âIâm a bad influence on you.â He kicks dirt up on to his trousers. âMum says I have to give you a wide berth.â
I am mortified and I try to explain that Iâll win my mother round. Heâs not interested. I feel angry and then unbearably sad, my chest aching as if Iâve been punched. I donât join in with the skipping. I scuff my new sandals along the ground and watch Euan play football with the other boys.
I spend the next month going to Fayeâs after school. She wonât play outside or climb trees. She says the seaâs too cold to paddle in. She doesnât have dogs or chickens or Effie the goat and her sister is always correcting me. âItâs not shined itâs shone . . . Donât put your elbows on the table . . . Itâs please may I, not can I!â
We have tea at five but I wonât eat so I spend evening after evening with a full plate in front of me. After a couple of weeks of this, I grow tired and listless and my mother has to do the thing she hates most â take time off work â because I canât go to school.
I move three peas on top of a pile of potato and pat it down with my fork. âI hate Faye and I hate her sister,â I say. âIâm not going there any more.â
âHow about the new girl, Orla?â my mother asks, in her too bright voice.
I shake my head. âI donât know her yet.â
âHow about Monica? Sheâs a lovely, clever girl.â
I scream so loudly that my father comes through from the living room. âWhatâs going on in here?â
My mother is scouring the pots. She doesnât turn around, just carries on scrubbing. âSheâs acting up again.â
âThen perhaps we should listen,â my father says to my motherâs stiff back. âWhat sense is there in all this misery?â
âMisery? Whoâs causing the misery?â She bangs the pressure cooker down on to the draining board. âAlways wanting her own way.â
âLillian!â my father bellows and I force a forkful of food into my mouth. It catches in my throat and makes a lump as if Iâve just swallowed a gobstopper. âSheâs eight years old. Sheâs making herself ill. Now climb down from that high horse of yours and go next door to Mo.â
âI will not!â my mother shouts back, turning round at last, her mouth twisted, her eyes wide open and fierce. âI will not, Mungo! She will not run this house with her tantrums and her temper.â
Before my father has a chance to shout back, I bolt from the table and up the stairs, spit the potato into the toilet and sit with my hands over my ears until I can no longer hear the muffled sound of their voices.
Minutes later, the kitchen door bangs shut. I run to the back window and watch my mother walk down the path and into Moâs garden. I can only hear snatches of words . . . wilful . . . wearing me out . . . was wrong . Halfway through my mother puts her hands over her face. Mo reaches out and hugs her like she does with children. She gives her a handkerchief and my mother blows her nose then comes back to the house. I hold my breath. She comes into my room. She doesnât speak, just looks at me. I clutch her around the waist, tight as I can, then run down the stairs. My father glances up from his paper and I catch his smile as I whizz past him. I run through the gate and into Moâs arms.
She laughs and pushes me away from her. âYouâll be knocking me over next.â
I jump up and down. âWhereâs Euan?â
âDown by the cove. And donât forget your bucket!â she calls after me.
Still running, I lift the pail and shout back, âI love you, Mo,â then head off down the beach. The wind whips at my dress, my hair. I run barefoot, making squidgy footprints on the sand, my arms aeroplaning either side of me.
I
Julie Buxbaum
MAGGIE SHAYNE
Edward Humes
Samantha Westlake
Joe Rhatigan
Lois Duncan
MacKenzie McKade
Patricia Veryan
Robin Stevens
Enid Blyton