Read Online Letters From My Sister by Alice Peterson - Free Book Online
Authors: Alice Peterson
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time I get to see or talk to Mum is either when she’s cooking and the kitchen smells of garlic – Mum likes to put at least ten cloves of garlic into everything – or when she’s in the studio.
‘Good day at school?’ she mutters, continuing with her work and humming along to the background music. Her hands are sticky from the clay. Mum, turn around, I think. Instead I walk in front of her. ‘Good day?’ she repeats distractedly.
I drop my satchel on to the floor. I don’t tell her that I got told off yet again for wearing mascara. ‘Go and wash that black goo off your face,’ my boring maths teacher says again and again. Last weekend I was caught stealing black eyeliner, mascara and a block of spot cover-up from Boots, and the police came by the house to talk to Mum and Dad. It has been suggested that we need family counselling.
‘Stealing isn’t clever, Katie,’ Dad sighed. ‘Or if you have to steal, why don’t you make sure it’s something better than an eyeliner? And don’t get caught next time.’
‘Not bad. What are you listening to?’
‘
Madam Butterfly
.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a cheetah.’ She sits back and admires it. ‘When I was about your age, my mother took us to a wildlife orphanage in Africa. I always remember this cheetah rolling on its back like a big tame cat. I was tempted to put my hand through the bars to stroke it. I would have done too if Mum hadn’t pulled me away. You see, they could take a bite out of you, and more.’
I flinch. ‘What do they like to eat?’
‘Beavers, game birds, impala, warthogs.’
‘I love its spots.’
‘Did you know, the name “cheetah” comes from a Hindi word meaning “spotted one”?’
I shake my head. ‘What are those dark lines by its eyes? Has your paint run?’
‘Run? No! You are funny. Those are tear lines.’ Finally she looks at me. ‘Do you like him?’
‘Him?’
‘The cheetah, silly.’
‘Oh, I love him. He’s beautiful.’
‘Here, have him, he’s all finished.’
‘Really?’ I smile. ‘But who were you making it for?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ She ruffles my hair and smiles. ‘He’s yours now.’
CHAPTER TEN
I wake up feeling disorientated. My sleep was disturbed. I feel sure I was back at home, in Mum’s studio. I can even smell the white spirit. Since the news that Bells was coming to stay I’ve been thinking a lot about home, particularly about Mum. Yesterday, when I was working in the shop, I found myself drifting back to the time when we all went to a New Year’s Eve party hosted by Mrs Kissinger. I must have been about twelve. Dad called her Lady Kiss Kiss because she thought she was very grand and did those awful air kisses with sound effects. I remember she had a face like a pug. In between bowls of quail’s eggs and blinis with smoked salmon being handed around the chandeliered room, Bells lifted her velvet skirt and proceeded to pee on the carpet. You see, unless we reminded her to go to the loo she’d forget that it wasn’t the done thing to do it on the floor. Lady Kiss Kiss raced over to us saying it was her favourite carpet with hunting scenes on it. Now there was this wet patch over one of the angry warriors on horseback clutching a spear. The other guests didn’t look our way. Instead they pretended to be engrossed in conversation. I had never before seen so many backs turned towards us. Dad was grateful Lady Kiss Kiss never invited us back.
Sam is still fast asleep. He must have crawled into bed at about four this morning. I slip my feet into stripy zebra slippers and put on my silk dressing gown which is hanging on the back of our door. I walk into Bells’s bedroom but she is not there. She must be downstairs. I find her at the kitchen table poking the milk-bottle sculpture. She’s wearing grey baggy tracksuit bottoms and a red Oxford University T-shirt.
‘Careful, Bells.’
‘What’s this?’
‘Do you like it?’
‘No.’
I half smile.
‘Good day at school?’ she mutters, continuing with her work and humming along to the background music. Her hands are sticky from the clay. Mum, turn around, I think. Instead I walk in front of her. ‘Good day?’ she repeats distractedly.
I drop my satchel on to the floor. I don’t tell her that I got told off yet again for wearing mascara. ‘Go and wash that black goo off your face,’ my boring maths teacher says again and again. Last weekend I was caught stealing black eyeliner, mascara and a block of spot cover-up from Boots, and the police came by the house to talk to Mum and Dad. It has been suggested that we need family counselling.
‘Stealing isn’t clever, Katie,’ Dad sighed. ‘Or if you have to steal, why don’t you make sure it’s something better than an eyeliner? And don’t get caught next time.’
‘Not bad. What are you listening to?’
‘
Madam Butterfly
.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a cheetah.’ She sits back and admires it. ‘When I was about your age, my mother took us to a wildlife orphanage in Africa. I always remember this cheetah rolling on its back like a big tame cat. I was tempted to put my hand through the bars to stroke it. I would have done too if Mum hadn’t pulled me away. You see, they could take a bite out of you, and more.’
I flinch. ‘What do they like to eat?’
‘Beavers, game birds, impala, warthogs.’
‘I love its spots.’
‘Did you know, the name “cheetah” comes from a Hindi word meaning “spotted one”?’
I shake my head. ‘What are those dark lines by its eyes? Has your paint run?’
‘Run? No! You are funny. Those are tear lines.’ Finally she looks at me. ‘Do you like him?’
‘Him?’
‘The cheetah, silly.’
‘Oh, I love him. He’s beautiful.’
‘Here, have him, he’s all finished.’
‘Really?’ I smile. ‘But who were you making it for?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ She ruffles my hair and smiles. ‘He’s yours now.’
CHAPTER TEN
I wake up feeling disorientated. My sleep was disturbed. I feel sure I was back at home, in Mum’s studio. I can even smell the white spirit. Since the news that Bells was coming to stay I’ve been thinking a lot about home, particularly about Mum. Yesterday, when I was working in the shop, I found myself drifting back to the time when we all went to a New Year’s Eve party hosted by Mrs Kissinger. I must have been about twelve. Dad called her Lady Kiss Kiss because she thought she was very grand and did those awful air kisses with sound effects. I remember she had a face like a pug. In between bowls of quail’s eggs and blinis with smoked salmon being handed around the chandeliered room, Bells lifted her velvet skirt and proceeded to pee on the carpet. You see, unless we reminded her to go to the loo she’d forget that it wasn’t the done thing to do it on the floor. Lady Kiss Kiss raced over to us saying it was her favourite carpet with hunting scenes on it. Now there was this wet patch over one of the angry warriors on horseback clutching a spear. The other guests didn’t look our way. Instead they pretended to be engrossed in conversation. I had never before seen so many backs turned towards us. Dad was grateful Lady Kiss Kiss never invited us back.
Sam is still fast asleep. He must have crawled into bed at about four this morning. I slip my feet into stripy zebra slippers and put on my silk dressing gown which is hanging on the back of our door. I walk into Bells’s bedroom but she is not there. She must be downstairs. I find her at the kitchen table poking the milk-bottle sculpture. She’s wearing grey baggy tracksuit bottoms and a red Oxford University T-shirt.
‘Careful, Bells.’
‘What’s this?’
‘Do you like it?’
‘No.’
I half smile.
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