by Jean Ure
“Not surprised.” Jem giggled. “Cutting holes in your carpet!”
“Is she going to make you pay for it?” said Skye.
“No.” I twirled, triumphantly. “She wanted to. She tried to get Dad to say he was going to stop my pocket money, but Dad just laughed. He thought it was funny.”
“Funny?”
“He said it showed logical thinking.” I didn’t add the bit about muddle-headed; it didn’t seem quite necessary. “He told Mum they just had to be grateful I hadn’t made a hole in the ceiling.”
Jem crinkled her nose. “Why would you have done that?”
“Cos of it being the other option?”
Jem looked at me, doubtfully. She doesn’t have a logical brain like me.
“If you can’t make the floor lower,” I said, “you make the ceiling higher. Right?”
“How d’you make a ceiling higher?”
“Dunno. With a drill, I s’ppose.”
“I bet even your dad would get mad then!”
“Maybe.”
“I reckon he spoils you.” Skye said it rather sternly. “My dad wouldn’t let me get away with cutting holes in things.”
Skye wouldn’t cut holes in things. She might have an enormous brain, but she is not in the least bit practical. I told her that Dad liked to encourage us to use our imagination, and to find ways round our problems.
“Anyhow,” I said, “he’s pleased cos of me saying I’ll look after Emilia. She’s coming this afternoon, Mum’s going to pick her up.”
“Ooh, can we come and see her?” said Jem.
I hesitated.
“Please, Frankee! Can we?”
“It might p’raps be better if you waited till tomorrow.” I didn’t want to put her off, but I had this feeling Mum might accuse us of crowding if all three of us turned up. “She’ll probably be a bit, like, confused just at first?”
“Exactly,” said Skye. She gave Jem a shove. “Stop being so pushy.”
“Me being pushy? Huh! I like that,” said Jem.
They bickered happily all the way to school. Normally I’d have joined in, but I was thinking about Emilia, wondering just how much looking after she was going to need. I didn’t really, properly know her; only just to say hello to when she’d come round with her mum. I couldn’t even have said how old she was, until Mum told me. I’d never have guessed she was thirteen. She was the right size for thirteen, but she didn’t look thirteen. She didn’t behave like thirteen. More like eight was what Mum had said. Thinking back to when I was eight, which was only quite a short time ago, I couldn’t remember that I’d needed any looking after. I’d gone to and from school by myself, I’d gone to the shops by myself, I’d even taken Rags up the park by myself. But both Mum and Dad seemed to think Emilia would need special treatment and that I would have to keep an eye on her.
Well, that was all right! I could do that. ’Specially with Jem being so eager to help. Skye obviously wasn’t that keen. Unlike me and Jem, she is not really a people person. She can sometimes be a bit prickly and awkward. But I wasn’t too worried. After all, we were friends and friends do things together.
I galloped home at the end of school to find that Mum and Emilia had just arrived. Mum said, “Emilia, this is Frankie. You know Frankie, don’t you?” Emilia gave a big banana beam and held out her hand.
“I’m Melia,” she said.
I shook her hand and said, “Hi, Melia.”
Mum shot me a suspicious glance in case I was making fun, but I wasn’t! It just came out like that: Melia. It seemed more friendly than Emilia.
“Come and meet the others.” Mum led the way round the back. “They’re probably in the kitchen. Oh, and Frankie, can you grab hold of Rags and not let him jump up? In fact, it might be a good idea if you shut him out for a bit. It won’t hurt him to stay in the garden.”
“Mum,” I said, “that’s not fair!” It was his home as much as anybody’s. Why should he be sent into exile? “He’ll be all right, I’ll keep hold of him.”
“Well, just make sure that you do.”
“He won’t hurt you,” I told Melia. I hoped she wasn’t going to be silly about dogs. “He’s very good-natured.”
Melia gave another beam. Her mouth split into two and went curving right up towards her ears. It was kind of infectious. It made me want to beam as well.
“Honestly, he’s just playful,” I said.
