My Sister Jodie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Yes you are, because Mr Wilberforce says so and you’re the little goody-goody two shoes who always does exactly as you’re told,’ said Jodie vehemently.

  She pushed right past me and stalked off to our bedroom. I didn’t dare follow her. She stood in front of the whole school at half past nine, her crazy hair brushed back, her head held high. Her skirt was hiked up high above her knees and she was wearing her red high heels. There was a little gasp as she clacked across the stage. Mr Wilberforce glared at her footwear, but decided not to be distracted.

  ‘Now, Jodie, you have something to tell the younger children, haven’t you?’ he said.

  ‘If you say so,’ said Jodie.

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  ‘I do indeed say so,’ said Mr Wilberforce sternly.

  ‘Right. Well, pin your ears back, you little ones,’

  said Jodie. ‘Apparently some of you got worried by my Halloween story last night, which was very silly, because it was only a story. I made it all up. Mr Wilberforce wants me to tell you that there’s absolutely no such thing as ghosts. People might dress up as ghosts for silly parties, but there aren’t any real ghosts, OK?’

  The little ones stared at her, stunned. The Juniors shifted around uncomfortably. The Seniors smirked.

  ‘Whoooo!’ someone whispered, and there was a ripple of laughter.

  Jodie’s pale face went pink. ‘No ghosts,’ she repeated. ‘No sad white whispering women. Mr Wilberforce says she’s a figment of my imagination, so remember that, right?’

  She tip-tapped off the stage. Mr Wilberforce let her go, though he shook his head at her. At the end of assembly he beckoned me. I knew what he was going to say. I so want to write that I utterly refused to take over the bedtime storytelling from Jodie. I did mumble to Mr Wilberforce that Jodie told wonderful stories and that I was sure she’d never tell the little ones a ghost story again.

  ‘Are you really sure, Pearl?’ said Mr Wilberforce.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ I lied.

  ‘Mmm. The trouble is, I’m not so sure. Your sister Jodie is a law unto herself, a lovely girl in many ways, but a problem child. I’ve got to think of the other children. I can’t risk having them frightened into fits every night. No, dear, I’d like you to take over bedtime duties for the moment. Miss Ponsonby 371

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  says the little girls were enchanted by your story. I think you ought to write it down and show it to Mrs Lewin.’

  I couldn’t help being thrilled, even though I felt so bad about Jodie. So I said yes, I’d be happy to tell the girls a story every night. I had to tuck the little boys up too. I knew enough not to tell them a pumpkin fairy story. (I was planning new stories about the gooseberry-bush baby fairies, the giant sunflower fairies, the ever-so-good-for-you broccoli fairies – an entire allotment of fairy stories.) I told the boys badger stories instead – Mr Badger, Mrs Badger and their two children, Bobby and Bessie.

  Harley sloped into the little boys’ dormie when I was in mid flow. My throat dried and my voice trailed away.

  ‘Go on, Pearl,’ said Zeph.

  ‘Tell us more!’ said Dan.

  I tried hard to ignore Harley and carried on telling the story. It was very babyish and twee. Mr Badger smoked a pipe of dandelion tobacco and wore long green dockleaf slippers, Mrs Badger chalked her white headstreak every day and painted her long claws, and Bobby and Bessie wore cute denim dungarees and attended Badger Infant School. Jodie would have groaned and fidgeted, but Harley lolled on the end of Dan’s bed, seemingly absorbed.

  When I’d finished and tucked them all up under their duvets, Harley walked with me to the door.

  ‘They’re loving your story,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not going to traumatize them by having little Bobby ambling off and getting run over.’

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  ‘Of course not. My stories never have any sad or worrying bits.’

  ‘Unlike Jodie’s stories.’

  ‘Oh, don’t. I feel so bad taking over from her. She says she couldn’t care less now but I know she does.

  And people keep making silly ghost noises around her. They’re all so horrible.’

  Jodie was hunched up on the sofa with Dad, watching television, when I got back. Mum was dozing in her chair, a cake recipe book open on her lap. I went to sit on the sofa too. Dad’s arm wound round me automatically and I cuddled up close. But then Jodie stretched and stood up.

