Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘It’s about time you stopped these silly pranks, Katy,’ he said. ‘You’re getting much too old for this nonsense. I know you probably meant well – I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’m so tired of you doing silly childish things without thinking first. You’re eleven now. You’re old enough to know better. You’re the eldest. All the others look up to you.’

  ‘Elsie doesn’t,’ I interrupted.

  ‘And that’s another thing. We’ve had so many conversations about Elsie and you’ve made so many promises. It upsets me that you continue to be so unkind to her.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be –’

  ‘Katy! Just listen to yourself. You’ve got to learn to think first. Be aware of all the consequences. You’re not a stupid girl – even though you behave stupidly. Now start clearing up this kitchen while I try to concoct some kind of breakfast for us,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I said, and I leaned against him miserably.

  He patted me on the back and I knew I was more or less forgiven, but I felt bad. I resolved to try harder to make Dad truly proud of me.

  I was positively saintly all the rest of Sunday, making a special effort with Elsie. It was a struggle. I wasn’t sure if Dad was noticing how good I was being, but when he came upstairs to kiss us all goodnight he gave me a special hug.

  ‘There. You’re my good girl now,’ he said, and I went to sleep happy.

  But somehow everything went wrong again on Monday. I overslept for a start. Well, I heard Izzie shouting at me to get up, but I didn’t want to. I was having a wonderful dream about Mum. I was little again, and she’d taken Clover and me to the park, and we were having such fun. It was so real. I could feel the hard seat of the swing underneath me, feel the gentle push of Mum’s hands behind me, see the clouds swirling dizzily up above … I wanted to get back into the dream and stay there forever.

  But then Izzie was suddenly in the bedroom, pulling my covers off me.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, will you get up! Didn’t you hear me calling? Clover’s washed and dressed and having her breakfast already. So are all the others. What’s the matter with you, Katy?’

  ‘You’re what’s the matter with me,’ I mumbled, but not quite loud enough for her to hear.

  I stumbled out of bed, and managed to go to the bathroom and get dressed in five minutes – a world record. I poured orange juice down my throat and crammed two pieces of toast and peanut butter into my mouth in another five minutes and was more or less ready when Izzie went to the garage for the car. She takes Clover and Elsie and Dorry and Jonnie and me to school and drops Phil off at nursery and then takes Tyler for a walk. Dad can’t take us because he likes to be at his surgery at eight sharp. It’s ridiculous that Izzie has to take us. I could walk us all to school easily, as I’ve said time and time again, but Izzie won’t hear of it. She seems to think I’d go into a daydream and let Dorry and Jonnie wander off by themselves.

  I hate her taking us and nag, nag, nagging all the way. She started a royal nag before we were even in the car because I couldn’t find my wretched maths book and had to hunt high and low for it.

  ‘I know I had it somewhere,’ I wailed. ‘I took it out of my school bag to do my homework last night.’

  I hadn’t actually done my homework because I’d got distracted making up a magazine with Clover. We’d designed the cover, I’d got started on a dramatic serial story, Clover had drawn some fashion pictures and it was coming along splendidly. But then suddenly it was time for Dad to read to us and obviously I didn’t want to miss that. I thought I might be able to do my homework in bed by torchlight but I couldn’t actually be bothered. I thought I’d wake up early and get it done then, only that plan hadn’t worked either.

  I decided not to get too fussed. I was sure Cecy would let me quickly copy out all her answers when I got to school. Cecy wasn’t actually too brilliant at maths, but wrong answers were better than no answers at all and Mr Robinson, our Year Six teacher, could get a bit narked if you didn’t do your homework. But I still had to find my maths book.

  I thought it must be in my bedroom somewhere but I couldn’t find it anyway. I wondered if it had somehow got shoved under my bed, so I crawled underneath. I found two odd socks, a hairbrush, an apple core, a doggy chew and a lot of dust – but no maths book. The doggy chew gave me a clue, however.

  ‘Tyler? Tyler! You haven’t had my maths book, have you?’ I said.

  This was brilliant deduction. I found my maths book in his puppy crate, the back cover completely torn off and a corner comprehensively nibbled. I stared at it a little anxiously, wondering what Mr Robinson was going to say. I wasn’t sure he’d appreciate a literal example of that old joke about the dog eating my homework. Still, at least I had the book, so I went charging downstairs where everyone was waiting for me.

