ichosetowriteaboutatube,becausethey’re underground trains, aren’t they, and it was all about the dark in thetunnelsandhowthatweirdvoicethatsays‘Mindthegap’couldbethevoiceoftheTunnelMonster.Jamiepeeredrudelyovermyshoulder.‘You’rewritingrubbish,’hesneered.‘Yoursistherealrubbish,’Isnappedback,readinghispathetictweetwoddle

abouttheTraingoingthroughtheRain,intheMidstoftheStorm,theTrainwillkeepyouWarm...Yuck!ButwhenMissBeckworthwalkedroundtheclasstoseewhatwe’dwrittenso

farshesaidhe’dmadeaGoodAttempt.Anddoyouknowwhatshesaidaboutmypoem?‘Trytosticktothesubject,Charlotte.’Thatwasit!‘Toldyouyouwerewritingrubbish,’saidJamie.SoIputdownmypenanddidn’twriteanotherword.IhadAngelaandLisa

andalltheothergirlsinhystericsinthecloakroomsafterlunchdoingmyMissBeckworthimitation.EvenbackinclassIjusthadtoputmyfrontteethovermybottomliptohaveallthegirlsingiggles.‘Settledown,please,’saidMissBeckworthsharply.‘Now,History.Ithought

thistermwe’ddotheVictorians.’Iaskyou!Whowants tostudythestuffyoldVictorians?Well,guess.Jamie

Teacher’sPetEdwards.MissBeckworthbegantellingusabouttheVictorians,startingoffwithQueen

Victoriaherself– that fat littlewaddlyQueenwith thepuddingfacewhosaid,‘We are not amused.’ Well, I wasn’t amused either, especially when Miss

Beckworthstartedonabout theQueenVicpubdowntheroadandAlbertParkandhowshelivedintheseoldVictorianmansionflats,anddidanyofusliveinaVictorianhomebyanychance?

IslumpedtoonesidewiththeboredomofallthisjustasJamiestuckhishandupsoviolentlyIverynearlygottwofingersimpaledupmynostrils.‘IliveinaVictorianhouse,MissBeckworth,’hesaid,showingofflikemad.

‘InOxfordTerrace.’Isatupstraight.Iknewhewasarightlittleposhnob–butIhadnoideahe

lived inoneof thosehugegrandhouses inOxfordTerrace, all steps and littlelionstatuesandincy-wincybalconiesasifthepeoplewholivetheremightcomeanddoaRoyalFamilyandwavedownatyou.

OxfordTerraceisonourwayhomefromthetown.SometimeswhenJoandIare trailing back with our Sainsbury’s bags cutting grooves in our hands wemakeupstuffandwesometimesplayweliveinOxfordTerraceandwe’reLadyJo and Lady Charlie and we have champagne for breakfast and we go for aworkout in a posh club every day and thenwe have a light lunch some-placesnobbyandthenweshopuntilwedrop,goingflashflashflashwithourcreditcards,and thenweeatoutandgodancing innightclubsandchatupfilmstarsandrockstarsandfootballplayersbutwejustteasethemandthenjumpintoourpersonalstretchlimousineandwhizzhometoourfive-storeyhalf-millionmini-

palaceinOxfordTerrace.‘YouliveinOxfordTerrace???’Isaid.EvenMissBeckworthseemedsurprised.‘Doyouliveinaflatthere,James?’‘No,we’vegotthewholehouse,’saidJamieairily.‘Well,perhapsyoucanhelpusunderstandwhatlifewaslikeinabigVictorian

house,James.’MissBeckworthrummagedamongstawholeboxofbooksabouttheVictorians.ShepouncedonsomethingaboutVictorianhousesandheldupapictureofaVictorianparlour.‘Idon’tsupposeyourhouselooksmuchlikethisinside,though,James?’‘Actually my mum and dad have this real thing about the Victorians and

they’vetriedtomakethehouseasauthenticaspossible,sowe’vegotstufflikeWilliamMorriswallpaperandArtsandCraftstiles–thoughwe’vegotordinarymodernthingsliketelevisionsandcomputersandstuff.’I felt I was sitting next to Little Lord Fauntleroy. He carried on in this

sickeningfashionforagesuntileventuallyevenMissBeckworthgottiredofit.‘Thankyouverymuch,James.IfanyonewantstoknowmoreaboutVictorian

housesthenyou’reobviouslyamineofinformation.Now,we’llbestudyingtheVictoriansallthisterminclass,butIwantyoualltoworkonyourownspecialprojectathometoo.’I groaned. I hate home projects. ‘You don’t sound ultra-enthusiastic,

Charlotte,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Well. Idon’tknowwhat todo.Idon’tknowanythingabout theVictorians.

Notlikesomepeople,’Isaid,glaringatJamie.‘I’llcopyawholelotofsuggestionsfortopicsontheboard.Seeifyoucanget

yourfamouslydefectiveeyestofocusonthem,’saidMissBeckworthbriskly.‘Itmightbeworthyourwhile.I intendtoawardaprizeforthebestprojectattheendofterm.’SoIcopiedoutallhersuggestions:

Ididn’tfancyanyofthem.‘Canwedomorethanonetopic,MissBeckworth,’saidYou-know-who.‘Can

wedothemallifwewant?’‘Yes,ifyoulike,’saidMissBeckworth.Hewasquitesickeninginhisenthusiasm,grabbingallsortsofstufffromthe

book box, though he’s probably got his own private library in his Victorianmansion.‘Here,it’snotfair,you’rebaggingallthebestbooks,’Isaid,tryingtosnatch

atabookonVictorianhospitalsthatlookedasifitmightbepromisinglygory.‘OK,OK.Here’sone specially foryou,’ said Jamie–andhebungsme this

bookonVictoriandomesticservants!‘Knowyourplace,’hegoes.I was about to bash him on his big head with the servant book but Miss

Beckworth got narky and told us to settle down and start the research for ourprojectswith the bookswe had in our hands. So Iwas stuckwith the servantbook.Iflippedthroughitfuriously–andthenstopped.Therewasaphotoofthisgirl

aboutmyage.Sheeven lookedabit likeme,skinnyandpale. Itwasablack-and-whitephotosoitwashardtomakeoutifherhairwasredtoo.Itwaslong,like mine, but scraped back tight behind her ears, with a little white capcrammedontop.Shewassurroundedbylittlekids,buttheyweren’therbrothersandsisters.Shewasanurserymaid.Shehadtolookafter them.Shewastheirservant.

Iwas a bit stunned. I didn’t know theyused tohave children as servants. Ireadabit about thesenurserymaidsandkitchenmaidsandhousemaids.Theyhadtoworkalldayandintotheeveningaswellforhardlyanymoney.Girlsasyoungaselevenandtwelve.Noschool.Noplay.Nofun.Justworkworkwork.IdecidedI’ddoaprojecton‘Servants’.Iwasallsettowritequiteabitabout

itactually.IdecidedI’dshowthatJamie.But Jowasalreadyathomewhen Igotback fromschooland shehad such

terriblescarynewsIforgotallaboutmyservantproject.I didn’t remember until the next daywhen everyonewas showing off their

projectbooks.Jamiehaddonetenwholepagesabout‘School’andhe’dstuckinthisoldphotoofkids inrows inaVictorianclassroomandgothismumtodosomelinesofspecialcopperplatehandwriting.‘I’vefinishedmyschooltopicalready,’heboasted.

SoIwhippedoutanoldexercisebookandscribbledoutapageatplaytime.‘I’vefinishedmyschooltopictoo,’Isaid,stickingmytongueoutatJamie.

SCHOOL

MynameisLottie.Iamelevenyearsold.Ileftschooltoday.My teacherMissWorthbeck,nearly criedwhen I toldher I couldnot come

back.Shethinkstheworldofme.Iamhermosttalentedpupil.Iamnotbeingboastful,thisisexactlywhatshesaid:

‘DearLottie,youarethebestatEnglishandwritingandarithmetic,youknowyour geography and history perfectly, you play the piano well, you paintbeautifullyandyousinglikealark.’There!IamalsousefultoMissWorthbeck,becausesheistheonlyteacherat

ourschool,andshehastocontrolaclassoffortymixedinfantsandtwelveofusolderpupils.Iamnottheeldestbyanymeans.Thereisonegreatladoffourteen,EdwardJames,butheisveryslow.HeisaheadtallerthanMissWorthbeck,andshe finds it hard to control this boy. In fact many of the boys are greatlummoxes, stupid and surly.MissWorthbeck has to use her cane on them tokeeptheminorder.

IdonotneedtoresorttothecanewhenIamleftinchargeoftheboysthoughItakedelightinswishingitinfrontofthem!ButIusuallyinstructthelittleones,and theyall tryhard formeandgivemeapplesandbitesof theirgingerbreadandscratch‘IloveLottie’ontheirslates.

MissWorthbeckhasalwayssaidIamabornteacher.Shehasalwayswantedmetostayonattheschooluntilfourteen,andthenshewillgivemeapositionasapupil-teacher,withaproperwage.ButIcannotwaittwoyears.Ineedtoearnaproperwageimmediately.

HOME

Jo and I haven’t always had a home.We livedwithGrandma andGrandpa atfirst.Thatwasprettybad.Grandmaisthesortofladywhokeepsadampflannelneatly folded in a plastic bag and she’s foreverwhipping it out and smearingroundimaginarystickybits.Onme.Evenatmyage.That’snothing.ShedoesittoJotoo.

Shedoesn’tdoittoGrandpabecausehe’soneofthosepalemeninstripysuitswho don’t ever get sticky. I can’t imagine hanging on to his sharply creasedtrousersorbouncingonhisbonykneeswhenIwasababy.

GrandmaandGrandpadidn’twantJoandmearound,butwedidn’thaveanyplaceelsetogo.ThenwegottoldabouttheNewboroughEstateandaskedifwewantedaflatthere.GrandmaandGrandpajustaboutdied.You’veprobablynotheardof theNewboroughEstateunlessyou live aroundhere.You’lldefinitelyhaveheardof it if youdo.Thepoliceget calledout everynight.And the fireservice, because the kids keep setting fire to the rubbish in the chutes. The

ambulancesarealways there too,because thereare somany fightsandpeoplegettingbattered.Sometimes theycome toscrapeup thebodiesbecausepeoplethrowthemselvesoff thebalconiesbecause they’resofedup living inadumpliketheNewboroughEstate.

Butwewenttolivethere,Joandme.TherewasthisHUGErowandGrandmaandGrandpasaid theywere reallywashing theirhandsofus this time.But Jostooduptothem.Funnythat.Jocan’tsaybootoagoose.Sheletseveryonewalkalloverher.Especiallyme.She worries terribly about Grandma and Grandpa and she tries so hard to

please them.When theycomeovernowadaysandpickfaults–Grandma’s theworst,pickpickpick,andJowinceslikeshe’sscrapingatheractualskin–shestill standsup to themoverme. It’s as if it’s easy-peasy, simple-pimplewhereI’mconcerned.Iaskedherhowcomeonce.‘Becauseyoumeanmoretomethananyoneelse,’saidJo.She does to me too. She’s my mum. You guessed that, didn’t you? You

wouldn’tguess it though ifyousawusout together.Bigsisterand littlesister,that’swhatyou’dthink.Withmethebigsister.No,that’sjustajoke.Thoughitwon’tbelongbeforeI’mtallerthanher.She’sonlylittleandI’mgettingbig.There’sonlythatmuchinitnow.

There’snotmuchbetweenusage-wiseeither.Shewasstillatschoolwhenshehadme.ShockHorrorDisaster!That’s what Grandma and Grandpa thought. Of course, I wasn’t observing

much in thosedaysbut Ican imagine it all toowell. Jo’s toldme lotsof stuffanyway.Theydidn’twanthertohaveme.AndthenafterIgotborntheywantedJotoputmeinaHome.ThesortwithacapitalH.SothatJocouldstartanewlifealloveragain.

‘Thisismynewlife,’saidJo.‘AsifI’devergivemybabyaway!I’llmakeaproperhomeforbothofus.’Shedidtoo.Itwasn’tsobadontheNewboroughEstate.Well,itwassomeof

thetime.Likewhenwegotourdoorkickedinandboyswrotestuffalloverthewalls. Or the day this loony cornered us in the lift. Or the time our telly gotnickedthedayafteritgotdelivered.Butwemadesomegreatfriendstheretoo.

Itwasourhome,eventhoughwedidn’thaveanycashtodoitupandmakeitlookpretty.Wewereonbenefitatfirst,andthenJogotajobonceshe’dgotmeintonursery,butwedidn’tspendmucheventhen.Weweresaving.GrandmaandGrandpastoppedbeingsohuffyandoffereduslotsofmoneyto

getusoutof theNewboroughEstate.I thoughtJowasmadtosayno.Butshesaidwehadtodoitallbyourselves.Toshowthem.Becausetheydidn’tthinkwestoodachance.Butwemade it! Joworked hard at her job selling televisions andwashing

machinesandwesavedlikecrazyandthenJogotapromotionandanotherandthenguesswhat.Shewasmade themanageressof thebigbranchdown in theshoppingcentre, inchargeofastaffof twelve.Andsowestartedhangingoutaroundestate agentwindows, looking for anythinggoing reallycheapbecausepeoplekeepgettingmade redundant inourareaandso theycan’tkeepup thepaymentsontheirhomesandtheygettakenawayfromthem.Therewere a few ex-council flatswe could havemanaged, posher than the

NewboroughEstate,butJowasn’thavingthat.‘WewantsomethingPrivate,’shesaid.‘Smallbutselect.’Andthat’swhatwe’vegot.Aone-bedroomedflatinaquietprivateblockwith

laid-outgardens.No-onetoreouttherosesorsmashedthewindowsorpeedinthe lift. The people living there were mostly elderly ladies or young marriedcouples or schoolteacherswho don’t usually tear and smash and pee publicly.TheylookedabitnervouslyatJoandmewhenwemovedin–especiallyme–butJoinsistedwehadtobeonourBestBehaviouratalltimes.‘Well, at least tillwe get accepted,’ she said. ‘Sowe’ll keep theCDplayer

turned down low, right, and we’ll smile at everyone and say stuff like GoodMorningandGoodAfternoonever sopoliteandwewon’tgobarging straight

pastsomeonetogetintheliftfirstandifwe’rehavingoneofourfamousding-dongrowswe’llhavetodoitinawhisper,getit?’Igotit.Istucktoalltheserules.Mostofthetime.Andwe’vegotaccepted.

Oh, one or two of the truly stuffy old bags have askedme pointed questionsaboutDaddyandthentheymumblewithraisedeyebrows,buteventhoseonessayhello andofferme toffees and tellmehow tall I’mgetting.We’re friendswithjustabouteveryoneintheflats.Butwedon’t reallyneed all theotherpeople, of course.Whenwe shut our

blue front door (Iwanted red, but Jo saidwe had to blend inwith the othersalongthebalcony)thenwe’rehomeandit’salloursandwecanbeourfamily.Small,butselect,liketheflats.Westillhaven’tgotmuchmoneytodoitallupbecausemostofJo’searnings

go on the mortgage. We’ve got a good telly and video and CD player andwashingmachinethough(becauseJogetsthemataseriousdiscount)andwe’vepainted all the flat so that it looks great. Jowantedwhite for the living room(boring)butsheletmechoosethisamazingdarkredforourbedroom,andwe’vegot these trulywonderful crimsoncurtainswe foundat aboot fair andadeeppurply-red lampandwhen it’sa treatday likeabirthdaywedraw thecurtainsand switch on the lamp and have a special red picnic in our beautiful brightbedroom.Cherries,plums,jamtarts,strawberryspliticecreams,RibenaformeandredwineforJo,yumyum.

I was kind of hoping Jo and me might be having a bedroom picnic thateveningbecauseshehadanappointmentwiththemanagerforthewholeofourareaandshewashopingitmightbeaboutfurtherpromotion.Itwas scaryopening thedoorofour flat and seeing Jobecause shedoesn’t

usuallygetbackfromworktillsixattheearliest.Butthereshewas,sittinginthemiddleoftheliving-roomfloor.Notdoinganything,justsittingwithherhandsclaspedroundherknees.‘Jo?What’sup?’Shelookedsosmallsittingtherelikethat.Itoweredoverher

asIstoodbesideher.‘Jo,whyareyouhomefromwork?Don’tyoufeelwell?Have you been sick?’ I thoughtmaybe that was it. She looked sowhite. No,grey,andhereyeswereallwatery.‘Oh,Charlie,’shewhispered.‘What?’

‘Themostterriblething’shappened,’shesaidinsuchatinyvoicethatIhadtobendrightdownclosetohear.AllthesedifferentpossibilitiescamebubblingupinsidemyheaduntilIfeltas

ifitwasboiling.‘Tellme,’Isaid.Joopenedhermouthagainbuthervoicewasjustawispnow.‘Tellme,goon.You’rescaringme,’Isaid,givinghershoulderalittleshake.Icouldfeelshewasshiveringeventhoughitwashotintheflatandshehadn’t

botheredtoopenanyofthewindowswhenshecamein.‘Jo?’Isatdownproperlybesideherandputmyarmrightroundher.Shegavealittlestifledsoundandthentearsstarteddribblingdownherface.‘Itcan’tbe thatbad,whatever it is,’ Isaiddesperately.‘We’vestillgoteach

otherandourflatand—’‘Wehaven’t!’Josobbed.‘Well,we’vegoteachother.Butwewon’tbeableto

keeptheflat.BecauseI’velostmyjob.’‘What?Butthat’sridiculous!You’regreatatyourjob.Theythinktheworldof

you.Howcouldtheygetridofyou?Wasthistheareamanager?Ishecrazy?’‘He’s lost his job too.We all have. The firm’s closing down.We all knew

thingshadbeenabit tight recently, andsomeof the smaller shopsclosed,butno-onethought...They’vejustgonebust,Charlie.Theycan’tfindabuyersothat’sit.They’veorderedustolockupalltheshops.I’moutofajob.’‘Well...you’llgetanotherone.Easy-peasy,simple-pimple,’Isaid.‘Iwishyouwouldn’tkeepsayingthat,’saidJo,sniffing.‘Itsoundssostupid.

Andyou’rebeingstupid.HowamIgoingtogetanotherjob?Alltheelectricalgoods chains are struggling.There’s no jobs going there. I’ve been to the JobCentre.There’snothinggoinginretailatall.There’ssomeofficework,buttheywantall sortsofGCSEsandcertificates.WhichIhaven’tgot,have I? I’m theonethat’sstupid.’‘Noyou’renot,’Isaid.Eventhoughshe’djustsaidIwasstupid.‘Ishouldhavetriedtokeepupwithmyschoolwork.Gonetoeveningclasses,’

Jowept.‘Youhadme.’

‘Icouldhavebeencatchinguptheselastfewyears.ButIdidn’tthinkIneededto.Iwasdoingsowellatwork...’‘You’ll get another job, Jo, honest youwill.Theremust be shop jobsgoing

somewhere.You’llgetajobeasy...You’llgetajob,Ipromise.’IpromiseduntilIwasblueinthefacebutofcoursewebothknewIcouldturn

positivelynavybutitwouldn’tmakeanydifference.Jo didn’t come to bed till very late that night and then she didn’t sleep for

ages.ShetriednottotossandturnbutwheneverIwokeupIknewimmediatelyshewasawake.Lying stiff and still, staringupatour crimsonceiling.Only itdoesn’tlookredatnight.It’sblackinthedark.Iwokeupveryearly,longbeforethealarm.Atleasttheceilingwasdimlyred

now.Jowasproperlyasleepat last,herhairallstickingup,hermouthslightlyopen.Shehadonehandupnearherface,clenchedinafist.Iproppedmyselfupononeelbow,watchingherforabit,andthenIslidoutofbed.

Jowon’tletmestickanypostersormagazinepicturesupinthelivingroom.We’ve got a proper print of a plump lady cuddling her daughterwith awhiteframe tomatch thewalls. I didn’twant tomess up the round red glowof thebedroombutI’vestuckupheapsandheapsofstuffintheloo.Wanttosee?

Ofcourse,it’sabitweirdwithalltheseeyeswatchingyouwhenyougotothetoilet. Lisa andAngela always have a giggle about it when they come tomyplace.

Theybothlikemyhomealot.They’vegotmuchbiggerhousesbuttheythinkmine’s best. They’re thrilled if I ever have one or other of them to stay over.(Theyhavetocomeseparately–andeventhenJohastosleeponthesofainthelivingroom.)Angela’shouseseemsquite small toobut that’s justbecauseshe’sgotabig

family,notjustbrothersandsistersbutagrannyandanauntieortwo.It’sfunatAngela’s house and she’s got a super mum who laughs a lot and she cooksamazingfood.AngelaandIstayeduphalfSaturdaynightandgotthegigglessobadwhenwewenttobedthatwestillcouldn’tgettosleepforages.Inearlyfellasleepinchurch.That’sthedisadvantageofstayingoveratAngela’s.WewenttochurchtwiceonSunday.ImightevenhavehadtogoagainintheeveningifJohadn’tpickedmeupintime.Lisa’sgotanevenbiggerhomewithahugegardenandaswing.Weputup

thistentinhergardenandcampedoutinit,thoughI’dhavesoonersleptinherbedroomwhichispinkandwhiteandeversopretty,withspecialtwinbedswithpink andwhite flowery duvets. Lisa’smum is all pink andwhite too and shesmellsveryflowerybutsheisn’talwaysassoftandgentleasshelooks.ShenagsLisa about all sorts of stuff. But Lisa’s dad adores her. He calls her his littleLisalotandwhenhecomeshomefromworkhegiveshersuchabighugheliftsherrightoffherfeet.

Lisasaiditmustbeawfulformenothavingadad.IsaidIdidn’tcareabit.AndIdon’t.I’vegotJo.SometimesJoandIplaythissillygamethatwe’rebothmale,becausewe’ve

bothgotfunnynames.I’mlittle-boyCharlieandshe’sthisbiggrufffunnyblokeJowho’smy dad.We often have games togetherwherewemuck around and

playatbeingdifferentpeople.WhenIwas littlemyfavouritegameofallwasmebeingJoandJobeingme,sothatIwasthemotherandgottotellherwhattodo.Iwanderedoutofthelooandintothelivingroomandstaredatthespaceon

thecarpetwhereJohadsatyesterday.IfeltasifIwasthemothernowandshewasthelittlekid–butitwasn’tagame.

TheminuteJowokeupshesaid,‘Whatarewegoingtodo?’AsifIknew.I felt worried about leaving her at home when I went to school. I kept

wondering if shewas sitting on the living-room floor again, all hunchedup. Iwas thinking about Jo and her job and our home so much I didn’t listen inlessonsandMissBeckworthgotreallynarkedwithme.SoIactedcheekyandthen I was in serious trouble, but I didn’t reallymind. That just made thingsmorenormal.MissBeckworthkeptmeinatdinnertime.Shedidn’tgivemeanystupidlines

towriteout,though.ShesaidIcouldworkonmyVictorianproject.Boringboringboring,Ithought–butbetterthanlines.AndatleastIhadthe

bookboxtomyself.IaskedforsomethingaboutVictorianhomes.‘Notaposhhousefortherich.Whataboutanordinarylittlehomeforapoor

family?Aren’tthereanybooksaboutthat?’Shefoundmeoneortwopages,buttherewasn’tmuch.SoImadealotofit

up.

HOME

Thereisnothingforit.Ihavetoleavehome.Ilovemyhomeverymuch,althoughitisonlyatumbledowncottage,stifling

hot in thesummerandbittercold inwinter.Thewintershavealwaysbeen theworst.Two little brothers andone infant sister diedduring thewintermonths,andFatherpassedawaylastFebruarywhenthesnowwasthickontheground.IdidnotcrywhenFatherdied.Perhaps it iswicked toadmit this,but I felt

relieved.HetreatedMotherverybad,andthoughheearnedafairwagehedrankagreatdealofit.Sowewerealwayspooreventhen,butMotherkeptoursimplehomeshiningbright.Shemadebrightragrugstocover thecoldstoneflagsofthe floorandeachbedupstairshadaprettypatchworkquilt. Icutoutpicturesfromtheillustratedpapersandpinnedthemtothewalls.Ievenpinnedpicturesoutintheprivy!

Therewasalwaysarabbitstewbubblingontheblack-leadedrangewhenwecame home from school. We’d dig potatoes or carrots or cabbage from thegarden, and in the summer Rose and Jessie and I would pick a big bunch offlowerstogointhepinkjugFrankwonatthefair.MotheralwayslikedustowashourhandsandsayGraceat thetablebefore

eating. Father never washed his hands or said Grace, but Mother could donothing about that. SometimesFather did not comehomeuntil very late.Onenight last winter he fell coming home in the dark and lay where he was tillmorning.TheycarriedhimhometousandMothernursedhimnightanddaybutthecoldgottohischest.MotheruseduphersockfulofsavingsonFather’sfuneral.Sheboughtusalla

set of blackmourning clothes, even little Ada-May. I thought this a waste ofmoney,butMotherisdeterminedthatwestayrespectable.OurgrandmotherandgrandfatherdidnotwantMothertomarryFatherThey

thoughthewasawastrel,far toofondoftheDemonDrink.Iprivatelyagreed,butIdidnotlikethemsayingthistoMother.TheycametoFather’sfuneralandsaiditalloveragain.TheyaskedMotherhowshewasgoingtomanagenow.Mothersaidshewouldtakeinwashinganddofinesewingforladies.

GrandmotherandGrandfathersniffed.TheytookashinetomysisterRose,whoispretty,andofferedherahomewiththem.Itwillbeonemouthlessforyoutofeed,theysaid.MotheraskedRoseifshewantedtolivewithGrandmotherandGrandfather and she cried and said no. So Mother said we would all sticktogether.‘YouwillbestickingtogetherintheWorkhousethen,’saidGrandmother.Motherstuckherchinintheairandsaidwewouldmanagefine.ButIheard

hercryingatnight.Iwent tocomforther‘Wewillmanagefine,Motheryou’llsee,’Isaid.

Butithasbecomeveryhard.Motherwashesalldayandsewshalfthenight.Shehasbecomeverypaleandthinandcoughsagooddeal.Iamveryfrightenedthatshewillgetreallyillinthewinterifshekeepsworkingsohard.FrankandRoseandItriedtohelpoutthisspringandsummer,runningerrandsandsellingnosegaysandsweetlemonadeatthemarket.Butwecanonlyearnpennies.Weneedpoundstokeepusoutoftheworkhouse.

So it isup tome. Iam theoldest. Imustgoandearnmoneyandsend it toMotherThereisonlyonejobagirlmyagecangoforImustbeaservant.

WORK

Thephonerang.Ianswereditautomatically.LisaandAngelaarealwaysringingme up – and some of the other girls in our class. I don’t want to sounddisgustinglyboastfulbutIamquitepopular.Butitwasn’tagirl.ItwasGrandma.‘Hello,Charlottedear,’saidGrandma.I told a teeny white lie to Miss Beckworth. Grandma always calls me

Charlotte,pursingherlipsandclickingherteeth.Ifyou’restandingrightinfrontofheryouget sprayedwith spit. I found Iwasholding the telephoneatarm’slengthjustincase.‘CanIspeaktoMummy,please?’saidGrandma.That’sanotherweirdthingshedoes.I’venevercalledJoMummyinmylife.

ButGrandmaalwaysdoes.AsifJoisherMummy.ThoughGrandmatreatsJoasifshe’sasillylittletoddler,notagrown-upwomanwithapracticallygrown-updaughterofherown.Grandma’svoiceissolouditboomedrightacrosstheroomtoJo.Sheshook

herheadinapanic.‘SayI’mnothere!’shemouthedatme.She’dbeencryingandshe’dgottothatsoddenstagewhereeverythingisstill

dribbling.Shefumbledforatissueandblewhernosedolefully.‘I’mafraidJo’sjustnippedouttotheshops,Grandma,’Ilied.‘Don’tbesilly,Charlotte. It’shalfpast seven in theevening,’Grandmasaid

briskly.‘There’s heaps of shops still open round here, Grandma. There’s the video

shop,andtheoff-licence,andtheSpardowntheroad—’Grandma gave a disdainful snort. ‘Please don’t arguewithme, Charlotte. I

knowMummy’sthere,Icanhearherblowinghernose.Iwanttotalktoher.’‘Well,shedoesn’twanttotalktoyou,’Isaid–butinalittlesqueaky-mouse

mumbleasIpassedthephoneover.‘Josephine?’‘Hello,Mum,’saidJowearily,sniffing.‘Areyoucrying?’Grandmademanded.‘No,I–ofcourseI’mnotcrying,’saidJo,ateardribblingdownhercheek.‘Sayyou’vegotacold!’Iwhispered,mimingamajorboutofsneezing.

‘I’vegotacold,’Josaid,noddingatmegratefully.‘WhyonearthshouldIbecrying?’‘Well,youtellme,’saidGrandma.‘Yourfather’sjustreadamostdisturbing

itemonthefinancialpageofhisnewspaper.ItsaysEleteElectricalhavefolded.’Joshuthereyesandsaidnothing.‘Josephine?Areyoustillthere?Isittrue?Isitanationwidecollapse?Youare

beingkeptonuntiltheyfindanewbuyer,aren’tyou?Andiftheworstcomestotheworst,theywillgiveyouasubstantialredundancypayment,won’tthey?’Josniffedagainbutstillcouldn’tspeak.‘Do say something, dear,’ said Grandma. ‘We’re very worried about you.

We’vealwayssaidyou’re inaveryprecariousposition.Howonearthareyougoing to keep up the payments on your flat if you lose your job? You andCharlottecanbarelymanageasitis.Wedoworryaboutyouso.’Joopenedhereyes.Shestoodupstraight.Shegaveone lastgiant sniffand

thenspoke.‘Honestly,Mum,youdogetintoasillystate.There’snoneedtoworry.We’re

fine.IfeelIwasreadyforachangefromEleteanyway.OfcourseI’veknownforalongtimethatthingshavebeenprecariouswiththefirm–whichiswhyIapplied formy new job. I have this brilliantmanagerial position, and amuchlarger salary too– soCharlie and I arevery comfortablyoff at themoment. Ireallymustgonow,Mum,Ibadlyneedtogetahankie,mygoodness,thisisaterrible cold, I think I’dbetter have an earlynightwithhoney andhot lemon,well,goodbye,thanksforphoning.’She said this without pausing, absolutely gabbling the last bit and then

slamming thephonedownquick.Thenshe took the receiveroffagain, so thatGrandmacouldn’tcallback.‘What?’Josaidtome,wipinghercheekswiththecuffofhershirt.‘Youknowwhat!Youtoldheronesockinggreatlie,’Isaidadmiringly.‘Well,Icouldn’tstandhergoingonandonlikethat.’‘Butshe’llfindoutthatit’snottrue,’Isaid.‘I’mgoingtomakeitcometrue,’saidJo.‘You’llsee.’Allthetightfeelinginmytummyuntwisted.ItwasOK.OfcourseJowould

getanotherjob,easy-peasy,simple-pimple.

