‘Nothing wrong with appropriating a name, though it can obviously backfire on you. My bear is called Mr Rigby Peller, which is actually the name of the shop where my ma gets her underwear. I saw the name on a fancy carrier bag and thought it would be splendid for the bear I’d just been given for my fifth birthday. I christened him privately with a bottle of Evian water and we were packed off to boarding school together. I told the other boys his name very proudly, thinking it utterly distin-guished, and a cut above all their Eddies and Freddies, but one unpleasant older boy bellowed with laughter and said that was the label on his mother’s push-up bra. Rigby Peller and I became the school laughing stock after that.’
I was touched by his story, though I wasn’t sure if he was making it all up. Jodie simply laughed at him.
‘No wonder, you pathetic little diddums,’ she said. ‘Come on then, show us this party dress.’ She flung open his wardrobe and started clicking his coat-hangers along the rack, rubbishing his long limp trousers and jeans and jackets.
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‘Stop it, Jodie. Don’t be so rude!’ I said fiercely. I pushed her hard, slamming the wardrobe door shut so she nearly got her fingers trapped.
‘Oh, temper temper,’ she said, laughing. ‘Come on then, let’s get back or Miss Ponsy will be getting seriously narked.’
I wanted to stay longer and look at the books on Harley’s shelves. I could see adult books on astronomy and psychology and art and natural history, but there were also old children’s stories –
The Wind in the Willows, Treasure Island, several William books, His Dark Materials, all the Harry Potters, all the Narnia stories, lots of E. Nesbits, even an Alice in Wonderland. I badly wanted to browse and see which were well-thumbed. It would be like peeping into Harley’s head. But Jodie had Zeph and Dan by the hand and was already down the length of the dormitory and out of the door.
Sakura was trooping after them, looking back at me anxiously.
‘Just coming, Sakura,’ I said, still squatting by the bookshelf.
I looked up at Harley. He looked down at me.
‘We can always come back this afternoon so you can look at my books, Pearl. Without the entourage.’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered.
‘Come on, Pearl!’ Jodie called sharply.
‘Why do you let her boss you about so?’ said Harley.
‘She doesn’t really boss,’ I said.
‘Yes, she does!’
‘Well, she just looks after me. Because I’m her sister.’
‘Yes, but you’re not a little kid any more. You 185
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don’t have to do what Jodie says.’
‘You don’t understand. You haven’t got a big sister.’
‘I’m very glad I haven’t got a big sister like Jodie,’
said Harley.
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Then Mum and Dad came in, singing
‘Happy Birthday’.
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13
I hadn’t really thought what I was going to wear for my birthday. I had my pink dress. I’d had it nearly a year but it still fitted me perfectly and I’d worn it so little that it looked brand new. I’d liked it last year. I’d admired the delicate pink-and-white striped silk, the lace collar, the full skirt. I’d twirled round and round in it, feeling like a ballet dancer.
Mum had called me her little fairy and had made fairy cakes for my birthday tea. I blushed at the thought now.
Mum caught me dressed up in the pink dress early in the morning, staring in the mirror in horror.
‘I’d have given anything to have a party frock like that. You look as pretty as a princess,’ she said.
‘No I don’t, Mum. I look awful,’ I said. ‘It’s so babyish.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mum. She gave me a hug.
‘You’re still my baby, anyway.’
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‘No I’m not. Eleven’s nearly a teenager.’ I struck a pose, hands on hips.
‘Don’t you start getting above yourself, missy.
I’ve had enough cheek from your sister to last me a lifetime,’ said Mum, looking over at Jodie and sighing.
We’d thought Jodie was still asleep, but a hand came out from under her duvet and waggled its fingers.
‘My dress is too small for me now,’ I said.
‘No it’s not. The hem’s still just on your knee, though I could let it down if you really want.’
‘It’s too tight,’ I said, sticking my chest out as far as possible. ‘Here,’ I said, pointing.
‘Rubbish, you’re flat as a pancake,’ said Mum.
‘It hurts under my arms,’ I lied, wriggling.
‘Where?’ said Mum. ‘There’s plenty of room!’
‘Can’t she have a new outfit for her own birthday?’ Jodie mumbled. ‘Especially as you talked her into having this party.’
‘It’s not exactly a proper party, it’s just a little get-together, a birthday tea,’ said Mum. ‘But all right, I suppose I could always get Dad to drive me into town this Saturday. I think there’s a market where we might be able to buy a length of silk.’
‘Can’t I have something ready-made, Mum? Not a dress.’
‘Well, what?’ said Mum.
‘I don’t know. Something more casual.’
‘You’re not wearing jeans to a party!’
‘Not jeans, then, but something . . .’ I looked around wildly for inspiration and saw the curtains.
‘Something black.’
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‘Don’t be ridiculous, Pearl. You can’t wear black at your age!’ said Mum.
‘Is there any black velvet left over from the curtains?’ said Jodie.
‘Well, a bit. Not enough for a dress though – and it’s summer. You can’t wear black velvet in August!’
