Part 4 (1/2)

Chapter Eight.

Carrie closed the door of the Wendy house, looked at Joel and frowned. He was sucking his thumb and rubbing his cheek with his silky. His silky was a pale pink scarf Mum had worn when he'd been a baby. He used to stroke it whenever she wore it and then one night she gave it to him to help him sleep. He was always carrying the scarf around with him, dragging it on the floor when he was really little. Carrie could remember the time they were going somewhere and couldn't find it. Joel had cried and cried and wouldn't get in the car until he had it. They found it under a pile of his toys. He wasn't a baby then, but he'd acted like one.

He was acting like a baby now, sucking his thumb and making that humming noise he made when he was tired or upset. None of the grown-ups seemed to notice that he was doing it more and more, but Carrie knew he had to stop. If he did it when he went to school, he'd be laughed at. Someone would have to tell him. And seeing as she was the only one who knew what he was doing, it would have to be her. She sat in the chair next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, just as Mummy used to whenever she had something important to say. 'Joel,' she said, 'do you remember Daddy saying that big boys don't suck their thumbs? It's something you grow out of.'

Joel unplugged his thumb, making a small popping sound. 'Mummy said I could do it.'

'Yes, but that was when you were very little. Now you're a big boy. You'll be five soon.'

He shook his head. 'But Mummy said it was all right. She did.' His eyes wide, he clutched at his silky as though afraid Carrie might s.n.a.t.c.h it from him.

She tried to make her voice sound firm, like a grown-up's. 'I'm only telling you this for your own good, Joel. Because when you go to big school in a few weeks' time, you'll get laughed at if you don't act like all the other children. And if I'm not around to keep an eye on you, they'll pick on you.'

His eyes opened even wider. 'Then I'm not going to school.'

'But you have to.'

He shook his head and put his thumb back in his mouth.

Carrie took her arms away from him, folded them in front of her and tried to look stern. 'If you don't do as I say, I won't let you sleep in my bed with me.'

The thumb was out again. 'But I don't like sleeping on my own.'

'Then you have to do as I say.'

He looked thoughtful. 'Can I take silky to school with me?'

'No. You wouldn't want to lose it, would you? And someone might take it. I took a doll to school once and a girl stole it. She said she didn't, but I know she did. You see, Joel, not everyone's as nice as us.'

'Grandma and Granddad are nice.'

'That's true.'

'And Harriet. She's nice.'

Carrie wasn't so sure about this. For the last few days, since Harriet had come back from wherever it was she'd been, she hadn't seemed at all nice. She'd told Carrie off for not eating enough of her cereal yesterday morning and then had snapped at her because she hadn't tidied her room. 'You have to do your bit,' Harriet had said. 'You can't expect me or Grandma and Granddad to do everything for you.'

'Grandma doesn't mind tidying up; she told me she quite likes it,' Carrie had said.

'But Grandma can't do as much as she used to.'

'What's wrong with her?'

'It doesn't matter what's wrong with her; the point is you have to make sure you clean up after yourselves. And if you can remember to put the lid back on the toothpaste after you've finished spreading it round the basin, so much the better.'

It wasn't even as if her bedroom had been that messy. Just a few toys she and Joel had tipped out of the box and had been playing with.

Harriet could be so bossy with her and Joel. Maybe not so much with Joel. That was because he was still little. Probably, when he was bigger, Harriet would start telling him off too.

Carrie often wished that Harriet could be more like their mother. You'd have thought because they were sisters they would be the same. But they weren't. Other than being the same size, they weren't like one another at all. Mum had been kind and patient, and her voice had always been gentle and full of happiness, like she was about to burst out laughing. Carrie used to love it when Mum read to her; she did all the voices, even the funny deep ones. Harriet never did that. She always rushed it as if she was in a hurry to do something else. She could look pretty sometimes, like Mum, but not when she was cross; then her lips would go all thin and her eyes would screw up in a scowl, as if she'd eaten something horrible.

Carrie knew for a fact that Harriet didn't like children. If she did like them, she'd be married with some of her own. Maybe then it wouldn't be so bad for her and Joel. If they had some cousins to play with, there wouldn't be time to think about ...

Carrie stopped quickly. She'd promised herself not to let her mind get confused with sad thoughts about Mum and Dad. She had to remember what Grandma had told her, that they were happy where they were. But then everyone knew that if you went to heaven you were happy, that you didn't have anything to worry about. There wasn't anyone there to tell you off. No one to tell you to tidy your room.

Carrie often wished she and Joel could be there too. But if that happened then she'd miss Grandma and Granddad, who were always nice and hardly ever told them off. Granddad had taken them to the garden centre the other day - the day when Harriet came home in a bad mood with her car full of bags and boxes - and he hadn't even told Joel off when he didn't make it to the loo in time and wet himself. Although he did sigh quite a bit when they were queuing for an ice-cream.

