Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, sipping. ‘I just feel so hopeless. It’s so awful, being stuck here.’ Then I blushed, because I realized I was being tactless. ‘I didn’t mean stuck with you. You’re being ever so kind. It’s just …’

  ‘I know,’ said Izzie. ‘Why don’t you take a little break from all that schoolwork? Do something else.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else,’ I wailed. ‘I feel so stupid and useless. Maybe I should have stuck it out at the pottery classes. Then at least I’d be making my Christmas presents like Clover and Elsie. Though you’d have to be pretty weird to be grateful for one of my wobbly pots. But what else can I make?’

  ‘Well, I know it was a bit of a disaster the last time I suggested you do some sewing with me …’ Izzie said cautiously. ‘But I’ve got lots of little offcuts from my bags. How about making purses for the girls?’

  I didn’t really fancy the idea at all, but I agreed to give it a go because Izzie was trying so hard to be kind to me. She spread out all the odd pieces of suede and leather and gave me a special needle and thread. She showed me how to make a simple fold-over purse. It was actually a bit too simple.

  ‘Could I perhaps design my own?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ said Izzie, though she looked a little sceptical.

  It was a piece of green suede that had set me thinking. I sketched out a design on a piece of paper first, not wanting to cut into the suede and muck it up. Izzie watched me drawing four loops and looked interested. I pinned the paper to the suede and cut round it carefully twice.

  ‘Oh, I get it!’ said Izzie. ‘It’s a four-leaf clover!’

  ‘Do you think Clover might like it?’

  ‘I think she’ll love it!’ said Izzie. ‘What a great idea.’

  It was hard work stitching round the loops and I had to do it very carefully to make the stitches even. I wanted a little zip inserted in one of the loops, and that was way beyond me, so Izzie stitched it for me on her machine.

  ‘There!’ she said, giving it to me. ‘One present solved.’

  ‘I’ll start on Elsie’s purse next,’ I said. I thought hard. What on earth would Elsie like? I sifted through the offcuts. There was a piece of white leather and a little scrap of pink suede. I had a sudden idea. I started another drawing and then started cutting out a white shape.

  ‘OK, I’m guessing again,’ said Izzie.

  ‘It’s going to be a daisy with a pink centre,’ I said.

  ‘I love the way you’re cutting the petals out so carefully,’ said Izzie.

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t go too wonky. I want it to be special for Elsie.’

  ‘Katy, she’ll love it,’ said Izzie. ‘She’ll especially love it because you’ve sewn it for her.’

  I didn’t have time to finish Elsie’s purse that morning. I worked on my purse project every Saturday morning after that. Jonnie was next. I used more of the white leather and stuck some narrow black strips on it.

  ‘Zebra stripes!’ said Izzie, laughing. ‘A perfect choice for Jonnie.’

  I knew Dorry would like a purse too. It was easy to make a design for him. I used yellow leather and the white, and then a piece of red suede, and fashioned a cake with a lot of cream and a cherry on the top. Philly wouldn’t want to be left out, so I made him a yellow duck purse with an orange beak.

  I had to make Cecy a purse as well. I used pale blue suede, fashioning her a high-heeled shoe with a crystal button sewn on the front.

  I needed to send Helen a present too. As soon as I picked up a scrap of silver leather I knew what I was going to make: a seahorse purse. I copied the design from my necklace and stitched the little face very carefully, giving him a green glass eye.

  I wanted to make a proper wallet for Dad. Izzie had to help me a lot, especially with the complicated folds inside. I stitched Dad’s initials on the front piece of leather. They went a little bit wobbly, but I hoped Dad would think it was just an artistic style of writing.

  That left Izzie. I didn’t want her to see what I was making. I collected up various scraps of lilac and grey suede and purple leather and made her own purse in secret in my room. It was a miniature handbag, copying her most popular style, the bag she used herself: a deep purple leather with lilac and grey suede roses appliquéd on the front. Of course I couldn’t make it look totally professional, and I didn’t attempt the little pockets or the grey silk lining, and I had to fasten it with four little buttons cut off an old baby dress of Jonnie’s because I couldn’t manage to sew in a zip, but I was still pleased with the way it turned out. I hoped Izzie would be too.

