My Sister Jodie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Try this one!’ I said, selecting a stout old-fashioned iron key that didn’t match any of the others.

  Jodie tried it. It fitted perfectly! It was very stiff though. Her knuckles went white as she tried to twist it.

  ‘Careful! It might snap off altogether,’ I said.

  ‘You do it then if you’re so clever,’ she snapped.

  So I tried, pushing the key in harder and giving it a little jiggle so that suddenly it connected and turned with a click.

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  ‘You beauty!’ said Jodie. ‘We’ll come back after tea, and bring Harley with us, OK?’

  I put my hands flat on the door, as if I was trying to keep it shut for ever. I sensed the darkness on the other side of the thick wood. I could feel how cold it was through the cracks.

  ‘Let’s lock it up again,’ I whispered.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve just got this horrible feeling. Please don’t let’s go up there, ever.’

  ‘You’re just playing at being scared, Pearl,’ said Jodie, gathering the keys into the T-shirt. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get these back before Dad gets out of his bath.’

  ‘I feel awful here,’ I said, clutching my tummy.

  ‘You’re just hungry, idiot,’ said Jodie.

  ‘No, I’m serious. It’s a feeling of dread,’ I said earnestly, nearly in tears. ‘I’m sure something terrible’s going to happen.’

  ‘Look, I’m the one who makes up the spooky stories,’ said Jodie. ‘Well, I’m definitely coming back after tea. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Pearl.’

  We got the keys back to Dad’s bedroom with seconds to spare, just as he came padding out of the steamy bathroom with a big towel tied round his waist. He stuck out his tummy.

  ‘Me Big Chief Wobble Belly,’ he said, thumping it.

  ‘Dad! You’re so gross,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Me want cheesy baps for tea,’ said Dad.

  ‘Me too, me too,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Me too,’ I echoed, though I was in such a state I could hardly eat anything, even though Mum’s baps were hot from the oven and crisply golden with 266

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  melted cheese. She’d made egg mayonnaise and tomato salad too. There was a rhubarb fool with sugar shortbread biscuits for pudding, all my favourites, but I could only manage a mouthful.

  Jodie sidled up to Harley on the bench, whispering in his ear. His eyes opened wide. He peered along at me. I nodded.

  Zeph started messing about with his shortbread, putting two sticks into his mouth to make vampire fangs. He pretended to bite Sakura and Dan. They shrieked half-heartedly, not really scared. I made out I was scared too, to be obliging. I knew I was playing at being scared of Zeph. The feeling I had about the tower room was real, no matter what Jodie said.

  As soon as Undie herded the three littlies out of the dining room, Jodie, Harley and I cleared the dishes into the kitchen for Mum and then ran off.

  ‘Don’t you be long now, Pearl. You’re having an early night tonight,’ Mum called. ‘You’re looking really peaky, pet.’

  I smiled at her wanly and followed the others.

  Miss French and Mr Wilberforce were lurking in the big hallway. We couldn’t go upstairs in front of them so we had to hang around while they talked endlessly about this and that. Miss French made a big fuss of Jodie, telling her she had a brilliant future career as a dog-trainer because Old Shep was so much more relaxed and obedient now.

  Mr Wilberforce must have thought I felt neglected because he told me how much my little visits meant to his wife. It made me feel dreadful because I didn’t visit her very often, and when I did, I just seemed to upset her. I wondered what 267

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  she’d say if she knew we were about to go up to the tower room. I’d promised her we’d never go there. I couldn’t help shivering.

  ‘Goodness, Pearl, you can’t possibly be cold,’ Miss French said briskly. ‘Maybe you need a good long run as well as Old Shep – get that circulation going.’

  I knew why Mum found Miss French so irritating.

  ‘You could do with taking up running too, Harley.

  You need to put a bit of beef on, broaden out a little,’

  she said. ‘You’re such a string bean.’

  Harley’s lips flicked in the briefest smile. I wanted to slap Miss French. We didn’t make personal remarks about her grey hair or her wrinkles or her general dumpiness. I couldn’t work out why Mr Wilberforce always gazed at her as if she was a film star.

