The Worst Thing About My Sister Read online

  I also had Jumper, my big black and white Dalmatian dog. Dad won him for me at a fair. Jumper wasn’t very good at lying down in a relaxed kind of way. His legs stuck straight down and he wouldn’t cuddle. Still, he made a very good guard dog for my Marty Den. I also had Basil the boa constrictor. I’d made him myself out of Mum’s old tights and sewn a ferocious face at one end. Then there was Polly the parrot – she was cardboard, but very brightly coloured and fantastic at flying. I had an entire shoe box stable full of plastic horses as well, so the bottom bunk got very crowded.

  Sometimes I made all my animals budge up so that Mighty Mart herself could sleep in the bottom bunk. She had to reduce her superpowers considerably to squeeze herself down to a suitable size, and even so her hands and feet stuck out right into my room, but that didn’t matter a bit. She loved to laze on my bunk bed and tell me about all the exciting places she’d visited. Occasionally, when I couldn’t get to sleep, she’d lift me onto her shoulders the way Dad used to carry me when I was little, and we’d open up my bedroom window and fly out into the night together on a big adventure.

  I wasn’t up to any adventuring just now, lurking under my bunk beds in the dust. I decided I would hide there until the day after Alisha’s party – but it was getting near supper time and Dad always went out for fish and chips on a Friday night. I heard the front door and then smelled a wonderful savoury chippy smell, and I couldn’t contain myself.

  I rushed downstairs without thinking. Mum grabbed hold of me and marched me right back up again just because I had grey dust all over me. Even in my hair actually. It did look a bit eerie, like those men who paint themselves silver and then stand like statues down the shopping centre on Saturday. I wondered if I could have a shot at posing like a statue, because people gave them lots of money. I stood motionless in the bathroom for quite a while, practising. By the time I’d had a wash and brushed the fluff out of my hair my fish and chips were nearly cold.

  ‘Goodness, who are you?’ said Dad as I came into the living room. ‘Now let me think … Didn’t we once have another daughter besides Melissa? Long, long, ago. What was she called? Maisie? Matty?’

  ‘It’s me, Marty. Dad, don’t be daft,’ I said, tucking into my chips. I shook lots of tomato sauce on top. Red is my all-time favourite colour.

  ‘Stop it, Martina, you’re using half the bottle!’ said Mum. ‘Have you stopped sulking now?’

  ‘Anyone would sulk if they were told they had to go to Alisha’s party,’ I said. I didn’t like the way Mum was looking at me, her eyes squinting, her head peering this way and that.

  Halfway through supper she went for her tape measure and started measuring me!

  ‘Why are you doing that? Stop it!’ I said.

  ‘Hold still!’ said Mum, moving the tape about.

  ‘You’re not going to make something for me, are you?’ I asked, my voice croaky with fear. ‘Oh, Mum, it’s not a dress, is it?’

  ‘I want you to look lovely at the party,’ said Mum.

  ‘But, Mum – not a dress! I can’t wear a dress. Nobody wears dresses to parties nowadays.’

  ‘Alisha does.’

  ‘Yes, well, Alisha is so pathetic maybe she will. But no one else does, I swear. You wear just ordinary stuff – jeans and tops, maybe skirts sometimes, but never ever dresses. Tell her, Melissa. Even you wouldn’t wear a dress to a party, would you?’

  Melissa chewed a chip daintily, her eyes bright. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea, Mum. Marty needs a proper party dress – a really frilly one with smocking and embroidery – a pink party dress,’ she said.

  ‘Stop it!’ I howled, almost in tears.

  That’s the worst thing about my sister. She never misses a chance to wind me up.

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down, Curlynob. Melissa’s only joking,’ said Dad, putting his arm round me. He looked at Mum. ‘And you’re joking too, aren’t you, Jan?’

  ‘No I’m not! Stop making a silly fuss, Martina. I know you don’t like pink, though it would really suit you. But I think I will go for blue – maybe a deep cornflower. I’ve seen some lovely silky stuff in the market.’

  I moaned despairingly and started thumping my head on the table.

  ‘Martina! Stop being so silly and melodramatic. Any other little girl would be absolutely thrilled at the idea of a lovely party dress. You would be, wouldn’t you, Melissa?’

  ‘Well …’ I was in such deep despair that even my sister took pity on me. ‘Actually, Mum, Marty’s right – no one wears that sort of pretty dress to parties now. The dress you made for Alisha is lovely, but it’s more like a bridesmaid’s dress. She’s going to look a bit weird if she wears it to her party. And Marty’s going to look even weirder, trust me.’

  ‘It’s a dance party. It’s being held at Alisha’s dancing school. Alisha’s mum told me all about it. It’s going to be like a very junior prom.’

  ‘Dancing! Oh, there won’t be dancing, will there?’ I said, even more horrified. ‘Not pointy-toes, prancing-about ballet dancing? I can’t go, Mum.’

  I looked at Dad. ‘Dad, please, I don’t really have to go, do I? Imagine how you’d feel if you had to wear a silly dress and do ballet dancing.’

  ‘Give the kid a break, Jan,’ said Dad. ‘You know what our Marty’s like. Maybe other little girls would like it, but it’ll be torture for her.’

  ‘I think she’ll probably enjoy herself when she gets there. And she won’t have to do any dancing – though I wish she would. It would be so good for her – give her a little grace, instead of forever clumping about in those awful Converse boots. Ah! We’ll obviously have to get you a proper pair of shoes for the party, unless your school ones will do. No – they’ll spoil the whole effect.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, if Marty’s having new shoes can I have some too? I’d really like some heels, just little ones. All the other girls in my class have got really high-heeled shoes. I’m the only one going around in baby shoes with soles as flat as pancakes,’ Melissa said.

  ‘Don’t you start, Melissa. You’re not wearing high heels at your age. They’re very bad for growing feet. And we can’t afford for you to have another pair of shoes. I’ve only just bought you those silly furry boots you were so desperate to have.’

  ‘They’re winter boots. And it’s not fair – why should Marty have new shoes when she doesn’t even want them, especially if you say you can’t afford to buy me any,’ Melissa said, throwing down her knife and fork.

  ‘Now, now, you womenfolk!’ said Dad. ‘Let’s all just enjoy our fish and chips and stop all this argy-bargy. Jan, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got your wires crossed. Marty doesn’t want to go to a party, so it seems mad to force her. Then she won’t need a new dress or shoes, so why not use the money you’d spend on them to give Melissa her heels – little ones. Simple.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, yes!’ Melissa and I said joyfully.

  ‘It’s not simple,’ said Mum. She looked at Melissa and me. ‘I’m sorry, girls. I need Marty to go to the party.’

  ‘Why? Just because you don’t want to upset Amanda Evans and her unfortunate podgy daughter?’ said Dad.

  ‘I need someone looking pretty as a picture at that party,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve tried my best with Alisha’s dress, but it really doesn’t suit her, poor girl. But if I run up a little dress for Martina and tidy her up a bit and keep her clean, she’ll do me proud.’

  ‘I don’t want to!’ I protested bitterly.

  ‘She’ll act like a little model for me, don’t you see? Some of the other mothers might want their daughters to have a similar party dress. It would be really good for business,’ said Mum.

  ‘But – but you haven’t really got a proper business,’ said Dad.

  ‘Not yet – but I’d like one,’ said Mum. She paused. ‘And it would be a help.’

  She said it very gently, but Dad flushed and looked miserable. Mum meant that he wasn’t earning any money from his business. It wasn’t his fault, he was really trying hard to make it a