I usually liked our Literacy lessons, but I couldn’t stand writing about feelings. I put Writing stupid poems in our Hate column.
‘Yeah, it’s rubbish, isn’t it,’ said Matty. She added Being a Bridesmaid underneath.
She mumbled to herself and then she snapped her fingers. ‘Got it! Listen!’ She recited her poem proudly.
‘I can’t
Be a bridesmaid for my aunt
I’ll look silly
In a daft dress with a frilly
Bit at the bottom
In finest pink cotton.’
‘There! It’s great, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Aren’t bridesmaid’s dresses usually silk or satin? Not cotton?’
‘Yeah, but then it wouldn’t rhyme.’
‘It’s a bit short, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Well, you add a bit,’ said Matty.
So I wrote:
I’ll add a second verse
Because it could be worse.
I’ll eat lots of cake and drink lots of Coke
And have a laugh at every single joke
And I might even spill
Down my silly pink frill.
‘Cool! Draw a picture of me doing just that!’ said Matty. ‘Then draw all my dinosaurs attacking my Aunt Rachel.’
‘I can’t. I’ll get into trouble. Miss Hope told Dad about my dinosaur drawings this morning,’ I said, starting to draw Matty.
‘What, she told on you to your dad just for scribbling in your jotter? Everyone does it!’
‘Yes, I know. But she got fussed about them being dinosaurs. And so did Aunty Sue. She told Dad too. It’s because they’re violent. If you draw very violent things, then they think you’ve gone a bit weird and send you to see a lady in a clinic,’ I said.
‘No they don’t!’
‘They do too,’ I told her.
‘How do you know?’ asked Matty.
I hesitated. I’d said too much. I didn’t want to tell Matty everything, even though she was my best friend in all the world.
‘I just do,’ I said lamely.
‘Well, they’re not your dinosaurs, they’re mine, Princess Powerful’s very own pets. I invented them. Tell your dad and Miss Hope and that Aunty Sue lady that it’s all my fault,’ said Matty.
‘No, because then you’d maybe get into trouble too. And what if Dad said I couldn’t play with you any more?’ I could feel my face getting very red. ‘I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Me neither,’ said Matty. ‘But don’t worry. I don’t think anything will happen. They’re not going to cart you off to any scary clinic. I won’t let them!’
I felt incredibly comforted, even though I knew Matty couldn’t possibly defend me against three adults. When I was at Aunty Sue’s after school, I drew the most normal picture in the world, a house with a garden with lots of carefully coloured flowers, and two girls holding hands standing on the very green grass. I gave one girl orange hair, and each had a very smiley mouth. Then I took my yellow felt tip and drew a big sun at the top of the page with rays all around. The sun had a smiley mouth too. I even gave the blue front door a curved letter box so it looked as if the house was smiling as well. Aunty Sue hovered above me. ‘Oh, that’s a lovely picture, dear,’ she said, and she offered me another teacake.
When Dad came to collect me, Aunty Sue said, ‘Show Daddy your lovely picture, Tilly.’
I showed Dad and he smiled. When he came to tuck me up in bed that night, he was a bit fidgety, roaming around my room, running his finger along the top of all my paperbacks and turning my china dogs the other way round. He didn’t look at the photo of Mum. He never did.
He finally sat down on the edge of my bed with Blue Bunny on his lap. ‘I really liked your picture of the house and the little girls,’ he said, ‘but Miss Hope says you’ve been drawing all those monster things in your school books.’
‘It’s only my jotter. We’re allowed to draw stuff in our jotters,’ I said.
‘Yes, I’m sure you are. Miss Hope isn’t cross. She’s just a little worried that you might be a bit upset about something,’ said Dad.
‘Well, I’m not,’ I said. ‘Not any more.’
After the whole Mum thing I had gone a bit weird. I cried a lot at first, especially at home. I sometimes went and sat in Mum’s wardrobe just because the few clothes hanging there still smelled of her. But after a while I got angry. One day I got so really red roaring angry that I got the scissors out of the kitchen drawer and cut Mum’s clothes up into little bits. I kept drawing Mum too, taking great care, doing every curl separately and drawing all the numbers on her watch, but then I’d take my big black wax crayon and I’d scribble all over her until you could only glimpse bits of her through the black.
