The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker Read online

  ‘I love her, I love her!’ Vita declared, hugging her passionately to her chest.

  The reindeer had long floppy furry legs with pink satin ballet slippers, but she couldn’t stand on them. I lifted the net skirt and saw a big hole.

  ‘Don’t look up her bottom!’ Vita snapped.

  ‘Um, Em’s being rude,’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, I’m not! I’ve just realized, she’s a glove puppet!’

  ‘You got it, Emerald,’ said Dad. ‘Here, Vita, let’s get to know her. We’ll see if she’ll introduce herself.’ He pressed her pink nose again to stop the ballet music and stuck his hand up inside her.

  ‘Hello, Princess Vita,’ he made the reindeer say, in a funny fruity female voice. ‘I’m Dancer. I was one of Santa’s very own reindeers. Maybe you’ve heard of my fellow sleigh artistes, Dasher and Prancer and Vixen? Then there’s the so-called superstar, Rudolph, the one with the constant cold. Such a show-off, especially since he got his own song. Of course I was always the leading runner, until I realized that all that sleigh-pulling wasn’t such a good idea. I have very sensitive hooves. Santa was devastated when I gave in my notice but we artistes have to consider our talent. I am now Princess Vita’s dancing companion and trusty steed.’

  Dad made Dancer bow low and then twirl on her floppety legs. Vita clapped her hands, bright red with excitement.

  I felt envious again. Why couldn’t I have had a puppet? Then Dad and I could have had endless games together. Vita and Maxie had such special big presents this year. Why did mine have to be so tiny? It was just like one extra stocking present.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open your present, Emerald?’ said Dad. He slipped Dancer over Vita’s hand, showing her how to work her. Vita waved her wildly round and round. Maxie laughed and tried to catch Dancer. One of her antlers accidently poked him in the eye.

  ‘Hey, hey, watch out! Oh Maxie, for heaven’s sake, it didn’t really hurt,’ said Mum, grabbing Vita’s arm and pulling Maxie close for a cuddle.

  ‘Yes, Em, open your present. Whatever can it be?’

  I undid the wrapping paper, feeling foolish with them all watching me. I got my mouth all puckered up, waiting to say thank you and give grateful kisses. Then I opened a little black box and stared at what was inside. I was stunned. I couldn’t say anything at all.

  ‘What is it, Em?’

  ‘Show us!’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  It was a little gold ring set with a deep green glowing jewel.

  ‘I love it,’ I whispered. ‘It’s an emerald!’

  ‘Not a real emerald, darling,’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes it is,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not fobbing off my daughter with anything less!’

  My daughter! I loved that almost as much as my beautiful ring.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Frankie,’ Mum said. ‘Real emeralds cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds!’

  ‘No they don’t. Not if you go to antique fairs and do someone a favour and find a little emerald for a special small girl,’ said Dad.

  He unhooked the ring from its little velvet cushion and put it on the ring finger of my right hand.

  ‘It fits perfectly!’ I said.

  ‘Well, I had it made specially for you, Princess Emerald,’ said Dad.

  ‘But however much have you spent on all of us?’ Mum said, shaking her head as if she’d been swimming underwater.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Dad. ‘I wanted this to be a special Christmas, one the kids will remember for ever.’

  CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD

  Did you know . . .

  • In Italy, children write letters to Babbo Natale, to tell him that they’ve been good throughout the year. But the main day for giving presents is Twelfth Night, or the start of Epiphany, January 6th – and traditionally, those gifts are supposed to be brought by a good witch called La Befana. Legend has it that La Befana brings sweets and other treats in the middle of the night, and then sweeps the floor with her broom before leaving!

  • In Brazil, some children leave a sock near a window. If Papai Noel finds it, he’ll swap it for a present!

  • In France, the most important Christmas meal is called Reveillon, and it happens late on Christmas Eve or very early on Christmas Day, after people return home from Midnight Mass. A special chocolate log cake, called a Bûche de Noël, is often eaten.

  • In the Czech Republic, the main Christmas meal also happens on Christmas Eve, but it’s traditional to eat fish soup, followed by fried fish and potato salad.

  • Norway gives the UK a very special Christmas present every year: an enormous Christmas tree. It’s given as a thank you for the help that the UK gave to Norway during the Second World War, and it always stands in Trafalgar Square in London. There’s a big ceremony when the lights are switched on!

  • In Spain, December 28th is called Día de los Santos Inocentes or Day of the Innocent Saints, and is like April Fools’ Day in the UK. People try to trick each other into believing silly stories and jokes, and even newspapers and TV programmes join in.

  • In Germany, one tradition is for a small group of children – the Sternsinger, or star singers – to go from house to house, singing carols. Three dress up like the Wise Men, and one carries a star, as a symbol for the Star of Bethlehem.

  • In Iceland, Gamlárskvöld – New Year’s Eve – is considered a very special and magical night, where all sorts of strange things are rumoured to happen. Legend has it that cows can talk, seals take on human form and the elves move house!

  I WENT ROUND to Jamie’s house and hunted through the Victorian books – and found a great big fat one with lots of recipes called Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management. I flipped through it until I found the perfect cake.

  It needed quite a lot of ingredients but that was no problem. (For reasons I will divulge later!)

  It took ages to make the special cake. I had to make this special lemon jelly and then pour a little bit into a big tin and then stud it with glacé cherries like jewels, and then I did another layer of jelly and stood sponge fingers all the way round the tin and then I made a special eggy custard and poured that on and let it all set and THEN the next day I dunked the tin very quickly in hot water and then, holding my breath and praying, I gently tipped it out onto a pretty plate like a little kid turning out a sandcastle. You know what often happens with sandcastles? They crumble and break, right? But my special Victorian cake came out whole and perfect, easy-peasy, simple-pimple.

  It was a bit of a mega-problem getting it to school, though. I had to carry it on a tray and hope it wouldn’t rain. My arms were aching terribly by the time I got to school. I was a bit late too, because I’d had to walk so carefully to keep my cake intact.

  ‘Charlotte Enright, you’re late for school,’ said Miss Beckworth.

  ‘Only half a second, Miss Beckworth. And it’s in a very very good cause,’ I said, propping my heavy tray on a desk and peeling back the protective tinfoil I’d arched over it.

  ‘And what’s this very good cause, might I ask?’ said Miss Beckworth.

  ‘You!’ I said, pulling the last of the foil off with a flourish. ‘I’ve made you a cake, Miss Beckworth. Well, it’s for all of us at the disco, but it’s in your honour and you’ve got to have the first slice. It’s a Victorian cake. And you’ll never ever guess what it’s called!’

  Miss Beckworth looked at my wondrous masterpiece. She blinked her all-seeing eyes. They twinkled as she met my gaze.

  ‘I can guess,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘In your own ultra-irritating phrase, it’s easy-peasy, simple-pimple! It’s an absolutely magnificent Charlotte Russe.’

  She really is all-knowing! We shared the cake-cutting ceremony when it was nosh time.

  I got a bit worried my Charlotte cake would collapse, but it stood its ground splendidly. And it tasted great too, mega-yummy. It was all gone in a matter of minutes – just a lick of lemon jelly and a few sponge crumbs left on the plate.

  I made