The Worst Thing About My Sister Read online

  After Dad had shown Jaydene’s mum out of the front door, he came bounding up the stairs to me. ‘Guess what!’ he said.

  ‘Jaydene’s mum’s booked a holiday?’

  ‘No. Better than that!’

  ‘She wants Mum to make one of her frilly dresses?’ I said. ‘Oh, poor Jaydene.’

  ‘No, no, she doesn’t want Mum to work for her. She wants me! She took a shine to your shelf units and wants me to do something similar in Jaydene’s bedroom. I explained that I’m not a proper carpenter or anything, but she seems to think I’m the bee’s knees. She asked how much it would cost and I suggested what’s actually quite a cheeky sum, but she seems very happy with it. Oh, Marty, what a turn-up! Mum will be so pleased.’

  ‘Can you text Mum again, just to see if Melissa is still all right?’ I asked.

  So Dad texted: Melissa? and Mum texted back: Wide awake and talking!

  Dad gave me a happy hug. I felt very happy too that Melissa really did sound better – and very scared in case she was talking about me, telling Mum that I’d kicked her off the ladder.

  Dad made us beans on toast for lunch, usually one of my favourites, but I was so anxious it was a struggle to get it all down. Then we set off for hospital again. I had Baba carefully wrapped up in a little blanket to give to Melissa. She had a head and all four limbs again, though she still looked a bit limp and seedy. I felt limp and seedy too. I hoped I wasn’t going to sick up the baked beans straight away. I held a long conversation with Mighty Mart in my head, wanting her to use her superpowers to make Melissa absolutely one hundred per cent better – apart from one teeny tiny memory lapse so she couldn’t remember a thing about this morning.

  It took us even longer to find a space in the hospital car park as so many more people were arriving for the two o’clock visiting time. Then we had another long trek down blue routes and yellow routes, this time to find the children’s wing of the hospital.

  There was a long corridor to the children’s ward. Most of it was just dingy cream and brown paint – but one section at the end was painted like bright blue sky with white fluffy clouds and a rainbow. A girl with short spiky hair, wearing very stained jeans, was up a ladder painting a flock of bright green birds.

  ‘Oh, wow!’ I said, suddenly distracted. ‘I didn’t know you were allowed to paint on walls!’

  ‘Don’t you dare try it at home, Marty,’ said Dad.

  The girl grinned at me from her ladder. ‘It’s fun,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve never seen green birds,’ I said. ‘They’re really cool.’

  ‘They’re parakeets – but I might paint all different-coloured birds just for the fun of it. Pink birds, orange birds, purple birds. Multi-coloured birds.’

  ‘Tartan birds, like my boots!’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Marty!’ Dad sighed, but the girl looked pleased.

  ‘Great idea,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, our Marty’s full of those,’ said Dad. ‘Come on now, let’s find Melissa.’

  My tummy started churning again. We went through the swing doors into the ward and peered along the rows of beds. I looked for a pale face and a limp body lying under sheets. I was astonished to spot Melissa down at the end, propped up on pillows, pink-cheeked and smiling.

  ‘Oh, Melissa!’ I said, and I ran headlong down the ward and threw my arms round her.

  ‘Careful, careful, Martina, she’s still a bit fragile!’ said Mum, but she didn’t sound cross.

  ‘Oh, Melissa, you really are better!’ I said, hugging her hard.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine now, Marty! You’re squashing me!’ said Melissa. She felt for the blanket. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I brought you Baba,’ I said, making her head peep out of the blanket. ‘I sewed her all up again. I’m so sorry,’ I whispered.

  ‘She doesn’t want that awful grubby old thing in hospital,’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Melissa, taking Baba, still wrapped in the blanket, and tucking her down under the sheet.

  ‘I’m so pleased you’re looking perky again, sweetheart,’ said Dad, giving Melissa a hug too. ‘You gave us such a fright. I’m going to fix that ladder so it can’t possibly slip again.’

  ‘Yes, how exactly did it happen, Melissa?’ Mum asked, holding her hand.

  I swallowed. Melissa looked at Mum. She looked at Dad. She looked at me, long and hard. She remembered all right. There was a roaring in my ears as I waited for her answer. The baked beans bubbled in my tummy. This was it. Melissa always always told on me. She was going to tell on me now, and Mum and Dad would hate me for ever.

  Melissa was still looking me straight in the eye. She saw my look of agony. She hesitated. Then gave me a very tiny wink.

  ‘I don’t really know what happened. I just slipped,’ she said.

  ‘But why were you going up the ladder in the first place?’ said Mum. ‘It’s Martina’s bunk on top.’

  ‘Oh, we were just playing,’ said Melissa. ‘Mum, I feel so much better. I haven’t got a headache. I don’t feel sick. Can’t I just go home now?’

  She chatted away to Mum and Dad while I sat there in a daze. She hadn’t told on me! Melissa might not feel sick now, but I did. Not just sick with relief. Really sick.

  ‘Mum, I need the toilet,’ I said urgently.

  ‘It’s along the corridor, halfway down,’ said Mum. ‘Shall I take you?’

  ‘I’ll find it,’ I mumbled, and hurtled off. I didn’t even have time to nod to the girl up the ladder. I shot into the Ladies in the nick of time and threw up. I did it very neatly down the toilet, and then I rinsed my mouth out at the basin. I stared at myself in the mirror. It was all right! Melissa was better – and she hadn’t told on me! She didn’t want to get me into trouble. Oh, I loved loved loved my sister so much!

  I did a little dance of joy as I came out of the Ladies. The girl up the ladder laughed at me.

  ‘They are seriously cool boots,’ she said. She beckoned to me. ‘Come and look.’

  I ran up to her and saw she’d painted a little bird with red and yellow checks, exactly like my Converse boots.

  ‘Oh, I love it!’ I said.

  ‘It was your idea, not mine,’ she said. ‘What else shall I paint? I want to make it a really bright happy picture with heaps of things for children to look at.’

  I stared at the blue sky. ‘You could paint Batman and Superman and Spider Man all swooping about the sky,’ I suggested.

  ‘Excellent!’ she said.

  ‘And – and maybe Mighty Mart?’ I added breathlessly.

  ‘Who’s Mighty Mart?’

  ‘She’s my own superhero,’ I said. ‘I made her up. I do lots of comics about her.’

  ‘Brilliant! What does she look like, then?’

  ‘Well … a bit like me, but she’s much older and she’s much taller too, and she’s got big arms to bash all the bad people and long legs so that she can leap right up into the sky,’ I said, demonstrating.

  ‘You draw her for me,’ said the girl, offering me a pencil.

  ‘On the wall?’ I asked. My hand hovered in the air. I so wanted to. ‘But what if I mess it up? I’m quite good at drawing, but not as good as you.’

  ‘Why not give it a go? You could do it very lightly, so that if you don’t like it, I could always paint right over it, easy-peasy. Go on, give it a go, Marty.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I heard your dad calling you. My name’s Mattie – almost the same.’

  I took the pencil and started drawing very, very lightly on the wall, holding my breath. But Mighty Mart sprang straight out of the pencil tip the way she always did. I knew her so well, my line didn’t wobble once.

  ‘Looking good,’ said Mattie. She scratched her spiky hair.

  ‘Whoops! You’ve got a bit of blue paint in your hair now,’ I said.

  ‘Oh well, I’ll just kid on it’s wacky hair dye,’ said Mattie. ‘Hey, Marty, that’s really good. Mighty Mart is flying high!’