‘A skirt, a little black velvet skirt,’ said Jodie. She sat up, waving her hands, describing the shape in the air. ‘And then you could wear one of my black Tshirts, Pearl, that would look cool. What do you think?’
‘Oh yes!’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ said Mum, folding her arms.
Jodie knelt up in bed, looking earnest. ‘ Please make her the skirt, Mum. I’d make it but you know I’m rubbish at sewing. Make Pearl the skirt so she can look the way she wants on her birthday. Go on, Mum, please please please,’ she said, nudging forward on her knees, turning her hands into paws and begging like a puppy.
‘I’m not your dad. You can’t get round me by acting daft,’ said Mum, swatting at her with her teatowel.
But that evening after we were in bed we heard her scissors snipping away and then the whirr of her sewing machine.
‘There!’ said Jodie happily.
‘Are you giving me a present, Jodie?’ I asked.
‘How can I give you a present? I can’t just dash out to the shopping centre, can I?’
‘Aren’t you even giving me a card?’ I said.
‘Oh sure, like there’s a Clinton’s round the corner,’ said Jodie.
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morning, I felt paper crackling on my pillow. I rolled onto my tummy and found a beautiful home-made collage card picturing both of us having a big hug.
Jodie’s hair was tufty orange wool and my hair was a whole skein of pale yellow embroidery thread, obviously nicked from Mum’s sewing basket. We were both dressed in scraps of black velvet. Jodie had cut out paper shoes for us from a magazine.
She had red high heels, of course, but I had them too, with spiky stilettos almost the length of my paper leg. She’d printe
d at the top: To the best sister in the world on her eleventh birthday – Lots of love, Jodie. She’d given me eleven kisses and an extra big one for luck.
I kissed the little paper image of Jodie and then reached for the little parcel. It was a bead bracelet laid out in an arc on a piece of cardboard. She’d taken a handful of my little glass beads and threaded them into rainbow formation: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. At one end of the rainbow bracelet she’d sellotaped a yellow pound coin with an arrow saying Crock of Gold!
I jumped out of my bed and dived under the duvet beside Jodie.
‘Hey! Stop rocking the bed! Mind those sharp little elbows,’ she grumbled, but she cuddled me close. ‘Happy birthday, little Pearly Girly.’
‘I’m not little any more. I’m eleven. I’m big big big,’ I said, stretching right out. ‘See, feel, I’m nearly as tall as you are now.’
‘Oh, so you are. At least as tall as me. Taller. In fact I should say you’re very nearly Harley size now. My goodness, you’ll make a terrifying pair.
You’ll be bossing me about left, right and centre.’
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‘I wish,’ I said.
‘What will you wish when you cut your birthday cake?’ Jodie asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I fibbed. ‘Do you think Mum’s making me a proper birthday cake then?’
‘Oh, come on. How could she resist? It’ll be the full works with a piped icing message and candles.
Pink and white, most likely, to match your dress –
not.’
‘I wish it was just going to be us at this party,’ I said.
‘And Harley.’
‘Not even Harley.’ It was easier confiding in the dark under the duvet. ‘I like him and I sort of like being with him but I always feel so shy.’
‘Shy of Harley?’ said Jodie.
‘Don’t you ever feel shy of anyone, Jodie?’
She was quiet. So quiet I thought she’d gone back to sleep. I gave her a little nudge.
‘I’m thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m mostly not a bit shy.
Not of boys. But guys like Jed and that Bernie – I feel a bit weird and wobbly when they look at me.
Is that feeling shy?’
‘I hate that way of looking.’
‘I like it.’
‘Don’t you find it scary?’
‘I like being a bit scared, it’s exciting,’ said Jodie.
‘We are so different,’ I said, nestling up to her.
‘I used to be convinced Mum and Dad had adopted me,’ said Jodie. ‘Maybe they thought they couldn’t have kids so they went along to this children’s home. I’d have made a funny face at Dad and he’d have picked me, and then as soon as they’d signed all the adoption papers, Mum would have 193
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found she was pregnant after all, but it was way too late to send me back.’
‘Stop it! Of course you weren’t adopted.’
‘I sometimes wish I was. I’d like a totally different mum.’
‘You wouldn’t ever want to swap Dad.’
‘Well. Maybe. But it’s not like he’s really cool or exciting or important. He’s just Dad. I’d like a dad who was a rock star or a premiership footballer –
yeah, and my real mum was a groupie, say, and he doesn’t even know that he’s got this secret daughter. But one day he’ll find out and fall for me and whisk me away.’
‘What about me?’
‘He’ll whisk you too.’
‘No he wouldn’t, not if we weren’t real sisters.’
‘We’re always real sisters, you and me,’ said Jodie. ‘I’ll always love you best and you’ll always love me best, right?’
‘Couldn’t be righter,’ I said.
Then Mum and Dad came in, singing ‘Happy Birthday’, with presents wrapped in silver paper tied with white ribbon. I stroked them gently and fingered the ribbon. Jodie started prodding and squeezing them until Mum slapped her hand away.
‘Get off! They’re not your presents, Jodie. Let Pearl open her own presents in peace.’
