My Sister Jodie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Then you could look at all her books. I’m sure she’d let you borrow some yourself,’ I said.

  ‘No, I’ve got things to do, party games to plan,’

  said Harley.

  I turned to Jodie and started begging her in turn.

  ‘No way. I wouldn’t even if you’d asked me first.

  I’ve got things to do too,’ she said huffily. ‘Go on. You go. You’re the one she wants to see.’

  I nudged up close to Jodie. ‘I’m scared,’ I whispered in her ear.

  ‘Look, you’re eleven now,’ she said. ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

  I thought about taking one of the little ones, but Miss Ponsonby said they all had to go with her. I was on my own.

  I fetched the copy of The Secret Garden. I’d enjoyed it so much I’d read it all over again. Jodie 201

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  had flicked through it, keen to pick up any gardening tips to impress Jed. She tossed it to one side after twenty minutes, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘I can’t think what you see in it, Pearl. It’s written all weird and old-fashioned and it’s such a waste. There’s this huge creepy house and mysterious crying at night and you think something really scary is going to happen, but it’s just this little invalid boy and he doesn’t even die to make a good weepy bit. He gets better. How tame is that!

  And the gardening bits aren’t much cop either.’

  I hugged The Secret Garden to my chest now, protecting it from Jodie’s scorn. I played I was Mary talking to Dickon as I walked along the path. The robin came and perched on my shoulder, and I carried the lamb in my arms. Dickon led me to a grassy bank and we sat down beside a badger set, waiting patiently. Dickon played a tune on his pipe and the badgers all came running, big ones, small ones, tiny baby cubs, all playing about our feet . . .

  I wanted to stay lost in my imaginary world but I was already outside the bungalow. I gripped my book, looking at the window. I couldn’t see any sign of Mrs Wilberforce. Maybe I could tell a little fib, pretend I’d knocked but could get no answer. I’d dawdled on the path. Maybe she was taking her afternoon nap already. Surely it would be rude to disturb her.

  The curtains twitched. I blinked anxiously at the window. I couldn’t see her, but perhaps she was behind the curtains peering out at me. I wanted to run away, but how would that make her feel? How awful if she thought I was like the little kids, scared because she was in a wheelchair. She wouldn’t 202

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  understand I was so stupidly shy that I was scared of everyone.

  But I was eleven now. Jodie was right. I wasn’t a baby any more. I took a deep breath, opened the gate and marched up the driveway to the bungalow.

  I rang the doorbell, pressing it firmly so it rang loud and clear. I waited, my heart beating fast.

  Then the door slowly opened, and there was Mrs Wilberforce smiling at me.

  ‘Hello, Pearl. Happy birthday.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘You look much older today,’ she said.

  ‘I wish!’

  ‘It’s funny, I always looked young for my age when I was a child. I used to get so cross about it!

  And yet now I’d give anything to look younger.’ She fingered a strand of her long wavy hair. In the daylight I saw that it was snowy-white, not blonde at all.

  ‘I think you look quite young,’ I said, though the deep lines on her face made her look ancient. She’d covered her pale cheeks with rouge and dabbed powder everywhere and painted her lips bright pink. The colour had started to run up all the little creases round her lips.

  She shook her head at me sadly. ‘My hair went white overnight when I had the accident,’ she said.

  She manoeuvred her wheelchair down the wide hallway and into her library. I took a deep breath.

  ‘The accident?’ I repeated in a tiny voice.

  ‘Yes, Pearl,’ she said. ‘When I fell and broke my neck.’ She looked down at her lifeless legs under her long dress.

  ‘When you fell?’ I whispered.

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  ‘In the tower,’ said Mrs Wilberforce. She looked at me. ‘Surely someone’s told you?’

  ‘Well, I sort of heard stuff, but I didn’t know whether it was true,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know whether to believe it.’

  ‘It’s true all right,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know whether to believe it either. I still don’t sometimes.

