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Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
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doubt and fear coiled in my stomach.
When we reeled home, rather the worse for wear, Father and Mother went to their room to have a nap and Cassie starting trying on all her clothes, planning to discard most of them now that she had the promise of a whole new wardrobe.
I fetched my paintbox and tried experimenting with each of my new brushes. I composed a picture of our house, cut off down the front wall to resemble a doll’s house. I drew us cowering in corners and Billy flapping in a panic in his cage, while the animal originals of our new purchases stampeded through the house. The buffalo violently butted the coat-rack in the hallway, the giant tortoise took possession of the sofa, the kid bleated on the kitchen table, lapping up spilled milk, and the camel kicked down my bedroom door in a fury.
I was rather pleased with the effect and showed it to Cassie, but she shook her head at me and said it was clear that the wine had addled my brain.
On the Sunday Father took us for a pleasure boat trip on the river Thames, all the way up to London. It was a great novelty at first, looking along the riverbank and seeing all these different little islands. It made Cassie and me remember our games of ‘Island’, when she was Queen Cassie and I was Princess Opal and we ruled over our own desert island kingdom. We used to play it on Mother and Father’s big bed, pretending the dark lino all around was the sea.
Now, we started fantasizing about owning our own island, building a little house and rowing our boat to shore to collect provisions. We got so carried away it felt as if we were nine and seven again. Father and Mother seemed to have retreated into the past too, and were huddled up together holding hands like young sweethearts. But we had all underestimated just how long the boat journey would take, and how dreary the riverside became when dark warehouses took the place of weeping willows. Mother grew pink and fretful because she needed a ladies’ room and didn’t care to use the reeking little cupboard down below. Cassie got tired of playing games and waved at all the boatmen instead. She was delighted when they responded, until they became raucous.
We were all heartily sick of boats by the time we reached town, but Father had made the mistake of booking a return trip. We were supposed to stay in our seats, but Mother couldn’t help wishing aloud that we could go to a decent restaurant where we could have a proper bite to eat and relieve ourselves in comfort.
‘Very well, Lou. Hang the return trip. We’ll catch the train back instead,’ said Father grandly.
‘Thank you, Ernest,’ said Mother, not breathing a word about the expense of the wasted tickets.
We went to a restaurant and ate huge portions of steak-and-kidney pudding, and then jam roll and custard. I was glad I didn’t wear corsets yet. Both Mother and Cassie squirmed uncomfortably afterwards.
‘I’m sure I can’t carry on eating like this. If I lose my figure, I won’t be able to fit into any of my new dresses,’ said Cassie.
We were all tired out by the time we got home at last. We weren’t used to such hectic family outings, especially not two on the trot. We were all ready for bed, but Father insisted we stay up for a while ‘to make the most of our lovely day’. He had us playing card games together, though we were too exhausted to think straight, and then he suggested a sing-song around the piano.
The piano was very old and battered and hadn’t been properly tuned in many a year. It had been a long-ago impulsive purchase from a curiosity shop. Mother thought that it would make our humble parlour look genteel. She couldn’t play a note and neither could Father, but Cassie and I had been forced to take piano lessons with a fierce old lady up the street. She put pennies on the backs of our hands, and poked us hard between the shoulder blades because she said we were slumping.
Cassie soon rebelled and refused to go any more. I stuck it
When we reeled home, rather the worse for wear, Father and Mother went to their room to have a nap and Cassie starting trying on all her clothes, planning to discard most of them now that she had the promise of a whole new wardrobe.
I fetched my paintbox and tried experimenting with each of my new brushes. I composed a picture of our house, cut off down the front wall to resemble a doll’s house. I drew us cowering in corners and Billy flapping in a panic in his cage, while the animal originals of our new purchases stampeded through the house. The buffalo violently butted the coat-rack in the hallway, the giant tortoise took possession of the sofa, the kid bleated on the kitchen table, lapping up spilled milk, and the camel kicked down my bedroom door in a fury.
I was rather pleased with the effect and showed it to Cassie, but she shook her head at me and said it was clear that the wine had addled my brain.
On the Sunday Father took us for a pleasure boat trip on the river Thames, all the way up to London. It was a great novelty at first, looking along the riverbank and seeing all these different little islands. It made Cassie and me remember our games of ‘Island’, when she was Queen Cassie and I was Princess Opal and we ruled over our own desert island kingdom. We used to play it on Mother and Father’s big bed, pretending the dark lino all around was the sea.
Now, we started fantasizing about owning our own island, building a little house and rowing our boat to shore to collect provisions. We got so carried away it felt as if we were nine and seven again. Father and Mother seemed to have retreated into the past too, and were huddled up together holding hands like young sweethearts. But we had all underestimated just how long the boat journey would take, and how dreary the riverside became when dark warehouses took the place of weeping willows. Mother grew pink and fretful because she needed a ladies’ room and didn’t care to use the reeking little cupboard down below. Cassie got tired of playing games and waved at all the boatmen instead. She was delighted when they responded, until they became raucous.
We were all heartily sick of boats by the time we reached town, but Father had made the mistake of booking a return trip. We were supposed to stay in our seats, but Mother couldn’t help wishing aloud that we could go to a decent restaurant where we could have a proper bite to eat and relieve ourselves in comfort.
‘Very well, Lou. Hang the return trip. We’ll catch the train back instead,’ said Father grandly.
‘Thank you, Ernest,’ said Mother, not breathing a word about the expense of the wasted tickets.
We went to a restaurant and ate huge portions of steak-and-kidney pudding, and then jam roll and custard. I was glad I didn’t wear corsets yet. Both Mother and Cassie squirmed uncomfortably afterwards.
‘I’m sure I can’t carry on eating like this. If I lose my figure, I won’t be able to fit into any of my new dresses,’ said Cassie.
We were all tired out by the time we got home at last. We weren’t used to such hectic family outings, especially not two on the trot. We were all ready for bed, but Father insisted we stay up for a while ‘to make the most of our lovely day’. He had us playing card games together, though we were too exhausted to think straight, and then he suggested a sing-song around the piano.
The piano was very old and battered and hadn’t been properly tuned in many a year. It had been a long-ago impulsive purchase from a curiosity shop. Mother thought that it would make our humble parlour look genteel. She couldn’t play a note and neither could Father, but Cassie and I had been forced to take piano lessons with a fierce old lady up the street. She put pennies on the backs of our hands, and poked us hard between the shoulder blades because she said we were slumping.
Cassie soon rebelled and refused to go any more. I stuck it
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