Читать книгу Jelly Baby - Jean Ure, Stephen Lee, Jean Ure - Страница 5

“Right, girls!” Cass clapped her hands. “Big clean-up! Let’s get started.”

Em and I pulled faces. We weren’t used to doing housework! Cass is our auntie, and very easy-going. All the time she’d lived with us we’d just bumbled along in one big happy muddle. Now, suddenly, we had an emergency – today was the day when Dad’s new girlfriend was coming to dinner!

“You can stop all the huffing and puffing,” said Cass. “I want this place spotless! Who wants to dust, who wants to hoover?”

“Bags hoover,” I said. I like hoovering, specially when there’s lots of empty carpet. I’m not so keen on having to move things. Chairs and stuff. Mostly I don’t bother; I just go round them.

Cass pushed the vacuum cleaner towards me. “There you go. OK, Em, seems like you’re doing the dusting.”

Em gave me a venomous glare. She’s my big sister, so she probably thought she was the one that should have been allowed to choose.

“Here you are.” Cass tossed the sleeve of an old sweater at her. Sleeves of old sweaters were what we tended to use for dusting. Also socks with holes, and worn-out shirts. “Why waste money on proper dusters?” is what Cass used to say. She’s totally into recycling.

Em flicked half-heartedly with her old sweater sleeve.

“I’ll need a bit more energy than that!” said Cass. “And you, Bitsy.” She nodded sternly at me. “No missing out on corners.”

I said, “You can’t get into corners. Anyway, we did all this when Dad had his party.” Dad had invited everybody that worked in his department at college, and we had dusted and vacuumed all over the place. Why do it again so soon after?

“For your information,” said Cass, “your dad’s party was way back last month.”

“Was it?” I said. “Blimey!”

“I know,” said Cass, “it’s appalling. Most people do it once a week.”

“No, I meant blimey, it doesn’t seem that long ago.”

“Well, it is, so just get on with it.”

“What are you going to do?” said Em.

Cass cast her eye about the room. “I am going to clear up all this stuff.” She waved a hand at the dining table, which is hardly ever used as a dining table since we usually eat in the kitchen. As a result it is permanently covered in what Cass calls clutter. A big pile of clothes, waiting to be ironed. Someone’s school bag. Someone’s homework. Someone’s trainers. Books. Newspapers. Bananas. Bananas?

“Where does it all come from?” said Cass. “More importantly,” she added, “where is it all supposed to go?”

She began picking things up and throwing them into a bin bag. Em and I let out immediate wails.

“Those are my trainers!”

“That’s my homework!”

“Just for now, just for now.” Trainers and homework were tossed into the bag. “You can take them out later.”

On top of the ironing was a big fat fur ball, happily snoozing. It was Bella, our cat. She does a lot of snoozing.

“You can’t move her,” said Em. “Not when she’s settled.”

“Pardon me,” said Cass. “Some of us have work to do.” With that she plucked poor Bella off the ironing and deposited her, rather rudely I thought, on the sofa. Bella sat up, looking shocked.

“That’s cruel,” I said. How would Cass like it if someone plucked her out of her nice cosy bed and plonked her down somewhere else?

“Can’t help it.” Cass swept up the ironing and flung it in the bag. “Got to make the place look decent. We don’t want Caroline thinking we live in a tip.”

Caroline was the name of Dad’s girlfriend. Caroline Scott-Mason. Very grand!

“Cass is right,” said Em. “We have to make a bit of an effort. It’s only fair.”

She meant fair to Dad. It was ages since he’d had a girlfriend. Unless you counted Polly. Polly was one of the lecturers in his department at college, and for a while we’d had what Cass called High Hopes. And then Caroline had come along. It wasn’t that we didn’t like Caroline, what little we’d seen of her. We liked her a lot! It’s just that we’d known Polly for ever. She’d been there for us all those years ago when Mum had died, before Cass had moved in to look after us. Cass said Dad had probably known her too long and as a result he took her for granted.

“It’s just one of those things. Polly’s like an old comfortable slipper; Caroline is new and exciting. You can’t blame your dad. He was devastated when he lost your mum. It’s not surprising if he’s behaving like a lovesick teenager.”

Was he? Perhaps he was. I giggled.

