Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘You haven’t even met her, you idiot,’ I said. ‘She’s not your friend. She’s mine and Clover’s.’

  ‘Now, now, Katy. Stop harassing your little sister,’ said Dad. ‘I can’t wait to meet this Imogen. She’s certainly had a weird effect on all of you. I’m imagining a bizarre amalgamation of Kate Middleton and Beyoncé at the moment.’

  ‘Oh Dad!’ said Clover and I in unison.

  ‘I don’t think we like this Imogen, do we, Dorry?’ said Jonnie. ‘We don’t have to play with her, do we?’

  ‘I want to show her my bandage,’ said Phil. His cut was totally healed now, but he insisted on Izzie giving him a fresh bandage every day.

  ‘Look, she’s our friend. She’ll just be with us,’ I said. ‘Well, until Cecy comes.’

  ‘And then will we go you-know-where and have a picnic?’ said Dorry.

  ‘Yes, I expect so. If you’re all good as gold,’ I said airily, and sauntered out of the kitchen to take off my dress and give my hair yet another wash.

  Imogen didn’t come till gone eleven. I’d begun to think she’d changed her mind. I wished I hadn’t made such a big deal of things.

  ‘Never mind. Let’s just start one of our usual games, like Celebrity,’ Clover suggested, sensibly enough, but I couldn’t really concentrate.

  Then there was a big shriek from downstairs where the littlies and Elsie were kneeling up on the window seat in the living room.

  ‘Oh wow! There’s a great big Range Rover pulled up outside and a big girl’s getting out!’ Jonnie yelled. ‘I think we might like her after all if she lets us have a ride in her big posh car!’

  ‘She looks very grand!’ called Dorry.

  ‘That’s not a girl, she’s a lady, silly,’ said Elsie.

  Clover and I looked at each other. Our bedroom was at the back of the house so we couldn’t have a good peer ourselves. We ran out of our room, across the landing, and hurtled down the stairs. I actually slid down the banisters, which is strictly forbidden in case the children copy me and fall on their heads, but this was an emergency. We had to get to the front door first before the littlies did, or Imogen might back away nervously and run right back to her Range Rover. Our siblings en masse can be very unnerving.

  I pushed them all out the way and got to the front door just as Imogen knocked. I flung open the door – and then stared open-mouthed in astonishment. At first I thought a complete stranger was standing at the front door, though she was certainly holding Coco. Then I realized it was Imogen – but she looked so different!

  9

  Imogen’s hair was piled up elaborately on top of her head, with long tendrils hanging down in a complicated kind of way. She had make-up on too – her eyebrows looked much darker and she had a ring of black round her blue eyes that made her look incredibly knowing and sophisticated. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts – but they weren’t remotely like my T-shirt and shorts. My T-shirt was a man’s one, big and baggy on me, with a panda on the front, and my shorts were the long loose kind, down to my knees. Imogen’s bright white T-shirt was tiny, so that it barely covered her weeny waist, and her shorts were even smaller, alarmingly so. She had jewelled flip-flop sandals and an elaborate bead bracelet round her ankle.

  I could see why Elsie thought she was a lady. She looked incredibly glamorous, years and years older than eleven.

  ‘Wow,’ I said uncertainly. ‘You look ever so grown up.’

  ‘You’ve got make-up on!’ said Clover. ‘Are you really allowed to wear make-up?’

  ‘If I want to,’ said Imogen, shrugging.

  We stood staring shyly at her, not knowing what to say or do next. Luckily Tyler wasn’t anywhere near as bashful. He jumped round our ankles, barking cheerfully at Coco, desperate to be friends.

  ‘Down, Tyler! Stop it! Gently!’ I said.

  The man in the Range Rover wound down the window, laughing. If Imogen looked amazingly old, then he seemed startlingly young. He had longish hair and wore a black vest that showed an elaborate tattoo all down one arm.

  ‘Your dog’s a happy little chap,’ he said. ‘Right, I’m off then. Bye, Imo. Phone when you need a lift.’

  Imogen gave him a wave and he drove off.

  ‘Is that your dad?’ Clover asked.

  ‘Yep, that’s Sammy,’ said Imogen.

  Clover and I looked at each other. I tried to think of calling our dad ‘Alistair’ so casually. I imagined Dad with long hair and a tattoo and giggled a little hysterically.

  Elsie and Dorry and Jonnie and Phil were scrabbling around behind us, desperate to see Imogen too.

