some chews for Pepsi, my dog. It just wasn’t enough and you didn’t have to be Mastermind to work that out.
I needed a good moan, so I got on the phone to Kenny. She’s my best friend after all and that’s what best friends are for.
“Hiya. It’s me, Frankie.”
“Oh, hi, Frankie.”
“I am so broke. I’ve only got £8.43 in all the world.”
“Well, that’s more than I’ve got.”
“I don’t know how I can possibly be expected to get all my Christmas presents with a measly £8.43.”
“No, nor me.”
“And now Fliss has spent pounds on us I feel terrible only spending 50p on her.”
“Mmmm. Me too.”
This conversation was not helping at all. It was a bit like talking into a black hole. What we needed here was some action.
I said, “So! What are we going to do?”
“Rob a bank?”
“Oh, Kenny, be serious. We need to find some way of making money where we won’t end up in jail.”
“OK. Let’s both make a list. I’ll ring you back.”
I sat down with a pen and a pad and tried to come up with some ideas, but the more I thought about it the madder I got. There are a few things about my family which I don’t think are at all fair. For example, I am an only child, which I think is completely unfair. I keep telling my parents how much I’d like a brother or sister, but they don’t take any notice. Although, come to think of it, if I had, it would mean an extra present to buy!
Another thing is that I already do all sorts of jobs which other people could get extra pocket money for, like walking the dog for instance. Yes, I know she’s my dog, but even so… And like washing up, or drying and putting away. Other people get extra money for doing that, but I’m expected to do it anyway. Mum and Dad are always telling me, “We’re a team, Frankie. We all do our share. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
I suppose it is, but it doesn’t help me make any money, does it? The other thing is, my mum and dad don’t give me as much pocket money as other people get, even though they could afford to, because they don’t believe in spoiling me! Huh! I wish. They think all the adverts on TV make children want lots of things they don’t really need, and I suppose they do. But this is different. This is to buy presents for other people, for them even.
But they have an answer to that too. My mum and dad would be happy if I just made them something out of egg boxes, because, yeah, yeah, I know – it’s the thought that counts. I just wish all my friends knew that!
At least Kenny did. And, however broke I was, I knew that Kenny was more broke. She’s a disaster area where money’s concerned.
Kenny can’t earn extra pocket money washing up or drying the pots either, because they’ve got a dishwasher. She used to be able to earn a bit extra if she loaded it for her mum, but not any more. Last summer they had this big birthday barbecue and Kenny loaded it with paper plates which disintegrated and blocked up the outlet and they had to call a plumber.
“How was I to know?” she said. “They were dead cute plates, with shells and fish on. I thought you’d want to use them again.”
“Not much chance of that, now they’re sandblasted onto the sides of the dishwasher,” her dad yelled at her.
Anyway since then she hasn’t been allowed to do any jobs in the kitchen.
Helping out in the garden was another idea, but there’s not much to do in December. And Kenny’s dad said he had no intention of spring cleaning their garage at this time of year just to please us. So that was that. Back to the drawing board, as my dad says.
“What about washing cars?” Kenny suggested at last.
“That’s the first sensible idea you’ve had,” I said. “Whose shall we start on?”
We started on my mum’s VW and we were just in the middle of doing it when Lyndz came round on her mountain bike. We’re usually dead pleased to see Lyndz but this time we weren’t, for obvious reasons.
“Hiya. What’re you doing?” she said.
“Crocheting a pair of mittens for the dog!” I said. “What does it look like?”
Lyndz grinned. “Can I help?”
Kenny and I looked down at our feet and sighed. We were both hoping she wouldn’t ask that. My mum had agreed to pay Kenny and me 50p each, if we did a good job and didn’t leave too much mess. We’d been really sensible and we’d nearly finished, so we didn’t want to have to share it with Lyndz. But we both felt really mean leaving her out.
“OK,” I said. “But no water fights, or else.” I don’t know why I even bothered saying that. When Kenny and Lyndz get together they always go bananas. Like that time they had a shopping trolley race in the supermarket and knocked down a humungous stack of bottles of mineral water.
Fortunately, this time Mum didn’t go too mad because it was only soapy water they were throwing around and they got most of it over themselves. In fact she gave us all 50p and an ice lolly each.
After that we all cycled round to Kenny’s house and persuaded her mum to let us clean her Fiesta. And then Kenny’s next-door neighbour, Bert, who’s really nice, said we could do his. We didn’t charge him as much because he’s a pensioner. But by the end of the afternoon we’d each made $1.25.
“This is great,” said Kenny. “We’ll soon be rich.”
“How do you make that out?” I said. “My mum won’t have her car cleaned again for months.” And I knew my dad wouldn’t let us loose on his BMW, he’s too proud of it.
“We’ll ask the other neighbours,” she said. “Down your road and in our close.”
“What? You mean knock on people’s doors?”
“We’ll put a note through their letter boxes, like a proper business.”
“Are you mad?” I said.
“I think it’s a great idea,” said Lyndz. So that was it. I was outvoted, which was a bit off since I was the one who’d started it all. But that was only the beginning. On Monday morning, when old Bossyboots Fliss heard about it, she took over straight away.
“Listen, I’ve got a great idea: we can print the notices out on Frankie’s computer,” she said, “so we look really professional.”
“We?” I said. “Since when did you need to earn any money? You’re loaded already.”
