Pick 'n' Mix (3 page)

“Dunno why you'd bother,” said Angel. “Might just as well put down a load of straw.”

“I wouldn't mind straw,” I said.

“No, you'd probably be happier in it… then you could wallow, like a
pig.
”

Angel went banging off down the stairs. I shouted after her: “I like pigs!”

“I wouldn't get too cocky if I were you,” said Mum. “That's Dad's van I just heard pulling in. Do you want me to break the news, or would you prefer to tell him yourself?”

“Rather you did it,” I mumbled.

“That's probably a wise choice,” said Mum.

Chapter Three

Sometimes my dad can be so lovely! He wasn't anywhere near as cross as I'd thought he'd be. I reckon Mum was a bit put out. She's always complaining that she's the one that has to keep telling us off, and that just now and again it ought to be Dad's turn. This was definitely his turn. But when I rather desperately explained about the lack of corners, and my bedroom ceiling not being high enough, he laughed. He actually laughed. Mum gave him such a look.

“Well,”
said Dad, “now I've heard everything!
”

“Hacking her carpet to bits,” grumbled Mum.

“Not good,” agreed Dad. “Definitely not good. But I have to admit, there's a certain muddleheaded logic to it.”

I don't know why he said that.
Muddleheaded.
What was muddled about it?

I told him that I'd been using my imagination. “Like you always say we should.
Don't just give up, look for a solution.
That's what you're always telling us.”

“True,” said Dad.

Mum made an impatient huffing noise. “So what do we do about the carpet?”

“She'll have to live with it.”

“Like that will be any hardship.” Mum said it rather bitterly. “She already exists in a tip, as it is.”

“Well, that's her problem. I guess we should just think ourselves lucky she didn't go for the other option.”

“What's the other option?” I said.

“Cutting a hole in the ceiling?”

“Oh!” I was entranced. “I never thought of that.”

“Precisely! Let us be thankful for small mercies.”

“I can't say I'm exactly brimming over with gratitude,” snapped Mum. “One perfectly good carpet ruined, and Angel in a sulk, which is all we need.”

Dad said, “What's she in a sulk about?”

“Having to live in a pig sty for the next four weeks. And who could blame her?”

Mum left the room, obviously in somewhat of a huff.

“There, now,” said Dad. “You've really upset her. You'd better go and apologise.”

I said, “I have apologised!”

“Well, do it again. And make sure you mean it! The only reason I'm being as lenient as I am – which is far more than you deserve – is that I'm proud of you for offering to help out with Emilia.”

I glowed. I love it when Dad is proud of me! It doesn't happen that often.

“It'll be like work experience,” I said.

“I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I just hope you're not taking on more than you can handle.”

I said, “Da-a-ad!” Why did everyone doubt me? First Mum, then Skye, now Dad. “I know what I'm doing!”

“Yes, and I'm sure you mean well,” said Dad. “But from what I can gather, Emilia is quite a handful.”

“Dad, she's sweet! And we couldn't let her go to strangers.”

Dad ruffled my hair. “This is why I'm letting you off lightly. But please don't go cutting any more carpets!”

Jem and Skye were waiting for me as usual next morning, on the corner of Sunnybrook Gardens.

“So what happened?” cried Jem. “Was your mum furious?”

“You'd better believe it,” I said.

“Not surprised.” Jem giggled. “Cutting holes in your carpet!”

“Is she going to make you pay for it?” said Skye.

“No.” I twirled, triumphantly. “She wanted to. She tried to get Dad to say he was going to stop my pocket money, but Dad just laughed. He thought it was funny.”

“
Funny?
”

“He said it showed logical thinking.” I didn't add the bit about muddle-headed; it didn't seem quite necessary. “He told Mum they just had to be grateful I hadn't made a hole in the ceiling.”

Jem crinkled her nose. “Why would you have done that?”

“Cos of it being the other option?”

Jem looked at me, doubtfully. She doesn't have a logical brain like me.

“If you can't make the floor
lower
,” I said, “you make the ceiling
higher
. Right?”

“How d'you make a ceiling higher?”

“Dunno. With a drill, I s'ppose.”

“I bet even your dad would get mad then!”

“Maybe.”

