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swelling over the waistband. Her protruding navel was clearly visible through her T-shirt. I couldn’t look at it because it made me feel queasy. Tiffany wore tiny denim skirts that showed her knickers when she bent over. She had a blue butterfly tattoo on her big white thigh.
When they came to work the day before term started, Mum made them a pot of tea and everyone seemed friendly at first, but when Mum started telling them exactly how she wanted her kitchen cleaned in the future, Mrs Colgate took offence.
‘Are you insinuating it was dirty when you came here?’ she said.
‘I’m not insinuating anything, I’m stating a plain fact. It was downright filthy. I’ve scrubbed it up to standard now, and I want you to keep it spotless. I prepare my food here. This is a health and safety issue,’ said Mum.
Mrs Colgate blew a very rude raspberry. ‘The kitchen’s your territory, Mrs Wells. You blooming well keep it scrubbed. Tiff and I have got the whole school to get round. I’ve been cleaning here for the last ten years and no one’s found fault yet. Just who do you think you are?’ she said, folding her arms belligerently.
‘I’m the catering manager,’ Mum said in her poshest voice. She stuck her chin in the air. ‘And that means I’m senior to a cleaner, so stick that in your gob, you dirty mare,’ she added, in quite a different tone.
Mum would have been outraged if Jodie or I had said that. It was a moment of triumph for Mum, but it meant that Mrs Colgate and Tiffany were our deadly enemies now.
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They caught Jodie and me trying to slip up the stairs to the attics.
‘Where do you think you girls are going? Those stairs are out of bounds,’ said Mrs Colgate.
‘They’re not out of bounds to us. We live here,’
said Jodie.
‘This isn’t part of your flat, missy. You’ve no right to be here. Now scoot back to where you belong,’
said Mrs Colgate.
‘You can’t make us,’ said Jodie.
‘Give me any more of that lip and I’ll report you to Mr Wilberforce,’ Mrs Colgate threatened.
‘See if we care. He’s our friend,’ said Jodie – but she backed down all the same.
We weren’t quite so sure he was our friend now.
We were used to seeing him in his gardening clothes – his old checked shirts and baggy corduroy trousers and funny floppy sunhat – but now term had started he wore striped shirts and a blazer and grey flannels, striding around in a lordly fashion in highly polished shoes. Some of the teachers didn’t even call him Mr Wilberforce. They called him
‘Headmaster’ in deferential tones, as if it meant Your Majesty. Mr Wilberforce still nodded kindly when he saw us and he always gave Jodie a special wink – but we didn’t want to try our luck.
Miss French was different too, nowhere near as jolly, dashing around with a clipboard, her reading glasses stuck in her hair like an Alice band. She didn’t have so much time for Jodie now. There were a whole troop of children eager to take Old Shep for a walk. Miss French chose Jodie if she got there first, but she often wasn’t quick enough and some other child had run off with him. Old Shep lapped 281
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up the attention, barking joyously at everyone, especially if they fed him treats.
‘He’s a silly old mutt,’ said Jodie. ‘I’d got him so well trained. He was even starting to do tricks for me, turning round and lying down, playing Dead Doggie, but now he’s got distracted. He’ll go off with anyone if they give him crisps or biscuits. It’s mad to feed him rubbish like that. He’ll blow up like a balloon. I keep telling Frenchie, but she won’t listen.’
Jodie still spent time with Jed whenever she could, though lots of the older girls vied for his attention too.
‘They are so pathetic, that Anna and Sophia and Rebecca,’ said Jodie fiercely. ‘They just hang around Jed, getting in the way, batting their eyelashes at him, going giggle giggle giggle. Oh, Jed, they chorus, over and over. Anna calls him
“The Jedi’’. Honestly. She doesn’t seem to get it that he’s not the slightest bit interested in her.’
I listened anxiously. Jodie didn’t seem to get it that Jed wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her either. The only girl I’d seen him staring at was horrible Tiffany Colgate.
