by John Newman
Suddenly I knew what I had to do. I knew my sister, and I knew what she would do! So I pulled up her mattress, and without taking one bit of care I pulled out her diary. Then I sat on the floor and flicked through it to the last page of writing, and I was right.
Dear Mimi,
I just knew you were the spy! And I was right wasn’t I?
“How did she guess?” I asked the diary out loud, but of course I got no answer.
So now you know my terrible secret and I suppose you hate me too.
“No, I don’t!” I told the diary.
I’m a thief. I steal stuff from nice lovely kind Mrs. Lemon of all people. I don’t even know why I do it. Since Mammy died I sometimes feel so bad and then I take something and that makes me feel better for a while, but then I feel worse than ever and I will surely end up in jail and that will serve me right.
But at least I don’t read other people’s diaries, Mimi. Ha!
“It’s not as bad as stealing!” I said crossly, because I did feel bad about it but I wasn’t going to admit it to Sally. Not that she could hear me.
I’m just teasing you, Mimi! You are my favorite sister in the whole wide world.
“I’m her only sister in the whole wide world,” I told the diary — but I did like reading it.
And I love you and I even love Conor although I can’t stand him most of the time, and I love Daddy and even though everybody hates me now I want you to tell them that I’m OK and that I’m safe and sound and that I haven’t gone away forever. Just until I sort things out in my head a bit — and there is no need to call the police or get into a panic, and I’m sorry to worry everybody because I know they love me, and I will never ever steal again. Tell them that, Mimi . . . and stop reading my diary!
The page was all wet and smudged. Sally must have been blubbering away when she wrote that.
Everybody turned and looked at me when I walked back into the kitchen. They were all standing or sitting just where they had been when I had run out. It was as if they had all been frozen in time, and now when I walked back in they all started again and Aunt M. asked me if I was all right now.
“Sally is OK,” I blurted out. “She says don’t call the police.”
Everyone looked startled for a moment, and then they all started asking questions.
“Were you talking to her?” asked Dad very quickly.
“Where is she?” said Granny.
“How do you know this?” Aunt B. wanted to know.
“Give the child a chance!” said Grandad to them all.
I took a big breath. I didn’t really want to say how I knew, so I said, “She wrote me a note and said that she is OK and don’t call the police.”
I thought that would stop the questions — but it only made things worse!
“What note?”
“When did you get this?”
“What exactly did the note say?”
“Did she say she was coming back?”
Grandad had to come to my rescue again. “Stop, the lot of you,” he said. It was funny to hear Grandad being the bossy one for a change. “Mimi will tell us everything she knows if you give her half a chance.”
And that did shut them up. Then Dad asked me gently, “Can you show us the note, Mimi?”
That was the one thing I really did not want to do. “No,” I said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” snapped Granny. “Her sister has run away from home and we are all worried sick and she won’t show us the damn note!”
Granny sounded so cross. She was talking about me as if I weren’t there, and I didn’t like it one bit. I could feel a lump in my throat.
Then Dad pulled me toward him and sat me on his knee. “Shush,” he said to Granny. Granny didn’t like that, I could tell. She pursed her lips and looked as though she was about to explode. Then he said to me, “Now, lovey, why can’t you show us the note? Did Sally ask you not to?”
“I read it in her diary,” I said in a low voice, and I had to look at my shoes. It was my turn to feel ashamed now.
Aunt M. crouched down beside me and took my hand. I couldn’t look at her, but there was a smile in her voice when she spoke. “Well, isn’t that funny, Sally writing a diary — because the only other person I know who did that was your mother, Poppy. And I know that, Mimi, because I used to secretly read it!”
I could hardly believe it. Aunt M. used to read my mammy’s diary. Just like me and Sally.
“Someday I’ll tell you what she used to write in it,” continued Aunt M.
“Look, I’m sorry for being impatient with you,” interrupted Granny, “but I should think, in the circumstances, that you could show us the diary.”
“No,” said Dad, and Granny threw her eyes to heaven. “I don’t think Sally would like Mimi to do that.”
