It wasn’t the slightest bit funny or witty or original, but they always howled with laughter when they said it. I made out I didn’t care, though I did really. Dreadfully. And then horrible Alisha started calling me Bluebottle too, because she always sucks up to Katie and Ingrid. I almost expected her to do that, but I was taken aback when half the class caught on and called me Bluebottle too. Most of them didn’t even know why, because they hadn’t been to Alisha’s awful party.
‘Never mind, Marty,’ said Jaydene, putting her arm round me. ‘Just try to ignore them.’
She was now my very special best friend for ever, and deeply loyal to me, but she wasn’t much use at defending me against Katie and Ingrid. Jaydene was very tall and very big, so you’d think she would be a really fierce, fighty girl – but she was a total wuss. She cried if anyone so much as shouted at her. Jaydene was scared of so many things: worms, stepping on the cracks in the pavement, dogs that barked, lifts, swimming, spiders, her strict auntie, maths lessons, stinging nettles … I could fill the whole page. She was especially scared of Katie and Ingrid.
I had to fight my own battles with them. I wasn’t really too fussed about Ingrid. When Katie was off school with chicken pox, Ingrid was almost nice. She didn’t pick on anyone, or call them names, or sniff and say they smelled disgusting. She played rounders with a whole crowd of us in the playground at lunch time, and when I scored a rounder, she patted me on the back and said I was brilliant. But as soon as Katie came back to school Ingrid changed back to being mean. Even meaner. The next time we were playing rounders together, Ingrid pushed me hard as I ran past, and I fell over and was caught out. Everyone saw, but no one dared say anything.
Katie didn’t ever push anyone, but somehow she was the scariest. She didn’t look scary. She was little, with a pretty face and long shiny black hair – but inside her little rosebud mouth was a tongue as sharp as a Stanley knife.
I decided I had to sharpen my tongue. I brooded on the Bluebottle name-calling. I wasn’t quite sure what a bluebottle was, so I went to the library at lunch time. It was good to have somewhere to go. I couldn’t hang out with Jaydene because she didn’t stay for school dinners. She went home for lunch, the lucky thing. I didn’t feel like playing rounders or footie or tag, not with people calling me the dreaded B-word.
Mrs Grinstead was on library duty. I loved Mrs Grinstead. She was a big, soft, smiley lady with very blue eyes behind her glasses. She wasn’t a class teacher, she looked after children with special needs. I always thought how lovely it would be to cosy up to Mrs Grinstead and look at storybooks together and do lots of wax crayoning, instead of having to sit up straight in class and do difficult sums and get poked in the back by Katie and Ingrid.
‘Hello, Marty,’ said Mrs Grinstead, smiling.
That was another magical thing about her. She knew all our names, even if she didn’t teach us.
‘What are you looking for today? I’ve seen a brilliant new book about polar bears and penguins – and there’s a lovely old comic book on the shelf over there.’
Mrs Grinstead is spot-on when it comes to sussing out exactly the sort of book I like.
‘I think I’d like both, Mrs Grinstead – but actually I’m really here to look something up in a dictionary,’ I said.
‘Really, Marty? How splendid! Well, we have a very fine selection over here, though they might be a bit dusty. No one ever seems to look at a dictionary nowadays. Here we are, dear.’
She sat me down at a little table and gave me the biggest dictionary of all – so big I could barely lift it. I started flipping through all the B pages. I got side tracked a little, finding all sorts of unexpected words there – even rude ones. But then I found blue bottle, with the definition: Another name for the blowfly. So then I had to swap pages and peer all down the list for blowfly, and there it was: Any of the various dipterous flies of the genus Calliphora and related genera that lay their eggs in rotting meat, dung, carrion and open wounds.
So that told me. I didn’t have a clue what at least five of those words meant, but I didn’t want to spend the entire lunch time flipping through the dictionary, so I wrote it down. I had to borrow Mrs Grinstead’s pen, but I used it very carefully, not pressing too hard, and gave it right back to her. Then I asked her to show me the books she’d mentioned. They were ace, and she let me borrow them both.
