My Sister Jodie (7 page)

‘Don't start one of your silly stories, Jodie,' said Mum.

‘It's true, totally one hundred per cent true,' said Jodie, peering around our flat, running in and out of rooms. ‘It pongs a bit, doesn't it?' she said, holding her nose.

‘Don't use that word! We'll give everywhere a good spring clean tomorrow – and you can help, madam,' said Mum.

‘Where are Big Alf and Young Bernie? Have they gone already? Oh, I wanted to say goodbye!'

‘It sounds as if you've said quite enough to them already,' said Mum. ‘You're not to chat up workmen like that, do you hear me?'

‘Dad's a workman. Can't I chat to him?' said Jodie, reaching up to put her arms round Dad.

‘You chat all you like, sweetheart,' said Dad, giving her a cuddle. ‘Where did you get to, then? How could you walk far in those crazy shoes?'

‘We weren't just walking. We went back to her house and she gave me a cup of tea. That's how I saw her Elvis card. And her aquarium with bright blue fish – they were so pretty. And her rude painting of a great pink naked woman.'

‘I've never heard such nonsense!' said Mum.

‘You wait and see. We're all going to have supper together so maybe she'll ask you back to her house after for coffee.'

‘What do you mean, supper?'

‘With Mr and Mrs Wilberforce, the headteacher and his wife. Us and Miss French.'

‘Us?' I said.

‘Are you sure, Jodie?' said Dad. ‘They wouldn't ask us for supper, would they?'

‘They haven't asked! We haven't had an invitation or anything,' said Mum.

‘I'm telling you, Miss French
said
. Tonight, half past seven, at the Wilberforces' house. They live down the drive at the back. Miss French does too.'

‘They've got their own houses?' said Dad,
glancing around our room. ‘What, modern ones?' He sounded envious.

‘It's
much
better living in a real Victorian mansion,' I said quickly, though it was hard to remember we were in Melchester College in these dark basement rooms.

Mum seized hold of Jodie. ‘Are you still just kidding us?' she said.

‘Mum, what's your
problem
? Why would I make it up?'

‘Oh
God
,' said Mum. ‘Well, we'll all have to have a bath; we're filthy. I wonder what the hot-water situation is like? Then we'll have to get the cases unpacked, find some decent clothes – and where on earth are the iron and ironing board?'

‘Don't fuss, Shaz. No one's going to expect us to look spick and span when we've only just got here,' said Dad, but he was anxiously trying to clean his nails as he talked.

‘
Don't
call me Shaz, you know I hate it. Sharon. Jodie, Pearl, don't stand there like lemons. Go and get your clothes unpacked. Pearl, you wear your pretty embroidered skirt, and Jodie, you'd better wear your trousers –
your
skirts are way too short and tight. And you're
not
wearing those shoes, do you hear?'

‘Miss French likes them. She says they're saucy,' said Jodie.

‘She's the
secretary
,' said Mum, as if it meant lavatory cleaner. ‘She's not the head of the school. Mr Wilberforce will
not
be impressed by ridiculous tacky high heels on a young girl. Now find your good trousers and your black shoes and put them on, and
no arguing
.'

None of us dared argue with Mum when she used
that tone of voice. We scrabbled around looking for our clothes while Mum had the first bath. Dad rolled his eyes at us.

‘I wish she didn't get in such a huff,' he said. ‘I'm sure the Wilberforces are simply trying to save us trouble our first night.'

‘What's he like, Dad? You met him at that interview. Is he dead posh?' I asked.

‘Ever so, but he seems a very nice bloke,' said Dad. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. ‘It's peculiar, all this. It all seems to have happened so quick, like. We're bound to feel a bit fish-out-of-water at first. But it will be worth it. We just want to do our best for you girls.' Dad put his arms round us.

‘Joe!' Mum called urgently from the bathroom. ‘Joe, come here!'

‘Oh Gawd, what now?' said Dad.

‘I've just thought,' said Mum. ‘I'm the cook. What if they're expecting
me
to do the supper?'

