Four Children and It Read online

  JACQUELINE WILSON

  PUFFIN

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Other books by Jacqueline Wilson

  In Puffin for younger readers

  MARK SPARK IN THE DARK

  TAKE A GOOD LOOK

  THE WEREPUPPY

  THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY

  VIDEO ROSE

  Also available

  THE WORST THING ABOUT MY SISTER

  LILY ALONE

  SAPPHIRE BATTERSEA

  And don’t miss in Puffin Classics, the inspiration for

  FOUR CHILDREN AND IT

  FIVE CHILDREN AND IT by E. Nesbit

  For Alex and Elv

  ‘What’s that you’re reading?’ said Smash, grabbing the book out of my hand.

  ‘Hey, give it back,’ I said, but she waved it out of my reach and poked me sharply with her elbow when I tried to retrieve it. She was always grabbing my things when she was bored. Her stupid nickname should have been Smash-and-Grab.

  ‘Five Children and It,’ Smash read in a silly voice. ‘Well, that’s a stupid title for a start. What’s the It?’

  ‘It’s the Psammead,’ I said.

  ‘What’s a Sammyadd?’ asked Smash. She seemed mildly interested now. ‘Is it a monster?’

  The only books she ever read were Marvel O’Kaye horror stories, the gorier the better.

  ‘No, it’s a strange magic creature, a sand fairy,’ I said.

  ‘A fairy!’ said Smash scornfully. ‘I grew out of those silly fairy stories when I was six. You’re such a baby, Rosalind.’

  ‘It’s not a silly fairy, it’s a very pernickety creature like a monkey with eyes out on stalks and it grants wishes,’ I said. ‘It’s a fabulous story.’

  ‘You’re such a sad little nerd – you think all books are fabulous,’ said Smash.

  She hitched herself up on the kitchen table and leafed through my book, waving her legs. My brother, Robbie, happened to be under the table, lying on his stomach, privately playing with his zoo animals. Smash’s feet in their sparkly trainers were swinging dangerously near his head, so he wriggled back against the wall. He liked arguing with Smash even less than I did.

  Smash paused at a picture.

  ‘Why are they wearing these weird clothes? They look stupid,’ she said.

  I sighed. Robbie under the table sighed. Doubtless all his little plastic lions and tigers and elephants sighed too. It was Smash who was stupid, not the children in the illustration. She was seriously the worst stepsister in the world.

  ‘It was written more than a hundred years ago,’ I said. ‘So the children are dressed in Edwardian clothes, pinafores and knickerbockers.’

  ‘Knickerbockers to you too,’ said Smash. ‘I hate historical books.’ She yawned and casually chucked my book on the floor. She was deliberately trying to pick a fight – and I knew who would win.

  ‘Exactly how old are you?’ I said, trying to sound lofty. ‘Even Maudie behaves better than you.’ I picked my book up. Some of the pages were crumpled now. I tried to smooth them, my fingers trembling. I didn’t know how I was going to cope, being with Smash day after day. She was so hateful to everyone – especially Robbie and me. She was younger than me and yet I couldn’t help feeling scared of her.

  ‘Oh, diddums, did your boring little book get all bumped?’ said Smash. She swung her legs harder and felled two elephants and a monkey. ‘Whoops!’ said Smash.

  Robbie’s hand shot out, trying to gather up his fallen beasts.

  ‘Help, there’s a wriggly, scrabbly thing under there. Perhaps it’s a rat? Better stamp on it quick,’ said Smash, sliding down from the table and stamping hard on Robbie’s hand.

  ‘Stop it! You leave my brother alone, you big bully,’ I said, goaded into losing my temper at last.

  Robbie didn’t say anything because he was trying so hard not to cry, but he made his favourite lion bite Smash on the ankle. She laughed at this little plastic nibble, seized the lion and tossed it high in the air. It landed on all four paws on the Jamie Oliver cookbook on the kitchen shelf.

  ‘Hey, that lion should be in the circus doing tricks like that,’ said Smash, jumping up and snatching it back. ‘You know that trick where the trainer puts his head in the lion’s mouth? Well, this lion would be rubbish at that – but maybe we could try the lion putting his head in the trainer’s mouth? Yeah, nice one.’ She put the little lion in her mouth and bit down heavily.

  ‘No!’ Robbie screamed.

  I jumped up, seized hold of her and yanked hard at the lion’s haunches. It came out glistening with Smash-saliva – and streaked with blood.

  ‘Ow! You made my lip bleed, you pig!’ said Smash, holding her mouth.

  ‘Good! It’s your own fault,’ I said, though my heart was pounding. ‘Why do you have to be so hateful all the time?’

  ‘Because I can’t stand you or your pathetic little wimpy brother and I wish you’d clear off,’ said Smash.

  ‘Hello, kids! What’s all the shouting about?’ said Dad, bursting into the kitchen. He stood there in his pyjamas, scratching his head. He looked at Smash. ‘I don’t think that sounded very friendly.’

  ‘They weren’t being friendly to me!’ said Smash. ‘Look!’

  She stuck her chin up and pointed to her cut lip. Dad peered at the little smear of blood.

  ‘How did you cut your lip, Smash?’

  Smash looked pointedly in my direction.

  ‘Rosalind?’ said Dad, sounding astonished. ‘Rosalind, you didn’t hit your sister, did you?’

  ‘She’s not my real sister,’ I mumbled stupidly.

  ‘I can’t believe you hit her!’ said Dad.

  ‘She was sticking up for me,’ said Robbie, crawling out from under the table.

  ‘Oh, so you let your sister fight your battles for you, do you, Robert?’ Dad said coldly.

  ‘Well, I’m not very good at fighting,’ said Robbie, truthfully enough.

  ‘What were you fighting about?’ asked Dad.

  We stared at our bare feet. I chased a couple of cornflakes with my big toe. We’d been eating them straight out of the packet and some had got spilt.

  Dad sighed heavily. ‘Oh, never mind. But you watch that temper, Rosalind. Don’t you ever hit anyone again! I’m not having that sort of behaviour in my house. Now come on, help me start breakfast, chop chop.’

  Dad bustled to the crockery cupboard and trod heavily on one of Robbie’s scattered animals.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ He picked up the elephant and chucked it at Robbie. ‘You’re worse than Maudie for scattering your toys. Aren’t you a bit old for this sort of thing anyway?’

  Robbie hung his head. Didn’t Dad remember? He gave Robbie his first three animals himself when he still came to see us every weekend and took us to the zoo.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dad, shaking his head. ‘I have a daughter who picks fights and a son who hides away with his toys under the table. You’re the wrong way round, kids. I shall have to put you in a bag and shake you.’ He was saying it as if it was part of a comedy routine, but Robbie and I burnt, not finding it the slightest bit funny.

  Smash laughed at us, knowing Dad wouldn’t pick on her. It wasn’t fair. We knew Dad didn’t like Smash any more than we did, but he didn’t criticize her because she was Alice’s child, not his.

  Alice herself didn’t appear until we’d all h