“I reckon he spoils you.” Skye said it rather sternly. “My dad wouldn't let me get away with cutting holes in things.”

Skye wouldn't cut holes in things. She might have an enormous brain, but she is not in the least bit practical. I told her that Dad liked to encourage us to use our imagination, and to find ways round our problems.

“Anyhow,” I said, “he's pleased cos of me saying I'll look after Emilia. She's coming this afternoon, Mum's going to pick her up.”

“Ooh, can we come and see her?” said Jem.

I hesitated.

“
Please
, Frankee! Can we?”

“It might p'raps be better if you waited till tomorrow.” I didn't want to put her off, but I had this feeling Mum might accuse us of crowding if all three of us turned up. “She'll probably be a bit, like, confused just at first?”

“Exactly,” said Skye. She gave Jem a shove. “Stop being so pushy.”

“
Me
being pushy? Huh! I like that,” said Jem.

They bickered happily all the way to school. Normally I'd have joined in, but I was thinking about Emilia, wondering just how much looking after she was going to need. I didn't really, properly know her; only just to say hello to when she'd come round with her mum. I couldn't even have said how old she was, until Mum told me. I'd never have guessed she was thirteen. She was the right size for thirteen, but she didn't look thirteen. She didn't behave like thirteen. More like eight was what Mum had said. Thinking back to when I was eight, which was only quite a short time ago, I couldn't remember that I'd needed any looking after. I'd gone to and from school by myself, I'd gone to the shops by myself, I'd even taken Rags up the park by myself. But both Mum and Dad seemed to think Emilia would need special treatment and that I would have to keep an eye on her.

Well, that was all right! I could do that. 'Specially with Jem being so eager to help. Skye obviously wasn't that keen. Unlike me and Jem, she is not really a people person. She can sometimes be a bit prickly and awkward. But I wasn't too worried. After all, we were friends and friends do things together.

I galloped home at the end of school to find that Mum and Emilia had just arrived. Mum said, “Emilia, this is Frankie. You know Frankie, don't you?” Emilia gave a big banana beam and held out her hand.

“I'm Melia,” she said.

I shook her hand and said, “Hi, Melia.”

Mum shot me a suspicious glance in case I was making fun, but I wasn't! It just came out like that: Melia. It seemed more friendly than
Emilia.

“Come and meet the others.” Mum led the way round the back. “They're probably in the kitchen. Oh, and Frankie, can you grab hold of Rags and not let him jump up? In fact, it might be a good idea if you shut him out for a bit. It won't hurt him to stay in the garden.”

“Mum,” I said, “that's not fair!” It was his home as much as anybody's. Why should he be sent into exile? “He'll be all right, I'll keep hold of him.”

“Well, just make sure that you do.”

“He won't hurt you,” I told Melia. I hoped she wasn't going to be silly about dogs. “He's very good-natured.”

Melia gave another beam. Her mouth split into two and went curving right up towards her ears. It was kind of infectious. It made me want to beam as well.

“Honestly, he's just playful,” I said.

While me and Rags were having our usual hug-in, Melia introduced herself to Tom and Angel. She had this really penetrating voice, like it was coming through a loud hailer. She didn't so much talk as SHOUT. She held out her hand, like she had with me.

“I'm Melia!”

She certainly wasn't shy. I began to think that maybe Jem and Skye could have come round after all.

I could see that Tom and Angel didn't know what to make of her. Angel looked confused, like she'd never seen a hand held out before and wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it. Tom just grunted. He did it twice: once up, and once down.

“Uh? Uh.”

Melia giggled. She had a strange, gurgling sort of giggle, like water glugging down a plughole. Tom turned pink. Angel shot a reproachful glance at Mum, like,
How could you do this to us?
Personally I thought it was quite funny.

I didn't think it was quite so funny when Rags, attracted by the gurgling, suddenly broke off from cuddling with me, went bounding across to Melia and almost sent her flying. He doesn't mean to be rough, but he is a big dog and sometimes his enthusiasm runs away with him. I rushed to grab him before Mum could yell at me to “Put that dog outside!” or before Melia could start screaming. If she started screaming Mum would be really mad at me. She was still in something of a sulk about the carpet.

