She was plain weird.
âI want to show your dad.â Jazzi grinned at me and she looked younger. âThis could be the last of the Toasterpedes, Beatrice. It may even be a new discovery. How many people do you know who have a Toasterpede? Letâs put him â or her â somewhere very safe. We donât want to knock him over.â
I had hoped that the Toasterpede would put Jazzi off her cleaning. After all, if that could live in our toaster, which was used every day, what could be at the bottom of the pantry? But nothing put Jazzi off.
I had to do the cupboard doors while Jazzi scrubbed the microwave.
âThe problem with doing this,â I said, âis that if Idonât do all of them the clean ones are going to look too clean.â
âSo youâll do all of them.â Jazzi had abandoned the scourer and was attacking the inside of the microwave with a small plastic picnic knife.
âI suppose that could be the answer,â I told her bottom which waggled from side to side as she jabbed around with the knife, âbut I think my elbow is starting to ache.â
âJust keep going, Beatrice.â
There were stains that it almost hurt to remove, because they were part of my life. Like the bit of my last birthday cake when Dad dropped the chocolate heâd burnt in the microwave. I thought about mentioning to Jazzi that we werenât just cleaning cupboards but cleaning out my memories, but her bottom looked too fierce.
When Iâd done the cupboards, we stacked the chairs on the kitchen table and Jazzi swept up, with me following with the dustpan and brush.
âI think weâre doing this too soon. After all, Jazzi, you havenât even cooked for the dinner party, so thereâll be more dropped things on the floor after that. Wouldnât it be better to do the floors after the dinner party?â
âI donât drop things when I cook.â Jazzi turned around so suddenly that the dustpan fell out of myhands. She pressed her lips together until they went white.
âSorry,â I said. âItâs just that you startled me. Sorry. Iâll clean it up.â
âYes, you will.â
Jazzi had tucked her hair up in a purple bandana that went with her checked trousers. The back of her neck was all sweaty. She scrubbed the floor with a scrubbing brush, starting at the kitchen sink and working her way back, past the table and chairs and right to the hallway carpet. Some of the dark streaks on our lino tiles turned out to be dirt, but some were definitely part of the swirly pattern.
She was going to do the fridge, but when we pulled out some old pineapple in an ancient tin, Jazzi shook her head.
âWe should recycle,â she said, âbut this is a biochemical hazard.â And she marched it straight to the outside bin with some old jars of dubious jam.
âIâm tired,â she announced when she came back in. âI think we deserve a break, Beatrice. See if you can find anything nice in the freezer.â
There were four chocolate ice-cream bars in the freezer. We ate two and watched TV while we waited for Dad to come home and admire our work.
He thought the Toasterpede might be one of a kind, but we let it out into the front garden just in case therewas another one lurking around.
âWonât it be a bit cold for it,â I asked. âAfter all, itâs used to living in the toaster.â
âI think if it can survive that, it must be pretty tough,â he said.
âItâs a clear night,â Jazzi said, linking her arm through Dadâs and looking up. âLook, Beatrice, can you see the Southern Cross?â
âAnd the Saucepan,â I said.
âOh, that reminds me, Nick. Can I get rid of a couple of your saucepans? We simply donât have room for them all and mine are copper-bottomed, much better for conducting heat.â
âAnything you want, Jazzi.â
âThank you,