  ‘Move out the way, Katy!’ Elsie wailed. She squeezed past me and then stared openly at Imogen.

  ‘These are my sisters and brothers – the littlies,’ I said to Imogen, sighing.

  ‘I’m not one of the littlies! I’m nearly as big as Clover,’ Elsie said indignantly.

  ‘Shut up and say hello nicely,’ I said. ‘And stop whispering, you two!’ I added sharply to Dorry and Jonnie.

  They all three mumbled hello, though Dorry and Jonnie spluttered, very red in the face. Phil was less bashful.

  ‘Oh, you’re so pretty!’ he said, clasping Imogen’s free hand. ‘You look just like the princess in the fairy-tale book.’

  ‘Oh, sweet!’ said Imogen.

  ‘Katy, Katy! Whatever are you doing?’ Izzie fussed in the background. ‘Invite your friend inside, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘My stepmother!’ I mouthed at Imogen, pulling a silly face. ‘Come in,’ I said out loud.

  Izzie looked startled when she had a proper look at Imogen.

  ‘So you’re … Imogen?’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Carr?’ said Imogen smoothly, holding out her hand.

  ‘How do you do?’ said Izzie. A smile flickered across her face at Imogen’s perfect, old-fashioned manners – but her brow wrinkled when she looked her up and down. ‘I – I thought you were Katy’s age,’ she said.

  ‘I am. Eleven. But Sammy says I’m eleven-going-on-twenty-one,’ said Imogen, laughing.

  ‘Sammy’s your brother?’ asked Izzie.

  ‘No, my dad!’ said Imogen.

  ‘Oh!’ said Izzie. ‘Well, come and meet Katy and Clover’s dad. He’s in the living room.’

  Dad was sprawled on the sofa, shoes kicked off, surrounded by the Saturday newspapers. He was equally startled by Imogen’s appearance. He sat up straight and peered at her above his reading glasses. He can’t help looking a bit fierce and intimidating when he does that, but Imogen didn’t seem at all bothered. She sat down opposite him on the best velvet chaise longue, smiling.

  ‘Hello, Dr Carr. Remember me? And this is little Coco.’ Imogen patted the velvet beside her and Coco leaped nimbly into place.

  ‘Hmm!’ said Elsie.

  We’re not allowed on the velvet chaise longue, let alone Tyler, but neither Dad nor Izzie liked to tell her this. I took a deep breath and sat one side of Imogen, and Clover sat the other. Elsie and Dorry and Jonnie and Phil all squashed up on the opposite sofa, staring at us as if we were on television. Tyler barked enviously at Coco, clearly wanting to jump up on the chaise longue too. I reached over to haul him up but Izzie glared at me.

  ‘No, not Tyler!’ she snapped. ‘You know he’s not allowed.’

  ‘Oh goodness, Mrs Carr! Aren’t dogs allowed on the furniture?’ said Imogen, gathering Coco up in her arms.

  ‘I’m sure your dog hasn’t got muddy paws like Tyler,’ said Izzie. ‘What a sweet little darling!’

  I reached out and patted poor Tyler, aggrieved on his behalf.

  ‘Now, let me make everyone a drink,’ said Izzie. ‘What would you like, Imogen – fruit juice or milk? And a chocolate cookie?’

  ‘Oh, just mineral water, please,’ said Imogen. ‘Don’t tempt me with a cookie. I’m on a carb-free diet.’

  Our jaws dropped. Mineral water? Why on earth would anyone in their right mind choose water? And what on earth was Imogen doing on a diet?
She was thin as a pin! Dorry looked particularly astonished at the sight of someone willingly turning down the chance of a cookie.

  ‘Can I have Imogen’s cookie?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘No, Mr Greedy Guts,’ said Izzie, and scurried off to the kitchen.

  Dad was still peering over his glasses.

  ‘How long have you been on a diet, Imogen?’ he asked. His tone was mild, but we could tell what he thought of the whole idea.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Dr Carr. I promise you I’m not turning anorexic,’ she said. ‘My mother’s dietitian worked it out for me and it’s wonderfully nutritious – and I take vitamin supplements anyway.’

  ‘Even so, surely your parents don’t think it a good idea?’ said Dad.

  ‘Oh yes, they do! I have to guard against getting tubby! I do a little modelling nowadays and so I really have to stay very slender,’ said Imogen. She smiled at me. ‘I wish I was naturally thin like Katy,’ she said.