  She was certainly very complimentary about my other purses.

  ‘They’re brilliant, Katy! I know you’ve always rather despised my handbags but if you ever wanted to do something similar in the future I’m sure you’d be a great success,’ she said.

  ‘A suitably genteel occupation for a poor little crippled girl,’ I said. I meant it as a silly joke, but Izzie winced.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Katy,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. And you know you can do just about anything if you set your mind to it. Look at Helen.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said – but I couldn’t do anything I wanted. I couldn’t be a sporting champion, playing football or running or racing cars.

  There was something else I couldn’t do. Dance. Well, I’d never really been much cop at dancing, but I’d been able to jig about to pop music. There was a Springfield Christmas disco for all the Year Sevens and Eights. Mr Myers was arranging it in the gym and it was already a big talking point.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, folks. It’s not a prom, so keep your fancy dresses in your wardrobes, girls. It’s going to be very low-key. A good old-fashioned school disco like you had at primary school, with fruit punch and crisps and chipolata sausages, and I’ll be the DJ playing the sort of Dad music to make you groan. OK? But it’ll be fun, I promise you.’

  Cecy certainly thought it would be fun. She was so thrilled that the Year Eights were going to be there too.

  ‘Do you think Richie will ask me to dance?’ she asked for the hundredth time.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Why don’t you ask him to dance?’

  ‘I’d never dare! What if he said no?’ said Cecy. ‘I’d feel such a loser.’

  ‘Well, I think you should sort it out with him before the disco to make sure you’ve got someone to be with,’ I said.

  Cecy stared at me. ‘Well, I’ll be with you, won’t I?’

  ‘I’m not coming,’ I said.

  ‘But you’ve got to. Everyone’s coming. Even the truly geeky boys who can’t dance for toffee.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I can’t dance for toffee either, can I?’

  ‘I talked about it with my mum and my nan, and Nan said when she was young she used to do this hand jiving. She showed me how to do it. Look.’ Cecy waggled her hands in the air as if she were wearing invisible puppets. ‘Shall I teach you, Katy?’

  ‘Cecy, I dare say you and your nan mean well, but I’d sooner gnaw my own fingers off than do a hand jive,’ I said. ‘I’m not coming to the disco, full stop.’

  ‘But it won’t be any fun if you’re not there,’ said Cecy. ‘Please come. Oh Katy, please. You liked the leavers’ disco, didn’t you?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said – although that dance with Ryan had meant a lot. Fat chance of that happening again.

  I wouldn’t go, even for Cecy. Very weirdly, it was Maddie who made me change my mind.

  I was stuck with her and Sarah and horrible Eva one English lesson, when we were supposed to be making up a play together set in the First World War. They were all three hopeless, without an original idea in their heads, though Eva acted like she was Shakespeare.

  ‘I’ll be one of those valiant Red Cross nurses, saving all the wounded soldiers,’ she said. ‘And the really dramatic scene will be me holding the hand of a dying soldier and comforting him.’

  ‘While he sp
ews up blood all over you?’ I said.

  ‘Trust you to be revolting, Katy Carr,’ said Eva. Her eyes glistened. ‘I know, you can be one of the wounded soldiers, seeing as you’re in a wheelchair already.’

  Sarah giggled but Maddie looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You shouldn’t be mean about Katy’s wheelchair, Eva,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’ said Eva. ‘Katy’s mean to me. She’s always been mean. Why should it be any different now?’

  ‘Well, it’s sad for her that she can’t do things any more,’ said Maddie.

  ‘Look, I’m right here. Don’t talk about me as if I’m deaf,’ I said, but they weren’t listening.

  ‘What are you on about, Maddie?’ said Eva, frowning. ‘Do you want to pal up with Katy? Is that it?’

