Strawberry Sisters Page 8

  The journalist came round the next day after school. Mum got home as soon as school finished so that she could be there with Chloe.

  I made sure that I opened the door to him.

  ‘Jonathan Wellbeck, from The Echo,’ he said. ‘I’m here to interview Chloe.’

  ‘There’s not much chance that you’ll want to kidnap her,’ I said, stepping back to let him in. ‘And, even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to lift her.’

  He gave a weak smile.

  ‘Have you brought anyone to look after you?’ I asked.

  ‘Just me!’ He laughed nervously.

  ‘Well, if she offers to show you any wrestling moves, just say no. And check your watch is still on your wrist before you leave.’

  I had planned to say a few more things to him. When you’re trying to cut back on making smart remarks to your family, you have to get your fun somewhere, but the doorbell rang again, so I showed him into the kitchen where Mum and Chloe were waiting and went back to the door.

  It was Ella. She’d stayed behind at school for some super-boring tutor captain thing. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Just arrived. They’re doing the interview in the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ella said in a whisper, as if us chatting in the hallway might disturb them. ‘Do you think he’ll print what Chloe wants him to?’

  ‘He will if he knows what’s good for him.’

  Ella hung up her coat and scarf. ‘Amelia, can I ask you something?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Crystal asked me to go to her house again.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Do you think I should go?’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  Ella sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. ‘I do because Crystal is fun, but I don’t want to watch her be rude to her mum.’

  ‘Ohhhhh, that. It was probably a one-off. What do Ashandra and Kayleigh think of this girl?’

  ‘They like her. Kayleigh thinks I’m really lucky to get invited over. She says Crystal’s house is like a footballer’s place. There’s the cinema and she’s got a games room with table football and her bedroom is all matching pale blue and in their sitting room there’s a ginormous white fluffy rug.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Can you imagine a white fluffy rug in this house?’

  Ella looked at me and we both laughed. Five minutes of being stroked by Lucy’s grubby hands and being trodden on by Chloe’s muddy trainers and any white rug would not be white any longer.

  Ella stopped laughing. ‘But I shouldn’t really be thinking about her house, should I? I’m supposed to be pleased about seeing Crystal, not her table-football game.’

  ‘You like Crystal, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s really nice to me; she’s helped me and Kayleigh loads with hockey.’

  ‘Then it’s fine. You’re not supposed to like people just because they’ve got a big house but if you like someone first, and it turns out that they’ve got a cool house, then that’s just lucky. As long as you don’t stop liking her if she has to move into a shed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Then enjoy your table football.’

  The next day, when we got to Dad’s house, Ella took one look at Suvi and said, ‘Is Kirsti still not sleeping well?’

  Suvi shook her head. We followed her into the kitchen where Lucy was bouncing a grizzly Kirsti in her bouncy chair. ‘I don’t mind her waking up in the night,’ Suvi said. ‘I know that all babies do this, but when she’s had her feed she doesn’t want to go back to sleep. I sing to her and rock her and tell her stories, but still she does not want to sleep.’

  There was a pause because nobody knew anything helpful to say. ‘I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it soon,’ Ella said eventually.

  Suvi sighed. She plopped down on a chair and rested her elbows on the table, which was covered in thick books with glossy covers.

  ‘What are you reading?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘Books about babies,’ Lucy said, poking one with her finger. ‘Why are you reading about babies?’ she asked Suvi. ‘We’ve got a real one.’ She frowned at the photo of a chubby baby on the front of one of the books. ‘Kirsti’s better than this one. This one looks like he’s got a poo in his nappy.’

  ‘I remember your pooey nappies,’ Chloe said to Lucy.

  ‘I’m reading to find out about sleep patterns,’ Suvi said quickly to stop Lucy yelling at Chloe. I don’t think Chloe was even trying to wind Lucy up. She genuinely finds poo a fascinating subject. But Lucy hates being reminded that she was ever a baby.

  ‘The amazing thing about books,’ Suvi pressed on, ‘is that they can help you with anything. Anything you want to do – get a baby to sleep, learn to speak Japanese or climb up a mountain – someone has done it before and you can read about it in a book.’

  We all thought about that. I wondered if anyone had ever written a book about having a best friend with a tiredness problem.

  ‘Is there a book about how to escape from a snake prison?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Probably,’ Suvi said.

  ‘Is this whole book just about sleeping?’ Chloe asked, picking one up. ‘I could write a quicker one than that. You just close your eyes. Sleeping is easy.’

  ‘I used to think that too,’ Suvi said. And she buried her head in her baby instruction books again.

  I left her to it and went upstairs to start on my history homework. At least I meant to start on my history, but I may have got a bit bored with that and ended up lying on my bed rereading Flambards.

  Lucy came in and stood in front of me with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Have you seen my secret book?’ she asked.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘I’m not telling; it’s secret.’

  I put down my book and pulled a face at her. ‘How can I tell you if I’ve seen it if I don’t know what it looks like?’

  ‘You just remember all the books you’ve seen today and think if they could be my secret one.’

  I picked up Flambards again. ‘I haven’t seen it.’

  ‘You didn’t do enough thinking! You have to help me!’

