The Strawberry Sisters (9 page)

Art is not my favourite subject. Kayleigh says that if you’re going to be creative then it’s good to have loads of art materials spread all around you, but I
don’t like how messy the art room always is. My worst thing is when Miss Gardner says, ‘Free choice today. Go mad, use your imagination!’ because I never know what to do. I prefer
it when she says, ‘Sketch a pencil portrait of your partner.’ Even then I like to ask her how big it should be and whether we’re allowed to do rubbing out.

So I was quite happy when Miss Gardner announced that we were going to be in an art competition. Competitions have rules.

‘As you know, we’ve got International Day coming up next month,’ she said. ‘Each of the Year Seven and Year Eight tutor groups will be given one of these . . .’ She
pointed to a large canvas panel on a frame. ‘You’ll be assigned a country and your job is to represent that country on your panel. They’ll be displayed on International Day so
your parents will have the opportunity to see them and the best one will win a prize.’

That all seemed clear, but then she said, ‘This is a class project so I want you to do everything yourselves.’

I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to get a panel done if she left us to it. I didn’t know if our class could organise themselves.

‘But who will be in charge?’ I asked.

‘I think perhaps it would best if we choose a couple of people to coordinate, just so that everybody knows what they’re doing. Who thinks they could do a good job of managing
things?’

Jasmine put her hand up before Miss Gardner had even finished the question. I’m not sure it’s very smart for teachers to ask questions like that because often the people who think
they’re good at managing are the people who just like bossing everyone about. Eight other people put up their hands, including Ashandra and Kayleigh. I didn’t.

Miss Gardner looked the volunteers over. ‘I think we’ll have Ashandra and Kayleigh,’ she said.

Jasmine sucked in her breath and pinched up her face.

Nobody else was surprised. We’d been at school for less than three weeks, but everybody knew that Ashandra is the smart, confident girl that teachers always pick for stuff. And we’d
all sighed with envy looking at Kayleigh’s paintings and drawings so it was obvious she was a good choice for an art project.

Jasmine pays more attention to what she wants than what’s obvious so she kept on scowling.

Miss Gardner let Alenka pull a slip of paper out of a bag. We got China. Miss Gardner said that today was for finishing off our jungle scenes, but next lesson Ashandra and Kayleigh would take
over and we’d get to work on bringing the spirit of China to our panel.

I was so excited thinking about Ashandra and Kayleigh working together that I almost forgot that it was our first Hockey Club at lunchtime. Luckily, everybody else remembered. I was pleased that
I had asked Alenka, mostly because she was really keen, but also because she seemed a tiny bit nervous like me. Ashandra and Kayleigh, on the other hand, were acting completely normal and
didn’t seem to be worrying about a hockey stick slipping out of their sweaty hands at all. We got changed and headed out on to the field.

The thing that I’ve discovered about sport is that it’s not just how good you are that matters; it’s how good people expect you to be. Chloe’s got powerful legs and a
sturdy body: people expect her to be good at sport and she is. But Lucy, who’s tiny with copper curls, looks like the kind of china doll that you’re afraid to pick up in case you break
it so no one expects her to be an athlete. On sports day, everyone smiles when she lines up for a race. She never actually wins, but she looks so little, and like she’s trying so hard, that
she always gets a cheer when she crosses the finishing line.

My issue is my height. If you’re tall, people expect two things from you: being mature and being good at sport. I’m actually not that bad at PE. I can run fast-ish and I can catch
and throw reasonably well. You have to be able to catch in our house because people are always throwing things and if you don’t react quickly enough you’ll end up with a face full of
stinky socks or Lucy’s toast crusts. The problem I have with sport is not that I’m middle-ish at it: it’s that people expect me to be brilliant. And when you’re expecting
something amazing anything else just looks rubbish. So, even though hockey was my idea, I was really nervous about people being disappointed in me.