‘Don't be daft. You're here to cook for the children, not the Wilberforces,' said Dad. ‘Don't look so worried, Shaz –
Sharon
, sorry sorry! You're my girl too, you know. Come here, give us a cuddle.'

Mum protested, but we heard splashing and then a kiss. Jodie pulled a face at me and I giggled.

‘This isn't such a bad place, you know,' Jodie said softly.

I glanced at the bleak wallpaper and the bile-green and vomit-yellow curtains.

‘Not
here
. Though we'll make it look better, you'll see. No, I meant outside, all the grounds. Miss French showed me around the garden bit. There are kitchen gardens with heaps of fruit, and this
funny old gardener let me pick a whole handful of raspberries. There are huge great woods too. It's like we're in one of those old-fashioned storybooks,
Two Have Fun at Melchester College
.'

‘So you don't mind us being here?'

‘Well, I hate being stuck in the middle of nowhere. I'm going to go mad not being able to go out anywhere. But it might be all right while it's just us. We'll make the most of the summer, OK?'

WE STOOD OUTSIDE
the Wilberforces' house. It was technically a bungalow rather than a house, but very grand and spacious, with white walls and scented jasmine in terracotta pots on either side of the green front door. We stood outside the wrought-iron gate, Mum and Dad and Jodie and me. We were still pink from our baths and in our best clothes. Jodie had even been persuaded out of her red shoes.

Mum inspected all three of us anxiously and had a little peep at herself in her powder compact. Then she checked her watch.

‘It's only twenty-six minutes past,' she whispered. ‘Perhaps we'd better wait till half past.'

‘Why, are you worried we'll catch Mrs Wilberforce in her knickers?' said Dad.

Jodie and I snorted with laughter.

‘Ssh!' Mum hissed. ‘For pity's sake, they'll hear you. Don't you start larking around, Joe, it won't go
down well at all. You too, Jodie. None of your nonsense.'

We stood there, waiting, watching Mum's wristwatch.

‘Oh dear, are you locked out again?' said Miss French, walking up behind us in her soft rubber-soled shoes, making us all jump.

‘No, no!' Mum said quickly. ‘No, we didn't want to arrive too early, like.' The ‘like' jumped out of her lips before she could stop it. She clamped her mouth shut, going red.

‘I think we're all spot on time,' said Miss French, opening the gate and marching up the wide pathway.

We followed along behind her. Miss French rapped hard at the door. Mum took a step backwards, obviously worried the Wilberforces would think it was her hammering at their front door. It opened almost immediately, as if someone had been crouching on the other side. Mum went redder.

‘Hello hello hello,' said a tall man with a beard. He was wearing a very grubby yellow cardigan with leather buttons, two of them missing, a checked shirt with a frayed collar, very baggy corduroy trousers and slippers.

‘How do you do, Mr Wilberforce,' said Mum, sounding strained. ‘Girls, this is the head of Melchester College.'

Jodie burst out laughing, startling us. ‘Don't be daft, Mum, he's the gardener,' she said.

‘Jodie!' said Mum, giving her a little shake.

‘Button it, Jodie,' Dad whispered, looking agonized.

‘No, no, I
am
the gardener. Your daughter and I
met up earlier in the kitchen garden. I am
also
the headmaster here at the college, but that's just the day job. I'm only really happy rootling away like a pig in . . . whatsit. Isn't that right, Frenchie?'

‘Absolutely,' said Miss French, chuckling.

‘Do come in, Mr and Mrs Wells. It's wonderful to see you. I hope you're settling in nicely. Now, I've already met you, Little Miss Raspberry Guzzler. And you must be . . .?' He bent towards me.

‘This is Pearl,' said Mum. ‘Say how do you do to Mr Wilberforce, Pearl.'

I mumbled it foolishly, wishing I wasn't so shy. Jodie had already bounded inside. Then she stopped so abruptly that I bumped into her. There was a woman in a wheelchair in the hallway. She had an embroidered Spanish shawl wrapped round her legs. She was quite old, her face wrinkled under thick make-up, her ash-blonde hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She was wearing a loose floaty lilac dress, with big amethyst beads round her neck and several huge rings on her small white hands. Only one of her arms worked. She gestured with it, while the other arm hung down, the hand clenched.

