‘Mummy and Drew will love it, don’t you think, Lavender?’ Clementine smiled at her little pig. Lavender grunted and scratched her back against the box on the floor.
‘That’s the next job,’ Clementine agreed, wondering how hard it would be to put the cot together. Drew said that he would probably have to do another university degree to figure it out, but Uncle Digby said you just needed an Allen key and to follow the instructions carefully. Clementine’s reading was excellent these days, but she didn’t know anyone named Allen, so finding the right key might be tricky.
‘Clemmie!’ Clarissa’s voice echoed through the house.
‘Come on, Lavender, we don’t want anyone to see the surprise yet.’ Clementine left her paints in the middle of the room and quickly shooed the teacup pig outside into the hall.
‘I’m up here, Mummy,’ Clementine called back. She could hear her mother’s footsteps on the kitchen stairs.
‘Sweetheart, would you mind helping me with the morning tea?’ the woman asked. ‘Aunt Violet’s at her fashion parade fundraiser and Uncle Digby had to go inspect the cottage.’
Clementine’s eyes widened. ‘What cottage?’
But before her mother could reply, the telephone rang. Clarissa rushed downstairs to answer it.
Clementine followed with Lavender hot on her heels.
When the pair reached the kitchen Clarissa had just hung up.
‘That was Odette. She and Sophie have arrived back home, and they were wondering if you’d like to have a sleepover tomorrow night,’ Clarissa said.
But Clementine shook her head. She didn’t want to be away from the house. She had to stop Uncle Digby from leaving, and what if the baby came when she wasn’t there? Everything would be okay, but only if she stayed on top of things.
Clarissa was surprised by Clementine’s reply – she usually loved having sleepovers with Sophie – but she let the matter lie. There simply wasn’t time to get to the bottom of another mystery right now.
‘Mr Popov and the Froggetts are in the sitting room. They’ve decided to have a quiet day in,’ Clarissa said. ‘So that means I’ve got a very busy day – which I wasn’t expecting.’ The woman grimaced.
‘Are you all right, Mummy?’ Clementine looked at her mother with concern.
‘Fine, darling. Just a twinge. Nothing to be worried about.’ Clarissa smiled tightly. ‘Would you help me take this through?’
Clementine nodded. She picked up a tray containing a plate of chocolate brownies and a plate of butterfly cupcakes and carried it carefully behind her mother, who propped open the swinging door to the hall.
‘Doesn’t this look lovely,’ Nikolai Popov said, as Clarissa set the tea pot down on the coffee table and took the tray from Clementine. This morning the man was dressed in casual cream pants and a red and blue checked shirt.
‘I’ll just get the sandwiches and date loaf,’ Clarissa said and hurried from the room, cradling her bulging belly.
‘Your grandmother tells us that you are quite the performer, Clementine,’ Mr Popov said with a grin as the Froggetts arrived in the room.
Clementine shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’ She wasn’t keen to stay in the room with Katie Froggett any longer than she had to.
The woman put Niki on the ground, where he immediately ran towards the cakes, almost sending them flying.
‘Katie, please, you need to keep that boy under control.’ Nikolai shook his head.
‘Father, he’s a toddler,’ the woman chided. ‘Everyone knows that’s not possible.’
Clementine hoped that wasn’t true.
‘Do you think you could recite one of your poems for us?’ Mr Popov asked.
‘Maybe,’ Clementine said quietly.
‘We’d love to hear one,’ Katie Froggett said, and her husband gave an encouraging nod.
The girl thought about it. The woman seemed interested, and at least Clementine wasn’t being accused of stealing that horrible Babbit again. Niki was walking around the room, dragging the toy in one hand and with a fistful of cake in the other, dropping crumbs everywhere. Uncle Digby would have plenty more jobs to do as soon as he got home, and this time Clementine had nothing to do with it.
‘Okay,’ Clementine said. ‘This is a poem about our new baby.’
The girl launched in, and by the time she finished she saw that Mr Popov was beaming with tears in his eyes. Katie Froggett said the poem was lovely and asked Clementine who the author was. When the child said she’d written it herself, the guests were even more impressed.