Shewasupearlythenextmorning,hairwashed,allmadeup,blousefreshon,skirt carefully pressed. When I woke up she was walking up and down thebedroom,practising.‘Goodmorning.Myname’sJoEnright. I’vebeen themanageressofa large

shopforthelastyearbutnowIfeelit’stimeforachange.Arethereanynewjobopportunitiesinyourcompany?’sheaskedourbedroomwardrobe,shakingthesleeveofherdressinggown.

‘Good morning. I am Mr Wardrobe. Yes, Ms Enright, you can come andmanagemyclothesformeandI’llpayyouamillionpoundsaweek,’Isaidfromunderthecovers.‘Charlie!Youdidn’thalfgivemeafright!’saidJo,findingmytummythrough

theduvetandticklingit.‘Don’tmakemelaugh!Ineedtogototheloo.I’llwetthebed,I’mwarning

you,’Igiggled,rollingaround.‘Well,getupandgo,youlazything,’saidJo,tryingtotipmeout.‘Comeon,

you’llbelateforschool.AndIthoughtthisnewteacherofyoursisdeadstrict?’‘You’retellingme!LisaandAngelaandmedidn’tfeellikeplayingboringold

roundersyesterdaysowehidinthegirls’toilets.We’vedonethatheapsoftimesand no-one ever thought a thing about it before, but Miss Beckworth camelookingforus,rightintothetoilets,andwhenweallhidinacubicleshepeeredunderneaththedoorandsaid,“Willthegirlwithsixfeetpleasecomeoutofthistoiletimmediately.”Wethoughtwewerereallyinforit,butshesaidshe’dhatedgames at school too and as she’d already picked the two rounders teams wedidn’thavetoplayjust thisonetimeandwethoughtgreat–butdoyouknowwhat we had to do instead? Run round and round the playground withoutstoppingfortheentirelesson.Wewereabsolutelyknackered.Andeverytimeweran past her and begged formercy she said brightly, “Aren’t you lucky to betakingpartinmyroundersgame,girls?”She’sso...slippery.Youcan’tsussoutwhat she’sgoing todonext.Every timeyouget ready tohateher she’s funny

andthenwhenyoustarttothinkshe’sanoldsoftiesheplaysatrickonyou.’Iwasinthebathroombythistime,sittingontheloo.

‘She soundsagood teacher,’ Jo called.She followedme into thebathroom.‘DoyouthinkIlookabitolderandmoreprofessionalwithmyhairup?Yeah,Ithinkso.Helpmepinitupattheback,eh?’She’susuallygreatatfixingherownhairbutherhandswereallfumblythis

morning, and she couldn’t eat any breakfast because she said she was toonervous.‘You’ve got to eat something. You don’t want to faint dramatically in the

middleofajobinterview,’Isaid.‘MaybeIwon’tgetanyinterviews,’Josaid.Thenshestoppedandtookadeep

breath.‘No.I’vegottothinkpositive.Right,Charlie?’‘Youbet.Goodluck,Jo,’Isaid,huggingher.IhopedandhopedJowouldgeta job thatday.Shewent into townandshe

walkedroundinherhighheelswiththisbigbrightsmileonherface,goingintoallthesedifferentshopsandintroducingherselfandaskingandthennoddingandwalkingoutagain,overandover,alldaylong.Shecamehomeandshekickedhershoesoffandshehowled.ButthenImadeheracupofteaandrubbedherfeetandshestoppedcryingandthenextdayshetriedagain.Andthenext.Ashopsellingweirdway-outclotheswasadvertisingforstaffbuttheysaidJo

wasn’twackyenough.Abigstorewantedasalesassistantfortheirladies’dressdepartment but they said Jo wasn’t mature enough. A snobby shop sellingdesignerclothesmadeitplainJowasn’tposhenough.‘Thisishopeless,’saidJo,sighing.She tried record shops, but she didn’t know enough about modern music.

She’d been too busy bringing me up to dash down the disco. She triedbookshops,becauseshelikesreading,buttheonlyshopwithavacancywasfullofall thesestudentyboysinjeansmakingjokeyremarks,andtheonewiththescruffiest hair and the grubbiest T-shirt turned out to be the manager andalthoughJosaidhewasfriendlyitwasobviousshedidn’tfit.

ShechargedoutatseveninthemorningonFridaytobuythelocalpaperandsheskimmedthroughallthesmallprintlookingforjobs.‘Nothing!’shesaiddespairingly.‘Well,noproperjobs.There’sbarwork.But

I’mnotleavingyoualoneintheevenings.’‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be fine.Go for it, Jo!You could learn how tomake all

thosegreatcocktailswiththelittlecherriesandtoyumbrellas.Itwouldbefun,’Isaid.Jowenttothepubtoseewhatitwaslike.‘Itwouldnotbefun,’shesaid.‘Iwouldn’tbemakinganycocktailsthere.Just

servingpintsofbittertoalotofboringoldmentryingtolookdownmyfront.Icouldputupwiththat,butIwouldn’tbefreetillhalfpasteleveneverynightandthenI’dhavetowalkmileshomeunlessIforkedoutforataxi–andtheywereonlypayingfiftypoundsforfivefulleveningshifts.Wecan’tpaythemortgagewiththat.’Jowentbacktothelocalpaper.‘Theonlyotherjobsarecleaning,’shesaid.‘Whatdoyoumean,cleaning?LikeatSketchley’s?’Isaid.

‘No,notadrycleaningshop.Cleaningladies.Youknow.’IlookedatJo.‘Icanclean,can’tI?’shesaid.‘Butyouhatecleaning.Lookatallthefightswehaveoverwhoseturnitisto

vacuum.’‘OK, OK. But this is in a supermarket. You get socking great industrial

cleaningmachines.Iquitefancychargingaboutwithoneofthose.’Shedidn’tmeanit,ofcourse.Shewasjustbeingbrave.‘It’s twohourseverymorning, that’s all.Sixty-twopounds,’ said Jo, tearing

outtheadvert.

‘That’snotenoughtopaythemortgage.’‘I know.But look, there are heaps of other adverts for cleaners. I could go

after them too.Listen. “Private house, cleaning, some ironing, nine to twelve,Mondays and Thursdays, thirty pounds”. And then there’s this one here, theywant two hours’ cleaning daily plus someone to look after a little boy afterschool.’‘Youdon’twanttobelumberedwithsomeoneelse’slittleboy,’Isaid.‘Idon’twanttobelumberedwithmyowngreatbiggirlifshe’sgoingtobeso

picky,’saidJo.‘Look,Charlie.Ihaven’tgotanychoice.I’llkeepontryingtogetaproper jobbut until that happens Imight aswell earnwhat I can. It’s lousymoneybutitalladdsup.Soshutupaboutit,OK?’Ishutup.Jophonedthesupermarketandtheytoldhertocomealongforan

interview. She rushed off. I sat bymyself, feeling fidgety. Then I got outmynotepadandabigfatfelttippen.Iwroteoutmyownadvert.

STRONGRELIABLESCHOOLGIRL

WANTSWORK.WILLDOSHOPPING,RUNERRANDS,WHATEVERYOUWANT.APPLYMISSC.A.K.ENRIGHT,NO.38MEADOWBANK.

WORK

I’vegotwork.Iearnelevenpoundsayear.Onepoundforeveryyearofmyage.Ididnottellanyonemyrealage.IsworeIwasthirteen,goingonfourteen.I

donotknowwhetheranyonebelievedme.Iputmyhairupandloweredthehemofmyskirtasfarasitwouldgo.AtleastIlookedrespectableinmymourningclothes.

Iwenttoadomesticserviceagencyintown.Theysaidtheyhadjustthejobfor me. But when I went to the house and saw the cross sulky face of theMistressIwasn’tsosure.IdidnotfindoutwhattheMasterdidforaliving,butitwaseasytotellhewasnotagentleman.Theywantedamaid-of-all-workandIcouldseeatonceI’dbetoilingalldaylongandwellintothenight,andscoldedallthetimenomatterwhatpainsItook.IamwillingtobeaservantbutIwillnotbeaslave.

I went back to the agency and said the first positionwasn’t suitable. Theyseemedastonishedatmyeffrontery,butsentmeafteranotherposition.Ithoughtatfirstthiswasmorelikely.Itwasinagrandhousewithsixservants.Iwastobethenurserymaid,helpingtheupper-nursecareforalittleboy.Idonotcareforlittleboys.MybrotherFrankhasalwaysbeenagreattrialto

me.IbelievehetakesafterFather.Icertainlydidnotcareforthislittleboy,whostuckouthis tongue inavery rudemannerand thenkickedmehardupon theshin. I didnot care for theupper-nurse either,whohad a face like aboot andlongnippingfingerslikebuttonhooks.ButIwouldhavetakenthepositioneven

so, if itweren’t for theMasterof thehouse.Hewasawidower, and Iwasallpreparedtofeelsorryforhimifhewerestillmourninghislatewife.Ha!

Thisgentlemanpattedmeat the interviewandsaidIwasafine-lookinggirlfresh from the country.His eyes slid sideways and I detested theway hewaslookingatme.Hemightbeagentlemanbuthedidn’t act likeone. IknewhewouldbequicktotakelibertiesandifIcomplainedIwouldbesentpackingwithnoreference.IamyoungbutIamnofool.I went back to the agency yet again and said the second position wasn’t

suitable either, and I said why, too. This time they were appalled at myimpertinence. How dare I criticize my Betters? But they gave me one lastchance.IknewIhadtotakeitthistime.I do hope it is third time lucky. I am employed by amistresswhowants a

youngnurse forher threechildren,Victorwho is six,Louisawho is four, andbabyFreddiewhoisstillinpetticoats.IdidnotmeettheMaster,butIshallhavetohopeforthebest.Therearetwootherservantsinthehousehold,acookandahousemaid.Ihopetheywillbefriendly.

Iamnotsureaboutthismistress.Shedoesnotlookcrossbutsheseemsveryfirm.Shetoldmemydutiesingreatdetail.ImustlightthefireswhenIgetupanddustthedaynursery,ImustdressLouisaandhelpVictorwithhisbootsandbuttons,Imustattendtothebaby,andthenwehavebreakfast.VictorandLouisaarethentobesentdowntotheirmotherwhileIwashanddressbabyFreddieandgivehimhisbottleandputhimbackinhiscot. Imust thencleanandtidythenightnurseryandthendressthechildreninoutdoorclothesandtakethemfora

walk.TheywillhavearestonourreturnwhileIbrush theirclothesandcleantheir boots, and then I must get them ready for their dinner We are to takeanotherwalkintheafternoonwhenpossible,andthenafteralightteaImustputbaby Freddie to bedwhileVictor and Louisa go downstairs. Then Imust putthemtobedandtidythenurseriesandeatmysupperandthengotobedmyself.‘Doyoufeelyoucanmanageallthis?’shesaid.‘Youlookverylittle.’‘ButIamstrong,Madam.Iwillmanage,’Isaiddeterminedly.‘Very good. You can start on Monday. I will give you the print for your

uniformandaboltofcottonforyourapronandcaps.Ihopeyouaresatisfactoryatsewing,Charlotte?’Iblinkedather‘Charlotte,Madam?’Isaidfoolishly.‘Thatisyourname,isitnot?’shesaid.‘No,Madam. I amcalledLottie,Madam. Itwas the nameofMother’s doll

whenshewassmall.No-one’severcalledmeCharlotte.’‘Well,IdonotthinkLottieisasuitablenameforaservant.Youwillbecalled

Charlottewhilstyouareworkingforme.’

FOOD

Jophonedmefromthetown.‘Guesswhat!I’vegotthejob.’‘Great!’‘Well. It’snot really. Itwasn’t evenaproper interview. Itobviouslydoesn’t

matterwhatyou’relikewhenyou’reacleaner.’‘Still. I bet you’re going to be the best-ever squeakiest-cleanest cleaner

they’veeverhad,’Isaid.‘The startofawholenewcareer,’ said Jo. ‘Doyou think I’llmake it to the

ChampionFloorCleaningPolishtrials,hmm?’‘Youbet.Soyou’dbettergetintotrainingquick.Whendoyoustart?’‘Tomorrow.’IheardJogulp.‘Atsix.Inthemorning.Oh,Charlie,Imustbe

mad.Icouldclaimincomesupportandlieinbedtillnoon.’‘Still,youdon’thavetofibtoGrandmaanymore.Youreallyhavegotajob.’‘Icanjustimaginewhatshe’llsaywhenshefindsoutI’macleaner.’‘No,you’renotacleaner.You’re . . .you’rea state-of-the-floor supervisor,

right?’‘You’reasweetkid,Charlie.’‘Iwasasnottykidearlier.Youcominghomethen?I’mstarving.’‘Yes,I’vejustgottobuysomethingfortea.IhopedImightgetstaffdiscount

atthissupermarketbutthat’sonlyforthewomenworkingthetills.’‘Getsomeredtreatsforabedroompicnictocelebrateyourjob.’‘Hey,we’reeconomizing.’‘Verycheapredtreats?’‘Doyouthinkbakedbeanscouldbecalledred?’‘Just.Getsomeredplumsforpudding.’‘Orredapples.Andablockofraspberryrippleicecream?’‘Yes!Andwhataboutastrawberrygâteau?’‘Ithinkthat’scomingitabit,oldgirl.Beans,plumsandicecream,that’lldo.

I’llbehomesoonthen.Yougetthetraysready.’Ipaddedaboutthekitchenthinkingwereallyshouldhaveacaketocelebrate

properly.IrememberedthisancientpacketofcakemixI’dwononatombolaatthe school fête donkey’s years ago. I had a poke around the kitchen cupboardand found it crumpled behind some tins of soup. Jo didn’t go in for making

cakesandtheonlysortI’devermadewerepretendpinkdoughoneswhenIwasa littlekid,but thispacketsort lookedadoddle.You justhad toaddanegg. Ifoundoneegginaboxat thebackof thefridge.I thoughtbacktowhenwe’dlasthadscrambledeggsanditwasonlyaboutafortnightagosoitshouldbeallright.I tipped the contents of the cake mix packet into a bowl, swished the egg

arounduntil itwas all sticky, scooped the lot into the tin and shoved it in theoven.Easy-peasy,simple-pimple.

‘What’sthatlovelysmell?’saidJowhenshecameinthedoor.‘Asurprise.Hey,congratulations.’‘I’vegot two jobs! I phoned the numberwhere theywant someone to look

afterthelittleboyaswellasdoabitofcleaning.That’sintheafternoon,soit’llbeeasytofitthatintoo.’‘Where are you going to look after this little boy then? Not round here, I

hope,’Isaid.‘Idon’twanthimmessingupallmystuff.’‘Hesoundsanicesensiblelittleboy,thoughhe’sveryshy.Ispoketohimon

thephone.Andhisdadsoundsnice too, thoughever sosad.Hiswife leftandhe’stryingtocopeonhisown.’‘Wecopefineonourown,’ I said. ‘Look,you’reacleanernow.Whydon’t

youjuststicktocleaningjobs.Youdon’twanttobeanannytoo.’‘It’sseventy-fivepoundsaweek.That’snotbad.IfIcouldfindjustonemore

joblikethattofitinmidmorningthenwe’dbelaughing,’saidJo.‘Hey,isyoursurpriseallright?It’snotburning,isit?’Ithadburntjustalittlebit,butonlyaroundtheedges.Idecidedtocutthem

off–andthenIwentoncuttingandtrimming,turningtheroundspongeintotwoletters,abig‘J’andasmallroundcircleforthe‘o’.Wedidn’thaveanyicingsoI smeared some strawberry jam on the top and then studded both letterswithSmarties.

‘Thatlookswonderful,’saidJo.‘Hey,you’rereallygoodatthis.’Idon’twanttosounddisgustinglyboastful,butitreallywasn’tbadforafirst

attempt.Iaddedalinetomyworkadvert:

MAKESEXCELLENTCAKES.

I didn’t show Jomy advert. I wanted to surprise her. But when I tookmyadvertintothenewsagent’sandaskedMrRajtoputitinthewindowheshookhishead.‘Youcan’twork.You’rejustalittlegirl,’hesaid.‘Girlsworkjustaswellasboys.Better,’Isaidindignantly.‘It’snotbecauseyou’reagirl.You’retooyoung.Youcouldn’tdoanyproper

work.’‘YesIcould!Look,ahundredyearsagoIcouldworkfulltimeassomeone’s

servant.Icouldbescrubbingallday.I’mdoingthisprojectaboutitforschool,see.’‘That’swhatyoushouldbedoingatyourage.Concentratingonyourschool

work.’‘Youdon’tgetpaidfordoingschoolwork.’

‘You kids. Justwantingmoneymoneymoney.What do youwant?A bike?Rollerblades?Acomputer?Mykidswantall these things,nagnagnag. If theboydon’tturnuptodeliverthenewspapersandIaskmyboytohelpmeoutthenit’s“Howmuchmoneywillyoupayme?”’‘I’lldoanewspaperround,’Isaid.‘Youcan’t.You’re too little. It’sagainst the law, see.Timeshavemovedon

sinceyourhistoryproject.Kidsaren’tallowedtowork.’IcouldseeIwaswastingmytime.Itriedthenewsagent’sdowninthetown

buthesaidthesame.SoIdecidedtousemyinitiative.I’mquitegoodatthat.I

spent most of my spare cash photocopyingmy advert and then I went roundstickingthemthroughpeople’sletterboxesinourflatsandtheflatsovertheroadandhalfthehousesdownthestreet.I’dputmyphonenumber,soIsatbythephoneandwaited.Andwaited.And

waited.‘What’supwithyou?’saidJo.‘Nothing.’‘Comeon.Areyouwaitingforaphonecall?’‘Imightbe.’‘Don’t play gameswithme,Charlie, I’m feeling too dopey towork it out,’

saidJo,yawning.She’dstartedherjobatthesupermarketandwasfindingitanawfulstruggle

togetoutofbedatfive.‘Look, why don’t you go to bed now, get a really early night. You look

exhausted,’Isaid.‘Whydoyouwantmeouttheway?Whoisitwho’sgoingtophone,eh?’Jo’s

sleepyeyessuddenlysparkled.‘Hey,it’saboy!’‘What?’‘You’rewaitingforsomeboytophoneyou!’‘Iamnot.’‘Yes,youare.You’vegotaboyfriend,’saidJo,giggling.‘Don’tbesostupid.Ihateboys.’‘Soyousay. I know. It’s . . .what’s-his-name?Theoneyoukeepgoingon

aboutatschool.Theoneyousitnextto.’‘JamieEdwards!Youhavetobejoking.Ican’tstickhim.Sittingnexttohim

isdrivingmeabsolutelycrazy.’Icouldn’tbelieveJocouldbesocrackers.ItrulydetestedthatJamie.Hewas

just the most annoying person in the whole world to have to sit next to. HewavedhishandintheairsooftentoanswerMissBeckworth’squestionsthatIwasinapermanentbreeze.Andeverytimehegottheanswerright–whichwasnearlyflippingalways–hegavethissmugsatisfiedlittlenod,asiftosay,see,whatasuperintelligentsmartie-bootsIam.I hated thewaywhenMissBeckworth set us somework he’d start straight

away,hisposhfountainpenbobbingupanddownashewrote,whiletherestofuswerestillscratchingourheadsandrulingmarginsandlookingatourwatchestoseehowlongitwastillplaytime.Ihated thewayhisworkcameback fromMissBeckworth, tick tick tickat

every paragraph, andWell done, Jamie! written at the bottom. I got lots ofcrossesandYoucouldtrymuchharder,Charlotte,andTuttut,thisisveryshoddy

work, and You can’t fool me by making your writing enormous and widelyspaced.Youcanonlyhavespentfiveminutesonthisworkatthemost.Thisisnotgoodenough!

I didn’t want to be bothered with anything else but learning about theVictorians. Iwas starting to kind of enjoywritingmy project. Itwasweird. Ireadstuffinbooksandthenstartedwritinganditwasasifthisothergirlentirelywas scribbling it all down. The servant girl. Lottie the nursery maid. She’dstartedtofeelreal,likeI’dknownherallmylife.IknewherbetterthanIevenknewLisaorAngela.Ijustpickedupapencilandallherthoughtscamerushingoutonthepaper.Icouldn’tstandthethoughtofMissBeckworthspecklingitwithherredbiro.

It was private. At least we didn’t have to hand our projects in till they werefinished,andwehadweeksyet.Of course You-know-who had practically finished his project already. He

didn’t want to keep his project private. He kept flashing it around at everyopportunity.Heeventookit intothecanteenwithhimatdinnertime.Well,hedid that once. I just happened to choke on a fishfinger and so needed animmediatedrinkofCokeandinmyhasteIhappenedtotipthecanoverandthemerestlittlespittybitoffrothspatteredJamie’spreciousfolder.Onlytheoutside.Buthedeclaredtheposhmarbledpaperwasallspoilt.Thenextdayhecartedhisprojecttoschool,completelyrecoveredwithrepro-Victorianwrappingpaper,allfatfrillygirlsinbonnetsandsoppyboysinsailorsuits,yuckyuck.Andinsidethere was page after page of Jamie’s neat blue handwriting with his ownelaborateillustrations,carefullyinkedpicturesofrailwayenginesandmineshaftsand factory looms, but he didn’t have any train drivers or miners or factoryhandsbecausehecan’tdrawpeopleproperly.‘I’lldrawtheminforyou,Jamie,’Ioffered.Heturneddownmygenerousoffer.Hedidn’ttrustme.Iwonderwhy!He had lots of proper pictures too, cut out of real old illustrated Victorian

papers, and samples of William Morris wallpaper, and photos of Victorianfamilies standing up straight in their best clothes, and real Victorian coinscarefullystuckinwithSellotape.Jamie’sfilewasbulgingalready.Mynotebook

wassmallandslimandtherewerestillonlyafewpagesofwriting.

‘Youhaven’tdonemuchyet,Charlie,’saidJamie,snatchingitupandriflingthroughit.‘Giveitback,’Isaid,tryingtograbit.‘Whyhaveyoudoneitinthisfunnypencilwriting?What’sallthisstuff?It’s

like a diary. “Well, I do not thinkCharlotte is a suitable name for a servant.”Whatareyouonabout?’saidJamie,holdingitjustoutofmyreach.‘Don’tyoudarereadit!’Isaid,andIgavehimsuchasmackontheheadhe

droppedmybookinstantly.

‘Ooooow!Whatdidyoudothatfor?’hegasped,clutchinghishead.‘Iwarnedyou,’Isaid,clutchingmybooktomychest.‘You’remad!Ifyouweren’tagirlI’dsockyoustraightback,’saidJamie.One side of his facewas bright red and the shape ofmy hand.Therewere

tearsinhiseyes.Ifeltabitworried.Ihadn’tmeanttohithimquiteashardasallthat.‘You can try hitting me back but I wouldn’t advise it,’ I said. ‘Just stop

messingaboutwithmyprivatestuff,right?’‘It’s just yourVictorianproject, for goodness’ sake.Andyou’re doing it all

wrong,notabitthewayMissBeckworthsaid.’‘I’mdoingitmyway,’Isaid.‘You’llgetintotrouble.’‘SeeifIcare,’Isaid.MissBeckworthcameintotheclassroomjustthen.Shegaveusallonequick

glance–andthenfixedhergazeonJamie.‘What’sthematterwithyou,James?’shesaid.

Iheldmybreath.ItlookedasifIwasintroublerightthatminute.IexpectedJamietoblab.Helookedasifheweregoingto.Butthenheshruggedandshookhishead.‘Nothing’sthematter,MissBeckworth,’hesaid.Iwasamazed.AndevenmoreastonishedwhenMissBeckworthdidn’tpursue

it.Shejustraisedhereyebrowsasiftosay‘Youcan’tkidme,’butthenshesatdownatherdeskandstartedthelesson.Jamiestartedworkingrightaway,onecheekstillscarlet.Iwatchedhimfora

while. Istruggledwithmyself.ThenI leant towardshim.Heflinched,as ifhewasscaredImightslaphimagain.‘Whydidn’tyousayIslappedyou?’Iwhispered.Jamieblinkedatmenervously.‘I’mnotasneakytell-tale,’hesaid.‘Well.Thanks,’Imumbled.Hedidn’tsayanythingbackbuthisothercheekwentredtoo.So perhaps Jamie isn’t one hundred per cent revolting and disgusting and

infuriating. Just ninety-nine per cent. But as if I’d ever sit chewingmy nailswaitingforhisphonecall!Nobody rang. Not a single soul required the services of the strong reliable

schoolgirl.‘Whydon’tyouringhim?’saidJo,stilldopilydeluded.But the next day Miss Pease from downstairs waylaid her as she was

stumblingbackfromhermorningshiftatthesupermarket.‘Yes,MissPeasewanteda littlewordaboutyou,Charlie,’saidJo,handson

herhips.‘Ifshe’snaggingonaboutmymusicagainshe’snuts.Ikeepitturneddownso

soft I can barely hear it myself. She must have ears like Dumbo’s,’ I said,munchingtoast.Jo snatched half of it from my plate. ‘Here, spare a crumb for your poor

hardworkingmother,’shesaid.‘I’mstarving.’

‘SoamI.Youmakeyourown.I’vegottogotoschool.’‘Yes,well,youcanwaitaminute.MissPeasesaysyou’vebeensoliciting.’‘I’vebeenwhat?’Isaid.‘Well,that’sthewordsheused,’saidJo.Shewastryingtosoundstern,butshe

looked as if shemight giggle anyminute. ‘Yes, that’swhat she said. “I really

mustbringthistoyourattention,Josephine.Charlottehasbeensoliciting.”’Jo’svoicewobbled.Ichuckledtentatively.Itwasamistake.‘No,it’snotfunny,Charlie.Whathaveyoubeenplayingat,postingallthese

littlelettersinpeople’sflatsofferingtodowork?’‘Iwaswantingtohelpout.’‘Oh,Charlie.Youare anutter.MissPease is right foronce inher longand

boringlife.Youcan’tadvertiseyourselflikethat,especiallywhentherearesuchloonies around. Some weird guy might have read about this little schoolgirlwantingworkandgotsometerribleideas.’‘I’mnotlittle,I’mbig.Andstrong.ButItakeyourpoint.Still,youdon’thave

tofuss.No-one’sphoned.Notasinglesausage,andafterallthatmoneyIspentonphotocopying.It’sdaft.Thewholeideawastomakeabitofmoney.’‘Don’tworry.That’smyjob.Andanyway,ithasworkedinaway.MissPease

saysshe’sgotajobforyou.’‘Really?’Itriedtofeelpleased,butMissPeaseissuchapain.She’sthesortof

old ladywho pats you on the head like a puppydog and relentlessly asks youhowoldyouare,asifyoumighthaveagedfiveyearssincethelasttimeyoutoldheraweekago.Still,workiswork.Onlythisworkwasworsethanmost.You’llneverguesswhatshewantedme

todo.Readtoher.Idon’treallylikereadingaloudat thebestoftimes.Idon’t likehearingmy

voicegoall sillyandshowing-off.And that’swhen Icanpickandchoosemyownbook.MissPeasewantedme to readher librarybook,oneof those largebig-print books thatmake your arms achewhen you hold them up.My armsached,mybackached,myheadached,mythroatached,myentirebodywasinacheoverdriveafterIreadtoMissPeaseforawholehour.It was this terrible stupid story about some dippy woman who kept being

pursuedinthedesertbythistotalnutcaseinastripednightie.Well,that’swhathewaswearingonthebookjacket.Insteadoftellinghimtogetlostsharpishtheheroine simpered and swooned into the sand. I kid you not. AndMiss Peaseobviously adored this utter rubbish. She sat back literally licking her chops.Mindyou,thatmighthavebeenbecauseofalltheCadbury’sMilkTrayshewaseating.Shegotthroughagoodhalfofthebox.

‘OfcourseI’dofferyouone,Charliedear,butyoucan’treallyreadwithyourmouthfull,canyou?’shesaid.‘Icantry,’Isaidhopefully.ShethoughtIwasjoking.AndIthoughtshewasjokingwhenshehandedover

mywagesforthereadingsession.‘Hereyouare,dear,’ she said, fumbling inherpurse.Shehandedmea ten-

pencepiece.I staredat it.Hadshemistaken it forapoundcoin?Evenso,whata totally

mingyrateofpay!‘Popitinyourmoneybox,dear,’saidMissPease.‘Andcomebackandread

tometomorrow.’Notflippinglikely!Iwasdeaddepressed,andannoyedwhenJojustlaughed

and found it funny. But she was in a good mood because she’d got herselfanotherjob,cleaningthisbigposhhousethreedaysaweekfromtentotwelve.‘Threejobs!’shesaid,andshesentoutforpizzawiththreeextratoppingsto

celebrate.‘You’llexhaustyourself,’Isaid.‘Whatwithgettingupatfiveanddoingthe

supermarketandthenlookingafterthesillylittlesprogintheafternoons.’‘I’llbeOK.Andthisnewjob’sadoddle.Thehouse isbig,but theykeep it

verytidy.She’seversoworriedabouttheideaofemployinganotherwomantodoherdirtywork.IbetsherunsroundwiththevacuumbeforeIgetthere.’‘Whereisit?’Iasked,mymouthdroolingcheesefronds.‘OxfordTerrace,’saidJo.Istaredather,soshockedthatmyhalfofthepizzaslippedoutofmyfingers

ontothefloor.Ididn’tcare.Iwasn’thungryanymore.

FOOD

Oh,how I long forMother’s cooking.Oneof hermeaty stews, bubblingwithbarleybeansandcarrots.Or rabbitpie.Motherhas sucha light touchwhen itcomes tomaking pastry.Her fruit lattice pies are famous all over the village.And her suet puddings. If I could only have a plateful ofMother’s jam suetpuddingandcustard!Orevenabigdoorstepsliceofbreadanddripping...

I have to slice up the bread so thin here I slicemy fingers too, andLouisawon’teathercrustseventhen.Thebabylikeshisbreadpoundedintomushwithwarmmilk.Motherwouldneverdreamofpamperingusso.Wealwaysatewhatwewere given and chewed it cheerily.Well,mostly.ButLouisa always playsaroundwithherfoodandcriesandcomplainssomethingchronic,andVictorisextremelypernicketyforaboy,fussfussfussingifheswallowsalittlelumpinhiscustard.Sometimesit’sallIcandonottograbtheirplatesandeatitupforthembecauseI’msohungry.Ihavetomanageonnurseryfoodtoo,nomeatatallduringtheweek,andjustonesliceofftheroastonSundays.Iamallowedoneeggaweektoo,butit’sapalewaterythingcomparedwiththedeepgoldyolkslaidbyourhensathome.