  ‘No! It’s just … well, she can’t do PE like us, and she can’t get up stairs, and she can’t wear cool shoes, and she can’t go to the disco, and –’

  ‘Yes I can!’ I said, irritated beyond measure. ‘OK, I can’t do proper games in PE because of you, Eva-whine-to-her-mummy-Jenkins, and I can’t get up the stairs yet because they haven’t got a lift, but I can wear any shoes I want. I just can’t stand stupid high heels. And I’m going to the disco, so there.’

  They stared at me.

  ‘But you can’t dance,’ said Eva.

  ‘Lots of people go to discos and don’t dance a single step. I bet half the boys won’t dance. I’ll hang out with them,’ I said.

  Eva’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, don’t think you’re hanging out with Ryan. He’s my boyfriend, not yours.’

  ‘So you keep saying. We all know you’re mad about him. But he doesn’t seem to give you a second thought,’ I said fiercely.

  ‘You wait and see,’ said Eva.

  I knew she was probably right. And I didn’t want to go to the wretched disco at all, but I seemed to have committed myself.

  Cecy was thrilled when I sheepishly admitted this to her.

  ‘That’s brilliant, Katy! I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind. So, what will you wear?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. My T-shirt and jeans.’

  ‘You can’t, not to a disco!’

  ‘Mr Myers said it was casual.’

  ‘Yes, but not T-shirt and jeans casual. You need to wear something special.’

  ‘OK. Well, last time I looked in my wardrobe I did spot a pink Cinderella dress, with a low neck and puff sleeves and flouncy skirt and all-over sequins. I shall have to fold the skirts up uncomfortably under me so they don’t get stuck in the wheels of my chair, but still – a girl’s got to suffer to look beautiful.’

  ‘Have you really … ?’ Cecy started. ‘Oh Katy, stop kidding! Seriously though, you need to wear something kind of partyish. I’ve got this new skirt Mum bought me. It’s wonderfully short and tight and I’ll wear it with my blue top which sort of puckers a bit so it makes me look as if I’ve got a figure.’ Cecy sighed. ‘I wish I did. I keep doing all these chest-expanding exercises every morning but nothing’s happened yet.’

  ‘You’re nuts,’ I said, but fondly.

  ‘Will you wear your red flared skirt with the black sparkly top? You looked great in that at the leavers’ disco,’ said Cecy.

  I pondered. ‘Cecy, if I wore that short flared skirt in my wheelchair I’d be flashing my knickers at everyone,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you’d probably attract a lot of boys then,’ said Cecy.

  I talked over the clothes problem with Clover and Elsie but they weren’t much help either. They were both very young for their age. Elsie’s idea of partywear was a Princess Elsa costume, and Clover’s favourite outfit in all the world was a purple net ballet skirt.

  I asked Izzie’s advice.

  ‘How about a nice corduroy pinafore dress with a white frilly blouse?’ she said.

  I stared at her, appalled – and she fell about laughing.

  ‘I’m teasing you, Katy. I wouldn’t take too much notice of Cecy. I think you’ll be fine in your black jeans and that weird skull T-shirt. But maybe we’ll get you new shoes. Those black plimsolls with the sequins are too small for you now.’

  It was weird – my feet had carried on growing, even though they couldn’t move.

  ‘I hate shoes. I just want trainers,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Izzie. ‘What about Doc Martens?’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘They’ll be expensive, but they can be an early Christmas present from me,’ she said.

  ‘Oh Izzie, you’re so great! Can they be really bright ones? Red?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Izzie.

  She knew my size so she went to the shops and bought them for me.

  ‘They say I can return them if they don’t fit,’ she said, showing me the wonderful scarlet shiny Docs.

  They fitted perfectly and they meant the world to me. I couldn’t walk or run or dance in them, but there they were, making a statement on my feet, telling everyone I was still Katy Carr, a girl to be reckoned with.

  That girl felt very small and shy and stupid the evening of the school disco. I wondered why on earth I’d opened my big mouth and insisted that I was coming. Even Cecy was in a total dither, flapping about her hair and forever fussing with her skirt, trying to pull it down an inch or two.

  ‘Tell me honestly, Katy. Does it make me look fat? Are my legs skinny enough? And what about my bottom? Does it stick out too much?’ she kept asking anxiously, as Cecy’s mum drove us both back to school.