‘You do know that life with a baby won’t be anything like that, though,’ Matthew Froggett said with a shudder. ‘There will be mess everywhere, and you’ll be completely sick and tired of the crying and smells, and one minute the child loves you to bits and the next they’re throwing tantrums. And don’t even think about trying to separate them from their favourite toy, no matter how revolting it is.’
Mr Popov nodded. ‘Someone needs to take that jolly thing and throw it away.’
‘Father! Please don’t even think about it. It was bad enough the other night when Babbit went missing.’ Katie glared at Clementine, earning herself a nudge from her husband.
‘Stop it, Katie. She’s just a little girl,’ Matthew rebuked. Nikolai Popov turned his attention to his tea cup.
The woman hadn’t forgotten after all. Clementine’s tummy felt sick.
Clarissa reappeared with the rest of the morning tea.
After much cajoling, Mr Popov convinced Clementine to tell them another poem. This time, she decided on the one from her mother’s wedding. When she finished there were even more tears from the man. Clementine thought he was a bit emotional.
Clarissa told the guests to ring the bell if they needed anything more. She’d have their picnic ready by midday. The family was planning to go for a walk at lunch time, and hoped to find a spot down by the stream at the end of the road to eat.
‘And dinner will be served at seven,’ the woman added. She was going to be exhausted by tonight.
Clarissa and Clementine walked back to the kitchen. ‘That was lovely of you to share your poems,’ the woman said.
‘Except that Mr Froggett said that I’ve got babies all wrong.’ Clementine sighed ‘Do you think our baby will be as much of a monster as Niki?’
Clarissa smiled. ‘It’s impossible to know, really. All children are different – they come with their own personality and quirks – but if this little miracle is anything like you and your brother, I think we’ll be just fine.’
Clementine hugged her mother’s tummy.
‘Ohh,’ Clarissa gasped, then shivered.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mummy?’ Clementine stared at her belly.
‘It was just a cramp,’ she said. ‘I might sit down for a minute. Perhaps you could pop up and get my cardigan from the end of the bed?’
Clementine rushed up to the top floor via the back stairs, and was surprised to see Mrs Froggett nursing Niki on the landing in the middle of the hall.
‘Come here, you little escape artist,’ Clementine heard the woman say. ‘And what have you got all over yourself?’ The pair promptly disappeared down the front stairs.
Clementine frowned. Guests weren’t supposed to be up here. Recently, her mother had decided that the top floor was for family only. Clarissa was happy to forego a couple of bedrooms for the sake of family privacy – especially with the baby coming. Clementine would have to tell her mother that they might need a rope for the people who couldn’t read the new ‘private’ sign properly.
Clementine hurried to her mother’s room to get the cardigan, but on the way out she noticed the door to the nursery was ajar. She’d definitely closed it earlier – she still had to build the cot and hadn’t wanted anyone seeing the half-finished room by accident.
Clementine pushed her way inside and stopped short. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The place was a disaster – there were red blobs of paint on her zebras and green smudges everywher
e. Her artwork was ruined and she knew exactly who was to blame.
Clementine flew out of the nursery and down the main stairs, skidding across the entrance foyer to the sitting room.
‘I need to talk to Mrs Froggett,’ she puffed, before realising that there was no one there, and the plates, cups and saucers had been cleared away. Surely the family hadn’t left for their picnic yet? It was only eleven o’clock, and her mother had said it wouldn’t be ready until midday.
Movement through the window caught her eye. The guests were in the front garden.
She charged through the front door and down the steps.
‘Is everything all right, Clementine?’ Mr Popov asked.
‘No!’ Clementine could feel herself getting hotter and hotter. ‘Niki ruined everything.’
The boy was running around with his father, playing chasings and squealing with delight.
Katie Froggett hurried to her father.
‘What are you talking about, Clementine?’ the woman demanded.
‘Niki was upstairs and he painted over my jungle animals in the nursery. It was meant to be a surprise for Mummy and Drew but now it’s a big mess,’ Clementine blurted.