“Come on,” said Cass. “Give him a break!”

Cass is Dad’s sister and fiercely loyal. She said it was about time Dad found some happiness in his life. “Goodness knows, he’s waited long enough.”

“I agree,” said Em. She gave me one of her looks. What I call her big sister look. Very quickly I said that I agreed too. Cos I did! I was just as anxious as anyone else for Dad to be happy. It was the only reason we were all working so hard to make the evening a success. For Dad’s sake. Nothing else would have had me whizzing around with the vacuum cleaner at five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon without grumbling about it!

I personally consider housework to be a total waste of time, not to mention energy. To my way of thinking, a bit of mess and clutter makes a place more comfortable, but I had this feeling Caroline might be the sort of person that thinks tidiness is important.

I jumped up and flapped my hand at a cobweb hanging off the lampshade. Caroline wouldn’t approve of cobwebs! The two times we’d met her we’d been, like, gobsmacked. How did Dad get a girlfriend like that? Smart and sassy, dressed like she’d just stepped off the catwalk. Dad is the least smart person in the world. Left to himself he would shamble around in the same old baggy joggers and faded sweatshirt until they fell to pieces. And even then he probably wouldn’t notice! He is really not into fashion at all.

We were quite surprised when he poked his head round the sitting-room door to announce that he was going off to fetch Caroline and we saw that he was all dressed up.

“Dad!” I left off vacuuming and skipped sideways to get a better look. “You’re wearing proper trousers!”

Dad shuffled, obviously embarrassed.

“Don’t tease him,” said Cass. “He wants to look nice. He does look nice!”

“I didn’t even know you had that jacket,” said Em.

“Been in the cupboard for years,” muttered Dad. “Thought I’d better give it a go before the moths got at it.”

“Quite right too,” said Cass.

“So, um … how’s it going?” said Dad.

“All under control. Don’t worry! As soon as we’ve finished in here we’re going to start preparing dinner. Right, you two?”

“Right.” We nodded. A faint look of alarm had spread across Dad’s face.

“You mean, you haven’t actually cooked anything yet?”

“It’s only just gone five,” said Cass. “We’re aiming for seven o’clock. Yes? Yes! So off you go.” She gave Dad a little push. “We’ll see you back here at six thirty. Just stop panicking! We’ve got it all planned.”

“If you say so,” said Dad. He still didn’t sound too certain.

“I do say so! Will you please just go?”

“You’re making us nervous,” said Em.

“Sorry,” said Dad. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll get out of your hair.”

He disappeared and we heard the front door open and close. I giggled. “I think Dad’s the one that’s nervous!”

Cass said, “He is, bless him. Like a boy on his first date! Let’s go and make a start on the food.”

We’d already decided what we were going to do – steak and kidney pie followed by lemon possets. Mock steak and kidney, that is. Thanks to Cass, we had all become vegetarian ages ago. So instead of steak we used Quorn pieces, and instead of kidney we had brown mushrooms. Chestnut mushrooms, I think they are called. With mashed potatoes and gravy, and pastry on top, it is very yummy! Nobody would ever guess it didn’t have meat in it.

“Bags I do the potatoes!” I said.

“That’s not fair,” said Em. “You already got to do the vacuuming. It’s my turn to choose … I’ll do the potatoes, you do the onions.”

Ugh! Yuck. Onions make your eyes water.

“You do the garlic, then,” I said.

“No way! Whoever does the onions does the garlic as well. You can always roll out the pastry,” she added, “if you like.”

“Oh, all right,” I said.

She was being quite generous, cos we both enjoy rolling out pastry.

“Know what?” said Cass, setting down the frying pan. “I’m starting to have second thoughts … I’m wondering if we should have real meat, as it’s a guest.”

We both stared at her, shocked. I could hardly believe what I was hearing!

“You mean cook dead animal?” said Em.

Cass did look a bit ashamed. “Only because it’s so important to your dad,” she pleaded.

“We don’t do meat when Gran comes,” I said.

“Gran’s not his girlfriend.”

“Ladyfriend, actually,” said Em.

“Whatever.” Cass waved a hand. “It seems only polite.”

“But it’s a principle,” said Em. “You don’t break a principle just to be polite!”

