by Adam Baron
I had no idea what he was talking about, though Milly seemed to get it.
‘Voráček’s frying,’ she said.
Mr Hájek leaned forward and frowned. ‘Frying?’
‘It means great,’ I explained. ‘In her language. “Frying” is a new one. She must have learned it in the playground today.’
Mr Hájek smiled and he and Milly chatted, while I moved off towards the sweets aisle. I held my bag in front of me, trying not to let it drip on my skirt as I unzipped the side pocket. I knew there was some change in there – from International Evening last term. Mum had given us two pounds each and I hadn’t spent mine. I save up for things, unlike Milly who splurges any money she gets. I probably had a whole pound in there and I was going to spend fifty pence – on Milly. There’s no doubt that she’s annoying, but she had got my clothes out for me that morning. And, after the day I’d had, I wanted to visit a different room inside myself, one where I could be kind and generous.
I scrabbled around in the front pocket, about to grab a twenty-pence piece, when light blasted in through Mr Hájek’s window. The rain had stopped and the sun had come out, yellow light singing off the wet road and all the cars. I was amazed that it had turned bright so quickly and I held a hand up to the glare, though it soon vanished.
‘Ah,’ Mr Hájek said. ‘Sorry, Milly, this chat has been both “frying” and “radical”, but I’m going to have to “leave you on read” now. A delivery.’
I thought that it must have been a cloud that had blocked out the sun – but it wasn’t. It was a van. It had pulled up right outside Mr Hájek’s shop. I looked at it for a second, until my eyes were caught by something else.
And it was so amazing that I dropped my bag, my pencil case coming out of the open pocket, all the change I’d been looking for skittering across the floor beneath Mr Hájek’s fridge units.
So it WAS a fake. The medal at Hall Place!
The fact that I was right made me clench my fists with satisfaction. Though it annoyed me too. I wanted to go back. I wanted to tell that helper AND Veronique. I wanted to show them the medal as it looked on the Internet. Veronique was asleep, though. And, when we got up in the morning, I couldn’t get her on her own.
Because she was practically GLUED to Ellen.
‘What do you have for breakfast?’ I heard Ellen ask her, as I waited outside the bathroom. They’d been in there for HOURS and I was DESPERATE.
‘Weetabix,’ Veronique said. ‘Normally.’
‘So do I!’ Ellen cried, though that was a LIE! When they FINALLY came out, I hissed, ‘You have rice crispies.’
‘What?’
‘Yesterday you did NOT have Weetabix. I had Weetabix. ME! YOU had rice crispies!’
Ellen just laughed, and Veronique squinted at me. ‘Cymbeline,’ she said, ‘you’re so funny sometimes.’
I watched them hurry off downstairs.
I wanted to tell Veronique about the medal when we were on the way to school – Ellen wouldn’t be there, would she? Veronique’s mum came, though, with some school clothes for her. She then drove us both and I couldn’t get a word in. I just had to listen as Veronique went ‘ELLEN this’ and ‘ELLEN that’, babbling on about what a great time they’d had and if she could go to Ellen’s gymnastics club.
‘And can Ellen come over to our house sometime?’
‘Course,’ Veronique’s mum said. ‘I like your hair by the way. Will you do mine like that?’
‘Ellen did it,’ Veronique replied. ‘She’s amazing!’
I stared out of the window. ‘S-h-e’s a-m-a-z-i-n-g,’ I mouthed.
I gave up on the medal for now – because a thought had come to me. And it was BAD. What if Ellen didn’t stop at stealing Veronique from me? What if she then moved on to Lance?! What if I had to watch her trying to get him to teach her kick-ups? Or what if she asked to go cycling with him, which Lance loves but I’m not that fussed about (I mean, HILLS, people). Or worse: what if I had to watch them both, knee-deep in Lego, MY Lego, Ellen smirking up at me as they built a brand-new Death Star?!
No. I couldn’t let it happen. So I asked Veronique’s mum about their burglary. That finally stopped Veronique talking about Ellen, because she wanted to know too. Mrs Chang sighed.
‘They really made a mess.’