‘That’s ridiculous. Niki wouldn’t do any such thing. He’s not even big enough to open the doors,’ the woman’s face was pinched.
On the grass, Niki dropped his rabbit and began to scream.
Mr Popov glanced at the toddler and glowered before turning back to his daughter. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘He was missing for a while.’
‘And I saw you on the top landing where guests are not allowed to go,’ Clementine said, a fierce frown on her forehead.
‘He was simply climbing up and down the stairs. It was a game – once toddlers start on stairs you can’t stop them,’ Katie replied with a tight smile.
But Clementine wasn’t having any of it.
‘I can show you,’ she said.
‘But guests aren’t allowed on the top floor,’ the woman replied. ‘We wouldn’t want to break the rules.’ Her eyes narrowed.
Digby Pertwhistle had just pulled into the driveway, parking his old banger down by the side of the garage. He strode around to the front of the house.
‘Clementine, what’s the matter?’ he asked. The girl was standing with her hands on her hips, her face red and eyebrows cross. She reminded him of Violet when she was in a flap.
‘Niki’s made the biggest mess ever,’ Clementine said, her lip trembling.
‘She’s making it up,’ Katie Froggett snapped. ‘Niki is two. She’s just saying it because I thought she might have taken Babbit the other night.’
‘Well, that’s an awful thing to say to a child,’ Nikolai Popov stared at his daughter.
Digby Pertwhistle could only agree. Either Niki’s mother didn’t know her boy as well as she thought she did, or she had blinkers on.
‘Come inside, Clemmie, and I’ll take a look,’ Uncle Digby said kindly. He reached for her hand and steered her back to the house.
Clementine was sobbing as they walked into the house, and the tears simply wouldn’t stop. It was all too much. Uncle Digby was moving out, he and Aunt Violet weren’t in love anymore, Will said her presents were stupid and hardly anyone remembered they’d promised to help her, and now another of her surprises was ruined.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Clementine gulped, and raced away upstairs. She flew into her room and threw herself down on the bed, where she cried until there were no tears left.
Clementine’s eyes fluttered open and she rolled over. She felt a lot better than before, even though her gifts weren’t ready and there was still a disaster to deal with in the nursery. It was almost dark outside – she’d managed to put a lot of sleep in the bank.
There was a knock on the door and Aunt Violet walked into the room carrying a tray with two boiled eggs and a plate of toasty soldiers.
She sat down on the side of the bed and put the tray next to her.
‘Is Mummy mad?’ Clementine asked, sitting up carefully so as not to upset her dinner.
Aunt Violet shook her head. ‘No, your mother’s having a lie down. She’s worked like a Trojan today. Pertwhistle has taken over now, thank heavens. Honestly, I wish that Popov party would popov out of here.’
Clementine could only agree.
‘How was your fashion parade?’ Clementine asked. Her grandmother looked even more glamorous than usual in a peacock blue silk shirt with bell sleeves and a smart pair of tapered black trousers.
‘Very successful. We raised a lot of money, which is all you hope for at these things,’ the woman said. ‘How are you feeling? Digby said you were upset – that Niki had done something else to make a mess?’
Clementine nodded, but she didn’t want to tell Aunt Violet exactly what had gone wrong. Maybe she still had time to go and fix things herself.
‘Why don’t you eat your eggs and then we’ll watch some telly in the library? Will’s already down there having his supper on his lap,’ Violet suggested, leaning in and giving Clementine a hug.
‘Will Uncle Digby come too?’ the child asked.
‘No,’ Aunt Violet said and Clementine could see a tear forming in the corner of her eye. The woman hastily brushed it away.
‘He’s looking after the Popov’s for dinner,’ Aunt Violet said.
‘Shouldn’t you help him?’ Clementine asked. ‘You’re a team.’
‘Maybe not so much anymore, sweetheart. You see, I thought he wanted certain things and it turns out I was wrong – kidding myself yet again,’ the woman said, her voice breaking and tears welling.