  ‘Where are you off to, Jodie?’ Dad said.

  ‘Oh, things to do,’ she said.

  I swallowed. ‘Can I come too?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’ve got things to do. Without you,’ said Jodie.

  She walked off, whistling.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Dad. ‘Have my two favourite girls been having a tiff?’

  ‘Not really,’ I sniffed. ‘Jodie just doesn’t seem to like me much any more.’

  ‘Nonsense. Jodie thinks the world of you, you know she does. She’s just having a bit of a hard time at the moment. You know that.’

  Dad held me close, his head on top of mine. I felt his chin move as he glanced at Mum, checking she was still asleep. ‘I can’t help thinking it was maybe a big mistake to come here. Your mum thought it such a fantastic opportunity – well, I did too, the chance for my girls to have a top-notch education, all for free. We’d have been mad not to go for it.

  Especially for you, Pearl. You’re our little brainy-box and it’s worked for you, hasn’t it? You like your 373

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  lessons and you’ve made some nice little friends.

  You’ve even got yourself a boy friend, you cheeky baggage.’

  ‘Dad! Harley isn’t a boyfriend, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, well, he’s a kind lad, and means well, though he can’t help sounding a bit of a twit at times. But some of the snotty brats in his class make me boiling mad. I’ve seen the way they call after our Jodie. I’ve felt like giving them a piece of my mind but I know Jodie wouldn’t thank me for it. It’s not working out for her, is it, Pearl? Your mum so hoped she’d settle down here. She’s always been a bit wild and maybe she was hanging out with a bad bunch back at Moorcroft, but she was happier there, I’m sure of it. I can’t stand to see her all pale and droopy, it just about breaks my heart.’ Dad heaved a great sigh. ‘Maybe we should move right away, start over somewhere else? What do you think, Pearl?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad,’ I said helplessly.

  Dad gave me a hug. ‘Of course you don’t know, poppet. Take no notice, I’m just being silly. We’ll sort something out somehow and see our Jodie get her bounce back.’

  He settled back into watching his programme on television, a compilation of greatest rock hits. He started humming along, his socked foot tapping, his fingers drumming my arm.

  He told me all about the different rock bands and I pretended to be listening, but I didn’t take in a word. I was thinking about Jodie, wondering if she was creeping up the stairs, along the corridor, squeezing behind the big cupboard, going through the door, up the spiral staircase to the tower room.

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  I wondered about following her up there, but it would be so scary going by myself. What if I got all the way to the top and found Jodie wasn’t there after all? I thought about being there all by myself in that round room, knowing I had to feel my way down that shaky staircase.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I stayed snuggled with Dad for over an hour.

  Mum woke up and made a pot of tea. She didn’t even comment on Jodie’s absence. She said she had a headache and took her cup of tea into the bedroom with her.

  ‘You see the girls to bed, Joe,’ she muttered, as if Jodie and I were still small.

  Dad looked worried, wond
ering what he was going to do if Jodie stayed out really late. But she was back by half past nine, acting as if she’d just popped along the corridor to the bathroom.

  ‘Right, girlies, beddy-byes,’ said Dad, as if we really were tiny tots.

  Jodie and I played along with this without conferring. It made everything so much easier for all of us.

  ‘Hop, skip and into bed,’ said Dad briskly.

  We hopped and we skipped and then we jumped into bed. Dad came and gave us big hugs.

  ‘Another one!’ Jodie demanded, so I did too.

  ‘You pair of soppies,’ said Dad.

  ‘Tell us a story,’ said Jodie.

  ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl called Jodie and she had brown – no, purple – hair and a little girl called Pearl and she had fair hair. Jodie put her purple head on her pillow and Pearl put her fair head on her pillow. They fell fast asleep,’ said Dad.

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  This was the only story he’d ever told us, and we could chant it all backwards. Then Dad backed out of the room, blowing kisses, and we were left alone together.