  I wasn’t sure whether she meant it or not. Oh glory, fancy someone like Imogen wishing she was like me!

  ‘You do modelling!’ said Clover, sounding awed.

  ‘Izzie says I might be a model one day,’ I blurted.

  Dad made a little noise. He stifled it as best he could, but I heard it. He was laughing at me! I sat, silent and stung, while Clover and Elsie chattered to Imogen, admiring her greatly. The littlies remained unimpressed, fidgeting and scratching, but they stayed where they were because they wanted their cookies.

  Izzie came back with two cups of coffee, one glass of mineral water, six glasses of juice, and a big plate of cookies. They weren’t the ordinary shop-bought kind, they were her own home-made sort, with extra chocolate.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll change your mind, Imogen?’ Izzie said, offering her the plate, but Imogen remained resolute.

  We watched her drinking her mineral water, amazed that she preferred it to sweet juice. I wondered about trying it myself sometime, as it seemed such a sophisticated choice.

  ‘Right. Let’s go and play in our bedroom,’ I said to Imogen and Clover as soon as they’d finished drinking. Then I blushed terribly, because play seemed such a childish word. ‘I mean, hang out,’ I added, feeling a total idiot.

  Imogen came with us readily enough. Elsie clamoured to come too, following us up the stairs.

  ‘You can come with us later, when we have our picnic you-know-where,’ I said. ‘But not now. We want to do big girls’ talk, so scram.’

  I gave her a little push.

  ‘You are a big girl, Katy,’ said Elsie. ‘A big, big, big, hideous giant girl. You won’t even fit in this house soon. You’ll keep bumping your ugly head on the ceiling and I shall go ha ha ha!’

  ‘Take no notice of the infant. She’s always whining like this,’ I said to Imogen in a lordly way, and slammed the bedroom door shut on Elsie. ‘Right, here’s our bedroom!’

  Tyler ran round and round it, wagging his tail. He picked up one of my old socks and started shaking it wildly, as if it were a rat.

  Imogen put Coco down on a bed, away from him. Coco sat obediently, not scrabbling at all.

  ‘That’s my bed,’ said Clover. ‘Do you like my patchwork cushion, Imogen? Izzie helped me make it. And look, see this picture of the two of us on the wall? Katy did it. Isn’t she artistic? I did the decorations all round the edge. And look, there’s all our old teddies on the windowsill.’

  ‘Of course we don’t play with them any more,’ I lied hastily.

  ‘Hmm, yes,’ said Imogen, clearly unimpressed. She looked round in surprise. ‘Don’t you have your own television? And what about your tablets?’

  ‘We don’t have any,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘But I have a phone, look.’

  Imogen looked and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘That’s kind of a granny phone, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘It’s because of our dad. He hates most modern technology. He’s dead old-fashioned,’ I said, still stinging from his little snort of laughter.

  ‘Oh, he’s sweet!’ said Imogen. ‘He can’t help being an old fuddy-duddy, bless him. He’s quite old, isn’t he? I mean, old to have so many young children. He’s more like a grandad.’

  I swallowed. I knew I’d just called Dad old-fashioned, but it seemed worrying that Imogen was talking about him like that. Dad wasn’t old old, was he?

  ‘Our mother was much younger,’ I said. ‘And beautiful.’

  ‘Here she is,’ said Clover, pointing to her photo in its silver frame. We took turns to have it on our bedside table, one week me, one week Clover. I wasn’t sure I wanted Imogen to look at her. Mum was too precious. If she said something patronizing about her I knew I’d burst out crying.

  But Imogen barely glanced at her. ‘So what do you two guys do up here then? I’m guessing you don’t have iPods either?’

  Clover and I looked at each other. What did we do? We played all our pretend games – but even Clover knew not to tell Imogen this. I knew that this grown-up, glamorous Imogen would look incredulous if I outlined even Celebrity, our most sophisticated game. She’d put us on a par with little Phil when he played Lions. She’d call us sweet.

  ‘Oh, we draw. And do our homework and stuff. And read of course,’ I said, indicating our crammed bookcase. ‘Who’s your favourite author, Imogen?’

  Imogen shrugged. ‘I don’t really read, like, books. I like browsing stuff on my iPad more,’ she said. She sat down on Clover’s bed beside Coco and looked at her phone. I felt my arms prickling. Oh God, was she bored already and thinking of calling her father back right this minute?

  ‘We have a special secret place,’ I blurted out. ‘We’ll take a picnic and go there for lunch, OK?’

