Secrets Page 17
I didn’t say much either. I was flying through this new magical world of religious Renaissance painting, so pink and blue and glittery gold. It was as if I’d sprouted my own beautiful set of angels’ wings. I’d always painted wings plain white, but now I saw they could be shaded from the palest pearl through deep rose and purple to the darkest midnight-blue tips. Some of the angels’ wings were carefully co-ordinated with their gowns like matching accessories. Others had unusual, eccentric colour combinations like red and gold and black, with a white gown. One particular fashionista angel was strolling along the sandy path with a golden-haired boy about my age, holding a fish.
When we were little Dad used to read aloud to us every day from a large and unwieldy Victorian Bible. Dad had been very religious until he had a row with our vicar. He’d gently suggested to Dad that home-schooling was all very well, but Grace and I needed more of a social life so we could make some friends. Dad blew his top and had no time for the vicar, his church, or the entire Christian faith after that.
He put the Bible back on the shelves as stock. I was sorry when it sold, because I loved looking at the wonderful Doré illustrations. I remembered a lot of the Bible stories, so I knew that the boy with the fish and the angel friend was Tobias. He was dressed in colourful medieval garb, with dashing bright-red tights. I tried to imagine a modern teenage boy prancing about in scarlet stockings. Still, some boys wore their jeans skin- tight. The Tobias in the painting obligingly put on blue jeans and a white T-shirt and smiled at me.
He came home with me that day as my new imaginary friend. Poor Jane got elbowed into the background. Tobias and I read together, painted together, walked together, whispered together. He spoke softly right into my ear, his cheek very nearly brushing mine.
Now I imagined him kissing me, touching me, like the girls and their boyfriends in the magazines. But then I imagined real boys, with their foul mouths and grabbing hands, and I shuddered.
‘I don’t like boys,’ I said.
‘Boys like you, Prue,’ said Grace. She sighed. ‘It’s not fair. I wish I was pretty like you so boys would turn round and stare at me.’
‘I bet they only stare because I look such a freak,’ I said.
Mum made most of our clothes from remnants from the Monday market stall. I’m fourteen years old and yet I have to wear demure little-girly dresses with short sleeves and swirly skirts. I have a red-and-white check, a baby blue with a little white flower motif, and a canary yellow piped with white. They are all embarrassingly awful.
Mum used to make appalling matching knickers when we were little, threaded with very unreliable elastic. Our baggy shop-bought white pants are only one degree better. Still, I have proper underwear now. I used my maths tuition money to buy a wonderful black bra with pink lace and a little pink rose, and two matching knickers, wispy little things a tenth of the size of my plain girls’ pants.
I locked the bathroom and tried them on, standing precariously on the edge of the bath so I could peek at myself in the bathroom cabinet mirror. I loved the way they looked, the way they make me look.
I hadn’t dared wear them yet under my awful dresses because Grace could so easily blab. I’d have to wash them out secretly myself rather than risk putting them in the laundry basket.
‘Do we look like freaks?’ Grace asked worriedly.
‘Of course we do. Look at our clothes!’
Grace considered. ‘I like my dresses, especially my pink one with the little panda pattern – it’s so cute,’ she said. ‘Would you have liked that material for your dress, Prue?’
‘No! I can’t stick little pandas or teddies or bunny rabbits. For God’s sake, I’m fourteen.’
‘Do you think I’m too old to wear my panda dress?’ Grace asked anxiously.
There was only one answer but I didn’t want to upset her. ‘I suppose your pink panda dress does still look quite sweet on you,’ I lied valiantly.
‘It’s getting a bit small for me now anyway,’ Grace sighed. ‘All my dresses are tight on me. I wish I wasn’t getting so large and lumpy.’
‘It’s just a stage you go through. Puppy fat.’
‘You didn’t,’ she sighed again. ‘Dad keeps going on about me getting fat. He says I shouldn’t eat so much. He says I’m greedy. Do you think I should go on a diet, Prue?’
‘No! Take no notice of him. He just likes to nag, you know that. Anyway, you can’t diet just yet. I’ve got you a surprise.’