“Will you have some sense, for God’s sake!” Granny was shouting now. “I’ve already lost a daughter — I don’t want to lose a granddaughter!”
And the next thing Granny was crying in our kitchen and Grandad had his arms around her and was whispering and tut-tutting, “Sally is going to be all right, you’ll see. She’ll be home soon.” He handed her a tissue. Daddy said to me, “Mimi, could you just write down the bit that Sally wrote about being all right. Then we won’t be prying.”
“Please do that, Mimi,” sniffled Granny in the saddest voice. I didn’t say anything. I just slipped off Dad’s knee and went out of the kitchen and up the stairs and started writing down the bit from Sally’s diary that they wanted to see.
When I came down, Conor was there and so were Emmett and Emma. They must have come in when I was upstairs. Granny was putting out bowls of soup for all of them. Aunt B. was helping her. The kitchen was really crowded. I handed the note to Dad. He read it quietly, then handed it to Aunt B. and she read it out loud. At “there is no need to call the police,” the doorbell rang. At first I thought that it was the police, and then Grandad said, “I bet that’s your friend Orla.”
He was right, and I was glad to go up to my room with her, and Emma came up too while the adults talked about the note.
Orla and Emma had never met, but you wouldn’t have known it.
“Are you Dig?” asked Orla.
“No, I’m Dag,” answered Emma. “This silly moo is Dig.” And she pushed me onto the bed and the next thing, I don’t know how it happened, both Emma and Orla were on top of me and tickling me to death, and Emma was telling Orla to watch out “because Mimi does cracker-bums if she gets too giddy!”
And of course I did get too giddy and let out a huge cracker-bum, and both Emma and Orla fell back onto the floor, holding their noses and laughing.
It didn’t really seem right to be having so much fun when Sally was missing, but it is hard to be too serious with a friend like Orla and a cousin like Emma.
But then all of a sudden Orla did get serious. “I have a plan for finding Sally,” she said.
“Seriously?” asked Emma. She had stopped laughing now too.
“Seriously,” said Orla and we all sat on the bed and she explained. “We use Sparkler to track her down. Dogs have a great sense of smell. The police often use them to track down criminals.”
“Sally is not a criminal,” I said, but then I remembered about the stealing and I realized that she probably was one.
“They use dogs for tracking down missing people as well,” continued Orla.
“That’s right,” said Emma. “The dog gets the scent from a piece of the missing person’s clothes. I saw it on the telly.”
Then I remembered I had seen it too! On Southsiders when the old woman with the althesizers, or something like that . . . anyway, she had lost her memory and gotten lost, and they tracked her down with police dogs. The dogs sniffed her cardigan or something. “I’ll get one of Sally’s tops for Sparkler to sniff,” I said, and jumped up.
“Get one that hasn’t been washed,” called Orla. “It will have a stronger smell.”
Emma looked at Orla. “You’r
e clever!” she said to her, and Orla grinned.
“We’re taking Sparkler for a walk,” I told the adults.
“Taking the dog for a walk?” said Dad, looking puzzled.
“Good idea!” said Aunt B. “Good for the dog and good for you girls. No point in everyone moping around the house all day. Off you go. Chop-chop!”
Well, if Dad was surprised that I was taking Sparkler for a walk, it was nothing compared to how surprised Sparkler was. She charged in the minute I called out, “Walkies!” and flew around the kitchen, her tail wagging so hard it shook her whole fat body. She knocked into everyone and jumped on Aunt M. and put dirty paws all over her white jeans, and Aunt M. wasn’t a bit pleased but everybody smiled in spite of being so sad.
Once outside the front door, Sparkler made a run for the gate. I was holding on to her lead, but she just dragged me after her.
“She hasn’t had a walk for a long time, has she,” said Orla as she tried to hold Sally’s top up to Sparkler’s nose — but Sparkler didn’t even seem to notice it.