  ‘Got it, got it, got it!’ I said triumphantly.

  ‘For goodness’ sake! What sort of state is it in?’ said Izzie. ‘How can you be so careless with your school-books, Katy? Now, come on! Let’s get in the car or we’ll all be horribly late.’

  So I got in the car, wondering why Clover was making very weird gestures at me. She was pushing her two hands together through the air and then waving them round in a semicircle, almost as if she were swimming. Swimming! Year Six had swimming first thing on Monday mornings. And I didn’t have my swimming stuff packed.

  ‘Just one tiny second,’ I said, jumping out of the car again and running back to the house.

  ‘Katy! I don’t believe this! Get back in the car at once,’ Izzie shouted, but I took no notice.

  I grabbed the emergency key from under the potted plant in the porch, let myself in and went charging upstairs. Swimming costume and towel. Now where would they be? I looked in the airing cupboard. There were plenty of old towels there, and Clover’s pink costume and Elsie’s silly little blue costume with Hello Kitty on the front, but I couldn’t see my red costume anywhere. What had Izzie done with the wretched thing? If she’d washed it, why wasn’t it waiting for me in the cupboard? If she’d washed it …

  I looked in the dirty-clothes basket, stirring my way through various crumpled garments large and small, but no costume there. I had put it in the dirty clothes, hadn’t I? Oh dear … Perhaps I’d forgotten.

  I looked in my wardrobe and there, right at the back, was a little soggy clump of costume and towel, exactly where I’d idly chucked it a week ago. It reeked to high heaven, like the dirtiest old dishmop in the world. I could barely pick it up, it smelled so disgusting. I tried running it under the bathroom tap to see if the smell would wash off, but it stayed resolutely revolting.

  I couldn’t arrive at the swimming baths without a costume again. I’d done it twice already this term. I would be in big trouble with Mr Robinson if it happened a third time.

  In desperation I grabbed a clean towel and Clover’s costume. Yes, it was a very girly pink, and yes, it would be far too small, but it was better than nothing. I could squeeze into it somehow. Clover was only a year younger than me after all.

  I went charging back downstairs and out the house. Izzie had the car all revved up and ready to go.

  ‘I give up on you, Katy Carr. You play this trick again and we’ll go without you,’ she snapped as we drove off.

  ‘Good! Why don’t you? I’d love to walk to school by myself,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes! Could Katy and I possibly be allowed to do that?’ Clover asked eagerly.

  ‘No, you could not! You might be almost responsible enough, Clover, but Katy certainly isn’t,’ said Izzie.

  I couldn’t help blowing a little raspberry at her. It made Dorry and Jonnie and Phil giggle.

  ‘You’re making my point, Katy,’ said Izzie icily. ‘Do you have to behave so stupidly in front of the little ones?’

  She nagged on like this all the way to school. I stared out of the window and ignored her. When I was in the Infants, I used to pretend Mum was running along beside the car, her feet barely
skimming the pavement. She’d be reaching out to me, wanting to hold my hand. I’d press my own hand against the window, imagining her fingers clasping mine.

  I couldn’t help trying to do that now. It was getting harder and harder to imagine Mum. I remembered her, of course I did, but often the only images I could conjure up were the ones based on old photographs. I tried desperately, but I could only see a blurry outline of her.

  ‘Why are you frowning so, Katy?’ asked Izzie, looking at me in the driving mirror.

  ‘I’m not,’ I said, trying to rearrange my face.

  ‘Yes, you are. I often see you frowning like that when you stare into the distance. Maybe you’re getting short-sighted because you’ve always got your head in a book. I think we’d better get your eyes tested.’

  ‘I don’t want to! I don’t need glasses. I’m fine,’ I protested. I wouldn’t tell Izzie in a million years that I only looked like that when I was trying to conjure up Mum.

  ‘Right,’ said Izzie, in that tight-lipped way she has.

  ‘Yes, right,’ I mumbled, though only Clover beside me heard.

  It was a sticky start to the day. And it wasn’t going to get any better. It was going to get a lot, lot worse.