  They stumped off together eventually. We all breathed out deeply, sticking out our bottom lips and blowing up our nostrils.

  ‘God, I thought they’d stay rabbiting all evening,’

  said Harley. He looked at us. ‘So, let’s go!’

  We hurried up the stairs, Jodie and Harley racing ahead of me. I couldn’t seem to get my breath. They were ducking behind the cupboard out of sight by the time I’d started down the corridor. I hung back, tempted to sidle back down the stairs to the safety of my bedroom. Then Jodie called me.

  Well, it had to be Jodie, though her voice sounded ghostly and muffled.

  ‘Is that you, Jodie?’ I called anxiously.

  ‘No, my child . . . I am the poor melancholy wraith who haunts the tower . . . the sad white whispering woman—’

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  ‘ Stop it! ’ I shrieked.

  ‘Well come on, stupid,’ said Jodie in her own voice, putting her head round the back of the cupboard.

  She reached out her hand. I seized hold of it and she pulled me through, into the stale strange air of the past. We stumbled up the stairs together.

  Harley was already at the end of the corridor, stretched to his full extent, jabbing at the bolt.

  He gave a sudden grunt, and then a yelp of triumph.

  ‘Come on, Pearl!’ Jodie said. ‘He’s done it!’

  She ran full tilt along the corridor, her footsteps loud and clattering. I imagined all the locked doors opening, and all the Melchester inhabitants frowning out at me, furious because I was disturbing their peace. I saw the four crumbly monkeys crawling out into the corridor, leaving a little trail of withered rubber in their wake.

  I rushed after Jodie, terrified of being left on my own.

  ‘OK!’ she said.

  Harley went to turn the handle but she slapped his hand out of the way.

  ‘No, it’s my tower!’ she said. ‘Let me, let me!’

  Harley sighed, raised his eyebrows and gave her a little bow. ‘After you, madam,’ he said sarcastically.

  Jodie reached out and turned the handle. She opened the door very, very slowly and then peered inside.

  ‘What can you see?’ I whispered.

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘There must be something!’

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  ‘No, really, I can’t see anything, it’s pitch black.

  Give us your torch, Pearl.’

  I gave it to her. My hand was shaking and I think hers was too, because she nearly dropped it. She fumbled, caught it, and then clicked on the light. She opened the door wider and shone the torch around.

  There was still nothing much to see – a little round room with a small spiral staircase leading upwards. There was no furniture, but a pile of rubble littered the floor. Jodie stepped inside.

  ‘Be careful! Watch the floorboards!’ I begged her.

  ‘It’s fine – solid, look,’ said Jodie, stamping her high heel. ‘Come in, you guys.’

  Harley held out his hand to me. I gripped it tightly and we stepped inside too. It was smaller than I’d thought, as if the brick walls were closing in on us. Jodie swung the torch wildly round and round, making m
e dizzy.

  ‘Keep it still, Jodie!’

  She shone it straight in my eyes. I ducked, turning my head, and saw something glinting at the edge of the floor. I bent down and edged it out of the rubble. It was a silver brocade shoe with a pointed toe. The heel had snapped right off so that the toe curved upwards in my hand.

  ‘What have you found, Pearl? Treasure?’ said Jodie, shining the torch at me again.

  I blinked, tears brimming and then spilling down my cheeks.

  ‘Are you crying? Don’t be silly, Pearl, it’s only an old shoe,’ said Jodie.

  ‘It’s not any old shoe. I think it must have been Mrs Wilberforce’s shoe. When she fell down the stairs . . .’

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  ‘Oh God,’ said Jodie, coming forwards. She peered at the shoe, examining it. ‘There’s no blood on it.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘So she fell down these stairs?’ said Harley, his hand on the narrow rail.

  ‘Let’s go up then!’ said Jodie.

  ‘No!’ I said.