Luckily, none of the thirty-two girls who turned up for Hockey Club had played any hockey before and we were all rubbish. Which was really nice. The club was run by a different teacher to the
one we have for PE lessons and she didn’t say, ‘You ought to be good at this,’ or ‘Use those long legs,’ or any of the stuff I usually get shouted at me.

The only downside was that Jasmine and her friends, Asia and Courtney, were there. Every time Mrs Henderson got us to line up, I stood as far away from them as possible.

First, we learnt how to hold the stick and then we practised getting the ball to stop, which was more difficult than you’d think. When we got to dribbling the ball round cones, it was
complete chaos: there were balls everywhere.

‘Watch it! That’s mine!’ Jasmine snapped when I went after what I thought was my ball. ‘Why are you even here?’ she asked. ‘You’ll just get your long
legs tied in a knot.’

I kept my head down and picked up a different ball. Why was she so horrible? I almost wished I hadn’t bothered coming and that I was sitting in the cafeteria, eating a ham sandwich, but
then I saw Kayleigh giggling at Ashandra pretending to play her stick like a guitar and I knew it was all worthwhile.

When Lucy came in with Mum that evening, she poked me in the middle.

‘Can you watch me be a bat?’ she asked.

Lucy likes pretending to be a bat. She hangs upside down by her knees from a climbing frame at the skatepark down the road and thinks battish things. But she isn’t allowed to go to the
park by herself.

I was in the middle of my homework, but Lucy looked a bit droopy so I said yes. When we got there, a boy a bit younger than me was on the skate ramp, but no one else. I was glad; sometimes when
we go to the park there are loads of older boys and I feel a bit embarrassed. Especially when they stare at Lucy while she’s being a bat. Lucy scrambled up the climbing frame and swung into
position. She let out a sigh like she’d just leant back in a really comfy armchair.

I balanced on the bottom rung of the frame.

‘What do you think Kirsti is doing now?’ Lucy asked.

‘I’m pretty sure she’s either feeding or sleeping.’

‘Or gurgling. Sometimes she makes noises like Chloe’s stomach does after she’s eaten curry.’

I thought that if Lucy was feeling really relaxed and bat-like it might be a good time to ask her about Kirsti.

‘Lucy? Why are you always thinking about Kirsti? Are you sad that you’re not the baby any more?’

Lucy turned her head to look at me. ‘Why would I want to be a baby?’

‘You
were
the baby until Kirsti was born.’

Lucy’s eyes sparked up like flames. ‘I was not! I haven’t been a baby for years and years. Who wants to be a baby? You have to wear stupid hats and eat sloppy
things.’

‘So why are you so . . . interested in Kirsti?’

‘She’s my sister,’ she said, looking at me like I was mad.

‘But why are you always hanging around her when we’re at Dad’s? And why do you keep staring at her?’

Lucy wrinkled her nose. ‘I told you, she’s my sister.’

And then I understood that Lucy hadn’t been acting mean to Kirsti, or at least not any meaner than she is to anyone else; she was just spending time with her.

‘I know Kirsti’s your sister,’ I said, ‘but Amelia’s your sister too and you don’t spend ages talking to her.’

‘I could if I wanted to.’

‘But you don’t.’

‘But I
could
. Because she’s near me. Amelia, Chloe and you are all my sisters so you’re in my house. All the time.’

‘And that’s a good thing?’

‘That’s what it’s supposed to be. All your family should be in your house.’

I felt a bit sad because, even though Lucy didn’t want to be the baby, she was still little and I didn’t think she completely understood divorce. ‘I know some families are like
that,’ I said. ‘But when parents split up people live in different houses.’

‘Mum and Dad could buy one big house and we could all live in that.’

I sighed. ‘I don’t think that will happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Mum and Dad don’t love each other any more.’

Lucy huffed. ‘They don’t have to do love stuff to be in the same house!’ She started swinging backwards and forwards. Her face was pink and angry. ‘I don’t want
Kirsti to be ruined. She’s supposed to be a Strawberry Sister like us, but she doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t know about burping competitions, or licking a cake to bagsie it,
and she’s never even played March of the Zombies.’