  I hesitated. Yes, no, yes might have been the honest answer, but I swore blind that Cecy looked skinny and fantastic. She in turn told me that my red Docs were brilliant, and Mrs Hall echoed this, though I knew for a fact that they both hated big clumpy boots.

  Mrs Hall wasn’t as bold as Dad and didn’t like to drive right into the school and she couldn’t find anywhere nearby to park the car. All the other parents were just slowing down and letting their children jump out, but of course this was beyond me. We ended up in a side road three streets away, and then there was a great fuss because Mrs Hall didn’t put the brake on my wheelchair and it skittered away when I tried to transfer into it. Luckily I hung on to the car door and she managed to catch it and get it back under me, but we were both hot and sweaty by the time I was safely sitting in the wretched chair.

  ‘I’ll walk with you to the school, girls,’ she said breathlessly, but we were both adamant that we would manage fine by ourselves. I was determined to wheel myself, but the kerbs were scarily high when we went to cross the road, so I had to ask Cecy to bump me down. We just about managed, though in bending over to manoeuvre me Cecy showed so much thigh that a bunch of passing Year Eight boys gave delighted wolf whistles.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Cecy gasped. ‘I do hope they’re not Richie’s mates. I feel such an idiot!’

  It felt strange approaching Springfield in the dark and seeing everyone out of school uniform. Some people looked just the same but others were scarcely recognizable. And when we got to the gym, transformed with Christmas decorations, music already blaring, the teachers looked so different too. Mr Myers seemed surprisingly fit in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, but Miss Lambert was the coolest, in a short black dress cinched in at the waist and high-heeled boots up to her knees.

  ‘Look at Eva!’ Cecy said.

  Everyone was looking at Eva. We expected her to be wearing something sexy and outrageous, but she was clever enough to go the other way entirely. She was wearing a white broderie anglaise dress with a full skirt, and she had her long fair hair partly tied back with a white satin ribbon. I suddenly remembered way back in the Infants when we performed a Nativity play. Eva was the angel Gabriel in a long white sheet and gauzy wings. She had exactly the same breathtaking effect now. It was extraordinary how such a mean girl could manage to look so angelic.

  ‘Well, no one’s going to be looking at us,’ said Cecy. She looked round the room and gave a little start when she saw Richie. Then she sighed. ‘Even Richie�
�s staring at her. Oh, I’ll absolutely die if he asks her to dance.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. He’ll ask you, just you wait and see,’ I said.

  Nobody was doing any dancing at that moment though. People were helping themselves to drinks and food and laughing and joking in little clumps. Wonderfully, some of the boys in our class came over and chatted. Including Ryan. He went specially and brought me back a glass of fruit punch with a twirly straw. Cecy had already fetched me one, but I hid that behind my chair to be tactful.

  The boys all admired my Docs.

  ‘You’re all prepared now to give someone a good kicking, Katy,’ one boy laughed.

  Then there was a little pause as everyone took in what he’d said. I laughed hurriedly.

  ‘Yeah, well, I wish,’ I said, and then I quickly blew bubbles with my twirly straw. This started a bubble-blowing competition until Ryan got so enthusiastic his bubbles overflowed and he had to go off to the changing rooms to mop his shirt.

  Eva waylaid him on his way back. She actually hung on to his arm, pulling him into the middle of the room. She was clearly cajoling him to dance with her. He’d gone very red in the face. Say no, Ryan! I willed him. Say you don’t fancy it. Say you don’t fancy her. Oh please, please come back to me.

  Ryan took no notice of my silent pleas. He danced with Eva, jigging about while Eva twirled in her white skirt. They looked good as a couple. They were practically the same height and they were both good at dancing. They encouraged the others. The gym floor suddenly got crowded, with other couples and a little clump of girls dancing together, plus a group of Year Eight boys doing modified breakdancing. Some of Ryan’s mates got up to dance too. Still, I still had Cecy to chat to. Cecy, my best friend in all the world.

  But she wasn’t being very talkative. She was peering round – and when she caught Richie’s eye she dared give him a little wave. He hesitated and then came over to us.