I have to make do with this niminy-piminy fare with the merest scrape ofbutterTheonlyfoodthatisplentifulismilkpudding.Ishallstartmooingbeforelong.‘We don’twant you to fall illwith too rich a diet,’ says theMistress, as if

servantshavedifferentstomachsfromposhfolk.MrsAngelthecookandElizathemaidaresupposedtosurviveonthisfrugal

diettoo,buttheyeattheirmealsdowninthekitchenandMrsAngelisadeptatkeepingback thechoicestportions for theirownplatesbeforeEliza serves theMasterandMistressinthediningroom.IhavemymealsinthenurserysoImissout on these perks. Mrs Angel and Eliza treat me like one of the childrenanyway.Theywhisperandhavesecretsandlaughunkindlyat the thingsIsay.Theyareexcessivelytiresome.Theyarethechildishpair.Idomybesttoignorethem,butthenMrsAngelcallsmehoitytoityandElizapullsmyhairsothatittumblesdownoutofmycap.Itishardtobearsometimes.AthomeIwasalwaysa favourite.At school Iwas definitelyMissWorthbeck’s pet.All the childrenlovedme.Eventheboys.Yes,eventhatgreatlummoxEdwardJames.ButnowIam openly despised and it makes my heart sore. At night I cry into mypillowcase,thesheetspulledrightovermyheadsothechildrenwillnothearme.

VictorseesmyredeyesinthemorningandsaysthatIhavebeenblubbing.‘Nonsense,’Isayfirmly.‘Ihaveaslightcold,thatisall.’Perhaps that was tempting fate. Now the whole household has gone down

withcolds,evenlittlebabyFreddie.MrsAngelhastakentoherbedandElizaistryingtotakechargeofthekitchen,butwithverybadgrace.TheMistresssaysherailingchildrenmusthavecalves’foot jellyservedto themateverymeal. IaskElizatoprepareitbutsheutterlyrefuses,sayingshehasherworkcutoutasitisandshecannotabidemessingaroundwithlumpsofmessymeat.SoIhavetomakethejelly.Thewholekitchenreeksandthewallsglistenas

thecalves’feetboilandboilandboil,andIskimandskimandskim,andthenwhen I go to strain the liquid through the jelly bag my hands slip and . . .disaster!BythetimeIhaverunouttothebutcher’sforsixmorecalves’feetandstarted thewholebusiness inmotionalloveragainIaminsuchsavagespiritsthat Iwouldcheer ifawholeherdofcalvesstampeded through thehouseandtrampledeveryonewithinitwiththeirpoorfeet.

TOYSANDBOOKS

I was so scared! Jo could be cleaning Jamie Edwards’s house. I could justimagineJamie loungingonavelvetchaise-longueinhisposhWilliamMorris-paperedparlour,snappinghisfingersimperiouslyatJo.‘Hey,you!Cleaninglady!Getmeanothercushion,’he’dcommand.‘I’vespilt

crumbsalloverthecarpetsogetcrackingwiththehoover.Anddon’tsighlikethatorI’lldockyourwages.’

Icouldseeitasclearasanything.PoorJowouldhavetowashJamie’sclothesandtidyJamie’sbedanddustallJamie’spossessions.MaybeJamiehadabraceofyoungerbrothers justasbrattyashim,andshe’dhave towash theirclothesand tidy their beds and dust their toys. If he had a baby brother she’dmaybeevenhavetowashandtidyanddusthimdown.

‘It’snotyourJamieEdwards’shouse,’saidJo.‘ThisistheRosenfamily,MrandMrs,withtwoteenagedaughters.’Ipracticallypassedoutwithrelief.‘Areyoudisappointed?’saidJo.‘DidyouhopeI’dgettogoinyourJamie’s

bedroom,eh,totellyouallaboutthepostersonhiswallandwhetherhestillhasateddyonhisbedandmaybeevenhaveasneakypeekinhisdiarytoseeifheeverwritesanythingaboutyou?’‘He’snotmyJamie!’Ishrieked.‘Youaresonuts,Jo.Ikeeptellingyou,Ican’t

stickhim.’Jowasn’ttheonlyonewhoteasedmeaboutterribleJamieEdwards.Lisaand

Angela had started up this stupid game too. I was starting to get seriouslyannoyedwith them. I didn’t knowwhathadgot into them this year at school.LastyearwewerethethreeleadersofnearlyallthegirlsandwehadthisspecialclubbadgewithGABon it, short for ‘GirlsAreBest’, andweall calledeachotherGabbyandwehadthischeerleaderchantImadeup:‘Girlsarebest,Nevermindtherest,Boysareapest,SoGirlsarebest!’

SomeoftheothergirlsgotabitfedupanddriftedawaybutLisaandAngelaandIkeptupourspecialgirls’gangallthetime,andthethreeofusalwayswentyuckandpulledafacewheneveranyoftheboysspoketous.Iwantedtoextendtherulestocovermentoo,butLisasaidthatwasdaftbecauseherdadwasamanandshelovedhimbetterthananyoneelseinthewholeworld,andAngelawasequally awkward and got this immense crush on this pop star and squealedwhenevershesawhimonthetellyandshestuckhundredsofpicturesofhimalloverherbedroomwallsandkissedeveryoneofthemgoodnightwhenshewentto bed and she did inky designs of his name entwinedwith hers all over herschool books and her ruler and her bag and even on the sleeve of her jacket,thoughhermumgotverynarkedaboutthat.

LisaandIthoughtAngelahadgoneincrediblycrackersbecausethisguyshelikesispathetic.Angelaagreeswithusnow,andshe’storndownallhispicturesand crossed out his name and she’s got a new jacket – but she’s in lovewithanotherpopgroupnow,allof them,andshe’s foreverstrikingup theseboringboringboringconversationsaboutwhatshe’ddo ifshecouldonlyget tomeetthem.IknewthatifonlyI’dbeenabletositnexttoAngelaatschoolasI’dplanned

thenI’dhavebeenabletobeagoodinfluenceonherandkeepherundercontrol.ShewasstartingtogetonmynervessomuchIwaswonderingaboutwhittling

mybestfriendsdowntoone.ButthenLisafellinlovetoo.Andthatwasworse.Because she started to go crazy over DavidWood – and he’s certainly not afamousstarinaband,he’sjustthisultra-boringboyinourclassatschool.

‘He’snotultra-boring!’Lisasqueaked.‘He’sdeadcool.Ilovethewayhedoeshishair.Andhiseyes.Andhelooksreallyoldforhisage,doesn’the,becausehe’ssotall.’‘Hemight lookoldbutheacts likea toddler,’ I said,disgusted. ‘Didn’tyou

seehiminthecanteenthrowinghisluncharound?’‘Thatwasjusthisbitoffun,’saidLisa.‘Oneofhischipslandedrightinmy

lap!’‘Ohwow!Howcouldyoucontainyourexcitement,’Isaid,deadsarcastic.‘Sheateittoo!’saidAngela.‘Afterhe’ddrooledalloverit.’‘Iwouldn’tmindifhedrooledalloverme,’saidLisa.‘Oh shut up,’ I said. ‘Honestly. I think you had a lobotomy in the summer

holiday.’‘Alobby-what?’saidLisa.‘It’s an operation they perform on your brain,’ I said. ‘Don’t you know

anything?’‘I know one thing, Charlie Enright. You’re getting a right pain, always

showingoffandlookingdownyournoseatotherpeople.You’regettingjustlikeJamieEdwards.’‘Yeah,maybe it’s rubbingoffonherbecause theysit together,’saidAngela,

gigglinginthisparticularlyirritatingway.‘Hey,Lisa–CharlieandJamie,whatapair,eh?’‘They’realwaysyackingawaytogether,certainly.MissBeckworthhadtotell

them off the other day, they were getting so carried away,’ said Lisa, givingAngelaanudge.‘You’re theonewho’s indangerofgettingcarriedaway– inabodybag,’ I

said,givingthembothasimultaneousexampleofmysortofnudge.Ihaveveryverysharpelbows.‘IhardlyeverspeaktoJamieEdwards–andwhenIdoit’s

justtohaveaferociousargumentwithhim.’

However,IneededtospeaktoJamieinadead-casual,almost-friendlywaytofindoutexactlywherehelivedinOxfordTerrace.HeknewwhatJolookedlike.We’dbothbeengoingtothisschoolsincewewerepracticallybabies.Foryearsandyearsourmumshaddeliveredusorcollectedus.IhadnoticedthatJamie’smumwasplumpandbeady-eyed likehim,with lotsofhairand jazzy jumpersandcoloured tightsandbrightboots,noneof themmatching.Hehadprobablynoticed that Jowasmuch younger than the othermums, and dyed her hair tomatchmineandworehighheelstomakeherjustatinybittaller.It’sawfullyhardtostrikeupadead-casual,almost-friendlyconversationwith

someoneyoucan’tstick.We’rebarelyallowedtobreatheinMissBeckworth’sclassesanyway,letaloneconverse.ButatplaytimeItookagesputtingawaymybooksandletLisaandAngelagooffbythemselves.Jamiealwaystookhistimetoo,notatallkeentogooutintotheplayground.He’snottheoutdoortype.He’shopelessatfootballandhecan’tevenrunproperly,hisarmsandlegsgoeverywhichway.Heisn’tbulliedbytheotherboysbecausehecanbequitequickandcuttingwithwhathesays,buthe’snotexactlynumberonepopularpersonwithhispeers.(NotlikesomepeopleIcouldmentionifIwantedtobedisgustinglyboastful.)Hegenerallyslopesoffintoacornerbyhimselfandreadsabook.Iwatched

himtakeoneoutofhissatchel.ItwascoveredintheVictorianwrappingpapersoyoucouldn’tseethetitle.‘What’sthatyou’rereadingthen,Jamie?’Iasked.Helookedatmesuspiciously.‘Why?’‘Ijustwanttoknow,forgoodness’sake,’Isaid.‘Withyouit’susuallyforbadness’sake,’saidJamie.‘Let’shavealook,then,’Isaid,reachingforit.Hehesitated, holding it away fromme. ‘Areyougoing tohitme again if I

don’tletyou?’hesaid.‘Thatwasdifferent.Thatwasmybook.Sowhat’syours?Whyhaveyougotit

allwrappeduplikethat?Hey,it’sadirtybook,that’sit,isn’tit!Shock,scandal,swotty old Jamie’s reading a rude book. And you didn’t want anyone to seeyou’rereadingit.Whatisit,eh?Showme!’‘Getoff!’saidJamie,tryingtopushmeaway,buthewasstillwaryofme.I

snatchedhisbookeasilyandopenedit.‘“EstherWaters”,’Iread,flickingthroughthepages.‘Oooh!Whataswizzle.

It’s just some boring boring boring old Victorian book. Typical you, JamieEdwards.You’rejustdoingsomeextraswottingupforyourproject,aren’tyou?’

‘TheVictorians thought itwasarudebook,’saidJamie.‘Theywereeversoshockedwhenitcameout.’‘Well,theywereshockedbyanything.Theyweresostupidtheyevencovered

uptheirpianolegs!Ifawomanraisedherskirtafewinchesaboveheranklesthechapspracticallyfainteddeadaway,’Isaidscornfully.‘SowhatdoesthisEstherWatersgetupto,Jamie?Isshesodeadbrazensheflashesherkneecaps?’

‘Oh,haha,’saidJamie,sighing.Isawhehadhisbookmarkmorethanhalfwaythrough.‘Gosh,haveyoureadallthat?Itlooksterriblydullanddifficult.You’remad,’

Isaid.‘It’sagoodstoryactually,’saidJamie.‘It’saboutthisgirlEsther—’‘No!’‘—andshe’saservantand—’‘She’saservant?’Isaid,stoppingmessingabout.‘Yes,andshegoestothisbigplaceinthecountryandthisfootmanchatsher

upandshedoesn’treallywanttogooutwithhimbutheforcesherandsheendsup having a baby and she doesn’t knowwhat to do because she’s young andshe’snotmarriedandshe’slostherjob...Whyareyoustaringatmelikethat?’saidJamie.‘Whatisit?’‘Nothing.Itjustdoesn’tsoundquiteasboringasIthought.MaybeI’llborrow

itafteryou,OK?’Imostlystucktoreadinghorrorstories,thespookierandscarierthebetter,but

IwantedtofindoutmoreaboutthisEsther.

‘What happens to her? Does she keep her baby? Does she get a job? Shedoesn’tgetmarriedattheend,doesshe?’‘Ihaven’tgot that faryet.OK,youcanborrow it afterme.Or someofmy

other books if you want. I’ve got a whole lot of Victorian ones sorted outbecauseofmyproject.’‘Oh,Jamie,youwould!’Isaid.ThenIsuddenlyrealizedthiswasmygolden

opportunity.‘So,ImightcomeroundtoyourfamousVictorianhousesometimeandseeyourbooks.WhatnumberOxfordTerrace,eh?’‘Numbersixty-two,’saidJamie.Ifeltmystomachsqueeze.Number62.Jo’sRosenfamilylivedatNumber58,

nextdoorbutonetoJamie.Whatifhesawhergoingintotheirhouse?WhatifJamie’smum nipped along the road to have a cup of coffee withMrs Rosenwhen Jowas dashing aroundwith a duster?What if Jamie’smum thought Jolookeddeadhandywithahooverandofferedherajob?IwasproudthatshewasworkingsohardbutIcouldn’tstandtheideaofhercleaningallJamie’sjunk.‘Hasyourmumgotherowncleaninglady?’IblurtedoutbeforeIcouldstop

myself.Jamieblinkedatme,baffled.‘What?Why?Areyouscaredyou’llgetalldusty

ifyoucomeroundtomyhouse?’hesaid.‘Doesyourmumdoherowndusting?’Ipersisted.‘No.Mum’shopelessatanysortofhousework.Wedidhaveacleaninglady

oncebutthenshegotilland—’‘You’renotlookingforanotherone,areyou?’Iasked,horrified.‘Mydaddoesthehouseworknow.Thehooveringandthat.Mummightdothe

bathroom,andI’msupposedtodosomestuff,meandmybrother,onlyweskiveoffmostly.Why?’Ishruggedelaborately.‘I–I’vegotinterestedinthewholeideaofhousework

andstuffbecauseofmyservantproject,’Isaid.AngelaandLisaputtheirheadsroundtheclassroomdoor.‘Comeon,Charlie.Playtime’snearlyover.Whatareyoudoing?’saidAngela.‘Of course,wedon’twant to interrupt anything if you and Jamie arebusy,’

saidLisa,giggling.‘I’mcoming,’Isaid,chargingovertothem.But then that idiotic Jamie put his great big foot in it. ‘So, you’re coming

round to my house after school tonight, right?’ he said, in front of Lisa andAngela.Theirmouthsdroppedopen.Minedidtoo.

‘Wrong!’Isaid,andrushedoff.LisaandAngelarushedtoo.‘Wewerejustkiddingyoubefore.Butyoureallyhavegotathinggoingwith

Jamie,haven’tyou?’saidAngela.‘You’regoingroundtohishouse!’saidLisa.‘Oh,IdowishDavewouldask

meroundtohishouse.’‘I’mnotgoingroundtoJamieEdwards’shouse,’Iinsisted.‘Hewasjustgoing

onabout theseboringboringboringVictorianbooksandhe seemed to think Iwasmadenoughtowanttolookatthem,that’sall.’MyheartwasthumpingabitasIsaid it. IknewIwaskindof twistingthetruth.ButIhadtostopLisaandAngelagettingthewrongideaonceandforall.SoallthatdayIsentthemnotesunderthequiveringBeckworthnoseasoften

asIdared,withsillycaricaturesofJamieandrudelittlerhymesabouthim.JamiesawhisnameandmusthavethoughtIwaswritinganotetohim.Hepeeredovermyarmand read it. I’d justwritten avery rude bit about him. (Sorry: far toorudetoberepeatedwhereadultslikeMissBeckworthmightwhipthisbookoutofyourhandsatanyminute!)Jamiereadtheveryrudebit.Heblinked.Hedidn’tlookbaffledthistime.Helookedupset.

Still,itwashisownfault,wasn’tit?Heshouldn’thavebeennosyenoughtoread my private note. I passed it to Angela and she cracked up with silentlaughterandthenshepassediton toLisaandshereaditandsnortedout loudandhadtoprotesttoMissBeckworththatshehadahorriblecoldandcouldn’thelp it. Lisa andAngela and I all fell about helplesslywhenwe came out ofschool.I certainly didn’t go round to Jamie’s house after school. Lisa and I went

round toAngela’s house first because her big brother had just got some deadflash roller blades for his birthday andwewere hopingwe’d get to her homefrom our school a good half-hour before he got back from his school, so wecouldallmaybehaveasneakygoonhisblades.Buthe’dgotwisetoAngela’s

wily ways and installed a brand-new padlock on his bedroom cupboard. Wefound his old skateboard stacked in a corner but we weren’t really intoskateboardinganymore,andanyway,oneofthewheelswasallwobbly.Angela’smumwas doing a day shift at the hospital so she couldn’t fix us

anything exciting to eat so we all went round to Lisa’s instead. That was farmorepromising,becauseLisa’smumwasbeingahostessforajewellerypartythateveningandsoshewasmakingallthesefiddlylittlevol-au-ventsandtarts.She letus sample themwhile shegotbusy icingacake.Lisawantedus togostraightuptoherbedroom,butIhungaroundhermumforabit,watchinghowshedidtheicingwiththisnattylittlesqueezybag.‘I always wondered how people wrote those little messages,’ I said. ‘Is it

difficult?’

‘No,pet, it’seasyasanything,’saidLisa’smum,andwhenshehadfinishedshe letmepractise icing these cookies she’d baked. I icedmyname and thenLisa’sandthenAngela’s.Thatwasdeadcrafty,becausewegottoeatthem!IaskedLisa’smumhowshemadethecakeandshethoughtIwasanglingfor

asliceofthattoo.‘Sorry,pet.I’msavingitfortheladiesatmyparty.Hey,maybeyourmother

wouldliketocome?’Shehesitated.‘Imean,justforthechit-chatattheparty.Iknowshe’snotreallyinapositiontobuyanyjewelleryrightthismoment.’‘Shegoes tobedreallyearlynow.Becauseshehas togetupat fivefor this

newjob,’Isaid.Lisa’smum’ssmoothfacewentintoacreaseofpain.‘Ohmygoodness.She’sbeingsobrave,’shesaid,asifJowentandwrestled

withapitofpoisonoussnakesinsteadofoneunwieldyindustrialcleaner.‘But I reallywould like to knowhow tomake a sponge cake like that.We

don’tmakecakesathome,’Isaid.‘Well,it’ssosimple.Andreallynotveryexpensive.Tellyourmotheryoujust

needtoputthebutterandthesugarandtheflourintheblenderand—’‘No,wehaven’tgotablender.’Lisa’smumstaredasifI’dsaidwehadn’tgotakitchen.‘Oh.Well.Isupposeyoucouldmixitallbyhand.Iknow!’Shewenttoher

shelfofcookerybooksbesidethespicerackandpulledoutanoldfatbook;thepageshadgonealittleyellow.Sheflickedthroughit.‘Aha! This was my mother’s cookery book. She certainly didn’t have a

blender.Yes,there’sawholesectiononcake-making.Doyouthinkyourmotherwouldliketoborrowit?’

‘It’snotforJo,it’sforme.I’dlovetoborrowit,’Isaideagerly.‘Iwanttosussouthowtomakecakes.Properones,notthepacketsort.’‘Well,goodforyou.IwishmyLisawouldgetinterestedincookery.You’rea

strange girl, Charlie. You’ve always seemed such a tomboy. I never thoughtyou’dgetkeenoncake-making.Still,you’reallgettingolder. It’sonlynaturalyou’rechanging.’‘I’mnotchanging,’Isaidquickly.‘What’s thatsaying?“Toooldfor toysbut tooyoungforboys.”Thoughmy

Lisa has certainly started on boys already. It’s Dave this and Dave that untilwe’resickofthesoundofhim!Whichboydoyoulike,Charlie?’‘Noneofthem,’Isaidfirmly.‘Giveitanothersixmonths,’saidLisa’smum,smilingatme.Ihadtostaypolitebecauseshe’djustlentmethecookerybookbutwhenIgot

hometoJoImoanedlikeanything.‘She’s treatingme like I’m retarded or something,’ I said. ‘Like I still play

withmyBarbiedolls.’‘What’swrongwithBarbiedolls?’saidJo.Sheused to buyme lots ofBarbieswith all their different outfits andwe’d

dressthemupanddrivethemroundintheirCadillacandtakethemtothediscoand make them bop up and down on their tiny high heels. I think Jo likedplayingBarbiegamesjustasmuchasIdid.Ifnotmore.Iwantedtochuckallmineoutagesagobutshewouldn’tletme.‘Storetheminadrawerandkeepthemforyourdaughter,’shesaid.Sothey’restored.Itookoffalltheirglitzylittleoutfitsandlaidthemontheir

backs inmyunderweardrawerandcovered themwithbitsofoldpillowcase,playingonelastritualgamewiththem.Mortuaries.Jogottotallyunnervedwhensheopenedthedrawerlookingforsparesocks.

‘Haveyoucometoviewthecorpses?’Isaid.

‘Youareaseriouslyweirdchild.’‘It’scomingfromasingle-parentfamily,’Isaid.‘I’mseriouslydeprived.It’s

nowonderI’mweird.’Iwasonly jokingof course. I like beinga select familyof two. Joandme.

Andthat’sthewayit’salwaysgoingtobe.

TOYSANDBOOKS

I cannotbelieve the toys the childrenhavehere!Victorhas adappled rockinghorseasbigastheoldponyinthefieldbehindourcottageathome.It’ssuchasplendid creature,with a curlymane and a long tail of real horse’s hair, a redsaddleandreinsandgreatgreenrockers.LouisabegsandbegsVictortolethertake a turn but hewill rarely agree.Oncewhen the childrenwere downstairswiththeMistressIstoodstaringattherockinghorse.BeforeIknewwhatIwasdoingIhadhitchedmyskirtsabovemykneesandclamberedintothesaddle.Ifingeredthecurlymaneandstrokedthesmoothshiningwood,andthenIdaredleanforwardandrockonce,twice,threetimes.TherockerscreakedandIdidnotdarepersistincasetheycouldhearmedownbelow.

Louisa’schinadollseemedtowatchwithherblueglasseyes.Herpaintedredlipswereopenasifshemighttell.ButImustnotbefanciful.Sheisonlyadoll.But a beautiful doll all the same, with golden ringlets and three sets of fineclothes. She even has little lacemittens for her tiny china fingers, imagine! Ihavehad tohelpLouisaonandoffwith those clothes, stripping thedoll rightdown to her white silk drawers. She has three petticoats, two silk and oneflannel,andwhitecottonstockingsandlittlesoftkidshoes,threepairs,inblackandgreyandpinkforparties.Threepairsofshoesforadoll thatcannotwalk.RoseandJessieandIhaveneverhadsoftshoes.We’drunaroundbarefootinthesummerandplodinouroldbootsthroughoutthewinter.HowRoseandJessiewould love Louisa’s dolls, and the dolls’ house with all the furniture – littlechairs and tables, a four-poster bed no less, and even a miniature mop andmangleinthescullery!

We had our own halfpenny dolls at home, one each in our Christmasstockings, andwe’d sew them little dresses andmake them a home in an oldwooden crate, the same crate that was once our Frank’s boat and carriage.Sometimes IgavebabyAda-Maya ride in thatoldcrateandshecrowedwithdelight...

Oh,how ImissherHow ImissRose and Jessie. I evenmissFrank. ImissdearMothermost of all. Iwrite to her once aweek, unburdeningmyheart. IhopeRosereadsmylettersproperlytoMother.Shecanreadwellenoughwhenshewants,butshehurriessooverthewords.Motherwaskeptathomeasachildtomindherownyoungbrothersandsisterssosheneverlearnttoread.SheusedtomarvelafterIwenttothevillageschoolandlearnttospelloutwords.

MissWorthbeckletmereadaloudtothechildrenonFridayafternoonsfromwonderfulstorybooks,AliceandTheWaterBabiesandsomeofMrDickens’sbooks.IdonotwishtoboastbutsheoncesaidIhadShiningIntelligence.MyShiningIntelligenceistarnishingrapidlynowIamanurserymaid.

FAMILY

ItwasGrandmaandGrandpa’sPearlWeddinganniversaryinacoupleofweeks.‘We’renothavingaparty,’saidGrandma.‘That’snotourway.’Shespokeas

ifpartieswereincrediblyvulgar,onaparwithnakedmudwrestlinginpigsties.‘We thoughtwe’d like to celebrate theoccasionwith a specialSunday lunch.’Shepaused.‘Justforthefamily.’ShemeantJoandme.Onceshewasoffthephonewemoanedandgroaned,

tryingtothinkupwildexcusestogetoutofit.Wedon’tlikegoingtoGrandmaandGrandpa’satthebestoftimes.‘And thiswill be theworst,’ said Jo. ‘They’ll talk about theirwedding and

theiranniversaries,allthirtyofthem.Grandmawillfiddlewithherweddingandengagementandeternityrings.Shemightevengetouttheirweddingalbum.Ohhelp, shemight even delve in the trunk upstairs and come outwith this trulyhorribleyellowy-white laceveilandthenhervoicewillgoallshakywhenshesaysshekeptitspeciallyformetowearatmywedding.Andthenshe’llstopandsighbecauseIdidn’teverhaveawedding.Watchout,Charlie.She’llbesavingitforyounow.’‘I’mnotgoingtogetmarried!’Iinsisted.‘I’mgoingtostayherewithyou.I

lookoldformyageandyoulookyoungsobythetimeI’mgrownupwe’lljustbe like two sisters. I’ll be earning too so it’ll be easy-peasy, simple-pimplepayingthatoldmortgage.’‘Iwish!’saidJo.Wedidn’t have any spare cash forPearlWeddingpresents sowehad to be

inventive.Joboughtahalf-pricedroopypotplantandfedandwateredituntilitstood up straight and grew new glossy leaves. She bought some pearl-whiteribbonandthentiedthirtytinybowsalloverit.‘There?Doyouthinkit’lldo?’shesaid,tyingtheverylastbow.‘Itlookslovely.’‘It’snowherenearasimpressiveasyourcake.’

Yes, I’d made Grandma and Grandpa a proper cake! I used Lisa’s mum’srecipe book. I couldn’t do a fruit cake because the ingredients were tooexpensive. I just did a sponge.Well, I did three sponges if youmust know. Ididn’tquitegetthehangofitthefirsttimeandfailedtorealizeyouhadtomixitalllikecrazyuntilyourarmpracticallyfallsoff.TherewasjustthissurlysulkycrustatthebottomofthetinwhenItookitoutoftheoven.Thesecondgowasbetter,butIwastooeager,openingtheovendooracoupleoftimestoseehowitwasgettingon.Itdidn’triseproperlyandsoIleftitinlongerandthenitgotabit burnt. I cut off the burnt bits andmade it into a trifle, but even so, IwasstartingtothinkIwassquanderingmoneyinsteadofsavingit.JosaidIshouldhaveonemoregoandthistimeitwasthirdtimelucky.Myspongewasperfect.NowIcouldgetstartedonthebestbit.Icovereditwithapricotglazetostop

any crumbs gettingmixed upwith the icing. Then I pipedHappy Aniversaryacrossthetopoftheicingandmadelittlerosettesallthewayroundandstuddeditwith tinypearlyballs. It tookagesbut Iwassoproudwhen I’d finished. JolookedworriedwhenIshoweditofftoher.

‘What?’‘It’sbeautiful,’shesaid.‘They’llloveit.’Ha! They didn’t love it. Or Jo’s plant. Grandpa nodded and said, ‘How

delightful.Thankyousomuch.Howthoughtfulofyou.Butyoureallyshouldn’thave.’ThatsoundsOKdownonpaper.Butmygrandpaspeaksinthisslowserious

voicewithhardlyanyexpression.Hedoesn’tgoWow!orhugorkiss.Ifheevertouchesmeaccidentallyhewipeshishandsonhishankieafterwards,asifI’msticky.

Grandmausesenoughexpressionfortwo.‘Oh,darlings,weweren’texpectingpresents. Especially in your current circumstances. Josephine, I’ve been veryworriedaboutyournewjob,you’vehardlytoldmeanythingaboutit.’‘LookatthecakeCharlie’smadeyou.Shediditallherself.Ittookherages,’

saidJo.‘Yes,it’slovely,dear.Yumyum.We’llallhaveaslicefortea.’ButGrandma

sighed.‘Whatapity!’‘What?’Isaid.‘I can’twait to sample this cake,’ said Jo quickly. Shewas sending signals

withhereyebrowstoGrandma.Grandmaignoredthem.‘It’ssuchashameyouleftoutthe“n”,dear.’I’dleftoutoneofthe‘n’sinAnniversary.EventhoughIknewhowtospellit.

Icouldn’tstandit.I’dthoughtitreallywasperfect.

‘Asifthatmatters,’Josaid,furiouswithGrandmaforpointingitout.‘Well, as amatter of fact, Ido think spellingmatters although I know they

don’tpaymuchattention to it in schoolnowadays,’ saidGrandma,puttingmycakeonherkitchentable.Shetookthepotplanttothesink.‘Itdoesn’tneedwateringyet.Ididityesterday,’saidJo.‘Ijustwanttoperkitupalittle,’saidGrandma.Sheshouldhavewatered Joandme.Wewerevisiblydrooping. I cannever

work out if Grandma knows what she’s doing. She’s certainly an expert atchewingyouupandspittingyououtintinypieces.NowonderittookJomonthsandmonthsbeforeshedaredtellthemshewasgoingtohaveme.Grandma andGrandpa still treat her like a schoolgirl in disgrace.Grandma

kept on and on about her old job while she put the vegetables on to cook,proddingJoassharplyasthepotatoes.Joliedalotbutshe’snotasgoodatitasme.Grandmadidn’tevenshutupwhenwestartedeating.‘Whatdoyoumean,Josephine?Whatdoesthisnewsupermarketjobentail?’

