The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker Read online

  ‘I’ll be a ghost, Miss. I’m great at scaring people. Look, look, I’m a headless ghost!’ I pulled my school jumper up over my head and held my arms like claws and went, ‘Whooooo!’

  Silly little Peter Ingham squealed in terror and ducked under his desk.

  ‘See, I can be really convincing, Miss! And I can do you all sorts of different ghosts. I can do your standard white-sheet spooky job, or I can moan and clank chains, or I could paint myself grey all over and be this wafting spirit ghost creeping up on people, ready to leap out at them.’

  I leaped out at Weedy Peter just as he emerged from under his desk. He shrieked and ducked, banging his head in the process.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly entering into the spirit of things, Tracy,’ said Miss Simpkins, bending down to rub Peter’s head and give the little weed a cuddle. ‘There now, Peter, don’t look so scared. It isn’t a real ghost, it’s only Tracy Beaker.’

  ‘I’m scared of Tracy Beaker,’ said Peter. ‘Even though she’s my friend.’

  I wish the little creep wouldn’t go around telling everyone he’s my friend. It’s dead embarrassing. I don’t want you to think he’s my only friend. I’ve got heaps and heaps of friends. Well. Louise isn’t my best friend any more. She’s gone totally off her head because she now wants to be friends with Justine No-Fun-At-All Littlewood. There’s no one in our class who actually quite measures up to my friendship requirements.

  Hey, I have got a best friend. It’s Cam! She comes to see me every Saturday. She’s not like my mum, glamorous and beautiful and exciting. But she can sometimes be good fun. So she’s my best friend. And Miss Simpkins can be my second best friend at school.

  Peter’s just my friend at the Dumping Ground. Especially at night time, when there’s no one else around.

  Peter seemed to be thinking about our night-time get-togethers too.

  ‘Promise promise promise you won’t pretend to be a ghost tonight, Tracy?’ he whispered anxiously.

  ‘Ah! I’m afraid I can’t possibly promise, Peter. I am the child of a famous Hollywood star. I take my acting seriously. I might well have to stay in character and act ghostly all the time,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe we’d better cast you as something else, Tracy,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  ‘Oh no, please let me be the ghost!’ I begged.

  It turned out there were four main ghosts in A Christmas Carol and a motley crew of ghostly extras too.

  There was the Ghost of Christmas Past.

  ‘Let me be the Ghost of Christmas Past, Miss Simpkins,’ I said.

  ‘No, Tracy, I need a girl with long fair hair to be the Ghost of Christmas Past,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  She chose Louise.

  ‘Now there’s the Ghost of Christmas Present,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  ‘Let me be the Ghost of Christmas Present,’ I said.

  ‘No, Tracy. I need a big jolly boy to be the Ghost of Christmas Present,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  She chose old Fatty Freddy.

  ‘Now there’s the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  ‘I thought Charles Dickens was meant to be a good writer. He’s a bit repetitive when it comes to ghosts, isn’t he?’ I said. ‘Still, let me be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.’

  ‘No, Tracy, I need a very tall boy to be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  She chose this pea-brained boy called Philip who couldn’t haunt so much as a graveyard.

  ‘There’s just one more main ghost and that’s Marley’s Ghost,’ said Miss Simpkins. ‘He wails and clanks his chains.’

  ‘Oooh, I’m a totally terrific wailer and clanker, you know I am! Let me be Marley’s Ghost,’ I begged.

  ‘I’m very tempted, Tracy, but perhaps you might indulge in a tad too much wailing and clanking,’ said Miss Simpkins.

  She chose Justine Can’t-Act-For-Toffee Littlewood, who can’t clank to save her life and can barely whimper, let alone give a good ghostly wail.

  I was Severely Irritated with Miss Simpkins. I decided she wasn’t my friend any more. I didn’t want to be in her stupid play if she wouldn’t pick me for one of the main ghosts. I didn’t want to be one of the no-name extra ghosts or any of the other people – these silly Fezziwigs and Cratchits.

  I turned my back on Miss Simpkins and whistled a festive tune to myself . . . with new lyrics.

  ‘Jingle Bells, Miss Simpkins smells,

  Jingle all the day.

  Oh what a fart it is to take part

  In her stupid Christmas play.’

  ‘And now there’s only one part left,’ said Miss Simpkins. ‘Are you listening to me, Tracy?’

  I gave the tiniest shrug, slumping down in my seat. I tried to make it crystal clear that I wasn’t remotely interested.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Miss Simpkins cheerfully. ‘Yes, there’s just the part of crusty old Ebenezer Scrooge himself to cast. Now, I’m going to have serious problems. This is the key part of the whole play. The best part, the leading part. I need a consummate actor, one who isn’t phased by a really big juicy part, one who can act bad temper and meanness and lack of generosity, and yet one who can convincingly thaw and repent and behave wonderfully after all. I wonder . . .’

  I sat up straight. I gazed at Miss Simpkins. She surely couldn’t mean . . .

  ‘You, Tracy Beaker! You will be my Scrooge!’ she said.

  ‘Yay!’ I shrieked. I bounced up and down in my seat as if I had an india-rubber bottom.

  ‘That’s stupid, Miss!’ said Justine Can’t-Hold-Her-Tongue Littlewood. ‘You can’t let Tracy be Scrooge. Why should she get the best part? She just mucks around and doesn’t take things seriously. You can’t let her be in the play, she’ll just mess it up for all of us.’

  ‘I’ll certainly mess you up,’ I mumbled.

  I rushed out of my seat, right up to Miss Simpkins.

  ‘I’ll take it all dead seriously, Miss Simpkins, I promise. You can count on me. And don’t be surprised if I turn out to be unexpectedly brilliant at acting as my mum is a Hollywood movie star making one film after another.’

  ‘As if!’ said Louise.

  ‘I know the only sort of movies Tracy Beaker’s mum would star in. Blue movies!’ said Justine Liar-Liar-Liar Littlewood.

  My fists clenched, I so badly wanted to punch her straight in the nose, but I knew she was just trying to wind me up so Miss Simpkins would lose her temper with me and not let me be Scrooge after all. I simply raised my eyebrows and hissed a small rebuff along the lines that her dad belonged in a horror movie. Then I turned my back on her and smiled at Miss Simpkins.

  ‘As I’ve got the biggest part you’d better give me a copy of the play straight away, Miss Simpkins, so I can get to be word perfect. In fact, maybe I ought to be excused all the boring lessons like literacy and maths just so I can concentrate on learning my part.’

  ‘Nice try, Tracy, but I’m not that much of a pushover,’ said Miss Simpkins. ‘No, you’ll have to learn your part in your own time.’

  I was so anxious to play Scrooge I learned my lines in other people’s time. Mostly Cam’s. I used up two entire Saturday visits getting her to read out all the other parts while I Bah-Humbugged my way through Scrooge. Cam tried almost too hard at first, doing weird voices for all the Christmas ghosts and an extremely irritating little-boy lisp for Tiny Tim.

  ‘Hey, I’m the one that’s supposed to be acting, not you,’ I said. ‘Just speak the lines.’

  ‘Look, I’m the adult. Aren’t I the one supposed to tell you what to do?’ said Cam, swatting me with the script of the play. ‘Oh no, sorry, I forgot. You’re Tracy Beaker so you get to be Big Bossy-Knickers, right?’

  ‘Absolutely right, Cam. You got it in one! Hey, all this saying lines about sucking pigs and sausages has made me simply starving. Any chance of us going out to McDonald’s?’

  I didn’t just pester Cam to hear my lines. I got Jenny and Mike at the Dumping Ground to