I’d had to go to a clinic once a week and talk to the lady there. She wanted me to play with all the little dolls in the doll’s house and the plastic toys in the sandpit, though I felt stupid playing games in front of her. She especially liked it if I did lots of pictures. She didn’t tell me off if I scribbled with black crayon. She just talked about it with me. Talked about Mum.
I didn’t like talking to her, especially about Mum. My pictures got darker and darker. Sometimes I used powder paints and a big brush and coloured a whole page black. I was in the toilets at the clinic one day trying to wash all the black off my hands when an older, very thin girl came out of a cubicle and shook her head at me.
‘You’ll be stuck coming here for ever if you paint a lot of black things,’ she said, washing her own hands. ‘They think that means you’re angry and fed up. The trick is to paint happy things. Smiley faces and suns and cute bunnies and kittens. They think that shows you’ve worked through your problems.’
I went on washing my hands thoughtfully. ‘Do you do that?’
‘Course I do.’
‘So why do you still have to come here then?’ I asked.
‘Because I won’t eat,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want to. Quit asking me questions. You’re worse than they are,’ she said, and she splashed me.
I splashed her back. We started to look as if we’d been for a swim.
‘Hey, better stop now. They’re so nuts they’ll think we tried to drown ourselves in the wash basins,’ said the thin girl.
I took her advice on my next visit. I painted a very sunny, smiley picture of the countryside. It was a pretty awful painting, because I did it too quickly and the blue sky trickled down the page and flooded the green grass, and all the black and white cows in my meadow turned muddy grey – but their pink mouths still smiled.
My lady smiled too, and said she thought it was a lovely picture. I was careful to play sunny, smiley games after that too. I made the family in the doll’s house all kiss each other and have a plasticine feast from the tiny tea set on the miniature table. I arranged all the plastic clutter in the sandpit into a pretty pattern, taking care not to bury anything. Quite soon the lady and Dad had a discussion, and I didn’t have to go to the clinic after that.
I desperately didn’t want to go back there. It made me think about Mum too much.
‘Tilly,’ said Dad, putting his arm round me. ‘Tilly, do you still miss Mum a lot?’
His voice sounded very strained. I knew he didn’t like to talk about Mum either.
‘I don’t miss her at all,’ I said.
We both knew I was fibbing, but Dad decided to let it go. He tucked me up and kissed me goodnight. I played my wedding game until I went to sleep. This time I pictured myself in a pink bridesmaid’s dress. It was the wrong shade of pink. I hadn’t seen Matty’s raspberry-pink dress. It hadn’t even been made yet. But the next morning at school Matty showed me a little square of silk.
‘What is it? A little handkerchief?’ I said, puzzled.
‘No, you nutcase! It’s a sample of my new bridesmaid’s dress. Isn’t it the yuckiest colour ever?’
‘I think it’s beautiful,’ I said, stroking the soft
square.
‘Then you’re mad,’ said Matty. ‘And you should see the design. Frills! And a petticoat. I think I’ve even got to wear matching pink knickers, imagine!’
‘But it wouldn’t look right if they didn’t match. You’re always dashing about and doing handstands. Well, obviously you won’t be doing handstands at a wedding, but—’
‘Don’t count on it. Hey, wouldn’t it look cool if I somersaulted up the aisle after Aunt Rachel? I bet everyone would have a right laugh.’ Matty saw my face. ‘I’m joking, silly.’
‘You never know with you,’ I said.
‘Mum dragged me off to this lady’s house to have a fitting for this awful dress. I didn’t half look daft, standing there in my underwear. And one of the lady’s daughters put her head round the door and saw me and poked out her tongue.’
‘That was rude of her.’
‘I cracked up laughing, actually. I’d have done the same. She’s quite good fun. We talked a bit while our mums were having a cup of tea. Oh, and you’ll never guess what, Tilly!’
‘What?’
