‘I’m ever so tired, Rosemary. Couldn’t we go to sleep now?’ Janie begged.
‘I’m not a bit tired,’ said Rosemary.
‘Well I am,’ Louise groaned. ‘Put your wretched donkey over your head and pipe down.’
Rosemary did as she was told.
‘Dora smells funny,’ she said, sounding smothered.
Karen snorted. ‘Of course she does, stupid. She’s been in a cowpat, yuck yuck yuck. You shouldn’t put it round your face, you’ll catch some awful disease.’
‘No I won’t. Will I, Stella?’
For some reason Rosemary kept asking me things now. It was beginning to annoy the others.
‘Stella washed all the cow stuff away so Dora doesn’t smell nasty any more,’ Rosemary continued. ‘She just smells funny. Wet. Like my swimming costume when it’s been rolled up in my towel a long time.’
‘Is she still wet then?’ said Marzipan. ‘You’d better not have her in bed with you.’
‘But I can’t sleep without her.’
‘You don’t seem to be able to sleep with her either,’ said Louise.
‘I can’t help it. I said, I’m just not tired,’ said Rosemary, tossing to and fro. ‘And I can’t get comfy. My sheets are all wrinkled up and my pillow won’t go right and Dora can’t get comfy either.’
‘Shall I tuck you up?’ said Karen, getting out of bed. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, your donkey’s still sopping. No wonder you can’t get comfy. Look, put it over here and—’
‘No! I want Dora!’
‘You can’t, you’ll get pneumonia. And I bet it’s still crawling with germs. You’ll end up with foot and mouth disease if you don’t watch out.’
‘Give me Dora!’ Rosemary roared.
‘Give her it back, Karen, or she’ll wake the whole house,’ said Louise impatiently.
Karen flung Dora back to Rosemary.
‘Stella, can you get me comfy?’ Rosemary called.
Karen said something very rude indeed. I got out of bed and went over to Rosemary.
‘OK then, let’s get you sorted out. Let me have a little chat with my friend Dora. Oh, I see. She says she wants her own bed tonight so she can stretch her hooves and swish her tail about. Here we are, this can be her pillow and this can be her coverlet.’
‘Do you mind? That’s my cardigan. Get it off that smelly germy old donkey,’ Karen shouted.
‘Will you shut up, Karen?’ Louise demanded. ‘You’ve got a voice like a foghorn. Just get into bed and stop interfering.’
Karen snatched her cardigan and slunk back to bed. I didn’t even glance at her but I knew she was looking daggers at me. I rearranged Dora’s bed and tucked her up and then I tucked Rosemary up too.
‘Now go to sleep like good girls,’ I said, patting Dora’s matted mane and Rosemary’s curls.
‘We want a story,’ said Rosemary. ‘Please, Stella. Tell us a story. Tell about Princess Stellarina.’
‘Princess Stellarina!’ Karen snorted. ‘How incredibly yucky can you get? Princess Stellarina, did you ever!’
‘Princess Stellarina is private,’ I said quickly to Rosemary. ‘But I’ll read you a fairy story out of my book if you like. It’s a hundred years old, my book, and it’s got lovely coloured pictures. It’s ever so valuable.’
Rosemary sat up in bed and switched on her torch so that I’d be able to see to read. I went to my locker to get the fairy tale book, wondering which story to choose. Not a very long one, I was too tired. Rosemary would like a story with a donkey in it but the one in my book was a bit silly, all about a hen and a dog who kept climbing on the donkey’s back. I decided to read one of my own favourites, Snow White or Cinderella.
I found my book and as I picked it up the blue leather spine came away in my hand. The front of the book flapped loose and the back was all tearing away too. My book was falling to pieces. My precious valuable book.
‘Stella,’ Rosemary called. ‘Stella, what are you doing? Can’t you find your book?’
I couldn’t even speak. Let it be a mistake, I muttered to myself. Let it be all right after all. Let it be some sort of trick.
I went and switched on the light so that I could see properly. It was even worse than I’d thought. My book was ruined.
‘Have you gone mad, Stella?’ said Louise, blinking in the sudden brightness. ‘Switch that light off at once or Miss Hamer-Cotton will be along.’
‘Look at my book,’ I croaked, holding out the blue leather tatters.
