The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Tracy Beaker’s Christmas

  Write your own Christmas poem!

  Dad’s New Job

  Ho Ho Ho!

  Garnet’s Return

  Ruby and Garnet’s Gingerbread Twins!

  Hetty Feather’s Christmas

  A Victorian Christmas

  Starring Tracy Beaker

  Present Wrapping Tips

  Presents and Puzzles!

  Em’s Christmas

  Christmas Around the World

  Charlie’s Christmas

  Charlie’s Christmas Cake!

  Happy New Year

  About the Author

  Also by Jacqueline Wilson

  Copyright

  About the Book

  The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker is packed with brilliant Christmas stories, including a brand-new tale from Jacqueline, and classic favourite Starring Tracy Beaker, in which Jacqueline’s most famous heroine gets the lead part in her Christmas play! There are festive puzzles, tasty Christmas recipes, perfect present tips and fun facts.

  Merry Christmas from Jacqueline Wilson!

  MY NAME IS Tracy Beaker. I am writing this in my private secret journal. (I snaffled it from the school stationery cupboard – don’t tell!) No one’s allowed to read it on pain of death. This especially means you, Justine-Nosy-Littlewood! If I catch you peeking I’ll bash your big nosey-nose so hard it will pop out the other side of your head.

  I can’t stick Justine. She’s the worst girl ever in the Dumping Ground, and she’s been totally unbearable today, showing off because this teensy little parcel arrived for her in a small jiffy bag. She wanted to open it straight away, but Jenny saw the sticker on the back: Do not open till 25th December!

  ‘Oh wow!’ Justine cried. ‘I bet it’s my Christmas present from my dad! I knew he wouldn’t forget me. See, Tracy Beaker! My dad’s sent me a special present. What about your precious mum? She hasn’t sent you a parcel yet, has she?’

  ‘I’m expecting an extremely large parcel to arrive any day soon,’ I said. ‘My mum always buys me fabulous presents. Not titchy little rubbish presents like that one from your dad. I bet it’s just something boring like a pack of chewing gum, or – or a squashed up pair of socks.’

  ‘I think it’s exactly the size of that fantastic iPod I saw in a magazine. I wrote and told my dad all about it. I bet it’s that iPod!’

  ‘Dream on, you loser,’ I said, but my heart was starting to thump painfully. Maybe Justine’s dad really was giving her an iPod. Some of the other kids in the Dumping Ground had already been sent presents from their families. Mike and Jenny were sorting them all in a special cupboard. It was nearly full now. Well, they’d have to keep all the remaining space for a great big present from my mum. Something even better than an iPod. Maybe my very own drum kit? An enormous flat screen television to put on the wall of my bedroom? A mega-fancy silver twenty-two gear bike? All three???

  I waited so hopefully for the post van to arrive the next day. And the next. And the next. I got soooo excited when the postie staggered up to the door of the Dumping Ground with a great big box on Christmas Eve – but it wasn’t for me, it was for my ex-best friend Louise.

  ‘Oh, fantastic! That’s my auntie’s handwriting!’ she said, shaking the box happily.

  ‘Don’t get too worked up – it’s ever so light. It’s probably one of those trick presents. It’s a great big box but you’ll find there’s just some tiny weeny worthless present inside, like a packet of paperclips, or – or a pack of three knickers,’ I said.

  ‘No, I think it’s light because it’s probably clothes. My auntie’s dead cool. I bet it’s fantastic designer T-shirts or a little sparkly top and leggings,’ said Louise, rushing off to tell Justine.

  They are best friends now. I don’t care in the slightest. They’re welcome to each other.

  ‘I’m your friend now, Tracy,’ said weedy Peter, and he tried to cosy up to me. I pushed him away sharpish.

  ‘I am Tracy Beaker. I don’t need friends,’ I said. ‘Especially silly little squirts like you.’

  I hoped he would stomp off, but he just stayed by my side, patting my shoulders, almost like he was pitying me.

  ‘I understand, Tracy,’ he said. ‘You’re in a mood because you’re sad your mum has forgotten to send you a Christmas present.’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ I said, giving him a push.