Grandma attacked her grapefruit, jabbing at it with a serrated spoon. ‘You’rebeingdeliberatelyevasive.Areyousureyou’renotworkingasacashieronthetills?’Jo suddenly flung down her own spoon, going as red as the glacé cherries

Grandmausedfordecoration.‘Iamnotacashier,’shesaid.‘Iamacleaneratthe

supermarket.Sonowyouknow.’Grandma sputtered like the hot fat cooking her roast beef. She gave Jo a

roastingallthewhilewechewedonourmeat.ShetoldJoitwasn’tasuitablejobwhen she’d been amanager for nearly a year, as if Jo had deliberately turneddown umpteen other manager’s jobs just to be contrary. She told Jo she wasbeing an irresponsiblemother goingout early in themorning and leavingme,andthatmademesomadIhadtoputinmytwo-pennyworth.‘Ithinkyou’rebeingtheirresponsiblemothertoJo,tellingheroffandbeing

sohorriblewhenJo’striedsohardtosortthingsout.Ithinkshe’swonderfultogetupsoearlyandtrudgeofflikethat.I’mOK,I’mstillinmybed.JohastogetupearlyeverysinglemorningexceptSunday,andsheshouldbehavingalovelylonglie-in today,butshecouldn’t,becausewehadtoget the trainandthebusright over to your place to wish you a HappyAnniversary – two ‘n’s – onlyyou’rejustmuckingitallup.’Theywereallstaringatme.‘That’squiteenough,younglady!’saidGrandma.

‘You’renotmymothersoyoucan’ttellmeoff,’Isaid.‘Jo?Doyouwantmetoshutup?’‘Yes!’saidJo.‘Comeon,Charlie,we’dbettergohome.’‘Now don’t be ridiculous. We haven’t even started on pudding yet,’ said

Grandma.‘Why don’t you all do a lot more chewing and a lot less yapping,’ said

Grandpa,calmlyworkinghiswaythroughhissecondhelpingofroastbeef.Sowesatstillandno-onesaidanything.JoandIleftalotonourplates.So

didGrandma.ButGrandpadidn’tevenleaveaglistenofgravy.Ididn’t thinkI’dbeable toeatpudding.Itwaspineappleupside-downcake

and my own stomach felt upside-down too. But I tried a tiny bit and it wasactuallygood,soIateabitmore,andthenabitmorestill,untilI’dfinisheditallup.Grandpanoddedinapproval.Hefinishedhislastmouthfultoo.‘Nowthatyou’veallcalmeddown,perhapsweoughttodiscussyourfinancial

situation,Josephine,’hesaid.Iwantedtotellhimitwasnoneofhisbusiness.ButevenIdidn’tquitedare

cheekGrandpa.Jostammeredalittleasshetoldhimthatweweremanaging,andshe’dsorted

thingsoutwiththebuildingsocietytogiveusalittleleeway,andshedidn’tjusthavetheonejob,shehadthree,andshewasstilllookingforanothersupervisorypositionall the time.Shesaid itallas ifhewasgivingheraformal interview.Grandpanodded,occasionallyeasingthecollarofhisshirtwhereit rubbedhisneck.Heneverwearscasualclothes,notevenatweekends.Icouldn’tremotelyimagine him in something like a T-shirt. I can’t even picture him in hisunderwear. I don’t think Grandpa has an ordinary body at all, he’s just hardsmoothplasticunderneathlikeaKendoll.

Grandmawanted to know all about the other cleaning jobs. She raised hereyebrowsandlookedpainedwhenJotoldherabouttheOxfordTerracejob,butshe actually leant forward and looked interestedwhen she heard aboutRobin,thelittleboyJopicksupfromschool.‘Sowhat’shisfatherlike?’saidGrandma,suddenlyallears.Icouldactually

seethemgettingpinkunderneathherneatgreycurls.Isighedandfloppedbackinmychair.ThiswassotypicalGrandma.Shecan’t

even get it into her head that Jo likes being a singlemum and isn’t remotelyinterestedinmeetinganymen.GrandmausedtokeeptryingtointroduceJotoall these creeps, and she naggedher to join aSingles club and she even onceadvertisedJoinaLonelyHeartscolumn.Shedid,Ikidyounot.ShethinksifshecanonlygetJomarriedoffthenshewon’thavetobeashamedofusanymore.I waggledmy eyebrows at Jo, expecting her to wink back. But shewasn’t

lookingatme.Shewasn’tlookingatanyone.ShewasstaringattheshinyyellowpuddingonherplateasifRobin’sfatherwasreflectedthere.‘He’sverynice,’shesaid.Hertonewasbrisk–butsheblushed.Istaredather.Grandmawasstaringtoo.‘Verynice?’saidGrandmaimpatiently.‘What sort of very nice? What job does he do? What does he look like?

What’shappenedtotheboy’smother?’

‘He’sverynice–whatmorecanIsay?’saidJo.‘He’ssomethingintheCivilService.’‘Whichgrade?’saidGrandma.‘AsifIknow!’‘Ishegoodlooking?’‘Isupposeso.Inakindoflean,lostsortofway,’saidJo.‘Mmm!’saidGrandma.‘Andisheawidower?’‘No.Hiswifelefthim.ShehadcustodyofRobinatfirst,buthedidn’tgeton

withtheboyfriend,sonowhe’sbackwithhisdad.’‘AndDaddoesn’thaveagirlfriend?’‘No.Well.Hecouldhave.Buthehasn’tmentionedone,’saidJo.‘She’sjusthiscleaner,’Isaidcrossly.‘Shedoesn’thaveanythingtodowith

him,doyou,Jo?’‘No.That’sright.Yes,’saidJo,soundingmuddled.Ifrownedather.Whatwassheonabout?Andwhydidshehavethatstupid

littlesmileonherface?Isuddenlygotterriblyanxious.Whatwasgoingon?Johadn’tever saidanythingabout thisman tome.Well.She’d saidhewas

nice.Verynice.Butthat’ssuchalimpnothingsortofcommentthatIdidn’tevennoticeitatthetime.I didn’t have a cluewhat hewas really like. I’d nevermet him. I hadmet

Robin.ItwaseasierforJotobringhimroundtoourplaceaftershe’dmethimfromschool.‘It’ssoIcanbehereforyoutoo,Charlie.Wecanallhaveasnacktogether,’

saidJo.‘ThenIcantakehimhomeanddoaspotofcleaningbeforehisdadgetsback.’Iwasn’tatallkeenonthisidea,butIcouldn’treallyobjectmuchtoRobin.He

wasn’t likeanordinaryboyoffiveatall.Hewasvery little,witha long thickfringeandhugedarkeyesinawhiteface.Hegnawednervouslyathisbottomlipall the time, andhe trembled for the first fewvisits.Hewas likeoneof thosesmallfurrynocturnalcreaturesyouseeinthezoo,hunchedatthebottomoftheircage.

Hecertainlydidn’trunamok,messingupallmythings.Hesatwherehewasput,pickinganxiouslyatthescabsonhisbonybareknees,goingnibblenibblenibble at his lips. Jo brought himbooks and he looked at themobediently. JofoundhimpaperandcrayonsandhedrewneatsquarehouseswithamummyononesideandadaddyontheotherandaverytinyRobininthemiddle,underthehouse.Hewasn’tanygoodatperspectivesoitlookedasifthehousewasfallingonhim,abouttocrushhimcompletely.Ormaybethatwasreallyhowhewantedittolook,Idon’tknow.Iaskedhimbuthewouldn’ttalkproperly.He’djustnodifIsaid,‘Isthisyourmum?’

I’d only got him going once. I noticed he had a little pocket in his schoolsweatshirt thathepattedeverynowandthen.I thoughthewascheckinguponhishandkerchief.Robinwas thesortof littleboywhoalwaysbreathesheavilyand has a runny nose. He kept sniffling one afternoon so I told him rathersharplytousehishandkerchief.Helookedstricken.Hedidn’tmove.‘Yourhankie!Yournoseisrunning.Yuck!’Isaid.He shrivelled away from me, practically going inside the neck of his

sweatshirt.‘Stopnagginghim,Charlie.Here,we’vegot some tissues somewhere,’ said

Jo.‘Butlook,he’sgothishankiewithhim,’Isaid,puttingmyhandinhispocket

andpullingsomethingout.Itwasn’tahankie.Itwasalittlefluffytoy.‘That’smine!Givehimback!’saidRobin,andhedartedforward,grabbing.‘Hey,OK!Don’tgetinsuchaflap.Here’syourlittletoy.Whatisit?’Isaid,

peering.Robinheldittightagainsthischest.

‘Ishe shy,your little animal?’ I said. ‘Ohyes,he is, isn’the?Sorry.Didn’tmean to frighten him.He’s looking atmewith one big beady eye. I think hereally wants to make friends. Are you going to get him to say hello to me,Robin?’Robindidn’t seemsure.He fidgeted,notmeetingmyeyes–buthe seemed

almosttobejoininginthegame.‘Hello,littleshyanimal,’IsaidintoRobin’sclaspedhands.‘He’snotananimal,’saidRobin.‘He’sabird.He’sBirdie.’BirdieedgedhisbeakintotheairsothatIcouldsee.‘Oh,soheis!Hello,Birdie.Canyoufly?’Isaid.Robinnodded,andmadeBirdienodtoo.‘Idon’tbelieveyou,’Isaid.‘Hecan!’saidRobin,andBirdie’sbeakwentupanddown.

‘No.I’msurehecan’tpossiblyfly,’Isaid.‘Yes,hecan,I’llshowyou,’saidRobin, andheunclenchedhis fist so thatBirdie’swoollenwings flapped free.Robin stoodupand skipped round thekitchen,makinghis armswoopupanddown.Birdieflewalongwithhim.Hehadtwoblackbeadeyes,ayellowbeak,and big brown wings, carefully scalloped at the edge. He wore a bright-redknittedwaistcoat.

‘Igetit!Birdie’saRobin,likeyou,’Isaid.Robinnoddedhappily,andBirdieflewfaster.‘Didyourmummakehimforyou?’Isaidwithoutthinking.Robinstopped.Birdielostheightrapidlyandlanded.Jofrownedatmefrom

acrossthekitchen.Robinwentandsatonachairwithoutsayinganotherword.Ididn’t know whether his mum had made Birdie or not. ‘I’m sorry, Robin,’ Imuttered.

Iwonderedwhatitwouldfeellikeifyourmumdidn’treallywantyou.Iknewwhat it felt like not to have a dad, but then that was OK. I didn’t want one.Certainly not one likemine.When Iwas really little, younger thanRobin, Joused to tell me all these fairy tales about a lovely daddywhowas so sad hecouldn’t see me, but I soon twigged she wasn’t telling the truth. I asked herstraightandsoshetoldmestraight.MydadwasJo’sfirstboyfriend.Shelovedhimlikecrazybuthewasneversokeenonher.Thenwhenshefoundoutshewas going to haveme she told him and he didn’twant to know. ‘That’s yourproblem,’hesaid.I’vebeenJo’s‘problem’eversincebutwemanagejustfine.Robin doesn’t look like he’smanaging verywell, even if he’s still got this

verynicedad.Ifheisverynice.Idon’tlikethesoundofhim.

FAMILY

ItisourJessie’sbirthdaytoday.Sheisfiveyearsold,quitethelittlelady.Ihavebeenfrettingoverwhat tosendherforabirthdaypresent.Louisahassomanydiscardedtoysinhertrunk.There’salittlechinatea-setourJessiewouldadore.Louisa packed it away so carelessly all the little teacups fell out of theircardboardsettingandthelidofthesugarpotseemstobelostforever:‘Idon’tcareaboutthatoldtea-set,notnowIhavemynewwillow-patternset,’

saidLouisa.IverynearlyaskedherifIcouldhaveitformylittlesisterLouisamighthave

said yes, but I didn’t think theMistress would like it. There are manymanymanythingstheMistressdoesn’tlike!IdidnotrisktakingsomuchasonetinyteacupforJessie’spresent.Icutup

oneofmyoldblackstockings thathadwornaway toholesandsatupsewinghalf the night, turning it into a little toymonkey like the one that sits on theorgan-grinder’sshoulderIwantedtogivehimalittlejacketandcaptoo,soIcutasquareoutofmyredflannelpetticoat.Itwillnotshow,afterall.Themonkeylookedsplendidinhisfineredclothes.MyeyeswereredtoothenextdayfromsewingbycandlelightandIwasdesperatelytired,butIdidnotcareforonce.Iwrappedthemonkeyinapieceoflastweek’snewspaperandtieditwithstringand inked theaddress really largeandclearupon thefrontandposted itoff inplentyoftime.

IfelthappyforthefirsttimesinceIhavebeenworkinghere.ButnowIfeelsad,becauseIcannotseeJessieopeningherpresent.Icannotgiveherabirthdaykiss.IamsoscaredJessiemightforgetallaboutmeasIcanonlygohomeonedayayear,onMotheringSunday.BabyAda-Maywillthinkmeatotalstranger.Itmakesmyheartbreak.TheMistresscameintothenurseryunexpectedlyandfoundmeweepingwith

myheadinthewardrobe.

‘WhateveristhematterCharlotte?’shesaid.‘Youarenotill,areyou?’‘No,Madam.’‘Thenwhyareyoucrying?MakehastewithMissLouisa’sdress,orthechild

willgetachill.’‘Yes,Madam.Sorry,Madam.I’mjustsadbecauseImissmyfamilyso.’

‘Youarepartofthisfamilynow,’saidtheMistress.Shesaiditasifsheweregrantingmeanimmenseprivilege.ButIdonotcare

forthisfamily.HowcanIbepartofitwhenIcanneveranswerbackorsaywhatIreallythink?HowcanIfeelreallyclosetothesechildrenwhenIhavetocallthemMissandMaster?Ihavetolookafterthemallthetimebutthereisno-onetolookafterme.

COURTSHIP

‘Ilooksuchamess,’Jowailed.‘You look fine,’ I said. Though she didn’t. She had two spots and her hair

neededwashingandhersweaterhadshrunkandherleggingswereallbaggyattheknee.

‘I’mgoingtohavetochange,’saidJo,divingintothebedroom.‘KeepaneyeonRobinforme.’Ifrownedafterher.Iwentandfetchedadrawingpadandfelttippens.Iput

theminfrontofRobinonthekitchentable.‘Right.Youcandoadrawingwithmyownpersonalsetofsuperfelttippens

–solongasyoupromisenottopresstoohardonthepoints,OK?’‘OK,’saidRobineagerly,becauseIdidn’toftenlethimborrowthem.Hewas

usedtomakingdowithhisownlittle-boywaxcrayons.Hepickedupthered,readytodrawhisusualneatsquarehouse.‘Don’tdrawanyofthatboringoldhouseandmummyanddaddystuff.Why

don’tyoupretendBirdie’sgrownginormousandyougetonhisbackandyoubothflyawaytoaMagicLandwhereanythingcanhappen.Drawthat.’Robinblinkedatmedoubtfully.‘Goon,’Isaid,givinghimalittlenudge.‘I’mjustgoingtogoandhaveatalk

withmymother,OK?Donotdisturbusunlessit’sadireemergencylikeyou’vebeen seizedwith an uncontrollable desire to stick two felt tips simultaneouslyintoyoureyesandyouneedimmediatemedicalattention.’Robinnibbledhislip,glancingnervouslyatthetinoffelttipsasiftheymight

spontaneouslyattackhim.I sighed andmarched into the bedroom. Jo had pulled off her old cleaning

clothes andwas standing in her underwear,making faces at her clothes in the

wardrobe.‘Yuck,’ shesaid. ‘They’realloldandgrottyand rubbish.’Shescratchedher

head. ‘Double yuck. So am I. I’vegot towashmy hair. I was going to do ityesterdaybutIwassobloomingtiredandthentherewasn’ttimetodomorethansplash my face this morning. Oh God, I think I’ll climb into the washingmachineattheRosens’tomorrowmorningandgivemyselfagoodsoaping...’Shewent burbling on like this, to herself rather thanme, as shemade for thebathroom in her knickers, remembered Robin, went back for her tatty olddressinggown, and then strippedoff and stepped into thebath. ‘Doyou thinkwe’lleverhaveenoughsparecashtohaveashowerinstalled?’sheshoutedovertheroaringtaps.‘PassusthatSnoopymug,Charlie–andtheshampoo.Whatisit,eh?‘CauseI’minatearinghurry.’‘Whyareyoufussingaboutwhatyoulooklike?’Isaid,sittingontheloo.‘What?’Josaid,tippingwateroverherhead.‘Whyareyouwashingyourhairnow?’‘Oh,forgoodness’sake.Myhair’salllankanddisgusting,that’swhy,’saidJo,

exasperated.Shelatheredshampooinandthenwipedthebathroommirrorclearofsteamandlookedatherself.‘Lookatme.Spotsallovertheplace.Andhugegreatbagsundermyeyes.It’snotfair.IthoughtallthishardworkwouldmakemesuperfitattheveryleastandyetIlookawreck.’

‘Whydoesitmattersomuch?’Isaidsternly.‘Ofcourseitmatters,’Josnapped,rinsing.‘Ihaven’tquitegivenuponmyself

yet.Idon’twanttogoroundlookingsodirtyanddisgustingthatpeopleinthestreetsrunawayfrommescreaming.’‘Youdon’tmindwhatyou look likewhenyougoout to thesupermarket,’ I

said.‘Wellatthattimemostpeoplehavetheireyestightlyclosed–eventheones

thatareup,’saidJo,sluicingmorewateroverherselfandthengettingup.‘Passusthattowelandstopbeingsostupid.’‘You’re the one that’s being stupid inmy opinion,’ I said. ‘You don’t care

what you look likewhen you go to theRosens’ either, you justwear any oldgungything.Youdon’tcarewhatyoulooklikewhenyougoandcollectRobin

fromschoolandbringhimbackhere.Butsuddenly,whenit’stimetotakehimhometohisdad,it’sflapandfussandyougettingworkedupintoarightflap-doodle.’‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’reonabout,’saidJo,towellingherselfdry.‘Yesyoudo.What’sthematterwithyou,Jo?Whyareyoutryingtoimpress

thatwimpylittlekid’sfather,eh?’‘I’m not. I justwant him to see he’s got a competent and reasonably clean

personlookingafterhisson.Stoplookingsofierce,Charlie.’‘Butyoulikehim,don’tyou?’Iasked.‘Idon’tevenknowhimproperly.He’sjustmyemployer.’‘You’renotgoingtodoanythingreallygrossandgooutwithhim,areyou?’I

said.‘Oooh,now,that’sagreatidea,’saidJo.‘AndyouandyourJamiecouldcome

tooonadoubledate,howaboutthat?’‘Youshutupteasingme.I’mserious!’Isaid.‘I’mhavinggravedoubtsabout

you,LoopyMum.Wedon’t likemen,remember?Especially theleanlostones.Honestly!Whatadescription.Youareafool.’‘Don’t you tell me I’m a fool. I’m your mother!’ said Jo, trying to act all

dignified.‘NowgoandkeepaneyeonpoorlittleRobinandstopbuggingme.Doasyou’retold!’‘Who’sgoingtomakeme?Youandwhosearmy?’Isaid,standingmyground.‘Go!’saidJo,givingmeapush.‘No!’Isaid,givingherapushback.‘YoudoasIsay,’saidJo,pushingwithbothhands.‘Idon’twantto,’Isaid,pushingback.WewentonpushingandshovingandJo’stowelfelloffandshetriedtograbit

andIsnatcheditfirstandslippedonthebathmatandJofellontopofmeandwerolledaround,startingtogiggleaswewrestled.‘Oh!’saidalittlevoice.

WelookedupandtherewasRobinat thebathroomdoor,hismouthopeninastonishment.‘Sorry,Robin!’saidJo,grabbingthetowelbackandwrappingitroundherself.

‘Areyoufighting?’Robinenquiredtimidly.‘Yes,’Isaid.‘No,ofcoursewe’renot,’saidJo.‘TakenonoticeofCharlie,Robin.She’sa

wildchild,totallyoutofmycontrol.’‘Grrrrrr!’Isaid,baringmyteethdramatically.‘Willshefightme?’Robinasked.‘No,ofcourseshewon’t,she’sonlyteasing,’saidJo.‘Yes, I will,’ I said, and I swooped on him and picked him up under his

armpitsandswunghimroundwildlysothathisspindlylegskickedintheair.Hesquealednoisilybutheseemedtobeenjoyingit.

‘Stop being so rough with him,’ Jo called, pulling on her clothes in thebedroom.‘Isheleanandlostlikehisdaddythen?’Isaid,settingRobinbackonhisfeet.

His facewas flushed robin red,his eyesdarkwith excitement.He tooka stepandstaggered.Icaughtholdofhim.‘It’sOK,you’rejustgiddy,’Isaidasheclungtome.Hishandswerelikelittle

monkey paws. I wondered if he’d ever clung to his mum the way he wasclingingtome.‘Giddy,’Robin repeated.Thiswas obviously a new experience for him.He

movedtentatively.‘There,it’sgettingbetter,isn’tit?Hey,didyouputallthetopsbackonmyfelt

tippens,yeah?’‘Ohyes.Honest,’saidRobin.‘Didyoudoadrawing?’‘Istarted.’‘Let’sseethen.’Iwalkedhimovertothekitchentable.He’ddrawnaverybig

BirdieasI’dsuggested,withatinyRobinclingingtohisback.TheywerejustlandingintheMagicLand,Birdie’swingsoutstretched.

I touched the strip of green below Birdie’s claws. ‘Is this theMagic Landthen?’Iasked.Robinnodded.‘Yes!ShallIdrawitforyou,Charlie?’‘OK.Goonthen.What’sinyourMagicLand,eh?Pinkcandy-flosstreesand

rivers with tame dolphins and unicorns you can ride and it’s never everbedtime?’Isuggested,tryingtoconjureupadinkylittleMagicLandthatmighttakehisfancy.Jo and I elaborated endlessly on our ownMagic Lands. It was one of our

favouritegames.Jo’scurrentMagicLandwasahugeturquoiseswimmingpooland she’d float endlessly on awhite lilo sipping champagne and eatingwhitecreamchocolatesalldaylong.MyspecialMagicLandwasanimmensejungleand I’d hack my way through, not the ‘slightest bit scared even when hugepythonswound themselves roundmywaistor tigers roaredatmeorelephantssuddenly charged. I’d whistle a magic tune so that the python swayed in ahypnotic trance, I’d roar right back at the tiger, and I’d catch hold of theelephant’strunkandgethimtoliftmeuponhisheadbetweenhismightyearsandwe’dthunderacrossthelandtogether.

I starteddrawingmyownMagicLand, concentratingon the immensely talltrees, home of great gorillas and hairy orang-utans and tribes of funny furrymonkeys, and IwasQueenof all theApesand swung through the trees fasterthananyofthem.

‘Look,thisismyMagicLand.Seethemonkeys?’Isaid,showingRobin.Hewaskneelinguponhischair,drawingintently,histonguestickingouthe

wasconcentratingsohard.Ipeeredathispicture.‘That’snotaMagicLand!’ I said. ‘You’re justdrawingyourmumandyour

dadagain.’‘Yes, they’re inmyMagicLand, andwe all live there and it’smagic,’ said

Robin.Hebenthisheadverynearhisdrawing,asifhewastryingtostepinsideit.‘It’snearlytimewewereoff,Robin.We’llshowDaddyyourlovelypicture,

yes?’saidJo.Thatwasn’t all theywere going to show off toDaddy. Jowaswearing her

shortestskirtandherlittleangorawooljumper.IusuallycallherFluffyBunnywhenshewearsit.Ididn’tatallfeellikeflatteringherwithbabyishnicknamesnow. What was she doing, getting all dolled up to deliver little Robin backhome?Shewassupposedtodosomehouseworkwhenshewastheretoo,sowhydressuplikeshewasgoingdating,notdusting?

‘What?’saidJo,allwide-eyed,asIglaredather.‘Youknowwhat,’Isaid.Shewas hours getting back home too.Well, an hour late. Just over half an

hour.Butshewasstilllate.‘Whatareyouplayingat,eh?’Isaidfuriously.Joburstoutlaughing.

‘It’snotfunny!’Iexploded.‘Yesitis.Talkaboutrolereversal.Watchit,Charlie.You’restartingtosound

justlikeGrandma.“Whyareyousolateback,Josephine?Thissimplyisn’tgoodenough.Andwipethatsmirkoffyourface,it’snotfunny.”’‘Well,maybeifyou’dlistenedtoGrandmainsteadofthinkingyouknewbest

thenyouwouldn’thaveendedupasasingleparenthavingtogooutcleaningforotherpeopletokeeparoofoverourheads,’Isaid.Therewas a sudden silence.Wewere both shocked. Jo’s neverminded if I

shoutbackatherbutI’venevertriedtohurtherlikethatbefore.Iputmyhandovermylipstotrytogetthemundercontrol.

Jowasstrugglingtoo,nolongerlaughing.‘OK.Maybethat’sagoodpoint–ifacheapone.ThoughI’mgladImadethatmajormistakebecauseIgotyououtofit.Andyou’rethebestthingthat’severhappenedtome,evenifyou’reactinglikearightoldratbagatthispresentmomentintime,’saidJo.‘I’msorryifyouwereworriedIwaslate.Ididn’trealize.MarkandIjustgottalkingand—’‘Soit’sMark,isit?’‘Ohcomeoffit,Charlie.He’snotthesortofmanyoucallMrReed.’‘No,he’sthelittle-boy-losttype,yeah?’‘I don’t knowwhyyou’re being so stupid,’ said Jo. ‘You’re acting like I’m

goingoutwithhimorsomething.’‘Well–don’tyouwantto?’‘Ofcoursenot.He’smyemployer.He’sanicequietfriendlymanwhoadores

hissonandhe’sstillhurtingafter thebreakupofhismarriageandhe’s lonelyandhejustlikestotalkabit,that’sall.And–and–Iliketotalktohimtoo.’‘Why?You’renotlonely.You’vegotme.’Jo looked as if shemight giggle again. ‘You’re sounding likemy husband

now!’‘Well,whydoyouhavetogetallprettiedupinyourbestclothesjusttotalkto

thisMark?’‘Definitelylikeahusband.Oh,Charlie!’Joputherarmsroundme,herangora

ticklingmycheeks.‘Getoff.You’regettingfluffalloverme,’Isaid,sneezing.

‘Well,stopbeingsuchaprizeberk,eh?Look, if itkeepsyouhappyI’ll tellMark tomorrow that I’m not allowed to say another word to him because itannoysmyfiercebossyman-hatingdaughter.’‘Right,youdothat,’Isaid.IknewIwasbeingridiculous.ButIcouldn’thelpit.

Iwasfedupatschooltoo.AngelaandLisawerebeingstupidstupidstupid.AngelahadjoinedthisdippyfanclubandhadaspecialmagazineandasignedphotoofhernewfavouritesandaT-shirtwithalltheirheadsonwhichsheworeeverydayunderherschoolshirt.Sheendlesslyreadaloudthemostamazinglytrivial facts about her new darlings, like one had a thing about red-and-whitestripedtoothpasteandanotherhadawackyScottishauntieandanotherfellaboutlaughing every time he saw Bugs Bunny.Well, so what??? But Angela keptgivinggreatexcitedwhoopsandyelling,‘Listentothis,listentothis!’Lisawasgettingprettycheesedoffwiththistoo,butshewasjustasbadover

DaveWood.Worseeven.Shewentbrightredwheneverhecameremotelynearher,andwhenonedayinsingingthemusicteacherhadherstandingrightnexttoDave,Lisawassoovercomeshecouldn’tsinganote,shejustopenedandshuthermouthlikeagoldfish.‘I was so embarrassed,’ she kept saying afterwards. ‘I mean, we were

practicallytouching.’‘Yuck!Iwouldn’ttouchDaveWoodwithabargepole,’Isaid.‘Ohyou,’saidLisa.‘Look,doyouthinkDavelikesme?’‘Idon’tknow,’Isaidimpatiently.‘Whydon’tyouaskhim?’

‘Ican’taskhim!No,I’vegottofindsomesubtlewayoffindingout.’‘I’llaskhim,ifyoulike,’saidAngela,reachingdownherschoolblouseand

blowingkissestothefacesonherT-shirt.‘No,that’snotsubtleenough,’saidLisa.‘Angela,stopdoingthat,itlooksseriouslyweird,’Isaid.‘Andyou’retrying

tobe so subtle it’s justawasteof space.Nevermindwhether that twerp likesyou.Hemostlikelydoesn’thaveacluethatyoulikehim.’‘Well,Ican’ttellhimthat!’saidLisa.‘Whynot?ThoughhowyoucanlikehimIjustcan’tfathom.Ican’tstandthe

wayhishairflopsforwardintohiseyessothathehastokeepflippingitouttheway!’‘Ithinkthat’sseriouslycute,’saidLisa.‘Yuck!’‘Yes,doubleyuck,’saidAngela,givingmehope,butthenshestartedonabout

thehairstylesofallherpopdarlingsuntilIwasreadytotearoutmyhair.InfactIgotsoseriouslyboredthatIstalkedoffbymyself.Iwasfeelingsofedupthatwhensomestupidboyskickedtheirfootballand

hit me right on the head I found I had tears in my eyes. I blinked rapidly,horrified.Ineverevercriedatschool,nomatterwhat.EvenwhenIwasalittlekidrightbackinYearOneandsomebigboysgavemeaChineseburnIdidn’tcry.

‘Watchit,youstupididiots,’Isaid,andItooktheirfootballandthrewitasfarawayasIcould,rightoverbehindthebikesheds.‘Oh,yourottenpig,whydidyougoanddothat?’ theygroaned.‘What’sup

withyou,Cakehole? Just becauseyou’vehad a tiffwithyour little girlygangthere’snoneedtotakeitoutonus.’I responded with a very rude gesture. Miss Beckworth was on playground

duty. I hoped she hadn’t seen. I made off sharpish in the opposite direction,dodgingbehindthePortakabins.Jamie Edwards was sitting on the steps, head deep in a book. He looked

startledwhenhesawme–buthesmilednervously.‘YoustillreadingaboutthatEsther?’Isaid.‘I finished thatbookagesago. I readeversoquickly,’saidJamie,unable to

resistalittleboast.

‘Sowhatyoureadingnowthen,eh?’Ipeeredatthedenselyprintedpages.‘Itlooksevenworse.Eversohard.’‘EversoHardy,’saidJamie,chuckling,showingmethespine.‘TessoftheD’UrbervillesbyThomasHardy–oh,Igetyou,haha,verydroll.

Itsoundsawful!IsitFrenchwiththatfunnyname?’