There was a small silence.
‘What’s happened to it, Stella?’ Rosemary whispered.
‘I’ll tell you what’s happened,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you. Someone’s torn it. Someone’s taken hold of it and ripped and ripped until they pulled it all to bits.’
‘But who—?’
‘I’ll tell you who,’ I shrieked and I ran over to Karen. ‘You did it, didn’t you? You ripped up my book.’
‘I didn’t! Don’t be mad. I never touched your stupid book,’ Karen gabbled. ‘Louise, we never touched her book, did we?’
But Louise was staring at Karen, looking shocked. She knew Karen had done it too.
‘I’ll get you for this,’ I shouted and I sprang on Karen. I hit her and I pulled her hair hard but then Marzipan and Louise got hold of me and prised me away.
‘She’s mad, she nearly killed me,’ Karen whimpered. ‘And I never touched her stupid old book. My lip! I’m sure it’s bleeding. And my hair, she was tugging out handfuls. I’m telling on you, Baldy, you wait and see. In the morning I’m going to go straight to Miss Hamer-Cotton.’
‘So am I. I’m going to show her my book,’ I said, picking it up and trying to fit it together again. ‘Criminal damage. That’s what it’s called. Criminal damage. This book was worth a fortune. My mum paid twenty—no, fifty pounds for it, and that was years and years ago. It could be worth a hundred pounds now. Maybe even five hundred. You wait, Karen, you’re going to end up in prison, you’ll see.’
Karen clutched hold of Louise.
‘I didn’t, did I, Louise? All right, I tipped out some of her clothes, we both did, and we ate a bit of her chocolate, but that’s all. It was only a joke. The book might have got tipped on the floor but we didn’t rip it, did we?’
‘I didn’t rip it,’ said Louise, pushing Karen away.
‘But I didn’t either! I didn’t, I didn’t!’
‘No, you didn’t, Karen,’ said Janie.
We all stared at her.
‘Me and Rosemary were here when you and Louise mucked up Stella’s things. You didn’t rip her book.’
‘There. See!’ said Karen, nodding at me triumphantly. ‘Now just say you’re sorry, Baldy.’
‘She can’t have done it, Stella,’ said Marzipan. ‘I helped you pick up your things and we put the book back and it was fine then, wasn’t it?’
I couldn’t work it out. I knew Karen must have done it somehow. I held on to my book, trying hard not to cry.
‘Let me have a look at it,’ said Marzipan. ‘It’s badly torn but it’s only the actual outside part. The pages are all right, all the colour plates and everything, look.’
I couldn’t bear to look any more.
‘It’s ruined,’ I said flatly, and I took my book and clutched it to my chest.
What was Mum going to say?
‘She’s crying,’ Karen sneered. ‘What a baby. All this fuss about a stupid old book. She leaps on me and practically murders me and then doesn’t even bother to apologize when it’s proved that I didn’t do anything to her rotten old book.’
‘Yes you did!’ I suddenly shrieked. ‘And I know when you did it too. When you were up here after lunch, after you’d fallen off your chair. You were here all by yourself. That’s when you did it. That’s when you ripped up my book.’
Karen shook her head violently.
‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t, I swear I didn’t,’ she said, but she was wasting her time.
No one believed her, not even L
ouise. She was a hateful wicked criminal and we all knew it.
‘Honestly, Karen,’ said Louise. ‘Don’t you know the difference between a joke and a crime?’
That night the crying was much louder. It was inside our dormi. It was Karen.
Her face was all sore and swollen in the morning. She’d run out of tissues and kept scrubbing at her face with a sodden wad of lavatory paper. None of us spoke to her, not even Louise.
‘Shall I lend her a hankie?’ Marzipan whispered to me.
‘No! Not after what she’s done,’ I said, fingering my poor book.
It looked even worse in the daylight.
‘Perhaps you could try a bit of sellotape?’ said Marzipan.
‘You can’t just shove sellotape on a book like this.’
‘I know, it’s the binding that’s precious,’ said Louise surprisingly. ‘My father collects old books. He’s always going round antique markets and places like that. If you want I could write to him and ask him to look for another copy of that book for you.’
‘Yes, but I haven’t the money.’
‘Well, you can’t really expect my father to pay for it, can you?’ said Louise. She paused. ‘Are you going to tell Miss Hamer-Cotton?’