I’d felt so mean spending all my tuition money on myself, though I knew Grace would never manage to keep any present I bought her properly hidden. The only way I could buy her a treat was to get her something edible, to be quickly consumed.
‘A surprise!’ said Grace, clapping her hands.
‘Ssh! I was keeping it a secret, to cheer you up the next time Dad goes off on one of his rants, but you might as well have it now.’
I climbed out of bed and went to scrabble in my knicker drawer. My hands found the flimsy satin and lace of my new underwear. I secretly stroked them in the dark, and then searched again until my fingers slid over the crackly cellophane of Grace’s surprise.
‘OK! Here we are!’ I slipped back into bed and thrust my present into her hands.
‘What is it?’ she said, unable to see properly in the dark.
I flicked the torch on to show her.
‘Oh wow!’
‘Shut up! Do you want Dad to hear?’ I said, nudging her.
‘Sorry. But, oh Prue, it’s so sweet!’
There’s a special chocolate boutique in the shopping centre. It’s Grace’s all-time favourite shop even though she’s never even set foot inside it. Mum buys chocolate off a market stall. It’s always a funny make and past its sell-by date, but it’s cheap, and that’s all Mum cares about.
I was going to buy Grace a pound of posh chocolates in a fancy box, but then I saw this big white chocolate bunny in the window, clutching an orange marzipan carrot. I knew she’d love it.
‘What shall I call him? Peter Rabbit? Benjamin Bunny?’
‘Can’t you ever make up your own names, Grace?’
‘You know I can’t. You think up a lovely name for him.’
‘There’s not much point. You’ll be chomping away at him in two seconds. Knowing you, there won’t even be a little chocolate paw left by midnight.’
‘I’m not going to eat him. He’s far too wonderful. I’m going to keep him for ever,’ said Grace, but her fat little fingers had already undone his ribbon and peeled off his cellophane. She sniffed his creamy ears ecstatically. ‘Oh, he smells heavenly!’
‘So eat him, silly. That’s what he’s for.’
‘I can’t! Well, perhaps I could eat his carrot? I don’t want to spoil him. Still, maybe I could just lick one of his ears, to see what he tastes like?’
‘Go for it, girl!’
Grace stuck out her tongue and licked. And licked again and again and again. And then all by themselves her teeth started chomping and the chocolate bunny was left disturbingly hard of hearing.
‘Oooh!’ Grace murmured blissfully. Then she shone the torch on him. She saw what she’d done. ‘Oooh! ’ she wailed, her tone changing.
‘It’s OK, just eat his head up quickly. It’s what he’s for.’
‘But it’s spoiling him. Why am I such a greedy guts? Look, he’s got a horrible gap in his head now.’
‘He’s fine.’
‘No he’s not. I want him to be whole again,’ Grace said, looking as if she might burst into tears.
‘Well, his ears are in your tummy. If you gobble up the rest of him quickly then his body can join up with them, and they can squidge themselves together like plasticine. Then he’ll be whole in your tummy and it will be his own private burrow.’
Grace giggled uncertainly, but started chomping on his chocolate head. She offered me one arm because she felt he could manage on three paws. I’d imagined him so vividly I felt a little worried myself. It was like feasting on a real pet rabbit
.
‘You eat your rabbit all up yourself, Gracie,’ I said.
‘It’s the loveliest treat ever,’ she said indistinctly, mouth crammed with chocolate. ‘But when did you buy it?’ She paused. The obvious hit her. ‘Where did you get the money?’
‘Keep your voice down!’
‘I’m whispering.’ Then we heard the bedroom door open along the landing. We held our breath. I snapped the torch off and Grace leaped into her own bed. We heard footsteps: the pad and slap of old slippers.
‘It’s OK, it’s only Mum,’ I whispered.
We heard her padding right along the landing, past our bedroom, down the stairs to the first floor, above the shop. Each stair creaked as she stepped. Our mother is a heavy woman.
We heard her in the kitchen, opening the fridge door.
‘She’s having a midnight feast too,’ I muttered.
‘Not a patch on mine,’ Grace whispered, daring to take another bite.
Mum came trudging up the stairs again, slower now, breathing heavily.