Jodie wasn’t interested in any of the boys in her new class, as Mrs Wilberforce had hoped.
‘They’re awful!’ she said, after that first day of school. ‘Childish, ugly, nerdy, snotty, pathetic and stupid too. Thick thick thick.’
‘Harley’s in your class. He’s not any of those things,’ I said.
‘Childish, ugly, nerdy, snotty, pathetic,’ said Jodie, counting on her fingers. ‘But he’s not thick, I’ll grant you that. The other boys really are 282
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though, truly. That’s why they’re still here. They’re supposed to be getting special tuition to pass this Common Entrance thingy so they can go to a really posh school, but some of them can barely read and write. They’ve got all these weird fancy names for their so-called conditions, but they’re basically thick.’
‘What about the girls?’
‘They’re idiots too,’ said Jodie. ‘They’re hopeless.
It’s awful that they’re all so much younger than me.
They think they’re dead sophisticated but they’re incredibly babyish. And their voices! They’re just so fwightfully silly, squeal squeal squeal squeal. God, it’s totally doing my head in and I’ve only had their company for one day. I’m not going to survive a week!’
She threw herself on the bed in mock despair. We were both in school uniform now – grey skirts and white blouses. Jodie had done her best to customize hers, shortening her skirt and rolling up her shirt sleeves, with her grey and red striped tie casually knotted on her chest. She couldn’t do anything about her school shoes though, terrible conker-brown flat lace-ups. Jodie waved her thin legs in the air, making her shoes do comical Charlie Chaplin sideways steps.
‘This is all such rubbish,’ she said, sighing. ‘I wish we’d never come here. I’d give anything to be seeing all my mates again. Marie and Siobhan and Shanice.’
She’d conveniently forgotten that they’d all broken friends with her. I flopped down on the bed beside her, peering at her anxiously.
‘Don’t look so worried, Pearly. We’ve still got each 283
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other, eh,’ said Jodie. ‘Who needs any of these posh-nob creeps?’
I kept quiet.
‘All right, Harley’s not too bad. He can be fun at times, when he’s not showing off. And the little kids are quite sweet, especially funny old Dan. But all these others are enough to drive you insane.’ She gently pulled one of my plaits. ‘Was it awful for you too, Pearly?’
‘Mmm,’ I said into her pillow.
‘So your little lot are as bad as mine?’
‘Mmm,’ I repeated.
I was lying. I didn’t dare tell Jodie but I’d had such a wonderful day. I’d been so scared when I had to go to the Year Seven classroom after breakfast. I was sure they’d all hate me. I just didn’t have the knack of making friends. I wouldn’t be able to think of a thing to say. Maybe it would be better to keep quiet. Everyone always sniggered or groaned when I answered a question in class at my old school.
They called me the Snottyswot, the Nerdybrain, the Poncy Teacher’s Pet. I was used to being pinched or pushed in class and in the corridors, though when Jodie was still in the Juniors, no one dared touch me in the playground because she’d knock them flying.
I got to the classroom early, hoping to grab a seat right in the front, the safest place. Harley was lounging by the door, looming way above everyone else. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him at
breakfast. I’d been in such a state I hadn’t been able to stomach the smell of Mum’s vast vats of baked beans. I’d nibbled a slice of dry toast alone in our own kitchenette.
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‘Hi, Pearl,’ said Harley, trying to sound noncha-lant, though it was difficult with everyone staring at us. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were OK.
Jodie said you didn’t feel well.’
I swallowed. ‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled.
‘Good. Well, see you around after school?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’ll come and find you. Hope it goes well today.
See you.’ He waved his long fingers at me and sloped off down the corridor towards the senior classrooms.
‘How do you know Harley?’ said the girl standing next to me.
She had very short plaits with lots of wisps, and freckles all over her snub nose. She was only a little bit taller than me and she had a very friendly gap-toothed grin. She really didn’t seem at all scary.
