The Worst Thing About My Sister

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I went into the bathroom and folded some toilet paper over the comb and tried to play it. Then I trailed back to my Marty Den.

  ‘Dad, it doesn’t work!’

  ‘What? Marty, I’d just dozed off!’

  ‘The toilet paper just turns to pink mush in my mouth – look! Yuck! Why does everything have to be pink in this wretched house?’

  ‘Pink mush? Oh! No, it’s the wrong sort of toilet paper. You need that old-fashioned slippery strong stuff. You know, like Great-Gran has in her toilet.’

  I padded off to the cupboard under the stairs to see if we had that kind of paper hidden away, but we only had the soft sort that puppies like to play with. I stared at the washing powder and the kitchen mop and the vacuum cleaner . . . I looked at it long and hard. Our vacuum cleaner is the sort where you slot in all kinds of tubes with different brushes on the end.

  I picked up one of the tubes and blew down it tentatively. It made the most wonderful mournful elephant sound. I blew again, harder. It was incredible! It sounded like a whole herd of elephants now. I blew rhythmically, trying to play ‘Happy Birthday’. Then the cupboard door burst open and Mum peered in, looking mad. ‘Martina Michaels! Put that down! It’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Are you crazy? Are you trying to wake the entire neighbourhood?’

  ‘I’m just trying to play a tune, Mum. Did you hear? I can play “Happy Birthday”!’

  ‘Yes, I did hear. So did the whole street. Now come out of this cupboard.’

  ‘I think I might be really musical, Mum. Can I have a real musical instrument? Can I have something you blow, like a trumpet? I could have proper music lessons.’

  ‘I thought you were all set on dancing lessons.’

  ‘I don’t think I could ever do those twiddly things with my legs.’ I emerged from the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Look, Mum – what am I doing wrong?’ I said, leaping up and trying to get my legs to cross backwards and forwards.

  ‘Quite a lot,’ said Mum. ‘Come and help me make breakfast seeing as we’re all awake now. If you’re really serious about dancing, perhaps we could start sending you to Miss Suzanne’s. I’m sure she’d give us a discount. I’m going to be doing quite a lot of work for her. In fact I need to talk to you and Melissa about something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, we’ll have breakfast first. Shall we have toasted bacon sandwiches?’

  ‘Oh, yes please! Can I fry the bacon, Mum? I love it when it sizzles.’

  ‘You can do the toast – if you’re careful.’

  I loved seeing the toast jump out of the toaster. I got a bit carried away while Mum was busy frying the bacon. I so liked my toasting job that I kept making more and more, until I’d used up a whole packet of sliced bread.

  ‘Martina!’ said Mum when she saw.

  ‘It’s OK, I’ll eat them all – I’m starving,’ I said. ‘I just love the way they go pop out of the toaster.’

  ‘Why can’t you ever do anything sensibly? Now, get buttering. Eight slices. Only eight, all right?’

  Mum made the tea and pieced together all the bacon sandwiches.

  ‘Shall I call Dad and Melissa?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll have breakfast in bed. Shall we go into your room and sit on your bunk beds?’ said Mum.

  I hesitated. I didn’t really want my Marty Den invaded. I loved having Dad there as a guest, but he didn’t nag about tidying my stuff or notice all the underwear lying around in heaps. And I certainly didn’t want Melissa going in my room because she always tried to reclaim stuff and boss me about. But the idea of us all eating bacon sandwiches in my bunk beds did sound fun, so I said yes.

  Mum and Dad took the bottom bunk, while Melissa and I sat on the top bunk, munching away.

  ‘This is such a weirdo room, Marty,’ said Melissa. She stared around at my Mighty Mart posters, and Jumper with his legs in the air, and my plastic horses in their shoe box stable, and Polly, my pretend parrot, crouching on my lampshade, and Basil, my beautiful brown boa constrictor. Luckily my porcupine lurked in the shadows out of sight.

  ‘It’s a room with personality,’ said Dad loyally.

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ said Mum, peering around. Unfortunately she peered upwards too. ‘Martina, what on earth are those awful black marks on the ceiling?’

