PUFFIN BOOKS
Take a Good Look
Jacqueline Wilson writes for children of all ages. The Suitcase Kid won the Children’s Book Award, Double Act won the Smarties Prize, and The Illustrated Mum won the Guardian Children’s Book of the Year Award.
Jacqueline lives near London in a small house crammed with 10,000 books.
Other books by Jacqueline Wilson
VIDEO ROSE
THE WEREPUPPY
THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY
In Young Puffin
MARK SPARK IN THE DARK
Take a Good Look
Jacqueline Wilson
ILLUSTRATED BY
Stephen Player
PUFFIN BOOKS
For Jessica, with many thanks
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published by Blackie and Son Ltd 1990
Published in Puffin Books 1993
Reissued in this edition 2001
15
Text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1990
Illustrations copyright © Stephen Player 2001
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN: 978-0-14-194180-6
CHAPTER ONE
‘How are you feeling, Mary?’ said Gran.
‘I’m feeling fed up,’ said Mary, and she slid down under the bedcovers.
‘Careful! Watch your tray. Oh Mary, you’ve hardly touched that lovely bit of steamed plaice.’
Mary wrinkled her nose under the sheet. She hated steamed plaice, especially the pimply part.
‘And you’ve left your rice pudding. Isn’t there anything at all you fancy to eat, pet?’ asked Gran.
Mary thought hard.
‘I fancy chocolate. And crisps. And a can of coke.’
Gran snorted.
‘That sort of junk’s not going to make you better.’
‘I am better,’ said Mary. ‘Dad said he didn’t see why I couldn’t go back to school today.’
‘And Mummy said you’re still a little chesty. You’ve had a nasty bout of flu, dear. We can’t be too careful.’
Mary sighed. They were always so terribly careful. That was the trouble.
‘Well, can’t I even get up? I’m so bored of being in bed,’ she grumbled.
‘You need the rest, pet. You sound a bit overtired as it is. I do hope you’re not getting feverish again. Let me take a good look at you.’
Gran pulled the sheets away from Mary’s cross face and peered at her, feeling her forehead.
Mary fidgeted and fussed. She didn’t like people staring at her. She hated the way she looked. She didn’t like her round baby face and her long dark hair that always got into a tangle. But she could put up with that. It was her eyes she hated most.
Mum and Dad and Gran always said she had beautiful big brown eyes. Mary wasn’t fooled. There was something odd about them. They stared in a strange way. People could tell straight away that she couldn’t see properly.
She could see Gran bent right over her, her face all anxious lines. She could still see Gran when she stood up straight but the lines were wiped out, her face a blur. When Gran moved round the bed to tuck in the rumpled bedcovers she stepped into a grey mist. The mist had been there ever since Mary was born.
‘I think you’d better stay in bed for a bit,’ said Gran’s voice out of the mist.
Gran always liked to keep her in bed when she looked after her even when there was nothing whatever wrong. Gran worried that Mary might bump into things. Mum was almost as bad, following her from room to room and never letting her tackle the stairs by herself. And even Dad insisted on holding her hand when he took her to the park. It was as if she was stuck being a baby for ever just because she was nearly blind.
‘I’ll go and do the dishes and then bring you up a nice mug of hot milk,’ said Gran. ‘What would you like to do meanwhile? Read one of your story books?’
As long as she could hold the book right up close Mary could read anything. She wondered about The Borrowers or Stuart Little or one of her Anno picture books. No, maybe she felt like drawing her own picture. Although she’d dropped her big tin of felt-tip pens when she was crayoning in bed yesterday and she’d lost the special sky blue, her favourite colour. She could never find things when they rolled into dark corners, and Gran wasn’t much better at it either.
‘Can I have my scrapbook and that pile of magazines and the scissors?’ said Mary.
‘I don’t think that’s very sensible,’ said Gran. ‘I don’t like the idea of you using scissors, Mary.’
‘Oh Gran, I’m not stupid,’ said Mary. ‘I can manage scissors.’
‘You have to put your face so near to where you’re cutting. I’m scared you’ll jab the points right into your eyes.’
‘I’m not a baby!’
‘No, dear. Now, which story book shall it be?’
‘I’m sick of reading. I’m sick of everything,’ Mary moaned, flopping back on her pillow.
‘Now who’s acting like a baby?’ said Gran, and went downstairs.
Mary lay on her back staring up into the blue above her. She knew her lampshade was there somewhere but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see the window. She couldn’t see her bookshelf. She couldn’t see her Sylvanian family country cottage. She couldn’t see Little Ted or Middly Ted. She couldn’t even see Great Big Ted at this distance though he was almost as big as she was.
