Clean Break Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Also by Jacqueline Wilson

  Copyright

  About the Book

  When Dad and Mum break up, Em does her best to cheer up her little brother and sister, even though she’s miserable too. She tells them exciting tales because she knows a good story can make life seem better. Meeting the author of her own favourite books would be a dream come true. But could her other greatest wish be granted? Is any story powerful enough to bring Dad back?

  A charming book about real family life from prize-winning Jacqueline Wilson – now with a new introduction by the author!

  For Molly Lajtha

  (plus a big thank you to Emma Chadwick–Booth)

  I feel very fond of Em, the girl who tells the story in Clean Break. She tries so hard to be a good big sister to irritating little Vita and Maxie and she’s a true friend to her mum. She adores her dad. The story starts with a very traumatic Christmas, though Em thinks it’s going to be the best Christmas ever. I do hope her next Christmas lives up to expectations.

  I love writing about Christmas, especially choosing all the presents for everyone. I also liked making up the stories that Em tells Vita and Maxie. I think she’s the sort of girl who might well become a writer when she grows up. She certainly loves reading. When I was writing the story I tried hard to think what sort of books Em would like reading best. I imagined this shy, sweet girl going into a bookshop and browsing in the children’s section. What would she choose?

  The thought popped into my head that maybe she’d choose my books. Yet I couldn’t actually put that in Clean Break. It would sound horribly like showing off. So I decided to invent an alternative me, Jenna Williams. We’d share the same initials and write very similar books. I wrote about a child called Elsa in The Bed and Breakfast Star. Jenna Williams wrote Elsie No-Home. I wrote Best Friends about Gemma and Alice who wanted to stay friends forever. Jenna Williams wrote Forever Friends. I wrote The Diamond Girls and old copycat Jenna wrote The Emerald Sisters.

  Nick Sharratt drew a picture of Jenna Williams talking to Em at a book signing session. He drew her looking very like me, with short spiky hair, black clothes and a lot of big silver jewellery. There’s only one difference between Jenna and me – she has long dangly earrings, whereas I don’t ever wear earrings. I don’t even have pierced ears.

  There’s one other character in Clean Break based on a real person. In chapter 13, Em falls when running to her dad and breaks her arm. She’s taken to hospital by Jenna Williams’ special driver Bob in his silver Mercedes.

  When I’m doing book tours all over the country I have a lovely, jolly, fair-haired gentleman called Bob driving me everywhere in his Mercedes. Look out for him if you ever come to one of my book signings. He’ll be very happy to say hello!

  1

  I THOUGHT IT was going to be the best Christmas ever. I woke up very very early and sat up as slowly as I could, trying not to shake the bed. I didn’t want to wake Vita or Maxie. I wanted to have this moment all to myself.

  I wriggled down to the end of the bed, carefully edging round Vita. She always curled up like a little monkey, knees right under her pointed chin, so the hump that was her stopped halfway down the duvet. It was so dark I couldn’t see at all, but I could feel.

  My hand stroked three little woolly socks stretched to bursting point. They were tiny stripy socks, too small even for Vita. The joke was to see how many weeny presents could be stuffed inside.

  Vita and Maxie appreciated Santa’s sense of humour and left him a minute mince pie on a doll’s tea-set plate and a thimbleful of wine, and wrote him teeny thank-you letters on pieces of paper no bigger than a postage stamp. Well, Vita couldn’t fit her shaky pencil printing on such a tiny scrap but she wrote ‘Dear Santa I love you and pleese leeve me lots and lots of little pressents from your speshal frend Vita’ on a big piece of paper and then folded it up again and again. Maxie simply wrote a letter ‘M’ and a lot of wonky kisses.

  I wrote a letter too, even though I was only pretending for Vita and Maxie’s sake. I knew who filled the Christmas socks. I thought he was much more magical than any bearded old gent in a red gown.

  I felt past the socks to the space underneath. My hand brushed three parcels wrapped in crackly paper and tied with silk ribbon. I felt their shapes, wondering which one was for me. There was a very small square hard parcel, a flat oblong package and a large unwieldy squashy one, very wide at one end. I hung further out of bed, trying to work out the peculiar shape. I wriggled a little too far and went scooting right over the end, landing on my head.