  ‘Pearl’s right. The stairs obviously aren’t safe,’

  said Harley.

  ‘OK, you two stay here. I’m going up. I’ve got to see the tower room!’

  Jodie started clattering up the narrow stairs, shining the torch in front of her.

  ‘ Test the steps first, idiot,’ said Harley. ‘Or do you want to end up in a wheelchair too?’

  ‘Shut up, Mr Boring,’ said Jodie, but she slowed down a fraction, tapping twice on each step, as if she was performing a little dance routine.

  Harley stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting in case his extra weight made the spiral buckle and pull away from the wall. Jodie went up and up and up, her taps getting softer and softer.

  ‘I should have made her let me go first,’ said Harley.

  ‘Never!’ Jodie called down.

  She already sounded a long way away. She had the torch with her so it was pitch dark in our windowless room. It was very cold and damp and smelled sour. Harley reached out and felt for my hand.

  ‘I think I’d better go up after her. You stay here, Pearl,’ he said.

  I wasn’t sure which I dreaded most, climbing all 271

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  those rickety dangerous stairs or staying down here by myself in total darkness.

  ‘I’ll climb up too,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, wow! I’m here! Wait till you see!’ Jodie called all the way down.

  ‘Shine your torch down so we can see what we’re doing,’ Harley called back.

  ‘What? Wait!’

  There was a terrible bumping rattling sound.

  ‘Jodie!’ I yelled.

  It was only the torch, which she’d thrown down the stairs. It landed with a thump, rolling over and over, the light flashing madly.

  ‘My birthday present!’ I said, snatching it up. The plastic had cracked but the light bulb still shone brightly.

  ‘Is it OK? Don’t worry, I can get you another one,’

  said Harley. ‘Is she crazy? You don’t fling torches around like that.’

  ‘She doesn’t think,’ I said. ‘Come on then. Do you want to go first, Harley?’

  ‘I’ll go behind you, and then if you trip, I’ll catch you,’ said Harley. ‘Let me have the torch. I’ll shine it for you. You just keep your eyes on what you’re doing and hang onto the rail like grim death.’

  He took the torch and aimed it upwards. I held onto the rail and started climbing. The steps were awkward and narrow and quite slippery even though I was wearing my rubber-soled sandals. I had no idea how Jodie had bounded up in her high heels.

  I climbed up and up and up. The tower seemed as tall as a church steeple. Jodie kept calling down to me impatiently, telling me to hurry up. Harley 272

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  encouraged me from behind, insisting I take my time. He kept the torch shining steadily. When I was nearly at the top, I saw great chunks of plaster had been wrenched from the wall. The staircase wobbled precariously, not properly attached.

  ‘Oh God, we’re mad,’ said Harley. ‘I think we’d better go back down – slowly.’

  ‘Don’t go down again! You’re nearly there. Come on, come on,’ Jodie urged. ‘You can’t give up now!’

  ‘Let’s go right up, Harley,’ I said helplessly.

  I edged upwards, holding my breath at each step

  – and then at last I looked up and saw the tower room above me in the flickering light of the torch.

  Jodie’s head appeared at the top of the staircase.

  She seized my arms by the elbows and pulled. I stepped up, into the tower room.

  It was like stepping into a fairy tale! We didn’t need the torch up here. We could see dimly in the twilight shining through the lozenge-shaped leaded windows. There was a soft Persian rug on the floor, patterned with birds and roses. Tapestry wall-hangings were pinned all round the room, with woven castles and pale people with tall hats and long pointy feet. There were gold-framed paintings too, of women in dark velvet gowns with long wavy hair falling about their shoulders. Bookshelves ran around the walls, with big red and white gift books with gold lettering on the spines. There was even a rose velvet sofa covered with soft shawls and cushions. It was small, but even so it must have been a terrible struggle to get it up that precarious winding staircase.

  I walked on tiptoe as I circled the room. I felt like a terrible intruder. This was Mrs Wilberforce’s 273

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  room – not the sad married lady, bitter and depressed; this was a young girl’s secret room, beautiful and romantic.