‘Did they pull all the books off the shelves and stuff?’
‘That’s right. Looking for money, I guess.’
‘What did they take?’
‘My laptop and David’s camera.’
She meant Veronique’s dad. ‘Was Veronique’s room bad?’
‘Awful.’
‘And they smashed your door down?’
‘They did, but it’s odd.’
‘What is?’
‘Well, your Auntie Mill’s got CCTV.’
I knew that. My Auntie Mill lives next door to Veronique and I’ve seen their security cameras.
‘It just about stretches to our door, but Mill says she can’t see the burglars going in.’
‘Can’t she?’
‘No.’
‘So how can they have smashed the door?’
‘No idea, though they did. Anyway, it’s all cleared up now. Including your room, sweetheart.’
Veronique’s mum turned to Veronique and smiled again, patting the top of her plaits.
When we got to school, Veronique hurried towards the gate. She likes to get into class early so she can read. I called out but she didn’t hear, so I hitched my bag on my back.
‘Bye, Cymbeline.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Chang,’ I said.
And I thought about what she’d told me – the CCTV didn’t show the burglars going in. It didn’t make ANY sense, though it reminded me of what the police had said at our house. They’d gone round to all the neighbours and asked if anyone had seen our burglars either coming in, or running away. But no one had. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was convinced of one thing – it WAS the same burglars. It had to be.
But did it mean anything?
I didn’t know but I HAD to find out – and about the Phoenix Medal. Because, if I did, Veronique would DEFINITELY be interested. And, if she was, then MAYBE she would notice that I existed again.
But how could I find out about either thing? I had no idea until I glanced up at our classroom window. And I nodded to myself because I, Cymbeline Igloo, had come up with a PLAN.
‘Jess!’ Milly called from the counter. ‘What is it?’
I didn’t answer. I just stared through the window, past the message board with people’s lost cats on, or sofas for sale. I was staring at the bin right outside Mr Hájek’s shop. It was full and sopping wet, some dripping crisp packets poking out next to a soggy pizza box.
They weren’t what had caught my eye, though.
Still ignoring Milly, I hurried over to the door, Mr Hájek marching out to get his delivery. I followed him, my right foot hovering over a big puddle. I managed to avoid it and then I was standing on the pavement.
Staring – at Mr Goldy!
He was in the bin! He was wedged beneath the pizza box, the end of one of his little legs just visible beside a crushed drinks can. The leg was soaking wet and I shook my head, thinking what a REALLY HARD LIFE he was having – before frowning. Because the lady – Mrs Rose – had said she was desperate to get Mr Goldy back! So why had she thrown him away?! It was almost impossible to take in, but then it got even harder. Because, after I’d reached for the leg and pulled, I realised that I’d made a bit of an assumption, probably because I couldn’t see much of the teddy.
It wasn’t Mr Goldy at all!
It was a different teddy completely!
What?
For a second I just stood there, questions jangling in my head. The first thing I felt was disappointment: I thought I’d found Mr Goldy again. Then I was just amazed. I’d never even found ONE teddy before, but now I’d found TWO in a week. And neither in the best of states! I shook my head, wondering what it meant, about to ask M
illy when I stopped again.
Because – now that I was staring at it – I knew this teddy …
It was MINE!
And not just THAT – I’d actually made it at the Build-A-Bear Workshop where we’d gone for Anisa’s birthday (she’s in my class)! It lives at the end of my bed, but was now in my hand, drenched and mucky, after I’d pulled it out of a bin! And the weirdness didn’t even stop there because it was damaged. It hadn’t just been shoved in a bin but cut open, its stuffing poking out. You don’t really like to think of what’s inside your teddies, but I had to because it was right there in front of me as, suddenly, was Milly. She’d come out of the shop and was staring at the teddy too, though she didn’t look shocked exactly, or even excited. Or even just a little surprised.
She looked guilty!
‘Jess,’ she said, before staring down at her soggy shoes. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’
My plan was this: I was going to tell Miss Phillips about the Phoenix Medal. That it was a fake! I was going to get her to go on Google, on the big screen, in front of everyone, and bring up the image I’d found. We could then compare it to my drawing! Miss Phillips would be fascinated, and anything that got a teacher going would be sure to excite Veronique.