  4

  I flew up to Cecy the minute we got to school.

  ‘Hey, Cecy, could I possibly copy your maths? I didn’t get round to doing it last night and then I couldn’t even find my wretched book for ages this morning,’ I said.

  ‘OK – and you’ll get them all right too, because I got stuck and my dad tried to show me what to do and ended up doing them all himself,’ said Cecy triumphantly.

  We huddled together in the playground and I copied all ten sums and their workings in double quick time, whizz, whizz, whizz, and just finished the last when the bell went. Mr Robinson took the register in the classroom, we all handed in our homework and then went off to the swimming pool.

  It sounds very grand, our school having its own pool, but it’s not very big and the deep end isn’t very deep. I can stand up quite easily right at the end, and the water only comes up to my chin. We don’t have proper lockers; we just leave our stuff in the changing cubicles, and these are a bit precarious because they don’t have proper doors, just curtains. You’d be amazed how many boys try to tweak the curtains when you’re changing, accidentally on purpose. Especially Ryan Thompson. He’s the worst boy in the whole class. He gets into more trouble than I do. But I actually quite like him. He’s not mean or a bully. He just mucks about for fun. We sometimes have a laugh together.

  Everyone likes Ryan – except Martin, but he doesn’t like anyone. All the girls particularly like him. Eva Jenkins is always hanging round him, giving her simpering little smile and tossing her long fair hair about. Eva is delicate and pretty and her mum buys her glorious clothes. Just occasionally I can’t help wishing I was delicate and pretty like Eva. I’d still like to stay the same me inside though. Eva is almost as mean as Martin and plays games with some of the other girls, forever making them her friend one day and then ignoring them horribly the next.

  All the boys are crazy about her – but not Ryan. I’ll tell you a secret. He actually asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend! I’m not going to, of course. Quite a few of the girls in my class say they’ve got boyfriends but I don’t want to be bothered with all that stuff. And even though Ryan’s fun and he’s got a cheeky smile and I don’t even mind his hair though it sticks up all over the place, there is one gigantic disadvantage about Ryan. Well, it’s the opposite of gigantic. Ryan is small. The shortest boy in the class. Imagine what a couple of idiots we’d look like if we hung out together. The others call us Little and Large already.

  Ryan was made to change in the cubicle right at the end, with Mr Robinson watching him outside. Last week Ryan had been in a bit of a tussle with Martin King. Martin is pretty horrible, a big stocky boy with a red face and a very fierce haircut. He’s always trying to bully kids smaller than him. I caught him once barging into Clover in the playground and I had to sort him out myself.

  He tries it on with Ryan and he generally wins if it’s a fight, because he’s so much bigger and stronger. But Ryan usually finds a way of getting his own back. He managed to sneak into Martin’s cubicle and chuck his pants into the pool. We all thought this hilarious, but Martin sneaked to Mr Robinson and he was furious.

  ‘I’m keeping a special eye on you today, Ryan Thompson. I want no tomfoolery whatsoever,’ he said.

  ‘Not even Thompsonfoolery, Mr Robinson?’ said Ryan, which made us all laugh.

  ‘Oh for the long-ago schooldays when cheeky young lads like you could be put in their place with a clump about the head,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘Now, everyone, get changed and in that pool in five minutes flat!’

  I shut myself in the poky little cubicle and pulled off my blouse and school skirt and socks and shoes and underwear. I took Clover’s pink costume from my bag and stepped into it with difficulty. I loved Clover to bits but sometimes I wished she wasn’t quite so girly. I was going to feel pretty embarrassed bobbing about in the pool in her tiddly pink costume.

  I tried to pull the costume up so I could put my arms through the straps. I tried and tried. I heaved and strained and yanked. I got the straps into place at long last, but I couldn’t even stand up straight. I had to curve in the middle in the most bizarre way. I peered down at myself. Oh no, oh no, oh no! I knew Clover’s costume was going to be on the skimpy side, but this was ridiculous. The bottom part was riding right up in an extremely embarrassing manner, and the top half very nearly exposed my entire chest.

  I stood there behind the curtain, panicking.

  ‘Katy?’ Cecy called. ‘Are you nearly ready?’

  My throat had dried with the horror of it.

  ‘Not quite,’ I croaked.