Karen sniffled in the corner. A bit of me wanted to make her sniffle even more. But I wasn’t a tell-tale.
I didn’t even tell Orange Overall/Purple Pinafore. She found the bits of my book when she was tidying up our dormi and she came and found me.
‘I want a word with you, Stella,’ she said.
Today she was wearing a navy dress with white spots that made my eyes ache.
‘It’s about your poor story book,’ said Dotty Dress.
My heart started thudding and I felt sick. I was sure I was going to get into trouble.
‘I don’t know how it happened,’ I said quickly, terrified that she’d make me go to Miss Hamer-Cotton.
‘Never mind how it happened, pet,’ she said. She sounded as bothered about it as I was. ‘Let’s just try to get it mended. I know someone who might be able to sort it out. Can I take it along to him and see what he says?’
I hesitated, not really wanting to hand it over.
‘Can it be mended?’ I said doubtfully.
‘I don’t know for sure. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, eh? So I can take your book, all right? I’ll make sure you get it back long before it’s time for you to go home.’
‘My mum’s going to be furious,’ I said in a very small voice.
‘Cheer up, lovie, it’s not the end of the world,’ she said worriedly.
She felt in her pocket and found a bar of KitKat.
‘For my coffee break. But you can have it if you want,’ she said, and she pressed it into my hand.
I ate it up quickly before she changed her mind.
‘Honestly, Stella, you’re a hopeless case,’ said Miss Hamer-Cotton, waving my activity sheet in front of my nose. ‘You can’t do Art Art Art, nothing but Art.’
‘I like Art,’ I said.
‘I daresay. But there are heaps of other activities you’ll enjoy.’
‘I only really like Art,’ I said.
Miss Hamer-Cotton looked at me.
‘I think you’re being a bit awkward, chum,’ she said, and she filled in my activity sheet for me.
I found myself being very active indeed. I kept trying to get out of everything but it was no use. I even had to do judo with that awful Jimbo. Louise and Karen thought he was really good looking, especially in his loose white judo clothes, but I couldn’t stick him. He was such a show off, bouncing about impressing everyone. Well, he didn’t impress me. I stood at the back and deliberately looked the other way when he was demonstrating all the holds.
‘Stella! I’d watch carefully if I were you. I’m thinking of pairing you with young James here. He’ll flatten you in a flash.’
‘You bet! She’s wet,’ said James, flexing his muscles and grinning. The huge moon of his stomach shone through his judo jacket.
I decided to pay attention. For a couple of minutes. Jimbo was going on about the history of judo and he was being so incredibly boring that I started mimicking him. I copied all his silly gestures and the way he tossed his long fair hair out of his face. The others cottoned on to what I was doing and started giggling. Jimbo started to get seriously annoyed.
He paired us all up to do exercises and I thought for one moment he really might put me with James, but I ended up with Janie instead. Jimbo talked us through all the actions and I pretended not to know my left from my right and my backwards from my forwards so that Janie and I kept collapsing into a giggling heap.
Jimbo didn’t find it very funny though. He called me over at the end of the class. I started to get scared but I sauntered over to him as if I couldn’t care less.
‘Did you enjoy your judo, Stella?’ he asked.
I shrugged.
‘Did you get anything out of the session?’
‘Not really,’ I mumbled. ‘Only I didn’t want to do judo in the first place.’
‘Right. Only all the other children chose to do judo. Do you think they learned anything today? Or did they just mess about because you were determined to disrupt the whole proceedings?’
‘It wasn’t just me,’ I argued.
Jimbo sighed.
‘I don’t think I’m going to get anywhere with you, Stella. You’d better go and get changed. What are you doing next?’
‘Macramé,’ I said, pulling a face.
‘You go and tie yourself in a great big knot then,’ said Jimbo, ruffling my stubbly hair.
I wondered if he might be quite nice after all. Perhaps I’d try harder in judo. But I couldn’t bear to be good in macramé. Jilly was in charge of macramé, and Jilly was silly. She wore a flowery smock and sandals and a lot of old grey string jewellery dangled down her big chest. Janie and Rosemary and some of the other little girls wanted to make string necklaces so Jilly got them started off.