While me and Rags were having our usual hug-in, Melia introduced herself to Tom and Angel. She had this really penetrating voice, like it was coming through a loud hailer. She didn’t so much talk as SHOUT. She held out her hand, like she had with me.
“I’m Melia!”
She certainly wasn’t shy. I began to think that maybe Jem and Skye could have come round after all.
I could see that Tom and Angel didn’t know what to make of her. Angel looked confused, like she’d never seen a hand held out before and wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it. Tom just grunted. He did it twice: once up, and once down.
“Uh? Uh.”
Melia giggled. She had a strange, gurgling sort of giggle, like water glugging down a plughole. Tom turned pink. Angel shot a reproachful glance at Mum, like, How could you do this to us? Personally I thought it was quite funny.
I didn’t think it was quite so funny when Rags, attracted by the gurgling, suddenly broke off from cuddling with me, went bounding across to Melia and almost sent her flying. He doesn’t mean to be rough, but he is a big dog and sometimes his enthusiasm runs away with him. I rushed to grab him before Mum could yell at me to “Put that dog outside!” or before Melia could start screaming. If she started screaming Mum would be really mad at me. She was still in something of a sulk about the carpet.
“Frankie,” she said, “I warned you! Put that—”
She never got around to saying the rest of it cos to everyone’s surprise, including mine, Melia had wrapped both arms round Rags’ neck and was energetically kissing him on the nose. Not even on the furry bit, but on the damp blob at the end of it.
Angel said, “Yuck!” And then, as Rags began whopping his tongue lovingly over Melia’s face: “Mum, that is gross!”
“Yes. Frankie, don’t let him do that,” said Mum. “It’s not hygienic.”
I let Rags lick my face all the time. But I have to admit I never kiss him on the damp blobby bit at the end of his nose; even I draw the line at that. I always kiss him on his fur.
“Rags, Rags, raggedy Rags,” chanted Melia, taking Rags’ front paws in her hands and doing a heavy stomping sort of jig round the kitchen.
“Raggedy raggedy,” she chanted, crashing into Angel.
If I’d crashed into Angel, she would have shrieked at me. As it was Melia, she just gave a rather sickly smile and said, “I’m going upstairs… to the tip.”
Melia stopped stomping and said, “What’s the tip?”
“Her bedroom,” snapped Angel. “That I’m having to sleep in!”
“Angel – Frankie – that dog—” Mum was beginning to sound a bit frayed at the edges. She patted Melia on the shoulder and said, “It’s all right, you don’t have to take any notice of Angel.”
“No, cos she’s loopy,” I said. “Nobody takes any notice of her. Let’s go in the garden and play with Rags.”
Normally when I take Rags into the garden Mum calls after me to “Keep that dog out of my flower beds!” but today I think probably she was glad to get rid of him and Melia banging about the kitchen.
“Look,” I said to Melia, “this is his favourite toy.” It was a big orange football that he’d found over the park and insisted on carrying home with him. It must have had a small hole in it somewhere cos it kept shrinking and then puffing itself up again. Rags liked to squish it and squash it and nose it round the garden.
“Kick it for him,” I said. “Rags, put it down for Melia… now, go on, kick it!”
WALLOP, went Melia. WHUMPF, went the ball. Right into the middle of one of Mum’s
flower beds. Rags immediately went plunging after it. Fortunately there’s not a lot of stuff to trample on at the beginning of January, but he still managed to scatter a load of pots in all directions. Melia giggled. I said, “Actually, he’s not supposed to run across the flower beds.” Her face fell, so then of course I felt bad and had to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault.
“You weren’t to know.”
All the same I didn’t quite see how she’d managed to do it, considering I’d gone to the trouble of making sure she was pointing in exactly the opposite direction. I couldn’t have done it if I’d tried.
Rags had picked up the ball and was running about, shaking it.
“Chase him,” I said. “That’s what he wants you to do.”
Melia obligingly set off in pursuit, shrieking and giggling and crying, “Rags, come here, Rags!” She had a bit of a clumsy sort of run, with her feet splaying out and her arms going round like windmills. Rags thought it was a great game.
