I stared at her. Mum gave me a nudge.
‘Happy birthday, Alisha,’ I said, and handed her a present.
I knew what it was: a great big tin of felt-tip pens with special fluorescent shades like stinging yellow and sharp lime green and hot orange. I’d have given anything for a set of felt tips like that. I could design any number of outfits for Mighty Mart and have her defeating a herd of yellow hyenas in a green jungle while the orange sun set behind. None of these possibilities occurred to Alisha. She tore off the silver wrapping paper, glanced at the tin, and then put it with a whole pile of presents on a table. She didn’t even bother to open it!
‘They’re special fluorescent felt tips,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ said Alisha, turning away from me and starting on Katie’s present. It was a stationery set – a little notebook and pen and pencils. I knew for a fact that they were a giveaway on a girls’ comic, but Alisha went mad.
‘Oh, Katie! They’re so lovely! Oh, you’re so kind!’ she simpered. ‘They’re the best present ever!’
I was about to stomp off into a corner but Miss Suzanne caught hold of me, marvelling at my dress. I was forced to stand there while she pinched my puff sleeves and held up my skirts, practically showing everyone my new knickers.
‘What a beautiful dress! I thought Alisha’s was exquisite, but this is even better!’ she whispered to Mum. ‘Did you go to this magic dressmaker Mrs Evans told me about?’
Mum smiled. ‘I’m the magic dressmaker,’ she said. She gave me a little nod, as if to say, ‘See!’
Miss Suzanne gushed for England while I stood there, agonized.
‘Mum, I really really don’t feel very well,’ I whimpered, tugging at her arm. ‘Can’t I just go home?’
Miss Suzanne put her arm round me. ‘It’s all right, dear. Everyone feels a bit shy at parties at first.’ She smiled at Mum. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her.’
And she did, oh she did, relentlessly. I had to join in every single one of those old-fashioned party games like Musical Chairs and Blind Man’s Bluff. I was nearly last at Musical Chairs, but Ingrid pulled the chair away from me so that Katie got it first. They both poked me hard during Blind Man’s Bluff. I endured this, silent and proud, but Miss Suzanne intervened on my behalf.
‘Now, now, Ingrid, I think that’s cheating. Poor Martina!’ she said. And, ‘Oh, Katie, I saw that! Don’t poke, sweetheart, it hurts!’
It made Katie and Ingrid hate me even more. They’re allowed to hate all they want. School was going to be a picnic on Monday. Not.
Then we had special dancing games and these were even worse. For Musical Statues we had to pair up and polka round the room till the music stopped. I didn’t have any proper friends here so there was no one to be my partner. I wondered if I might be paired with Alisha because she didn’t have any proper friends either, but she danced with this awful smarmy-looking boy cousin wearing a proper suit with a white shirt and a polka-dot bow tie! He held her in a weird way and stuck his head to one side, and stepped out on tiptoe in his black patent shoes, just like they do in Strictly Come Dancing.
I stood against the wall, grateful for small mercies, when I saw Miss Suzanne advancing towards me.
‘Come along, Martina! Come and dance with me!’ she said.
‘I can’t do this dance,’ I said quickly.
‘Of course you can, dear. It’s just step-step-step-hop. Anyone can do the polka.’
Anyone but me. I stumbled all over the place as she whirled me round and round the hall at a terrifying pace.
‘You should see me dance the polka!’ she sang in my ear, with great emphasis.
I could see me dancing the polka, because there were mirrors all round the hall. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
‘There, I think you’re getting the hang of it,’ Miss Suzanne said doubtfully.
When she announced the next dance, something called the Gay Gordons, she seized some little sister in a Walt Disney Snow White dress and suggested I dance with her. Snow White was only about four and didn’t know the dance either, so we edged into a corner and twirled about doing our own thing.
‘You dance funny,’ she said.
I didn’t think this was a compliment.
Then we were led into the next room, which had trestle tables all pushed together and laid with an incredible birthday tea. When Melissa and I have birthday teas, there are pizza slices and crisps and carrot sticks and cheese-and-pineapple, and then chocolate birthday cake.