“Frankie,” she said, “I warned you! Put that—”

She never got around to saying the rest of it cos to everyone's surprise, including mine, Melia had wrapped both arms round Rags' neck and was energetically kissing him on the nose. Not even on the furry bit, but on the damp blob at the end of it.

Angel said, “Yuck!” And then, as Rags began whopping his tongue lovingly over Melia's face: “Mum, that is gross!”

“Yes. Frankie, don't let him do that,” said Mum. “It's not hygienic.”

I let Rags lick my face all the time. But I have to admit I never kiss him on the damp blobby bit at the end of his nose; even I draw the line at that. I always kiss him on his fur.

“Rags, Rags, raggedy Rags,” chanted Melia, taking Rags' front paws in her hands and doing a heavy stomping sort of jig round the kitchen.

“Raggedy raggedy,” she chanted, crashing into Angel.

If I'd crashed into Angel, she would have shrieked at me. As it was Melia, she just gave a rather sickly smile and said, “I'm going upstairs… to the
tip.
”

Melia stopped stomping and said, “What's the tip?”

“Her
bedroom
,” snapped Angel. “That
I'm
having to sleep in!”

“Angel – Frankie – that dog—” Mum was beginning to sound a bit frayed at the edges. She patted Melia on the shoulder and said, “It's all right, you don't have to take any notice of Angel.”

“No, cos she's loopy,” I said. “Nobody takes any notice of her. Let's go in the garden and play with Rags.”

Normally when I take Rags into the garden Mum calls after me to “Keep that dog out of my flower beds!” but today I think probably she was glad to get rid of him and Melia banging about the kitchen.

“Look,” I said to Melia, “this is his favourite toy.” It was a big orange football that he'd found over the park and insisted on carrying home with him. It must have had a small hole in it somewhere cos it kept shrinking and then puffing itself up again. Rags liked to squish it and squash it and nose it round the garden.

“Kick it for him,” I said. “Rags, put it down for Melia… now, go on, kick it!”

WALLOP, went Melia. WHUMPF, went the ball. Right into the middle of one of Mum's flower beds. Rags immediately went plunging after it. Fortunately there's not a lot of stuff to trample on at the beginning of January, but he still managed to scatter a load of pots in all directions. Melia giggled. I said, “Actually, he's not supposed to run across the flower beds.” Her face fell, so then of course I felt bad and had to reassure her that it wasn't her fault.

“You weren't to know.”

All the same I didn't quite see how she'd managed to do it, considering I'd gone to the trouble of making sure she was pointing in
exactly
the opposite direction. I couldn't have done it if I'd tried.

Rags had picked up the ball and was running about, shaking it.

“Chase him,” I said. “That's what he wants you to do.”

Melia obligingly set off in pursuit, shrieking and giggling and crying, “Rags, come here, Rags!” She had a bit of a clumsy sort of run, with her feet splaying out and her arms going round like windmills. Rags thought it was a great game.

While I was collecting up the scattered flower pots, my phone rang. It was Jem, eager to know if Melia had arrived.

“Yes,” I said. “We're in the garden, playing with Rags.”

“What's she like? Is it going to be OK?”

“No problem.” I turned to watch as Rags came bounding back, wild-eyed down the path, with Melia shrieking and clomping after him. “She's really good with Rags,” I said. “And she does what she's told,” I added.

Jem said, “Really?”

I said, “Yes. You just have to ask her, and she does it.”

“Wow.”

“Well, it certainly makes a nice change.”

I paused, to let the words sink in. Only last week I'd had reason to ask Jem
very nicely
to stop banging her feet against the back of my chair and she'd been positively hostile. She'd accused me of being a nag and said she was sick of being bossed around. We'd almost fallen out over it.

“I guess it's just as well,” said Jem. “I mean, if you've got to be responsible for her. You wouldn't want her arguing all the time.”

“No,” I said, “cos that's really annoying, when people do that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rags disappearing into some bushes at the far end of the garden and Melia floundering up the side of the compost heap.

“D'you want to speak to her?” I said to Jem. “Hey, Melia!” I waved at her. “Come and say hello!”

Obediently, Melia heaved herself out of the compost heap and lumbered back down the garden. I held out the phone.

“Say hello to Jem.”

Melia took the phone and bellowed into it: “Hello, Jem! I'm Melia.”