“In any case,” I said, “we haven’t got any meat.” I giggled. “Unless we give her cat food!”

“I could always pop up the road and buy a tin of stewing steak.”

“I’m not going to eat stewing steak,” said Em.

“Nor ’m I,” I said, though I really only said it to support Em. I would never have admitted it to her, but every now and again, at school, I was almost tempted to let my friend Lottie feed me a bite of something meaty as a sort of dare, just to see what it tasted like. I mean, I wasn’t scared of it or anything. But it’s really important to Em. She is into animals in a big way.

“Maybe I should do two pies,” said Cass. “One for Caroline and one for the rest of us.”

“If you do that,” said Em, chucking her potato peeler across the draining board, “I refuse to help.”

Cass sighed. It’s rare for Em to throw a tantrum. She is not at all a rebellious sort of person. It’s just that she has these really strong feelings.

“Honestly,” I said, “nobody’s ever going to know it’s not real meat. We could pretend it’s chicken … chicken and mushroom!”

“I don’t think we can actually lie about it,” said Cass. “On the other hand we don’t actually have to say that it’s not meat.” She suddenly cheered up. “We’ll make the gravy nice and strong! That’ll help.”

“Yes, and we’ve got my lemon possets for after,” I said. “Everybody loves those!”

I’d made the possets myself. It is my special pudding that I do. Cream, sugar and lemon juice, all whisked up and poured into little separate dishes. I am quite proud of my lemon possets! They are what Cass calls gourmet, meaning, like, very refined. Not just some old rubbish out of a tin.

I reckoned the whole meal was going to be gourmet, what with the dining table being cleared of clutter and laid out all posh and proper with place mats and sparkly glasses, and the cutlery checked to make sure there weren’t any bits of old food mouldering on it, which is what sometimes happens when me and Cass do the washing-up.

Em says we are slapdash. When she washes up she is very slow and careful. I get quite impatient! I keep trying to snatch things from her so I can get on with wiping them. This leads to breakages. We break a lot of things in our house. It is one of the reasons we tend not to have any matching plates or glasses.

Dad isn’t so much slapdash as clumsy. He managed to shatter a glass the other day just breathing on it. Well, that is what he claimed.

“I didn’t go anywhere near it!” he had said.

Dad is pretty useless, really, at everything except teaching people history. He can’t even change a plug without nearly electrocuting himself. But he is a very intelligent person. Perhaps that was why Caroline had fallen for him. She must have realised from the word go that he was not very clever at the ordinary, everyday things of life, since the way they met was when Dad reversed into her twice in the underground car park! He is not the world’s best driver. According to Cass, he could even be the world’s worst.

Poor Dad! He really did need looking after. It was why we were all working so hard to make the evening a success. Just because Dad was hopeless it didn’t mean the rest of us were.

Now that we’d finally settled on what to cook, Cass started to fret about not having a proper wine glass for Caroline to drink out of.

“I thought that was a wine glass,” I said. I pointed to one that I’d spent ages polishing with a bit of old sheet that we used for wiping up. “It looks like one.”

“Actually,” said Cass, “it’s a sherry glass.”

“Sherry is wine,” said Em.

“Not table wine. Oh, God, why didn’t I think of it before? I could have picked some up on my way home!”

“We’d only go and break them,” I said.

Cass ran her fingers through her hair, bunching it up on top of her head.

“This is serious! Caroline’s not the sort of person to drink wine out of an ordinary tumbler.”

“So why can’t she drink it out of the sherry glass? It’s ever such a nice shape!”

Cass said, “But it’s not a wine glass! It wouldn’t hold more than a thimbleful.”

I honestly couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. A glass is a glass, seems to me.

“They’re very pretty tumblers,” I said. Gran had given them to us last Christmas. “And look, there’s loads of them!”

“They’re still tumblers.” Cass took her fingers out of her hair, leaving it sticking up like a haystack. “Sophisticated people don’t drink wine out of tumblers.”

I said, “Oh.” Caroline was definitely a sophisticated person.

“I don’t want her thinking your dad’s some kind of oik. And omigod! What about plates? Do we have five plates?”

Em rushed to have a look. “There are five with roses,” she said, “but two of them are chipped.”