This was a grand grown-up tea with tiny sandwiches without crusts, weeny smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels, little scones with jam and cream, and doll-sized cakes laid out in patterns on pretty china plates. Then there were bowls of trifle and tiramisú, and a special ice-cream cake, and a raspberry pavlova, and a cheesecake, and a profiterole tower, and an enormous birthday cake with a picture of a ballet dancer in a lilac dress.
I might not be any good at dancing but I am a great eater. I sat next to Snow White and helped her to sandwiches and taught her how to drink her lemonade punch through a straw. I showed her how to blow bubbles too, but I got so enthusiastic, my bubbles overflowed my glass and a little dribble went down the front of my dress. I scrubbed at it quick with a paper serviette – and saw I’d somehow spilled some ice-cream when I was showing Snow White how to chop it up into little bricks to make a miniature igloo. I scrubbed at that too. There was so much material in my wretched dress that I hoped two weeny little stains wouldn’t really be noticed. I was determined not to worry about what Mum would say. I was almost starting to enjoy myself now.
We had to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Alisha, with Mrs Evans and Miss Suzanne conducting us. Then Alisha blew out her candles while her mother sprinkled her with sparkling confetti stuff. She said it was fairy dust and would make all Alisha’s dreams come true.
I knew this was silly nonsense, but even so I edged up to Alisha so that some of the fairy dust rubbed off on me. Then I shut my eyes and wished that I could create a proper comic about Mighty Mart. Then she’d be turned into a TV series and a major feature film and a best-selling computer game, and I’d make lots and lots of money, and then Dad wouldn’t have to try to be a travel agent any more. He could just go on all these holidays himself, and take me with him. And perhaps Mum too, if she promised not to nag and make me wear stupid dresses. I wasn’t sure about Melissa. I remembered how she’d snorted with laughter. Perhaps she’d have to stay home all by herself.
When we’d all had a piece of birthday cake, we had to go back into the main hall and sit on the floor while this clown called Chum-Chum entertained us. Snow White nestled closer to me and whispered that she didn’t like clowns, especially ones with white faces and red noses like Chum-Chum. I put my arm round her and said she didn’t have to worry, Chum-Chum looked like a nice friendly clown and wasn’t a bit scary.
Chum-Chum caught my eye at this point. He took in my elaborately awful dress. ‘Ah, you must be the birthday girl!’ he said. ‘Would you like to come on stage and help me with my magic tricks?’
The real birthday girl happened to be in the toilet at that moment. This was too good a chance to miss. I’d always longed to do magic tricks.
I leaped up onto the stage. ‘I’m happy to be your assistant, Mr Chum-Chum!’ I said.
We did a few tame tricks first. I had to keep picking cards and pulling strings of hankies out of his pocket. Then he produced a top hat and my heart started thumping hard. Was he going to pluck a rabbit from the hat? And if so, would he let me keep it?
We didn’t have any pets at home. Mum wasn’t very keen on the idea because she said they made a mess. Could she possibly object to one teeny weeny little rabbit who mostly lived in a hat? I could call my pet rabbit Magic and we could perform tricks together …
‘Wakey-wakey!’ said Chum-Chum. ‘I said, tap the top hat with the magic wand, little birthday girl.’
‘She’s not the birthday girl! I am!’ Alisha shrieked, running into the hall.
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Mrs Evans bundled me off the stage. I had to watch Alisha pull the rabbit out of the hat – a wonderful baby rabbit with the cutest floppy ears. Chum-Chum magicked it away again almost immediately, so she didn’t get to keep it either. But she did get to do the best thing of all. She lay in a big box (quite a feat as there was an awful lot of Alisha to stuff inside, particularly wearing a dress with three layers of net petticoat) and she got sawn in half! I so wished I could have got sawn in half. It would be so cool. One half of me could stay at home with Dad and draw Mighty Mart comic strips and watch DVDs, and the other half of me could go to school and run around and play football. Alisha looked dead worried though, almost as if she was going to cry. Mrs Evans didn’t look happy either. Perhaps she was scared that the precious party dress would be sawn in half too.