‘Harley’s my friend,’ I said proudly.
‘But he’s in Year Eight,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘So do you know Harley outside school then?’
‘Well. He was here during the summer. And I was too,’ I said.
All the other girls were crowding round, listening. There was one girl who was crying, her eyelids very red and puffy. She clutched a sodden hankie and mopped at her runny nose ineffectually.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said.
She just sniffed, knuckling her eyes.
‘That’s just Freya. She always cries, every single term. She’ll get over it,’ said a very pretty fair girl with a posh, precise voice. She put her arm round Freya’s shaking shoulders. ‘Come on, Freya, don’t 285
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drip all over the new girl. What’s your name?’ she asked me.
‘Pearl.’
‘Oh, that’s beautiful. I love jewel names. I used to be friends with a girl called Garnet at my old school,’ said the wispy girl. ‘I’m Harriet. My friends call me Harry.’
‘I’m Clarissa,’ said the pretty girl. ‘We’re all boarders; we share a bedroom. How come you were boarding in the holidays, Pearl? Are your parents abroad?’
‘No, they’re here. They work here.’
‘What? You mean they’re teachers?’
‘No.’ I took a deep breath. ‘My mum’s the catering manager.’
They looked blank.
‘She’s the cook.’
Clarissa raised her eyebrows.
I stuck my chin out, suddenly brave.
‘She’s a brilliant cook, just you wait and see what your lunch is like,’ I said. ‘And her cakes are awesome.’
‘Oh, will she make us cakes?’ said Harriet. ‘So what about your dad? What does he do?’
I considered saying he was the site manager. I decided it was pointless.
‘He’s the caretaker,’ I said.
‘Oh, so he’s that lovely man who took my trunk.
He’s so funny – he pulled my plaits and called me Polly Pigtails,’ said Harriet.
‘Oh yes, that’s Mr Wells. He gave me his hankie,’
Freya sniffed. ‘He’s ever so kind.’
‘Yes, that’s my dad,’ I said proudly.
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your dad lifted it right up,’ said a tall black girl with wonderfully complicated plaits all over her head. ‘He called me Polly Pigtails too.’
‘You always bring heaps too much stuff, Sheba; you’re hopeless,’ said Clarissa. She paused, looking at me again. ‘So, is Harley your boyfriend?’
‘No!’ I said.
‘Clarissa’s got a boyfriend – Jeremy Mendleson.
He’s in Year Eight too,’ said Harriet.
‘I think I’m getting a bit fed up with him actually,’ said Clarissa, wrinkling her nose.
‘Have you got a boyfriend, Harriet?’ I asked.
‘No, they all tease me and say I’m too little.’
‘They all say I’m too big,’ said Sheba. ‘But I don’t care. I mostly can’t stick boys.’
‘I can’t stick them either,’ said Harriet. ‘They’re so silly.’
‘Mmm,’ said Freya, blowing her nose.
‘Yes, maybe I won’t bother getting a new boyfriend,’ said Clarissa, glaring down the line at a group of boys at the end. They were making silly belching noises and fighting duals with rulers, proving our point.
‘You don’t like boys, do you, Pearl?’ asked Harriet.
‘No. Except for Harley,’ I added quickly.
‘So you hung out with Harley all the holidays?’
said Harriet. ‘What did you guys do together?’
I wished I could tell her. I knew she’d have been impressed. But I smiled mysteriously instead, shrugging my shoulders.
I couldn’t believe they were all being friendly to me, even Clarissa. I was still worried about school time though. Who would I sit next to? Would the 287
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lessons be very different? I’d always been top at my old school, but perhaps I’d be bottom here. Clarissa and Sheba and Harriet and even weepy Freya seemed such bright, intelligent girls. They probably knew heaps more than me.