‘No.It’sEnglish,aboutthisgirlTessandshegoestoworkonafarmandthismanhashiswickedwaywithher,’saidJamie,eyesgleaming.‘Oh,anotheroneofthose.Youareawful,Jamie.’‘Andit’seversosad,becauseTesshasababyandthenshefallsinloveagain

butitallgoeswrongandIknowit’snotgoingtohaveahappyending.’‘Oh, hang about! I’ve seen it on the telly, I think. There’s a bit about

Stonehengeattheend–IwatcheditwithJoandwebothweptbuckets.’‘IsJoyoursister?’‘No,mymum.’‘Andyou’reallowedtocallherbyherfirstname?’‘IcancallherwhateverIlike,’Isaid.I felt like inventingsomenewand incrediblynastynames forherbecause I

wasstillsoannoyedwithher.IkeptthinkingaboutherwiththiscreepMark.Ididn’tknowwhathelookedlike,soIimaginedhimlikeRobinbutbig.Atotalwimp.SowhywhywhydidJowanttoboundroundtohishouseinherbunnyjumperandtwitchhernoseathim?

‘AreyouplanningtogoroundtoLisa’sorAngela’sonFridaynight?’Josaidthatevening.

‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got a bit fed up with them recently,’ I saidgloomily,chuckingmyschoolcopyofVictorianLifeonthefloor.NoneofMissBeckworth’sbookswentintothesortofdetailIwanted.‘ImightjustgoroundtoJamie’s house because he keeps tellingme he’s got all these Victorian bookshe’lllendme.’‘Oh,roundtoJamie’shouse,eh?’saidJo.‘So?’Isaidfiercely.‘It’sjusttoborrowabook.’‘OK,OK.But if you stay for teaor anything, canhismumordad runyou

home?Ican’tcomeandfetchyoubecause...I’mbabysittingforRobin.’Istaredather.SoMarkwasgoingout?‘Who’sthisMarkgoingoutwith?’Iasked.Jo shrugged uneasily. ‘I don’t know.Look, he just asked if I could – could

comeroundandbabysit,soIsaidOK,butIwon’tbebacklate,andIcanalwayssaynoifit’snotallrightwithyou,Charlie.’‘It’sfinewithme,’Isaid.Itobviouslywasn’tfinewithJo.Ifeltabitsorryfor

her.ButIwasalsothrilledforme.Thewimphadgothimselfsomegirlfriendsohecouldn’tbeinterestedinJo.HejustwantedhertolookafterlittleRobin.OrsoIthought.Iwassostupid!Ididn’t twigatall.Not thatfirstFriday,oreventheFriday

after.IwassopleasedandrelievedIwasextranicetoJo.WehadawonderfulSunday,havingareallylonglieinandthenadozyhour

ortwosnuggledupinbedplayingMagicLandsandthen,whenweeventuallygotup, Imadeus special little fairy cakes. e ate themhotoutof theoven forbreakfast and then later when they’d cooled down I iced them pink and thenchangedtowhiteinmylittle icingbagandpipedfunnymessagesoverthem–HELLOandILIKEYOUandFUNNYFACE–likethoselittleloveheartsweets.

Itookthemtoschoolthenextmorning.TherewasalotofsillyteasingaboutCakeholemakingcakes–buteveryoneseemeddeadimpressedwhentheysawthem.Everyonewantedone,buttheywereonlyforaselectfew.IgaveLisaanILIKEYOUandtoldherwhattodowithit.Shegiggledandblushedandprotestedandwouldn’tgiveittoDaveWoodoutright–buthesawherleaveitonhisdesk,sothemessagegotthrough.

IgaveAngelaanother ILIKEYOUandshepretend-fedittothegrinningfacesonherT-shirtandthengobbleditupherself.IgavemorecakestothegirlsI’dlikedbestinouroldgang,andthenLisaand

AngelaandIhadanothertwoeach.Therewasjustoneleftbythetimewewentbackintoschool.‘Didyoumakethoselittlecakesyourself,Charlie?’Jamieasked.‘Yup.’‘Theylookedeversonice.Reallytasty,’saidJamiewistfully.Ilookedathim.AndthenIsighedandreachedinthetinandgavehimthelast

one.Itdidn’tsayHELLO.Itdidn’tsayFUNNYFACE.ItsaidILIKEYOU.

COURTSHIP

Itwasbitterlycoldintheparktoday.LouisacriedbecauseshecouldnotfeelherfeetinsideherbootsandbabyFreddie’snosekeptrunninginamostunattractiveway.Victorranaheadwithhishooptogetwarm,soIstuckLouisaintotheprambeside Freddie and ran too.We raced all the way home, careering round thecornerandpracticallyrunningoverthebutcher’sboy.Hedidnotseemtomind.

‘Whoops-a-blooming-buttercup!’hesaid.‘Mindwhatyou’redoingwith thatperambulator,Miss.It’sadangerousweapon!’No-onehasevercalledmeMissbefore.ImustadmitIlikedit,thoughIstuck

mynoseintheairandcalledthebutcher’sboyasaucepot.TrustVictortohangbackat thatprecisemoment.‘Whatwereyousayingto

thaterrandboy,Charlotte?’heenquired.‘It’snoneofyourbusiness,MasterVictor,’Isaidhaughtily.‘Ishegoingtobeyourgentlemancaller?’Victorasked.‘Certainlynot!’Isaid,andItookVictor’shoopandbowleditsohardhehad

torunlikethewindtostopitgoingintotheroadandunderacarriage.That settled his hash. He well knows that his mamma does not allow the

servants to have gentleman callers. I had to protect Eliza when she wascanoodlinginthekitchenwithhercurrentsweetheart,thedraper’sassistant,whohadcometodelivertheMistress’snewshawlandgloves.Infinestcashmere.Ifonly I had awarmwoolly shawl andmittens! I have chilblains that throb anditchlikethedevil.

Anyway, I was down in the kitchen fetching the children’s hot milk andbiscuitswhenIheardtheMistressclip-cloppingdownthestairsinherneatkidboots.‘Quick, Eliza, theMistress is coming!’ I hissed, and then I boundedup the

stairs and waylaid the Mistress by telling her a very long story about MissLouisa-not-drinking-her-milk-even-though-it’s-so-good-for-her, andby the timeI’ddoneandtheMistresshadmadeherwaydowntothekitchenElizahadhadtimetobundleanynumberofgentlemencallersoutofthebackdoor.Shedidn’t sayanything tome,butElizaandMrsAngel stoppedcallingme

Baby and laughing behind my back – and yesterday when the children wereasleepElizaslippedintothenurserywithabowlofMrsAngel’sspecialsherrytrifleformysupper.Mrs Angel is Mother’s age but she has gentlemen callers too! The fat

policeman for the street calls on a regular basis for his piece of pie andMrsAngel’s patter. I was astonished to see a woman so old go rosy-cheeked andchucklewhenhepraisedherpastry.

IreceivedaletterfromRosetodayandnowIamstartingtoworrythatMotherherselfmightbecourting!!!RosesaysthatMrHigginsfromtheDogandDuckbringsMotherajugofalefromtimetotime,andinreturnshecookshimameal.Idonotlikethesoundofthis!Rose’slettermakesmefeelsohomesick.Itisapoorill-spelthalf-pagebutI

havereaditasavidlyasifitwereamasterpiecebyMrDickens.Rosehasnevertriedhardenoughatschool.Shewrites thatMissWorthbecksendsherkindestregardsandcanscarcemanagewithoutme.AndacertainEdwardJamessendsamostimpertinentmessagetoDearLittleLottie.Hmm!

SUNDAY

IfounditseriouslyweirdgoingroundtoJamie’shouse.Imean,thiswasJamieEdwards,theworstboyinthewholeclass,oldchubby-chopssuper-swotwimpy-wussJamie.ImadeprettysurealltheboysinourclasstreatedmewithrespectbutIwantedacapital‘R’fromJamie.YetinhishugegreatfamouslyVictorianvillahewassodifferent.Asifhe’d

growntofithisfourteen-roomedhouse.(Icounted.)AndIfeltdifferenttoo.AsifI’dshrunkconsiderably.It feltstrangejustgoingintohishousethroughthatdark-blue frontdoorwith thebigbrass lionknocker. I felt as if I should slinkroundthebackordownthebasementstepslikemyLottie.

IfJamieandhisfamilyhadlordeditovermeI’dsomehowhavefelteasier.Icouldjustdismissthemashorriblesnobsandsneeratthem.Buttheywereeversofriendly.EvenJamie’selderbrotherJules.lderbrothersareusuallyaraceapart.Angela’selderbrotherchargesstraight

pastyouwithoutevenbotheringtosayhello.Hedoesn’tevenmeantoberude,it’sjustthatyoudon’tregisterwithhim.ButJulessaidHiandchattedlikeIwashisageandhemademeandJamieatoastedsandwich.Weateitinthekitchen–butwhatakitchen!Istaredround,scarcelyabletoswallow.TherewasashelfofcookerybooksandIhadaquickpeerbutIcouldn’tsee

anythingspecialoncakes.WhenJamie’smumgothomemuch later I sawshewasn’treallyacake-maker.Shecameinclutchingallthesefilesandfolders,hercardiefallingoffhershoulders,herscarftrailingontheground.Shesaidhelloasifshewasreallypleasedtoseeme,andthensheunpackedsomeshoppingandmadeusanamazingtreatofcreamcheeseandsmokedsalmoninastrangeround

roll.(NowonderJamieischubbyroundhischopswithallthesedelicioussnacksonoffer.)Juleshadoneofthesebagelthingstoo,andthenwentuptohisroomtogetonwithhishomework.

AllJamie’sfamilyareseriouslybrainy.JulesisgoingtotaketwelveGCSEs,andthentherearetwoolderbrothers,bothatuniversity.Jamie’smumanddadlectureattheuniversity.HeteachesFrench,sheteachesPoliticsandEconomics.‘The Economics is a bit of a laugh,’ said Jamie. ‘Mum can hardly add up.

She’smeant to paymewhen I do stuff like vacuuming and that, two quid anhour,plusappropriatepercentagefortenminutesextra,say,andcansheworkitout?Nope!Clueless,aren’tyou,Mum?’I didn’t think hismum clueless at all, paying Jamie ameasly two quid per

hourwhentherock-bottomgoingratewas£3.50andtheRosensrightnextdoorpaid Jo a fiver an hour – dead Economical! Things got a bit awkward whenJamie’smum started chatting about how she rememberedme fromway backwhenIhadmyhair inaponytail (yuck!)and thenshesaid: ‘Andyoualwayslookedsocutebecauseyourbigsisterhadaponytail too,soyoubothwalkedalongtotheschool,hairbobbingaway.’I smiled in a strained sort ofway and decided to keepmymouth shut.But

Jamiedidn’t.‘Oh,Mum,honestly!Thatwasn’tCharlie’ssister.She’shermum.’Jamie’s mum looked startled. ‘Good Heavens! Oh Charlie, what a lovely

youngmumyou’vegot!Notanoldbaglikeme,eh?Whatdoesyourmumdo?’Iswallowed.‘Well...sheusedtobesortofalecturerlikeyou.’Itwastruein

away.Shewasalwayshavingtogiveherstaffarightlectureinhershop.‘Sonow...?’‘Nowshe’s–well,she’sbeenmaderedundant,Imean,it’snotherfault,she

didn’tgetthesackoranything,it’sjust—’‘Oh,tellmeaboutit!We’reinastickysituationatthemomenttoo.We’reall

veryworried.Sohasyourmotherfoundanotherpostatall?’‘Well.Not–notlecturing.She’shavingtodotemporarywork.’

‘Isee.Well,Idohopethingssortthemselvesoutsoonforher.Isit...?’Shepauseddelicately,tryingveryhardnottoputherfootinitagain.‘Isitjustyourmotherandyouathome?’‘Yes.’Just Jo andme in a homewe’re hanging on to by the skin of our teeth. If

Jamie’smumlosesherposhjobthenthey’llmaybehavetoswopfromsmokedsalmontotinned,butthey’llstillbeabletoliveintheirhugegreathouse.OK,theyhaveactuallygotacoupleoflodgersrightupstairs, twostudentsfromtheuniversity.They’vegot abedroomeach, a shared living roomandkitchenette,andtheirownbathroomandloo.Thestudents’roomsarebiggerthanourflat.

It still leaves the Edwards with so many different rooms. This includes alibrary.They’vegotbooks inabsolutelyevery room,even thedownstairs loo,andthereareshelvesinthehallandthelivingroomdownstairs,butthere’sthishugegreat roomonthefirst floorabsolutelycrammedfullofbooks,and thereareshelvesandshelvesofVictorianstuff.‘See,’saidJamieproudly,pullingvariousvolumesdownanddisplayingthem

infrontofme.I saw. No wonder Jamie’s Victorian project was so brilliant. Still, he was

lettingmelookatthebooksifIwanted.‘You’vestillgottimetodoaproperprojectinsteadofthatolddiarything,’he

said.Unwisely.‘Cheek! I don’t want to do a boring old project. Who wants to be like

everyoneelse?I’mdoingmydiary–andyesitis“old”,it’ssupposedtobeold,it’smeanttobewrittenbyaVictorian,forgoodness’sake.’‘OK,OK.Youdon’thave toget allheavywithme,’ said Jamie. ‘You’re so

fierce,Charlie.’‘Fierce?’Isaid.Isaiditagain,savouringtheword.Ifeltasifhe’dpaidmea

realcompliment.

‘Sodon’tyouwanttoborrowanyoftheVictorianbooks, then?Becausewecan go and play a game on my computer if you want. Or I’ll show you mydinosaurstuff.OrwecanplayWar.’‘War?Youmeanfight?’Isaid,grinning.‘Iknowwho’sgoingtowin.’‘No,it’sagame,withall theselittlesoldiers– they fight,andthereare little

gunsandlandminesandall thatstuff.It’sgreat toplaybutJuleswon’tplayitwithme,neitherwillMumorDadoranyonebecausethey’reallpacifists.’‘I’mnot.I’llplayyou.Butjustletmelookatthisbookatick.’I’dfoundawholesetofVictoriangirls’books.Iwantedtoseeiftheremight

be any Lottie could have read. There was one huge fat annual with lots ofpictures, like a magazine. There was one coloured picture of a huge tablegroaning with wobbly jellies and puddings like castles and all sorts of dinkysweetsandteenysandwiches...andfancycakes.

‘Hey,look!Ijustwanttotakeacoupleofnotes,OK?’‘OK.Thoughwhydon’tyouborrowit?’‘YoumeanIcantakeithomewithme?’‘Sure.’‘Oh.Well.Great.’Ituckedthehugebookundermyarm.‘Solet’splayWar.’WeplayedWarforhours.Itwasagreatgame.Andguesswhowon!Jamie’smumranmehomeinhercar. Iwasworriedshemightobjectabout

thebookbecauseitwasprobablyvaluableasit’ssooldbutshedidn’tturnahair.Herhairisalreadygrey.Iwonderwhatit’sliketohaveamumoldenoughtobeyourgranny.Ithinkit’smuchmorefuntohaveamumyoungenoughtobeyoursister.

‘We’veheardsomuchaboutyou,Charlie,’saidJamie’smum.Iblinked.‘You’vemadeabigimpressiononJamie,’shesaid.Ithoughtaboutit.I’dmadealiteralimpressiononJamieseveraltimes.‘We’regoingtotheVandAonSundayafternoon,’shesaid.

‘Thewhat?’‘Sorry.TheVictoriaandAlbertMuseum.IknowJamiewouldloveitifyou’d

comewithus–anditwouldbeveryusefulforthisfamousVictorianproject.’‘Well.Thankyouverymuch.ButSundayissortofspecial.JoandIdothings

together.’‘She’sverywelcometocometoo.’‘Thanks,but...Idon’tthinkwecan.’‘Well, another timemaybe.Anddo come round to our house any timeyou

want.It’dbelovelytoseeyou,’saidJamie’smum.Iwasalittlebitdubious.DidJamiehaveanactualthingaboutme?Hehadn’t

acted all lovey-doveywhenwewere in his room.Themere thought of JamieEdwardsactinglovey-doveywasenoughtocreasemeup.Justlethimtry!Andanyway,Ididn’twanttogotosomestuffyoldmuseumonaSunday.LikeIsaid,SundayswerejustforJoandme.

So I was utterly shocked and stupefied when Jo dropped this ginormousbombshell.‘We’regoingoutonSunday,’shesaid.‘Ohyeah?’‘HowwouldyouliketogotoRedRiverThemePark?’shesaid.Istaredather.I’dbeenwantingtogotoRedRivereversinceitopened.Lisa

hadpromisedshe’dgetherdadtotakeAngelaandmeforherbirthdaytreat,butthatwasn’tuntilnextyear.And itwasn’tacertaintyanyway,because itcostafortunetogetintoRedRiver.‘Wecan’taffordit,’IsaidtoJo.‘We’rebeingtakenout,’shesaid.‘Isn’titgreat?’‘Who’s taking us out?’ I said, starting to smell a rat. A great big rat with

twitchywhiskersonitsleanlostface.AndIwasspoton.‘MarkwastalkingabouttakingRobinthisSundayandhethoughtitwouldbe

somuchmorefunifweallwenttogether.He’spaying,andI’mgettingapicnictogether.It’sgoingtobeafantasticdayout.’‘Wedon’thavedaysoutonSundays.Wehavedaysin.Justyouandme.Asa

matterof fact, IwasaskedoutonSunday, theEdwardsfamilyaskedme, theywantedtotakemeoutforthisbumperdayinLondon,adriveallroundthesightsand lunch in Planet Hollywood and then thismuseum for Victorian stuff andthenteaatoneofthosereallyposhhotels,sconesandcreamcakesandallthat,andthen–thenweweregoingfordinnerattheHardRockCaféand–andthen—’‘Then you were going to be violently sick, I should think,’ said Jo. She

reachedoutandranherfingerupanddownmylips,thewayyoudoababytomake it gowibble-wibble-wibble. ‘This is a badmouth,’ said Jo. ‘It is tellingfibs.’

‘TheydidaskmeoutonSunday,honest,’Iinsisted.‘Well, you can’t, because I’ve already said we’re going to Red River with

MarkandRobin,’ said Jo. ‘Comeon,Charlie!You’vebeendesperate togo toRedRiver for ages. I thought you’d be over themoon. I think it’s absolutelygreatofMarktoinviteus.’‘Whyus,though?Whyisn’thegoingwiththisgirlfriendofhis?’Isaid.‘Whatgirlfriend?’saidJo.Shefrowned.‘Theonehe’sstartedseeingonFridaynightswhenyoubabysit,’Isaid.‘Oh.Isee.Ah,’saidJo.‘What?’Isaid.‘What?’AlthoughIsuddenlyknewwhat.‘I thinkyoumaybegotholdofthewrongendofthestick,’saidJo.‘Inever

saidMarkhadagirlfriend.’‘Sowheredidhegowhenyouwentroundtobabysit?’‘Well...thefirstFridayhewasgoingout,justtoseethisfilmhefancied,but

wegotchatting,andthenwewatchedthisfilmtogetheronthetellyinstead,so—’‘Soyou’retheonewho’sbeentellingdirtygreatlies,’Isaid.‘NoI’mnot!’‘Andyou’rehisgirlfriendnow,aren’tyou?’Isaid.‘Of course I’mnot.Don’t be so silly. I’mnotMark’s girlfriend. Iwork for

him.I’veonlyknownhimafewweeks.Oh,Charlie,don’tbesodifficult.’Ifeltlikebeingdifficult.IwasMegaMad.No-oneseemedtounderstandwhy.

Lisa andAngela and I went round the shops on Saturday afternoon and they

thoughtIwascompletelynuts.

‘Can’tyougetthisguytotakeustoo?’saidLisahopefully.‘Saywe’reyourall-timebestfriendsandyoucan’tgowithoutus.Afterall,IpromisedI’dgetmydadtotakeyoutwoonmybirthday.’‘Thisguyisn’tmydadthough.Heisn’tanything.He’sjust thiscreepwho’s

startedchattingupmymother.’‘Still,whocaresifhe’sacreep?YoustillgettogotoRedRiver,’saidLisa.‘Yeah, I’ll go inyourplace if youdon’twant to,’ saidAngela. ‘I justgo to

churchonSundays.Youcountyourselflucky,Charlie.’‘No,you’vegottobeagoodgirlandgotochurch,’saidLisa.‘I’llgoinstead

ofCharlie.Ijusthavetogotoalltheseboringantiquefairswithmymumwhilemydadplaysgolf,it’snotfair.’‘Neitherofyouaregoing,’Isaid.‘AndI’mnotgoingtoo.’ItoldJothatonSaturdayevening,whileshewasbusygettingallthispicnic

stufftogether.‘OK,’saidJo,mashinguphard-boiledeggs.‘Ireallymeanit.I’mnotgoing.Andyoucan’tmakeme,’Isaid.‘Right,’saidJo,mashingharder.‘Sothat’ssettled,’Isaid.‘Yep,’saidJo,poundingsohardthatthebowlrattled.‘I’mnotgoingtoGranny’soranything.I’lljuststayhere.Bymyself.I’llbe

fine,’Isaid.‘Aha,’saidJo,andherhandslippedandshebangedithardontheedgeofthe

kitchentop.Shebentover,clutchingherwrist.‘You’re not supposed to mash like that. You’re hopeless when it comes to

cooking,’Isaid.‘Jo?’Shedidn’tanswerthistime.HerheadwassobentIcouldn’tseeherfacefor

hair.Iwentovertoher.Isawateartricklingdownhercheek.‘I’vereallyupsetyou,haven’tI?’Isaid.

‘No.I’vejusthurtmywrist,that’sall,’saidJo.Shecanbeas stubbornasme sometimes.Herwristwasn’t reallyhurt.And

shestoppedcryingwhenIputmyarmsroundherandtoldherthatIwouldgotoRedRiveronSundayifshereallyreallyreallywantedmetogo.Ievenmadesomemorelittlefairycakesforthepicnic.Withmessages.Mark was exactly how I imagined him. No, worse. The sort of bumbling

Bambi-eyedboy-manthatmakessomewomengobananas.Hehadatuftofhairstickingupontopandlittleroundglassesandabigcheckshirtandfadedjeansandoneofhissockswasblackand theotherwasnavy.Pathetic.Markalmostmade littleRobin lookmacho.Hewas ever so scaredofme. ‘Hi,Charlie,’ hesaid,tryingtosounddeadcasual,buthestuttered–andwhenheattemptedthissillylittlewave,spreadinghisfingers,Isawhispalmwasallsweaty.Yuck.

But therewassomething far farworse. Jo.Shewasbetteratactingcool,ofcourse.Ifyoudidn’tknowheryou’dthinkshewasdeadrelaxed,makingafussofRobinandflappylittleBirdie,chattingnineteentothedozentoMark,tellingsomesillystoryabouthersupermarketjob,thedayhermachineranawaywithherandattackedapileofloorolls.Idon’tthinkitevenhappened,shewasjustmaking itupas shewentalong,but itmadeMark laughandeven littleRobintitteredbehindBirdie’swing.Butshewasjustpretendingallthetime,hervoicetoo high, her eyes blinking, her hands gesticulating wildly. She was like aclockworktoythathadbeenwounduptootightly.Iyawnedandstartedhummingtomyselfwhileshewasinmid-flowtoshow

herIwasn’timpressed.IhardlysaidawordtheentirecarjourneytoRedRiver

ThemePark.Jowasgoingjabberjabberjabbersotherewasnopointanyway.Mark seemed so impressed that he could barely keep his eyes on the road

ahead. ‘Yeah? Mmm? Really?’ he’d go, and every so often he’d crack uplaughing.I slumped back inmy seat,wearywith this deeply disgusting performance.

Markcaught sightofme inhisdrivingmirror. ‘Areyouall right,Charlie?’hesaid.Ididn’tbothertoreply.‘She’snotfeelingsick,isshe?’MarkaskedJo.Joturnedround.‘Stopbeingapig,’shemouthedatme.

Igaveonesmallsnortforherbenefit.Robinblinkedatmeinsurprise.‘She’sOK,’saidJo.‘Andyou’reOKtoo,Robin?’Markasked.‘Youdon’tfeelsickoranything?’‘Idon’tthinkso,’Robinmumbled.‘ButmaybeBirdiedoesabit.’Ohgreat.Ididn’tcarefortheideaofRobinchuckingupalloverme.‘TalktoRobin,Charlie,’saidJo.‘Takehismindoffit.’Ididn’twanttotalktoRobin.Orhisdad.Ormystupidmother,allgotupin

herfluffypinktopandhertinyskirt.Tomatchhernewshrunktinybrainandherfluffypinkpersona.BimboMum.OutwithBambiManandBirdieBoy.‘What’supwithyou,Charlie?’Josaid,hervoicesharp.There was nothing up with me. I was the only person in the car acting

anywherenearnormal.‘She’sshy,’saidMark.Me,shy!Isnortedagain.‘She’snotshy,’saidJo.‘Areyou,Charlie?I’mtheonewhoalwaysgetsinto

statesaboutthingsandcanhardlysaybootoagoose.Charlie’salwayshadfarmoregutsthanme.Shewasbornafighter,eh,Charlie?’She was sucking up tome now. It was sickening. Robin seemed to find it

sickeningtoo.Literally.‘Birdie’sstartingtofeelverysick,’hegasped,hisfacepalegreen.I snapped into actionmega fast, opening hiswindow and sticking his little

headoutjustintime.Hewassickalloverthecar,butatleastitwasoutside,notinside.Wehadtopullupinalay-byandgethimmoppedupandthecarwiped

down.Ibackedawayfromboththeseproceedings.AsMarkhadtodealwiththecar Jo had to sluice the sicky dribble off Robin. She’s always had a weakstomach.Still,shewastheonewhowantedtoplayHappyFamilies.LetherbeMother.Robinstartedwimperingthathesmelt,andeventuallyJohadtowasteabottle

of the picnicwaterwashing him. ThenRobin snivelled that Birdie smelt too,becauseone tiny tipof hiswinghadgot stained.Birdiehad tohave a regularlittlebird-bathtoo.Iwaspracticallyatscreamingpointbythetimewedroveoffinthecar.The

daydidn’t improve.Theworldandhiswifehaddecidedtovisit theRedRiverThemePark.Wewerenottheworldandwecertainlyweren’tevergoingtobeanyone’swife,butwewerestuckintheirtrafficjam.Ittookhoursbeforewegotthere, and then therewas a huge queue to park and by the timewe staggeredthroughtheentrancewefeltasexhaustedasifwe’dalreadyhadadayout.Still, I decided I might as well make the most of this opportunity and I

clamouredstraightawaytogoonthereallyscaryfamousRedRiverRun.‘Let’sgoabitgentlyfirst,’saidJo.‘Robinstilllooksabitpale.Whatwould

youliketogoon,Robin?’He twittered and skittered and eventually decided he wanted to try the

TreetopsridebecauseBirdiemightseealotofbigbirdsupthere.IwasgettingheartilysickofallthistweeBirdienonsensebynow.IwishedBirdiewouldflaphiswingsandflyaway,sharpish.WewentonthisTreetopsrideanditwasabitbabyishbecauseyouroderound

thisaerialscenicrailwayeversoslowly,absolutelynoswoopingupanddownorlooping-the-looping.Bigbirdswereveryfewonthegroundtoo.Well,fewintheair, shallwe say. I’dhave stuck stuffedparrots to everybranchanddangledafeweaglesintheairjusttomaketheviewabitlivelier.Youcouldn’trelyonthereal birds to put on an entertaining aerial display.A few sparrows flapped farawayandthatwasourlot.Itwasallverytame.Forme.NotforRobin.Hewentafamiliarpalegreen.‘Putyourheadoverthesideofthetruck,’Isaidquickly.Butwhenhedidashewastoldhelookeddownthroughthetreetopsandgot

so scared he couldn’t even be sick (which was just as well for all theunsuspectingfolkwanderingaroundunderneath!)Robinjustopenedhismouthandscreamed.

‘Hey, Robin! It’s OK, son. Don’t yell like that. It’s meant to be fun,’ saidMark,turningroundandtryingtoputhisarmsroundhim.‘Don’t lookdown,Robin.Lookupat thetrees.Look,there’sapigeon,’said

Jo.‘Can’tanyoneshuthimup?’Isaid.‘Robin,you’regivingBirdieaheadache.

Look,he’shadtoputhisheadunderhiswing.Shutup,OK?’Itwasn’tOK.Hedidn’tshutupuntilwe’dfinished therideandhauledhim

off. Mark picked him up and he buried his head in his shirt and graduallyadjustedthescreamtoanintermittentsob.‘Well,he’shavingawhaleofatime,’Isaid.Jogavemeashove.‘Willyoustopbeingsohateful?’shehissed.‘Poorlittle

Robin.’‘Yes, poor littlewimpy-pimpy,’ I said. ‘Comeon, Jo.He’snot a baby.He’s

five, for goodness’ sake. InVictorian times he’d be old enough to shove up achimney.’‘IwishIcouldshoveyouupachimney,’saidJo.‘Look,heactslikeababy

becausehismum’sclearedoffandhefeelslikehiswholeworldhasfallenapart.Can’tyouunderstand?’Iwasstartingtofeelthatwaymyself.Likemyownmumhadclearedoff.Jo

turnedherbackonmeandstartedfussfussfussingoverRobin,andallthetimeMarkwas lookingatherwith thissickeningsoftexpressionso thatnowIwastheonewhofeltlikethrowingup.

Robinwouldn’tgoonanyotherrides,apartfromatwiddlylittleroundaboutfortinytots.Hesatboltuprightinalittlecarandheldontothatsteeringwheelso tightly his knuckleswere practically bursting out of his skin. Jo andMarkwavedlikecrazyeverytimehecameroundbutheneveroncelookedat them.

Hestaredstraightahead,asifhewerewatchingtheroad.Hewantedanothergo.Andanother.‘Look, this is loopy,’ I pointed out. ‘It costs a fortune to get in and you’re

supposed to go on all these incredible rides and all we’re doing is watchingRobin go round and round a roundabout thatwould only cost fifty pence at asummerfête.’‘Atleasthe’slikingit,’saidJo.‘But this ishis lastgo. I agreewithyou,Charlie.Hey,we’llgoon theRed

RiverRide,eh,youandme?’saidMark.Icouldn’tstandthewayhewastryingsohardtogetonwithme.‘I’llgoonmyown,thanks,’Isaid.Butforsomeinfuriatingreasontheydidn’tletkidsundertwelverideontheir

own.‘Youcome,Jo.Goon.Please,’Isaid,practicallybegging.Butitwasnouse.IendedupsurfingtheRedRiverwithMark.Itspoiltitall

utterly.Peopleseeingustogethermighthavethoughthewasmydad.Isatasfaraway from him as I possibly could.He kept yelling, ‘Isn’t this fun! Isn’t thisgreat!’thoughhe’dgonealmostasgreenashisson.WhenwelurcheduptotheverytopandthenswoopeddownlikecrazyhescreamedsothatIcouldseethefillingsinhisbackteeth.Whenwegottothelastandlargesthillofsteelbeforethewatersplashheactuallytriedtoputhisarmroundme.‘Doyoumind?’Isaid,andIwriggledasfarawayasIcouldjustaswewent

overthetop.MyheadjerkedforwardasIhurtleddownandIbangedmynosehardonthesafetybar.Painexplodedinmyheadaswatersplashedrightoverusandsoakedustotheskin.