  Maxie woke up and started shrieking.

  ‘Ssh! Shut up, Maxie! It’s OK, don’t cry,’ I said, crawling past the presents to Maxie’s little mattress.

  He doesn’t want to sleep in a proper bed. He likes to set up a camp with lots of blankets and cushions and all his cuddly toys. Sometimes it’s hard to spot Maxie himself under all his droopy old teddies.

  I wrestled my way through a lot of fur and found Maxie, quivering in his going-to-bed jersey and underpants. That’s another weird thing about Maxie, he hates pyjamas. There are a lot of weird things about my little brother.

  I crawled onto his mattress and cuddled him close. ‘It’s me, silly.’

  ‘I thought you were a Wild Thing coming to get me,’ Maxie sobbed.

  Where the Wild Things Are was Dad’s favourite book. The little boy in it is called Max, and he tames all these Wild Thing monsters. That’s where our Maxie got his name. Reading the book to him was a big mistake. Our Maxie couldn’t ever tame Wild Thing scary monsters. He wouldn’t be up to taming wild fluffy baby bunnies.

  ‘The Wild Things are all shut up in their book, Maxie,’ I whispered. ‘Stop crying, you’ll make my nightie all wet. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!’

  ‘Is Father Christmas here?’ Vita shouted, jumping out from under the duvet.

  ‘Ssh! It’s only six o’clock. But he’s been, he’s left us presents.’

  ‘Has he left any presents for me?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, none whatsoever,’ said Vita, jumping down the bed and pouncing on the presents. ‘Yay! For dear Vita, love from Santa. And here we are again – To darling Vita, even more love from Santa. And there’s this one too, To my special sweetheart Vita, lots and lots and lots of love from Santa. Nothing for you two at all.’

  Maxie started sobbing again.

  ‘She’s just teasing, Maxie. Don’t let her wind you up. Shut up, Vita. Be nice, it’s Christmas. Leave the presents alone. We open them in Mum and Dad’s bed, you know we do.’

  ‘Let’s go to their room now!’ said Vita, scrabbling at the bottom of the bed, scooping up all three parcels and clutching them to her chest.

  ‘No, no, it’s not time yet. Mum will be cross,’ I said, unpeeling Maxie and jumping up to restrain Vita.

  ‘My daddy won’t be cross with me,’ said Vita.

  I always hated it when she said my daddy. It was a mean Vita trick to remind me that he wasn’t really my dad.

  He always said he loved me just as much as Vita and Maxie. I hoped hoped hoped it was true, because I loved him more than anyone else in the whole world, even a tiny bit more than Mum. More than Vi
ta and Maxie. Much more than Gran.

  ‘We’d better wait until seven, Vita,’ I said.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Half past six then. Mum and Dad were out till late last night, they’ll be tired.’

  ‘They won’t be tired, it’s Christmas! Stop being so boring, Em. You just want to boss me about all the time.’

  It’s almost impossible to boss Vita even though she’s years younger than me and literally half my size. She’s the one who’s done the bossing, ever since she could sit up in her buggy and shriek. It is a royal pain having a little sister like Vita. You have to learn to be dead crafty if you want to manage her.

  ‘If you come and cuddle back into bed I’ll tell you another Princess Vita story,’ I said. ‘A special Christmas Princess Vita story where she gets to fly to Santa’s workshop and has the pick of all his presents. And she meets Mrs Christmas and all the little children Christmases – Clara Christmas, Caroline Christmas and little Charlie Christmas.’

  ‘Can Prince Maxie play with Charlie Christmas?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, he can’t. This is my Princess Vita story,’ said Vita.

  I had her hooked. She got back into bed. Maxie grabbed an armful of teddies and climbed into our bed too. I lay between them, making up the story. Princess Vita stories were very boring because they always had to be about sweetly pretty show-off Princess Vita. Everyone adored her and wanted to be her friend and gave her elaborate presents. I had to go into extreme detail describing each designer princess gown with matching wings, her jewelled ten-league trainers, and the golden crown the exact shade of Princess Vita’s long long curls.