  I wake up, and just for a moment I’ve forgotten, and I think I can swing my legs out of bed and jump up

  – and then I try to move . . .’ Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, feeling terrible.

  ‘No, no, I’m sorry. What am I doing, getting maudlin after all these years, and on your birthday too! I have a present for you, Pearl.’ She handed me an oblong parcel carefully wrapped in swirly marbled paper and tied with a lopsided bow. I thought of the care she must have taken to wrap the present one-handed, tucking the ends of the paper in, maybe tying the ribbon with her teeth. I wanted to cry too. I took the present, forgetting to say thank you. I was trying desperately to think of something positive to say.

  ‘Still, at least you didn’t get killed when you fell out of the tower. It’s such a long long long way down. It’s amazing that you survived.’

  She stared at me. ‘I didn’t fall out of the tower!

  Dear goodness, no one could survive that! I’d have been smashed to pieces on the forecourt.’

  ‘But didn’t you get tangled up in the ivy?’ I said.

  ‘Jodie said—’

  ‘No, no! Your sister Jodie’s got a very gothic imagination. I fell inside the tower, down the steps. I used to love to go up to the tower room. It was my 204

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  own private study. I had it as my bedroom when I was a little girl. It was a little cramped and uncomfortable and always very cold, and I had to go up and up all those winding stairs, but I thought it was worth it to have such a special room, like something in a fairy tale.’

  ‘I’d love it too,’ I said.

  ‘I’d go up there most nights even after I was grown up. I kept some of my favourite books up there. Sometimes I just stood at the window looking out at the moonlit countryside. Then one night I lost track of time and then I heard Harold –

  Mr Wilberforce – calling me. I hurried downstairs, just that little bit too quickly. I’d hurtled down those narrow little steps thousands of times, but this time I slipped. I tried to grab hold of the banister but it broke away and I fell. That’s my fairy story, where everything ends un happily ever after.’

  I stood shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wishing I knew what to say. I felt my face going red.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Let’s forget all about me.

  This is your special day. Come on, dear, open your present.’

  I started carefully undoing the paper. I could feel it was a book. I wondered which one she’d picked out for me. I let the wrapping paper slither to the floor and held it in my hands. It was beautiful, with a greeny-blue marbled cover and an olive leather spine and corners. I stroked it in awe and then opened it up. There was a blank page. I turned it over. Another blank page, and then another and another.

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  I looked at Mrs Wilberforce. ‘Where’s the story?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘Ah. It’s going to be your story, Pearl. It’s a manuscript book for your own stories. I bought it years ago in Italy but I could never think of anything to put in it. I wondered about keeping a journal, but what would I write now? Every entry would be identical. Got up, sat in my wheelchair, read, went to bed.’

  I struggled. ‘I could maybe push your wheelchair, Mrs Wilberforce, and take you for walks?’


  ‘Oh, darling, that’s a very sweet offer, but I’m far too heavy for a little girl like you.’

  ‘Well, my sister Jodie could push you.’

  ‘Mmm, maybe not! But thank you for the offer all the same.’

  ‘Thank you for the lovely writing book.’

  ‘Feel free to borrow lots more storybooks. Did you enjoy The Secret Garden?’

  ‘It was wonderful. I read it twice,’ I said, slotting it back in its place on the shelf.

  ‘Are you tempted to find a secret garden of your own? Harold – Mr Wilberforce – could give you your own little plot.’

  ‘I’m not very good at growing things. We grew hyacinths at my last school but mine went all wonky. It’s Jodie who’s really interested in gardening,’ I said.

  ‘No, I think Jodie is more interested in Jed the gardener,’ said Mrs Wilberforce.

  I blinked at her. She might be stuck indoors in her wheelchair but she didn’t miss much.

  ‘Did you try and count the rooms in Melchester to see if it measured up to Misselthwaite?’ she asked.

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  I swallowed, pretending to be looking at the books on the shelf, not wanting to look her in the eye.

  ‘I tried counting some of the rooms,’ I said.