  Though actually I was. And I felt mean when weedy Peter toppled over backwards. It was only a little push too. Jenny came running when she saw him sprawling on the floor and asked what had happened.

  ‘Did you push Peter, Tracy?’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Oh no, Tracy didn’t push me,’ Peter insisted. ‘I just tripped.’

  I felt meaner than ever. I followed Jenny back to her office. I eyed up her bulging cupboard full of presents. I felt a little watery eyed, although of course I didn’t cry. I’m tough Tracy, I never ever cry.

  ‘Am I the only kid here who doesn’t have a Christmas present?’ I mumbled.

  ‘Well, Peter hasn’t got any presents either,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘But maybe Father Christmas will come and give you both presents,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Look, I’m not a little kid. Whoever believes in Father Christmas?’ I said. ‘Jenny – can I give Peter a Christmas present?’

  Jenny smiled at me. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea, Tracy.’

  ‘But I haven’t exactly got any pocket money left. So what shall I do? Shall I try and make him something?’

  Jenny thought. ‘You like writing a lot, Tracy. Why don’t you write him a little poem? I’ll give you a special piece of paper and you can do little pictures all round the margin.’

  So I sat in privacy in Jenny’s office and created a surprise Christmas poem for Peter. It wasn’t very long:

  It was the thought that counted, after all. I gave it a border of holly and crackers and reindeer and Christmas trees and coloured them all in very carefully, and then added Love from Tracy xxx

  ‘I think Peter will love his present,’ said Jenny.

  And he really did! Father Christmas came to him in the middle of the night and left him some truly cool presents – a computer game and a wrist watch and a torch and a giant box of chocolates – but guess which present he said he liked best!

  ‘I love my special Christmas poem, Tracy!’ he said, his eyes shining. ‘It’s my best present ever.’

  I might revise my ideas about Father Christmas, because he left me great presents too. He gave me sparkly Converse boots and a big paintbox and my very own mobile phone – and a new notebook for my secret journal with a lock and key.

  I’m writing in my new journal now, so ya boo, sucks to you, Justine, you can’t read a word of this! I don’t care that you’ve taken Louise away from me now. I’ve got my new best friend Peter instead.

  WRITE YOUR OWN CHRISTMAS POEM!

  A special poem, rhyme or limerick would make a lovely present for a friend or someone in your family. You could tuck it under the wrapping paper of a bigger gift, or sneak it into a stocking on Christmas morning! Here are some handy Christmas words to inspire you. Lots of them rhyme or have very similar sounds, which is a good place to start when writing a poem!

  Snow • Glow • Ho ho ho • Bright • Night • Tonight • Light • Berry • Very • Merry • Present • Gift • Surprise • Robin • Reindeer • Carrot • Cake • Carol • Santa • Sleigh • Snowman • Stocking • Star • Bell • Tinkle • Twinkle • Glitter • Winter

  Find a
piece of paper and write yours!

  ‘WHY CAN’T I have an iPad for Christmas, Mum?’ I asked. Again. ‘Nearly everyone else in my class has got one. Well, not a proper big iPad – a mini one. OK, it doesn’t have to be an actual iPad. You can get much cheaper tablets. One of them will do. Go on, say yes!’

  ‘Give it a rest, Livvy,’ said Mum, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet up on the sofa. She started massaging her toes. ‘My feet aren’t half killing me.’

  ‘Tickle toes, tickle toes!’ my little brother Dexter cried, running to tickle her.

  ‘Give over, Dexter!’ Mum squealed, trying to bat him off, but she couldn’t help laughing.

  This was great. I needed her to be in a good mood.

  ‘Go on, Mum, say yes. All I want from Father Christmas is one little measly mini tablet,’ I wheedled.

  ‘I don’t think Father Christmas will be coming to visit us this year,’ said Mum. ‘He wrote and told me. He’s very sorry and he’ll try to pop over next year. Times are hard in Lapland too.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha. Sometimes I wonder if Father Christmas is just pretend,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Dexter, stopping tickling and staring at me open-mouthed.