I holed up in a corner of the corridor, not wanting to encounter Katie and Ingrid just yet. I needed to come prepared. I read about polar bears and penguins, and then I looked at this brilliant comic book about a boy called Little Nemo. I planned a new Mighty Mart adventure in the frozen north. She could be queen of a whole tribe of polar bears, and keep a comical gang of penguins as special swimming pets. I usually did Mighty Mart’s adventures in little square boxes, but the Little Nemo comic had shown me a different way of doing it.
I intended to creep into the classroom and snaffle a piece of paper and someone’s pen to sketch it out, but Mum – of all people – came hurrying along the corridor, dragging along some little kid from the Infants who had been sick all down themselves. Mum didn’t look very pleased about it, and she looked even less thrilled to see me.
‘Really, Martina, what are you doing skulking indoors? You know perfectly well you’re not allowed in the classrooms at lunch time,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, Mum – I was just in the library and—’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Michaels,’ said Mum. She has this daft rule that we have to call her that at school. ‘Now off you go straight away.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare pen on you, Mum— Mrs Michaels?’ I asked.
‘Please, miss, I think I’m going to be sick again!’ said the Infant.
‘Oh, Lord! Come to the toilets, quick! Martina, go outside,’ said Mum.
I had to wait till I got home to start on my amazing new Mighty Mart adventure. Jaydene had lent me another of her pens, so I could get cracking straight away. I did the pictures all different sizes, with my characters sometimes sticking an arm or a leg or a paw or a beak out of the main frame. I did an enormous king polar bear, as tall as the whole page, and then a very long, narrow horizontal frame of lots of little penguins waddling across the snow, and then on the next page I had Mighty Mart sliding down an enormous glacier from the top left-hand corner all the way to the bottom right.
I went running out to the garage to show Dad. He was busy putting together all the pieces of our new shelf unit and cupboard space.
‘Hey, Marty,’ he said, but he didn’t even look up.
‘Hey, Dad, take a look at my new Mighty Mart adventure!’
‘I’d love to see it, Curlynob, but not just now. I’m a bit busy.’
‘Oh, Dad, let me show you. I’ve got ever so good at drawing polar bears – and the cutest little penguins – look!’
‘Yes, yes, I’d love to see them, but the thing is, I’m trying to sort out your shelving, and it’s like a giant jigsaw piece and I’m a bit stuck at the moment.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll help you,’ I said, bending down and picking up several planks of wood.
‘Don’t move them! Oh no, I’d just got that bit worked out!’
‘Sorry!’
‘Push off just now, Marty, there’s a love,’ said Dad.
So I did. I went to find Mum instead, but she was in her brand-new sewing room with Melissa. Mum was whirring away on her sewing machine, making a poppy dress. It had lots of bright red petals for a skirt, and a black velvet bodice. Melissa was sitting cross-legged on the floor sewing a big black blobby velvet shape.
‘What’s that, Melissa?’
‘It’s a squashy cushion for our room,’ she said proudly.
‘Oh,’ I said, losing interest immediately. ‘Look at my new Mighty Mart adventure!’
‘No thanks,’ said Melissa. ‘You and your silly old Mighty Mart comics. They’re all the same. She’s just a great big you swooping here and there, going zap-zap-zap.’
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��They are not all the same. Especially not my new one. She’s having a North Pole adventure, and there are polar bears and penguins – look! I bet you can’t draw polar bears and penguins.’
‘Like, would I want to?’ said Melissa, stitching away.
‘You look, Mum,’ I said.
‘In a minute, dear. I’ve just got to get this bodice joined on and it’s at a very tricky stage,’ said Mum.
I sighed hugely and stomped off into my room. Only it wasn’t my room at all, it was Melissa’s pink room with my bunk beds squashed into a corner, and all my stuff in cardboard boxes until the shelf unit was finished. I’d insisted on putting all my pets with their heads sticking out so that they could breathe properly.
‘Look, guys,’ I said, squatting down beside the biggest box. ‘Want to see my new Mighty Mart comic strip?’
They couldn’t see it properly, caged up in the box like that. Wilma Whale couldn’t even take a peep because she was rolled up right at the bottom of the box. I heard her calling mournfully to me, making little humpback clicks and bleats.