‘Well hurry up, Pearl. You always take such an age. You’ll be twelve before you’ve opened the presents for your eleventh birthday.’
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phone at all; it was a leather jewellery box containing a string of pearls.
I cupped the pale little beads in my hands. They seemed the sort of jewellery old ladies wore. Dad was looking at me anxiously. I tried very hard to look thrilled.
‘Oh, wow, Dad. Thank you so much. Real pearls!’
I said.
‘Well. they’re not real, of course, but they’re good imitation,’ said Dad. ‘Do you really like them, pet? I so wanted to give my Pearl her very own pearls.
Your mum wanted to wait till you were a bit older—’
‘Still, she’s determined to grow up as soon as possible,’ said Mum. She tugged one of my night-time plaits. ‘Though bless you, Pearl, you look about six years old right this minute.’
Mum gave me a fluffy pink toy poodle, a bottle of rose toilet water and a big jar of rose bubble bath.
There was just one parcel left. I opened it up carefully, my hand shaking a little. There was Jodie’s black T-shirt, washed and ironed, with a new black velvet trim round the neck and sleeves.
Underneath there was a black velvet skirt, very short, made in ruffled layers.
‘Oh!’ I said, trembling.
‘I didn’t have a proper pattern. I had to make it up and hope for the best,’ said Mum. ‘Try it on then, Pearl. Let’s hope it fits.’
I pulled the skirt on under my nightie. It fitted perfectly.
‘Hold up your nightie and let’s see. Oh dear, it’s much too short!’
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a twirl, Pearl. You look fantastic, like you’re going out clubbing.’
I ran to the mirror and stared at myself. The skirt really did look wonderful.
‘Oh, Mum, thank you! It’s the best birthday present ever,’ I said, dancing around the room.
‘Don’t talk such nonsense! Think of all the lovely expensive presents I’ve given you in the past. This is just a tacky little length of velvet,’ said Mum, but she looked pleased even so.
The party was due to start at four o’clock. Mum served a very small lunch – tomato soup and sandwiches – so that we could eat a big birthday tea.
‘I want a big birthday lunch,’ said Zeph. ‘I’m still starving! I don’t want to go to your silly old birthday party, Pearl. I’ve got to have another bath and change my clothes, Undie says.’
‘I wish I wasn’t having a party too,’ I said.
I had only managed two spoonfuls of soup even though tomato was my favourite. I suddenly felt so worried about this wretched party. What were we going to do from four o’clock to six thirty? We couldn’t eat tea for two and a half hours!
‘You’ll play party games, silly,’ said Mum.
‘What sort of games?’
‘Blind Man’s Buff and Squeak Piggy Squeak,’
said Mum, saying the words softly, as if they were magic spells. ‘They’re party games.’
‘How do we play them?’
‘ I don’t know. I never got invited to any parties when I was a little girl because I came from such a hopeless family. My brothers were forever nicking stuff right from when they were little, and always fighting – and my sister was a nightmare. I don’t 196
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blame those mothers for steering well clear of us.
But I had this reading
book and the children had a party and played those games,’ said Mum. ‘I’m sure you can make them up. Now don’t bother me, dear.
I’ve still got such a lot to do. Don’t come in the kitchen, I don’t want you to see your cake.’
‘Do you know how to play Blind Man’s Buff, Jodie?’ I asked.
‘Of course not! No one plays those weird old games at parties any more. Little kids have themed parties, swimming or football, and big kids have a ride in a limo and meals at Pizza Express.’
‘So what will we do?’ I asked.
‘We’ll invent our own party games, Pearl,’ said Harley. ‘Don’t worry.’
I was mostly worried about him. I didn’t want him to be bored. I knew he wasn’t a party person any more than I was.
‘I’ll make some up for you,’ said Harley.
‘I’ll make some up too,’ said Jodie. ‘Hey, how come you haven’t got Pearl a birthday card, Harley? She was really hoping you’d make her one, seeing as you’re meant to be so dead artistic.’
‘No I wasn’t,’ I said, going red. ‘Shut up, Jodie.’
‘ We’re making you cards,’ said Dan.
‘Ssh! Undie says it’s a surprise,’ said Sakura.
‘Mine’s gone all splotchy,’ said Zeph. ‘It’s a total rubbish card.’
‘I’m sure it’s lovely,’ I said.
It was all such an effort. I wanted to slope off by myself and hide until it was party time but I couldn’t even do that. Mr Wilberforce came striding down from the top table and gave me a box of chocolate truffles.
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‘These are for you, birthday girl.’
‘Ooh, how lovely of you, Mr Wilberforce. Pearl, what do you say?’ Mum hissed.
‘Thank you very much,’ I gabbled obediently, though I didn’t really like truffles.
‘You’re very welcome, my dear. Now, Mrs Wilberforce has a little something she wishes to give you too. Run along to my house and see what it is. If you go straight away, you’ll catch her before her afternoon nap.’
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I sat on the edge of the bath and started writing my journal there and then.
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14
I asked Harley if he’d go with me to see Mrs Wilberforce.