Mary shut her eyes and put her hands over her quivering eyelids. She still sometimes pretended that she’d find some magic way of making her eyes see properly at last. Maybe if she counted to a certain number, or said the right combination of words, or bumped her head in a special way on the pillow…
But when she opened her eyes she was still stuck in her own strange world of half sight. Mum and Dad called her partially sighted. She didn’t like the sound of that. It was as if she was only part of a proper person. Gran didn’t call it anything at all, but she often lowered her voice and said The Poor Little Pet. Mary didn’t want to be partial and she certainly didn’t want to be a pet. She wanted to be a perfectly ordinary girl who could see properly.
She knew this wasn’t possible. Her eyes were never going to get better. She’d had several operations but they hadn’t helped much. The last operation had stopped her squinting, but when she went down the road with Mum the children playing on the pavement still called her Boss-Eyes, and when Mary got really close she thought they were making their own eyes squint, mocking her.
Mum said they were silly and ignorant and she wasn’t to take any notice. Mary couldn’t
help noticing. She hated those children. Yet she couldn’t help wishing she could go and play with them and be part of their little gang. She didn’t have any friends who lived nearby. She had lots of friends at her special school but they all lived miles away so she couldn’t often play with them after school.
Mary mostly had to play by herself. It got boring sometimes. She’d got very very bored having this stupid flu. Mum had stayed off work with her at first. Then Dad took a day off. And now Gran was looking after her and it was driving Mary mad.
‘Here’s your hot milk, pet,’ said Gran, bustling back into Mary’s bedroom.
‘I don’t really like hot milk, Gran.’
‘Nonsense, dear. You need the nourishment. Drink it up while it’s still warm. And then I think we’ll settle you down for a little nap.’
Mary heard Gran arrange herself in the armchair and start her knitting. She was working on a new jumper for Mary. It was a dinky little pastel pink affair and Mary was not looking forward to wearing it. Gran’s needles clicked busily for a minute or two. Mary had one sip of her milk. Gran’s needles slowed down. Then they stopped altogether. Silence, And then Gran started snoring.
Mary put down her brimming mug of milk and sat up. She crawled to the end of her bed and had a proper close-up peer at Gran. She was definitely the one having the little nap. Though it sounded more like heavy slumber.
Mary sighed. She got back into bed but she couldn’t get comfortable. She kicked at her covers. Her tummy rumbled. She was so hungry. She felt carefully for the mug of milk but it had a skin on it and it made her shudder. She hated milk anyway. She longed for a long cold fizzy drink of coke. And sharp savoury crackly crisps. And smooth sweet creamy chocolate. Her mouth was watering.
Maybe she could persuade Gran to go down to the corner shop for coke and crisps and chocolate when she woke up. It was only a few seconds’ walk away. But Gran would never risk leaving her on her own, not even if she promised to stay in bed.
It was crazy. What on earth could happen to her? They always fussed so much when she could manage perfectly. She could go to the corner shop herself for that matter. She was just as capable as any other child. She’d been there and back hundreds of times with Mum.
So why couldn’t she go to the shop by herself? Why couldn’t she?
CHAPTER TWO
It was a mad idea.
Or was it?
‘I could go to the shop by myself, easy-peasy,’ Mary whispered.
It wouldn’t take five minutes. She could slip out of the house and back, and Gran would never even know she’d gone.
‘So why not?’ said Mary.
She knew why not. Mum and Dad and Gran would faint at the very idea. But she couldn’t help that. She was so sick of being a baby. She wanted to try something for herself. And she knew she could do it. She knew the way backwards. There weren’t any roads to cross. No trees, no kerbs, no broken paving stones. She could go straight to the corner shop. There was just the one shop, a little grocery and post office, so she wouldn’t get muddled and go in the wrong place.
She knew the man in the shop, Mr Soli. She knew Mrs Soli too. They were always gentle and friendly when she went in the shop with Mum. She could tell them what she wanted and they’d find the things for her and take the right money. And oh she did so want some coke and crisps and chocolate.
But what if Gran woke up while she was gone? What if she bumped into the things in the shop? What if there was a dog that jumped up at her? What if…?
‘What if I go anyway, just this once, to see if I can,’ Mary whispered, and she felt very carefully in her bedside cupboard for her purse.
She had a folded five pound note, several gold pound coins and lots of silver because she’d been saving for ages. She could buy a whole shop full of coke and crisps and chocolate and still have change.
So what else did she need besides money?
‘Front door key! And shopping bag,’ she said, nodding. She had to do things properly. It was no use getting all the way to the shop and back to find herself locked out of the house. And she’d need the shopping bag so that she could have one hand free to feel her way safely back.
She crept across the carpet and had another close peer at Gran. She was still fast asleep. She didn’t even stir.