‘Are you Mrs Wilberforce?' Jodie asked uncertainly.

I think we were both scared she couldn't talk properly. She hesitated, and then took a deep breath. She smiled politely, though her eyes didn't light up.

‘Yes, I am, my dear. And you are . . . Josie?'

‘Jodie. And this is my sister, Pearl.'

‘How lovely to meet you both, Jodie and Pearl. Come into the sitting room. Make yourselves comfortable on the sofa.'

We sat down obediently, Jodie stroking the slippery satin cushions and saying how pretty they were.

‘Hey, hey, off that sofa! You two sit on the little chairs,' said Mum, bustling into the room.

‘Mrs Wilberforce
told
us to sit here,' said Jodie. ‘Didn't you?'

‘Indeed I did,' she said. ‘Please, all of you, come and sit down. Harold, darling, would you pour everyone a drink? What would you like, Mrs Wells?'

Mum hesitated. She didn't drink anything alcoholic at home, and the rare times we all had lunch in a pub garden Mum had a lemonade shandy.

‘I'd like a sherry, please,' she said, rather desperately.

‘Certainly. Amontillado coming straight up,' said Mr Wilberforce. ‘Frenchie, you'll have your usual G and T? And what about you, sir?' He looked at Dad.

‘Don't suppose you've got a beer . . . sir?' said Dad.

Mum glared at him, but Mr Wilberforce grinned.

‘You bet I have. Bottle for you, bottle for me. Cynthia, wine? And what about you two young ladies?'

‘We're not fussy,' said Jodie. ‘I'd really like a beer, but wine will be fine.'

Mum opened her mouth but Mr Wilberforce was rocking with laughter.

‘You'll have half a thimble-full of wine and count yourself lucky, Miss Cheeky,' he said. ‘What about you, little Pearl? Don't tell me you're a beer girl too.'

‘She'd like an orange juice, please,' said Mum.

I felt like a ventriloquist's dummy, unable to
answer for myself. Jodie chatted away to everyone and they all laughed at her. Mum kept giving her warning looks but Dad beamed at her proudly. I sat on the edge of the sofa, legs dangling, sipping my orange juice carefully. I peered all around the room. There were paintings of ballet dancers in fluffy tutus exercising at the bar, and white china dancers pirouetting, permanently poised on one toe. I wondered if Mrs Wilberforce had been a ballet dancer herself and had had some tragic accident on stage, leaving her crippled in her chair. I pointed my feet this way and that, copying the dance positions.

‘Pearl! Stop fidgeting! And mind you don't mark the sofa!' Mum hissed.

Mr Wilberforce and Miss French and Dad were all chatting about the garden and the grounds and playing fields and then cricket, with Jodie cutting in and saying funny stuff. Mum was a bit left out of the conversation. She turned towards Mrs Wilberforce, who was staring into space, making no attempt to be a hostess.

‘Can I help with anything in the kitchen, Mrs Wilberforce?' said Mum. ‘Seeing as you're . . .'

Mrs Wilberforce raised her eyebrows. ‘No, no, it's fine,' she said firmly. She saw me looking agonized. ‘Are you all right, Pearl?' she asked.

I nodded, ducking my head.

‘You're very quiet!' said Mrs Wilberforce.

‘It's our Jodie who's the chatterbox,' said Mum.

‘Perhaps this one can't get a word in edgeways,' said Mrs Wilberforce. She nodded at me, tossing her long pale hair. ‘Tell me all about yourself.'

My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow.

‘She's a bit shy,' said Mum.

‘Come on,' Mrs Wilberforce commanded.

‘Well,' I said. Everyone else had stopped talking. ‘Well,' I repeated. The silence was unnerving. ‘Well.'

‘Wella wella wella,'
sang Jodie, starting the old
Grease
song, jogging up and down on the sofa.