Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Clover was already fast asleep. I switched my lamp off and huddled under the duvet, pretending to be asleep too. I even started making little snorty snoring noises when Dad opened the door.

  ‘Katy? I know you’re awake. Oh dear, oh dear! I hear you’ve been in big trouble today,’ he said quietly, sitting on the edge of my bed.

  ‘Oh Dad!’ I said, and I sat up and threw my arms round his neck. ‘Dad, it wasn’t really all my fault. Well, maybe the maths homework was. But all that swimming stuff – they were all laughing at me, Eva most of all. She said hateful things. She was practically asking for me to do something to get back at her.’

  ‘Oh Katy, stop the nonsense. And why couldn’t you wear your proper costume?’

  ‘Because – because I forgot to put it in the wash.’

  ‘Poor Izzie. She’s sure Mr Robinson thinks her a bad mother for not seeing you’ve got the right costume – and she tries so hard too.’

  I fidgeted. I didn’t want this to turn into a poor old Izzie conversation.

  ‘Katy, how about you trying a little harder?’ Dad asked softly.

  ‘I do try, Dad. I truly want you to be proud of me. But somehow everything always goes wrong,’ I said, clinging to him.

  ‘I don’t expect you to be absolutely perfect. But if you’d just learn to think first, it might help,’ said Dad, sighing.

  ‘I’ll try, Dad, I promise,’ I said.

  I really, really meant it. Only somehow I got into serious trouble the very next day.

  6

  School was fine on Tuesday. I made a serious effort to join in every lesson and make Mr Robinson like me again. I even volunteered to be a litter monitor, and spent my entire lunch break trundling round the school with a black plastic rubbish bag, picking up chocolate wrappers and crisp packets. Cecy did it with me, so at least we could have a good talk.

  I rather wanted to pick Eva Jenkins up and stuff her into my rubbish bag. She was back in her own dinky little designer clothes but she still hadn’t forgiven me for yesterday. She’d drawn a stupid picture of a giraffe in a thong on the whiteboard before school started and everyone giggled at it as they came into the classroom.

  It was a shock when I saw it. I did my best to keep my face expressionless, because I knew Eva and her little gang wanted me to burst out crying. The trouble was, I felt like crying. Eva was good at drawing and she’d somehow made that hateful giraffe look horribly like me, with my turned-up nose and hair all over the place. The giraffe was standing bent over and knock-kneed with embarrassment, wearing its ridiculously minute thong. You couldn’t help laughing at it if you were anyone else – so of course the whole class were chuckling away.

  Except for Ryan. He came into the classroom immediately after Cecy and me, while we were still standing there, dumbstruck. He marched over to the board and rubbed the giraffe out vigorously, turning it into an inky blur.

  I breathed slightly more easily.

  ‘Wasn’t it lovely of Ryan to rub the board clean and stop them all sniggering?’ Cecy said while we were rubbish collecting.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said, trying to sound cool and unimpressed.

  ‘Just like a hero being gallant in a story,’ said Cecy. ‘You know, like the prince hacking his way through a hundred-year-old forest to awaken Sleeping Beauty with a kiss.’

  ‘Rubbing a board clean isn’t exactly hacking his way through a hundred-year-old forest,’ I said, though I was loving this conversation.

  ‘I can see you and Ryan hooking up together,’ said Cecy.

  ‘Well, we’d look pretty stupid, wouldn’t we? Seeing as I’m so tall and he’s a little titch,’ I said.

  ‘Size shouldn’t be important in a relationship,’ said Cecy, sounding like an advice auntie in a magazine column.

  ‘But we would look stupid, wouldn’t we?’ I said, really wanting to know.

  ‘Well … maybe,’ said Cecy.

  I didn’t want her to say that, even if she thought it! I was all set to shut her up by saying something snubbing – but I didn’t really want to quarrel with Cecy because she was my best friend in all the world.

  I kept my mouth shut and started humming a song instead. Cecy began humming along with me, and we continued collecting rubbish together until the bell went.

  See, Dad! I said inside my head. I’m thinking first, OK?

  I even managed not to fall out with Izzie in the car going home. She started nagging at me because I’d got ink all down my school blouse. It wasn’t my fault that my silly rollerball pen had suddenly exploded. Well, I suppose I had been chewing it a little tiny bit, but that was just to help the creative process when we had to do a piece of extended writing for Mr Robinson. But did I protest at this? No, I sat there meekly and said, ‘I’m sorry, Izzie, truly. I do hope it comes out in the wash.’ I might have pulled a funny face at Clover while I was saying it, but Izzie was in the driver’s seat and couldn’t see, so it didn’t matter.