  Jodie snatched up an embroidered shawl and draped it over her shoulders, starting to do a gypsy dance.

  ‘Put it back!’ I said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. No one comes here any more.

  It’s my room now because I found it, so these are all my things, and this is my shawl,’ she said, stamping her feet with a flourish.

  ‘Carry on like that and we’ll all go through the floorboards,’ said Harley.

  Jodie took no notice, holding the shawl out in either hand and flapping her arms, so it looked as if she had fringed wings.

  ‘If someone crept into your bedroom and declared they’d discovered it and so it now belonged to them, I take it you’d have no objections?’ said Harley. ‘You’d be quite happy if they wore all your clothes and stomped around in those stupid red shoes?’

  Jodie flapped the shawl at him contemptuously, bullfighter fashion.

  Harley shone the torch in her face.

  ‘Don’t, you’re blinding me!’ she snapped.

  ‘What’s that on your arms?’ said Harley.

  ‘Oh, ha ha.’

  ‘No, look – it’s all on your shoulders too. I’m not kidding.’

  Jodie peered. ‘Yuck! What is it?’

  It looked as if she was wearing grey lace. It patterned her bare arms and her T-shirt. She rubbed it tentatively and it smeared.

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  ‘It’s just dust from that stupid old shawl,’ she said, shaking it vigorously.

  ‘Just dust?’ said Harley. He lowered his voice.

  ‘Maybe it’s the Curse of the Tower Room mani-festing itself. You’re going grey all over, and soon you’ll start withering—’

  ‘Don’t, Harley!’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t frighten me,’ said Jodie, but she dropped the shawl on the Persian rug. She gave it a little kick and then marched over to the window.

  ‘Look! Just look at the view: you can see for miles,’ she said, pressing against the latticed glass.

  ‘I can see all the way over the hills to Galford.’

  ‘No you can’t,’ said Harley. ‘It’s in the other direction and it’s too dark to see anythin
g properly.’

  ‘I’m like a cat, I can see in the dark,’ said Jodie.

  She bent her head. ‘I can see right down down down all the way to the ground – and whoops, I spy with my super-sharp feline eye a little mouse peering up at me, his nose twitching anxiously.’

  ‘Don’t lean on the glass like that, Jodie. It’s so old it might easily fall out and then you’ll go down down down and squash your harvest mouse flat,’

  said Harley.

  ‘You’re such a worry-wuss,’ said Jodie. ‘Look at the tops of the trees! You could kid yourself you could step from one to the other, all the way to the hills. I’ve always wanted to be able to fly.

  Remember my rocket, Pearl? I wanted Dad to make me a rocket to whiz me up to the moon, Harley.

  Maybe I don’t need a rocket. Maybe I could just launch myself, one giant leap, and then I’d ride on the wind.’

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  straight out of the window. I snatched a handful of her T-shirt, pulling her back.

  ‘It’s OK, Pearl! I’m only kidding!’ she said, but I still clung to her.

  I didn’t let go of her until we were safely back down the spiral stairs and out of the tower altogether.

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  ‘How do you know Harley?’ said the girl standing next to me.

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  19

  The pupils started arriving on Saturday.

  Melchester was a small school and only half the pupils were boarders but it still felt as if we were besieged by a vast foreign army. We’d got so used to having the run of the place but now we were horribly restricted. There were lots of new teachers and a proper matron, a large woman who wore such efficient corsets she seemed as firmly plump as a sofa. She was firm in manner too, telling us what to do in a very no-nonsense voice. She didn’t cajole the little ones ineffectually, like Undie. She threatened them with a ‘good spanking with my hairbrush’ and we weren’t entirely sure she was joking.

  Even the cleaning ladies from the village ordered us around. There were two, a middle-aged woman, Mrs Colgate, and her eighteen-year-old daughter, Tiffany. They were both blonde and plump, but unlike Matron they let it all hang loose. Mrs Colgate wore low-slung jeans, her fat tummy 279