But it didn’t happen.
When I got upstairs, Lance stopped me at the coat pegs. He said that he had some ‘grave news’.
‘Miss Phillips is on a course,’ he said.
‘What?’ I sighed. ‘So we’ve got …’
‘A supply teacher. And …’
‘No. NO!’
‘It’s Mr Gorton,’ Lance said.
And, though he does like to wind me up sometimes, Lance was actually telling the truth. Waiting inside the classroom was, indeed, Mr Gorton, who can be compared to some of the world’s most EVIL villains. He even has his own catchphrase to make your blood run cold like Darth Vader when he says, ‘Bring them to me now!’ Mr Gorton’s is scarier than that, though, and it even beats ‘Exterminate!’ (the Daleks) and ‘My Precious!’ (Gollum). He sits up straight like there’s a drawing pin on his seat and says, ‘BE QUIET!’
And, if you’ve ever heard it, you’ll know the effect it has. And the effect of seeing him in the classroom was to puncture my plan like a balloon. There was no point telling him. He’d just order me to sit down. I tried explaining it to Lance instead, but he wasn’t interested at ALL. He just banged on about the Death Star.
‘Steal all Mabel’s unicorns!’ he said. ‘The Lego ones.’
‘Uni-legs.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what she calls them now. Uni-legs.’
‘So? Who cares? Bring them round to my house!’
I told Lance that I’d try – but how could I? Mabel had put the Uni-legs up in the boxroom, and told me all their names. How could I steal Star Spangle? Or little Moon Fizz? Not to mention Sprinkle Love, Tooty Fruits or Rainbow Toes? They were just babies. They hadn’t even been given their magic horns yet.
I turned from Lance to Veronique. She was stuck in A Tale of Two Cities, though, and you DON’T interrupt Veronique when she’s reading. I walked over to Charles Dickens instead. He saw me coming and swam up to the wall of his tank, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to tell me something.
‘What is it?’ I whispered.
But Charles Dickens moved off towards his little treasure chest and then Mr Gorton told me to sit down.
I tried talking to Veronique at lunchtime. What were we going to do about the fake?! Before I could get to her, though, Vi told her that her hair looked wicked. Daisy agreed and they all went off together. Five minutes later, they were in the playground doing different styles on each other. It actually, well, looked kind of fun. I like art, as I’ve said, and this was just another sort really. I even thought about asking to join in, but I wasn’t quite brave enough. I played football instead, with Lance and Billy, thinking I might be able to see Veronique at last play. She was off doing something in the Craft Zone, though. I DID see her at home time – but she just shrugged.
‘Who knows how many white roses there were?’ she said. ‘Or red ones?’
I stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I didn’t look that closely. I just believed what you said.’
I nearly argued but there was no point – Veronique hates being wrong. Getting sneered at by that helper must have really affected her. I tried to get her interested in the burglaries instead, but she shrugged again.
‘Maybe it was the same people. What does it matter? There’s nothing we can do about it. Can you give this to Ellen, though?’
Veronique held out an envelope and went off to her dad. I resisted accidently letting it fall in a gutter on the way home, and handed it over.
‘What IS it?’ Mabel demanded (we were in the kitchen). Ellen grinned.
‘Oh, look,’ she said, after she’d torn the envelope open. ‘A friendship bracelet. We said we’d make them for each other. Tell Veronique I’ll give her hers on Friday.’
‘Friday?’
‘When I go for a SLEEPOVER.’
Ellen’s grin grew even wider as she tied the bracelet on to her wrist.
‘ELLEN’S GOING TO VERONIQUE’S FOR A SLEEPOVER!’ bellowed Mabel, as she jumped up and down.