Marzipan wanted to make a weird string tassel thing to suspend potted plants in mid air.
‘What do you want to make that for?’ I whispered. ‘It’ll look so daft.’
‘No it won’t. It’s for my mum. She likes that sort of thing,’ said Marzipan, looking hurt.
‘Would you like to try to make one too, Stella?’ asked Jilly.
‘No thank you.’
‘Well, do you want to make a necklace like the others?’
‘Not really.’
Jilly folded her arms. ‘You’ve got to make something, Stella. How about a string purse? It could be a present for your mother.’
I didn’t feel like making a present for Mum. It was all her fault I was stuck at this horrible summer camp. She’d said I’d enjoy it but I’d decided to hate every minute of it. Some of the others were feeling pretty fed up too. Evergreen wasn’t a patch on most summer camps. It was supposed to offer horse riding, but there was just one Shetland pony. There was only one computer too, and it was the cheapest sort so you could only play the most basic games. The swimmers were allowed to canoe in the stream, but it wasn’t really deep enough—and the swimming pool wasn’t much more than a pond. But it still seemed like Loch Ness to me. I had a swimming session every single day! It was so unfair. I had more swimming sessions than anyone else in the whole camp. Miss Hamer-Cotton said it would help me learn to swim quickly and stop me being frightened of the water. I was sure she was just being horrible and punishing me. So I tried to get my own back by messing about at the pool and not doing what Uncle Ron said. He tried to be all matey at first but eventually he got so cross he made me lose a team point. And then another. Louise and Karen were livid.
I didn’t even behave properly in Art. I wasn’t just being deliberately naughty. Art at Evergreen was deadly. There wasn’t a proper Art room so we were invited to sit in Miss Hamer-Cotton’s private sitting room, as if it was some sort of treat. It was a squash on her slippery sofa and our drawing boards kept nudging togeth
er. Tinkypoo prowled the carpet, cross because he couldn’t curl up on the cushions as usual.
Miss Hamer-Cotton set up a still life on her glass table and said we could sketch it. I didn’t want to draw a boring old vase of flowers and an apple and a seashell. None of us did. We started whispering and doing little scribbles and playing noughts and crosses and Miss Hamer-Cotton got cross and said it was a waste of paper.
The next Art session she said we weren’t old enough to do a proper still life and she handed round sheets of paper stencilled with drawings from a colouring book. She had wax crayons for the little ones and tiny packs of felt tips for us. There weren’t any paints at all. I suppose she didn’t want us making a mess on her carpet.
I stared at the felt tips she’d given me. Red, yellow, blue, green, brown, and black. That was all. I thought of my lovely new set of felt tips, all colours of the rainbow.
‘Where are you going, Stella?’ said Miss Hamer-Cotton.
‘I’m just nipping upstairs to my dormi. I want to get my own felt tips,’ I said.
‘Oh yes, can I get mine too?’ asked Louise.
‘Can I borrow yours, Louise?’ said Karen.
‘It’s not fair, I didn’t bring mine with me,’ Janie moaned.
‘I’m not allowed to share mine, they’re Swiss and very expensive and you have to be careful of the tips,’ said Louise.
‘That’s not fair then, all their pictures will be better than mine,’ said Karen. ‘It’s not fair, is it, Miss Hamer-Cotton?’
‘You’re right, it’s not fair,’ said Miss Hamer-Cotton firmly. ‘Sit down, Stella. You’ll use the felt tip pens I’ve provided. You’ll all use them.’
‘But there aren’t enough colours,’ I moaned.
‘You’ll just have to be a bit imaginative,’ said Miss Hamer-Cotton.
I decided to take her at her word. I’d been given a drawing of a Red Indian, a country landscape, and a comical pig. I coloured the Red Indian in red, giving him scarlet skin, scarlet hair, even scarlet teeth. He was the Reddest Indian ever. I coloured the country landscape red too, pretending that there was an enormous forest fire. I drew little pin-men and pin- cows and pin-sheep and pin-ponies running in all directions shouting help help and moo moo and baa baa and neigh neigh. I coloured the comical pig very carefully indeed with little red dots so that he came out a pretty pink, and then I drew clothes on top. I dressed my pig in a baggy tracksuit with H.C. stitched on the pocket and I drew a cross little cat perching on the pig’s shoulders.