Mary waved her hand at her and then tiptoed out of the bedroom, clutching her purse. She slowed down out on the landing, her heart bumping hard in her chest. She felt slowly with her free hand for the banister rail. She found the edge of the stairs. She gripped the banister tightly and stepped down. One, two, three, four… it was easy now, she could just slide her hand down the banister railing, eight, nine, ten… nearly there, and she could still hear Gran snoring away… thirteen, fourteen, there, she’d made it, she was in the hall downstairs!
She felt cautiously for the hall table. Her fingers brushed the telephone and she jiggled the receiver, but she caught it in time. She felt across the table, down to the little drawer where she knew Mum kept the spare door key. She found it. She crept into the kitchen and found the shopping bag hanging from the door handle. There. She was all set.
She felt her way to the front door, opened it very slowly and cautiously so that it wouldn’t make a noise, and then stepped out on to the garden path. It was quite cold and she shivered. Maybe she should put on a jacket?
‘Oh help!’ Mary gasped, suddenly remembering. Her hands scrabbled over her arms, her chest, her legs, feeling crumpled cotton. She was outdoors in her pyjamas!
She shot back inside, hoping no one had spotted her. She started giggling weakly at her own stupidity. Maybe she wasn’t safe to be let out after all!
So what was she going to do about clothes? If she went all the way upstairs again and started raking around in her chest of drawers then Gran was bound to wake up. Wait a minute. She tried the kitchen. There weren’t any clothes on the airer, but there was a plastic basket of ironing in the corner. Mary felt amongst the folded clothes to find something that fitted. She couldn’t very well go out in Dad’s shirt or Mum’s skirt. She found her own T-shirt, her own jeans. She didn’t care if they looked a bit creased.
She was still stuck for shoes, but then she remembered her wellingtons that were in their usual corner by the back door. They’d do. She was ready.
Or was she? Where was the shopping bag, with her purse and key?
‘Oh no,’ said Mary, peering desperately, trying to see its dark shape.
She blundered up and down the hall, crouched over, feeling for the bag.
‘Where are you?’ she whispered, and then she stumbled right over it.
She couldn’t help crying out. She stayed still, her hand over her mouth, listening. She waited for Gran to call for her. But she was all right after all. She could faintly hear Gran’s soft steady snoring as she slept on undisturbed.
Mary opened the front door and stepped out. She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, took a deep breath, and then walked slowly down her garden path. It was edged with little bricks so she could tell exactly where she was going. She got to the garden gate and opened it easily enough. She walked out on the pavement and then stood still for a moment, smiling triumphantly. It was the first time she’d ever been out alone.
She took another deep breath and set off up the road. She felt with her right hand for the hedge, then the metal gate, then the next hedge, then a wooden gate, a little brick wall, and then – help! Something warm, something hairy! Someone’s head poking over the wall?
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, hot with horror.
The head stalked away with an indignant miaow.
Mary giggled.
‘Here, puss,’ she called, edging along the wall.
She caught the cat up and got close enough to see it properly.
‘Hello, little cat,’ she said, stroking it under its chin. ‘You didn’t half give me a fright.’
The cat allowed itself to be stroked. It started to purr. Mary was enchanted. She didn’t com
e across many animals at close quarters. She’d always longed for a cat or a dog, but Mum thought she’d be forever tripping over it. It wasn’t fair. Mary was only clumsy because she couldn’t see properly, not because she was stupid or careless. She felt particularly competent right this moment, out of doors all by herself, making friends with a cat and doing her own shopping.
‘Wait for me here, little cat. I’ll just be two minutes down at the shop,’ said Mary.
She carried on walking, counting the houses in her head. Only three more left. Two more. One. Now she was right outside Mr Soli’s shop.
‘Look, it’s old Baby Boss-Eyes.’
‘So it is! Pull a face at her, go on. She’s blind as a bat, she can’t see you.’
She could see a bit. She was close enough to see that one was a boy and one was a girl. Their faces were blurs but she didn’t need sharp eyes to work out their expressions.
Mary stood still, right in front of them. She pulled her eyelids down. She pushed her nose up. She waggled her tongue to its fullest extent.
There was a little shocked silence and then the girl giggled.
‘She can see after all. She pulled a face back.’
‘No, she can’t. Her eyes are all funny. She’s blind, I tell you.’
‘I’m not blind,’ said Mary. ‘I just can’t see very much. Which suits me OK, because who’d want to look at a pair of twits like you?’
‘Ooh, get her,’ said the boy, but he sounded slightly impressed.
‘Where’s your mum then?’ said the girl. ‘I thought you weren’t allowed out without your mum?’
‘Who cares about my mum?’ said Mary.
‘Where are you going then?’
‘The shop.’
‘Is it your lunch break? You go to that special school, don’t you? Where all the nuts and freaks go.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got your fair share of nuts and freaks at your school. Judging by you two.’
‘Shut-up, Boss-Eyes.’