‘Wow!’saidMark.‘Hey,Charlie,what’sup?Didyoubumpyourhead?Yourpoornoseisallred.’‘No.I’mfine,’Isaidthickly,tryingtoblinkmytearsback.Ididn’twanthissoggysympathy.Eventhoughitwasallhisfault.Himand

hissillysnivellyson.

Jowas still so busy fussing overRobin that she didn’t evennotice thatmynosehadsuddenly turned intoa tomato.So Idecided Iwouldn’tbother to tellher.Eventhoughitwasmorethanlikelybroken,andmylookswouldbemarredforalltime.Wewent to thepicnicareabut Iwasn’t reallyhungry.Mynose throbbedso

much and chewing aggravated it. The picnicwasn’t up tomuch anyway. Thesandwiches hadgone limp inside andhard out because Jo hadmade them thenightbefore.She’dpackedthecrispsunderthecansofCokesothattheywereallbrokenintolittlebits.Thegrapeshadgotsosquashedthatonemoretramplewouldhaveturnedthemintowine.TheonlygoodpartofthepicnicweremyfairycakeswhichI’dpackedmyself

in a nest of paper tissues inside a big tin. Theywere delicious.And carefullyicedwithwittymessages. I handed them round so that everyone got the rightone.MinesaidHEY,BEAUTIFUL.Jo’ssaidTRAITOR.Mark’ssaidDEADLYPOISON.Robin’ssaidGETLOST.

‘Whatdoesitmean,g-e-tl-o-s-t?’saidRobin,lickinghismessagetentatively.‘Oh,it’sjustCharliebeingsilly,’saidJo,glaringatme.Shedidn’teventouch

hercake.Markgaveagreatfalseroaroflaughterandatehisintwogulps.‘Yumyum,delicious,’hesaid,andthenhegaspedandpretendedtochoke.‘Daddy?’saidRobin.‘It’sOK,Daddy’sjustdying,’Isaid.‘It’s a silly joke, Robin,’ said Jo, cramming the lid back on the rest of the

cakes.Shelookedlikeshewantedtocrammeinsidetoo.Withoutanyairholes.‘Howwouldyoulikeanothergoonthatlittleroundabout,Robin?’Hehadmanymoregoes.AndIwentonsomeotherridestoo,butsomehow

theyallseemedawasteof time.Mywholeheadwashurtingnow,not justmynose. Sometimes Iwent on the rideswithMarkwhile Jo looked after Robin.Sometimes I went on the rides with Jo. That wasn’t any better, because weweren’tspeaking.ThenwegottotheStardustSparkleride.Itwasallpinkglitterandheartsand

flowersoutside.‘That’spretty,’saidRobin.‘Prettyyucky,’Isaid.‘WouldyouliketogoontheStardustSparkleride,Robin?’saidJo.‘Wecould

allgoonit,eh?’Robinwatchedtheridewarily.AcouplegotintoapinkpretendCadillacandit

drove through a door in the shape of a big heart.You couldn’t see inside thedoor.Itwasalldark.‘No,’saidRobin.‘Toodark.Idon’tlikethedark.’‘Surprisesurprise,’Isaid.‘Well,Icertainlydon’twanttogoontheStardust

Sparklerideeither,ifanybody’sinterested.Notthatanyoneis.’‘I’dliketo,’saidMark.‘Comeon,Jo.’Istaredather.Butshedidn’tevenlookatme.‘LookafterRobin,Charlie,’shesaid,andsherushedoffwithMark.Thetwoofthemtogether.InapinkCadillac.Disappearingthroughabigheart

intothedark.

‘They’vegone,’saidRobin.‘Tootrue,’Isaid.‘They’llbebacksoon?’Robinasked.‘HowshouldIknow?’Isaid.The ridewasmostly enclosed, but the first couple’sCadillac suddenly shot

throughadooroverheadand rode through theair in fullviewofeveryone forseveralseconds.Thecoupledidn’tseemtorealize.Theywerekissing.‘Look!’saidRobin,giggling.The first coupledisappeared through anotherdinkydoor.Wewaited for the

secondcouple.Wewaitedalongtime,andthensuddenlytheyburstthroughtheoverheaddoor.Theyrodethroughtheairinfullviewofeveryone.Theydidn’trealizeeither.Theywerekissing.

‘Look!’saidRobin,gigglingagain.Andthenherealized.‘It’sDaddyandJo!’Ididn’tsayanything.Mynosewasstillhotbuttherestofmehadturnedicy

cold.‘Buttheywerekissing.Whyweretheykissing?Theydon’tkiss,’saidRobin,

sounding perplexed. He rubbed Birdie’s wing against his cheek like a cuddleblanket.‘Looksliketheycertainlydokiss,’Isaid.‘Sothereyougo,Robin.Yourdad.

Andmymum.Well,he’snotgoingtobemydad.Andshe’snotgoingtobeyourmum.’‘I’vegotamum,’saidRobin.‘Yes,butshedoesn’twantyouanymore,doesshe?’Isaid.‘Yes, she does,’ saidRobin uncertainly. ‘Daddy said. It’s just her newman

whodoesn’twantme.’‘Well,mymum’sobviouslygotherselfhernewman.Soshedoesn’twantme.

And your dad’s got himself his new lady. So he won’t want you either now.Tough,isn’tit?’ItmadethepaineasejustalittleifImadeRobinsmarttoo.Hisfacecrumpled

asheclutchedBirdie.Istartedtogetscared.‘Hey,don’tcryagain.Iwasonlyjoking,’Isaid.ButwebothknewI’dbeenserious.

SUNDAY

Sunday ismeant tobeadayof rest.Well,haha.There’snorestas faras I’mconcerned.BabyFreddiewakesupscreamingjustthesameasalwaysandIhavetocrawloutofmywarmbedandchangehisnapkinsandgivehimhisbottle,and by the time he’s settled Louisa comes trailing in clutching her doll andVictorleapsupandstartsbouncingonhisbedinhisnightgownandIhavetodomybesttoquietenthem,becauseit’sSunday.

TheyhavetoweartheirSundaybest,eventhebaby,andbythetimeI’vegotallthreelacedandbuttonedandbooted,mychilblainsthrobsobadIcanbarelydo up my own clothes. It’s my Sunday best too, though my hideous servantuniformisnothingtoshowoffabout.Weallhavetogotochurchafterbreakfast.LouisaandVictoraresupposedtositstill inthepew,butofcoursetheyswingtheirlegsandnudgeeachotherandgiggleandIgettheblame.IfFreddiecriestheMasterandMistressglareatmeandexpectmetostophim–butifhereallygetsgoingthenI’mallowedtotakehimoutofthechurchtocarryhimaroundoutside.WhentheVicarisdroningonandonIsometimesfeellikegivingbabyFreddieaslypinchjusttoescape!

Wewereneverreallychurchfolkathome.WhenFatherwasaliveuschildrenweresentofftoSundaySchooleveryweek–butIthinkthatwasjustsoMotherandFatherhadabitofpeaceandquietwithoutus.IlikedSundaySchoolwellenough,becauseyouweregivenabookeveryyear ifyouattendedregularly.I

likedsingingthehymnstoo,thoughthewordssometimesmademeponder.‘Allthingsbrightandbeautiful’isprettyenough,butIdonotcareforthepartwhereit saysGodmade us high or lowly and each to our estate. In otherwords, usservantsmustknowourplace.Fiddlesticks!

ItalkedaboutthiswithMrsAngelandElizawhenwewerehavingacupofcocoa together at the end of the long day. Eliza giggled but Mrs Angel wasshocked.ShesaidIwasbeingbadandblasphemousandshooedmeoutofherkitchen.ButMrsAngelwas in abadmoodanywaybecause shewas so tired.Sundayissuchalongboringdaythateveryonewantstoeatallthetimeandsheisforeverservingmeals,herhugeroastbeefandYorkshire,withthreepuddingstofollow,andscarcelyhave theyeaten the lastmorsel than they’reringing thebellforafternoontea.The children are bored silly too, because they are not allowed to playwith

theirusual toys. Iamsupposed to lockawayLouisa’s favouritedollandbringout her grand Sunday doll with her golden curls and cream silk clothes fromFrance.Louisaadmires thisdollbutdoesnotdarecarryheraroundforfearofmussingher.Victorisnotallowedtoplayanyrumbustiousboys’games.Heissupposed to occupy himselfwith a suitable Sunday story book, all instructionandnoadventures.Victorfindsthisverydullfare.

ItisusuallyeasytogetthechildrentogotobedonSundaysbecausetheyaresoeagerforittochangetoMonday!IhavebeentormentedtheselastfewSundaysthinkingofMotherMrHiggins

closestheDogandDuckonaSunday.Ihaveaterriblefeelingthattheymightbesteppingout together. I shallnotbeable tobear it ifMrHigginsbecomesmynewfatherIdidnotcareformyoldfather,butIshallcareforthisoneevenless.

LAWANDORDER

Wewere all very quiet in the car going home. Jo andMark kept giving littlequick glances at each other. I couldn’t stand it. They both seemed to haveforgottenthattherewerepassengersintheback.

IstartedsingingstupidsongsasloudlyasIcould.‘Charlie!’saidJo.‘Forheaven’ssake,youcan’tevensingintune.’‘It’sfuntosinginthecar,’saidMark.‘Let’sallhaveasing-song,eh?What

about“TenGreenBottles”?Weknowthatone,don’twe,Robin?’Robin didn’t reply. Hewas scrunched upwith Birdie’s wing right over his

face.‘Areyoufeelingsickagain,Robin?’Joasked,peeringroundathim.Noresponse.‘Isheasleep?’shewhisperedtome.‘Idon’tknow,’Isaid,takingadeepbreathformynextsong.‘Shutup,’saidJo.‘Don’tyoudarewakehimup.’Hewasn’tactuallyasleep.WheneverwewereonabrightlylitroadIcouldsee

thegleamofhiseye.AndwhenIwentquietIcouldjusthearhissnufflingabovethecarengine.Ishouldhavereachedoutandgivenhimacuddle.Ishouldhavetoldhimthat

hemustn’t worry, of course his dadwould still want him. I should have toldMarkandJothathewascrying.Ididn’t.Oh,howIwishIhad.ButIdidn’t.Istayedhardandhating.MarkdroppedmeandJooffoutsideourflats.‘Thankyoufora fantasticdayout,’saidJo,puttingherheadsoclose tohis

that I thought she was going to kiss him again right in front of me. But shestraightenedoutandhestartedtowinduphiswindow.‘Saythankyou,Charlie,’saidJo.‘Thankyou,’Isaid,withabsolutelynoexpression,totalDalekdaughter.‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ Jo exploded, the moment we were

insideourownfrontdoor.‘You’vebeenfoultheentireday.’

‘I’msurprisedyounoticed.You’veonlyhadeyesforonepersonalldaylong.OoohMark,howlovely,whatatreat,gee-whizzhowfantastic,’Isaid,imitatinghergushingtone.

Sheblushed,butshetriedtostaremeout.‘Growupabit,’saidJo.‘You’reactinglikeatoddlerwhosemumhasstarted

totalktosomeoneelse.Surelyyoudon’tseriouslymindthatI’vemadeonenicefriendallbymyself?You’vegothundredsoffriends,youalwayshavedone,andI’ve been thrilled you’ve got such a good independent social life. I’ve alwaysbeen useless at making friends. And now for the first time ever I’ve foundsomeoneIgetonwith,whydoyouhavetomakeallthisfuss?’‘Buthe’snotjustafriend,ishe?’Isaid.‘Yes,heis!’‘Don’tgivemethatrubbish.Idon’tgoroundsnoggingmyfriends.’‘What?’‘Youheard.Isawyou.OnthatstupidStardustride.’Shewentredderthanever,andnowshecouldn’tmeetmyeyes.I couldn’t stand to look at her either. She looked so stupid and flushed and

girlie,likeAngelaswooningoverherbelovedrockgrouporLisaditheringoverDaveWood.ButshewasJo.Shewasmymother.Shewasmine.Ididn’tsayanotherwordtoherallevening.Webothwenttobedearlybutwe

didn’t sleep.We tossedand turnedseparately, agreatgap in themiddleof thebed.

Itstillseemedlikenight-timewhenthephonerang.Josatup,lookingdazed.‘HaveIsleptinforwork?’shesaid.I peered at the alarm clock. ‘It’s only three o’clock. So who on earth’s

phoning . . . ?’ I said, as I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room.‘Hello?’Isaid,asIsnatchedupthephone.‘Hello,whoisit?’‘It’sMarkhere,Charlie.’Icouldn’tbelieveit!

‘CanIspeaktoJo,please?It’surgent.’Idroppedthereceiverasifitwereburningme.Jocamerushingintotheroom.‘Whoisit?What’sgoingon?’‘It’sonlyyourfriend,’Isaid.‘Andhesaysit’surgent.Well,wouldyoumind

asking him to save his urgent little lovey-dovey messages till it’s actuallydaylight.I’dliketogetsomesleepbeforeIgotoschool, if it’sall thesametoyoutwolovebirds.’‘Doshutup,Charlie,’saidJo,pickingupthereceiver.‘Mark?Whatisit?’She

wassilentforafewseconds.Istartedtodoamimeofexaggeratedkissingandthenpretendedtopuke.But

thenIsawtheshockonherfaceandIstoppedthepantomime.‘What’shappened?’Isaid.‘It’sRobin,’saidJo.‘It’slittleRobin,he’sgonemissing.’

Thewordssizzledinmybrainlikeanelectricshock.‘Missing?’Iwhispered.JowasaskingMarkheapsofquestions,andIcouldhearthefrantictoneofhis

answers.‘You’resure he’s not just hiding somewhere?Under his bed? In one of the

cupboards?Letmecomeoverandsearch,’saidJo.Moretalk.‘No, Iwant to come anyway. I’ll bewith you in tenminutes,’ said Jo, and

hungup.Sherantothebathroom.Ifollowedher.Shewasontheloo,cleaningherteethatthesametime,shakingherheadto

wakeherselfup.Sheshookitagainatme.‘Look,Charlie,Ican’ttakeanysneeringfromyoujustnow.Thisisnothingto

dowithMarkandme.It’sserious.’‘Iknow,’Isaid,bitingmyknuckle.‘HasRobinreallyrunaway?’‘Idon’tknow!MarkwokeupandhejustpoppedhisheadintoRobin’sroom

tocheckuponhim–he’dbeenabitfunnywhenheputhimtobedafterthedayout–and–andhewasn’tthere.Marksayshe’ssearchedeverywhere.Idon’tseehowRobin could have got out the door and run off somewhere, Imean, he’s

suchatimidlittlething–ohGod,Ikeepthinkingofawfulpossibilities...’Jowasnearlyintearsassherushedroundthebathroomandthenranbackintothebedroom,pullingonjeansandajacketoverhernightie.Istartedyankingonmyownclothestoo.‘Charlie? Look, you’d better not come. Go back to bed.Maybe you could

phonethesupermarketlaterifI’mnotback.Andyougetyourselfofftoschooland—’‘No! I’m coming too!Oh, Jo, something awfulwill have happened to him,

won’tit?’IclungtoherasifIwereatinykidmyself.‘Hey, hey. We’ll find him. He’ll be OK,’ said Jo, although neither of us

believedit.‘Someonewillhavefoundhimwanderingaboutand—’‘Butthat’swhatI’mscaredof.Whatifsomereallycreepypervertgetsholdof

himand—’‘Don’t. No. Look, he’ll have just wandered down the road – maybe

sleepwalking, something like that – and he’ll be curled up in a doorwaysomewhere,perfectlysafe,soundasleep.’‘Butit’scoldout–reallycoldforakidlikeRobin.Andifhewasjustwearing

hispyjamas...’‘Marksaidhisschooljumper’smissingtoo–andhisslippers.’The thought of Robin setting off in his new too-big school jumper, his

pyjamasandhisscuffedslippersmademebitemyknucklealmosttothebone.ThelightswerealloninMark’sflat–andtherewasapolicecaroutside.‘There!They’vefoundhim,’saidJo,takingmyhandandhaulingusbothup

thestairs.But theyhadn’tfoundhim.Markhadcalledthepoliceandwastellingthem

overandoveragainhowhe’dlookedinonRobin’sroom,andhewasn’tinhisbed,andhe’dgone to thebathroom,he’dgone to thekitchen,goneroundandround every room in the house, calling and calling . . .His voicewas hoarsenow,andhisfacelookeddreadful,palegreyandshiny.HecaughtholdofJobutthiswasdifferent;hewasjustsodesperatetogetRobinbacksafeandshemightbeabletohelp.Imightbeabletohelp.Ihadtotellthem.IopenedmymouthbutIcouldn’tgetthewordsout.‘Don’t worry,’ said this young policewoman, patting my shoulder. ‘We’re

doingourverybest tofindhim.We’vesentouthisdescriptionandeveryone’ssearching.Childrengomissingeveryweek–andtheynearlyalwaysturnupsafeandsound.’‘NotkidsaslittleasRobin.It’sallmyfault,’Isaid.‘Imadehimrunaway.I

evengavehimthatlittlecakewithGETLOSTonit.’‘Oh,comeon,Charlie–thatwassilly,yes,butthat’sgotnothingtodowith

it,’saidJo.‘ButIsaid...Isaidallthishatefulstuff...whenwesawyoukissing...’I

waited.Markputhishandsonmyshoulders.Hishandsdugrightintome.‘Whatdid

yousay,Charlie?’

‘I–I–itwassoawful...’‘I don’t care how awful. You’ve got to tell us. Itmight give us some clue

wherehe’sgone.I’vebeenrunningroundthestreetsthispasthour,everywherehe goes, down to the shop on the corner, up the road to the park, he’s notanywhere–I’velooked,I’vecalled–andyethowcouldhehavegotfurther,justwearing his slippers, and he hates going for walks, and he’d never go offwillinglywithoutme...’Mark’svoicecracked.‘I told him youwouldn’twant him anymore,’ Iwhispered. ‘I didn’t really

meanit,IsaidIwasjoking,but–butitwasahorriblethingtosaytohim,I’msosorry,itmadehimcryinthecargoinghomeandIdidn’ttellandit’ssoawfulandifanything’shappenedtohim—’‘Nothing will have happened to him,’ Jo said, putting her arm round me.

We’renearlythesameheightandyetIseemedtohaveshrunkandshe’dbecomeagreatbigenvelopingmother.‘We’llfindhim,Ipromiseyou,we’llfindhim.’ShewaspromisingMarktoo,sayingitoverandover,tryingtoconvinceus.‘WhatdidRobinsaywhenyousaidallthis?’Markpersisted.

‘Hementionedhismum.Couldhehaverunawaytoseeher?’Iasked.‘ShelivesinManchester.Howcouldhepossibly...?ButIknowhe’sbeen

missingher ever sincehis lastvisit.Thoughhealways saidhewanted to staywithmewhen I talked tohimabout it.Oh,Charlie,how couldyou tell him I

didn’twanthim?’saidMark,tearsrunningdownhisface.Hewasn’tangrywithme.Yet.Thiswasfarworse.Istartedtocrytoo.‘It was a terrible thing to say but you were angry and upset,’ said Jo.

‘Everyonesaysterriblethingswhentheyfeelreallybad.StopitMark,she’sonlya kid herself. Can’t you see how desperately sorry she is? Don’t blame her,blameme.Iforcedherintothatdayout.Shewasn’treadyforit.We’vebeentooclose...’IlistenedtoJostickingupforme,makingalltheseexcuses.Itmademefeel

worse,theworstpersoninthewholeworld.Messageskept cracklingover thepolice radioclipped to thepolicewoman’s

shoulder.Wefrozeeachtime–butitwasnevertosaythey’dfoundhim.‘I’vegottogoandsearchforhimagainmyself,’saidMark.‘It’llbelightsoon.Ishouldwaittillthen,’saidthepolicewoman.‘ButRobin’sfrightenedofthedark—’‘He’sprobably tuckedup inacorner somewhere, fast asleep.We’vealerted

everyoneavailable.They’reall searching.We’vegot thehelicopterup too. It’sgotthisspecialthermalimagingsweepthatworkseveninthedark.Thescannerpicksupheatfromthebody—’‘Thebody?’saidMark,hisvoicecracking.‘Fromtheperson,fromyourlittleboy,anditgivesoffagreenimage.It’san

amazinginvention;we’vehadgreatsuccesswithit.’ButMarkcouldn’twait,couldn’tstaystill,sohewentoffinoneofthepatrol

cars cruising the area. Jo and I waited in his flat with the policewoman. ShemadeusacupofteabutwhenIdrankitdownitmademefeelsosickIonlyjustgottothetoiletintime.IsplashedcoldwateronmyfaceafterwardsandstaredatmyselfinMark’sbathroommirror.IfeltIwaslookingatamurderer.I’veneverreallyfeltbadaboutmyselfbefore. Icouldbecheeky, Icouldbe

bossy,Icouldbefierce–butI’dalwaysthoughtIwasoneofthegoodguys.Ifany little kid at schoolwas getting bullied I’d always charge in and send thebullyflying.Ifanythingneededsortingoutthenalltheotherkidswouldturntome.Everybodylikedme.Eventheboys.ButnowI’ddonethemeanestthinginthewholeworld.Itdidn’tmatterthatI

wassorry.Robinhadrunawayandmaybehewasgoingtobelostforever.I feltmyself folding up so that Iwas crouching on the bathroom floor,my

headbangingagainstthecoldedgeofthebath.Ishutmyeyestight,bangingandbanging,tryingtoknockmyselfbackwards,tryingtomaketimetickbackwards,sothatIcouldundoandunsayeverything.ButnomatterhowItriedIcouldn’tstopthehandsonmywatchmovingforward,andeveryminuteRobinwasstillmissing.

Iheard thewhirrof thepolicehelicopteroverhead. Iwondered if they’dbeable to spot Robin staggering along a grass verge, crouching down beside ahedge,curledbeneatha tree.Hemight lookupandshowBirdie this immensemechanical relation . . . No, if he heard the whirling noise he’d probably befrightenedandhide inadoorway,acardboardbox,behindadustbin,and thenhe’dneverbespotted.

I could see him so vividly in my head, crying, shivering with the cold,clutching Birdie desperately. And then I saw a sinister shadow beside him,someone reaching out and grabbing him, a hand over his mouth so that hecouldn’tscream...‘Charlie?Charlie,letmein.’ItwasJo,knockingonthedoor.ButIneededtostayintherebymyself.IscruncheduptightintoaballandI

closedmyeyesandImumbled,PleaseletRobinbeallright,PleaseletRobinbeall right, Please let Robin be all right, over and over, until the wordsconcertinaed. Ididn’tdare stopeven fora second–notuntil Iheard the frontdoorbang.I rushed out of the bathroom.More police.AndMark – holding something

smallandshabbyinhishands.‘Robin?’Iwhispered.Markshookhishead.‘Iwenttothepark,’hesaid,hisvoicebreaking.‘It’sstill

toodark toseeproperly,but I thought I’dcheck thepond–Ialways takehimthere tofeed theducks.Andhe’snot there–nosignofhim–butoverby thegatethepoliceofficerstoodonsomething.Hethoughtitwasadeadbird...’Markheldouttheclothwingsandthestainedscarletchest.Birdie.

LAWANDORDER

OhmyLord!BabyFreddieismissingandIfearitisallmyfault.Iwaswornoutandneartodespairingwithallthreechildren.Freddiekeptme

up half the night wailing and whimpering, then Louisa would not wear herproperdaydress and insistedonputtingonher party silk– and then spilt herporridge all down the front. Victor gave me cheek all morning and when Iremonstratedhekickedmehardupontheshin.Iwas so crosswithmy disagreeable and disobedient charges thatwhenwe

were in thepublicgardens together Iparked theperambulatorandstormedoffforafewmomentsbymyself,callingallthreechildrenasmanybadnamesasIcould thinkofundermybreath.WhenIhadcalmeddowna little Iwentbackagain. Therewas no sound from the perambulator so I assumed babyFreddiehadgonetosleepat last.Louisawasoverbythepond,feedingtheduckswithcrusts of stale bread begged fromMrs Angel, while Victor bowled his hooproundandroundthepond,singingavulgarsongatthetopofhisvoice.I toldhimtohushandbeggedLouisatotakecarebecauseshewasstanding

right on the edge. Louisa took no notice and hurled a crust wildly, lost herbalanceandtoppledoverintothewater!ThepondisnotdeepbutLouisawentheadlong.Ihadtohitchupmyskirtstowadeinandgrabher.Louisaclutchedatmewildly,convincedshewasdrowning–andoverItoppledtoo.

Victorshriekedwithlaughteratthepairofus.Ihadduckweedstreamingfrommy hair when I struggled out at last, Louisa under one arm. We were bothsoppingwet.

‘Quick!Homeatoncebeforewecatchourdeathof cold,’ I said, shivering,consciousthatwemadearightspectacle.Itookholdoftheperambulatorhandle– and peered at the pillow. No baby Freddie! I pulled back the blanketsfrantically,tossingthepillowtooneside.Hewasgone!Irandesperatelyaroundtheperambulator,wonderingifhecouldpossiblyhaveclamberedoutbyhimself.IwonderedifVictorwasplayinganotherprankonmebutonelookathiswhitefacemademeseethatthistimehewasn’tjoking.

Someone had snatched baby Freddie and stolen him away! I stoppedpassersbyandaskedthemiftheyhadseenthelittlemite.Someonesaidthey’dseen an infant in the arms of some scoundrelly looking creature and I startedshrieking.IranhomewithVictorandLouisa,pushingtheemptyperambulator.Ihad to tell theMistress. I could scarceget thewordsout.Shehad a fit of thevapours at the terrible news and Eliza had to fetch the smelling bottle. MrsAngel ran down the road to find her policeman friend and he took all theparticulars.Heswearshewillsearcheverythieves’deninthetown,forhethinksFreddiehasbeenstolentobeheldtoransom.Heisgoingtowritetothepolicestationintheneighbouringdistrict,andapiecewillbeputinthePoliceGazette.Hesaidthatoncehecatchesthevarmintresponsiblehewillhavehimpublicly

floggedandifhehasharmedthebabythenhewillhangbytheneckuntilheisdead.OhmyLord,Iamsoscared.IfonlyIhadn’tstormedoff like that. IfonlyI

hadkeptawatchontheperambulatorallthetime!Ifonly,ifonly,ifonly!

SICKNESS

‘They’llfindhim,’Jokeptsaying.‘He’llbeinthepark.Ornearby.They’llfindhimwhenit’slight.He’llhavejustfallenasleepnow,Mark,that’sall.’‘Thehelicopterhasn’ttrackedhimdown.Andwe’velookedeverywhere.All

over the park,’ saidMark, huggingBirdie to his chest. ‘We called and called.They’re still there now, calling. If he was asleep he’d wake up and hear. Hecouldbein thepond–they’regoingtodredgeit.Hecouldbelyinginaditchsomewhere—’‘Don’t think like that, Sir. There’s no reason to think the worst,’ said the

policewoman. ‘I’ve beenwith parents somany times, and they’ve been goingthroughagonieslikethisbutit’salwaysturnedoutwellintheend—’

‘That’sright,Mark.We’vegottobepositive,’saidJo,puttingherarmroundhim.Sheheldherotherarmouttome.‘Comehere,Charlie.’ButIcouldn’tgo.Ifelt tooashamed.Policecame,policewent.Thephone rangbut itwasMark’sex-wife,ringingfromanall-nightmotorwaycafé.Shewasonherwayherewithher new man, desperate to know if there was any further news. Thepolicewomanmademore tea, endless cups, althoughno-one tookmore than afewsipsofeachfreshbrew.Someoneswitchedontheradioatsixandtuneditintothelocalstation.‘Afive-year-oldboyismissingfromhishomeinNewcombeWay,’saidavoice.

‘Little Robin West is small and slight, dark hair, dark eyes, believed to bewearingnightclothesandagreysweater...’ItmadeitallsohorriblyrealhearingRobin’snameontheradio.Everyone’s

headjerkedatthesound.

Morenewsbulletinskept tuning intomyhead. Imaginaryoneswith terriblenews. I putmyhandsovermyears, but I couldn’tblockout the soundofmyownthoughts.Thenthepoliceradiocrackledagain,andthepolicewomanansweredit.‘You’resure?He’sOK?’Weallstared,hardlydaringtohope.‘Robin?’saidMark,springingup.‘Yes,Ithinkitis!’saidthepolicewoman.‘Smallboy,darkhair,foundatthe

railwaystation.He’dcrawledbehindawholepileofparcelsawaitingdelivery,sono-onespottedhimatfirst.’‘He’sallright?’saidMark,tearspouringdownhisface.‘I think so, Sir – but freezing cold, so they’re taking him straight to the

hospital.We’lltakeyouthererightaway.’

‘Wehavetogotoo,’saidJo,pullingmeup.Ididn’tdarebelieveituntilwegottothehospital.Ikeptthinkingitwouldbe

someotherlittleboy–itcouldn’tbeRobinbecauseIwassosurehewaslostforevernow,andthatitwasallmyfault,andthatIwouldhatemyselffortherestofmylife.Joknew,andheldmyhandverytightall thewaythere,andwhenMarkran

forwardatthehospitalJoelbowedourwaythroughtoo.‘She has to see him, just for a few seconds,’ she saidwhen nurses tried to

catchholdofus.Therewas something so commanding in her voice that they let us through.

Thereweremorenursesatabed,adoctorwithastethoscope,apoliceman,allcirclinganarrowbedcontainingasmalltinfoilparcellikeachickenreadytoberoastedforSundaydinner.Aflushedfacepeeredoutofoneend,asmallerbirdthanachicken.ARobin.‘Oh,Robin!’Iwhispered.‘Itreallyisyou!’Hedidn’thearme.HewastoobusyblinkingupatMark.‘Daddy!’hesaid.‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’

‘What are you doing here, you silly sausage?’ saidMark, and he bent andkissedthetinybitofRobinthatwasexposed.‘Oh,Robin,you’veledusamerrydance!Whatdidyourunawayfor?We’vebeensoscared.’‘Iwasscaredtoo.IwantedMummy—’‘Mummy’scoming.She’llbeheresoon.Andyoucanseeherforas longas

youlike.ButRobin,youdoknowweboth loveyouandwantyou.You’re themostimportantlittleguyinmylife.IwassofrightenedwhenIfoundyourbedempty.’‘I had anastydreamand IwantedMummyso I gotBirdie andwe thought

we’dgoandseeher.’‘InManchester?ButRobin,howcouldyoupossiblythinkyoucouldwalkto

Manchester?’saidMark.‘Yougetthetrain.Youtookmeonce.Wewentthroughtheparktothestation

sothat’swhatwedid,Birdieandme,butwhenwewentpastthepondtheduckswokeupandquackedatusandscaredusandthen...andthen...’Robinburstintotears.‘YoudroppedBirdie–but look,Robin, look!’ saidMark,producingBirdie,

whoflewdownontoRobin’schest,onewingtouchinghischeek.‘Birdie’sgotmoresensethanyou,Robin.HeflewhometoDaddy.’IwantedtotalktoRobinmyself,totellhimhowsorryIwas.

