‘B-L-U-E-B-O-T-T-L-E,’ I mumbled.
Dad screwed up his face. ‘Bluebottle?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Oh, good Lord! I can’t believe this. That’s not rude!’
‘They’re ever so rude to me,’ I said. ‘Well, they were. But they won’t be any more.’
‘I don’t care what they call you – bluebottle, wasp, bumblebee–’ Dad snorted, almost as if he might turn back into my dad and start laughing.
I smiled at him hopefully but he frowned back at me.
‘I told you, it isn’t the slightest bit funny. You could have seriously hurt those girls.’
‘It was only eggs, Dad.’
‘They could have gone in their eyes, or a piece of shell could have cut them. You’ve no idea what damage you could have done. It’s a horrible, disgusting thing to do. Mum said those poor girls were terribly upset. Goodness knows what their mothers will say. And can’t you see how embarrassing this is for Mum, when she’s the school secretary? And Alisha’s mother had just ordered a brand-new dress.’ Dad paused. ‘Aren’t you even going to say sorry?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled, because I was very, very, very sorry Dad was so mad at me.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
‘Can I come downstairs now?’
‘No, not yet. You need to think things over quietly, and make up your mind that you’ll never ever do anything so silly again.’
So I thought things over for a very long time, while my tummy rumbled miserably. Then I started to sniff wonderful supper smells. I was almost sure it was macaroni cheese, one of my special favourites. Mum and Dad would have to call me down when they dished up. I heard Mum in the kitchen. I listened to the thump of the oven door, the clatter of crockery, the hiss of the tap as she filled up the water glasses.
‘Oh yes!’ I murmured, rubbing my tummy.
And ‘Oh no!’ I wailed when I heard the three of them chomping away downstairs, eating their macaroni cheese without me.
Mum and Dad were leaving me stuck upstairs to starve. I flung myself on my face on my top bunk and started sobbing bitterly, so much that I didn’t even hear Mum come in … with a tray of supper for me!
‘At least you’re starting to understand just how naughty you’ve been,’ said Mum. ‘Sit up now, Martina. Oh dear, have you got a tissue? Let’s blow that nose. Now, calm down and have some supper.’
At least I was getting my plate of macaroni cheese. Unfortunately Mum stayed while I ate it, and she lectured me as I chewed every golden mouthful.
‘When you’ve finished, you’re going to write three letters, young lady. One to Katie, one to Ingrid, and one to Alisha. You’re going to apologize profusely to each girl.’
‘Oh, Mum! I bet they won’t apologize for being mean to me.’
‘That’s beside the point,’ said Mum. ‘And it doesn’t sound as if they were very mean, anyway. They called you Bluebottle, is that right? Well it’s a rather silly name, but it’s not really nasty, now is it? Why Bluebottle anyway? Is it because you buzz about?’
‘No! It’s because I had to wear that blue dress to Alisha’s party,’ I said piteously.
‘Oh! Well, that’s silly, because you looked lovely in the blue dress – everyone said so. Did they call Alisha names because of her dress?’
‘No, because she sucks up to them. They don’t like me. They say I’m weird,’ I said.
I’d cheered up quite considerably because the macaroni cheese was extra good, with lovely crispy cheesy bits – but Mum suddenly looked as if she was going to burst out crying again.
‘Do they really say you’re weird?’ she said.
‘Well, yes. But I don’t mind,’ I said.
‘I mind,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, Martina, why won’t you try and fit in more? You’re an intelligent little girl. If you’d only play nicely with the others and stop all your silly pretend games, you’d fit in easily enough and make friends.’
‘I’ve got friends,’ I said. ‘Jaydene’s my best friend.’
‘Yes, and she seems a very sweet girl, but you haven’t got any other friends, have you?’
‘Yes I have. I made a brand-new friend today who wants to play with me tomorrow at lunch time.’
‘Really?’ said Mum. ‘Who?’
‘Micky West.’
‘But he’s a boy,’ said Mum, as if he didn’t count.
‘Lots of the boys like me,’ I said.
‘Yes, well, that’s good – but you’re a girl, Martina. I wish you weren’t such a terrible tomboy. Listen, would you really like to go to Miss Suzanne’s dancing class? Maybe you could make some new friends there.’
