Pick 'n' Mix (6 page)

“Our friend did it and that's why we're buying it.”

The lady took one look at Melia and said, “Ah. Right. I see.”

“That was taking a chance,” hissed Jem, as we got back outside. “She could have called the p'lice!”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “What shall we do with the horrible thing?” I mean, who wants to wear purple lipstick? Skye said chuck it in the bin. It was Jem, who hadn't even helped pay for it, who said give it to Melia. Melia's big clown face, with its purple lips, broke into a delighted beam. A frightening sight! She hadn't just got purple lips, she'd got purple teeth, as well. I wondered if we should take her back to Turton's and into the Ladies and scrub her clean, but Skye, sounding a bit hysterical, said, “Let's just
go
.” So we went.

Me and Skye walked ahead, leaving Jem to trail behind with Melia. Considering she hadn't even offered to pay her share of the lipstick, I didn't feel too guilty.

“After all,” as I said to Skye, “it was her idea, going into Boots.
We'd
already decided to go home. And omigod,” I wailed, “look what's coming!”

Skye said, “What, what?”

Daisy Hooper, that was what. That girl had a positive knack for turning up where she was least wanted. She was standing outside McDonald's and there just was no way of avoiding her. Me and Skye did our best. Determinedly we marched past with our noses in the air, pretending not to notice. And then I heard Melia's happy cry: “HELLO, SNOT FACE!”

Frankly, I just wanted the ground to burst open and swallow me up. It is one thing to refer to your enemy by a rude name behind her back; quite another to do it in front of her. As Skye said, “That's really gone and blown it.” She'd know for sure where Melia had got it from.

“Oh, who cares?” Jem skipped after us, defiantly dragging Melia by the hand. “She's just a ratbag, anyway!”

“I
told
her,” I said. “Melia, I told you! Snot Face isn't her real name. You're not supposed to
call
her that.”

By the time we arrived home I was feeling quite frazzled. Mum said, “Well, Emilia looks as though she's enjoyed herself! How did it go? Not so bad, was it?”

Crossly I said, “Don't ask! I'm going to take Rags out, and I'm going by myself.”

I'd had enough responsibility for one morning.

Chapter Six

It was Melia who broke Tom's science project. I'd seen her earlier, touching at it. I
told
her not to.

“He hates people interfering with his stuff.”

He's not like Angel, who goes up in a puff of smoke if you even just look at things, but he can get quite snakey if you mess with one of his projects. I did warn her. What more was I supposed to do? He shouldn't have brought it downstairs in the first place, let alone leave it on a low table, where she could get at it.

I could see that it fascinated her. It was bristling with little glass tubes, and different-coloured wires, and it kept making this buzzing sound. Melia had discovered that by jiggling some of the wires she could make the buzz turn into a whine, and if she put a finger over the end of a tube she could make it pop and whistle.

“You better hadn't keep doing that,” I said.

Even as I said it, her hand had gone reaching out again. She was like Rags, when he got obsessed with something. Like once when one of his dog biscuits rolled under the fridge, and Rags knew that it was there even though nobody else did. He could obviously smell it. He lay on his side on the floor for ages, frantically scraping with his paws and making squealing noises, until in the end Mum said it was driving her mad and she told Tom to, “Get down there and shine a torch under the fridge and see what his problem is,” and there was the biscuit, right at the back. Tom had to use a length of cane from the garden to poke it out.

Rags was happy once he'd got his biscuit. I had the feeling Melia wouldn't be happy till she'd succeeded in pulling out some of the wires and tubes. You could tell she was just itching to have a go. I
knew
she couldn't be trusted! But I didn't see why I should be expected to keep an eye on her every single minute of every day. I had to have
some
time to myself. It was only yesterday we'd been on our disastrous trip to the shopping centre; I reckoned I deserved a bit of a break from looking after Melia. I mean, the rest of the family surely had to do something?

Mum was in the front room with one of her ladies. Tom was upstairs on his computer. Dad was working. Angel, on the other hand, wasn't doing anything; not as far as I could see. Just lounging about in the kitchen, painting her nails with silver nail polish.

“Look,” I said to Melia, “there's Angel, painting her nails. Maybe she'd let you paint yours if you asked her nicely.” Then I shoved her into the kitchen and raced upstairs to get a bit of homework done in peace and quiet.

Homework is not exactly my idea of fun, but it seems life is full of boring, time-wasting stuff that you are forced to do if you want to stay out of trouble. Dad says it is good for the soul. I can't see it myself; I'm sure my soul would be far better off
without
all the aggravation. But the shadow of Mr Hargreaves was hanging over me, so I reckoned I'd better at least make an attempt at doing some of his horrible maths homework.

When I went back downstairs at lunch time Mum was still in the front room, Tom, as far as I knew, was still sitting at his computer, and Angel had vanished. I found Melia in the kitchen on her own, sitting with Rags in his dog bed.