  ‘But not all of them?’

  ‘Well. We’re not allowed on the top floor,’ I said.

  ‘Ah. Very wise. There’s nothing very interesting up there, as far as I can remember. Flotsam and jetsam from former lives.’

  ‘Flotsam? Jetsam?’ I thought hard. ‘Are they the names of the monkeys?’ Then I clapped my hand over my mouth.

  She looked hard at me, the lipsticked corners of her mouth twitching. I thought she might shout at me but she smiled instead.

  ‘So you have been thorough in your counting?’

  she said.

  ‘I – I’m sorry. I know we’re not allowed. We just had a little tiny explore,’ I said.

  ‘We?’ said Mrs Wilberforce.

  I blushed. I was terrified of getting Harley into trouble. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault,’ I said quickly.

  ‘You and doubtless Jodie just happened to find yourselves wandering on the top floor, idly walking straight through the cupboard that I believe blocks the way?’ said Mrs Wilberforce, but she didn’t sound too cross.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘We didn’t do any harm. We just peeped into the rooms. We didn’t touch anything. Well, if we did, we put it back. We didn’t break anything, I promise.’

  ‘I’m more worried about you getting broken,’ said Mrs Wilberforce. ‘I’m not at all sure about those creaky old floorboards. Poor old Melchester is 207

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  gently rotting away right down to its foundations.’

  She suddenly looked alarmed. ‘You didn’t get up in the tower, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure, Pearl?’

  ‘Yes, honestly. We wanted to, but it’s all locked up and there isn’t any key.’

  ‘Good. You mustn’t ever go up there, it’s far too dangerous. That door must always be kept locked. I don’t really want you making a habit of wandering in and out of the attics either. Still, you seem a careful, cautious child.’ She smiled at me. ‘So you found my old monkey family. I’d totally forgotten them. I made them all special outfits.’

  ‘A little red jacket and dungarees and a long baby gown and a frilly dress with a pinafore,’ I said softly.

  ‘Yes! My dear old monkeys! Fancy them lying up there all these years. Maybe you could fetch them for me? I’d love to see them again.’

  ‘Of course I can.’

  She saw me hesitating. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, they’ve got a bit broken,’ I said. ‘We didn’t do it, I promise. It’s their rubber bits. They’ve kind of rotted away. The man monkey’s feet have fallen off and the baby’s lost most of her face.’

  ‘Ugh! Oh God, I couldn’t bear to see them. We’ll leave them where they are. R.I.P. Rotting In Peace.’

  ‘The costumes aren’t rotting.’

  ‘What costumes?’

  ‘Coats and hats and fur things.’

  She didn’t look very interested.

  ‘And a special dress,’ I said.

  ‘Special?’

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  ‘It’s on one of those dummy things. It’s not quite finished. It’s white and very beautiful. I think it was going to be a wedding dress.’

  ‘My wedding dress,’ she said. ‘It was going to have a long lace train. I was going to sweep down the aisle with little bridesmaids holding up my train, but then the accident happened and I wasn’t up to sweeping anywhere. I wanted to call it all off.

  It wasn’t fair on Harold when I was hopelessly crippled, but he wouldn’t hear of it. We were married very quietly six months later, when I was able to use a wheelchair. We lived in the main building at first, but I found it very upsetting being confined to the ground floor. There was no way we could adapt everything to be suitable for an invalid. It seemed easier to have the bungalow built, custom made for me.’

  She looked around the room, her expression bleak.

  ‘It’s lovely here,’ I said politely.

  ‘No it’s not. It’s hideous. I hate it here. But that doesn’t matter, I’d hate anywhere now.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Hark at me moaning again. I should learn to count my blessings. Play the Glad Game like Polyanna. Have you read that book? It always sets my teeth on edge. Likewise saintly Cousin Helen in What Katy Did. Still, I love Katy herself, especially before her accident.’

  I blinked at her, confused.