  ‘Shh, Livvy. Don’t you dare spoil things for Dexter!’ Mum said crossly. ‘Take no notice of Livvy, Dex. She’s just in a mood.’

  I felt a bit mean. My little brother Dexter can be a bit of a pain at times, but he’s a game little kid. He believes everything you say, which I suppose isn’t surprising seeing as he’s only four and three quarters, still one of the babies in reception in the Infants at school. Whereas I’m in the Juniors now and I’ve got a lot of things sussed out.

  I’m pretty sure there’s no such person as the Tooth Fairy. I even have my doubts about the Easter Bunny. I couldn’t quite make up my mind about Father Christmas. If he was real I hoped he would come. He couldn’t leave me without any Christmas presents at all, could he? And if he couldn’t manage an iPad mini, couldn’t Mum and Dad save up for one?

  All right, I know they hadn’t got much money this year, not since Dad lost his job. We used to have HEAPS of money. We had a new car and a new kitchen and Dexter and I had great clothes and loads of lovely presents. But then Dad’s company got taken over just before Christmas last year and the new people didn’t need him to work for them any more.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll get another job in a matter of weeks, you’ll see.’

  My dad’s always right. But he wasn’t right this time. He didn’t get a new job in weeks and weeks. He didn’t get a new job in months and months. He’s tried to get countless office jobs but no one seems to want him. He was fine for a bit but now he just lies on the sofa watching television and he can be really grumpy at times. Even with Dexter, and everyone loves him because he’s so sweet.

  ‘You mustn’t mind Dad too much. He’s feeling pretty miserable,’ said Mum.

  She still had her job as a receptionist but she didn’t earn much money. We couldn’t go away on holiday this year. We lost our new car. We can’t have stylish new clothes any more. Some of the nastier girls in my class sneer at me because I wear cheapo trainers now and my clothes aren’t designer, they’ve just got supermarket labels.

  I don’t really care too much. I have two best friends, Angel and Sarah, and they don’t ever say anything horrid about me. But they’ve both got iPad minis now. Oh, I so want my own.

  ‘I know we haven’t got much money but I’m sure we could cut down on food a bit. I’d be very happy to go without boring old vegetables and I’m not even that keen on fruit,’ I said. ‘And who wants meat and fish? I’d love to have a big plate of chips for supper every night and I bet Dexter would like that too. See! We could save heaps of money that way.’

  ‘You need to have proper balanced meals to stay healthy,’ said Mum. ‘Now stop being so lippy, Livvy.’

  ‘Lippy Livvy, lippy Livvy!’ Dexter chortled.

  ‘Why can’t Dad stop being so hopeless and get any old job anyway?’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Dad.

  He’d been so quiet lying on the sofa I thought he was asleep. I could have bitten off my tongue. I hadn’t really meant to say that. I loved my dad to bits and I didn’t think he was hopeless at all. I felt really bad now, especially when I saw Mum’s expression.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said quickly.

  ‘No, you’re right, Livvy,’ Dad said sadly. ‘It’s time I gave up hoping I’ll ever get to be an office manager again. It’s time I really did take any old job.’ He got slowly off the sofa and started leafing through the local paper.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of Livvy. She’s driving me nuts banging on and on about this wretched mini iPad,’ said Mum.

  ‘Well, it’s not such a crime to want a decent Christmas present, is it?’ said Dad, circling one of the adverts. ‘There! I’ll go after this job tomorrow.’

  Mum had a look.

  ‘What? Don’t be so daft! Look, you’ve got a degree in business studies, you’re highly qualified, you had twenty staff under you in your old job,’ Mum said. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a good office vacancy soon, maybe early in the new year.’

  ‘Well, if there is then that will be fine. But meanwhile it’s time I pulled my weight.’ Dad ruffled my hair. ‘Thanks for shocking me into action, Liv.’

  I still felt bad. I’d have sooner Dad had been cross with me. I decided I’d better stop going on and on about an iPad mini, even though I wanted one so much. I was pretty sure Dad wouldn’t get this job, whatever it was.

  But he did. He picked up Dexter and me from school and took us to the swings on the way home. He even bought us a whippy ice cream, and we hadn’t had one of those for ages.