  Oh dear, they’d happened when I was playing with Baby Monkey, trying to teach him to fly, like those wonderful scary flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. He’d been Melissa’s baby monkey. I didn’t borrow him – she gave him to me when she was turning out her toy cupboard. Baby Monkey said he didn’t want to be pink any more. I quite understood. I got the shoe polish and gave him a thorough massage all over, and he loved turning black. He learned to fly very quickly too. He was almost too good at it, and kept hitting the ceiling, leaving one or two little shoe-polish smudges. Still, at least he couldn’t get into trouble now, because he’d flown right out of the window and totally disappeared.

  ‘This room’s going to need painting all over,’ said Mum. She was looking at the carpet. ‘And there’s that awful stain from when you made such a pig of yourself with your birthday chocolates and then didn’t get to the bathroom in time.’

  ‘I was experimenting – seeing how many I could eat in one go. It was a terrific result. I very nearly managed the whole box,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose I could cover the stain with a rug, but this room could really do with a new carpet. And we’ll have to get rid of that old chair and chest of drawers – they look awful.’

  I didn’t have proper furniture in my Marty Den. I had a lovely old armchair, probably worth a fortune as a genuine antique. It sagged a bit and there were springs sticking out of one side, but it was still absolutely great for jumping on. My chest of drawers was lovely too, even though it was missing its middle drawer. I’d tried to use it as a sled last winter when it snowed. Somehow it got bashed out of shape and wouldn’t ever slot back.

  ‘It’s OK, Mum, I like my chair and my chest of drawers,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s time you slept in a proper bedroom, darling,’ said Mum.

  ‘Are you going to give Marty’s room a whole new makeover?’ asked Melissa. ‘That’s not fair! I want my bedroom all done up – it’s far too babyish the way it is now.’

  ‘Yes, all right. You can certainly have it redecorated if you like,’ said Mum.

  Melissa and I stared at each other. Mum doesn’t usually give in and say yes to things – well, not straight away.

  ‘Really?’ said Melissa quickly. ‘Well, thanks, Mum! How fantastic! Can I have a huge new walk-in wardrobe?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, that sort of wardrobe would take up far too much room. It’s going to be a bit squashed as it is,’ said Mum.

  ‘Would someone mind filling me in on all these grandiose plans?’ said Dad. ‘Especially as I’m the handyman around the house and likely to be the poor chap doing all this painting and decorating and building new wardrobes and the like.’ He ruffled Mum’s hair as if she were a girl like us. ‘What’s going on in that funny head of yours, eh? I can feel something whirring away in there. It sounds just like your sewing machine!’

  Mum took a deep breath. She leaped off the bunk bed and faced us. She had bright pink cheeks and her eyes sparkled. She kept clasping and unclasping her hands. That’s my habit, but I only do it when I want something really, really badly.

  ‘Suzanne from the dancing class has commissioned me to make the costumes for her new children’s flower ballet. It’s twenty dresses, all with different designs. It’s certainly going to be a challenge. But if I do a good job, she thinks she’ll be doing a winter pantomime, and that’ll mean several changes of costume for each child. And two of the mothers at the party have asked if I’d make their daughters’ bridesmaids’ dresses. One of them wants six bridesmaids’ dresses plus a little flower-girl outfit. I’ll be sewing day and night, but it’ll be worth it. You should hear what they’re paying me!’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Jan
,’ said Dad.

  ‘Fantastic, Mum,’ said Melissa.

  ‘All those lovely dresses! I’m so glad I won’t ever have to wear one again,’ I said. ‘Was it all down to me being a good advert for your sewing skills, Mum?’

  ‘I think it must have been,’ she said. ‘Thank you for being an excellent child model, Martina.’

  I laughed and bowed to her from my top bunk.

  ‘So we’re getting our bedrooms decorated because you’re going to make lots of money?’ asked Melissa.

  ‘Well, the thing is . . . I’ve been trying to figure out how to manage all this extra work. It’s going to be so awkward if I have people trooping in and out of my bedroom to get measured and try clothes on. It doesn’t look professional, with the bed right in the middle of the room – especially if it’s not made properly.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Dad, holding his hands in the air.

  ‘And then I’m going to need a lot of space to hang the dresses. Ideally I should hang them all around the room, protected by polythene.’ Mum gestured, pointing all around my room – and my heart turned over.