“Did you paint your nails?” I said.

Melia shook her head. She seemed a bit down.

“Did you ask her?”

“She wouldn't let me.”

“Well, really!” I felt quite exasperated. How mean could you get? Angel appeared at that moment, her nails all gleaming silver. “You might have let Melia have a go!” I said.

Angel tossed her head. “Don't see why I should let her use my stuff. Let her use yours.”

“I don't have any! I don't paint my nails.”

“Hardly could,” said Angel, “state they're in. Nothing there to paint.”

It's true my nails are a bit stubby. That is because in moments of stress I tend to bite them. I have a
lot
of stress in my life, what with people like Mr Hargreaves bellowing and bawling, and Mum nagging at me to tidy my bedroom, put things away after me, pick my clothes up off the floor, I mean the list just goes on and on. It is all STRESS. Little did I know that more was about to descend on me…

It came in the shape of Tom, crashing furiously through the kitchen door.

“Who's been messing with my science project? Was it you?”

He glared at me, his eyes popping. I retreated, hastily, behind the kitchen table. I am quite accustomed to Angel being in a rage, she practically lives in one; but Tom almost never gets mad. As a rule he is just, like, totally unflappable. Dad once said that if you told him an asteroid was about to collide with the planet and wipe us all out, he would just grunt, “Uh?” So on the rare occasions when he does blow up, it can be quite scary.

“It
was
you.” He advanced upon me, round the table. “I know it was you!”

“It's always her,” said Angel.

I opened my mouth to protest: “I haven't been anywhere near your rotten science project!” But then I caught sight of Melia, crouched in the dog bed, trembling, with both arms wrapped tightly round Rags as if for protection, and the words froze on my lips. All that came out was a small, stifled squawk.

“Just admit it!” roared Tom.

I swallowed. Melia looked up at me, beseechingly.

“What's going on?” Mum had come in. “I feel tension! Who's done what, and why?”

Angel pointed silently at me.

Mum said, “Frankie? What have you been up to now?”

“She's only gone and ruined my science project.” Tom said it bitterly. “Took me days to set up, that did.”

“Shouldn't have left it on the table,” I muttered.

“It was perfectly all right on there if you hadn't gone and touched it!”

“I didn't touch it!”

“So how come all the wires have been pulled out?”

Tom was shouting; he was really mad. I wanted so much to shout back at him, “It wasn't me, it was Melia!” But she'd crept out of the bed and her hand had stolen into mine. I could feel her shaking.

“Frankie, how did it happen?” said Mum.

Crossly I said, “I don't know! It was an accident. I was chasing Rags. He bumped into the table, and it all went on the floor.”

Tom's eyes had narrowed. “That wouldn't make the wires come out! Someone's been yanking at them.”

“I haven't yanked at your manky wires! It was an accident.”

“All right,” said Mum, “all right. Let's try and calm down. Frankie, I think the least you can do is apologise to your brother. And Tom, can you put the wires back again?”

There was a moment's silence while we both brooded. Then somewhat grudgingly Tom said, “Well, yeah, I s'ppose… but it'll take all day!” I mumbled that I was sorry it had happened, and Mum suggested we all sat down and had some lunch.

“I do think,” she added, “that it would be safer, Tom, if you took your project back upstairs. That way, there can't be any more accidents.”

Tom glowered. “If it was an accident.”

“I said! It was!”

“Tom! Frankie!” Mum rapped on the kitchen table. “Please! I'm sorry it happened and I'm sorry it means more work for you, Tom, but Frankie has apologised, she can't do more. Let's stop, now, we're upsetting Emilia. It's all right, sweetheart!” Mum put an arm round Melia's shoulders and gave her a hug. “You're not the one that's in trouble.”

You'd have thought, after that, Melia might have learnt her lesson. You'd have thought she might have been a bit careful what she did with her hands and feet. But if anything it just seemed to make her worse. Later that day, she broke Mum's favourite coffee mug. I watched her do it. I'd just made some coffee 'specially to take in to Mum, cos she was working so hard with all these ladies turning up and I like to do these little things occasionally, just to help out. Washing up, for instance, or vacuuming. I 'specially enjoy vacuuming. I used to enjoy ironing but I'm not allowed to do that any more, since one of Angel's blouses got shrivelled and everyone blamed me. I always get the blame for everything. It never even occurred to Tom, or to Mum, that it might have been Melia and not me that had pulled out Tom's wires. Oh, no! It had to be Frankie. But it was definitely Melia that broke Mum's mug.

I'd put it out on the table, ready to pour the water in, and even as I reached out for the kettle Melia had gone flumping past with her arms flailing about and sent it flying. She wasn't even aware that she'd done it! I stared, in disbelief. I just couldn't believe that she'd gone and broken it. I'd given that mug to Mum last year, on her birthday. I'd chosen it 'specially cos it was so pretty, I knew Mum would love it. It had all flowers painted on it, like the ones she grew in the garden. Pansies, I think they were.