  ‘We’re celebrating my getting a new job,’ he said.

  ‘Great way to celebrate, Dad!’ I said, licking away.

  Dexter agreed. His ice cream was looking horribly slobbery and he’d spilled it all down his coat, but he was looking very happy.

  ‘Congratulations, Dad,’ I said. ‘So what sort of job is it then?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a job job,’ said Dad. ‘Still. There were heaps of guys there applying. I had to do a long interview so they could see I’ve got the right qualities. And I got it! It’s only temporary, but it’s a start, eh?’

  Mum was also very vague about Dad’s new job.

  ‘Good luck, darling,’ she said. ‘I do hope it goes well.’

  ‘What are you going to be doing, Dad?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, this and that,’ said Dad.

  I couldn’t understand the great mystery. I discussed it with Angel and Sarah. Their dads both had jobs. Angel’s dad was a bus driver. Sarah’s dad was a nurse in a hospital. So was her mum.

  ‘Do you think my dad’s got a job as a bus driver or a nurse?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think he can be a bus driver because he’d have to leave really early in the morning to get to work,’ said Angel.

  ‘My mum and dad go to work early too when they’re both on their day shift,’ said Sarah. ‘But you have to do a lot of training first if you want to be a nurse.’

  ‘You’ve got to learn to drive a bus if you’re going to be a bus driver. Obviously,’ said Angel.

  ‘Well, if he’s not a bus driver or a nurse, what is he then?’ I asked.

  ‘Ask him, silly!’ said Sarah.

  ‘I have asked him! He just won’t say,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe he’s doing a job he’s a bit ashamed of?’ said Angel.

  ‘Like what?’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps he’s been recruited as a spy!’ said Angel. She watches a lot of adventure films.

  ‘My dad’s not like flipping James Bond!’ I said.

  ‘Maybe he’s been recruited by a gang of criminals!’ said Sarah. She watches those films too.

  I don’t think they were really being serious. They were just winding me up.

  ‘He doesn’t work the right sort of hours to be a spy or a criminal,’ I said. ‘H
e leaves the house the same time as Mum and Dexter and me, and he gets back about six.’

  ‘That’s office hours,’ said Angel.

  ‘Yes, but he hasn’t got an office job, he couldn’t get one.’

  ‘Maybe he’s working in a shop?’ Sarah suggested.

  ‘I wish!’ I said. ‘The Apple shop! Wouldn’t that be cool! Then he could get me a discount on an iPad mini!’

  When Dad came home on the Monday after his first day in his mysterious new job he looked tired out.

  ‘How did it go, love?’ Mum asked.

  Dad pulled a funny face. ‘Well, it was pretty exhausting – but in a good way,’ he said.

  He picked up Dexter and gave him a cuddle. Then he held out his spare arm. ‘You’re not too big for a cuddle, are you, Livvy?’

  ‘Course not!’ I said, jumping on his lap too. ‘So Dad, have you been doing lots of selling?’

  ‘My job doesn’t involve any kind of selling,’ said Dad.

  ‘So what does it involve?’ I said.

  Dad gently took hold of my nose and pretended to twist it off.

  ‘You don’t give up, do you, Miss Nosy!’

  ‘Quit pestering your dad, Livvy,’ said Mum. ‘Come and help me stir the sauce for supper.’

  ‘Dad always makes the sauce,’ I said. ‘It’s his speciality.’ My dad was great at cooking, especially when we ate Italian.

  ‘Yes, but he’s had a really busy day,’ said Mum.

  ‘Hey, has Dad been cooking then? Is this new job of his in a restaurant? Oh, is it a Jamie’s?’ I asked, getting excited.

  ‘No, it’s not a Jamie’s or any other restaurant. Now do give it a rest, Livvy.’

  I couldn’t. I looked carefully at my dad, trying to suss things out. He went to his mysterious work in the same old jumper and trousers day after day, but in his old job he’d worn a smart suit and liked to wear different shirts and fancy ties.

  ‘Maybe your dad wears a uniform for his new job?’ Sarah suggested. ‘My mum and dad never wear their best clothes to work. They both wear blue uniforms.’