‘Mm,’ said Rebecca, deciding it would make matters less complicated.
‘Well, what are we going to play then? My Little Pony?’
‘Okay. Baggy this one with the pink hair.’
‘No, you can’t, that’s Skyflier and it’s my favourite and you call it a mane, silly, not hair.’
‘Okay then, I’ll have this one.’
‘All right. That’s Sunbeam.’
‘No, I want to call him Pegasus, that’s a magic horse with wings. Look, I’ll make his wings out of these tissues so he can f-l-y.’
Rebecca flew him through the air but Mandy stopped her.
‘No! Horses can’t fly, stupid. It’s Sunbeam, not Pegathing. Don’t you know how to play My Little Pony properly, you nitwit?’
Rebecca thought Mandy was the one who didn’t know how to play properly but she decided she had better not argue with an invalid. So she played a very tedious game of jumping over fences and grooming manes, and when Mandy got tired of combing the Little Ponies she combed her own hair and then Rebecca’s. She gave her an entirely new and wonderful modern hairstyle that made Rebecca feel she looked really grown-up, thirteen or fourteen at least – but she couldn’t keep her head still enough and the new style soon subsided into its old Rebecca mop.
‘It’s your own fault, you kept fiddling with it,’ said Mandy.
‘Oh well, never mind. I’d better be going now,’ said Rebecca, picking up her box.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’
‘Oh this.’ Rebecca hesitated – and then she handed it over. ‘It’s for you. A sort of get-well present.’
Mandy opened the lid.
‘What is it?’ she said.
‘It’s a sort of doll. Made out of sweets. And she’s got a herb blanket.’
‘You are weird. Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘I don’t know. It – it seemed like a good idea at the time,’ said Rebecca. ‘But you can pull her to bits and eat her if you want.’
‘Okay. Well, thanks. You can come round and play again if you like. I’ll do your hair for you.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye, Becky.’
Rebecca didn’t go straight home. She went to see Sarah instead. Sarah was astonished to hear she’d gone calling on Mandy.
‘I thought you didn’t like her.’
‘Well. I don’t. Not much, anyway. But I sort of found out she’d hurt herself and I thought I’d see how she was.’
‘She just tripped in those silly shoes. And no wonder. My Mum says it’s stupid, girls our age wearing heels.’
‘I thought you liked Mandy.’
‘I’ve gone off her a bit. She can be ever so nasty at times. I thought she was horrible to you.’ Sarah paused. ‘I was a bit horrible actually.’
‘Oh well. I can be too. Here Sarah, can you come round to my house to play?’
Sarah brought both her Barbie dolls and they had a marvellous game of mountain explorers up the stairs, with Shabby Bear playing the part of the Abominable Snowman and Rebecca providing realistic avalanches with rolled up vests and knickers and white socks from the airing cupboard. When the two Barbies had set their climbing boots on the summit of the stairs (Rebecca fashioned the boots out of Dad’s brown face flannel. She hoped she’d be able to stitch it back together again) they opened a magnum bottle of champagne (an old vanilla essence bottle left over from a long-ago cake making session) and both Barbies got so drunk they fell all the way down the mountain.
The vanilla essence reminded Rebecca about Dad’s idea. She still had a bit of change left – and she poked out all the pennies she could find in her piggy bank. They went down to the shops and Rebecca bought a packet of cake mix – and a tin of golden syrup.
‘My Mum won’t buy syrup, she says it’s bad for my teeth,’ said Sarah.
‘My Dad doesn’t mind. And anyway, it’s not for me. It’s a present. For a person who hasn’t got any teeth at all,’ said Rebecca.
They went back home and had a lot of fun with the cake mix. Sarah made very neat fairy cakes with white icing. Rebecca made several fairy cakes too, but then she got bored and made witch cakes instead. She thought they should have black icing so she soaked some licorice in water and used it to colour some icing sugar. It went a very revolting brown instead of black but Rebecca pretended that was the effect she was after. Her witch cakes did not look at all appetising but they tasted fine. She ate quite a lot of her cakes but she managed to save two. One for Dad. And one for Glubbslyme.
When Sarah went home Rebecca went down to the green-house but Glubbslyme was still fast asleep. Rebecca had most of the afternoon to herself. She decided – wisely – to do a bit of clearing up. She sewed up Dad’s flannel – not very successfully – and then set about tidying up the avalanche of underwear on the stairs. She scoured the sticky kitchen and she even swept up all the icing sugar footprints. Then she tipped some beans into a saucepan and put the bread ready to toast for tea, with Dad’s witch cake on a special plate. Dad was very surprised and very pleased. He looked a little uncertain when he first saw the witch cake but he ate it all up and said it was delicious.
Rebecca was happy they were getting on so well. She risked telling Dad about his patchwork flannel and luckily he thought it funny. She even dared tell him that she’d borrowed his umbrella and it had somehow or other got broken. Dad still didn’t get a bit cross, he simply told her not to worry about it.
‘I think I’ve been a bit tough on you recently, old lady,’ he said, pulling her on to his lap for a cuddle.
‘I think I’ve maybe been a bit tough on you too,’ said Rebecca.
When the cuddle was over she told Dad she was going into the garden to play for a bit. She took the tin of syrup and the last witch cake and went to look in the greenhouse. Glubbslyme was still asleep – but when she whispered his name he opened one eye.
‘I’ve got some presents for you,’ said Rebecca quickly and she held out the tin of syrup and the witch cake. ‘Oh Glubbslyme, it’s all right. Mandy’s just twisted her ankle. She’s healing nicely and it’s all because of your magic.’
‘Of course,’ said Glubbslyme. ‘My stars, child, I am famished. Kindly proffer your titbit.’ He opened his mouth and Rebecca popped in the witch cake. He munched appreciatively, stretched, and then hopped out of his pot. He wriggled his neck and flexed his limbs. He had eaten rather a lot since meeting up with Rebecca and the flower pot was a very tight squeeze. He rubbed his huge tummy thoughtfully.
‘Should I perhaps curtail my victuals? Would you say I am too stout?’
‘I’d say you’re a fine figure of a familiar,’ said Rebecca.
‘I agree,’ said Glubbslyme, and he took the lid off his syrup tin and immersed his head. He came up for air several seconds later, glazed and grinning.
‘You do look sweet,’ said Rebecca. ‘Watch out or I’ll give you a kiss.’
‘Impertinent baggage,’ said Glubbslyme, but he did not look offended.
‘When girls kiss frogs in fairy stories they turn into handsome princes,’ said Rebecca, giggling.
‘I trust you do not expect me to do likewise,’ said Glubbslyme.
‘No thanks. I’d much sooner you stayed you, Glubbslyme. Handsome princes are boring.’
‘I think you are acquiring a little wisdom at last, my Rebecca,’ said Glubbslyme, grinning at her.
Rebecca bent down low, on her hands and knees, and Glubbslyme stretched upwards on his back legs. They exchanged a shy and sticky kiss. And the spell was not broken.
Jacqueline Wilson, Glubbslyme
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