‘Notnow,’saidJo,pullingmeaway.‘HejustneedsMark.Andwedon’twanttobeherewhenhismothercomes.We’llgohome.’

It seemedextraordinary tobebackat our flat, havingbreakfast at theusualtime.Wholeweeksseemedtohavegonebysinceyesterday.‘Yououghtreallytogobacktobed,’saidJo.‘Youlookexhausted.’Iwasfartoowounduptosleep.‘Istillcan’tbelievehe’ssafe!’Isaid.‘Isaidhewouldbe!’saidJo,huggingme.‘Don’t,Jo.You’vebeensonicetome.WhenIwassowicked.’‘Butyoudidn’tmeanit.’‘Ishouldstillbeterriblypunished.’‘Well,whatdoyouwantmetodo?Whipyou?Shutyouupinacupboardfor

aweek?Shaveallyourlovelylonghairoffandpaintyoupurple?’‘Imeanit,Jo.Ifeel...bad.Robinwillbeallrightnow,won’the?’‘Yes,ofcourse.Oncethey’vegothimallwarmedupandcheckedoverthen

I’msurehe’llbeabletogohome.’‘Andcanwegoroundandseehimstraightaway?’‘Well,notifhismother’stheretoo.Idon’twanttolookasifI’mbuttingin.

Andmaybethismightbringthembacktogetheragainasafamily...’Ididn’tdareaskherifshe’dmindterribly.Jowentofftothesupermarkettoexplainwhyshewassolate–andIwentto

school.Lisa and Angela came charging up to me the minute I set foot in the

classroom.‘Hey,Charlie!Didyouhearontheradio?That littleboywhowentmissing,

Robin.Isn’thetheoneyourmumlooksafter?’SoIhadtosayyes,andthenwhenI told themwe’dbeenwithRobin’sdad

half the night and that I’d actually seen Robin in the hospital they askedmedozensofquestions,andpracticallyalltheclassgatheredroundwantingtohear.SoIhadtoturnitintoaproperstoryandspinitoutabitwhiletheyallgaspedandexclaimed.Theydidn’tevenquietendownwhenMissBeckworthsweptintotheroomandtoldeveryonetogototheirseats.

‘Miss Beckworth, Charlie’s practically headline news, she helped find thatlittleboy.TellMissBeckworth,Charlie!’So I told the storyallover again, though Iwas starting to tireof thewhole

tale. It didn’t seem right that evenMissBeckworth seemedmildly impressed.ButthensheaskedtheonequestionIwasdreading.Trusther.

‘Whydidthelittleboyrunaway,Iwonder?’Ijustshruggedandbackedawaytomydesk,sharpish.Jamie staredatme, lookinga littlepuzzled. ‘I love thewayyou tell things,

Charlie.Makingiteversoexcitingandfunny,’hesaid.Imadelittleslurpynoiseswithmylips,toshowIthoughthewassuckingup

tome.‘Butdiditallreallyhappen?’Jamiepersisted.‘Yes!WhatdoyouthinkIam,somekindofnutterwithacompulsiontotell

blatantliestoeveryone?’‘Buthowcomeyourmumlooksafter this littleboy?I thoughtyousaidshe

wasalecturer,likemine?’I took a deep breath, thinking hard. A blatant lie indeed. Well, call it an

elaborateevasion.Itwastimeforanother.‘Shelostthatjob,right?Soforthemomentshe...sheteacheslittleRobin.’Ihadtotellmystoryalloveragainatplaytimetokidsindifferentclasses,and

they went off and told other kids, so that by dinner time it was all over theschool.Thereweremanydifferentversionsbythistime.SomeassumedthatmymumandRobin’sdadwerealreadyadefiniteitem,whichinfuriatedme.Othersgavemeanevenmoreprominentroleinthestory,sothatI’dgoneout

in the earlymorning and trackedRobin through the park to the station all bymyself.ItwasstartingtoturnintoastoryabouthowI’dsavedlittleRobin’slife.

Itwas a reliefwhen schoolwas over at last. Iwent rushing straight home,wonderingifJowouldberoundatMark’splacewithRobin.Butshewasathome,lookingtiredoutherself,pullingfluffoutofherbunny

jumper,pickpickpick.‘IsMark’sex-wiferoundathisplacethen?’Iaskeddelicately.‘Ithinkshe’satthehospital.WithMark,’saidJo.‘What?IsRobinstilltherethen?’Ipaused.‘HeisOK,isn’the?’Jo’sfingersfidgeteddownthesleeveofherfluffyjumper.‘Well,I’msurehe’s

goingtobeOK,yes,but...’‘Butwhat?Tellme!’‘Idon’t reallyknowmuch.Markonlyhad tenpence for thephone.He just

saidthatthedoctorwasabitworriedaboutRobin’schest—’

‘Hischest?’‘Apparentlyhe’salwaysbeenslightlyasthmatic,andhedidgetverychilled,

sonowhe’sgotatouchofpneumonia.’

‘Pneumonia!Peopledieofpneumonia!’‘Nowcalmdown,Charlie.There’s noneed toget yourself allworkedup. I

promiseRobin’snotgoingtodie—’‘Youpromisedhe’dbeasrightasrain,outofhospitalassoonasthey’dgot

himwarmedup.’‘Well, he will be as right as rain. They’ll just need to give him some

antibiotics.’‘And people always get completely better after pneumonia if they take

antibiotics?’‘Well,nearlyalways.HowdoIknowanyway?’‘Let’sgoandseehimnow.’‘I shouldn’t imagine he can have too many visitors. He’ll need to be kept

quiet.He’sgothisdad–andhismum.’Jo’sjumperwasgoingtobepickedbaldquitesoon.‘Couldn’t we go to the hospital just to ask if we could see him for two

minutes?’Isaid.‘No,wecan’tjustkeeppushingin,’saidJo.Ikeptgoingonather.Icanalwayswearherdown.IhadtoseeRobinagain.I

hadn’t been able to talk to himwhen hewas trussed up in tinfoil like a tinyturkey.Ihadtotellhimsomething.ButIstilldidn’tgetachance.Wefoundourwaytothechildren’swardandit

wasstillvisitingtimesowewalkedthelonglengthofthepolishedfloor,lookingforRobin.Therewasnosignofhim.Wewalkedbackagain,pausingateverybed.TherewasoneemptyoneandI

suddenlytookJo’shand.‘CanIhelpyou?’saidanurse,hurryingpast.‘We’re looking forRobinWest,’ said Jo anxiously. ‘He’s the little boywho

waslost.’‘Yes,Iknow.He’sinthesidewardupattheend–butI’mnotsureheshould

haveanymorevisitors,’saidthenurse.

‘There,Charlie,’saidJo.‘Itoldyou.’‘Couldn’twejustputourheadsroundthedoortosayhello?’Ipleaded.‘I suppose you can take a quick peep, if you promise to be quiet,’ said the

nurse.‘Asamouse,’Isaid.Whenwegotnearthesidewardwewalkedontiptoe,thoughthepolishmade

our shoes squeak like real mice. We were still hand in hand. Our clasp wasclammy.Iputmyheadroundthedoorfirst.TherewasMark,sittingrightbythebed,

hishead inhishands.Aprettyblondewomanwithapinchedfacewaswipingherredeyes.AndtherewasRobinlyingverystillinbed,hisfacemilkywhite,hiseyesclosed.Birdiewasonhischest,wingsspread.‘He’sdead!’Iburstout,forgettingallaboutmypromisetobequiet.Robinstirredandwhimpered.‘Whoonearth...?’saidtheblondewoman,glaringatme.‘Whatdoyouwant,Charlie?’saidMark,standingup.Hisgreyfacewasgoing

patchyredwithanger.‘Haven’tyoudoneenough?’‘Ijustwantedtosay...I’msorry,’Isaid.‘Oh,thatmakesallthedifferenceintheworld,doesit?’saidMark.Jowastuggingatmetogetmetogo.‘Weshouldn’thavecome.Wewereboth

justsoworriedaboutRobin,’shemuttered.‘Comeon,Charlie.’

‘Heisgoingtogetbetter,isn’the?’Isaiddesperately.MarkignoredmebuttouchedJoontheshouldertoreassureher.Theblonde

womantightenedhereyebrows.‘He’sstillgotahightemperaturebutthey’repumpinghimfullofantibiotics

andtheykeepsayinghe’llbefine,’hesaid.Thenhiseyesswivelledtome.‘Nothankstoyou.’IletJotugmeoutofthedoorwayandoutoftheward.Wehadtowaitalong

whileforabusoutsidethehospitalandthenitwasatwenty-minutewalkhome.JokepttalkingtomebutIhardlysaidanything.She thought itwas because Iwas scared of crying in public.Whenwe got

homeat lastsheputherarmsroundmeandsaid, ‘Right,youcan let itallout

now.Haveareallygoodcryandthenyou’llfeelbetter.’Ididcryabit.Jodidtoo.Idon’tknowwhethershefeltbetter.Ididn’t.I felt really bad at school the next day.Angela andLisa still kept on about

Robin,askingifI’dseenhimandhowhewas,wantingmetotellthemallaboutit.‘Look,Idon’treallywanttotalkaboutRobin,’Isaid.‘Whatareyouonabout?YoudidnothingbuttalkaboutRobinyesterday,’said

Lisa.‘OK,OK.Thatwasyesterday.Thisistoday,right?Let’stalkaboutsomething

else,’Isaid.Angelaimmediatelystartedburblingaboutthebirthsignsofherbelovedsand

Igroanedandpretendedtogag.‘There’snoneedtotakethatattitude,’saidAngela,hurt.‘Youtoldmetotalk

aboutsomethingelse,soIdid.There’snopleasingyousometimes,Charlie.’‘Hey,mydad sayshe’s still takingus to theRedRiverThemePark formy

birthday,’saidLisa.‘Whichridesarethebest,Charlie?Comeon,youdidn’tgetachancetotellusyesterday.’‘No!’Isaidfiercely.

‘Youcanbea rightpain sometimes,Charlie,’ saidLisahuffily. ‘There’smeinvitingyououtonmybirthdaytreatandyetyoujustshoutatme.’‘Yeah,Ican’tstickitwhenyouthrowamoodylikethis,’saidAngela.‘You

thinkyoucantreatuslikedirt,CharlieEnright,butwemightjuststarttogetfedupwithit.Isn’tthatright,Lisa?’‘Youbet,’saidLisa.‘Comeon,Angela.’

Theywalkedoffacrosstheplaygroundarminarm.Iwasleftallbymyself.IdecidedIdidn’tcareabit.Therewerelotsofothergirlsdesperatetobemy

friend.Orevenboys.LikeJamie.Iwentandfoundhiminhisusualplace,headdeepinabook.StillTessofthe

d’Urbervilles, but he’d nearly finished it, even though it’s hundreds andhundredsofpageslong.‘You’ll go cross-eyed reading somuch,’ I said, flopping down beside him.

‘Areyoureallyenjoyingthat?’‘It’sgreat,’saidJamie.‘Here,Tessmurdersthisguyattheend,theonewho

hadhiswickedwaywithher–Alec.’‘Theoneshehadthebabywith?’Isaid.Itriedtorememberthefilm,butIjust

hadthishazypictureofprettygirlsinwhitefrocksdoingadance,andafterwardsJo and I had done our own dance in our white nighties. ‘Did Tess have adaughterorason?’‘Alittleboy.’‘Sowhathappenstohim?Idon’tthinktherewasalittleboyinthefilm.’‘No,hedieswhenhe’sababy.’‘Whatof?’‘Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkitsays.’‘Babiesdon’tjustdie.’

‘Theydidthen.Especiallylittlepunyones.Theyjustneedtogetalittlecoldandthenitdevelopsintopneumoniaorsomething—’

‘Shutup!’Ishouted.Jamiejumped.‘What’sup?’hesaid.‘Hey,Charlie–whereareyougoing?’Ididn’tknowwhereIwasgoing.Iwantedtogetawayfromhim,awayfrom

LisaandAngela,awayfromthewholeschool...Imadeforthegate,decidingtomakeadashforitandbunkoffschoolforthe

afternoon.ButMissBeckworthwasonplaygrounddutyandhereagleeyeswerebeady-bright.‘CharlotteEnright!Whereonearthdoyouthinkyou’regoing,younglady?’

shecalled.IwassodesperateIkeptonrunningbutIcollidedwithabunchoflittlekids

comingbackintoschoolaftergoinghomefordinner.ItrippedasIdodgedthemandfellflat.I heard them squealing excitedly. Ominous footsteps paused by my side. I

didn’ttrytogetup.IjustlaywhereIwas–andcried.‘Outof theway,children.There’snoneedtogawp.Offyougo.Shoo!’said

MissBeckworth.Sheseemedtobebendingdownbesideme.‘Charlotte?’

Ihowledharder.‘I need to know if you’ve really hurt yourself badly and need medical

attention,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Canyoutryandsitupsowecanexaminethedamage?’So I had to sit up, snivelling and snorting. I’d cutmy knee and grazed the

other, but itwas nothingmuch.Certainly nothing to cry about. Though Iwasspoutinglikeafountain.Some other kids were coming nearer, eyes popping at the sight of Charlie

Enrightbawlinghereyesout.‘Will you goaway, please?’MissBeckworth said briskly. ‘Charlotte, you’d

bettercomewithme.’Sheput her handundermyarmpits andgotme tomy feet.Shewalkedme

across the playground, shielding me from the stares. She took me right intoschoolandsatmedownintheemptyclassroom.‘There.’Shelookedatme,andfeltuphersleeveforatissue.‘Usethis.’Iblewandmopped.‘That’sbetter.Now.What’sthematter?’‘I’mnotcryingbecauseIfellover,’Isaid.‘Irealizethat.’‘AndI’mnotcryingbecauseIshoutedatJamie.ThoughIfeelbadaboutthat.’‘IexpectJamie’susedtoyourshoutingathim,’saidMissBeckworthdrily.‘AndIshoutedatLisaandAngelatooandIthinkthey’vebrokenfriendswith

me,butI’mnotcryingaboutthateither,’Isaid.‘So...whatareyoucryingabout?’Isaidnothing.‘Thelittleboywhowaslost?’Inodded. ‘He’s ill.He’sgotpneumonia.Everyone sayshe’sgoing tobeall

right,butI’msoscaredthatmaybe...’Icriedharder.

‘Now, calm down, Charlotte. I haven’t got any more tissues! You mustn’tworry. Look, I’ve had pneumonia myself and I recovered perfectly. I knowyou’reobviouslyveryfondofthislittleboy—’‘No,I’mnot!I’vebeenhorridtohim.That’swhyI’mcrying.YouthinkI’m

beingallkindandconcernedbutit’sbecauseI’vebeensobad.’‘Ohdear,’ saidMissBeckworth. ‘Goon. I think I’mprettyshockproofafter

twenty-fiveyearsofteaching.Sotellme.’SoIdid.Allofit.AndstuffaboutJoandmefromwayback.StuffI’dnever

dreamoftellinganyone–letaloneMissBeckworth.Shelistenedtoitall–andthensheputherarmroundmeandletmecryon

hershouldereventhoughIwasallslurpyandsnotty.

‘Iknowyouthinkyou’reall-powerful,butthelittleboydidn’trunawayjustbecauseofyou,’saidMissBeckworth.‘You’reonlyalittlepartofallthis.Youwereabitsillyandspitefulbutyou’retrulysorrynow–andyoucertainlydidn’tmeananyofthistohappen.I’msurethelittleboywillgetbetter.’‘You’re really sure?’ I said, sniffing. ‘Because you’re never wrong about

anything,areyou?’‘That’s right!’saidMissBeckworth. ‘Now,you’dbetter runalongandwash

thatpooroldface.Trytocheerup,Charlie.’Itwasn’tuntilIwasrightalonginthegirls’cloakroomsthatIrealized.Miss

BeckworthhadcalledmeCharlie!

SICKNESS

He’s been found! I can scarcely believe it. Little Freddie is back with us –thoughweareallstillsoworriedaboutthepoorlambbecauseheissick.He wasn’t taken by thieves and robbers. It was a woman half-demented

becauseallherownbabieshaddied.Shewatchedusinthepublicgardens,sheadmiredFreddie’schubbycheeksandgoldencurls–andwhenLouisafellinthepondand I rushed inafterher thiswomansnatchedourFreddieandmadeoffwithhim.She was all set to make him her child, but her brain was so addled she

scarcelyfedourpoorlittleboyandlefthisnapkinunchanged.Shecoveredhimwithjustonethinsheetatnightandofcoursethepoorchildcaughtachill.Shetookfrightashegrewdangerouslysickandeventuallyshewrappedhiminhercloakandlefthimonthedoorstepofthefoundlinghospital.(Shewasobservedandfollowed,andisnowinpolicecustody.)

TheMasterandMistressweresentforwhenFreddiewasfoundandgreatwastheir rejoicing–but their joy turned to terrorwhen they saw the stateof theirpoordarling.Theytookhimhomeandweputhimstraighttobedandcalledthedoctor.HelistenedtoFreddie’sraspingbreathingandfelthisfeveredbrow.‘There isnothing Icando,’hesaidsorrowfully. ‘Keephimwarm, feedhim

sugaredwater,andletushopetheGoodLordseesfittosparehim.’

TheMistressandIhavebeentakingturnstonursehim.ForoncewearenotlikeMistressandservantatall.Wearemorelikesisters,unitedinourdesirefor

Freddietorecover.IfeelasmuchforFreddienowaslittleAda-Mayathome.VictorandLouisaarebeingasgoodasgold.Elizaislookingafterthem,while

InurseFreddie.MrsAngelisforeverbringinghimbowlsofnourishingbrothbutthepoormiteistoopoorlytoevensuckthespoon.Oh,pleaselethimbesaved!

SEASIDE

Wewere back to Charlotte the next day.We had English first lesson, one ofthoseboringwritingexercises–aformal letterofapology.Itseemedaperfectopportunity to make things up with Lisa and Angela. (I didn’t need to go toletter-writing lengthswith Jamieas Iwas sitting rightbesidehim. I could justgivehimanudgeandmumble,‘SorryIyelledatyoutoshutup.Youcantellmetoshutupsometimeifyouwant.’Jamieblinkedatme.‘I’dhavetomakesureyouwereinagoodmoodfirst!’hesaid–displayinghisfamousintelligence.)Anyway,Igotcrackingwithmyapologyletter.IthinkIdiditbeautifully,in

myverybesthandwriting,noblotches,nosmears.Iputmyaddressattheright-handcorner,Irememberedthedate,Iflauntedanamazinglyvariedvocabulary,Ididn’t make a single spelling mistake, I signed off appropriately, and I evenpersonallydecoratedmypieceofpaper.Youlook:

MyDeskMissBeckworth’sClassAvondaleJuniorSchool

TrulyTerribleTuesday

DearLisaandAngela,Donotripthisletterupindisgustwhenyouseeit’sfromtheappalling,

beastly, crosspatch, dolthead, egotistic, foul, gross, horrible, irritating,jealous, knavish, loathsome, mangy, nerve-wracking, odious,presumptuous, quarrelsome, ratty, spoilt, terrible, unkind, verminous,wicked, X-rated, yucky, zero called Charlotte Alice Katherine Enright(commonlyknownasCharlie),whousedtobeyourfriend.Nowonderyouboth broke friends with me! I have been Utterly Foul (though with justcauseseeingasI’vehadTerribleThingsonmyMind)butthatisnoexcusetobehateful toyoutwo,whoare thedearestsweetestkindestfriendsanygirlcouldeverwish for.And if Ihadawish itwouldbe this:Pleasewillyoumakefriendswithmeagain?

Yoursutterlysincerely–andwithlotsofluvandXXXXXXXXCharlie

Jamiereadmyletterovermyshoulder(IlethimbecauseIwastryingsohardtobeanewsweetperson)andhecrackeduplaughing.‘That’samerrysound,James–butalittleinappropriateinaclassroom,’said

MissBeckworth.‘Pleasetellmewhyyou’relaughing.’Jamiehadlongsincestoppedlaughing.Hehadgoneredandstammery.‘I–I

wasjustclearingmythroat,MissBeckworth,’hesaid.‘Inotonlyhaveall-seeingeyes,James.Ialsohaveall-hearingears.Youwere

notclearingyourthroat.Youwerelaughing.Why?’Jamieshifteddesperatelyonhischair.He’ssoweird,hegetssoworried the

raretimeshegetstoldoff.Iexpectedhimtoblurtoutthathe’dlaughedbecauseofmyletterbuthekepthislipbuttonedtotrytokeepmeoutoftrouble.Whichwassweetofhim,butatotalwasteoftime.Miss Beckworth was looking at me, eyebrows raised, one arm extended.

‘Bringmethatpieceofpaper,Charlotte.Howdareyoumessaroundinsteadofgettingonwithyoursetwrittenwork.’‘Itismywrittenwork,MissBeckworth,’Isaid,takingitouttoher.She readmy letter. For one second her lips twitched – and I thought Iwas

goingtobeOK.

Nosuchluck.‘Thisisnotaformalletterofapology,Charlotte,’saidMissBeckworth.‘It is – sort of,’ I insisted unwisely. ‘You know what I’m like, Miss

Beckworth.Ialwayshavetodothingsmyway.’‘Iappreciate that,Charlotte.There is justonesmallpointyouseem tohave

missed.Thisismyclass,notyours.Inmyclasswedothingsmyway.Andyouwilldomeapropersensiblesticking-to-the-rulesformalletterofapologynow,and you will write out another five formal letters of apology, all different, athometonight.Thatmightmakeyoureflectalittleandlearnthatitmakesmoresensetodothingsmywayrightfromthestart.’Thatwasthemostamazinglyatrociouspunishmentofalltime–especiallyas

I wanted to do something extremely important and very time-consuming thatevening. But even I realized it would be unwise to argue further. It seemedutterlyunbelievable that suchacruelunbendingbeastly teachercouldhave letmecryalloverherjumperjustyesterday,butthereyougo.

Theoneweenygoodthingwasthatshegavememyoriginalletterback,soIcouldgiveittoAngelaandLisaatplaytime.Theylaughedtoo.Lots.Andwe’rebestfriendsalloveragain,soatleastthat’ssomething.IgotstartedonmyfivefoulletterstheminuteIgothome.Ittookmeagesbut

Iknewitwouldbefoolish to fudge them.Iactuallywroteasixth letter, justalittleone.

DearMissBeckworth,This is partly yet another formal letter of apology. I am sorry I mess

aroundateverything.Iwilltrulytrytodothingsyourway.Thoughitwillbeveryverydifficult.Thisisalsoaninformalletterofthanks.Thankyouforlettingmesayall

that stupid stuffonMonday.Sorry I usedupyour tissues!Andyouwereright,becauseRobinislotsbetter!Yourssincerely,Charlotte

Markmighthavemadeitplainthathewantednothingtodowithme,buthephoned Jo to tell her that Robin’s temperature had gone down, his chest wasclear,andtheantibioticswereobviouslydoingtheirjobwell.‘So is Robin properly awake now, sitting up and able to look at things?’ I

asked.‘Yes,but I’mnot takingyou to thehospitalagain,nomatterwhatyousay,’

saidJo.‘It’sOK.Icanseewecan’tgo.Markreallyhatesmenow,doesn’the?’Isaid.‘No,ofcoursehedoesn’t.He’sjuststill terriblywoundupandanxiousover

Robin,’saidJo.‘Andheblamesme.’‘Hewasn’tthinkingstraight.’‘Look,Iblameme.Butit’sjustsortofweird.Beinghatedbysomeone.’‘Hedoesn’thateyou,Ikeepsayingthat.Andanyway,itdoesn’tevenmatterif

hedoesbecauseyoudon’thavetoseehimeveragain.Heprobablywon’twantmetoworkforhimanymore,letalone...’Jo’svoicetailedaway.ShelookedsomiserableIcouldn’tbearit.‘Jo?I’msorryI’vemuckedthingsupforyouandhim,’Imumbled.Jo gaveme a push. ‘What rubbish!You’re not the slightest bit sorry about

that,Charlie!Youdidyourlevelbesttospoilthingsrightfromthestart.AndIdon’t know why you’re carrying on aboutMark not liking you, because youmadeitamazinglyplainthatyouhatedhim.’

‘Yes,Iknow.Icouldn’tstanditwhenhesmarmedalloverme,andkepttryingtotakemyside.Butnow...Istilldon’tlikehimbutIwanthimtolikeme.’‘That’s just typical of you, you spoilt brat,’ said Jo. ‘Have you finished all

yourletters?Shallwegotobedandwatchtellyforabit?’‘You’retheonethatspoiltme!NotthatIblameyou,ofcourse.SeeingasI’m

sochockfullofcharm.’‘Ha! Come on, I can’t be too late. I daren’t mess them about at the

supermarketaftermissingmyMondayshift.’‘Iwanttodoabitofdrawingfirst.Yougo.IpromiseIwon’twakeyouifyou

gotosleepfirst,I’llcreepineversoquietly.’Isatupforhoursdoingmydrawing.Idrewabedinthemiddleofthepage,

withapalelittleboyandatinytoybirdproppeduponthepillows.Theninallthe restof the space Ididan immense flockofbirdscome towishRobinandBirdie better. I did great eagles and albatrosses swooping round the ceiling,parrotsandcockatoosandcanariessingingsillysongs, softdoves fanninghim

with their feathers, lovebirds billing and cooing above his head, tiny wrenswhizzingeverywhichwaywhile swallows flitted in strict formation,ostrichesand emus picking their way cautiously across the polished floor, little fluffychicks cheeping in clumps, proud peacocks spreading their tails as screensaroundthebed.

IcoloureditallinascarefullyasIcould,untilmyeyeswateredandmyhandached.Butitwasdoneatlonglast–andIjusthopedRobinwouldlikeit.Jocamerushingintotellmeshelikeditathalfpastfiveinthemorning.‘Hey!Ididn’twakeyouuplastnight,’Igrumbledunderthecovers.‘Canyou

stickitinanenvelopeandpostittoRobinatthehospital?’Josaid shewould–butwhen Igothome fromschool thatdayshe toldme

she’dtakenittothehospitalherself.‘Itwouldhavespoiltit,foldingitalluptofitintoanenvelope.SoItookitto

thehospitalafterI’dbeentotheRosens’.IwasjustgoingtogiveittooneofthenursesbutthenIbumpedintoMarkquitebychance...’‘Ohyeah!’‘Whatareyou lookingatme like that for?Anyway,he seemedquitehappy

aboutmehavingapeepatRobin,andhe’sdoingwonderfully.Theythinkhecancomeoutofhospitalbytheendoftheweek.AndIshowedhimyourpictureand

hejustlovesit,Charlie;hespentagesandageslookingatallthedifferentbirdsandnowhe’sgotitpinneduponthewallbesidehisbed.Markwassopleased.He looksabitbetterhimselfnowthatRobin’s recovering.He’s taken thenextweekoffhisworktoo,andhe’stalkingabouttakingRobintotheseaside.’‘WithRobin’smum?’‘Ah.No.She’s had to go back toManchester –when she knewRobinwas

goingtobeallright.’‘Hasthatupsethim?’‘Well.Heobviouslymisseshismotheragreatdeal,butMarkwasalwaysthe

onewholookedafterhimmostevenwhentheyweretogether.’‘Shelookedarightcowtome,’Isaid.‘Charlie!’saidJo.Butshelookedpleased.‘WhataboutMark?Doeshemisshertoo?’‘Well . . . He doesn’t seem to, no. He said things were never very good

betweenthem,andtheyhadalltheserows—’‘Yeah, listen and proceed cautiously, Josephine!That’s whatmarriage is all

about.Rows,’ I said,waggingmy finger at her. ‘Don’t youdare thinkof evergettingmarried,right?’

IdidanotherpictureforRobinthatnight.ThistimeIdrewhiminawarmredwoolly jumper with a pair of massive feathery wings sticking out the back,brown tomatchhis trousers, real robincolours,andheandBirdiewere flyingover theseawitha flockofseagulls,and theyallhadsticksof rockorcandy-floss

or portions of fish and chips in their beaks andway down below therewas abeachandeveryonewaswavingandpointingandsmilingupatthem.JotookitintoRobinatthehospital.ThistimeIgotmyownpictureback.It

wasaportraitofme.Well,ithadmynameonitinverywobblyletters.Myhairwas anorange scribble rightdownpastmyknees.Myeyeswere crossed.Myarms stuck straight out of my neck. My legs were mostly hidden beneath atriangleofgreenfrock,butmyfeetwerevastandstuckoutsideways.‘Hmmm,’Isaid.‘Isthissupposedtobeflattering?’‘Hetriedeversohard,’saidJo.‘Thiswashisthirdattempt.’

‘What’sthispointythingstickinginme?Adagger?DidMarkaddthat?’‘It’s an arrow, pointing to you, to show you’re Charlie. AndMark doesn’t

wanttostickanydaggersinyou,youdaftgirl.InfacthewantsyoutocometothehospitaltomorrowtoseeRobin.’‘Oh,wow,HisLordshiphasgivenhisorders,eh?’Isaid.‘Charlie?’saidJo.‘Oh,don’tbelikethat.’‘Don’tlooksoworried.I’llgo.ToseeRobin.’‘Areyougoingtodohimanotherpicture?’‘Howaboutonehecaneat?’Iwantedtomakehimaproperrobincakeintheshapeofabird,butIcouldn’t

workouthowtodoit,andthewingtipsandlittleclawswouldbefartoofiddlyandbreakoff.SointheendImadetwoordinaryroundspongesandsandwichedthemtogetherwith lotsofbuttercreamandjamandthenImadeupthissuperbrownbuttericingwithabitofcocoapowderandsmeareditovermostofthecake,doinganextrafeatherylayereachsideforwings,andthenIstuckontwobrownsmarties foreyesandayellowone for thebeak,and I filled in thegapwithnewbright-redbuttericing.

