Pick ‘n’ Mix. Jean Ure

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      “Going back to my own room!”

      “You’ll do no such thing. You come back here! You agreed to swap.”

      “That was before she hacked the carpet to bits. Why should I be expected to live in squalor?”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop being so melodramatic,” said Mum. “You’re only going to be in here for a few weeks, it won’t kill you.”

      I knew what Angel’s game was. She hadn’t really wanted to swap rooms in the first place; she was just using the carpet as an excuse. Mum obviously knew it too, cos she told her sharply to pull herself together.

      “Put those clothes back and go and get the rest of them. And you, Frankie, start clearing your drawers. Let’s at least get the job done before your dad arrives home. You’d better be prepared. It may well be,” said Mum, “that he’ll decide to stop your pocket money for the next few months until we’ve saved enough to replace the carpet.”

      “Dunno why you’d bother,” said Angel. “Might just as well put down a load of straw.”

      “I wouldn’t mind straw,” I said.

      “No, you’d probably be happier in it… then you could wallow, like a pig.”

      Angel went banging off down the stairs. I shouted after her: “I like pigs!”

      “I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you,” said Mum. “That’s Dad’s van I just heard pulling in. Do you want me to break the news, or would you prefer to tell him yourself?”

      “Rather you did it,” I mumbled.

      “That’s probably a wise choice,” said Mum.

       Chapter Three

      Sometimes my dad can be so lovely! He wasn’t anywhere near as cross as I’d thought he’d be. I reckon Mum was a bit put out. She’s always complaining that she’s the one that has to keep telling us off, and that just now and again it ought to be Dad’s turn. This was definitely his turn. But when I rather desperately explained about the lack of corners, and my bedroom ceiling not being high enough, he laughed. He actually laughed. Mum gave him such a look.

      “Well,” said Dad, “now I’ve heard everything!”

      “Hacking her carpet to bits,” grumbled Mum.

      “Not good,” agreed Dad. “Definitely not good. But I have to admit, there’s a certain muddleheaded logic to it.”

      I don’t know why he said that. Muddleheaded. What was muddled about it?

      I told him that I’d been using my imagination. “Like you always say we should. Don’t just give up, look for a solution. That’s what you’re always telling us.”

      “True,” said Dad.

      Mum made an impatient huffing noise. “So what do we do about the carpet?”

      “She’ll have to live with it.”

      “Like that will be any hardship.” Mum said it rather bitterly. “She already exists in a tip, as it is.”

      “Well, that’s her problem. I guess we should just think ourselves lucky she didn’t go for the other option.”

      “What’s the other option?” I said.

      “Cutting a hole in the ceiling?”

      “Oh!” I was entranced. “I never thought of that.”

      “Precisely! Let us be thankful for small mercies.”

      “I can’t say I’m exactly brimming over with gratitude,” snapped Mum. “One perfectly good carpet ruined, and Angel in a sulk, which is all we need.”

      Dad said, “What’s she in a sulk about?”

      “Having to live in a pig sty for the next four weeks. And who could blame her?”

      Mum left the room, obviously in somewhat of a huff.

      “There, now,” said Dad. “You’ve really upset her. You’d better go and apologise.”

      I said, “I have apologised!”

      “Well, do it again. And make sure you mean it! The only reason I’m being as lenient as I am – which is far more than you deserve – is that I’m proud of you for offering to help out with Emilia.”

      I glowed. I love it when Dad is proud of me! It doesn’t happen that often.

      “It’ll be like work experience,” I said.

      “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. I just hope you’re not taking on more than you can handle.”

      I said, “Da-a-ad!” Why did everyone doubt me? First Mum, then Skye, now Dad. “I know what I’m doing!”

      “Yes, and I’m sure you mean well,” said Dad. “But from what I can gather, Emilia is quite a handful.”

      “Dad, she’s sweet! And we couldn’t let her go to strangers.”

      Dad ruffled my hair. “This is why I’m letting you off lightly. But please don’t go cutting any more carpets!”

      Jem and Skye were waiting for me as usual next morning, on the corner of Sunnybrook Gardens.

      “So what happened?” cried Jem. “Was your mum furious?”

      “You’d better believe it,” I said.

      “Not surprised.” Jem giggled. “Cutting holes in your carpet!”

      “Is she going to make you pay for it?” said Skye.

      “No.” I twirled, triumphantly. “She wanted to. She tried to get Dad to say he was going to stop my pocket money, but Dad just laughed. He thought it was funny.”

      “Funny?”

      “He said it showed logical thinking.” I didn’t add the bit about muddle-headed; it didn’t seem quite necessary. “He told Mum they just had to be grateful I hadn’t made a hole in the ceiling.”

      Jem crinkled her nose. “Why would you have done that?”

      “Cos of it being the other option?”

      Jem looked at me, doubtfully. She doesn’t have a logical brain like me.

      “If you can’t make the floor lower,” I said, “you make the ceiling higher. Right?”

      “How d’you make a ceiling higher?”

      “Dunno. With a drill, I s’ppose.”

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