The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker Read online

  They don’t get it at school. They especially don’t get me. I didn’t mind them knowing I’d socked Justine. I rather liked it that they thought I’d punched Mrs Darlow. But I hated them all seeing me in such a state, all blood, sweat and tears. I didn’t mind the blood, I didn’t mind the sweat, but Tracy Beaker doesn’t cry. Ever. Not publicly, anyway.

  The minivan was a very private place. And so is the Quiet Room. And my bedroom. Jenny said I could come down to tea but I didn’t fancy the idea.

  Mike brought a tray upstairs to my room.

  ‘Hey, Tracy. I know you’re in disgrace, but I wouldn’t want you to miss out on spag bol, and it’s particularly tasty tonight.’

  He thrust the tray under my nose. My nostrils prickled with the rich savoury smell, but I turned my head away.

  ‘I’m not really hungry, Mike,’ I said.

  ‘Miss Fussy-Gussy. I’ve slaved at the stove for hours so the least you can do is try a mouthful,’ said Mike, balancing the tray on my lap and twisting spaghetti round and round the fork.

  ‘Come on, sweetie. Here’s an aeroplane – wheee through the air and in it swoops,’ he said, guying the way he fed the very little kids in the Dumping Ground.

  I kept my lips clamped. I didn’t even smile at him. I didn’t feel in the mood for jokes (even sweet ones) or food (though spag bol was a special favourite).

  ‘Come on, Tracy. Even Justine hasn’t lost her appetite, yet she’s the girl with the poorly nose.’

  ‘Is she back from the hospital?’ I said.

  ‘Yep. Poor, poor Justine,’ said Mike.

  ‘Is her nose really broken?’ I whispered.

  ‘Broken right off,’ said Mike – but then he saw my expression. ‘Joke, Tracy. It’s fine. You just gave her a little nosebleed. But Jenny and I have got to put our heads together and find some suitable means of punishment. You’ve got to learn to handle your temper, Tracy, especially at school. Jenny and I are sick of apologizing to old Dragon Darlow. She’s always been a tad wary of all our kids – you in particular, Ms Biff and Bash Beaker. Every time you throw a wobbly at school you’re confirming all her prejudices.’

  ‘You can punish me any way you want,’ I said wanly. ‘You can beat me and starve me and lock me in the cupboard.’

  ‘There’s not much point,’ said Mike. ‘If I tried to beat you I’m sure you’d beat me right back. You’re already starving yourself going without your spag bol. And there’s no point shutting you in the art cupboard because I have a shrewd suspicion you know how to pick that lock already. No, I think we’ll have to come up with something more to the point.’

  ‘I told you, Mike, I don’t care. Mrs Darlow’s punished me already. She won’t let me be Scrooge any more and my mum won’t get to see me act,’ I said.

  Some drops of water dribbled down my face and splashed into the plate of spaghetti on my lap.

  ‘I know how tough that is, Tracy,’ Mike said, and he gave me a little hug. ‘I know how hard you’ve worked on your part, and I’m sure you’d have been the Scroogiest Scrooge ever. I think we both know that we can’t take it for granted that your mum can come to see you – but if she did just happen to be there she’d be so proud of you, sweetheart. All the kids think Mrs Darlow’s being very unfair. They say the play won’t be the same without you, Tracy.’

  ‘Who are you trying to kid, Mike?’ I said wearily, but I reached out and tried a very small forkful of spaghetti. It was still hot and surprisingly tasty.

  ‘I mean it, Tracy. Little Peter’s absolutely beside himself. He’s thinking of starting up some petition.’

  ‘Ah. Sweet,’ I said, trying another forkful. ‘Still, I bet Louise and Justine are thrilled to bits that I’m out of the play.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong then, chum. I know you three aren’t the best of mates nowadays, but Louise seems quite uncomfortable about the situation. I think she feels she and Justine might just have provoked your sudden savage attack.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, starting to scoop up my spag bol enthusiastically. ‘What about Justine? What does she say?’

  ‘Well, she’s probably the only one of the kids who isn’t as yet a signed-up member of the Justice for Tracy Fan Club. That’s hardly surprising as her poor nose is still swollen and sore.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said insincerely.

  Mike ruffled my curls. ‘You’re a bad bad girl, little Beaker. We’re going to have to channel all that aggression somehow.’ That sounded ominous.

  I was right to be suspicious. The next morning Jenny and Mike cornered me as I came downstairs, head held high, determined to show everyone I was absolutely fine now, so long as everyone kept their gob shut about mums and plays and headteachers.

  I held my head a little too high, so I couldn’t see where I was going. Some stupid little kid had set a small herd of plastic dinosaurs to graze on the carpet at the foot of the stairs. I skidded and very nearly went bonk on my bum again, but this time my natural grace and agility enabled me to keep my footing – just.

  ‘Why don’t you make the kids clear up all their little plastic whatsits?’ I demanded.

  ‘Good point, Tracy,’ said Mike.

  ‘Maybe you’ll help us, Tracy,’ said Jenny. ‘It will make your job easier.’

  I paused. I eyed them suspiciously. ‘What job?’

  ‘We’ve thought of an excellent way to channel your aggression,’ said Mike.

  ‘Don’t think of this as a punishment, Tracy. It’s a positive way to make this a happy, clean and tidy home,’ said Jenny.

  The words clean and tidy reverberated ominously, scouring my ears.

  ‘Hey, you’re not plotting that I’m going to be, like, your cleaning lady?’ I said.

  ‘Quick off the mark as always, Tracy Beaker,’ said Mike.

  ‘We feel you’ll do an excellent job,’ said Jenny.

  ‘You can’t force me! There’s a law against child labour!’ I protested.

  ‘We’re not employing you, Tracy. We’re simply helping you manage your anger in a practical fashion.’

  ‘What sort of practical?’

  ‘You just have to tidy and dust and vacuum and clean the bathrooms and give the kitchen floor a quick scrub.’

  I thought quickly. ‘So how much are you going to pay me?’

  ‘Ah. Well, we thought you would want to do this first week as a trial run. If you want a permanent position after that I’m sure we could start financial negotiations,’ said Jenny. ‘Now, run and have your breakfast or you’ll be late for school.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Tracy,’ said Mike firmly.

  I know when it’s a waste of Beaker breath pursuing a point. I stamped into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I shook cornflakes into a bowl so violently that they sprayed out onto the table. I poured milk so fiercely that it gushed like Niagara Falls and overflowed my bowl.

  They were all staring at me warily. Even Justine looked a little anxious. She kept rubbing her nose.

  ‘Are you OK, Tracy?’ Peter squeaked.

  ‘Do I seem OK?’ I snapped, slamming my spoon down.

  Peter jumped and the juice in his cup spilled onto the table.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, watch what you’re doing!’ I said, though I’d actually made much more mess myself. ‘I’m the poor cleaning lady now. I’ve got to mop up after all you lot, so watch out, do you hear me?’

  ‘I should think the people right at the end of the road can hear you,’ said Louise. ‘And don’t pick on poor little Peter. He’s started up a petition on your behalf: “Please let Tracy Beaker play Scrooge”. He’s going to get everyone to sign it.’

  ‘Shh, Louise. It’s a secret,’ said Peter, blushing.

  ‘Yes, like Mrs Darlow is going to be heavily influenced by Peter’s pathetic petition,’ I said.

  Then I saw his little face. Crumple time again.

  I felt so mean I couldn’t bear it, but I couldn’t say anything in front of the others. I just gobbled down my b