Mum had been really pleased. She'd said, “Oh, Frankie, that is quite beautiful! From now on, I shall make it my special coffee mug. Everyone take note… this is the mug I have my coffee in!”

Melia turned round. One of her feet went
scrunch.
She looked down, in surprise.

“Frankie,” she cried, “you've broken the mug! Frankie, you're so
clumsy.
”

I am not an evil-tempered person, I really am not. I don't fly into tremendous rages and yell at people. But in that moment I felt like getting hold of Melia and shaking her. I said, “Listen,
goofball
!” and I gave her a poke. “How'm I s'pposed to have done it? I wasn't anywhere near! I was over there, wasn't I? By the stove.”
Poke.
“It was you! You were the—”

That was when she skidded on a bit of broken mug and went down
flomp
on to the floor.

I might as well be honest. My immediate reaction was to feel intensely irritated. Trust Melia! And then Rags came wobbling over, with his tail wagging, and pushed his ball at her. He loves it when people are down at his level, he thinks they want to play.

It was Melia, not me, who pushed him to safety. “Rags, go 'way!” she cried. “You get hurt!”

For a moment, I almost softened. I mean, I'd yelled at her, I'd called her goofball, I'd pushed her over, and all she could think was that Rags might get hurt. But then I looked at the shattered pieces of Mum's broken mug, and all my anger rose up again and nearly choked me. I yanked Melia to her feet and shoved both her and Rags into the garden while I got the dustpan and brush and began sweeping up the bits. Angel came in while I was doing it.

“Oh,” she said, “you've broken Mum's mug!”

“It wasn't me,” I said. “It was Melia. She just walked past and it fell over.” I sighed. “Mum loved her mug!”

“Hm, well… now you know how it feels,” said Angel.

She didn't say it unkindly, she actually sounded quite sympathetic for once, but the fact is she has never really forgiven me for shrivelling her blouse. I wondered if I would ever forgive Melia for breaking Mum's mug.

I supposed I would have to; you can't go on nursing a grudge for ever. Not unless you're Angel, who tends to collect grudges the way other people collect shoes, or china ornaments. She stuffs them all into one big bag which she carries around with her wherever she goes. Dunno what she'll do when the bag gets filled; start on a second one, I guess.

I tried quite hard to go on feeling aggrieved. Mum had so loved her mug! But then this really hysterical thing happened and my grudge just melted away. We were downstairs, watching television; me, and Mum, and Dad. Melia was in the bath, Tom was in his room, still putting his wires back, Angel was in the hall, saying goodbye to her latest boyfriend (whose name I cannot now remember, she has had so many of them). Suddenly, the air was ripped apart by this bloodcurdling screech and what sounded like a herd of buffalo thundering down the stairs. Dad said, “What in heaven's name is going on?” and we all rushed out into the hall.

The thundering was Rags tearing down the stairs, with Melia, clutching a bath towel round herself, thumping after him.

“Rags stole my knickers!” shrieked Melia.

They were dangling from his mouth. As he reached the hall he rolled an eye at us and galloped off, shaking the knickers from side to side. Melia galloped in hot pursuit. Down the hall, up the hall, back up the stairs, back down the stairs, still clutching at her bath towel.

In the midst of all the noise and confusion, Tom appeared on the landing. He didn't seem to notice anything peculiar going on. Very solemnly he informed us that he had put his wires back in – “It is functioning again” – before walking past Melia, in her bath towel, walking past Rags, with his knickers, and stomping off in silence to the kitchen.

For some reason, this cracked Mum up; and once Mum had cracked up, we all cracked up. I was giggling at Rags, who'd managed to get his head through one of the knicker legs and was now wearing them on top of his head like a bonnet. I guess that was what the boyfriend was laughing at too. He cried, “Go, Rags!” and made a snatch at the knickers as Rags wheeled past. Mum seemed to have been more amused by Tom. I don't know what Dad was amused by, Tom or Rags or both, but he was definitely laughing. Even Melia was laughing. Great squeals came bursting out of her, making her shake so much she almost lost control of her bath towel. Mum rushed and caught at it just in time.

The only one who didn't laugh was Angel. She stood by the front door, stiff with outrage, her lips all pursed and puckered like she was sucking on a lemon. She was embarrassed, I suppose, because of her boyfriend being there, though I really don't know what she had to be embarrassed about. They weren't her knickers. And Melia
was
covered in a towel. Well, more or less. The boyfriend wasn't embarrassed, but Angel likes to stand on her dignity. Plus she has
no
sense of humour.

I did find it difficult, though, after that, to go on feeling cross with Melia. She couldn't help being the way she was. She didn't mean to upset people, breaking things and knocking things over; it just happened. I suddenly felt generous. I decided to make a REALLY BIG sacrifice.