I don’t think Chum-Chum really did it, though his saw certainly looked sharp enough, because Alisha came back on stage all in one piece and her dress wasn’t even split across the seams and there was no sign of blood anywhere. Chum-Chum ended his act by playing his saw as if it was a musical instrument, and we all sang along to the tunes.
Some of the parents started arriving, so I thought it was time to go home at last – but Miss Suzanne clapped her hands and announced, ‘It’s time for the birthday ballet, children!’
My heart started hammering all over again, wondering if I had to attempt ballet now – but thank goodness I didn’t have to do anything, except be part of the audience.
All the dancing-school pupils rushed backstage to get changed for their big moment. All the girls took part – and the smarmy boy cousin. Even little Snow White appeared on the stage and pointed her toes and did a bit of skipping.
The star of the birthday ballet was Alisha, of course. She whirled and twirled around like a very large spinning top, while Mr Evans recorded her grand performance on a camcorder. Katie and Ingrid had to do a little duet. I hoped they’d look incredibly stupid so I could laugh very loudly, but they did modern dancing, wiggling about like girls in a pop group – the sort of dancing Melissa did in front of her mirror, but irritatingly, they were better at it.
The best dancer, though, was the boy cousin. He’d changed into the most embarrassing tights instead of trousers, worn with a little tunic that didn’t cover enough – but he leaped right up in the air, his legs twiddling this way and that, and then he bent down like a frog and jumped about, and he even turned cartwheels. If that was ballet, then maybe I liked it after all.
Mum had arrived by this time. I saw her deep in conversation with Miss Suzanne. I clapped the cousin enthusiastically and I clapped a little bit for Alisha just to be polite, and then I ran up to Mum.
‘Are you fixing up for me to have ballet lessons, Mum?’ I asked eagerly.
Mum looked amazed.
Miss Suzanne laughed. ‘Perhaps dancing isn’t quite your special thing, Martina. You didn’t seem to take to the polka very happily.’
‘No, I don’t mean that silly hoppity-skippety dancing. I want to leap about and do big bunny jumps and cartwheels like him,’ I said, pointing to Alisha’s cousin.
Miss Suzanne patted me on the head. ‘No, darling, girls don’t do that sort of dancing!’ she said, and laughed at me again.
‘That’s not fair! I bet I could do it as good as him,’ I muttered, while Miss Suzanne and Mum yacked on about flower fairies – rose and poppy and bluebell and soppy sweet-pea fairies. They talked for ages, until we were practically the last people left in the hall.
Then, when Mum took me home at last, I got another nasty shock. Dad and Melissa were cuddled up on the sofa dipping oven chips in a saucer of tomato sauce and watching Toy Story 3 together. That’s my favourite treat and my favourite DVD. I always watch it with Dad, and we chant along to all the best bits and have to hold hands tight when the toys are about to be rubbished. Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister. She’s so sneaky, the way she cosies up to Dad the minute my back’s turned.
‘That’s not fair!’ I wailed. ‘I want to watch too! Can we go back? And can’t I have any chips?
‘Hey, sweetheart, you’ve been to your party! I felt Melissa needed a little treat too,’ said Dad.
‘Going to the party wasn’t a treat, it was total torture,’ I said, trying to jam myself in between Melissa and Dad. ‘Come on, let’s go right back to the beginning.’
‘Watch that tomato sauce!’ Mum said – a fraction too late.
The saucer jumped up and landed on my blue silk lap.
‘Oh, Martina! You’ve ruined that lovely dress! How could you be so careless!’ said Mum.
I thought I was really for it now, but weirdly she didn’t seem ultra-cross. She whipped the dress off me and tried sponging the sauce off. Then she discovered the lemonade dribble and the ice-cream blob and had another go at me, but only mildly.
‘I’m going to get you a great big plastic baby bib and make you wear it every time you eat,’ she said. ‘Watch the end of Toy Story 3, then. You can’t possibly start at the beginning, it’s nearly bedtime.’ She dabbed at the blue dress again.
‘Is it really ruined? So I won’t ever have to wear it again?’ I said hopefully.
‘Probably,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t look so pleased!’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t muck it up on purpose.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘You did look lovely in it, Martina. I should have taken a photo of you. Still, it seems to have served its purpose!’
I didn’t know what Mum meant – then.
