My Sister Jodie Read online

  ‘Yes you are, because Mr Wilberforce says so and you’re the little goody-goody two shoes who always does exactly as you’re told,’ said Jodie vehemently.

  She pushed right past me and stalked off to our bedroom. I didn’t dare follow her. She stood in front of the whole school at half past nine, her crazy hair brushed back, her head held high. Her skirt was hiked up high above her knees and she was wearing her red high heels. There was a little gasp as she clacked across the stage. Mr Wilberforce glared at her footwear, but decided not to be distracted.

  ‘Now, Jodie, you have something to tell the younger children, haven’t you?’ he said.

  ‘If you say so,’ said Jodie.

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  ‘I do indeed say so,’ said Mr Wilberforce sternly.

  ‘Right. Well, pin your ears back, you little ones,’

  said Jodie. ‘Apparently some of you got worried by my Halloween story last night, which was very silly, because it was only a story. I made it all up. Mr Wilberforce wants me to tell you that there’s absolutely no such thing as ghosts. People might dress up as ghosts for silly parties, but there aren’t any real ghosts, OK?’

  The little ones stared at her, stunned. The Juniors shifted around uncomfortably. The Seniors smirked.

  ‘Whoooo!’ someone whispered, and there was a ripple of laughter.

  Jodie’s pale face went pink. ‘No ghosts,’ she repeated. ‘No sad white whispering women. Mr Wilberforce says she’s a figment of my imagination, so remember that, right?’

  She tip-tapped off the stage. Mr Wilberforce let her go, though he shook his head at her. At the end of assembly he beckoned me. I knew what he was going to say. I so want to write that I utterly refused to take over the bedtime storytelling from Jodie. I did mumble to Mr Wilberforce that Jodie told wonderful stories and that I was sure she’d never tell the little ones a ghost story again.

  ‘Are you really sure, Pearl?’ said Mr Wilberforce.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ I lied.

  ‘Mmm. The trouble is, I’m not so sure. Your sister Jodie is a law unto herself, a lovely girl in many ways, but a problem child. I’ve got to think of the other children. I can’t risk having them frightened into fits every night. No, dear, I’d like you to take over bedtime duties for the moment. Miss Ponsonby 371

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  says the little girls were enchanted by your story. I think you ought to write it down and show it to Mrs Lewin.’

  I couldn’t help being thrilled, even though I felt so bad about Jodie. So I said yes, I’d be happy to tell the girls a story every night. I had to tuck the little boys up too. I knew enough not to tell them a pumpkin fairy story. (I was planning new stories about the gooseberry-bush baby fairies, the giant sunflower fairies, the ever-so-good-for-you broccoli fairies – an entire allotment of fairy stories.) I told the boys badger stories instead – Mr Badger, Mrs Badger and their two children, Bobby and Bessie.

  Harley sloped into the little boys’ dormie when I was in mid flow. My throat dried and my voice trailed away.

  ‘Go on, Pearl,’ said Zeph.

  ‘Tell us more!’ said Dan.

  I tried hard to ignore Harley and carried on telling the story. It was very babyish and twee. Mr Badger smoked a pipe of dandelion tobacco and wore long green dockleaf slippers, Mrs Badger chalked her white headstreak every day and painted her long claws, and Bobby and Bessie wore cute denim dungarees and attended Badger Infant School. Jodie would have groaned and fidgeted, but Harley lolled on the end of Dan’s bed, seemingly absorbed.

  When I’d finished and tucked them all up under their duvets, Harley walked with me to the door.

  ‘They’re loving your story,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not going to traumatize them by having little Bobby ambling off and getting run over.’

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  ‘Of course not. My stories never have any sad or worrying bits.’

  ‘Unlike Jodie’s stories.’

  ‘Oh, don’t. I feel so bad taking over from her. She says she couldn’t care less now but I know she does.

  And people keep making silly ghost noises around her. They’re all so horrible.’

  Jodie was hunched up on the sofa with Dad, watching television, when I got back. Mum was dozing in her chair, a cake recipe book open on her lap. I went to sit on the sofa too. Dad’s arm wound round me automatically and I cuddled up close. But then Jodie stretched and stood up.

  ‘Where are you off to, Jodie?’ Dad said.

  ‘Oh, things to do,’ she said.

  I swallowed. ‘Can I come too?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’ve got things to do. Without you,’ said Jodie.

  She walked off, whistling.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Dad. ‘Have my two favourite girls been having a tiff?’

  ‘Not really,’ I sniffed. ‘Jodie just doesn’t seem to like me much any more.’

  ‘Nonsense. Jodie thinks the world of you, you know she does. She’s just having a bit of a hard time at the moment. You know that.’

  Dad held me close, his head on top of mine. I felt his chin move as he glanced at Mum, checking she was still asleep. ‘I can’t help thinking it was maybe a big mistake to come here. Your mum thought it such a fantastic opportunity – well, I did too, the chance for my girls to have a top-notch education, all for free. We’d have been mad not to go for it.

  Especially for you, Pearl. You’re our little brainy-box and it’s worked for you, hasn’t it? You like your 373

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  lessons and you’ve made some nice little friends.

  You’ve even got yourself a boy friend, you cheeky baggage.’

  ‘Dad! Harley isn’t a boyfriend, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, well, he’s a kind lad, and means well, though he can’t help sounding a bit of a twit at times. But some of the snotty brats in his class make me boiling mad. I’ve seen the way they call after our Jodie. I’ve felt like giving them a piece of my mind but I know Jodie wouldn’t thank me for it. It’s not working out for her, is it, Pearl? Your mum so hoped she’d settle down here. She’s always been a bit wild and maybe she was hanging out with a bad bunch back at Moorcroft, but she was happier there, I’m sure of it. I can’t stand to see her all pale and droopy, it just about breaks my heart.’ Dad heaved a great sigh. ‘Maybe we should move right away, start over somewhere else? What do you think, Pearl?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad,’ I said helplessly.

  Dad gave me a hug. ‘Of course you don’t know, poppet. Take no notice, I’m just being silly. We’ll sort something out somehow and see our Jodie get her bounce back.’

  He settled back into watching his programme on television, a compilation of greatest rock hits. He started humming along, his socked foot tapping, his fingers drumming my arm.

  He told me all about the different rock bands and I pretended to be listening, but I didn’t take in a word. I was thinking about Jodie, wondering if she was creeping up the stairs, along the corridor, squeezing behind the big cupboard, going through the door, up the spiral staircase to the tower room.

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  I wondered about following her up there, but it would be so scary going by myself. What if I got all the way to the top and found Jodie wasn’t there after all? I thought about being there all by myself in that round room, knowing I had to feel my way down that shaky staircase.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I stayed snuggled with Dad for over an hour.

  Mum woke up and made a pot of tea. She didn’t even comment on Jodie’s absence. She said she had a headache and took her cup of tea into the bedroom with her.

  ‘You see the girls to bed, Joe,’ she muttered, as if Jodie and I were still small.

  Dad looked worried, wond