Itall tookmuchlonger thanI’d thought,and therobincakestilldidn’t lookquiteright.‘It’swonderful!’saidJo.‘No,itlooksliketherobin’sbeenseverelysquashed,’Isaid,sighing.Ireallywantedtostayupallnightandtryagain,butI’dusedupalltheeggs

andicingsugarandpracticallyhalfourhousekeepingmoney,soIcouldn’t.Ikeptworryingaboutthestupidcakethenextdayatschool.OrmaybeIwas

worryingaboutgoingtothehospital.Orsomething.Itookmytimegoinghomefromschool.‘Comeon,whatkeptyou?’saidJo. ‘Wewon’tget there in timeforRobin’s

teaatthisrate.’‘Idon’tfeelliketrailingallthewayoverthere,’Isaid.‘Yougo.’‘Afteryou’vemadeRobinthefantasticcake?’‘It’sastupidcake.Butyoucantakeitifyouthinkhe’dreallylikeit.’‘You’re theone that’sbeingstupid.Dumpyour schoolbag, findyour jacket,

andlet’sgetcracking,’saidJo.Firmly.SoIwenttothehospitalclutchingmycakeinatin.Markdidn’tsmileatme,

buthenodded.Robinputhisheadononesideshyly,buthehadthisgreatbiggrinonhisface.‘It’sCharlie!’hewhispered–asifIweresomeoneimportant.Idon’tlikelittlekidsmuch.Especiallylittleboys.ButsomehowIdumpedmy

cake tin and put my arms round Robin and gave him a great big hug. He’dalways been a skinny little thing but now he felt like one of those little glassanimalsthatsnapoffanarmoralegwhenyoujustlookatthem.ItriednottohughimtoohardincaseIhurthim.ThenIhadtohugBirdietoo.Hisgeneralappearancehadn’tbeen improvedbyRobin’s recentadventures. Ididn’t reallyenjoy having this filthy piece of cloth rubbed round my face, but I didn’tcomplain.

Mycakehadgotabitbashedabout inside the tin,but itwasstill justaboutrecognizableasarobin.TherealRobindidn’twanttocutitatfirst,butImadeBirdiepretendtobestarvinghungryandnibbleacornerof thecake,soRobingavein.

It wasn’t a work of art ornithologically (ha!) but it certainly tasted good.Robinhadagreatbigslice.SodidMarkandJoandtwonursesandacoupleofkidsinthemainwardthatRobinhadmadefriendswith.Ihadagreatbigsliceaswell.Two,actually,justtocheckittastedgoodallthewayround.‘It’salovelycake,’saidMark,givingmeanothernod.ThenhesmiledatJo.‘I

expectyouhelpedCharliewithit?’Ispluttered.‘Jocan’tevenmaketoast!’

Ifeltlikecloutinghimwiththecaketin.ButIdidn’t.Isensedourrelationshipwasstilldeadprecarious. I still couldn’t stickhim. Ididn’teverwant tomakefriendswithhim.ButIdidwanttobefriendswithRobin.Mark took him to the seaside the nextweek.Bournemouth. I’d never been

there.‘Ihave,’saidJo.‘Yourgrandmaandgrandpausedtotakemethereonholiday

whenIwaslittle.InabigwhitehotelandtheyplayedtennisalldayandwhistintheeveningandIjustmoochedabout, tooshyandstupidtomakefriendswithanyoftheotherkids.’‘Aaaaah!’Isaid,teasingher.‘Don’tworry,I’llplaywithyounexttimewego

totheseaside.’‘Wecouldgo toBournemouthonSaturday,’ said Jo, trying to soundcasual.

‘MeetupwithRobinandMark.Markphonedandsuggestedit.’JostillhadtodohersupermarketshiftearlySaturdaymorning,butImether

ateighto’clockandwewentstraighttothestationandsetoffforBournemouth.RobinandMarkmetusoffthetrain.Robinlookedabitbiggerandbouncieroutofbed,thoughhewassowellwrappedupagainsttheseabreezethathecouldbarelymove.Birdie’sappearancehaddeterioratedevenmorebecausehe’ddivedintotheseabymistakewhenRobinwaspaddlinginwellieboots–butatleasthe’dhadagoodwash.Itwas a bit nippy for the beach butwewalked right along the sands and I

labouredlongandhardmakingasandcastleforRobin.HetwitteredbesidemeandJoandMarkbilledandcooedinthebackground.IwasbeginningtothinkI’dmaybedoneenoughhardlabourandthat itwastimeIwasletoffforgoodbehaviour–butIperkedupalittlewhenMarkboughtusallicecreams.

Itwasfartoocoldtogoswimminginthesea,ofcourse,butwewenttotheLeisurePoolinstead.BirdietookanapinalockerwhileRobinsplashedaroundhappilywithme.Robinstilllookedabittoothinstrippedtohisbathingcostumebuthewasveryperky.Marklookedarightberkinhistrunks.Ipracticallyfellaboutlaughing.We spent ages drying every tiny bit ofRobin afterwards andwrapping him

backinhisonehundredandonelayersandthenwehadhotchocolatetomakesurehewaswellandtrulywarmedupbeforegoingoutintothewind.

WewentonthepierandMarkspentasmallfortuneonthecuddly-toycranes.He’suselessatthem...buteventuallyhewonalop-sidedparrotforRobinandasimperingbluebunnyforJo.And thenhegot thishideousbug-eyed trollwithlongorangehair–andgaveittome.

Iwasn’tparticularlycharmedwith that littleseasidesouvenir.But I tellyouwhat Idid get. There’s an amazingmuseum place in Bournemouth called theRussell-Coates Gallery. It’s this big Victorian house and it’s stuffed full ofeverything Victorian and I went round and round peering at everything,pretending I’d really stepped back into the past. No nurseries, though – myLottiewouldn’thavehadajob.

Robinneeded tohaveaweeso I tookhim into this lavatory–and itwasagenuine Victorian one, with a special picture down the pan and a great bigwoodenseat.Itrieditouttoo.IhopedI’dbeabletobuyapostcardofit,butnosuchluck.Iboughtlotsof

otherpostcards,though.NotforLottie’sdiary.IthadbecomeobvioustomethatMissBeckworthwasnotgoingtoapproveofmyproject.Itwasverymuchmyway, not hers.And yet therewas noway Iwas going to change it now. So IdecidedifIcouldn’twinaprizeforbestVictorianprojectthenImightaswellmakesurethatJamiedid.Iboughtallthepostcardsforhim.

SEASIDE

Dear littleFreddiepulled through!Onenighthis fever rosealarminglyandhedidn’tknowanyofusandweallreallyfeltthiswastheend–buttowardsdawnhequietenedandgrewcalmandsuddenlyopenedhiseyesandsaid‘Mamma’asclear as anything.He took a longdrink and then settled down into a peacefulsleep.Hewokeatlunchtimealmosthisoldself,thoughhissweetcurlswereallinatangleandhisfacepaleanddrawn.Helappedupallhisbrothandmadeitplainthathewantedmore.TheMistresscried,MrsAngelcried,Elizacried–andohhowIcriedtoo!We

were all so tired and strung out watching over little Freddie that the MasterdecidedtotakeaweekawayfromhisbusinessandhireroomsforusallattheseasideassoonasFreddiewasfittotravel.

Wewentonthesteamtrain,anamazingadventure!Victorwasbesidehimselfwith glee, asking questions nineteen to the dozen – and Louisa insisted onstickingherheadoutofthewindowandgotherselfcoveredinsootysmuts.

Itwasdarkwhenwearrivedatlonglastandtherewassuchato-dogettingthechildrentobedandallourbelongingsunpackedthatIsimplycrawledintomyownbedand fell fastasleepwhileElizaandMrsAngelwerestill joshingandgiggling (we three share a room in the seaside lodgings and it is verycompanionable).ButIawokeearly.IlookedinonFreddiebuthewasstillfastasleep, and there wasn’t a peep from Louisa or Victor either. So I wrappedmyselfinmycloakandrandowntoseethesea.Icouldnotbelieveit.Iknewitwouldbeaverylargestretchofwater,butI’d

picturedit like theriverathome.Ihadnoidea itwouldshimmerasfaras theeyecouldsee.Anditmovedso,waveafterwaverollingoverandover.ItwasverycoldintheearlymorningairbutItoremybootsandstockingsoff

andpaddledintheshallowsjusttosayIhaddoneit!AfatoldwomantoldmeIcoulduseoneofherbathingmachinesifIcaredto,butIwashappyenoughjusttoletthewaterwhirlaboutmyankles.MyfeetwerebluewithcoldallmorningbutIdidn’tcare.

Then,whenItookthethreechildrentothebeachlaterthatmorningtherewasanice-creammansellinghokey-pokeyforapennyalump,eventhoughitwasthewinterseason.IhadthreepenniessoIboughtoneforLouisa,oneforVictor,andoneforFreddieandmetoshare.My first ice cream! This timemy lips turned blue but I licked themwarm

again.IstillcannotsayIenjoybeingaservant–butithasitscompensations!

CHRISTMAS

Jamie’sVictorianprojectdidwin.Well, itwasobvious itwasgoing to. Itwaseasy-peasy, simple-pimple to work it out. Though my postcards fromBournemouthcertainlyhelped.TheymadeJamie’sprojectmuchthickerandthepagesclickedenticinglyasyouturnedeachpage.Thesepostcardpagesweresobright and glossy thatMissBeckworth couldn’thelp being dazzled.All right,she puts lots of ticks and stars andWell Dones! on his sections on railwayenginesandfactoriesandcoalmines,andshelikedhistownandcountrypagesandallhismapsintheBritishEmpirebit,andshewentabitoverboardonhisCrimeanWarwithanEXCELLENT!underlined.Mypostcardsjustgotatickortwo,butthatwasobviouslybecauseshedidn’twanttodefacethebeautyofthepage.MissBeckworthheldJamie’sprojectupandshowedittotheclassandallthe

goodie-goodieswentOoohandAaahandallthebaddie-baddieswentYuckandBoringandSwotandTeacher’sPet.Iwouldnormallycountmyselfthebaddestbaddie-baddie – and yet I foundmyself thumping old Jamie on the back andsaying,‘Welldone,CleverClogs.’HewentveryredwhenIsaidthat.MaybeIthumpedabittoohard.Thenhe

had togoup toMissBeckworthandshakeherhandandshe said ‘Welldone’too.Shesaidshe’dliketogivehimalittleprize.Shegavehima£5booktokenandalittlepaintedVictoriansoldier.Jamiewasdeadchuffed.

Icouldn’thelpfeelingabitwistfulthen.IwaitedforMissBeckworthtohandouttherestoftheprojects.IwassureminewouldhaveredlinesallthroughitandSEEME,CHARLOTTE!incrosscapitals.Butyou’llnevereverguesswhat!MissBeckworthpausedtheatrically.‘Jamie’sbrilliantproject tellsus almost all there is toknowaboutVictorian

times.But there’soneotherproject here that tells uswhat it feels like tobeaVictorian.’AndsheheldoutMYproject!!!‘I’msoimpressedwithyourdiaryof

LottietheNurseryMaidthatI’dliketoawardyouaprizetoo,Charlotte.’‘Great!Goodforyou,Charlie,’saidJamie.

Yep!Goodforme!MissBeckworthbeckonedmeouttothefrontoftheclassandIhadtogothroughthehandshakingceremonytoo,whichwasOK–butIkeptthinking,amIgettingaprizelikeJamie?AndIdid!A£5booktoken,andatinyreproductionchinadollthesizeofmylittlefinger.‘Oh,she’ssweet!Thankyouverymuch,MissBeckworth,’Isaid.‘Do you know what they used to call that sort of doll? They were called

FrozenCharlottes,’saidMissBeckworth,andsheactuallygrinnedatme.I appreciatedher little joke. I actually sort of appreciatedher for once. She

askedmetoreadoutsomeofmydiaryentriesforLottie.SoIdid.Everyonegotabitshufflyandsighingtostartwith–butbythetimeI’dgottothebottomofthefirstpage theywereriveted! I readonandonandnot a singleperson saidYuck,sothere!Lisa and Angela got a teensy little bit snotty afterwards. Lisa especially,

becauseher dadhaddone all herVictorianproject onhis posh computerwithspecialloopywritingandgraphicsandithadn’tevenhadaspecialmention.‘You’re reallygetting tobea teacher’spetnow,Charlie,’ saidLisa. ‘Idon’t

knowwho’stheswottiestnow,youoryourpreciousJamie.’‘He’snotmine.Andhe’snotpreciouseither,cometothat,’Isaid,snorting.‘Wesawyouputtingyourarmroundhimwhenhisprojectwon,’saidAngela,

gigglingaway.‘Purlease!’Isaid.‘Don’tbesopathetic,Ange.’‘You’retheonethat’spathetic,Charlie,gettingallmateywithJamieEdwards.

He’sthenerdiestboyinthewholeclass.’‘So?’Isaidfiercely.‘Sowhatdoyouseeinhim?’saidLisa.‘Hecanbequitegoodfunsometimes.OK,hedoeslookabitweird—’‘You’retellingme!’saidLisa.‘Andhewearsthegrottiestclothes,’saidAngela.‘Yes,right,he’satotalArnie-Anorak,butIdon’tcare.’‘She’sgoneoffherrocker,’saidLisatoAngela.

‘Completelynuts,’saidAngelatoLisa.‘Yeah,you’remad,Charlie.Youcouldprobablygetanyboyinourclasskeen

onyou–well,apartfromDaveWood–yetyouchooseJamieforaboyfriend.’‘He’s NOTmy boyfriend. You two aren’t half slow at catching on. He’s a

friendwhohappenstobeaboy–OKanerdy,grotty,swottyboy–butsowhat?’Ishouted.Alittle tooloudly.Jamiehimselfcameout theboys’cloakroomandstared. Lisa andAngela doubled up laughing. I feltmyself going red. Totallyscreaminglyscarlet.‘Better leave the two lovebirds together,’ said Lisa, and she tuggedAngela

away.

Theywentgigglegigglegiggledownthecorridor.‘Idiots,’ Imuttered. Iblewhardupmynostrils, flutteringmy fringe. ‘Phew,

isn’tithotinhere?’Ipaused.‘Whatareyoustaringat?’‘DidyoujustsayIwasnerdyandgrottyandswotty?’Jamieasked.‘Oh,’Igroaned.‘No.’‘Iheardyou,’saidJamie,lookingwounded.‘Well,allright,yes.Butitwasn’tmydescription,’Isaid.‘SoeveryonethinksI’mnerdyandgrottyandswotty,’saidJamie.‘No.Yes.Well,afewofthegirlsmaybe.Andtheboys.Don’tlookallupset,

Jamie,I’mtryingtomakethingsbetter.’‘I’dhateitifyouweretryingtomakethingsworsethen,’saidJamie.‘Look,you’renotdaft,youmusthavetwiggedthat’swhattheythink,’Isaid.‘Youaremakingitworse,’saidJamie.‘Butyoudon’treallycare,doyou,Jamie?’‘Don’tI?’saidJamie.‘Well,Idon’tcarewhatanyonethinksofme,’Isaid.‘Yes,butthat’sbecauseeveryonelikesyou,’saidJamie.‘Notheydon’t.NotevenLisaandAngelamuch,andthey’resupposedtobe

mybestfriends.’‘And...didyousayIwasyourfriendtoo?’saidJamie,lookingabitperkier.Ishrugged.‘Mmm,’Isaid.‘Youmean it?We’re really friends? Even though I’m a boy? And a nerdy

grottyswottyoneatthat?’Jamiedidn’tseematallupsetnow.Iwonderedifhe’d

beenpretendingbefore.Iwouldn’tputitpasthim.‘Igenerallycan’tstickboys,’Isaid.‘Butyou’reOK.’‘Soareyou,’saidJamie.Westoodtherelookingateachother.Fortwoultra-chattypeoplewesuddenly

seemedlostforwords.Andthenthereweretheses-t-u-p-i-dslurpykissy-kissysounds.AngelaandLisahadcreptbacktowardsus.‘Lookatthem!’

‘Gazingintoeachother’seyes,dumbstruck!’‘Goonthen,Jamie,kissher.’‘They’llbesnoggingattheschooldisconextweek!’Theycollapsedwithlaughter.‘Takenonotice,’saidJamiecalmly.‘Letthelowermortalsprattle.’‘Youwhat?’saidLisa.‘He’stalkinginsomeforeignlingonow,’saidAngela.‘SeeifyoutwocanunderstandplainEnglishthen,’Isaid–andIusedsome

veryshortsharpshockingwordstoindicatethatIwantedthemtogoaway.‘Whoisusingthatdisgustinglanguage?’saidafamiliarvoice.Ateachercamestalkingdownthecorridor.Theonewiththeall-hearingears.

You’veguessedright.Shegavemeadetentiontoo,eventhoughitwasn’treallymyfaultatallthat

I’dbeenreducedtobluntlanguage.ButIstillfeltquitefondofher,eventhoughshewasalways so snappily strict.Sowhenour topyearhadour specialdiscopartyandMissBeckworthorganizeditandaskedustobringsomerefreshmentsfromhomeIwentoverboard.IwentroundtoJamie’shouseandhuntedthroughtheVictorianbooks–and

found a great big fat one with lots of recipes calledMrs Beeton’s Book ofHouseholdManagement.IflippedthroughituntilIfoundtheperfectcake.Itneededquitealotofingredientsbutthatwasnoproblem.(ForreasonsIwill

divulgelater!)It tookagestomakethespecialcake.Ihadtomakethisspecial lemonjelly

and thenpoura littlebit intoabig tinand thenstud itwithglacécherries like

jewels,andthenIdidanotherlayerofjellyandstoodspongefingersallthewayroundthetinandthenImadeaspecialeggycustardandpouredthatonandletitall set andTHEN thenextday Idunked the tinveryquickly inhotwater andthen,holdingmybreathandpraying,Igentlytippeditoutontoaprettyplatelikea little kid turning out a sandcastle. You know what often happens withsandcastles?Theycrumbleandbreak,right?ButmyspecialVictoriancakecameoutwholeandperfect,easy-peasy,simple-pimple.

Itwasabitofamega-problemgettingittoschool,though.Ihadtocarryitonatrayandhopeitwouldn’train.MyarmswereachingterriblybythetimeIgottoschool.Iwasabitlatetoo,becauseI’dhadtowalksocarefullytokeepmycakeintact.

‘CharlotteEnright,you’relateforschool,’saidMissBeckworth.‘Onlyhalfasecond,MissBeckworth.Andit’s inaveryverygoodcause,’I

said,proppingmyheavy trayonadeskandpeelingback theprotective tinfoilI’darchedoverit.‘Andwhat’sthisverygoodcause,mightIask?’saidMissBeckworth.‘You!’Isaid,pullingthelastofthefoiloffwithaflourish.‘I’vemadeyoua

cake,MissBeckworth.Well,it’sforallofusatthedisco,butit’sinyourhonourandyou’vegottohavethefirstslice.It’saVictoriancake.Andyou’llnevereverguesswhatit’scalled!’Miss Beckworth looked at my wondrous masterpiece. She blinked her all-

seeingeyes.Theytwinkledasshemetmygaze.‘Ican guess,’ saidMissBeckworth. ‘Inyourownultra-irritatingphrase, it’s

easy-peasy,simple-pimple!It’sanabsolutelymagnificentCharlotteRusse.’

Shereallyisall-knowing!Wesharedthecake-cuttingceremonywhenitwasnosh-time.IgotabitworriedmyCharlottecakewouldcollapse,butitstooditsground splendidly.And it tasted great too,mega-yummy. Itwas all gone in amatterofminutes–justa lickof lemonjellyandafewspongecrumbsleftontheplate.Imade sure allmy special friends got a slice.Then the disco started up. It

wasn’tarealeveningdiscowithaproperDJandstrobelighting.ItwasjustanafternoonChristmasparty in theschoolhall forYearSix,with theheadmasterplayingthesemostlyropyolddiscs.Hardlythemostsophisticatedexcitingeventofthecentury–thoughyou’dmaybethinkitwas,judgingbythefussLisaandAngelaandsomeoftheothergirlsmade.Wewere allowed to change into our own home clothes, you see. The boys

didn’tthinkitmuchofabigdeal.Theylookedworseoutofschooluniform.Ididn’ttrytoohardeither.Iwastoobusycreatingmycaketofussaboutmy

outfit.AndIcan’tactuallywinwhenitcomestocoolclotheswayin thefrontlineoffashion.Mykitcomesfromthe label-freezonesofOxfam,JumbleandCarBootSales,especiallynowadays.Thoughthismightchangesoon.(SecondhintofchangesintheEnrightfamilyfortunes!)LisaandAngelaandlotsoftheothergirlstriedveryhardindeed.Lisalooked

particularlylovely.But Angela was the big surprise. She usually wore ordinary old jeans and

jumpers when we were hanging round after school. But now her mum hadboughtherthisnewparty-timeoutfitdownthemarket.Angela’sgottootallforkids’clothessothiswasreallygrown-upgear.AndAngelalookedultra-adultinittoo.‘LookatAngela!’

Youcouldn’thelplookingather.Everyonedid.Itwasasifshe’dbecomeanentirelynewgirltomatchhernewoutfit.Whenshedancedtheboysallcircledround.EvenDaveWood.Jamie’sjawdroppedwhenhesawAngelatoo,buthedidn’ttrytodancewith

her.Hedidn’tdancewithanyoneat first. Idancedwith lotsofpeople.Then IwentandstoodnearJamie.Iwaited.Itstartedtogetonmynerves.‘Comeon,Jamie.Let’sdance,’Isaidcommandingly.‘Idon’tthinkI’mverygoodatdancing,’saidJamie.Hewasrightaboutthat.Hejuststoodandtwitchedalittleatfirst.‘Letyourselfgoabit,’Isaid,jumpingabout.Jamie lethimselfgoabit toomuch.Hisarmsand legsshotoutallover the

place. Ihad tostaywellback tostopmyselfgettingclouted.But Isupposehewastrying.

Lisa was standing near us. I prepared myself for some ultra-sarcasticcomments.ButLisa’seyeswerealittletoobright,hersmileshowingtoomuchteeth.Shewasn’twatchingJamieandme.ShewaswatchingAngelaandDave.‘Hey,Jamie.IwanttodancewithLisaforabit,’Isaid.‘Good!Ineedarest,’Jamiepuffed.So I dancedwithLisa for a bit.And then I dancedwith some of the other

girls. And some other boys. So did Lisa. And at long last DaveWood cameslitheringuptoher,becausehe’dbeenelbowedawayfromAngelabytherestoftheboys.IexpectedLisatosendDaveWoodoffwithafleainhisear.I’dhaveadded a swarm of stinging wasps and a buzz of killer bees. But would you

believeit,Lisajustgavehimthisstupidsmirkanddancedwithhimdevotedly.Lisahasgotaveryprettyheadbutitcontainsnobrainwhatsoever.‘Do you want to dance again, Charlie?’ Jamie asked eagerly. ‘I think I’m

gettingthehangofitnow.’Hewas a little optimistic.Butwehad fun all the same.Theparty ended at

threeandwewereallowedtogohomethen.LisaandDaveWoodwentofftogether,soshewashappy.Angelawentoffwithhalftheboysinourclass,soshewashappy.

IdecidedtogobacktoJamie’shousebecauseIwasstillabitpeckishinspiteofmyCharlotteRusse(theotherrefreshmentsweren’tuptomuch)andIfanciedoneofhisbrother’stoastedcheesesandwiches.WewalkedalongOxfordTerracetogether. I peeredup at all the attic rooms right under the roofs and imaginedLottielookingout.

Jamiekeptwalkingcloserandclosertome,sothathisschoolbagbangedmyshinsseveraltimes.Iturnedtotellhimoff–andhekissedmeonthecheek!

‘Whatareyouplayingat?’Isaidfuriously.‘I – I –well, youkept stickingyour chin up and lookingup in the air so I

thoughtyouwantedmetokissyou,’Jamiestammered.‘Well, you got it seriously wrong, matie,’ I said, giving him a shove. I

scrubbedatthelittlewetpatchonmycheekwiththebackofmyhand.‘YoudothatagainandI’llclockyouone,’Isaid.‘Don’tworry,Iwon’t,’saidJamie.Hesighed.‘IwishIcouldfiguregirlsout.I

especiallywishIcouldfigureyouout,Charlie.’‘It’spartofmydeeplymysteriousfemininecharm,’Isaid,chuckling.

Jamie’sbrothercameuptrumpswithanothertoastedsandwichandhismumasked if Jo and I could go round to their house onBoxingDay. They have apartyeveryyear.JogotabitworriedwhenItoldherandsaidshedidn’tthinkitsoundedhercupoftea–well,glassofpunch–butshe’sagreedtocomewithmebecauseI’vebeenastonishinglyagreeableaboutherChristmasplans.I shall give Jamie his Christmas present then. I’ve bought him a big fat

paperbackVictoriannovel.JaneEyre–byCharlotteBrontë,andinsidethecoverI’vewritten:ThisisapresentbyaCharlotte,fromaCharlotte!

I’mgoingtomakeJamie’smumaspecialcaketoeatatherparty.I’vegotitallworkedout.It’sgoingtobeasquarecake,icedalloverwithacakelidontopandmarzipanribbon,soitlookslikeaspecialgiftbox–forBoxingDay,getit?

I’mgoing tobesobusybusybusymakingcakes in theChristmasholidays.I’vegottomakeoneforGrandmaandGrandpawhenJoandIgooverthereonChristmasEve–yuck!IhadallsortsofgoodideasbutJotalkeditoverwithmeandshethinksthey’dlikeanordinaryconventionalChristmascake,whiteicingandHAPPYCHRISTMAS,boringboringboring–butI’vesaidI’lldoit.

I’mmakingonemorecake–andthisone’saspecialone.JofixedabeautifulredbreakfastinbedforusonSunday(rubygrapefruitand

raspberryDanish pastries and cranberry juice).Whenwe’d eaten it all upwecuddleddowninbedagainandIstarteduponeofourgamesandJotriedtojoininbutIcouldtellshewasn’tconcentrating.‘Jo?Whatisit,eh?’Icouldfeelhertense.‘Well...Iwanttotalktoyouaboutsomething,’shesaid.Ifeltasifallthedeliciousredfoodinsidemewasbeingwhiskedinablender.

Thiswasit.Iknewwhatshewasgoingtosay.Iwriggledawayfromherandlaystifflyinbed,waiting.‘It’sabout...Robin,’shesaid.‘AndMark,’Isaid,throughclenchedteeth.‘Well.Yes,Isupposeso.Oh,Charlie.Idon’tknowhowtosaythis.’‘I’llsayitforyou,’Isaid.‘It’seasy-peasy,simple-pimple.YouandMarkare

going to getmarried and Robin’s going to bemy little brother and you’ll begivingupallyourjobstolookafterhimfull-timeandwe’llhavetosellourflatand go and livewith them and I expect youwantme tomake you a flippingweddingcakeaswell,butifIhavetocometoyourweddingIwarnyou,Iwon’tthrowconfetti,I’llstartthrowingrocksatyou,’andIturnedoveronmytummyandstartedtocry.

‘What?’saidJo.‘What?’Andshestartedtolaugh.‘It’snotfunny!’Isobbed.‘Iwanttostayhere.Withyou.Justthetwoofus.’‘So do I,’ said Jo. She shoved my tangled hair out of the way and said it

straight into my ear. ‘So do I! That’s what we’re going to do. Now listen,Charlie!You’vegotitallwrong.MarkandIaren’tgettingmarried.He’sstilltoofussed abouthis firstmarriage– and I don’t think I everwant to getmarried.OK?’‘Soyoudon’tlovehim?’‘Idon’tknowwhat I feel. I justwant to let thingsdevelop.Slowly. In their

owntime.IhopeI’llstillseealotofMarkandRobin–butImightnotcarryonworkingthere.YouknowthisChristmasjob?’Youdon’tknowabouttheChristmasjob.Jo’sstoppedworkingattheRosens’.

The last big electrical goods shop in the townadvertised for part-time staff tohelp themout over their busyChristmas trading time. Jo jumped in there andtheytookheronrightaway,workingfromninetothree.Sowe’vegotenoughtokeepup themortgagepayments–and abitover.That’swhat Iwashinting atearlier.‘Youmeanit’stootiring,workingthereandthengoingtolookafterRobin?’I

said,leaninguponmyelbows.‘Thethingis,theshopmanageressisgoingtohaveababy.Shewantstostart

hermaternity leave in January – and even though I’monly temporary they’reaskingifI’minterested.Itwon’tbeforever,ofcourse,thoughshemightdecide

shewantstostayathomewiththebaby–butitwouldstillbegreattogetbacktotheworkIlike.Butofcourseitwouldbefulltime,throughtillhalfpastfive.’‘Isee.Well.You’llhavetotakeit,Jo.Imean,it’sgreat.But...whatabout

Robin?Helikesyoualot.’‘He likes you even more, Charlie. Mark hopes he’ll be able to juggle his

workinghoursandpickRobinupfromschoolhimself.Ormaybehe’llhavetofindanotherchild-minder.ButinanabsoluteemergencyIsaidyoucouldalwayspickRobinupfromschoolandlookafterhimuntilMarkcouldcome.’‘Markwouldn’tevertrustmewithRobin!’Isaid.‘Yes hewould.He knows that you’re really very sensible and responsible,’

saidJo.‘Me?’Isaid.‘OK.TellMarkhecancountonme.Aslongashepaysme!’‘Charlie!’‘Sowecanreallystayhereinourownflat,Jo?’‘Youbet.’‘Andwe’llhaveourfirstChristmashere,justustwo?’‘Ah.Well.That’stheotherthingIwantedtodiscuss.’ThistimeIdidguessright.‘YouwantRobinandMarktocomeroundhereforChristmas?’‘Ifthat’sallrightwithyou,Charlie?’Ididn’twantMarktocomeatall.Still,itmightbefuntohaveRobinbobbing

aboutatChristmas.So . . . I decided I’d better come upwith something pretty special for our

Christmascake.Ibakedasquarefruitcakeandthencarvedoutpartofthefrontandmade up a brown butter icing and did this posh basketweave all over tomake it look like . . . a stable!With a big goldmarzipan star and a fat pinkmarzipan angel perched on the roof. (I’m going to get to eat the angel onChristmasDay – because I’m currently so angelic!) Then Imade amarzipanMary (Jo can eat her) and amarzipan Joseph (I suppose Imight offer him toMark) and a dear littlemarzipan baby Jesus clutching awhitemarzipan lamb(speciallyforRobin).

IpipedalongmessageinfrontofallmyNativityfigures.

InevereverthoughtI’dbewishingGoodWilltoanyman!Idecidedtoaddabit.

TableofContentsCoverTableofContentsCopyrightTheLottieProject

SchoolSchoolHomeHomeWorkWorkFoodFoodToysandBooksToysandBooksFamilyFamilyCourtshipCourtshipSundaySundayLawandOrderLawandOrderSicknessSicknessSeasideSeasideChristmas