The Worst Thing About My Sister

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Do you think he’s all right now?’ I whispered.

  ‘Poor old dad,’ said Melissa, sighing.

  ‘I feel really bad,’ Mum said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to make him unhappy. I just got so carried away because I’ve got orders for all these dresses. Oh, girls, you’re so sweet to say yes to sharing. It’ll work out, you’ll see.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll get along just fine,’ said Melissa. ‘As long as Marty doesn’t mess with all my things and drive me mad.’

  ‘We’ll manage, Mum,’ I said. ‘As long as Melissa doesn’t boss me about and tell me what to do all the time.’

  Dad was a while coming back. We heard him go into the bathroom first. When he came back to the Marty Den at last, he’d washed his face and brushed his hair so you couldn’t tell he’d been crying at all. He brought us a pen each and kept one for himself, and got up on the top bunk between us.

  ‘Now, let’s sketch out this gorgeous new bedroom,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll maybe need some new shelves and storage space.’

  ‘Oh yes, Dad!’ said Melissa.

  ‘Well, you two be the designers, and I’ll see what I can do,’ said Dad. ‘You’ll help me paint them, won’t you, Marty?’

  ‘You bet, Dad,’ I said.

  I nestled close and he put his arm round me. He was acting as if everything was absolutely fine now. I smiled at him and he smiled right back at me, but his eyes still looked unhappy.

  I felt unhappy too, because I hated the idea of losing my lovely cosy private Marty Den. But Melissa was getting carried away now, designing a new bedroom, and Mum was over the moon, singing away happily when she went back to her sewing.

  I tried to get involved with the design of this pale-pink and neon-pink and black room, but Melissa was so bossy. I drew my chair in my plan, and she scribbled all over it. Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister – she’s so domineering.

  ‘We’re not having that awful old chair,’ Melissa said. ‘We’ll have new chairs.’

  ‘Hey, hey, I don’t think we can afford new furniture, girls,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, I’d sooner go without than have that awful heap of junk cluttering up the place. I know, Mum could get some black velvet material down the market and we could make huge great squashy cushions and sit on them,’ said Melissa.

  ‘Excellent idea!’ said Dad.

  I wanted to come up with an excellent idea, but I didn’t know much about boring old bedrooms. I drew Mighty Mart in her den instead. She lived in a loft all by herself, and she had a huge bed that she shared with all her cats and dogs. They had superpowers too. They could all talk, and the cats could fly and the dogs could all run faster than tigers, even the weeny Chihuahua. Mighty Mart didn’t bother with boring stuff like wardrobes because she wore the same blue tunic and red tights and orange cape all the time, and she certainly didn’t wear make-up or bother with her hair, so she didn’t need a dressing table.

  I drew her a trampoline to fill up some of the white space, but then I had to make a neat hole in the ceiling to stop her bumping her head.

  ‘Could we have a teeny tiny trampoline in the middle of our new room?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, Marty, don’t be stupid! A trampoline! You don’t have trampolines in bedrooms,’ said Melissa scornfully.

  ‘I don’t see why not. I think it would be super cool. Could we have a trampoline, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t think the floorboards would stand it, Marty,’ he said. ‘We’ll see about a trampoline for the garden – when we’ve got a bit more money to spare.’

  I drew Mighty Mart a trapeze too, which she absolutely loved. She learned to do the most amazing tricks because she could fly already, so she wasn’t afraid of falling.

  ‘Could we have a trapeze in our new room?’ I asked.

  ‘You are so stupid, Marty. I think you’re just doing it on purpose! A trapeze!’

  ‘They’re indoor things, trapezes. And it wouldn’t take up much room. You could just fix it to the ceiling, couldn’t you, Dad? And I could do all sorts of tricks on it, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Do you remember what happened when you did all sorts of tricks on the swings in the park?’ Dad said gently.

  I fingered the bumpy bit on my head where I’d had stitches.

  ‘It’s not fair if I can’t have anything I want in this new bedroom,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but you just want stupid things,’ said Melissa, happily colouring with my pink felt tip.