‘I think I’ve gone off that idea now, Mum. I’m fine. I don’t want to be friends with girls like Katie and Ingrid and Alisha. I like being weird.’
‘Oh, Martina.’ Mum sighed deeply. ‘I wish you weren’t so stubborn.’
‘You wish I was more like Melissa, don’t you?’ I said.
‘Nooo, not exactly,’ said Mum, struggling. ‘I mean, you’re you – you’re a lovely girl in many ways. I think it’s wonderful that you have such a good imagination and that you’re so artistic, but I wish you’d use your gifts more … productively. You could do some really lovely drawings and paintings if you tried, but you waste your time with those silly comic pictures.’
‘Mighty Mart isn’t silly!’
Mum picked up my sketchbook and frowned at thin-as-a-pin Mighty Mart throwing her eggs. ‘This scribble is just a waste of crayons and paper,’ she said. ‘You haven’t even drawn her properly. And what is she supposed to be doing?’
I kept a cautious silence.
‘She’s not … throwing eggs, is she?’ said Mum. She went pink in the face again.
‘No, no, she’s … she’s in Sunshine Land, and those are all the little sunbeams,’ I said.
Mum rolled her eyes – and I can’t say I blamed her.
She went to get her own notepaper and envelopes, and then stood over me while I wrote letters of apology.
‘Can’t I at least use the computer and print it out three times?’ I said.
‘No, you’re going to do this the polite, old-fashioned way. I want the other mothers to see you’ve been brought up properly, even though you’ve done such a dreadful thing,’ said Mum.
So I had to write three terrible letters, resting on my supper tray. Four, because Mum rejected my first letter out of hand. ‘Dear Katie, sorry. Yours truly,’ she read out in disgust, and then ripped it in two. ‘Do it properly this time!’
‘But I said sorry!’
‘You certainly don’t sound sorry. I’ll dictate the letter. Come on, start again, with your address in the top right-hand corner.’
‘This is so boring,’ I moaned.
Then I had to do the same again for Ingrid, and yet another for Alisha. Sorry, sorry, grovel grovel. For the first time ever I didn’t mind signing myself Martina. It was too shaming a letter for Marty to sign.
When Mum had gone at last, I picked up an invisible pen and wrote all over each letter: No, I’m not the slightest bit sorry, you mean, hateful pig. You couldn’t see the writing, of course, but it made me feel much better to know it was there.
I wasn’t allowed to come downstairs at all, right up until bedtime. It was probably the longest evening of my life. I drew Mighty Mart and played with my animals, but it seemed very strange being stuck upstairs in isolation when I could hear the television and all the family noises downstairs.
Mum and Dad eventually came upstairs when it was Melissa’s bedtime. I pretended to be asleep. I huddled down with Wilma wrapped around my head and breathed heavily in and out. Mum and Dad talked to me, but I made out I couldn’t hear them. They kissed me goodnight, though it was just one kiss, and Dad didn’t say, ‘Night-night, sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite.’
I snuffled into Wilma.
‘You’re not really asleep, are you, Marty?’ Melissa whispered.
The bunk beds creaked and she climbed the ladder up to
my top bunk.
‘Hey! I think they were mean to you. Did you really have to write letters of apology?’ she asked.
‘Yes! And Mum’s going to come with me tomorrow to make sure I hand them out and it’s going to be mega-humiliating,’ I said mournfully.
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ said Melissa.
She climbed right up onto my top bunk. I normally wouldn’t allow this. The top bunk is my territory. But tonight it was very comforting indeed to be cuddled up with Melissa, who seemed to be the only member of my family who still loved me.
When we woke up we were still cuddled up together, which felt very weird indeed. Then Melissa threw Wilma the Whale out of bed because she said she was smothering her, and I dug her in the ribs accidentally-on-purpose, and we were soon back to normal, having a row.
It was a terrible morning because I had to give Katie and Ingrid and Alisha their letters of apology. I actually had to say sorry too, with Mum prompting me fiercely. Then Jaydene saw me handing out the letters and got entirely the wrong end of the stick. She thought they were party invitations and was terribly upset, thinking I was inviting all my worst enemies but totally ignoring my best friend forever.
