The Worst Thing About My Sister Read online

  I went into the bathroom and folded some toilet paper over the comb and tried to play it. Then I trailed back to my Marty Den.

  ‘Dad, it doesn’t work!’

  ‘What? Marty, I’d just dozed off!’

  ‘The toilet paper just turns to pink mush in my mouth – look! Yuck! Why does everything have to be pink in this wretched house?’

  ‘Pink mush? Oh! No, it’s the wrong sort of toilet paper. You need that old-fashioned slippery strong stuff. You know, like Great-Gran has in her toilet.’

  I padded off to the cupboard under the stairs to see if we had that kind of paper hidden away, but we only had the soft sort that puppies like to play with. I stared at the washing powder and the kitchen mop and the vacuum cleaner . . . I looked at it long and hard. Our vacuum cleaner is the sort where you slot in all kinds of tubes with different brushes on the end.

  I picked up one of the tubes and blew down it tentatively. It made the most wonderful mournful elephant sound. I blew again, harder. It was incredible! It sounded like a whole herd of elephants now. I blew rhythmically, trying to play ‘Happy Birthday’. Then the cupboard door burst open and Mum peered in, looking mad. ‘Martina Michaels! Put that down! It’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Are you crazy? Are you trying to wake the entire neighbourhood?’

  ‘I’m just trying to play a tune, Mum. Did you hear? I can play “Happy Birthday”!’

  ‘Yes, I did hear. So did the whole street. Now come out of this cupboard.’

  ‘I think I might be really musical, Mum. Can I have a real musical instrument? Can I have something you blow, like a trumpet? I could have proper music lessons.’

  ‘I thought you were all set on dancing lessons.’

  ‘I don’t think I could ever do those twiddly things with my legs.’ I emerged from the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Look, Mum – what am I doing wrong?’ I said, leaping up and trying to get my legs to cross backwards and forwards.

  ‘Quite a lot,’ said Mum. ‘Come and help me make breakfast seeing as we’re all awake now. If you’re really serious about dancing, perhaps we could start sending you to Miss Suzanne’s. I’m sure she’d give us a discount. I’m going to be doing quite a lot of work for her. In fact I need to talk to you and Melissa about something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, we’ll have breakfast first. Shall we have toasted bacon sandwiches?’

  ‘Oh, yes please! Can I fry the bacon, Mum? I love it when it sizzles.’

  ‘You can do the toast – if you’re careful.’

  I loved seeing the toast jump out of the toaster. I got a bit carried away while Mum was busy frying the bacon. I so liked my toasting job that I kept making more and more, until I’d used up a whole packet of sliced bread.

  ‘Martina!’ said Mum when she saw.

  ‘It’s OK, I’ll eat them all – I’m starving,’ I said. ‘I just love the way they go pop out of the toaster.’

  ‘Why can’t you ever do anything sensibly? Now, get buttering. Eight slices. Only eight, all right?’

  Mum made the tea and pieced together all the bacon sandwiches.

  ‘Shall I call Dad and Melissa?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll have breakfast in bed. Shall we go into your room and sit on your bunk beds?’ said Mum.

  I hesitated. I didn’t really want my Marty Den invaded. I loved having Dad there as a guest, but he didn’t nag about tidying my stuff or notice all the underwear lying around in heaps. And I certainly didn’t want Melissa going in my room because she always tried to reclaim stuff and boss me about. But the idea of us all eating bacon sandwiches in my bunk beds did sound fun, so I said yes.

  Mum and Dad took the bottom bunk, while Melissa and I sat on the top bunk, munching away.

  ‘This is such a weirdo room, Marty,’ said Melissa. She stared around at my Mighty Mart posters, and Jumper with his legs in the air, and my plastic horses in their shoe box stable, and Polly, my pretend parrot, crouching on my lampshade, and Basil, my beautiful brown boa constrictor. Luckily my porcupine lurked in the shadows out of sight.

  ‘It’s a room with personality,’ said Dad loyally.

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ said Mum, peering around. Unfortunately she peered upwards too. ‘Martina, what on earth are those awful black marks on the ceiling?’

  Oh dear, they’d happened when I was playing with Baby Monkey, trying to teach him to fly, like those wonderful scary flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. He’d been Melissa’s baby monkey. I didn’t borrow him – she gave him to me when she was turning out her toy cupboard. Baby Monkey said he didn’t want to be pink any more. I quite understood. I got the shoe polish and gave him a thorough massage all over, and he loved turning black. He learned to fly very quickly too. He was almost too good at it, and kept hitting the ceiling, leaving one or two little shoe-polish smudges. Still, at least he couldn’t get into trouble now, because he’d flown right out of the window and totally disappeared.

  ‘This room’s going to need painting all over,’ said Mum. She was looking at the carpet. ‘And there’s that awful stain from when you made such a pig of yourself with your birthday chocolates and then didn’t get to the bathroom in time.’

  ‘I was experimenting – seeing how many I could eat in one go. It was a terrific result. I very nearly managed the whole box,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose I could cover the stain with a rug, but this room could really do with a new carpet. And we’ll have to get rid of that old chair and chest of drawers – they look awful.’

  I didn’t have proper furniture in my Marty Den. I had a lovely old armchair, probably worth a fortune as a genuine antique. It sagged a bit and there were springs sticking out of one side, but it was still absolutely great for jumping on. My chest of drawers was lovely too, even though it was missing its middle drawer. I’d tried to use it as a sled last winter when it snowed. Somehow it got bashed out of shape and wouldn’t ever slot back.

  ‘It’s OK, Mum, I like my chair and my chest of drawers,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s time you slept in a proper bedroom, darling,’ said Mum.

  ‘Are you going to give Marty’s room a whole new makeover?’ asked Melissa. ‘That’s not fair! I want my bedroom all done up – it’s far too babyish the way it is now.’

  ‘Yes, all right. You can certainly have it redecorated if you like,’ said Mum.

  Melissa and I stared at each other. Mum doesn’t usually give in and say yes to things – well, not straight away.

  ‘Really?’ said Melissa quickly. ‘Well, thanks, Mum! How fantastic! Can I have a huge new walk-in wardrobe?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, that sort of wardrobe would take up far too much room. It’s going to be a bit squashed as it is,’ said Mum.

  ‘Would someone mind filling me in on all these grandiose plans?’ said Dad. ‘Especially as I’m the handyman around the house and likely to be the poor chap doing all this painting and decorating and building new wardrobes and the like.’ He ruffled Mum’s hair as if she were a girl like us. ‘What’s going on in that funny head of yours, eh? I can feel something whirring away in there. It sounds just like your sewing machine!’

  Mum took a deep breath. She leaped off the bunk bed and faced us. She had bright pink cheeks and her eyes sparkled. She kept clasping and unclasping her hands. That’s my habit, but I only do it when I want something really, really badly.

  ‘Suzanne from the dancing class has commissioned me to make the costumes for her new children’s flower ballet. It’s twenty dresses, all with different designs. It’s certainly going to be a challenge. But if I do a good job, she thinks she’ll be doing a winter pantomime, and that’ll mean several changes of costume for each child. And two of the mothers at the party have asked if I’d make their daughters’ bridesmaids’ dresses. One of them wants six bridesmaids’ dresses plus a little flower-girl outfit. I’ll be sewing day and night, but it’ll be worth it. You should hear what they’re paying me!’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Jan