  ‘Can I come in your bed, Jodie?’ I asked, keeping my voice little-girly.

  There was a silence.

  Then, ‘No,’ said Jodie.

  My heart started thudding.

  ‘No, because my sheets are all tangled up. I’m getting into your bed,’ she said, and she bounced in beside me.

  I cuddled her close. ‘Let’s play Big Sister, Little Sister,’ I said.

  It was a silly game we played years ago. I was the Big Sister and I had to look after my very naughty Little Sister Jodie.

  ‘OK, OK, Big Sister,’ said Jodie in a funny little lisping voice.

  We played until we fell asleep. When we woke up in the morning, Jodie was still in my bed. She was curled up facing me, her fist under her nose so it looked as if she was sucking her thumb. Her face was soft, her cheeks flushed from sleep. She looked so young, as if she’d really become my little sister overnight.

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  We all gazed up at the golden stars expoding way above the tower.

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  25

  It was the fifth of November on Monday, Bonfire Night.

  ‘Another blooming party,’ said Mum. ‘That Frenchie! “Don’t you worry, Mrs Wells, we don’t need you to prepare a banquet. Just bangers and baked potatoes, traditional firework grub. You could get your husband to set up a barbecue outside.’’ Silly cow, how can you cook for all the school on a blooming barbecue?’

  Mum huffed and puffed, but she made huge trays of special iced cake sprinkled with hundreds and thousands to look like fireworks, and she sent Dad into the village to buy bags of marshmallows to have with hot chocolate.

  Jed built a huge bonfire on the front lawn at lunch time, with half the school helping him pile on the branches. Even the senior girls joined in, Anna and Sophia and Rebecca throwing a few twigs haphazardly and squealing with laughter at everything Jed said.

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  ‘Idiots,’ said Jodie contemptuously, stalking past.

  Anna and Sophia and Rebecca giggled, then pursed their lips and went, ‘Whoooo!’

  ‘Hiya, Purple Bonce,’ Jed called, grinning at her.

  ‘I hear you’ve been scaring all the little kids with your stories.’

  ‘Yeah, she is, like, so weird,’ said Anna.

  ‘Tales of ghoulies and ghosties, eh? So you believe in that crap, do you?’ said Jed.

  Jodie stopped. Her fists were clenched. I put my hand on her wrist. I could feel her shaking.

  ‘I believe you’re crap,’ she said, and walked on.

  ‘Good for you, Jodie,’ I said. ‘I thought you were going to punch him.’

  ‘I nearly did,’ said Jodie. ‘But I’ll show him. I’ll show all of them.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘You wait,’ she said.

  Harley was crouching in the bushes at the side of the lawn, waddling around like a giant duck, sticking rockets into bottles.

  ‘Oh cool! I love rockets,’ said Jodie. ‘We’ll help you, Harley.’

  ‘No, wait, Mr Wilberforce has drawn up this terribly complicated grid. They’ve all got to be placed in a specific pattern and then we’ve got this ridiculous team plan - Mr Wilberforce, your dad, Mr Michaels, Jed and me. It’s like a battle. We’ve even got to dress up in ridiculous gear – balaclavas, special gloves, rubber boots – like we’re a creepy SAS squad.’

  ‘What time do the fireworks start, Harley?’

  ‘Half seven, on the dot.’

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  bottles. ‘It’s not going to be a very big display.’

  ‘I know, yet old Wilberforce is bigging it up so half the kids are expecting the entire sky to light up like the Aurora Borealis.’

  ‘Like the what?’ said Jodie.

  ‘Northern Lights,’ I said without thinking.

  ‘You two whizzy-brains,’ said Jodie. ‘Well, I think the kids will have lots to look at tonight, one way or another. Happy rocketing, Harley!’

  She walked off. I linked arms, walking with her.

  ‘I hope there won’t be bangers. I hate them,’ I said. ‘I’m not even sure I like rockets very much. I like it when they explode into stars but I hate that whooshy noise they make. I always get scared one will fall down on me. I liked it best when I was little and we just had sparklers in the back yard, you and me.’