Cass let out a little scream. Me and Em exchanged glances. Em shook her head. Cass is usually such a calm sort of person. Very laid-back, like Dad. I was really surprised it bothered her so much. I mean … once the food was on them, what did it matter?

“You can always give the bad ones to me and Em,” I said, trying to be helpful. “We won’t mind.”

“She’ll still notice,” moaned Cass. “I’m sorry, girls, I know you think I’m making a fuss over nothing, but I feel so bad for your dad. I feel like I’m letting him down.”

Me and Em stayed silent.

“Thing is,” said Em at last, “it’s Dad she’s supposed to be in love with. Not plates and glasses and stuff.”

“This is it,” I said. “If I was in love with somebody I wouldn’t care what they ate off. They could eat off newspaper. They could eat off the floor! Wouldn’t make any difference to me.”

“I would think it’s a bit pathetic,” said Em. “Getting all worked up about that sort of thing.”

Sadly, Cass said, “That just shows what sort of upbringing you’ve had. I’ve been a poor substitute for a mother!”

We both immediately rushed to reassure her.

“You’ve taught us to care about the things that really matter,” said Em. “Like not eating animals, and—”

She stopped and rather frantically rolled an eye in my direction. I dived in to her rescue.

“And not wasting your life doing boring things like housework!”

Cass smiled and shook her head. “Oh dear,” she said. “What a legacy! Never mind.” She picked up the mock steak and kidney and popped it into the oven. “It’s a bit too late to do anything about it now. I suggest you two go and get changed. Your dad will be bringing Caroline back at any moment.”

“Why have we got to change?” said Em. “What’s wrong with the way we are?”

“Well, for one thing,” said Cass, “you’re covered in flour. Just go and find something clean! You want your dad to be proud of you, don’t you?”

“Got to be smart for Caroline,” I cried, as we hurtled upstairs.

I knew exactly what I was going to wear. I had this favourite skirt, bright red with pleats, like a mini kilt. Really short. I mean, like, really short. My friend Lottie had one too; we’d bought them at the same time. Lottie’s mum had taken one look and gone, “Oh, to be eleven years old again! What I wouldn’t give to be able to wear something like that.”

Lottie, being kind, said, “Mum, you still could!” but her mum said no.

“They’re for little young people, not middle-aged mums.”

As I stood in front of my wardrobe mirror, admiring myself, there came an anguished wail from Em’s room.

“Hey, Bitsy!”

“What?”

I went on to the landing. Em appeared, trailing garments.

“Oh,” she said, “you’ve got your skirt on. I adore that skirt!”

“You ought to get one,” I said.

Not that we could have worn them at the same time. Well, if they were different colours I suppose we could. Me and Lottie did. But Em rather sadly said, “It would just look stupid on me. I’m the wrong sort of shape.”

It’s true that Em is a bit tall and gangly, and somewhat on the skinny side, whereas I am short and – not dumpy. But kind of … well! Roundish.

“So what are you going to wear?” I said.

“I don’t know!” Em held up the various garments she’d pulled out of her wardrobe. “What do you think? Would these do?”

She waved a pair of jeans at me. I inspected them critically. I am not an expert in fashion. Fashion is not really something that plays much of a part in our lives. As far as Dad and Cass are concerned, it doesn’t even exist. But I do have a bit more of a clue than Em. Being long and skinny, Em is very sensitive about her appearance. She doesn’t have much confidence. Even though she is two years older than I am she is always turning to me for advice.

Anxiously, she said, “So what do you think?”

“Jeans’ll be OK,” I said. “So long as you have a nice top.”

“This?”

She held up a big chunky sweater that Gran had knitted for her. Em likes big chunky sweaters – she reckons they’ll hide the fact that she doesn’t have any bosom. I told her yes, OK, cos I mean there is absolutely no sense trying to turn people into something they are not. And in any case, Cass always says it’s important to feel comfortable in your clothes. Dress Em up like a model and she would just die of embarrassment.

“Are you sure?” she said. “I wouldn’t want Dad being ashamed of me! I—”

“Yes, yes, yes!” I hustled her back into her room. “Just get dressed … quickly. That was Dad’s car. They’re here!”