“SIT, SPARKLER!” I shouted, but of course that made no difference. “Grab her collar,” shouted Emma, so we both held her by the collar while Orla held up Sally’s top. This time, Sparkler at least noticed the top. She thought that it was a great game. She grabbed it in her teeth, and when Orla tried to pull it away the sleeve ripped off.
“Oh, great,” I muttered. “Now Sally is going to kill me!”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Emma. “We won’t tell her. We’ll just throw the top in the trash when we’re done.”
Then Orla shouted, “She’s got it! Sparkler’s got the scent.”
Sparkler was now pawing and sniffing at the torn top as if it was the most interesting thing in the whole wide world. Did she smell Sally on it? Then suddenly Sparkler headed off out through the gate, with Emma and me holding the lead, letting ourselves be pulled along after her. She turned right, and keeping her nose close to the wall trotted along as if she knew exactly where to go.
“Go on, Sparkler, lead us straight to Sally,” shouted Orla, all excited.
Well, the scent led to the first lamppost, where Sparkler stopped to do a poop. I knew that I should pick it up, but I didn’t have a bag, so I didn’t.
“Yuck!” said Orla. “Dogs’ bottoms should be corked!”
Then Sparkler found the trail again and was off, sniffing at the wall and dragging us along.
Well, it wasn’t a straightforward journey that Sparkler led us on: in and out of front yards and around parked cars, and she stopped at every tree to pee.
“Your dog has sprung a leak,” said Orla, which made us all laugh.
To tell the truth I didn’t believe that Sparkler was going to lead us to Sally. She’s a nice dog, but she is a bit of a brainless mutt. I don’t think Orla and Emma believed in Sparkler the great sniffer dog either, but at least it felt as if we were doing something, and in some way it took my mind off Sally’s having gone missing. It felt more as though she was playing hide-and-seek with us. But still, in the pit of my stomach there was a hard black lump just like I get when I think of Mammy gone forever.
In the end Sparkler led us into a broken shed near the railway. In the corner of the shed was a large crumpled-up sheet of black plastic, and even in the dim light we could all see something moving under it.
“Sally!” whispered Emma, and lifted a corner of the plastic. Sparkler charged into the gap she’d made, pulling the lead out of my hand, and a terrified cat came squealing out the other side, its fur standing up and its tail standing out.
Orla and I screamed as it flew past us as if its tail were on fire. Sparkler — completely covered in the plastic — raced after it, and Emma nearly broke her sides laughing.
“Sparkler is no sniffer dog,” said Orla when she had gotten over her fright.
“It was worth a try,” said Emma, and we headed for home.
The journey home was slower, because Sparkler was not fit. This time we were dragging her, instead of the other way around.
Outside our house there was a police car. I stopped in my tracks. My knees felt all weak and shaky. Emma noticed because she said, “Are you OK, Mimi? You’ve gone all white.”
“The police are in my house,” I barely whispered. Inside my head a voice was saying that Sally was dead, just like Mammy.
“They have probably found Sally,” said Orla.
The policeman in our house had not found Sally, but he still had his cap on, which must mean that at least she was not dead. He was sitting at the kitchen table writing notes while Dad described Sally. Everyone was still there, and Uncle Horace had arrived too so it was even more crowded. Emma and Orla stayed in the hall. Dad looked up when I came in.
“Sally said don’t call the police,” I told him in an angry voice.
“Horace had already called them,” explained Dad quickly. “They were already on their way when you were reading Sally’s diary.”
Then the policeman turned to me. He had a kind face. “You must be Mimi,” he said. “Your Uncle Horace did the right thing, Mimi. We are just here to help.”
Then Granny clapped her hands and said, “Now, Mimi, why don’t you come and stay with me and Grandad for the night? Emma and your friend Orla, if she wants, can come for tea and Grandad can drop them home later. Conor says he wants to stay here with your daddy and help in the search, but you would be happier in my house for one night, wouldn’t you?”
I looked at Dad, but he just smiled and said that was a great idea so that was that. I was glad. I really didn’t want to stay in our house if Sally wasn’t there.