  ‘Do you mind? That’s my pink felt tip, and I particularly need to keep the colour because Mighty Mart sometimes flies way up into the stratosphere to this scary pink planet to sort out all these pink alien weirdos,’ I said.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. ‘You’re the total alien weirdo, Marty. I shall be seriously spooked sharing a room with you. I’m sure one day I’ll wake up and see you’ve turned green with little blobby antennae growing out of your forehead,’ she said, still colouring.

  She got to the bed shape blocked out in her design. ‘What colour duvet covers shall I have? Two shades of pink – or bright pink and black?’

  ‘I’m going to have Wilma Whale, and she’s purple and turquoise,’ I said.

  ‘What? You’re not having that awful old thing in my bedroom!’

  ‘It’s our bedroom – and don’t call her awful and old, you’ll hurt her feelings,’ I said, picking Wilma up and wrapping her around me.

  ‘It’s my bed. And I don’t know what I’m going to do because I don’t want you in it, with all your manky pretend animals. It’s not big enough anyway. You’ll have to have your own bed, matching mine,’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’ve got my bunk beds, stupid,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not having bunk beds in my room! They’re way too babyish. It’s only little kids who have bunk beds. They’ll spoil the whole look of the room.’

  ‘Stop squabbling, you two,’ said Dad, busy sketching out his shelf unit. ‘I told you, we can’t afford new furniture.’

  ‘Can’t you make us a new bed, Dad?’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’m a versatile chap – but I don’t think I could,’ said Dad. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out as it is. I reckon we could have one whole wall for shelves and storage. That should give both of you lots of space.’

  But when we measured it out later that morning, we found that there wasn’t enough space for Melissa’s bed and my bunk beds. Well, they would just about fit, but they’d be squashed in side by side and we’d have to edge round them.

  ‘It wouldn’t make sense to have the bed and the bunk beds anyway,’ said Mum. ‘It’s obvious what we’re going to have to do. We’ll dismantle Melissa’s bed and store it somewhere and just keep the bunk beds in the room.’

  ‘Hurray!’ I said.

  ‘No, that’s an awful idea. I hate bunk beds. It will ruin the entire concept of my room! I can’t cope with this!’ Melissa declared, flinging herself about and wringing her hands. Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister: she’s such a drama queen.

  ‘Oh my, the world’s coming to an end! Oh dear, I can’t cope!’ I mocked, imitating her.

  ‘Shut up, you! Oh, Mum, please, this is the worst idea in the world. It will never ever work!’ said Melissa.

  She felt free to make a fuss because Dad had gone off to B&Q to get some sugar soap cleaning stuff to scrub down my Marty Den walls before he started painting.

  ‘Now stop it,’ said Mum. ‘You two girls have made a decision. Let’s stick to it. I’m not having you arguing on and on like this, especially when it’s in front of your father. You saw how upset he got.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to upset him, but it’s daft, him having the whole room downstairs for his travel agency when no one comes any more,’ said Melissa, sticking her chin out. ‘Why doesn’t he give it up and do something else? He’s so useless.’

  ‘How dare you! He has tried, you nasty selfish girl,’ said Mum. ‘We haven’t always told you girls, but he’s applied for umpteen other jobs in shops and offi
ces, but either they want someone younger or he hasn’t got the right qualifications. He’s doing his level best. It’s not his fault there’s a recession. He’s worrying himself sick. We’re seriously short of money, Melissa. Now that I’ve got a chance to make some extra cash for the family, we might just start clearing our debts – but it’s no use demanding this and that. We can afford a tin or two of paint, some material, a few planks of wood. That’s about it. Do you understand?’

  Melissa nodded, squirming. I usually liked it the rare times she got the telling-off and not me, but I felt dreadful too. I hated it that poor Dad had tried so hard and got nowhere. I especially hated Melissa for calling him useless.

  ‘Dad isn’t useless,’ I said. ‘He’s the best dad ever.’

  ‘I know,’ said Melissa. ‘Don’t tell him I said that, will you? I didn’t really mean it.’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ said Mum. ‘You were just fed up. We’re all fed up because we all want to get our own way. Well, I’m sorry, but we’ve all got to learn to compromise.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mum, that’s a little bit annoying because you’re not having to compromise. You don’t have to lose your special room. You’re gaining one,’ I said.