While I was collecting up the scattered flower pots, my phone rang. It was Jem, eager to know if Melia had arrived.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re in the garden, playing with Rags.”
“What’s she like? Is it going to be OK?”
“No problem.” I turned to watch as Rags came bounding back, wild-eyed down the path, with Melia shrieking and clomping after him. “She’s really good with Rags,” I said. “And she does what she’s told,” I added.
Jem said, “Really?”
I said, “Yes. You just have to ask her, and she does it.”
“Wow.”
“Well, it certainly makes a nice change.”
I paused, to let the words sink in. Only last week I’d had reason to ask Jem very nicely to stop banging her feet against the back of my chair and she’d been positively hostile. She’d accused me of being a nag and said she was sick of being bossed around. We’d almost fallen out over it.
“I guess it’s just as well,” said Jem. “I mean, if you’ve got to be responsible for her. You wouldn’t want her arguing all the time.”
“No,” I said, “cos that’s really annoying, when people do that.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rags disappearing into some bushes at the far end of the garden and Melia floundering up the side of the compost heap.
“D’you want to speak to her?” I said to Jem. “Hey, Melia!” I waved at her. “Come and say hello!”
Obediently, Melia heaved herself out of the compost heap and lumbered back down the garden. I held out the phone.
“Say hello to Jem.”
Melia took the phone and bellowed into it: “Hello, Jem! I’m Melia.”
“You’ll see her tomorrow,” I said. I took the phone back. “Gotta go. Melia’s covered in compost!”
Later, when we went up to bed, Mum said, “Now, you girls, I don’t want you lying awake talking half the night. It’s a school day tomorrow. So into bed, lights out, and straight to sleep. Right?”
Melia said, “Right.” She put a finger to her lips. “No talking!”
“You’ve got it,” said Mum. “And that means you too, Frankie. Rags, are you going to stay downstairs?”
“Mum, no,” I said. “He always sleeps with me!”
Sometimes he sleeps on the floor, and sometimes he sleeps on the bed. Sometimes, in the depths of winter, he even tries to sleep in the bed. But mostly he lies on top, taking up far more than his fair share of the duvet and grumbling whenever I turn over. To be honest, it’s not really what I’d call comfortable, but I’m used to it by now. It wouldn’t feel right, sleeping without Rags.
Mum muttered something about “dogs’ hairs all over the place” and Rags galloped upstairs with me as usual.
“No talking,” said Melia, as she got into her nightie.
She said it again as she got into bed. And then again as I turned off the light. And then again as she lay down. After that there was silence for a bit. All I could hear was the sound of Rags contentedly huffing and scrabbling as he settled himself on top of the duvet. And then, through the darkness, came a whisper: “Rags! D’you want to come and sleep with me?”
“He sleeps with me,” I said.
Melia heaved a sigh. I wondered if she was missing her mum and if maybe I ought to tell her that she could have Rags, just for the one night. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was my dog, and he slept with me! I was really pleased when he showed no signs of moving. I reached out a hand and gave him a pat.
“Good boy!”
I think then I must have fallen asleep, cos the next thing I remember there was a thump as Rags jumped off the bed and I heard the sound of whispering and rustling.
“What are you doing?” I shot up the bed and switched the light back on. Both Rags and Melia started, guiltily. “What are you giving him? You’re not giving him chocolate?”
I sprang out of bed and snatched a half-eaten bar of KitKat out of Melia’s hand.
“Chocolate’s poisonous to dogs! It can kill them!”
Tears of fright sprang into Melia’s eyes.
“Don’t ever, ever,” I said, “give chocolate to dogs. Not ever!”
“I’m sorry,” said Melia. The tears welled over and rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—”
“Just don’t ever do it again,” I said.
“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, I w—”
“Ever.”
“I promise, I p—”
“Sh!” I grabbed Rags and hauled him back on to my bed. “No talking. Mum said!”
She put a finger to her lips. “No talking. No talking! N—”
“That means QUIET,” I said. “Go to sleep!”