‘We’ve nearly got the same name. She’s called Martina, but everyone calls her Marty. Matty and Marty! Isn’t that magic?’
‘Not really,’ I said. My voice sounded a bit croaky. I swallowed. ‘It’s just like you and me both being called Matilda.’
‘Yeah, but Matty and Tilly still sound different. Matty and Marty sound like a double act or something, don’t you see?’
‘No,’ I said, and I quickly changed the subject.
Chapter Three
MATTY KEPT GOING on about this Marty girl. She had to go back for two more fittings for the bridesmaid’s dress.
‘I bet you think it’s a right bore,’ I said hopefully.
‘Yes, it is, standing there on a table, with Marty’s mum making me turn round and round ever so slowly while she pins up the petticoat hem and then the awful dress. I felt just like the little twirling ballerina inside my mum’s music box. So then I stuck my arms in the air and did a little ballet dance, just a couple of steps, only I was too near the edge of the table and I fell off. Look at my bruise!’
Matty pulled up her dress there and then, even though we were out in the playground. I saw the dark purple bruise on her skinny white thigh. So did a little gang of boys playing football. They all shouted and whistled. I’d have died of embarrassment but Matty just made a very rude gesture back at them. Miss Hope was on playground duty and glared, but Matty turned her back on her.
‘I’ve got a big bruise on my bottom too, but I suppose I can’t show you that here,’ she said. ‘Mum wasn’t at all sympathetic. She said it was all my own fault for showing off. She was a bit embarrassed because the stupid frock tore just a little bit at the waist.’
‘Oh no!’
‘Marty’s mum wasn’t cross at all though. She said it was just the gathers part and she could easily fix it. She told Mum not to worry and said her Marty was always clowning about like that. She said we were so alike we could be twins!’
‘You look like twins?’ I asked, my heart thumping. ‘You didn’t say she had red hair.’
‘She hasn’t – she’s got these mad blonde curls. We don’t really look alike – it’s more that we act alike.’
‘Well. So do we,’ I said. ‘We act alike all the time. We play Warrior Princesses together and we do all the same sort of stuff.’
‘Yes, I know, but we have different personalities, don’t we?’
‘What do you mean?’ I said. My voice went croaky again. In fact I very nearly burst into tears.
‘Well, I’m a tomboy and I like football and I’m messy and I hate frilly, girly things. You’re a totally girly girl.’
‘No I’m not! I’m a tomboy too,’ I insisted. ‘And I play football.’
Sometimes, if it was really warm when I went to tea with Matty, we didn’t play in her bedroom. We went into her back garden and the three of us played a sort of piggy-in-the-middle football. I was nearly always piggy. Even little Lewis had much better ball skills than me. But I still played.
‘You’re rubbish at football,’ said Matty.
I screwed my eyes up tight but I couldn’t stop two fat tears rolling down my face.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Matty, surprised. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not. I’ve just got something in my eyes.’ I scrubbed at them with my fists.
‘I haven’t upset you, have I?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Of course not.’
‘I think I have. I’m sorry,’ said Matty, and she put her arm round me. ‘Do you want to come to tea tonight?’
‘Maybe not tonight,’ I said.
I wanted to terribly, but Aunty Sue kept saying that I mustn’t keep on going to Matty’s house all the time. She said it was an imposition, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. She suggested that I should ask Matty back to her place for tea.
I was horrified at the idea. I supposed Matty wouldn’t mind a teacake and she’d probably like the pizza if Dad didn’t make it back in time, but she’d hate it at Aunty Sue’s. There wasn’t anywhere we could play properly. We’d have to sit in the living room, which smelled of fusty old furniture. We’d have to sit on the sofa with her and watch all her quiz shows. We couldn’t even play out in her garden because Uncle Eric didn’t like anyone running about on his carefully mowed lawn, and anyway, he’d be there, fussing over his roses.
Dad had asked if I’d like Matty to come over one Saturday, when he didn’t have to work. I wasn’t sure about that either. Our new house was so quiet. It didn’t seem as if a real family lived there any more. It was like a furniture showroom. And then of course Matty would start wondering about Mum.
