The Worst Thing About My Sister Read online

  ‘Do you think he’s all right now?’ I whispered.

  ‘Poor old dad,’ said Melissa, sighing.

  ‘I feel really bad,’ Mum said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to make him unhappy. I just got so carried away because I’ve got orders for all these dresses. Oh, girls, you’re so sweet to say yes to sharing. It’ll work out, you’ll see.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll get along just fine,’ said Melissa. ‘As long as Marty doesn’t mess with all my things and drive me mad.’

  ‘We’ll manage, Mum,’ I said. ‘As long as Melissa doesn’t boss me about and tell me what to do all the time.’

  Dad was a while coming back. We heard him go into the bathroom first. When he came back to the Marty Den at last, he’d washed his face and brushed his hair so you couldn’t tell he’d been crying at all. He brought us a pen each and kept one for himself, and got up on the top bunk between us.

  ‘Now, let’s sketch out this gorgeous new bedroom,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll maybe need some new shelves and storage space.’

  ‘Oh yes, Dad!’ said Melissa.

  ‘Well, you two be the designers, and I’ll see what I can do,’ said Dad. ‘You’ll help me paint them, won’t you, Marty?’

  ‘You bet, Dad,’ I said.

  I nestled close and he put his arm round me. He was acting as if everything was absolutely fine now. I smiled at him and he smiled right back at me, but his eyes still looked unhappy.

  I felt unhappy too, because I hated the idea of losing my lovely cosy private Marty Den. But Melissa was getting carried away now, designing a new bedroom, and Mum was over the moon, singing away happily when she went back to her sewing.

  I tried to get involved with the design of this pale-pink and neon-pink and black room, but Melissa was so bossy. I drew my chair in my plan, and she scribbled all over it. Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister – she’s so domineering.

  ‘We’re not having that awful old chair,’ Melissa said. ‘We’ll have new chairs.’

  ‘Hey, hey, I don’t think we can afford new furniture, girls,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, I’d sooner go without than have that awful heap of junk cluttering up the place. I know, Mum could get some black velvet material down the market and we could make huge great squashy cushions and sit on them,’ said Melissa.

  ‘Excellent idea!’ said Dad.

  I wanted to come up with an excellent idea, but I didn’t know much about boring old bedrooms. I drew Mighty Mart in her den instead. She lived in a loft all by herself, and she had a huge bed that she shared with all her cats and dogs. They had superpowers too. They could all talk, and the cats could fly and the dogs could all run faster than tigers, even the weeny Chihuahua. Mighty Mart didn’t bother with boring stuff like wardrobes because she wore the same blue tunic and red tights and orange cape all the time, and she certainly didn’t wear make-up or bother with her hair, so she didn’t need a dressing table.

  I drew her a trampoline to fill up some of the white space, but then I had to make a neat hole in the ceiling to stop her bumping her head.

  ‘Could we have a teeny tiny trampoline in the middle of our new room?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, Marty, don’t be stupid! A trampoline! You don’t have trampolines in bedrooms,’ said Melissa scornfully.

  ‘I don’t see why not. I think it would be super cool. Could we have a trampoline, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t think the floorboards would stand it, Marty,’ he said. ‘We’ll see about a trampoline for the garden – when we’ve got a bit more money to spare.’

  I drew Mighty Mart a trapeze too, which she absolutely loved. She learned to do the most amazing tricks because she could fly already, so she wasn’t afraid of falling.

  ‘Could we have a trapeze in our new room?’ I asked.

  ‘You are so stupid, Marty. I think you’re just doing it on purpose! A trapeze!’

  ‘They’re indoor things, trapezes. And it wouldn’t take up much room. You could just fix it to the ceiling, couldn’t you, Dad? And I could do all sorts of tricks on it, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Do you remember what happened when you did all sorts of tricks on the swings in the park?’ Dad said gently.

  I fingered the bumpy bit on my head where I’d had stitches.

  ‘It’s not fair if I can’t have anything I want in this new bedroom,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but you just want stupid things,’ said Melissa, happily colouring with my pink felt tip.

  ‘Do you mind? That’s my pink felt tip, and I particularly need to keep the colour because Mighty Mart sometimes flies way up into the stratosphere to this scary pink planet to sort out all these pink alien weirdos,’ I said.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. ‘You’re the total alien weirdo, Marty. I shall be seriously spooked sharing a room with you. I’m sure one day I’ll wake up and see you’ve turned green with little blobby antennae growing out of your forehead,’ she said, still colouring.

  She got to the bed shape blocked out in her design. ‘What colour duvet covers shall I have? Two shades of pink – or bright pink and black?’

  ‘I’m going to have Wilma Whale, and she’s purple and turquoise,’ I said.

  ‘What? You’re not having that awful old thing in my bedroom!’

  ‘It’s our bedroom – and don’t call her awful and old, you’ll hurt her feelings,’ I said, picking Wilma up and wrapping her around me.

  ‘It’s my bed. And I don’t know what I’m going to do because I don’t want you in it, with all your manky pretend animals. It’s not big enough anyway. You’ll have to have your own bed, matching mine,’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’ve got my bunk beds, stupid,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not having bunk beds in my room! They’re way too babyish. It’s only little kids who have bunk beds. They’ll spoil the whole look of the room.’

  ‘Stop squabbling, you two,’ said Dad, busy sketching out his shelf unit. ‘I told you, we can’t afford new furniture.’

  ‘Can’t you make us a new bed, Dad?’ said Melissa.

  ‘I’m a versatile chap – but I don’t think I could,’ said Dad. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out as it is. I reckon we could have one whole wall for shelves and storage. That should give both of you lots of space.’

  But when we measured it out later that morning, we found that there wasn’t enough space for Melissa’s bed and my bunk beds. Well, they would just about fit, but they’d be squashed in side by side and we’d have to edge round them.

  ‘It wouldn’t make sense to have the bed and the bunk beds anyway,’ said Mum. ‘It’s obvious what we’re going to have to do. We’ll dismantle Melissa’s bed and store it somewhere and just keep the bunk beds in the room.’

  ‘Hurray!’ I said.

  ‘No, that’s an awful idea. I hate bunk beds. It will ruin the entire concept of my room! I can’t cope with this!’ Melissa declared, flinging herself about and wringing her hands. Maybe that’s the worst thing about my sister: she’s such a drama queen.

  ‘Oh my, the world’s coming to an end! Oh dear, I can’t cope!’ I mocked, imitating her.

  ‘Shut up, you! Oh, Mum, please, this is the worst idea in the world. It will never ever work!’ said Melissa.

  She felt free to make a fuss because Dad had gone off to B&Q to get some sugar soap cleaning stuff to scrub down my Marty Den walls before he started painting.

  ‘Now stop it,’ said Mum. ‘You two girls have made a decision. Let’s stick to it. I’m not having you arguing on and on like this, especially when it’s in front of your father. You saw how upset he got.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to upset him, but it’s daft, him having the whole room downstairs for his travel agency when no one comes any more,’ said Melissa, sticking her chin out. ‘Why doesn’t he give it up and do something else? He’s so useless.’

  ‘How dare you! He has tried, you nasty selfish girl,’ said Mum. ‘We haven’t always told you girls, but he’s applied for umpteen other jobs in shops and offi