  Our Vita wriggled and squirmed excitedly, and when I started describing the golden crown (and the pink diamond tiara and the ruby slides and the amethyst hair bobbles) she tossed her head around as if she was adorning her own long long curls. She hasn’t really got any. Vita has very thin, fine, straight baby hair like beige cotton. She’s been growing it for several years but it still hasn’t reached her shoulders.

  My hair is straw rather than mouse, and thick and strong. When I undo my plaits it very nearly reaches my waist (if I tilt my head right back).

  ‘Please put Prince Maxie into the story,’ Maxie begged, nuzzling his head against my neck. His hair is the same length as Vita’s, coal-black with a long fringe. If he’s wriggled around a lot in the night it sticks straight out like a chimney brush.

  ‘Princess Vita has a brother called Prince Maxie, the boldest biggest boy in the whole kingdom,’ I said.

  Maxie sucked in his breath with pleasure.

  ‘As if!’ said Vita. ‘Bother Prince Maxie. Tell about Princess Vita’s trip to see Santa.’

  I ended up telling two stories, swerving from one to the other, five minutes of Princess Vita, a quick diversion to see Prince Maxie defeating the seven-headed dragon spouting scarlet flames, and then back to Princess Vita’s sortie in Santa’s sleigh.

  ‘There aren’t really seven-headed dragons, are there?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, you’ve killed the very last one,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know there aren’t any more hiding in their caves?’ Maxie asked.

  ‘Oh yes, there are lots and lots, all huddled down in the dark so you can’t see them, but they come creeping out at night all ready to get you,’ Vita said gleefully.

  ‘Will you stop being so mean to him, you bad girl!’ I said. ‘I’ll torture you!’ I got hold of her stick wrist and gave her a tiny Chinese burn.

  ‘Didn’t hurt,’ Vita laughed. ‘No one can hurt me. I’m Princess Vita. If any monsters come bothering me I’ll give them one kick with my ten-league trainers and they’ll beg for mercy.’

  ‘OK, let’s get you begging for mercy. I’m going to tickle you,’ I said, scrabbling under her chin, in her armpit, on her tummy.

  Vita giggled and kicked and squirmed, trying to burrow under the duvet away from me.

  ‘Come on, Maxie, let’s get her,’ I said.

  ‘Tickle tickle tickle,’ said Maxie, his hands shaped into little claws. He stabbed at Vita ineffectively. She was in such a giggly heap she squealed anyway.

  ‘I’m tickling Vita!’ Maxie said proudly.

  ‘Yeah, look, she’s cowering away from you,’ I said. ‘But there’s no escape, little Vita, the tickle torturers are relentless.’

  I reached right under the duvet and found her feet. I held one captive with one hand and tickled the other.

  ‘No, no, stop it, you beast!’ Vita screamed, threshing and kicking.

  ‘Hey, hey, who’s being murdered?’ Dad came into the room, hands on his hips, just wearing his jeans.

  ‘Dad!’ We all three yelled his name and jumped at him for a big hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Dad!’

  ‘Santa’s been, Dad, look!’

  ‘He left lots of presents – all for me!’ said Vita.

  ‘You wish, little Vita,’ said Dad. He caught her up and whirled her round and round.

  ‘Me too, me too,’ Maxie begged.

  ‘No, little Maxie, we’re going to toss you like a pancake,’ said Dad, picking Maxie up and hurling him high in the air. Maxie shrieked in terror, but bore it because he didn’t want to be left out.

  I didn’t want to be left out either but I knew there was no way Dad could whirl or toss me. I sat back on the bed feeling larger and lumpier than ever. Dad pretended to take a bite out of Maxie pancake and then set him free. Dad smiled at me. He bowed formally.

  ‘Would you care to dance, Princess Glittering Green Emerald?’

  I jumped up and Dad started doing this crazy jive with me, singing a rock ’n’ roll version of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. Vita and Maxie started jumping around too, Vita light as a feather, Maxie thumping.

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down now, kids, we’ll wake Mum.’