She’d asked me lots of questions at first. Why did I go to Aunty Sue’s house every day? That was easy to answer. I said my mum worked. She asked what job my mum did. I said she was an artist and had her own studio. Well, she had painted a lot of pictures once. Dad took them down from the walls of our old house and covered them in bubble wrap and stored them carefully in the furniture van but he didn’t hang any of them on the walls of our new house. They were stacked at the back of our garage, still in their bubble wrap.
Matty was interested in my mum’s mythical studio.
‘Will you take me there? I’d love to see a real artist’s studio,’ she said eagerly.
‘I wish I could, but my mum doesn’t like to be disturbed,’ I said uncomfortably, and then tried to change the subject.
After a while Matty stopped asking about Mum, which was a great relief. I wondered whether it might be possible for Dad and me to take Matty out somewhere one Saturday. Then we wouldn’t have to be in our house. I thought of all the places dads took children for a day out. To the shops? No, that was more a mum thing. To the cinema? Lots of the children in Year Four had been to a big blockbuster film about dinosaurs and said it was great – but I didn’t want to bring up the dinosaur subject all over again. Perhaps we could go to the zoo?
When we first moved here, Dad had taken me to the zoo every single weekend. The zoo had once been a huge treat, but the animals started to look sad and depressed. The elephant’s wrinkled face looked mournful, the tiger padded up and down in agitation, the monkeys screeched anxiously. Even the comical waddle of the black-and-white penguins looked painful, as if their feet hurt. I didn’t want to go to the zoo ever again.
So I didn’t invite Matty that Saturday. I regretted it bitterly on Monday.
‘Guess where I went on Saturday, Tilly,’ said Matty when we met in the playground. ‘It was wicked!’
‘The zoo?’ I asked.
‘I wish! No, we went to have the last boring-boring-boring fitting for the hideous raspberry monstrosity, but then I got to play with Marty while our mums were chatting. Her bedroom is absolutely weird – all dinky and pinky and neat as a pin one end and totally messy with all sorts of mad toy animals the other end. Marty has to share with her older sister Melissa and she hates it. Anyway, we
started playing this crazy game with a toy snake made out of tights. She’s good at playing our sort of game, Tilly.’
I could scarcely breathe. Matty noticed my expression.
‘Not as good as us though,’ she said quickly. ‘Anyway, their dad had tickets to take them to the new dinosaur film, but Melissa wanted to go round the town with her friends, so they asked me instead. Oh, Tilly, it was fantastic. Super scary but in a good way. The best film ever. It’s given me all sorts of ideas for Warrior Princesses. Princess Powerful is going to win every single battle, just you wait and see!’
I tried to smile but my lips were too wobbly.
‘What’s up now?’ asked Matty.
‘I wanted to go to that dinosaur film with you,’ I said.
‘Well, you should have said.’
‘I did say. Just now.’
‘Yes, but it’s too late now, silly.’
‘I’m not silly.’
‘Yes, you are. You keep getting fussed about stuff. It does my head in sometimes, though Mum says I’ve got to be tactful.’
‘What? What do you mean? Why do you have to be tactful?’ I asked.
‘Well, you know . . .’ Matty was fidgeting now, looking worried herself.
‘No, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re on about. You’re doing my head in,’ I said.
‘My mum says I’ve got to be careful not to upset you because of your mum,’ said Matty in a rush.
‘What about my mum?’ I could feel little beads of sweat starting out under my fringe.
‘Well . . .’ Matty twisted her hands together and scraped her canvas boot tip along the tarmac of the playground. ‘Because she’s dead,’ she mumbled.
‘No she’s not!’
‘Oh, Tilly, my mum explained. I couldn’t understand why your mum’s never around and you have to hang out with that Aunty Sue lady, and even though you said all that stuff about your mum being an artist, it sounded like you were making it up. And you seem so sad sometimes. And when your dad comes to pick you up, he’s all quiet and sad too. So Mum said she thought your mum had died and it made you both too upset to talk about it. She said I had to be extra nice to you because of it.’