  We had an early supper, cheesy jacket potatoes and baked beans and then strawberries with squirty cream. We all love squirting the cream out. Dorry and Jonnie and Phil squirted and squirted and squirted, squealing all the while.

  Izzie and Dad didn’t have any supper. They were going to some fancy medical dinner up in London. Dad looked more handsome than ever in his white shirt and bow tie and dinner suit. I felt so proud that he was my dad. No wonder Mum fell in love with him. And Izzie snapped him up quick as a wink, worse luck.

  Izzie was all dressed up too in a dull black dress and silly high heels. She was fussing terribly about leaving us.

  ‘I know Eleanor said she’s happy to look after all of you, but I don’t know how she’ll cope. She’s used to just looking after Cecy – and she’s such a good, sensible child,’ said Izzie, with feeling.

  ‘I don’t know why you have to bother Cecy’s mum. We’ll be OK by ourselves,’ I said. ‘I’ll take care of everyone.’

  ‘Katy, you can’t even look after yourself, let alone look after the others,’ said Izzie. ‘Maybe I ought to give the dinner a miss. Though I really was looking forward to going.’ She gave one of her little martyred smiles.

  ‘Go, Izzie. We’ll be fine, fine, fine,’ I said impatiently.

  We’d have far more fun with Cecy and her mum but again I didn’t say it. I was trying so hard to be tactful I practically burst.

  Izzie still dithered, but Mrs Hall did her best to reassure her when she came round with Cecy.

  ‘We’ll all have a lovely time together. It will be great fun. I’ve always longed to have a big family,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I’m so lucky to have my Cecy, but I wish she had brothers and sisters.’

  Izzie smiled at her weakly. I’m pretty sure she was thinking back longingly to the time when she just had Elsie to look after.

  ‘Well, if you’re really sure, Eleanor. I took the dog for a long walk this afternoon, so he shouldn’t be any trouble. The children have all had supper and in an hour or so Phil and Dorry and Jonnie can go to bed. The older girls go at nine, but they generally read for half an hour or so. We’ll be back by midnight at the very latest. Thank you so much. You know I’ll return the favour any time,’ said Izzie.

  ‘My Cecy practically lives at your house as it is,’ said Mrs Hall. ‘Off you go then, both of you.’

  Izzie wasted another ten minutes telling us to be good and to remember to brush our teeth and to make sure all lights were out upstairs by half past nine, etcetera, etcetera. She even reminded the littlies to have a final wee before they got into bed, which offended the twins terribly. But at long last she went off in a flurry – and there we were, the seven of us and Mrs Hall.

  ‘There now!’ she said, falsely bright. ‘What shall we do, hmm?’

  ‘Can we watch cartoons?’ said Dorry and Jonnie in unison. Dad always tried to get them to play something rather than gawp at the television.

  ‘I don’t think your parents like you to watch too much television,’ said Mrs Hall.

  ‘Ca
n Katy and Clover and I go and play upstairs?’ asked Cecy.

  Clover and I nodded enthusiastically. We wanted to get on with a particularly outrageous game of Celebrity.

  ‘Can I play with them too? I’m not one of the littlies,’ Elsie interrupted. She didn’t even know what game we were intending to play but didn’t want to be left out.

  ‘I think it might be better if you all play together. Downstairs,’ said Mrs Hall.

  ‘Can we do cooking?’ asked Phil. His favourite toy of the moment was a little kiddie cooking set: a small bowl and cookie cutters and a plastic knife and spoon. He didn’t do real cooking with this sparse equipment. Izzie gave him some pink Play-Doh, insisting he only use it in the kitchen because she didn’t want pink stains all over the carpets.

  ‘In kitchen?’ Phil continued, looking up at Mrs Hall with his big blue eyes. ‘I love cooking my cakes.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s a lovely idea, Phil,’ said Mrs Hall brightly. ‘We’ll all go into the kitchen and make cakes for an hour. You can all eat one as a special treat before you go to bed.’

  We stared at her. Cecy and Clover and I might play our exciting grown-up imaginary games, but we didn’t consider pretend-munching a pink Play-Doh cake a special treat. Even Dorry and Jonnie looked baffled, though Dorry’s ears pricked at the mere mention of cake.