It was weird, but Grandma and Granddad were the only friends Carrie and Joel now had. They hadn't lived in their last house long enough to make any friends, and the friends they'd made before she couldn't really remember because they'd moved house millions of times. Although Harriet said it wasn't anywhere near that many. She said she should know because she'd stayed with them at least once in every house they'd ever lived in.

Deciding it was too hot in the Wendy house, Carrie got up and opened the two windows either side of the door. She liked playing in here; it was like having her own little house. She lifted the lid of the toy box and looked inside. There was the plastic tea set Joel loved playing with. 'Let's have a tea party,' she said, knowing that it would please him.

Joel sprang into life and got off his chair. 'Can we have real water like we did last time? Not pretend water.'

She pa.s.sed him a matching teapot and milk jug. 'Yes. But only if you promise not to spill it everywhere. We mustn't make extra work for Grandma and Granddad.' And quoting her aunt, she added, 'Grandma isn't very well, so we have to be extra good.'

She helped him to place the things carefully on the table, four cups and saucers and four plates - he always insisted that it had to be four of everything. 'Is Grandma going to die like Mummy and Daddy?' he asked, putting the lid on the teapot.

'Don't be stupid. No one is going to die, Joel.' Carrie didn't know if this was true. She and Joel weren't supposed to know that their grandmother had anything wrong with her. But Carrie often listened at the top of the stairs when everyone thought she was asleep in bed and one night she had heard Harriet telling Grandma that she should rest more, that if she didn't, she'd make herself more ill than she already was.

'But Mummy and Daddy died,' Joel said, his voice shrill and persistent. 'Harriet says that everyone dies in the end. Harriet told me that even - '

'Oh, stop going on about it, will you?' Carrie snapped. 'You're just a silly little boy who doesn't know anything.' She wrenched the teapot out of his hands and grabbed the milk jug. 'Now stay here while I go and fill these.'

She didn't know why, but her legs were shaking when she stepped outside into the suns.h.i.+ne. She walked uncertainly across the lawn to the tap that was on the end of the garage. Blinking back tears, she wondered if this was how you felt just before you fainted. A boy had fainted at school once, on sports day, and everyone had crowded round him to get a look as he lay on the gra.s.s. She stood in the shade of the garage and felt her heart racing. It felt like someone was playing a drum inside her. Her throat felt tight and it was an effort to swallow. Maybe she had what was making Grandma ill. Maybe she was dying. She suddenly thought of Joel and how lonely and frightened he'd be without her.

At night, when her brother was sleeping next to her, his breath noisy and tickly in her ear, his silky wrapped around his thumb-sucking hand, she often worried about who would look after them if anything happened to their grandparents. Or Harriet. What if there was another car crash and she and Joel were left on their own? Who would look after them then? Or would they be made to stay in one of those places where children without parents had to live?

An orphanage.

Just saying the word in her head scared Carrie. She knew all about orphanages; she'd seen them on the television. Children were made to wear smelly old clothes that had been worn by hundreds of other children. They were all made to sleep together in one big room and had to get up in the middle of the night to mop the floors. Oh, yes, she knew what went on. She'd watched that film with the girl who had all that curly red hair. She and the other girls in the orphanage didn't look too unhappy, but they all wanted to escape, didn't they? They wanted to be with kind, rich people who loved them.

Suddenly Carrie's throat was so tight she was struggling to breathe. It only loosened when hot tears splashed onto her cheeks. She drew her forearm across her face and wiped them away. Just as Joel had to stop sucking his thumb, she had to learn not to cry. She had to be good, too. Because if Grandma wasn't well and they annoyed Harriet, their aunt might decide not to look after them any more and they'd end up in an orphanage wearing clothes that didn't fit and shoes with holes in them.

Perhaps she ought to explain to Joel what could happen if they didn't do as Harriet said.

She filled the plastic teapot and jug and went back to the Wendy house. When she pushed the door open, she found Joel lying on his side on the floor. He was crying, curled up into a ball, his precious silky pushed against his eyes. In her hurry to put the teapot and jug on the table, she splashed water down the front of her shorts and T-s.h.i.+rt, but hardly noticing it, she dropped to her knees. She pulled her brother onto her lap. 'What's the matter, Joel? Have you hurt yourself?'

He lifted his head from her shoulder. 'You ... you shouted at me. You called me silly. And I'm not. Mummy said I was clever. She ... she always said I was clever.'

'Oh, Joel, I'm sorry. Of course you're not silly. Please don't cry any more.'

But the more she tried to calm him - rocking him gently, patting his back - the more he cried, his tears making a cool, damp patch on her shoulder. He was shuddering and gulping in her arms and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She tried to think what their mother would have done if she were here. How would Mum have stopped him crying?

Then it came to her: Mum would have given him a drink. Reaching across to the table she poured Joel a cup of water from the teapot. 'Look, Joel,' she said, 'I've got you a drink. Sit up straight and you can have it.'

Within seconds he was calm and drinking thirstily. Still holding him close and wiping his eyes with his silky, she said, 'Don't worry, Joel, I'll take care of you. I'll always look after you.'