Free My Sister Jodie by Jacqueline Wilson Page A

sounds much too noisy and shouty, she’ll scare them all away. Keep it a secret, yeah?’
    â€˜OK,’ I whispered.
    â€˜Thanks. You’re a pal,’ he said, and he squeezed my hand.

Three little ones were sitting in a row on a bench.

6
    I WOKE UP very early the next morning and lay listening to all the birds. We never saw so much as a sparrow at home, but here there seemed to be great flocks of swallows and starlings, blackbirds and blue tits, all trilling and chirping outside the window.
    This
was home now. I leaned up on one elbow and peered around the poky little room, wondering how Jodie and I could fix it up. I traced the bobbly pattern on the wallpaper with my fingertips. It was partly peeling away. I edged my fingers underneath and found layers of paper and then plain whitewashed wall. There was a little dent, a hole for a nail.
    I wondered if some small kitchen maid had once slept in this room. Perhaps she had a little looking glass hanging on the wall. Or maybe she kept an old brown photo of her parents and all her brothers and sisters to remind her of home. Maybe it was areligious picture, a guardian angel spreading feathery white wings above a little child in a pinafore and button boots.
    I played
I
was the kitchen maid – Flossie? Mary-Ann?
Kezia!
– lying on one side of the little iron bed, with my best friend Pansy, the parlour maid, curled up close beside me. We had to scramble out of our nightgowns as soon as the grandfather clock in the corridor struck six. We stood shivering in our shifts, sponging our faces with cold water, and then struggled into our ugly uniforms and starched aprons.
    I wanted Jodie to wake up and play Servant Girls with me. I crawled into her bed. She cuddled me sleepily but wouldn’t even open her eyes.
    â€˜Play with me, Jodie, please! I want you to be Pansy the parlour maid.’
    â€˜
Who?
Give it a rest, Pearl. It’s way too early, too early,’ she mumbled into her pillow.
    I picked up Mrs Wilberforce’s beautiful copy of
The Secret Garden
and lay on my tummy reading instead. I wasn’t sure I really liked Mary but she was very interesting. I
loved
her sweet maid, Martha. I muttered her words out loud, not quite sure what a Yorkshire accent sounded like.
    â€˜What are you muttering about?’ said Jodie.
    â€˜I’m reading
The Secret Garden.
Do you think there might be a secret garden here? There are lots of high walls overhung with ivy. Maybe we’ll find a locked door and then a key and we’ll have our own secret place?’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ Jodie mumbled. ‘You and your boring old books. What time is it? Do you think Mum and Dad are up yet? I’m absolutely
starving
. You wouldn’t go and make some toast for us, would you, Pearl? And a cup of tea?’
    I crept off to the kitchenette obediently, like a real Kezia the kitchen maid, and started making breakfast. I found a kettle and all the cups and plates in a cardboard box.
    Mum had already stowed the bread in its enamel bin and put the milk and butter in the tiny fridge. I wondered whether to take Mum and Dad a cup of tea too, but I wanted to savour this special time with Jodie. I always liked it so much better when there were just the two of us. I dug my finger into the butter and then the sugar while I was waiting for the kettle to boil. I licked the lovely big dollop of sugary butter and then started guiltily when I heard the floorboards creaking in the passage.
    â€˜Naughty naughty!’ said Dad, bursting in on me. ‘Lucky your mother didn’t catch you!’
    â€˜You won’t tell her, Dad, will you?’ I said, giving him a hug.
    â€˜Well, I won’t
have
to tell her if you leave the butter all over poky little holes! Smooth it over, lovey. With a knife, not your finger! And is that toast? Don’t fill yourself up too much. Your mum’s going to be making eggs and bacon in the big kitchen and then