  ‘We want to wake Mum,’ said Vita. ‘We want our presents!’

  ‘OK, let’s go and wish her happy Christmas,’ said Dad. ‘Bring the presents into our room.’

  ‘They aren’t really all for Vita, are they, Dad?’ said Maxie.

  ‘There’s one each for all of you,’ said Dad. ‘That one is for my number one son.’

  ‘I’m your number one daughter, aren’t I, Dad?’ said Vita, elbowing me out of the way.

  ‘You’re my special little daughter,’ said Dad.

  I waited. I didn’t want to be his big daughter.

  ‘You’re my special grown-up daughter, Emerald,’ said Dad.

  My name isn’t really Emerald, it’s plain Emily. All the rest of the family called me Em. I loved it when Dad called me Emerald.

  ‘Shall I go and make you and Mum a cup of tea?’ I offered.

  I loved being treated like a grown-up too. Vita and Maxie weren’t allowed anywhere near the cooker and couldn’t so much as switch on the kettle.

  ‘That would be great, darling, but if you start faffing around in the kitchen your gran will wake up.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’ We certainly didn’t want Gran climbing into Mum and Dad’s bed with us.

  ‘Come on then, kids. Let’s get the Christmas show on the road,’ said Dad. He yawned and ran his fingers through his long hair. My dad’s got the most beautiful long hair in the whole world. It’s thick and dark and glossy black, like Maxie’s, but Dad’s grown his way past his shoulders. He wears it in one tight fat plait during the day to keep it neat, and then it’s all lovely and loose at night. It looks so strange and special, so perfect for Dad. He gets fed up with it sometimes, saying he looks like some silly old hippy, and he’s always threatening to get it cut.

  That’s how Dad met Mum. He went into her hairdressing salon at the top of the Pink Palace on the spur of the moment and asked her to chop it all off. She took one look at him and said no way. She said she didn’t usually go for guys with long hair but said it really suited Dad and it would be a shame to spoil such a distinctive look. That’s what she said. I knew this story off by heart. Dad liked her paying him compliments so he asked her if she’d come for a
drink with him when she finished work. They ended up spending the whole evening together and falling madly in love. They’ve been together ever since. Just like a fairy story. They don’t live in an enchanted castle because Mum doesn’t earn that much money as a hairdresser and Dad earns less as an actor, though he has his fairy stall at the Pink Palace now. He works very hard, no matter what Gran says.

  We tiptoed along the landing so as not to wake her. She has the biggest bedroom at the front. I suppose that’s only fair as it’s her house, but it means Mum and Dad are squashed up in the little bedroom, and Vita, Maxie and me are positively crammed into our room. Gran suggested one of us might like to go and sleep in her room with her but we thought that was a terrible idea.

  Gran snores for a start. We could hear her snoring on Christmas morning even though her bedroom door was shut. Dad gave a very tiny piggy snore, imitating her, and we all got the giggles. We had to hold our hands over our mouths to muffle them (not easy clutching Christmas stockings and slippery parcels!). We exploded into Mum and Dad’s bedroom, dropping everything, jumping on the bed, snorting with laughter.

  Mum sat up, startled, her hair hanging in her eyes. ‘What . . .?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mum!’

  ‘Happy Christmas, babe,’ said Dad, kissing her.

  ‘Oh darling, happy happy Christmas,’ said Mum, flinging her arms round him and running her fingers through his hair.

  ‘Give me a Christmas kiss, Mum!’ Vita demanded, pulling at her bare shoulder.

  ‘Me too,’ said Maxie.

  ‘Me too, me too, me too!’ I said, making a joke of it, sending them up.

  ‘Happy Christmas, kids. Big big kisses for all of you in just a minute,’ said Mum, wrapping her dressing gown round her and climbing out of bed.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ said Dad, climbing back in. ‘Come back!’

  ‘Got to take a little trip to the bathroom, darling,’ said Mum.

  We couldn’t be mean enough to start opening our stockings without her. She kept us waiting a little while. She came back smelling of toothpaste and her special rosy soap, her face powdered, her hair teased and sprayed into her usual blonde bob.