‘It’s time you surfaced, Wilma,’ I said, though I’d promised to keep all my toys packed up tidily until Dad finished the shelf unit. But he seemed to be taking for ever, and my poor creatures were positively clamouring to get out. I tipped up the box quick, and they came stampeding out in a joyous rush.
I let them have a little exercise to ease their crumpled limbs. My horses galloped across the vast pink prairie, Jumper rolled into a dark corner, Wilma leaped right out of the ocean and spouted copiously, Basil slithered across the black jungle, Percy sought out succulent ants under the dressing table, and Polly spread her wings and flew up to the glittering black planet above. She knocked it a little skew-whiff. I very much hoped she hadn’t done it any serious damage.
‘There now, everyone, freedom at last,’ I said. ‘OK, I’ll show you my latest Mighty Mart adventure. You’ll absolutely love it. It’s chock-full of animals – amazing fierce polar bears and funny little penguins – and Mighty Mart saves the day, as always.’
I knelt in the middle of the room and read it out to them, showing them each picture, and doing all the different voices, growling and quacking and zapping. I was so absorbed I didn’t hear Melissa patter along the landing to the toilet. But she heard me.
‘You sound like a total nutcase!’ she said, putting her head round the door. Then she started yelling. ‘What are you doing? You’ve got your grotty old animals all over my room!’
‘It’s my room too now. I’m just telling them a story. They got bored being stuffed in that box.’
‘You’re the weirdest nutter ever! Put them back!’ said Melissa, gathering them up and tossing them back in the box head first.
‘Stop it! You’re hurting them!’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid. How can they get hurt? They’re just old rags and plastic. And what on earth’s this?’ Melissa snatched at poor Percy and stared at him. ‘I wondered where that hairbrush went – I’ve been looking everywhere for it. And the comb. Look what you’ve done to it – it’s totally filthy!’
‘He’s my porcupine now.’
‘No, it’s my hairbrush.’ She started attacking Percy, pulling his soft little body away from his prickles.
‘Stop it, you’re hurting him terribly!’ I said, trying to grab her.
‘Don’t you dare touch me! We’re not allowed to fight, you know that,’ said Melissa.
‘I know, but I don’t care,’ I said, and I pushed her.
It was only a little push, but she was bending over and it unbalanced her. She toppled backwards onto her bottom. It made her jerk her head up – and she saw Polly trying to perch on the lopsided light.
‘Oh no! You’ve broken my chandelier! You hateful pig!’ Melissa wailed. ‘Mum! Mum, look – see what Marty’s done now!’
‘You mean tell-tale!’ I said.
I hoped that Mum might be too busy sewing to come and investigate. I hoped in vain.
‘What are you two girls up to now?’ she called crossly, and came into our bedroom. ‘Are you fighting again?’ she said. ‘What on earth are you playing at, Martina? I told you to keep all your old toys in those boxes until Dad’s finished the shelf unit.’
‘Can’t I even play now?’
‘Of course you can – but play with your animals one at a time.’
‘Look, Mum!’ said Melissa, pointing upwards dramatically.
Mum looked. ‘Oh, Martina, you’re the giddy limit!’ she said.
‘She’s broken it!’ Melissa wailed. ‘She did it deliberately.’
‘No I didn’t! Polly just wanted somewhere to perch,’ I said.
‘Stop shouting, both of you,’ said Mum. ‘Wait here while I go and get the kitchen steps.’
‘You’ve ruined my room already,’ Melissa hissed.
‘You’ve ruined my entire life,’ I retorted.
‘You just spoilt every thing,’ said Melissa, kicking poor Basil off the furry black rug.
‘Stop attacking him! You’re hurting him!’
‘It’s not a “him”, it’s a manky bundle of old tights and it looks horrible.’
‘He thinks you look horrible – and he despises you for telling tales. Mind he doesn’t creep out in the middle of the night and wind himself round your neck and choke you to death!’ I threatened.
‘Yeah, and he’d better watch out I don’t take my extra-sharp scissors and cut off his silly head,’ said Melissa.