Our teacher was called Mrs Lewin. She was surprisingly young and pretty with dark hair falling past her shoulders and little rings on every finger. I thought she might even be one of the students at first. She came clacking along the corridor in pointy boots, saying hello to everyone in the queue. She put her arm round Freya and gave her a little hug. She gave me a little hug too.
‘So you’re my new girl, Pearl. I do hope you’ll enjoy being at Melchester. Now, who would you like to sit next to?’
I ducked my head shyly.
‘Can she sit next to me, Mrs Lewin?’ Harriet said.
I felt my face go pink. ‘Oh please, yes, can I sit next to Harriet?’ I said.
‘You can call me Harry because we’re friends now,’ she said.
I was friends with Harry; I was friends with Sheba and Freya and even Clarissa. By the end of lessons I was friends with all the girls in my class.
I knew all the boys’ names and quite liked Joseph and Haroon, two quiet boys who enjoyed reading.
There were only fifteen of us in the whole class so it was easy to get to know everyone.
I realized I couldn’t be top of our class. Haroon was incredibly clever and Sheba was absolutely brilliant at maths – but I seemed to do the best in English and history. We had a wonderful double lesson about the Victorians and then Mrs Lewin 288
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told us to write a story set in Victorian times, trying to get all the details correct. Most of the girls wrote about being grand ladies in crinolines, but I wrote about Kezia and Pansy. I got so carried away I wrote pages and pages and pages.
Harry leaned over and peered. ‘You’re writing like an entire novel,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said anxiously. I never dared write much at my old school because the others only ever wrote two sides, and that was in very big writing, three or four words per line. You were considered a show-off and a swot if you wrote more.
Harry didn’t seem to mind at all.
‘Maybe you can write some of mine too!’ she said.
We had to read our stories out loud. My heart started thudding when Mrs Lewin picked me. I read in a teeny-tiny voice at first, waiting for the class to start sighing and yawning and poking me in the back. There wasn’t a single sigh or yawn or poke! They sat up straight, listening as if they were actually enjoying my story – and when I got to the end, they clapped!
I couldn’t believe it – all my new friends applauding me as if I was an actress
on the stage!
I couldn’t wait to tell Jodie – but now I couldn’t tell her. It would be unbearably horrible boasting to Jodie that I had four new friends and a lovely teacher and I’d enjoyed every minute of lesson time.
Jodie wasn’t stupid. She saw me wandering along the corridors with my little group of friends; she saw me trading sausages with Harry at lunch time; she saw me sitting on the lawn at break, showing all of them how to make bead bracelets like mine. She saw, but she didn’t comment.
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I saw Jodie sauntering along by herself, humming a little tune, hitching her skirt up even higher, all alone but acting like she didn’t have a care in the world. I saw the other girls in her class, three tall dark-blonde girls, alarmingly alike, so I never quite worked out which was Anna, which Sophia, which Rebecca; they were just AnnaSophiaRebecca. They walked along arm in arm, heads together, all of them giggling. Sometimes it looked as if they were giggling at Jodie.
Jodie had never really got on with other girls, not even back in junior school, but the boys had always been in awe of her. But these Melchester boys weren’t the right sort to appreciate her. They were mostly quiet and awkward, backing rapidly out of her way whenever she came near them. There were two loud-mouthed idiots, James and Phil, who chatted her up the first day. Jodie had flirted back automatically. Then they waylaid her after school, wanting her to go off into the woods with them.
‘Why? What did they want you to do?’
‘What do you think?’ said Jodie. She sighed at me. ‘They certainly didn’t have badger-watching on their dirty little minds. Honestly, the cheek of it! As if I’d ever be seriously interested in a pair of spotty goons half my age! I whacked them both hard about the head to teach them a lesson.’
They started calling Jodie names after that.
Horrible names that made me burn.
‘It makes me want to punch their teeth in,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t try, little titch.’
‘Well, I’ll get Harley to punch them. He’s tall enough.’
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My Sister Jodie Page 22