Clementine hated seeing grown-ups cry. It was worse than kids. They cried all the time – a scrape, a cross word, a lost toy – but grown-ups only cried when their hearts hurt so badly they couldn’t keep their sadness inside any longer. Clementine’s heart hurt too, seeing her grandmother so upset.
‘He still loves you,’ Clementine said, and gave the woman an extra squeeze.
‘We’ll see,’ Aunt Violet said. She blew her nose and wiped away the tears. ‘Hurry up now – you don’t want to miss Ethel’s television appearance.’
Clementine frowned.
‘You haven’t forgotten Ethel won the Great Village Bake Off and now she’s promoting her new cookbook with the Loveberrys, have you? She had to wait until the term break to go on tour, but she’s making her big television debut tonight, being interviewed on Atticus Strong’s talk show.’
Clementine’s eyes widened. So that’s why Mrs Bottomley hadn’t answered her phone this afternoon. It would be fun to see her old Kindergarten teacher on the television but at this rate, Clementine was never going to collect her presents in time for the baby.
Clementine, Will and Aunt Violet had barely recognised Ethel Bottomley on the television. Gone were her brown suit, stockings and shoes, replaced by black trousers and a buttercup yellow blouse that Aunt Violet commented did nothing for the woman’s complexion. Ethel’s helmet of curls had been tamed into a much more modern style than usual and she also wore a full face of makeup. Clementine thought she looked lovely.
The most surprising thing was the way Mrs Bottomley handled Atticus Strong and his banter. Ethel was matching him laugh for laugh. Who knew that the woman had such a terrific sense of humour? It certainly wouldn’t harm her book sales. Aunt Violet suggested that Mrs Bottomley would be able to retire from teaching and stop terrorising the Kindergarten students to pursue a new career, which Clementine and Will both agreed was a wonderful idea.
It was just after nine when Violet Appleby tucked Clementine into bed. Given she’d slept through the afternoon, her grandmother hadn’t minded her staying up late. The night that followed had been blissfully free of wailing toddlers.
The sun was already up when Clementine awoke and hopped out of bed. She planned to fix the painting in the nursery this morning, and then she’d get back onto organising her gifts – at least Odette was home now.
She walked down the hall
way and opened the nursery door. Clementine blinked and rubbed her eyes, then turned around and walked outside again. She must still be dreaming, or maybe she was in one of those movies where a doorway transports a character somewhere altogether different from the place they were expecting. But when she went back inside she could see it was still her nursery, just not quite the way she’d left it.
‘Who did this?’ she whispered, her blue eyes wide.
‘Hey, Clemmie,’ Will said as he walked into the room and stood beside her. ‘Wow!’
In contrast with yesterday’s ruined paintwork and boxes of flat packed furniture, this room was like something out of a catalogue. Everything was done. Clementine’s animal frieze was fixed, looking even better than before; the cot was made and covered with sheets and a quilt; there was a change table and a rocking chair in the corner; and shelves and even a wardrobe had been built.
For a moment, Clementine wondered if fairies were real, because this had happened like magic. Her mother had been resting all night, Will and Aunt Violet had been in the library with her until nine o’clock and Uncle Digby had been busy with the guests.
‘This is amazing,’ Will said, and Clementine could only agree.
‘Mummy and Drew will get a big surprise,’ the girl said.
The children were still admiring the room when a horrible scream split the air.
‘What’s wrong with Niki this time?’ Clementine said. She and Will charged out into the hall with Lavender right behind them.
‘I tell you, someone has taken it!’ they heard a woman’s voice screech. ‘I’ve looked everywhere and Babbit is gone. Disappeared in a puff of smoke!’
Clementine’s tummy twisted. Mrs Froggett was probably going to blame her – again.
‘Please stop screaming!’ Clementine ordered, but it was no use. The noise was getting louder. Then she had an idea.
Uncle Digby had said that Clementine had a rabbit just like Niki’s when she was a toddler. What if she could find her old one and give it to him so he had a spare?
Clementine Rose and the Best News Yet Page 5