Mum came sighing up the stairs with the kitchen steps. She climbed up them, unhooked Polly, and gave the chandelier a little tug and a twist.
‘There!’ she said. ‘It’s all right, Melissa. It isn’t broken. It just needed straightening.’
‘See!’ I said.
‘But you must never put your parrot up on any light fitting ever again, Martina,’ said Mum, climbing down the ladder.
‘I didn’t put her anywhere, she flew there,’ I said, reaching for Polly.
Mum held her out of my grasp. ‘Stop that pretending now. You’re too old for all these silly games. And listen, it’s dangerous putting any toy near a light bulb. They get very hot. Your wretched parrot could get singed. It might even catch fire,’ she said.
‘Oh no! I won’t let her go near one ever again,’ I said, snatching her back and cradling her in my arms.
‘Just put all those animals back in the box and come and help Melissa and me sew your cushions,’ said Mum.
I didn’t want to sew silly old cushions, but Mum insisted. I was given a great big piece of black velvet and shown how to sew up the side.
‘Very neatly now,’ said Mum. ‘See how carefully Melissa’s doing hers.’
I poked my tongue out at Melissa when Mum bent over the poppy costume. Then I sewed. And sewed and sewed and sewed. It was incredibly boring – until the black velvet started moving and I realized it was turning into a huge great blobby black bear. I couldn’t give him proper arms or legs or a head, but I took some red cotton and sewed him very small eyes and a nose and a mouth in one corner, so at least he had a face.
I kept the top bunk, of course. I shared with Wilma Whale and Basil and half of Percy. I wanted to share with everyone, but Jumper took up too much room and the horses were too hard and Polly kept on pecking me.
Melissa had the bottom bunk with Baba. She made out she was so grown up and sophisticated, and sneered at all my animals, but she took a baby rag doll to bed with her each night. The doll really was in rags now and her pink towelling face had gone yellowy with age. Melissa kept Baba hidden under her pillow all day and only took her out at bedtime because she needed her to get to sleep. Melissa wasn’t very keen on sleepovers with her friends because she couldn’t take Baba with her in case they laughed.
Mum tried to get her to throw Baba out. Melissa decided to do it once, and actually put Baba in the dustbin – but in the middle of the night she started crying, and Dad had to go outside in his dressing gown and slippers and rescue Baba before the rubbish lor
ry came.
Mum and Dad came into our room to kiss us goodnight. Dad kissed Wilma and Basil and half of Percy too. He would have kissed Baba, but Melissa kept her lurking beneath her covers. No one knew she was there. Except me.
‘Night-night, girls. Sleep well,’ said Mum.
‘Night-night, sleep tight. Don’t let the bugs bite,’ said Dad. We haven’t got bugs. He always says that, just to be silly.
They switched off the light and crept out, as if we were babies about to fall asleep. But Melissa and I were both wide awake.
‘I hate this bunk bed! There’s nowhere near enough room,’ said Melissa, wriggling around.
‘There’s heaps of room,’ I said. I paused. ‘So long as you’re a thin person.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m fat?’ said Melissa, sounding horrified.
I grinned in the dark. Melissa isn’t the slightest bit fat, but she worries she might be. She often peers at herself anxiously in the mirror, sucking in her tummy and pulling silly faces to make her cheeks look hollow.
‘I’m not a bit fat. You’re not allowed to call me that, Mum said. You’ll give me that eating disease. I’ll tell on you if you don’t watch out,’ said Melissa.
‘Do you know the one type of person I hate and despise more than anything – a tell-tale,’ I said. ‘Tell-tale tit, your tongue shall be split, and all the little doggies will have a little bit.’
‘That’s a pathetically stupid rhyme. You’re such a baby,’ said Melissa.
‘I’m not the one all tucked up with my baby doll,’ I said.
‘I’m not tucked up. I can’t get my duvet to go right in this stupid bunk bed,’ said Melissa, heaving herself around.
‘Keep still, you’re rocking me about. You’ll tip the bunk beds over if you’re not careful,’ I said.
Melissa moved more cautiously. ‘They wouldn’t really tip, would they?’ she said.
The Worst Thing About My Sister Page 6