We usually all have a family lie-in on Sundays, but Mum was up very early, whirring away on her sewing machine. Dad came sloping into my Marty Den in his pyjamas, scratching his head and yawning.
‘Have you got a bunk bed going spare, Marty?’ he asked. ‘Mum’s making a terrible racket in my room.’
‘Just chuck Jumper on the floor, Dad. Welcome aboard,’ I said.
Dad climbed in, scrunching himself up small. ‘Ouch!’ he said, feeling under the duvet. ‘What’s this prickly thing?’
‘Oh, that’s Percy, my pet porcupine. I wondered where he’d got to,’ I said.
‘Your porcupine? Of course,’ Dad said, tossing my porcupine out into the cold and snuggling down.
I lay down too and thought about the party. I kicked off my duvet and twiddled my legs about, trying to work out how that boy cousin had managed to corkscrew himself up and down.
‘What are you doing, Marty? The bunk bed’s shaking,’ said Dad.
‘I’m trying to do that boy ballet stuff,’ I said. ‘Only I can’t figure out quite how.’
‘Perhaps it’s easier out of bed,’ Dad suggested.
I jumped down and started leaping around the room. I tried a big twiddle and ended up in a heap on the rug.
‘Oh dear,’ said Dad. ‘Are you all right, Marty?’
I lay still, thinking about it. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. I kicked my legs tentatively. ‘I think I hurt a bit. My leg.’
‘Which one?’ said Dad, leaning out of the bunk bed and prodding me gently.
‘This one. No, maybe that one. I think they’re both hurting. Perhaps I’ve broken them. Oh, that would be so cool, because then I’ll get plaster. You can have all different colours. Can I have red, Dad?’
‘Yes, and a red nose too, you little clown. I don’t think your legs are broken, Curlynob. See if you can get up and walk around a bit.’
‘I helped Mr Chum-Chum at Alisha’s party. He was a clown. I was good at it too. I nearly got to pull a rabbit out of a top hat,’ I said, walking round in circles. ‘Dad, could I be a clown when I’m grown up? Girls are allowed to be clowns, aren’t they?’
‘I don’t see why not. I can’t say I’ve seen any lady clowns, but I dare say you could be the first.’
‘Terrific! I’d better start practising right now. Have you got any saws in your tool box, Dad? I could take it to school and try cutting Katie and Ingrid in half.’
‘Well, yes, I think girls are allowed to be mass murder
ers too, but it’s not a career path I’d recommend,’ said Dad.
‘I could just try to play music on your saw, Dad. Mr Chum-Chum made lovely music. Go on, let me have a go.’
‘Marty, I am generally the most sweet and loving and indulgent dad, you know that – but I’m not letting you muck about with my saw, or any of my other tools. Do you think I’m mad?’
‘I think you’re an old meanie,’ I said. ‘What can I play, then?’
‘I used to play tunes with a piece of toilet paper and a comb,’ Dad mumbled.
‘Aha!’
I didn’t have a comb – well, not one with any teeth left – but I remembered that when I’d snaffled Melissa’s hairbrush, it had a matching little comb.
I tiptoed out of my den in my pyjamas, took a deep breath, and crept into Melissa’s room. Her pink ruffled curtains were still pulled shut. Melissa was lying motionless under her cherry blossom duvet. I padded in bare feet over her deep pink carpet, knelt down on the fluffy rug in front of her dressing table and ever so carefully pulled the top drawer open.
Melissa had her drawer so organized: slides sparkling in a straight line, ribbons wound into balls, necklaces and bracelets curled up like little snakes – and a pink comb lying there, just begging to be turned into a musical instrument.
I snatched it up.
‘What are you doing?’ said Melissa from under her duvet.
‘Nothing!’ I said, shoving the comb up my pyjama top.
‘Marty!’ Melissa sat bolt upright. ‘What are you doing in my room? You’re not allowed in here.’
‘I was just seeing if you were awake, that’s all,’ I said.
‘Well, I am now.’
‘Sorry. You go straight back to sleep, Melissa – it’s Sunday,’ I said, and got out of there quick as a wink.
The Worst Thing About My Sister Page 3