  ‘Come along then. Into the kitchen. Now, Katy, where does Izzie keep her flour and icing sugar?’ asked Mrs Hall.

  Oh my goodness, she was intending to make real cakes with us! Izzie rarely let us help in the kitchen because she said we made too much mess. She did let Clover and Elsie and me try making toffee once, only I tried to read Rooftoppers while it was my turn to stir and I got too engrossed. The toffee burned so badly Izzie had to throw the saucepan away. And then of course there was my recent debacle with the pancakes.

  But now here was Mrs Hall positively encouraging us to bake. I gave my littlest brother a great big hug.

  ‘Brilliant idea, Philly,’ I said, rubbing my cheek on his curly head.

  Then we all set to. We assembled the ingredients for the cake, plus icing sugar for the topping. Mrs Hall wanted little sprinkles and silver balls, but Izzie didn’t seem to have any of those.

  ‘Never mind, we’ll make do. There’s a packet of walnuts here. We’ll use a whole walnut to decorate each cupcake and we’ll chop a few to flavour the mixture,’ she said. ‘Now, you can all take turns weighing out the ingredients, a rounded spoonful each.’

  This was democratic but a little unwise. I did my spoonful perfectly and so did Cecy and Clover. Elsie’s hand wobbled and most of her spoonful spilled. Dorry and Jonnie argued about who should go next and nudged each other and got flour all down themselves. And Phil got so overexcited at cooking with real flour that he took hold of the packet, going, ‘Me do it, me do it, me do it!’ and shook flour all over the worktop.

  ‘Whoops,’ said Mrs Hall, determined not to be fazed.

  ‘Whoops!’ Phil echoed, chuckling.

  ‘I’m afraid he can be a bit clumsy at times, but he is only little,’ I said.

  ‘You were ever so ever so clumsy with that pancake and threw it all over me. And you’re not little; you’re big, big, big,’ said Elsie.

  I managed not to retaliate. I listened to Mrs Hall instead, really keen to learn how to make cakes. It was fascinating creaming the butter and the sugar, mixing them round and round. We all had a go, but I was the one who managed it best. Dorry deliberately got butter and sugar all over his fingers so that he could lick them. When the mixture was a perfect consistency we let Phil have several stirs so he could feel he’d contributed too.

  ‘That’s it, Phil, mix away,’ said Mrs Hall.

  ‘Mix, mix, mix!’ said Phil happily.

  Then we stirred in the flour and added the eggs. It looked and smelled wonderful now.

  ‘You have a stir too, Phil,’ said Mrs Hall.

  ‘Stir, stir, stir!’ said Phil.

  ‘Can we see what it tastes like?’ said Dorry, finger hovering above the bowl.

  ‘Not just now,’ said Mrs Hall gently. ‘You can all scrape out the bowl when we’ve got the cakes in the oven. Now we need to chop a few walnuts for flavouring.’

  She chopped one into tiny pieces with a sharp knife.

  ‘Can we have a go now, Mum?’ said Cecy.

  ‘Maybe just you and Katy, if you’re very careful,’ said Mrs Hall.

  So we chopped ultra carefully, with Clover and Elsie and the littlies breathing hard, watching us.

  ‘Chop, chop, chop,’ said Phil enviously.

  We stirred the tiny pieces of walnut into the mixture and then poured it into the little crinkly cake cases, filling each one almost up to the edge but not letting it slurp over.

  ‘That’s it. Well done!’ said Mrs Hall. ‘You’re all great little cake-makers!’

  We put the cakes in the oven and then had a wonderful time scraping out the bowl with our fingers. I’m ashamed to say Dorry tried to put his head in the bowl to give it a good lick. He is such a greedy boy.

  Mrs Hall didn’t tell him off. She just laughed.

  ‘Let’s wipe round your face, Dorry. Then we must get a move on making the icing for the topping.’

  ‘Oh, I just love baking cakes!’ said Dorry.

  Phil was desperate to weigh out the icing sugar too, so I held his hand steady and he managed his spoonful without spilling this time.

  Mrs Hall smiled at me. ‘You’re so good with the little ones, Katy,’ she said.

  I liked Mrs Hall so much. Cecy was very lucky. Her mum wasn’t quite as lovely as my mum – no one could be that special – but she was soooooo much nicer than Izzie. And somehow she made me be nicer too. I wasn’t naughty, wild, careless Katy any more. I was kind, caring, capable Katy, the girl I always wanted to be.

