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Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
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blonde and beautiful like Sweetie. She doesnât have to bother to be nice to people all the time. Everyone likes her just because she
looks
lovely. I comb her long locks gently with my fingers and put my head very close to hers so that
I
have long fair hair falling past my shoulders.
Sweetie murmurs in her sleep and pushes me away.
âExcuse me, but this is
my
bed,â I mutter, but she doesnât budge.
So I slide right out of the bed and stand and stretch. Then I tiptoe across the carpet and carefully open the doors to Wardrobe City. I have a white fitted wardrobe the whole length of one wall, but Iâve managed to squash all my boring dressesand jackets and tops and trousers up at one end. That means I can use more than half of it for Wardrobe City.
It started off with my dollâs house.
Hi! Magazine
gave it to me when Sweetie was born. They did a twelve-page photo feature on Mum and Dad and their new baby girl. They showed Mum in bed with Sweetie (in her bunny sleeping suit) and Dad bringing Mum breakfast on a tray; Mum and Dad lying back on the bed with Sweetie in their arms; Mum working out while Dad cradles Sweetie; Mum and Dad in party clothes sitting on the big velvet sofa with Sweetie in a long white christening robe on Mumâs knee; Sweetie in her own fairy-tale rocking cot with Mum and Dad kissing her goodnight. Iâm in that one too, with my finger up to my lips, saying shush (teeth hidden). Then they wanted a photo in my bedroom with me sitting on the floor with Sweetie on my lap and all my teddies sitting in a ring around us, but they felt the wall looked a bit white and bare so they
sent out for a large dollâs house
to fill in the blank space!
I donât think Iâd ever even seen a dollâs house before. I forgot all about my new baby sister and just wanted to kneel in front of this wonderful pink and white house with its glossy white-tiled roof and white pillars and three little white stepsup to the rose-coloured front door. It had a tiny brass lion-head knocker that you could really tap, and a little letterbox slit for fingernail-sized envelopes. The door was hinged so a small doll could knock and then slip indoors. I longed to squeeze through the front door myself. I crouched down to peer through the lattice windows to see if I could spot any dolls inside, waving tiny pink plastic fingers at me.
âDo you want to see inside?â said Mark, the photographerâs assistant. He touched a hook on the side of the house. It swung right open, exposing all three storeys of the dollâs house, rudimentarily furnished â a bed here, a rug there, a stove in the kitchen and a tiny toilet with a little seat in the bathroom.
I fetched my smallest thumb-sized bear and walked her round the dollâs house, laying her down on the bed, sitting her on the rug, standing her by the stove to cook porridge and then squatting her on top of the toilet. I forgot all about my teeth. I was smiling from ear to ear.
Sweetie had got bored by this time and the nanny (not Claudia â was it Rhiann or Agnieszka or Hilke then?) fed her so I could play undisturbed for twenty minutes. That teddy was called Furry and had always been the baby of the bear family,but she grew up rapidly in the dollâs house and became Mrs Furry, proud owner of a miniature mansion. I fashioned her a little apron out of a tissue and she bustled about the house, diligently dusting with her paw.
When Sweetie was fed and changed and ready for the cameras again, I reluctantly laid Mrs Furry down for a rest on her bed and sat on the floor with my sister, trying my hardest to look winsome. I was hopeless at it. I couldnât keep my lips over my teeth and my head kept lolling self-consciously to one side, and I was so worried about blinking each time the camera flashed that I stared, cross-eyed and rigid, into the lens. Sweetie was newborn but she already had the knack. She couldnât quite smile yet
looks
lovely. I comb her long locks gently with my fingers and put my head very close to hers so that
I
have long fair hair falling past my shoulders.
Sweetie murmurs in her sleep and pushes me away.
âExcuse me, but this is
my
bed,â I mutter, but she doesnât budge.
So I slide right out of the bed and stand and stretch. Then I tiptoe across the carpet and carefully open the doors to Wardrobe City. I have a white fitted wardrobe the whole length of one wall, but Iâve managed to squash all my boring dressesand jackets and tops and trousers up at one end. That means I can use more than half of it for Wardrobe City.
It started off with my dollâs house.
Hi! Magazine
gave it to me when Sweetie was born. They did a twelve-page photo feature on Mum and Dad and their new baby girl. They showed Mum in bed with Sweetie (in her bunny sleeping suit) and Dad bringing Mum breakfast on a tray; Mum and Dad lying back on the bed with Sweetie in their arms; Mum working out while Dad cradles Sweetie; Mum and Dad in party clothes sitting on the big velvet sofa with Sweetie in a long white christening robe on Mumâs knee; Sweetie in her own fairy-tale rocking cot with Mum and Dad kissing her goodnight. Iâm in that one too, with my finger up to my lips, saying shush (teeth hidden). Then they wanted a photo in my bedroom with me sitting on the floor with Sweetie on my lap and all my teddies sitting in a ring around us, but they felt the wall looked a bit white and bare so they
sent out for a large dollâs house
to fill in the blank space!
I donât think Iâd ever even seen a dollâs house before. I forgot all about my new baby sister and just wanted to kneel in front of this wonderful pink and white house with its glossy white-tiled roof and white pillars and three little white stepsup to the rose-coloured front door. It had a tiny brass lion-head knocker that you could really tap, and a little letterbox slit for fingernail-sized envelopes. The door was hinged so a small doll could knock and then slip indoors. I longed to squeeze through the front door myself. I crouched down to peer through the lattice windows to see if I could spot any dolls inside, waving tiny pink plastic fingers at me.
âDo you want to see inside?â said Mark, the photographerâs assistant. He touched a hook on the side of the house. It swung right open, exposing all three storeys of the dollâs house, rudimentarily furnished â a bed here, a rug there, a stove in the kitchen and a tiny toilet with a little seat in the bathroom.
I fetched my smallest thumb-sized bear and walked her round the dollâs house, laying her down on the bed, sitting her on the rug, standing her by the stove to cook porridge and then squatting her on top of the toilet. I forgot all about my teeth. I was smiling from ear to ear.
Sweetie had got bored by this time and the nanny (not Claudia â was it Rhiann or Agnieszka or Hilke then?) fed her so I could play undisturbed for twenty minutes. That teddy was called Furry and had always been the baby of the bear family,but she grew up rapidly in the dollâs house and became Mrs Furry, proud owner of a miniature mansion. I fashioned her a little apron out of a tissue and she bustled about the house, diligently dusting with her paw.
When Sweetie was fed and changed and ready for the cameras again, I reluctantly laid Mrs Furry down for a rest on her bed and sat on the floor with my sister, trying my hardest to look winsome. I was hopeless at it. I couldnât keep my lips over my teeth and my head kept lolling self-consciously to one side, and I was so worried about blinking each time the camera flashed that I stared, cross-eyed and rigid, into the lens. Sweetie was newborn but she already had the knack. She couldnât quite smile yet
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