  ‘When did you last have it?’

  ‘A minute ago.’

  ‘A minute ago? Then how can you have lost it? It can’t have gone far.’

  Because I was still trying to be less mean, I made Lucy retrace her steps and followed her round the house, looking for her stupid book. I need to find a way to be kind while still sitting down.

  In the bathroom, the hand towel was on the floor in a heap. When I picked it up, there was Lucy’s special book underneath. It was a notebook with owls printed on and across the front Lucy had written:

  LUCY’S FRENDS BOOK.

  PRIVUT.

  ‘Here it is,’ I said.

  She snatched it out of my hands. ‘Don’t look! Why are you looking?’

  ‘I’m looking because that’s what you asked me to do. You asked me to find your book and, since I’m not a sniffer dog, I had to do that with my eyes. What are you writing about your friends anyway?’

  She shoved the notebook up her jumper. ‘You didn’t see anything,’ she said, like a tiny, menacing gangster.

  I laughed, which she seemed to think meant I wasn’t going to comply. I don’t know why my family always think that me laughing means I’m going to cause trouble.

  ‘I’ll give you a lollipop to keep quiet,’ she said and she slid a red lolly in a clear plastic wrapper out of her pocket.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ve got more.’

  ‘I wasn’t actually fretting about whether you’d manage to hit your usual excessive levels of sugar; I was wondering why you’ve always got sweets these days.’

  Lucy’s eyes slid sideways. ‘My friends give them to me.’

  ‘Is this something to do with your book?’

  Lucy gave a dramatic sigh. ‘If you really want to know, they give me things because they want
to get points in my book.’

  ‘So you’re saying your poor deluded friends are coughing up their sweets just so you’ll give them a good score in your special book?’ I said, realising that I’d discovered Lucy’s scheme for getting her friends to do what she wanted.

  Lucy attempted what I think she thought was a shy smile at her own brilliance. She looked like a baby crocodile. I’ve got to admit though, I was a tiny bit impressed.

  ‘Basically, you’re bribing your friends to be nice to you,’ I said.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Yes you are. You’re saying if they give you things and make a fuss of you, they’ll get something from you.’

  ‘But I don’t actually have to give them anything. All I have to do is threaten them.’

  ‘Well, that’s just lovely. Don’t you want people to be nice to you just because they like you?’

  ‘Of course they like me. I just have to teach them the best way to make me happy.’

  I gave her a hard stare. ‘If you were my friend,’ I said, ‘I’d shove that lollipop up your nose.’

  Mr Garcia called Bartek and me up first at rehearsal. We started working through our song with Mr Garcia stopping us every other second to explain to us, in a lot of detail, what a horrible mess we were making of it. Actually, I thought we weren’t too bad for a first go. Olivia was right about Bartek: he’s got a great voice.

  After Mr Garcia had delivered his millionth criticism and turned back to his music, Bartek crossed his eyes at me.

  ‘Watch out for your hair,’ I whispered.

  But, even though Mr Garcia was all scowls and crashing chords on the piano to start with, we must have been making some improvement because eventually he said, ‘I’m starting to think this might not be a complete disaster.’ Which is as close to a compliment as Mr Garcia ever gets, so I was happy and Bartek was too because he gave me a high five.

  While Mr Garcia was packing up, Bartek said, ‘You’re not so bad at singing.’

  ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

  ‘Hardly bad at all.’ He was smirking. ‘Only a little bit disgusting.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I said. ‘And you’re barely revolting and just a smidge horrendous.’

  His eyes flashed and I knew he was enjoying himself. ‘Your singing, it’s only this much . . .’ He held his fingers a few centimetres apart. ‘Only this much that it makes me want to be sick.’

  ‘And your singing has only made my ears bleed the merest few drops.’

  We kept on exchanging insults until we said goodbye at the gates. Bartek is really quite funny.

  It was pouring with rain so I put up my hood and set off for Lauren’s; by the time I got to her house, I was drenched and the plastic bag holding the magazines and chocolate I’d bought her was cutting into my hand, but I was looking forward to seeing her.

  Mrs Anderson even managed a not entirely frosty ‘Hello, Amelia’ when she let me in.

  Up in her room, Lauren was dressed and sitting on the floor, looking at our biology textbook.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘You look much better!’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. Then she sighed and I felt like I’d said something dumb, even though she really did look much healthier. I stared out of the window. I always used to feel completely relaxed around Lauren, but now I was worrying about saying the wrong thing. There was a pause and then I handed her the bag of treats I’d brought.

  ‘Oh, that’s really sweet,’ she said and put them on her bedside table without really looking at them. ‘Are you going to sit down?’

  I perched next to her and smoothed out the pleats on my skirt.

  ‘Listen, Amelia . . .’

  I looked up; she sounded serious.

  ‘I went to the doctor’s again this morning.’

  A chill went through me. All my fears about a fatal condition came flooding back.

  ‘What did they say?’ I could hardly get the words out, my mouth was so dry.

  ‘The doctor said he might know what’s wrong with me.’

  I swallowed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s this thing called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.’