‘Should I save a little piece of rabbit for Mum?’ Grace asked.
‘No!’
‘But she loves chocolate.’
‘Ssh!’
‘Not now. In the morning,’ Grace persisted.
‘Shut up or she’ll hear us.’
It was too late. The footsteps stopped outside our door.
‘Girls? Are you awake?’ Mum whispered.
‘No!’ Grace said, idiotically.
Mum opened our door and came shuffling into the room. ‘You should have gone to sleep ages ago,’ she said. She came over to Grace’s bed and bent over her. ‘Are you all right, lovie?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Grace.
‘What about you, Prudence?’
‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled, giving a little yawn to make her think I was on the brink of sleep.
‘Are you hungry, Mum?’ Grace asked. ‘We heard you go down to the kitchen.’
‘I was just getting a glass of milk for your dad. He’s not feeling too clever. He keeps getting these funny turns.’ Mum sounded very anxious.
‘He should go to the doctor,’ I said.
‘You know what your dad’s like,’ said Mum. ‘Prudence, why don’t you try talking to him? When he’s in a good mood? He might just listen to you.’
I pulled a face in the dark. I hated being Dad’s favourite. It didn’t really mean much anyway. I couldn’t get him to do anything he didn’t want to do. No one could.
‘I’ll try mentioning the doctor,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think it will work.’
‘You’re a good girl,’ said Mum. ‘Well, night- night, then.’
She kissed Grace, patted my shoulder awkwardly and then waddled out of our bedroom, her hand held stiffly in front of her so she wouldn’t spill the milk.
‘You are a moron, Grace,’ I hissed.
‘Sorry!’ she said. She took another big bite of chocolate bunny. ‘Oh yum yum, happy tum!’ She fell asleep in mid-munch, and started snoring softly.
I lay awake for a while, talking to Tobias.
About the Author
Jacqueline Wilson is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author who served as Children’s Laureate from 2005–7. She has been awarded a number of prestigious awards, including the British Children’s Book of the Year and the Guardian Children'’s Fiction Award (for The Illustrated Mum), the Smarties Prize and the Children’s Book Award (for Double Act, for which she was also highly commended for the Carnegie Medal). In 2002 Jacqueline was given an OBE for services to literacy in schools and in 2008 she was appointed a Dame. She has sold over thirty-five million books and was the author most borrowed from British libraries in the last decade.
About the Illustrator
Nick Sharratt knew from an early age that he wanted to use his drawing skills as his career, so he went to Manchester Polytechnic to do an Art Foundation course. He followed this up with a BA (Hons) in Graphic Design at St Martin’s School of Art in London from 1981–1984.
Since graduating, Nick has been working full-time as an illustrator for children’s books, publishers and a wide range of magazines. His brilliant illustrations have brought to life many books, most notably the titles by Jacqueline Wilson.
Nick also writes books as well as illustrating them.
Also by Jacqueline Wilson
There are oodles of incredible Jacqueline Wilson books to enjoy!
The Dinosaur’s Packed Lunch
The Monster Story-Teller
The Cat Mummy
Lizzie Zipmouth
Sleepovers
Bad Girls
The Bed and Breakfast Star
Best Friends
Big Day Out
Buried Alive!
Candyfloss
Clean Break
Cliffhanger
Cookie
The Dare Game
The Diamond Girls
Double Act
Emerald Star
Glubbslyme
Hetty Feather
The Illustrated Mum
Jacky Daydream
Lily Alone
Little Darlings
Lola Rose
The Longest Whale Song
The Lottie Project
Midnight
The Mum-Minder
Queenie
Sapphire Battersea
Secrets
Starring Tracy Beaker
The Story of Tracy Beaker
The Suitcase Kid
Vicky Angel
The Worry Website
The Worst Thing About My Sister
FOR OLDER READERS:
Dustbin Baby
Girls In Love
Girls In Tears
Girls Out Late
Girls Under Pressure
Kiss
Love Lessons
My Secret Diary
My Sister Jodie
SECRETS
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 407 04548 1
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2008
Text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2008
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2008
First Published by Doubleday in 2002
Extract from LOVE LESSONS
Text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2005
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2005
The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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