‘She’s a bit small for March of the Zombies.’

Lucy shook her head at me like I was an idiot. ‘What do you think will happen to all the babies when the zombies come? You’re never too young to be a zombie.’

‘We’ll see Kirsti whenever we go to Dad’s,’ I said.

Lucy put her hands on the bar beneath her, then flipped her legs over so she landed on the ground.

‘It’s not the same as having her in our house.’ Her face was all scrunched up.

I was getting really hungry and cold, but I wanted to be nice so I tried to think of a way to make Lucy feel better.

‘You could help Kirsti be a Strawberry Sister,’ I suggested.

‘Could I?’

‘Yep, you could be in charge.’ Lucy likes being in charge. ‘You could make sure that she knows all our family things. Teach her our games and take her to our special places.
Show her what it means to be a Strawberry Sister.’

Lucy was still frowning, but I could tell she was thinking about it.

When we got back from the park, I went looking for Chloe. I found her feeding Buttercup. Luckily for Buttercup, it looked like she was getting a vegetarian dinner this time.

‘Lucy doesn’t hate Kirsti,’ I said.

‘That’s good,’ Chloe said, nibbling on a bit of Buttercup’s lettuce.

‘She’s upset that Kirsti doesn’t live with us. She actually really loves her.’

‘That’s good too,’ she said. ‘You have to love your family. Except for complete traitors called Amelia. You have to spit at those ones.’ She scowled up at
Amelia’s window. ‘It’s good about Lucy.’

I thought about that later when I was in bed. Because Chloe was right: it
was
good that Lucy loved Kirsti. Having a family to love is definitely a bright side. But
somehow it was still a problem. It was making Lucy unhappy. But I knew that the answer wasn’t for Lucy to love Kirsti any less.

When you’re little, you think that love is a really good answer to all your problems. It’s what makes you feel better when you fall over and your mum cuddles you, and the thing that
makes you feel safe at night when your dad tucks you in; it’s the happy storybook ending where the prince and princess get married or the characters become friends forever.

But maybe love isn’t always the answer. Maybe sometimes how much you love someone leads to questions too. Hard questions.

Saturdays at home are quite pyjama-y. Chloe usually goes out to do something sporty with her friends and the rest of us stay at home and watch TV and read books and chat to Mum
and eat lots of sandwiches.

It’s not like that at Dad’s house. At Dad’s house, there’s always a Plan. It’s not always the same thing because my dad changes what he’s into all the time.
It used to drive my mum mad, especially when he’d come home with a new gadget or even more sports equipment. Sometimes I like my dad’s new hobbies and sometimes I don’t. Last year
he got really into geocaching and we used to hike round the countryside, using a GPS device to look for secret boxes. I liked finding the coordinates and Chloe liked racing about on the moors, but
Lucy got bored and Amelia wouldn’t join in. After a while, Dad didn’t seem so keen.

Then he got a pottery wheel. I didn’t like that. Clay is really messy and it never does what you want it to.

Then it was cycling. I quite liked that, except when we went riding in the woods and the paths were really bumpy and I nearly went crashing into a bush. We still go cycling sometimes, but
today’s Plan was fishing.

Dad got everyone up very early, except for Suvi and Kirsti who he said were having a lie-in because Kirsti had been awake for half the night. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do this
afternoon,’ Dad said. ‘So I want to get an early start.’

Lucy hadn’t been awake half the night, but she was still quite grumpy.

‘Fishing for fish?’ she asked.

‘Of course for fish,’ Dad said, whipping away her breakfast plate.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. ‘Sometimes in cartoons when they go fishing they pull out a boot or a tyre on the end of their hook.’

‘I think the general idea is to avoid rubbish and stick to fish.’

‘I’d like a tyre better than a fish. You can make a swing out of a tyre.’

Dad took some water bottles out of the fridge and put them in a bag. ‘OK, Lucy, you fish for junk and the rest of us will try to catch our supper.’