Melia fell asleep almost immediately; I could hear her making little whiffling noises. I stayed awake for hours. Rags spent the entire night crammed up close, with his head next to mine and his whiskers all stiff and prickly against my cheek. Really uncomfortable! But I was just so thankful I’d managed to stop Melia feeding him chocolate.
Chapter Four
“Now, don’t forget,” said Mum, as she saw me and Melia off to school next morning, “you’re picking Emilia up at three thirty. Right?”
I said, “Right.”
“Emilia, Frankie’s going to come and collect you at the end of school, so you just wait there for her. Don’t try coming home by yourself. I want you to come with Frankie.”
“Come with Frankie.” Melia nodded. “Wait there for her.”
“That’s it! Good girl. Frankie, just make sure you’re there.”
I said, “Mum, we’ve already agreed!” We’d been over and over it. “I already said.”
“Well, I’m just reminding you. It’s Emilia’s first day, we don’t want anything going wrong.”
“Mu-uum!”
I did think she might have a bit more faith in me. All I had to do was collect Melia from school and bring her back home. Nothing to it! I’d been taking Rags up the park by myself since I was eight years old. At least Melia wasn’t likely to go running off, or getting into punch-ups, or rolling in fox poo.
“OK, OK!” Mum held up her hands. “Enough! I’ve said my piece. Off you go, see you later.”
“See you later, lallagator!”
Melia chanted it as we walked up the road. I wondered whether to tell her that the word was alligator, not lallagator, but decided it wasn’t really important.
“Look,” I said, “there’s Jemma and Skye.” They were waiting for us on the corner. More often than not, it’s me and Skye waiting for Jem, with Skye threatening to go on without her. Curiosity had obviously got Jem out of the house on time for once. “Skye’s the tall one,” I told Melia, “Jem’s the little one.” Tall and skinny: small and bubbly. “Jem’s the one you spoke to on the phone.”
Melia beamed her big banana beam and went gambolling up to them, hand at the ready.
“HELLO, SKYE! HELLO, JEM! I’M MELIA!”
The words came out in her normal bellow.
A couple of girls on the other side of the road turned to see what was going on. One of them was Daisy Hooper, who is in our class. Trust her to be passing by at exactly the wrong moment! Not that I was ashamed or anything, but Daisy Hooper is the sort of girl who likes to store things up. I could see her clocking Melia, wondering who she was.
Jem, who is never fazed by anything, simply giggled and said, “Hi, Melia!”
“HI! ” shouted Melia.
Skye sent me a worried look.
“It’s all right,” I said. “She’s just happy. I’ve got to drop her off at St Giles and pick her up again later. Hey!” I dug Jem in the ribs. “Did you do your maths homework?”
“Did what I could,” said Jem.
“I couldn’t do any of it!”
“That’s cos you weren’t paying attention in class,” said Skye.
I said, “I was paying attention!” I just don’t have the sort of brain that can cope with numbers. They whizz about inside my head, all mad and shrieking. “It’s all right for you,” I grumbled. “You’re like some kind of machine.”
“I pay attention,” said Skye. “I listen.”
That may have been true. It was still an extremely irritating sort of thing to say.
“Honestly,” I wailed at Jem, “I only managed to answer half a question!”
“I did three.” Jem announced it, proudly. “Look!” She dived into her bag and pulled out her maths book.
“Let’s see,” said Skye. “See what you’ve got. Hm…” She frowned. “No. 1’s wrong, for a start. So’s no. 2! And no. 3. They’re all wrong! I think you must have gone and added instead of taking away, or something. They don’t bear any resemblance to the right answers!”
“Oh, well.” Jem took her book back. She didn’t seem bothered. “At least I tried. I ought to get marks for that.”
“I tried,” I said. “I just—”
“Hang about!” Skye suddenly stopped. “What’s she doing?”
Omigod. We’d forgotten about Melia; we’d all gone walking on, leaving her to trail behind. She seemed to be playing some kind of game, jumping on and off the kerb, chanting to herself.
“Up… dow… nup… dow… nup…”
“Stop her,” said Skye.