  ‘A secret place?’ said Imogen, looking mildly interested.

  ‘It’s a secret garden,’ said Clover. ‘It’s the most magical place ever.’

  ‘What, like in that old film, The Secret Garden? With roses and a robin and a baby deer? I loved that part,’ said Imogen. ‘That was my favourite film when I was a little kid.’

  Clover and I looked at each other. It was one of our favourite films now.

  ‘Well, you don’t get deer in our secret garden, but there are lots of old rose bushes and I’m sure I’ve seen a robin there sometimes,’ I said.

  ‘It’s truly lovely and Katy’s made us a special camp under a willow tree, with rugs and cushions and all sorts,’ said Clover.

  ‘Then let’s go there now!’ said Imogen. She kissed Coco on the tip of her nose. ‘You’d like a secret garden, wouldn’t you, baby?’

  ‘Tyler just loves it there,’ I said, picking him up and kissing him on the tip of his nose. He didn’t just accept the gesture placidly like Coco. He wriggled and squirmed and licked me thoroughly all over my face.

  ‘Get off me, Tyler. I’ve already had one bath today, so I don’t need another,’ I said. ‘Come on then.’

  ‘It’s – it’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ said Clover.

  I consulted my beautiful watch. It was only half past eleven.

  ‘Well, we’ll go and sit on the garage and wait,’ I said. ‘Let’s see if Izzie’s got started on our picnic.’

  ‘What kind of picnic?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘Oh, it’s heavenly! Quail and sweetmeats and passion fruit!’ said Clover, her face glowing.

  ‘Wow!’ said Imogen.

  ‘Well, we pretend it is,’ I mumbled, embarrassed. Imogen didn’t seem to hear me and I didn’t repeat it.

  When we got downstairs I told Clover to conduct Imogen and Coco to the garage while I rushed to Izzie in the kitchen. She was busy preparing food.

  ‘Izzie, could you possibly make it a very, very special exotic picnic?’ I said. ‘With no carbs, whatever they are?’

  ‘Well, I’m doing my best. Your Imogen’s not at all the way I imagined a St Winifred’s girl! I’m doing a salad specially for her, and there’s carrot sticks and the avocado dip I was saving for your dad’s and my supper, and I’ve taken the skin off the c
hicken so it’s as low-calorie as possible.’

  ‘Oh, thanks so much, Izzie!’ I said, so relieved I gave her a quick hug.

  She went really pink and her face screwed up, almost as if she were about to burst into tears.

  I backed away quickly, feeling awkward, and ran to join Imogen and Clover.

  ‘This is where we wait,’ I said, taking Imogen’s hand and pulling her outside through the French windows, across the garden to the garage. ‘We’re allowed to climb right up – Clover and me. It’s quite easy, just nipping up the ladder. I’ll show you.’

  Imogen was staring at me as if I were mad.

  ‘Why do we want to go up on the garage roof?’ she said.

  ‘Well … it’s a good waiting place,’ I said.

  ‘Who are we waiting for?’ said Imogen.

  ‘Our friend Cecy next door. She has dancing on Saturday mornings but she gets back as soon as she can, about ten past twelve. You’ll love Cecy. She’s very pretty – but not as pretty as you, of course,’ I said.

  Imogen dimpled when I said that, but she wouldn’t be persuaded to climb the ladder.

  ‘It’s easy-peasy,’ I said, climbing up and down to show her.

  ‘I can do it. Watch,’ said Clover.

  ‘But there’s no point,’ said Imogen. ‘I don’t want to sit on a garage roof. It looks horribly uncomfy – and dirty too. Can’t we just go to the secret garden now?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, though I felt anxious about going there without Cecy. I felt in my shorts pocket for my phone, ready to text her, but I saw I’d let the battery run right down, again. I found a scrap of paper and decided to leave her a written message, but didn’t have a pen on me. ‘Just half a tick, Imogen.’

  I dashed back indoors and asked Dad if I could borrow his fountain pen for a minute.

  ‘Katy, I love you dearly, but I shudder to think what havoc you could wreak on the nib if I let you use my precious prescribing Montblanc for a full sixty seconds,’ said Dad.

  ‘Oh, you’re just an old fuddy-duddy!’ I said, exasperated, and I abandoned my pen-seeking, grabbed the picnic from Izzie and rushed back outside. Dorry followed immediately, and Jonnie and Phil followed him. Elsie was still hanging around Clover and Imogen.