  ‘Come on, then. Mr Robinson’s looking all frowny,’ Cecy hissed.

  ‘I – I don’t think I can actually come out,’ I whimpered.

  ‘What?’ said Cecy.

  ‘Just take a peek round my curtain,’ I said.

  Cecy peered in and gave a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Oh Katy! Your costume’s much too small!’ she told me, unnecessarily.

  ‘I am perfectly aware of that,’ I said, with as much dignity as I could muster with ninety-nine per cent of my long, lanky body terribly exposed.

  ‘You can’t come out in that!’ said Cecy.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘Caroline Charlotte Hall!’ Mr Robinson suddenly thundered. ‘What do you think you’re doing! Get in the pool this instant!’

  Cecy pulled an agonized face at me and withdrew.

  I stayed still, hunching more than ever. About a minute went by – a minute that lasted an eternity. Then I heard footsteps along the poolside.

  ‘Katy Carr?’ said Mr Robinson, right outside my cubicle. ‘Whatever are you up to in there?’

  ‘I – I’m not really up to anything, Mr Robinson,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Are you changed into your costume?’

  ‘Well. Sort of,’ I said.

  ‘Then would you mind emerging from the cubicle and jumping into the pool immediately?’ Mr Robinson asked, but it wasn’t really a question, it was a command.

  I peered down at myself in the dark cubicle. I wasn’t actually showing anything I shouldn’t be. Maybe I was being silly. Maybe I didn’t look too awful.

  ‘Katy Carr!’ said Mr Robinson.

  I pulled the curtain aside and stepped out. There was a sudden astonished silence as everyone stared at me. And then, appallingly, a snort of laughter. Then more. More and more snorts and sniggers and bellows and guffaws, until the pool echoed to its rooftop. Every child except Cecy was doubled up with laughter, pointing at me. And Ryan was roaring with laughter too, slapping the water in emphasis.

  ‘Oh my God, Katy, you look utterly gross!’ said Eva Jenkins. ‘Like a giraffe in a thong!’

  Everyone rocked with laughter again, several repeating her horrible phr
ase. Including Ryan.

  ‘That’s enough, Eva,’ said Mr Robinson weakly. He still looked stunned. He shielded his eyes so he couldn’t see me properly. ‘Katy, what are you playing at? Where’s your proper costume?’

  ‘At home,’ I whispered, barely able to talk. I could see in the bright light of the pool I’d gone as pink as the wretched costume.

  ‘Well, you can’t possibly wear that one. Get changed again. You’ll have to miss swimming this week.’

  I slunk back behind the curtain and struggled to get out of the horribly inadequate garment. I was so hot with embarrassment it stuck to me determinedly and it was terribly difficult peeling it off. I was shaking as I got back into my clothes.

  Everyone still stared at me when I came out and sat miserably on a bench. Eva and her little gang kept pointing and whispering and nudging each other, then going off into further peals of laughter. I felt myself burning.

  It was so lonely watching everyone else in the pool splashing about and having fun. It was particularly painful when Mr Robinson asked Eva to demonstrate her breaststroke style to the whole class. She swam so smoothly and stylishly, her little lithe body gliding through the water like a dolphin. When she got to my end she surfaced and smirked at me. I felt like leaping into the water and ducking her.

  Then I had a sudden idea. A terrible mad way of getting my revenge. Mr Robinson was kneeling at the edge of the pool, telling everyone to put their heads under the water to practise breathing out. I knew roughly which was Eva’s changing cubicle. I nipped in, grabbed a handful of her pretty little clothes, dunked them in the pool and then shoved them back, sopping wet. It took thirty seconds tops – and nobody noticed!

  I sat back on my bench, my heart thumping. Oh, just wait till Eva got out of the pool and tried to get dressed! That would so teach her. Then everyone would laugh and jeer at her, and she would see how horrid it was.

  But even as I thought this, grinning in anticipation, I was starting to get worried. Maybe it was a truly mean thing to do, even though she’d been so mocking about me. And what if Mr Robinson twigged it was me? I’d be in truly serious trouble. But he hadn’t seen me. He didn’t have any proof. All I had to do was sit there on the bench and swear blind I didn’t have anything to do with it.