‘Don’t be crazy, Jaydene. As if! I’d never invite Katie or Ingrid or Alisha to a party in a million years. Not unless it was a torture party, and we played real Murder in the Dark.’
‘So can I really come to your party, Marty?’ said Jaydene, her big brown eyes shining.
‘But I’m not having a party. It’s not my birthday for ages yet,’ I said. ‘And Mum says our house is too small for proper parties anyway. We’re just allowed to have a few friends, that’s all.’
‘So I can come, then, as I’m your BFF?’ said Jaydene.
‘But I’m not …’ I gave up. ‘OK, I’ll ask Mum,’ I said, though I didn’t hold out much hope of her letting me, seeing as she thought I was the worst daughter ever.
Jaydene gave me a great big grateful hug, which felt good. The day started picking up a bit after that – and lunch time was magic. I went and played rounders with the boys! We didn’t even call it rounders – it was American baseball, which sounded much cooler. We all had to give each other mad names, like real American baseball players.
‘I’m Tricky Micky,’ said Micky West.
‘I’m Simon Pieman,’ said Simon Mason.
‘I’m Jeremy Brown the Clown,’ said Jeremy Brown.
‘OK, I’m Farty Marty,’ I said, which made them all crack up laughing.
We played this really ace game, and they all cheered when I got my first home run. Mum kept coming out into the playground and peering anxiously at me. She looked horrified when she heard Micky and his gang calling me by my brilliant new nickname. She caught hold of me when the bell went for afternoon school.
‘What were they calling you, Martina?’ she asked.
‘Farty Marty,’ I said proudly.
Mum gasped. ‘But that’s much worse than Bluebottle!’
‘No it’s not. And I’m calling me that, so it’s absolutely cool. The boys all like me, Mum,’ I said, trying to reassure her.
‘But what about the girls?’ said Mum.
‘Well … Jaydene likes me,’ I said. ‘Mum, can Jaydene come to tea? A fancy tea, like a little party?’
‘Oh, Martina, I’m so busy just now. I haven’t got time to do anything fancy.’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘As if I’d let you loose in my kitchen!’
‘Please let me have Jaydene round, Mum.’ I had a sudden inspiration. ‘I want to show her our lovely new bedroom.’
That did the trick. I was allowed to invite Jaydene to tea on Friday – to admire my new bedroom.
‘But I thought you said you hated it, Marty,’ said Jaydene.
‘Yes, I do. I’m just using it as a ploy,’ I said.
Jaydene didn’t look as if she understood. ‘So is your bedroom horrible or lovely?’ she said.
‘Horrible. Hideous. Horrendous,’ I said.
I especially didn’t like it now that Dad had finished the new shelf units. They fitted well and Dad had made them look good, painting each shelf and cupboard glossy white – but they came with appalling new rules. I had to keep all my stuff neat and folded and in the right little section. If I shuffled through everything, frantically looking for something vitally important, I had to put everything back in its right place – or else Melissa would tell on me to Mum.
The shelves were a terrible curse too. We were supposed to use them to display our favourite things. Melissa spent an entire evening arranging hers – sorting her books into alphabetical order, and lining up her jewellery box, her little flock of angel figurines, her scented candles in little glass jars, and a framed photo of Justin Bieber with To Melissa, with all my love, Justin written on it. He didn’t write it, Melissa did.
I put my own favourite things on my shelf: my sketchbooks, my crayons and felt tips, and my animals – Wilma (carefully folded), Jumper the dog, Basil, Polly Parrot, Half-Percy, and all my horses and their shoe box stable. They splashed and jumped and slithered and flapped and rootled and cantered very happily in their new home, and I was pleased – but Melissa started shrieking.
‘Mum! Mum, Marty’s spread all her tatty old animals all over her shelf and they look dreadful! They’re spoiling the whole effect. She’s ruining everything.’
Mum took Melissa’s side, surprise surprise.
‘Really, Martina! Dad’s gone to all this trouble to make a lovely shelf unit and you’re spoiling it already. The shelf is for your special things.’
‘My animals are special!’
‘Rubbish! And that’s exactly what they are – rubbish. I’m not letting you have that lot on show. People will think we’ve never given you any proper teddies,’ said Mum. ‘If you must hang onto this motley crew, then they have to be kept hidden away in your cupboard space.’ She swept them off the shelf with one dramatic gesture.