  ‘You haven’t read What Katy Did? Oh, Pearl, call yourself a bookworm! Let’s find my copy.’ She wheeled herself rapidly round the shelves until she found it.

  ‘There! Read it and tell me what you think. Call 209

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  round any time.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m always in.’

  I thanked her again for my birthday present and then ran off, clutching both books. I had to get ready for the party, but I peeped at the badger set on the way. I imagined the whole family of badgers got up in their best black-and-white party clothes, ready to wave their paws in a festive fashion and grunt ‘Happy Birthday’.

  I imagined them so vividly I felt disappointed when there were no badgers in sight, not so much as a nose or a claw. I crept right up close to the set and tried to peer into the hole but I couldn’t see anything at all, just dark earth.

  I got my hands and knees muddy crouching there.

  ‘What on earth have you been up to?’ said Mum when I got back home. ‘For pity’s sake, you’d better jump straight in the bath. I don’t know, you’re a great girl of eleven now and yet you’ve obviously been grubbing around making mud pies. I hope you haven’t got Mrs Wilberforce’s books all over muddy fingerprints. Has she lent you two this time?’

  ‘One of them is my birthday present,’ I said, showing Mum. ‘It’s for me to write in.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a beautiful book, much too grand for you to scribble your stories in.’

  ‘I’m going to keep a journal,’ I said.

  ‘Oh my!’ said Mum, laughing at me. ‘Anyway, you go and run a bath – and see what your sister’s up to. She’s been holed up in that bedroom for ages.’

  ‘Go away!’ said Jodie when I went in our bedroom. ‘I’m inventing surprise birthday games.

  Clear off, Pearly.’

  I went off to have my bath, filling it with my new 210

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  rose bubble bath. While the taps were running, I sat on the edge of the bath and started writing my journal there and then, worried that Mum might confiscate my book until I was older. It was a bit scary startin
g the first beautiful pale cream page. I wrote lightly in pencil so that I could rub it out if I made a mistake.

  My name is Pearl. I am eleven years old today. I’m going to have a birthday party. My sister Jodie and my friend Harley are in charge of the games. I’m not sure I LIKE games but I suppose you have to play them at parties.

  Then I closed the book carefully, put it right on the other side of the room so it couldn’t possibly get splashed, and jumped in my bath. I lay back in my rosy bubbles, swishing myself backwards and forwards, watching my pale skin glow pink with the heat.

  Jodie put her head round the door, sniffing elaborately. ‘Mmm, I smell a rosy-posy pong, birthday princess. Want me to shampoo your hair?’

  I sat up and she soaped my hair, massaging my scalp with her hard little fingers. She experimented with different hairstyles when it was stiff with soapsuds, twirling it around and sculpting it into place, but when I’d rinsed and dried it, I decided to let it hang down loose.

  ‘No, it’s too little-girly,’ said Jodie. ‘I’ll pin it up properly for you.’

  ‘I like it loose,’ I said. It felt soft and comforting round my shoulders, like a curtain I could hide behind.

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  Jodie wanted to put make-up on me but I wasn’t sure about that either. I’d experimented myself but I just looked like a little kid playing with face paints. Jodie smeared some shimmery stuff on my eyelids and outlined my mouth with pale pink.

  ‘There! Very pretty. Only watch out – if we see pink smears all over Harley’s face, we’ll know you’ve been kissing him,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not going to kiss Harley!’ I said, blushing.

  ‘Just wait till he sees you in your birthday outfit.

  He’ll be overcome with passion,’ said Jodie, snorting with laughter.

  ‘Shut up, you idiot,’ I said, trying to stick my nose in the air and act dignified – only I got the giggles too.

  I pulled on Jodie’s black T-shirt and my new black velvet skirt. They looked fantastic.

  I put my long string of pearls round my neck and my rainbow bracelet round my wrist.

  ‘There! You look lovely,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. But not quite as absolutely stunningly lovely as me.’ She struck an attitude, then did a little tap dance in her high heels.