  ‘You can’t put all those dresses in my Marty Den, Mum, you simply can’t!’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t be sensible! You know how messy I am! I wouldn’t mean to, but I’d get those dresses mucked up in no time.’

  ‘I know you would, love,’ said Mum. ‘But perhaps if we moved you …? You see, I really need this room as a sewing room.’

  I was so astounded I could barely speak. I felt as if Mum had punched me hard, right in the stomach. ‘You want to push me out of my very own Marty Den?’ I whispered.

  I hardly ever cry – it’s such a stupid girlie thing to do – but somehow I had tears running down my face.

  ‘Oh, Martina, don’t cry!’ said Mum. She ran up my bunk-bed ladder and sat beside me, hugging me.

  ‘I can’t help it. You can’t take my Marty Den away, Mum! I haven’t even done anything wrong. Well, nothing worse than usual,’ I sobbed.

  ‘I know, darling. It’s not a punishment. I’m just trying to be practical. And this is such a scruffy old room. We’ve never really got round to furnishing it properly. I really do need it as a sewing room. But there’s no need to be so upset. I’m sure Dad will make you some new shelves if you ask nicely. You can’t really like this old stuff, Martina. Your den just looks like a junk room. And girls don’t really have dens anyway – it’s a boy thing.’

  ‘I want a den,’ I wept.

  ‘So is Marty moving in with you and Dad?’ asked Melissa.

  Mum swallowed again. ‘No, Melissa. I don’t think that would work at all,’ she said. ‘Children don’t sleep in their parents’ room – not at this age, anyway.’

  ‘Then where is she going to move to?’ Melissa said. Her voice was rising steadily.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious, darling. She’ll move in with you,’ said Mum.

  ‘No! No, absolutely not!’ Melissa shrieked. ‘I can’t share with Marty! She’ll make a terrible mess and ruin all my things and drive me absolutely mad!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not sharing with you ever ever ever!’ I declared. ‘If Mum takes my Marty Den away, I’ll – I’ll sleep in the kitchen, under the table – or in the bath – or I’ll camp in a tent in the garden!’

  ‘You’re both making a silly fuss! Look, it’ll be fun for you to share. I shared a room with my sister and we loved it. We had all sorts of fun and good times together,’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes, but you and Auntie Carol like each other,’ said Melissa.

  ‘I want you two silly girls to get to like each other too. I know you love each other to bits really, but I’m sick and tired of you arguing all the time. Look at you the other day – fighting!’

  ‘But, Mum, we’ll be fighting all the time if I have to sleep in that awful pink room – and it smells so,’ I wailed.

  ‘It does not smell!’ Melissa retorted.

  ‘Yes it does – of all that yucky rose stuff and powder and hairspray. I shall be as— as— asphyxiated if I have to stay in Melissa’s room.’

  ‘Well, I shall be asphyxiated by the awful pong of your grubby clothes and your stupid ratty old home-made toys. Mum, you can’t make us share, you simply can’t!’ Melissa said, and she started crying too.

  ‘Please don’t cry, both of you! Look, I’m sorry, I don’t want to upset you. If you’ll just see reason, you’ll get to like the idea, I’m sure you will. You can re-design your room. You said you wanted it redecorated, Melissa. Well, now’s your chance.’

  ‘But there’s no point if Marty’s going to be in it. She’ll spoil everything! She’ll be messing with all my stuff, breaking it, just utterly tormenting me. How can you do this to me, Mum?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to do some work and get some extra money for all of us,’ said Mum. She looked as if she were going to cry too.

  ‘Stop it, all of you,’ said Dad. He said it very quietly, but there was something about his voice that made us all shut up. ‘There’s no need for you to get into such a silly state. Marty, you can keep your den. Melissa, you don’t have to share your bedroom. Jan, you can have a special sewing room. You can have the front room downstairs. It’s obvious I’m not making enough money in the travel business now. I shall shut up shop altogether. It’s been a total failure. Like me.’

  Then Dad lay down on the bottom bunk bed and turned his face to the wall.

  That shut us up. Melissa and I stopped squabbling. Mum squeezed into the bottom bunk beside Dad and laid her head on his.