  I was so relieved that she hadn’t said any of the terrible illnesses I’d been thinking of that I felt my whole body sag. I had no idea what Chronic Fatigue Syndrome was but it didn’t sound too awful. ‘Fatigue is just tiredness, isn’t it?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. It basically means I’m tired all the time.’

  I knew that already. ‘So did he tell you when you’ll be better? Do you have to take medicine?’

  ‘He gave me some pills to take.’ She didn’t exactly sound cheerful about it.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it? When are you coming back to school?’

  ‘I don’t know. I am actually feeling a bit better at the moment.’

  ‘Fantastic. Because Mr Champion has decided that he can’t rest until we all know the many fascinating ways of joining two bits of wood together and I need you there to share in the good times.’

  She smiled. ‘Can’t wait for that. How was rehearsal?’

  ‘Mr Garcia said that if Bartek and I start using the brains and the lungs nature gave us there’s a glimmer of hope that we might not entirely embarrass ourselves at the concert.’

  ‘Wow. That’s practically a hug coming from him. You two must be his favourites.’

  ‘Bartek said that if Mr Garcia starts using his lungs we’d better all take shelter because his shouting will blow our heads off.’

  ‘That’s pretty funny.’

  ‘He is funny. You’d like him. And he’s so upbeat. He always makes rehearsals fun.’ I couldn’t help adding, ‘I wish you were there.’

  ‘Me too.’ She looked sad and I felt like an idiot because I was supposed to be cheering her up.

  ‘There’s always the spring concert next term,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  There was another pause. I’d never had to think this hard about what to say to Lauren before.

  ‘So . . .’ I started. I was going to tell her about what Iron Hair had said to Jasveen when she saw her running in the corridor, but then I thought that maybe I ought to be asking more about what was going on with Lauren. ‘Did the doctor tell you what the recovery time is from this syndrome thing?’

  Lauren stood up and threw herself on to the bed. ‘Never mind all that stuff. Tell me what Cute Josh has been doing.’

  In the end, we had a really good chat about almost everything except Lauren’s health. I told her about Mr Champion’s toxic new aftershave and how Cute Josh had worn his hair parted on the other side, and she showed me the bracelet her dad had sent her from his latest business trip. Lauren’s mum didn’t interrupt us or tell me it was time to go, even though I stayed until eight thirty.

  That night, I went to bed feeling happy. Lauren wasn’t dying. She had a diagnosis now and some pills to help her. I was doing quite well at being less snappy with people. Singing with Bartek was good fun and our duet was coming along nicely. All I wanted was for Lauren to come back to school and then everything would be perfect.

  Usually, Saturday is my favourite day of the week, but recently, without Lauren to hang out with, they’ve all been a bit of a disappointment. By half past ten, Lucy was back from her ballet lesson and practising flying leaps in the Pit because she was hoping to get them high enough to knock Madame Donna’s glasses off next week. Ella had gone to the fabulous Crystal’s house and Chloe was kicking a ball about in the garden. Mum was planning lessons at the table in the sitting room and I was slumped on the sofa. I was the only one without anything to do. Fantastic.

  ‘I am so bored,’ I sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, love,’ Mum said. ‘Why don’t you visit Lauren?’

  ‘I rang. Her mum says she’s resting and then she’s got to do some schoolwork.’

  ‘Can’t you go out with your other friends?’

  ‘Milly and Jasveen have gone to London for the day. I tried Olivia and Betha
ny, but they’re not answering their phones. They’re probably doing something together because they’re best friends. Everybody is in pairs, and even when they let me tag along, my best friend is missing and it isn’t the same.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m a bit fed up too. Shall we make some cookies?’

  I looked at Mum. I mean, properly looked at her. Most of the time you don’t really see your own mum because you think you know what she looks like and your eyes just kind of skim over her. She didn’t look great, but I’ve seen her look worse. Last half-term, when her school was being inspected, she was exhausted all of the time; now she looked more . . . droopy. Her hair was all flat and her skin was pale and she just seemed washed out.

  Mum started stacking up her books and gave me a wink. Even though she was down, she was trying to make me feel better. My brain started whirling around, thinking about Mum. I’ve got to admit that I’m not very good at thinking about other people. For a long time after the divorce, I was upset, and the problem with feeling angry and hurt inside is that it takes up a lot of your thinking. You’re so mad about the way you feel that you don’t notice how anybody else is feeling. And, even though I made up with Dad before half-term and decided that I wouldn’t be so mean and selfish any more, thinking only about yourself is a really bad habit to get into because it’s quite hard to stop. But looking at Mum, all pale and limp, I stopped worrying about my day and instead I saw a way that I could make hers much better, even if it wasn’t going to be very much fun for me.

  ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I think you should go out for the day. Why don’t you ring Susan?’

  Mum blinked in surprise. ‘Well, I suppose we could all go shopping or maybe swimming. Would you like that?’

  ‘Never mind me; you should go out just the two of you with no annoying kids interrupting.’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t like leaving you girls.’

  ‘I told you before; I’m old enough to be in charge.’

  She didn’t look so sure.

  ‘I won’t let them get up to anything,’ I said. ‘No breaking stuff or painting stuff or jumping on stuff.’