That week passed so
We had Mr Gorton the WHOLE time, though even he wasn’t as bad as home. The Squeaky Chicks now felt like maggots eating my brain. Mum and Dad went from arguing to making each other laugh, and then back to arguing again. There was nothing in between. Mr Fells knocked on the door SIX times to complain about the noise. I had two more dreams about earthquakes (Dad was back in my room) and then one in which I was Chicken Licken and the house fell on my head. That wasn’t Dad’s fault, though. Stephan came back from work on Wednesday and brought a stepladder inside. He got a saw out, climbed the ladder – and cut a hole in the landing ceiling!
A cloud of dust curled down into my bedroom and we all began to cough. Then Stephan disappeared, his legs vanishing into the roof space, as if a monster was eating him. I stared up until he reappeared and climbed down.
‘Bit cramped now in this house, isn’t it?’
I nodded – there was no denying it. And it was getting worse. Dad didn’t just snore, he left his stuff ALL OVER my bedroom. Shoes, jeans, shirts. Honestly, he is SO UNTIDY.
‘But what’s that got to do with you going up there?’
‘Because we’re getting two extra bedrooms. And another loo.’
‘You’re going to lift up beds and stuff?’ I craned my neck to the black hole.
‘No! We’ve had the plan for ages. We were never going to just move in. This squash is only temporary. We’re going to do a loft conversion.’
‘Today?’
‘It’ll take a few months. We’ll have to take the whole roof off the house first.’
I stared after Stephan as he called Mum up, then held the stepladder for her so that she could have a look.
‘But I like our roof,’ I said.
Mum and Stephan tried to convince me that the loft conversion would solve all our problems, but no end of new rooms could have made Ellen any better. I had to avoid the living room because she practised her gymnastics in there. I went in once and got booted in the face by a cartwheel. We ran out of milk THREE more times that week because she glugged it, and she ALWAYS beat me to the biscuit tin. Not that she admitted anything.
‘I did NOT eat the chocolate ones!’ she insisted after I’d found YET ANOTHER mound of digestive crumbs. I said she MUST have, but Mum said that I had to believe her – otherwise I’d be calling her a liar. I wanted to say that she WAS a liar! Something told me that Ellen was actually telling the truth, though, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. So, when she was watching TV, I snuck up the stairs. V-e-r-y q-u-i-e-t-l-y, I pulled the door of the boxroom open and, trying not to knock any Uni-legs over, I searched EVERYWHERE. The drawers, behind the books, in Ellen’s schoolbag. But there wa
s nothing, at least not until I was about to give up. I took a last look at the room – and froze. There was a bulge at the far end of Ellen’s blow-up mattress! And, when I lifted it up, what do you think I found?
WELL?
YES!
There were:
Three chocolate Hobnobs.
Nine chocolate digestives.
Sixteen Jaffa Cakes.
And forty-seven chocolate fingers!
And that wasn’t all. There were ALSO three of my Subbuteo men – which I’d been missing – and NOT MR FLUFFY!
‘MUM!’ I bellowed.
Mum came running and I held the mattress up, expecting her to be outraged. Her eyes would go as big as footballs! Her hands would fly to her hips – like they did when Dad turned up! She’d say,
‘Well!’
and stomp downstairs, calling Ellen
‘Young lady’
before demanding that Ellen come upstairs to give her
‘AN EXPLANATION’.
I felt the first actual happiness I’d had in ages – but it faded. Because, when Mum appeared in the doorway, and I pointed to the stash, she didn’t look angry.
She looked sad!
‘Cymbeline,’ she said, glancing behind her before pushing the door to. And then she told me that, instead of being cross with Ellen, I should try to U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D her.
‘WHAT?!’
Ellen, Mum said, was going through a ‘difficult phase’. She was finding it ‘hard to adjust’. She was joining a new family and living in a new house. And she missed her mum.
‘Why doesn’t she go and live with her then?’
‘Because she lives with Stephan. He’s her primary carer. And Stephan’s living with us now.’
‘But can’t she go and stay with her mum for a night or two?’
‘Yes, and she will, but not now. Her mum’s away and anyway we want to have a long period together so we can all get used to …’
‘Her stealing my things? And squashed Jaffa Cakes? Broken chocolate fingers? I’m eating these by the way. ALL of them.’