‘I expect you’d like me to be hidden away in a cupboard too!’ I said, rushing to comfort my poor babies.
‘Yes please!’ Melissa shouted – and Mum looked as if she wanted to say it too.
‘Now, now, don’t all gang up on little Mart,’ said Dad. He was back to being my lovely, funny, kind dad now, thank goodness. ‘I can’t see why she can’t have her animals on the shelf if that’s what she wants.’
‘Yay!’ I yelled triumphantly, gathering up my animals. ‘Dad made the shelves, so he gets to say what we put on them, see!’
‘But then we all have to see them and they look ridiculous,’ said Melissa, practically crying.
That’s the worst thing about my sister. She’s two and a half years older than me, but whenever she can’t get her own way she starts boo-hooing like a baby, and Mum and Dad give in to her.
‘How about a compromise, Marty?’ said Dad. ‘Wilma likes to sleep in your bunk bed, so let’s tuck her up there. Surely Jumper would love a new kennel … Look, he’s jumping into the cupboard all by himself. Basil would like to lie right underneath the bunk beds in the dark and lurk. Polly and this poor little Percy chap look as if they could do with a little lie-down too. There! Now you can spread all your horses out properly on your shelf. Don’t they look good?’
I knew perfectly well that I was being conned. I still wanted all my animals out on my shelf, but I let Dad sweet-talk me into his compromise. You’d have thought Melissa would have been grateful, but she still moaned. When I decided to give Patches, Gee-Up, Sugarlump, Merrylegs, Dandelion and Starlight some exercise, and set up little fences with my books and crayons, she said I was making my shelf untidy on purpose.
I was amazed at Jaydene’s reaction to our bedroom when she came after school on Friday. She stood in the doorway and clapped her hands!
‘It’s beautiful!’ she said. ‘Oh, Marty, you’re so lucky!’
She tiptoed around the room, gazing at the shelf unit, the duvet covers, the cushions. She gave a little scream of delight when she looked up and sa
w the black chandelier. ‘It’s just wonderful!’ she said. ‘Oh, I’d give anything in the whole world to have a bedroom like this. It’s so pretty, and yet it’s not a bit babyish. It’s like a bedroom for a grown-up lady.’
‘Well, maybe, but I’ve got hardly any of my stuff out here. It was all so different in my Marty Den. I had this wonderful big old chair and you could play Jumping. It was such fun,’ I said.
‘Didn’t you worry you’d get told off? My mum goes nuts if I jump on the furniture,’ said Jaydene.
‘Yeah, well, it was all broken up so it didn’t really matter too much. And I had this old chest and I used one of the drawers as a sledge.’
Jaydene wrinkled up her nose. ‘Why would you want to do that, Marty? But this is all beautiful. You’ve got such gorgeous things. I love your angels and your candles.’
‘They’re not mine, they’re Melissa’s,’ I said sullenly.
‘Oh, look! She’s got a signed photo of Justin Bieber! It says with all my love! I can’t believe it!’
‘She cut it out of a magazine, silly, and wrote on it herself.’
‘Well, it’s still a lovely photo,’ said Jaydene.
She sat down at Melissa’s dressing table and touched all her horrible make-up and hand cream with her fingertips. ‘Are all these Melissa’s too?’ she said. ‘Is she really allowed to wear make-up? Does she ever let you wear any, Marty?’
‘Yuck! I don’t want to wear make-up! It looks stupid – and it smells, ’ I said.
‘It smells lovely in here,’ said Jaydene rapturously, breathing in deeply.
‘That’s Melissa’s horrible rose hand cream. Doesn’t the smell make your nose go all tickly?’
‘No, I think it’s beautiful,’ said Jaydene. She fingered the jar delicately. ‘Do you think Melissa might let me try just a tiny bit?’
‘Yes, go on, help yourself,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’d better ask her first,’ said Jaydene. She went to the sewing room, where Melissa was helping Mum with the costumes. I’d specifically requested that she keep out of our way. But now Jaydene was spoiling everything, because Melissa came back into our room with us and showed Jaydene how to apply her wretched hand cream. Honestly, it’s not exactly rocket science: cream, hands, rub!
The Worst Thing About My Sister Page 8