As soon as we got to Granny and Grandad’s house, Granny sat us down for cakes and lemonade.
“Our granny makes great cakes, Orla,” said Emma while we waited for Granny to get the tea ready.
“Mimi,” said Grandad very seriously, “I have some bad news.” I must have looked frightened, because he said quickly, “No, no, no, not that kind of bad news — just about chess.”
“About chess?” I said slowly. I couldn’t imagine bad news about chess except if he was going to say that I had to play it now.
“Well, you know your Uncle Horace’s computer?” Grandad began.
“Oh, he’s always playing on that,” interrupted Emma.
“Yeah, so does my dad on his,” agreed Orla.
“Well, anyway,” continued Grandad, “I got Horace to goggle the origins of chess for me.”
“I think you mean Google,” said Orla.
“Goggle, Google, what’s the difference?” wondered Grandad, shaking his head.
“There’s a big difference!” said Emma.
“He’s just an old fool,” Granny said, laughing as she came in with a tray full of nice things to eat.
“Can I finish my story, please?” asked Grandad, pretending to be annoyed. “Anyway, Mimi, according to Horace’s computer, chess was probably invented in India — not in China after all. Now isn’t that bad news?”
“That’s terrible, Grandad!” I said, and pretended to be horrified. Emma and Orla got a fit of the giggles.
“Of course I can still teach it to you if you like, but it’s not really a Chinese game. Are you heartbroken, Mimi?”
“If chess is not Chinese, I don’t want to learn it,” I said as sadly as I could, while Emma held her sides and fell off her chair.
“So we’ll just have to watch boring old Southsiders instead!” finished Grandad, shaking his head sadly.
Granny had now set the table and was pouring out lemonade. “Rightio!” she said. “Up off the floor, you, you silly-billy,” she told Emma, “and tuck in.”
“Thank you very much,” said Orla politely. My mouth was already full.
“You are very welcome, young lady,” smiled Granny. “And I’m sorry there aren’t as many éclairs as I thought. I don’t know what’s happened to them. I’ve looked everywhere.”
While Granny was saying this, Grandad was making faces behind her back. He w
as blowing out his cheeks and sticking out his tummy and pointing at Granny and miming the words, “She ate them.” Emma was drinking lemonade and it all squirted out of her nose when she saw what Grandad was up to. Orla couldn’t keep her giggles in when Emma did that. Giggles are normally very catching, but although I was smiling I just couldn’t seem to catch the giggles today.
“What are you up to behind my back, old man?” asked Granny, and popped an éclair into her mouth, which only made Emma laugh harder.
“Nothing, love,” said Grandad, and winked at me.
It was quite late when Uncle Horace came for Emma and Orla. He said that there was no news of Sally yet, but the police were keeping a lookout and they all had a copy of her photo and that she was sure to turn up soon. Then he shook my hand and nearly broke my fingers and told me to get some sleep and said that everything looks better in the morning.
I was very tired, and I fell asleep the minute Granny left the room, after giving me a special good-night kiss. Grandad had already rubbed noses with me downstairs and said, “Good-night, sleep tight, and don’t let the fleas bite.”
Granny had told me to wake her if I felt upset during the night, and promised that “All’s well that ends well” and that Sally would definitely turn up soon so I wasn’t to worry.
I was too tired to worry anymore. I just fell asleep.
I had a bad dream about Sally. In the dream she was locked outside our house and she could not get in. All the doors were locked, and she kept knocking and knocking at the window. No one could hear her except me, and I was trying to tell Dad. He wouldn’t believe me and just kept on watching TV. The knocking was getting louder and louder, and Sally was pushing her face all squashy against the window and shouting, but only I could hear her and see it. “There’s nobody there,” said Dad, looking right out of the window at her. Then he began to close the curtains, and I tried to stop him. Suddenly Sarah was in my dream, putting on her mocking voice, “There’s nobody there, Crybaby. You’re all alone.” And the knocking was getting louder and louder . . . and it woke me up.
