her old Fisher-Price Activity Centre. My favourite is the fat plastic button you hit to make a bean shoot up a tube to make a bell ring. I love the squidginess of the button. Also the high-pitched ring, like a bicycle bell, only shorter: ping. Next to the tube is a picture of Jack and the beanstalk, with the plant running all the way to the top, where the bell is. Jane says her mom says the picture is in relief. I wonder why. We had a relief teacher for a week once. Maybe it meant she wasn’t real.
We play school, and take turns at being the teacher. We practise writing and drawing. We draw wave patterns called curly cuh. One day Jane whacks her teddy with the ruler because he’s making double lines on his letters. Afterwards she gives him a hug and whispers to him, “I’m sorry that I had to hurt you, Teddy. It’s for your own good. I love you, so I want you to learn to be neat and tidy.”
Sometimes Jane’s brother, Matt, comes in and rolls his eyes. That’s all. He just rolls his eyes when he sees us, and then leaves. He’s in standard three, so he thinks he knows everything, but most of the time he leaves us alone. When he has a friend over, we hear a lot of crashing and roaring coming from his bedroom, unless they’re watching Matt’s A-Team videos in the TV room. When they come out of there, you hear a lot of “suckuh fool” and “I piddy the fool”.
Just like us, Matt likes to draw pictures. Jane’s mom puts them on the fridge. There’s a castle I drew once, with pink flags, a shiny blue river and a unicorn, and lots of Jane’s princess and pony drawings, and Matt’s rockets and explosions. Some are just whirls of orange with messy red lines going off the page. “Abstract art,” their dad chuckles, and ruffles Matt’s hair. It makes him frown, and suddenly he doesn’t look so big, with a giant hand on top of his little blond head.
At the end of the passage is a tall mirror. It shows me a little girl with stubby legs and frizzy hair held back by an Alice band. The girl licks her lips and pulls on the skin until it bleeds. A pink ring, ringworm, I think, surrounds her lips. I wish the stubby legs would get longer and thinner, like Jane’s, which go up and up like poles into her shorts.
“Hey, you should stop that licking,” Jane warns. “My mom says that’s what makes your skin all raw.”
Sometimes we swim, and we watch TV. Jane’s maid, Eltrude, brings us cheese and Marmite sandwiches in front of the TV, with Coke, which is Forbidden at my house because Gran says it will make your teeth fall right out of your head. I know Jane would never tell.
We always take a toy to the TV. Jane likes to take her Pound Puppy, and I like Tropical Barbie. I play with her long blonde hair, and can’t stop touching her dress. The colours are so beautiful, I want to suck them up through my fingers, the lilac and dark purple. I’d love to have my own Barbie, but my mom isn’t sure it’s a good idea.
The Barbie, I love, but my very favourite toy is also at Jane’s house, though it usually stays in her room. It’s a yellow plastic squirrel on pink wheels. It has a really fat, curled-up tail, and diamonds for eyes. I can look at these eyes for ages. I love shiny stuff, but this is the best.
Chapter 7
The sea has spat out a stew of kelp and sponge, and Beth and I are kicking up sand as we run in circles, throwing strings of rubbery seaweed at each other.
On Saturday mornings, Laetitia’s off, and Mom lets me and Beth walk down the Norman Road steps, all the way to the tidal pool next to the Brass Bell. If only Gracie were old enough, Mom could have complete peace, but for now the two of us have to go alone.
On your way down, you watch the lighthouse getting closer and closer to you. My favourite things to look out for are the two lion heads that guard someone’s doorway near the bottom end of the steps. They’re made of rock or cement, and I like to rub their noses ever so lightly as I go past. It has to be gentle, else they’ll get dirty and then people have to repaint them, which just costs time and money.
Having to go out and play with your own sister is not the most exciting thing. Family is boring, and you’re supposed to get along. You don’t get that same thrill doing something with your sister as you get when a friend invites you over. But the sea is always worth it. The waves, the sky, the chug-chug sound of tugs in the harbour pull us out of our house, and because this is the best playground, the company doesn’t even matter.
Beth and I are both panting from chasing each other across the sand. Running games never last very long with us. I leave her behind and walk along the wall of the tidal pool until I get to the rocks. I find a mermaid’s purse, and that’s me – gone. I collect these. I stick the dry ones to my bedroom walls with Prestik. Mom used to complain, but she’s given up. The only rule is I have to dry them outside in the sun first. When I was really little, I hoped to find pearls in the purse, or at least a mother-of-pearl comb, but in the meantime Jane’s brother has told me that actually, baby sharks come out of them. Matt loves sharks, and knows everything about them. When he was done explaining, he scowled and said, “I piddy the fool that believes in fairy tales and mermaids.” I’m trying to still believe, but something tells me the shark thing is true. Still, the purses are so beautiful, and so nice and rubbery between your fingers, they amaze me as much as ever and I keep collecting them.
“Look at me, I’m the Sea Queen,” Beth shouts. She has draped seaweed over her shoulders and is sitting cross-legged on the wall with a pink shell on her head. This gives me an idea for a crown of my own: I know a sea urchin will be perfect, because the spikes will look just right, especially if I find a purple one.
I climb over the rocks to check in the pools. Sea urchins are easy to find. You can see them at the bottom of the tidal pool, even, but I don’t have the nerve to dive, because it’s too full. I pull one out of shallow water. Getting pricked will hurt, and Mom says sea urchins are poisonous, so best be careful. I have found one in deepest purple, the colour of night the second before the sun shoots out its first ray.
As I hold my prisoner by a spike, I decide not to put it on my head after all. I’ll take it home and dry it instead, so that the spikes fall off and I’m left with a nice green shell.
* * *
Mom’s voice sounds very cross. She’s on the phone, and I can hear from what she says that Jane’s mom is on the other end. First they laughed, then my mom went quiet. And then she screamed, “What? That little shit! I’m really, really sorry. I’ll sort it out.”
It’s quiet again for a little while. Then: “No, it’s not that innocent. I don’t know where she gets it from, but I’ll give her a talking to.”
It sounds like they have different ideas about how much trouble I’m in, but this time I’m done for, I’m sure.
Mom shouts at me, and it gives me the same feeling as the day with the pants. My cheeks are flaming hot, right to under my eyes, and my heart stomps up towards the roof of my mouth. I wish I was invisible. The thing with the pants made me feel exactly the same. I’d had a boring day. Mom was lying down with Gracie, who’d been screaming, and Beth was also lights-out for some reason. So I started playing dress-up, and used everything in my cupboard. I even dressed my teddy. I found that the light blue checked shorts with great big flowers all over worked quite well as a hat for teddy, so I took them off and slid them onto my own head. They were tiny shorts, the kind you wear under a very short skirt. I pulled at them till they sat over to one side, kind of like Mom’s beret, and felt very pleased with myself. Then I decided to go out, because I felt fabulous. I didn’t really know where I was going, but I wanted to show off. I climbed down the terrace and swung the gate closed behind me. Just then, Annabelle le Roux stepped into the street with a whole lot of other people. I said hello.
“Why are you wearing