  We stirred the icing sugar carefully, mixing it with water and a little lemon juice to stop it being too sweet.

  ‘How could anything be too sweet?’ said Dorry, breathing in the heady smell of sugar.

  ‘Can’t I mix too?’ Phil said plaintively.

  ‘No, because you’re too little and would spill, not like us big ones,’ said Elsie.

  ‘You spilled, Elsie. Look, you can be a big one too, Philly,’ I said, fetching the little metal steps in the corner. ‘Up you come. But be careful!’

  ‘I be very, very careful,’ said Phil, and he was as good as his word, stirring really gently, his tongue sticking out because he was concentrating so fiercely.

  ‘Mix, mix, mix,’ Phil said happily.

  ‘Now we want to get it to exactly the right consistency,’ said Mrs Hall. ‘We’ll leave it until the cakes are out of the oven before giving it a final stir. Then we’ll put the walnuts on top.’

  ‘Chop, chop, chop,’ said Phil.

  ‘No, darling, we’ll put a whole walnut on each cake,’ said Mrs Hall, still stirring the icing.

  ‘Chop, chop, chop,’ Phil repeated insistently.

  We all looked at him and saw he’d grabbed the sharp knife and was trying to chop the remaining walnuts.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, and made Phil jump. He went chop, chop, chop right into his finger.

  Then he screamed too, louder and louder, as blood seeped from his chopped finger.

  ‘Oh Philly, I’m so sorry! Look what I’ve made you do! Look at the blood!’ I gasped.

  ‘You didn’t mean to make him do it, Katy,’ said Clover, loyal to the last.

  Cecy burst into tears.

  ‘And now he’s bleeding to death!’ said Elsie.

  ‘Of course he’s not,’ said Mrs Hall, holding Phil’s hand under the cold tap to try to stop it bleeding so.

  She seemed nearly in tears herself as she tried to comfort him.

  ‘I’m bleeding!’ he wailed.

  ‘It’s stopping now, see?’ said Mrs Hall.

  ‘I’ll get the antiseptic cream and a plaster!’ I said, desperate to help.

  ‘Yes, do – but – but I think someone o
ught to look at the cut. It is quite deep. Oh, if only your father were home! I’ll phone Izzie.’ She tried phoning on her mobile but Izzie didn’t answer.

  ‘It’s gone straight to her voicemail,’ said Mrs Hall.

  She examined Phil’s finger again. ‘Oh no, it’s started bleeding again. He probably needs stitches. I’d better take him to A & E.’

  She picked Phil up and hugged him hard. Then she looked at all of us. ‘You’d – you’d better all come with us,’ she said. ‘Oh goodness, how am I going to fit all of you into my car?’

  ‘No, no, you can’t take all of us. Look, I’ll be in charge at home here,’ I said, frantic to impress her.

  ‘But you’re far too young, Katy.’

  ‘Cecy and me will look after all the others. I’ll give them all cake and then we’ll go to bed, I promise,’ I said.

  Mrs Hall dithered. Phil was threshing about in her arms, wailing and kicking.

  ‘You get Phil to the hospital,’ I said.

  ‘Not going hospital!’ Phil howled. ‘It hurts!’

  ‘No, they’ll make it better, Phil. A kind nurse will stop it bleeding and then give you a wonderful big grown-up bandage,’ I said.

  ‘A bandage?’ said Phil, sniffing.

  ‘Yes, you’d like a bandage, wouldn’t you? Just like a wounded soldier,’ I said.

  ‘Yes!’ said Phil, almost smiling.

  ‘And look, let’s find Bunnyhop and he can have a bandage too,’ I said, running to fetch him from Phil’s bed upstairs.

  Phil always slept clutching a strange greyish soft toy with droopy whiskers and one big ear. We’d all cuddled this grubby little animal when little. I had given him his name, insisting he was a rabbit, though perhaps he’d once been a koala bear.

  ‘Bunnyhop!’ said Phil, clutching him as if he hadn’t seen him for weeks.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, Katy? You have looked after the children yourself before, haven’t you? Your dad and Izzie have left you in charge?’ Mrs Hall asked.

  ‘Heaps of times,’ I said. This was rather an exaggeration. For the last six months Dad has let me take them over to the park. There’s only one little side road to cross and I’m very careful. Then I’m always in charge when we sneak off to the secret garden next door. Dad and Izzie had never actually left me looking after everyone while they went out – but I was sure I’d be fine.