  ‘My life is one big compromise. I have to cook and wash and clean and tidy for all you lot. I have to go out to work at the school, where all the parents ring me up making a fuss. When I eventually get to sew, I’m tired out and I’ve got a splitting headache. And it’s made worse by two spoiled daughters giving me grief!’

  It was my turn to squirm now. I mumbled that I was sorry – though I can’t say I really meant it. Mum went off to do some more sewing. Melissa went back to her bedroom to start a big clear-out.

  I stayed in my Marty Den. I hunched up between Wilma and Jumper with my sketchbook. I looked at Melissa’s design. This new bedroom might be for both of us, but it didn’t look like mine at all.

  I drew my bunk beds with a large wing on either side. I sketched myself standing on the top bunk, navigating, as we rose up up up in the air, with Mighty Mart flying along beside us for company.

  I was worried about Dad, but now that he had two rooms to work on he perked up a lot. He’d always loved do-it-yourself. Now I was bigger it was do-it-yourself-with-Marty’s-help, and I loved that.

  I came running home from school every day and put on my oldest jeans and my least favourite pink puppy T-shirt, an ancient Melissa cast-off. The puppy soon got so covered in white paint you could only see a pink paw here, a pink ear there.

  We tackled Mum’s sewing room first. It was weird seeing my Marty Den start to disappear. I cried a bit when the chair and the chest of drawers were crammed into the back of the car and taken to the tip. I hated having to unstick all my Mighty Mart posters and roll them up. But it was great fun doing the painting. Dad did the ceiling and the fiddly bits, but he let me slosh the roller around and do lots of the walls.

  I wanted to draw on them first. I so wanted to do a great big portrait of Mighty Mart so she would be there for ever under the paint, but Dad wouldn’t let me. He said you must never ever draw on walls. Mighty Mart would start showing through the white paint. I wanted her to show through a little, like a ghost. This was her birthplace, after all. Still, I didn’t want to make a fuss in case Dad got upset again.

  When the paint was dry, he fixed a rail round all four walls so that Mum could hang up her finished costumes. She couldn’t afford new carpet so she had to clean mine. She had to do it over and over again, and even then not all the stains came out, but she pulled her sewing machine table over the worst patch. She stood her big bedroom mirror in one corner and Little No-Head in the other. This was her old dressmaker’s dummy. I had christened her when I was little. I used to play with her, but it’s hard work giving a headless person any personality.

  Mum’s sewing room was ready in three days. We had a little opening ceremony with a bottle of Cava that was on offer in Sainsbury’s. I was allowed one sip and Melissa two. I liked the bubbles but didn’t go much on the taste.

  Then we got started on Melissa’s bedroom. Did you note that I said I cried just a tiny bit when my Marty Den was dismantled and my wonderful furniture thrown away? Well, my sister Melissa is two and a half years older than me, but she cried buckets when Dad took her silly old bed to bits. It wasn’t even getting chucked out, just stowed at the back of the garage. Excuse me – more than buckets. Melissa cried gallons and gallons and gallons. She could have filled an entire swimming pool with her tears. She went on and on. ‘Oh my poor bed! … I know I’ll never sleep properly again! … Oh, why do I have to have Marty’s horrible bunk beds cluttering up my room?’ Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister: she’s a terrible crybaby.

  It’s so unfair, because Mum and Dad sat her down and gave her lots of cuddles and told her she was being very brave!

  ‘I just don’t get it! Why is Melissa being brave? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lost my entire room, not just a silly old bed!’ I said indignantly.

  ‘I know, Martina, but Melissa cares terribly about the way things look. She so set her heart on this bedroom looking perfect,’ said Mum. ‘I can understand.’

  ‘Well, I can’t. Dad, don’t you think Melissa’s making a huge great fuss? I didn’t cry, did I? Well, hardly at all,’ I said.

  ‘I know, Curlynob, you’ve been very brave too – but you don’t care quite so much about the way things look.’