  ‘You’re not a failure. You’re the best husband and father in the world. You’ve tried so hard, darling. I’m sure the business will pick up soon. Maybe we should start advertising, so that people know you’re here. But you must keep going. I wouldn’t dream of using your room. Look, if the girls are truly desperately unhappy about sharing, then I’ll just have to keep on using our bedroom.’

  Melissa looked at me. I looked at her. We hunched up close together. We hardly dared look, but it sounded as if Dad was crying.

  We were very used to seeing each other in tears. We didn’t like it the rare times Mum cried, but it wasn’t terrible. But Dad crying was the worst thing ever.

  I found myself reaching out for Melissa’s hand. She hung onto me, squeezing my hand hard.

  ‘Shall we pretend we don’t really mind sharing?’ I whispered. ‘Even though we do.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Melissa whispered back.

  I glanced around my wonderful Marty Den, gazing at all my special things. But the most special thing of all was my dad, and I couldn’t stand him being upset.

  ‘Hey, change of plan,’ I said, swinging down the ladder to the bottom bunk. ‘Maybe Melissa and I will share.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps it will be fun,’ said Melissa bravely. ‘So can we really give my room a makeover?’

  ‘Certainly, darling,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, girls, are you really sure?’

  Of course we weren’t sure, and everyone knew it – but we were stuck now.

  ‘It’ll be great,’ I said. ‘Though do we have to keep it pink? It’s the worse colour in the entire rainbow universe.’

  ‘I like pink. It’s my all-time favourite colour. But maybe my soft pale pink is a bit babyish now. Perhaps we could go for a brighter pink. Lipstick pink? Shocking pink? Neon pink! Wouldn’t you like neon, Marty?’ said Melissa.

  ‘Yes, but it’s the pink bit I object to. Couldn’t we have red, like in my Marty Den?’

  ‘Red is a crazy colour for a bedroom.’

  ‘I like it. Or maybe purple. We could have two red walls and two purple walls – that would look cool,’ I said.

  ‘That would look totally ridiculous,’ said Melissa. ‘You’re hopeless, Marty. You have no sense of colour or style whatsoever. My room’s staying pink – isn’t that right, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, love, I think it will have to stay pink.’

  ‘That’s not fair! You always take Melissa’s side,’ I wailed.

  ‘She just had her
pink carpet last year. We can’t afford any major changes. But I think we could certainly add a few bright pink touches, just to jazz it up a bit.’ Mum paused. ‘Make it like a teenage room.’

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘Oh no! It’s going to be my room too so I get to choose just as much as you. Don’t I, Dad?’

  Dad mumbled something. He still had his head in the pillow, but he had stopped crying now.

  ‘We’ll get one or two magazines, see if they have any features on girls’ bedrooms,’ said Mum.

  ‘We don’t need silly old magazines. Look, I’ll draw it for us,’ I said.

  I searched for my drawing pad. I still couldn’t find any proper pens. I shook my school bag out to see if there was one hiding in a crack somewhere. I forgot about my inky PE kit. (I’d had to do two PE lessons in my school blouse and knickers.) The ink had dried so they weren’t soggy any more – but they were remarkably black. I tried to stuff them straight back in my bag, but Mum saw, even though she was still cosied up to poor Dad.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Martina, what’s that on the floor? It’s not … it can’t be your PE kit!’

  ‘I think it needs a bit of a wash, Mum,’ I said. ‘Oh bother, I still haven’t got any decent pens. I borrowed Jaydene’s yesterday but I can’t find that either.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Martina? I bought you a pack of five uniballs just last month. And just look at the state of your PE kit! How am I ever going to get that clean? It’s black.’

  ‘What about a touch of black for my room, Mum? It would look dead sophisticated,’ said Melissa. ‘A black furry rug, say? I know! I could have a black chandelier-type thing – that would look so cool.’

  ‘What’s a chandelier?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘It’s a kind of light. Look – find a pen and I’ll draw it for you,’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’ll get you both a pen. I’m sure I’ve got some downstairs,’ said Dad. His voice still sounded a bit funny. He wriggled out of bed, his head bent, and shuffled downstairs in his pyjamas. All three of us were silent for a second, staring after him worriedly.