Take a Good Look Read online

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Take a Good Look

  Jacqueline Wilson writes for children of all ages. The Suitcase Kid won the Children’s Book Award, Double Act won the Smarties Prize, and The Illustrated Mum won the Guardian Children’s Book of the Year Award.

  Jacqueline lives near London in a small house crammed with 10,000 books.

  Other books by Jacqueline Wilson

  VIDEO ROSE

  THE WEREPUPPY

  THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY

  In Young Puffin

  MARK SPARK IN THE DARK

  Take a Good Look

  Jacqueline Wilson

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  Stephen Player

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  For Jessica, with many thanks

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published by Blackie and Son Ltd 1990

  Published in Puffin Books 1993

  Reissued in this edition 2001

  15

  Text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1990

  Illustrations copyright © Stephen Player 2001

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  ISBN: 978-0-14-194180-6

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘How are you feeling, Mary?’ said Gran.

  ‘I’m feeling fed up,’ said Mary, and she slid down under the bedcovers.

  ‘Careful! Watch your tray. Oh Mary, you’ve hardly touched that lovely bit of steamed plaice.’

  Mary wrinkled her nose under the sheet. She hated steamed plaice, especially the pimply part.

  ‘And you’ve left your rice pudding. Isn’t there anything at all you fancy to eat, pet?’ asked Gran.

  Mary thought hard.

  ‘I fancy chocolate. And crisps. And a can of coke.’

  Gran snorted.

  ‘That sort of junk’s not going to make you better.’

  ‘I am better,’ said Mary. ‘Dad said he didn’t see why I couldn’t go back to school today.’

  ‘And Mummy said you’re still a little chesty. You’ve had a nasty bout of flu, dear. We can’t be too careful.’

  Mary sighed. They were always so terribly careful. That was the trouble.

  ‘Well, can’t I even get up? I’m so bored of being in bed,’ she grumbled.

  ‘You need the rest, pet. You sound a bit overtired as it is. I do hope you’re not getting feverish again. Let me take a good look at you.’

  Gran pulled the sheets away from Mary’s cross face and peered at her, feeling her forehead.

  Mary fidgeted and fussed. She didn’t like people staring at her. She hated the way she looked. She didn’t like her round baby face and her long dark hair that always got into a tangle. But she could put up with that. It was her eyes she hated most.

  Mum and Dad and Gran always said she had beautiful big brown eyes. Mary wasn’t fooled. There was something odd about them. They stared in a strange way. People could tell straight away that she couldn’t see properly.

  She could see Gran bent right over her, her face all anxious lines. She could still see Gran when she stood up straight but the lines were wiped out, her face a blur. When Gran moved round the bed to tuck in the rumpled bedcovers she stepped into a grey mist. The mist had been there ever since Mary was born.

  ‘I think you’d better stay in bed for a bit,’ said Gran’s voice out of the mist.

  Gran always liked to keep her in bed when she looked after her even when there was nothing whatever wrong. Gran worried that Mary might bump into things. Mum was almost as bad, following her from room to room and never letting her tackle the stairs by herself. And even Dad insisted on holding her hand when he took her to the park. It was as if she was stuck being a baby for ever just because she was nearly blind.

  ‘I’ll go and do the dishes and then bring you up a nice mug of hot milk,’ said Gran. ‘What would you like to do meanwhile? Read one of your story books?’

  As long as she could hold the book right up close Mary could read anything. She wondered about The Borrowers or Stuart Little or one of her Anno picture books. No, maybe she felt like drawing her own picture. Although she’d dropped her big tin of felt-tip pens when she was crayoning in bed yesterday and she’d lost the special sky blue, her favourite colour. She could never find things when they rolled into dark corners, and Gran wasn’t much better at it either.

  ‘Can I have my scrapbook and that pile of magazines and the scissors?’ said Mary.

  ‘I don’t think that’s very sensible,’ said Gran. ‘I don’t like the idea of you using scissors, Mary.’

  ‘Oh Gran, I’m not stupid,’ said Mary. ‘I can manage scissors.’

  ‘You have to put your face so near to where you’re cutting. I’m scared you’ll jab the points right into your eyes.’

  ‘I’m not a baby!’

  ‘No, dear. Now, which story book shall it be?’

  ‘I’m sick of reading. I’m sick of everything,’ Mary moaned, flopping back on her pillow.

  ‘Now who’s acting like a baby?’ said Gran, and went downstairs.

  Mary lay on her back staring up into the blue above her. She knew her lampshade was there somewhere but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see the window. She couldn’t see her bookshelf. She couldn’t see her Sylvanian family country cottage. She couldn’t see Little Ted or Middly Ted. She couldn’t even see Great Big Ted at this distance though he was almost as big as she was.

  Mary shut her eyes and put her hands over her quivering eyelids. She still sometimes pretended that she’d find some magic way of making her eyes see properly at last. Maybe if she counted to a certain number, or said the right combination of words, or bumped her head in a special way on the pillow…

  But when she opened her eyes she was still stuck in her own strange world of half sight. Mum and Dad called her partially sighted. She didn’t like the sound of that. It was as if she was only part of a proper person. Gran didn’t call it anything at all, but she often lowered her voice and said The Poor Little Pet. Mary didn’t want to be partial and she certainly didn’t want to be a pet. She wanted to be a perfectly ordinary girl who could see properly.

  She knew this wasn’t possible. Her eyes were never going to get better. She’d had several operations but they hadn’t helped much. The last operation had stopped her squinting, but when she went down the road with Mum the children playing on the pavement still called her Boss-Eyes, and when Mary got really close she thought they were making their own eyes squint, mocking her.

  Mum said they were silly and ignorant and she wasn’t to take any notice. Mary couldn’t