  ‘Yes, I do! I care passionately!’

  ‘Martina, you were quite happy living in a positive junk heap, with furniture falling to bits and no clear colour scheme at all,’ said Mum.

  ‘But it was just the way I wanted it! It was my Marty Den – and I miss it so,’ I said.

  I suddenly realized how much I was missing my lovely cosy, comfy, den, where I could hunch up with all my favourite animals and draw Mighty Mart in peace. I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. I was overcome with grief, honestly, but they wouldn’t believe me.

  ‘Stop that silly noise, Martina. You’re just doing it to get attention because we’re making a fuss of Melissa,’ said Mum.

  ‘Come on, little Curlynob, turn off the waterworks,’ said Dad.

  I wanted to slope off and lurk under my bunk beds, but I couldn’t, because they were in Melissa’s room now, and there was horrible pink fluffy carpet in my lovely dark hidey-hole, and a dreadful sickly smell of roses everywhere.

  ‘I don’t have a home any more,’ I wailed. ‘And neither do Wilma and Jumper and Basil and Polly and Patches and Gee-Up and Sugarlump and Merrylegs and Dandelion and Starlight and Percy.’

  ‘Stop being such a baby, Martina. You’re getting too old for all these silly toys,’ said Mum.

  ‘Who’s Percy?’ said Dad.

  ‘My porcupine,’ I sobbed. ‘And he’s starving to death because there are no ants in this room. And what about Mighty Mart?’

  ‘She’s safe in your head, you noodle,’ said Dad. ‘Why don’t you get out your sketchbook and draw her for a bit to calm yourself down?’

  ‘Yes, that’s another thing. Where am I going to put my Mighty Mart posters?’ I said, looking around wildly.

  ‘You’re not putting those silly scribbly posters on my pink wallpaper!’ Melissa shouted.

  ‘Yes, I am so!’

  ‘No, Martina, you ruined your own walls with Sellotape and Blu Tack. I’m not having this room messed up too,’ said Mum.

  ‘It’s not fair! You always take Melissa’s side on everything! I don’t know why you bothered to have a second daughter. You love her twice as much as you love me.’

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down, Marty! That’s silly talk. You know we love you both the same. Look, I know you’re upset about your animals and posters – and I’m going to fix things for you, I promise. I started on the shelf unit today. I’m building it in the garage. I’m making a special cupboard for both of you, as well as lots of shelves – and you can have a cork board at either end so you can both pin up posters or
photos – whatever.’

  ‘There won’t be enough space for all my Mighty Mart posters,’ I mumbled. ‘And my animals don’t want to live in a cupboard. It’s cruel to cage them up. They want to roam free.’

  I couldn’t roam free in Melissa’s room. I felt as if I were suffocating. I stayed marooned on my bunk bed with all my animals and drawing stuff while Melissa and Mum kept on making the room worse and worse.

  Mum got some silky black material patterned with bright pink peonies and made them into duvet covers and pillow cases for my precious bunk beds. I hadn’t much liked my red-and-white bedclothes, but at least they felt right. These new ones were all slippery and slidy and gave me the shivers.

  Mum bought all this new stuff for Melissa too, even though we were supposed to be so poor now. She bought a furry black rug and a bright pink stool to go with Melissa’s dressing table. She even bought her a black chandelier! It was only a little one, with just a few dangling twinkly bits, but I bet it still cost a lot.

  ‘Oh, Mum, it’s magic!’ said Melissa.

  I stared up at the black chandelier and wished it really was magic. Maybe it would start spinning and make everything come right. I would be back in my beloved Marty Den. Melissa could have her wretched pink bedroom to herself. Dad would suddenly get a wonderful new job so that Mum could sew downstairs. All my animals would become real all the time. And I would turn into Mighty Mart and go striding off to school and zap Katie and Ingrid so they’d both turn into ugly little warty toads – and if they didn’t watch out, I’d stamp on them.

  Katie and Ingrid were giving me serious grief. They had a new nickname for me: Bluebottle. This was because of the blue dress I’d worn at Alisha’s party. They called it after me at every opportunity.