  We’d hold the sparklers in our mittened hands, letting them sizzle and flash. Jodie showed me how to write in the air with them. I couldn’t write proper words the first time and only managed a wobbly P for Pearl so Jodie wrote both our names in the air. When the sparklers went out, there was still a golden trail of writing hanging there in front of our eyes, Jodie and Pearl, linked together.

  ‘I hope Mr Wilberforce has got some sparklers,’ I said.

  Jodie mimed holding a sparkler, whirling it round.

  ‘Yes, you used to write our names,’ I said. ‘You’ve always been such a great sister to me.’

  ‘That’s what sisters are for,’ said Jodie.

  Then the bell for afternoon school rang and we went off to our classrooms.

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  ‘ There you are, Pearl!’ said Harriet. ‘We were looking for you everywhere. We were trying to make a guy for the bonfire but he kept falling to bits. We needed you to sort him out – you’re much better at art and craft.’

  So straight after lessons I went over to Harriet’s room and inspected their limp little guy. I decided he needed a major operation. I snipped and sorted and stuffed, and then I sewed him two buttons for eyes and a red felt smiley mouth. He looked cute and friendly now he had a face and we all fussed over him.

  When I went back to our flat at last, Dad was dressing up in his firework-lighting gear. He pulled on big gum boots borrowed from Mr Wilberforce and then did a funny jackboot strut around the room. He tried marching into the kitchen to make Mum laugh but she swotted him away irritably, jabbing at row after row of pale pink chipolatas.

  ‘Where’s Jodie?’ said Dad, knowing she’d probably chuckle at him.

  I didn’t know where Jodie was. I wanted to watch the fireworks with her, arm in arm. I wondered if she’d gone to buy a packet of sparklers for us down at the village shop. It was just the sort of thing she’d do.

  I put on my jacket and wound a scarf round my neck and stuck my feet into my own wellie boots.

  This was my badger-watching outfit. The cuffs of my jacket were still slightly sticky with honey. I thought of the lonely cub curled up by itself
in the dark set, with no one to romp and chase and play with. I shut my eyes tight to stop myself crying. I needed Jodie to scoff at me and call me a baby.

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  I thought my torch would be useful outside in the dark. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I had to go into the pitch dark by the side of the building towards the bonfire. All the pupils were huddled together, unrecognizable in the dark. The fire was already lit, flames flickering upwards. Small hooded figures danced round and round the bonfire. I knew it was just the little ones in their winter uniform duffel coats but they looked like strange goblins.

  I hung back, feeling stupidly shy, wondering if Jodie was already there.

  ‘Pearl! Pearl! Over here!’

  It was Harriet, jumping up and down, making our guy jump too.

  ‘Pearl! My Pearl! Come and stand with me!’ Dan shouted.

  ‘See the bonfire!’ said Sakura. ‘We’re dancing round the bonfire, making wishes!’

  ‘We’re going to get sausages!’ Zeph yelled, careering towards me.

  I was suddenly surrounded by capering children, crazy with excitement, all of them wanting to see me. I gave the little ones a hug and then went to stand with Harry and Freya and Sheba and Clarissa.

  ‘At last!’ said Harry. ‘We have to burn the guy now.’

  ‘Do we really have to?’ said Freya.

  ‘It won’t be a proper bonfire without a guy!’ said Sheba.

  ‘Of course we have to burn him, that’s the whole point,’ said Clarissa. ‘Give him here, I’ll do it.’

  ‘No, let Pearl, she made him,’ said Harry, thrusting the guy at me.

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  His head tilted, his button eyes glinting in the firelight. His body shifted, almost as if he was struggling. I wanted to keep him tight in my arms but I took a deep breath and hurled him.

  He whirled through the air and landed right on the top of the bonfire. He straddled it, arms up, head wagging. Then a flame leaped up over his leg, then another attacked his thigh, and in split seconds he was alight all over, his arms still up, as if signalling for help. I wanted to snatch him back from the flames. Freya started crying. Harriet gripped my arm agitatedly.