Free Dear Scarlett by Sarah J; Fleur; Coleman Hitchcock Page B

I build him another one. He destroys that, and I build him another one. I even push a train around it.
    “Are you all right, Scarlett?” Mum asks.
    I nod, and redesign the station, and worry.
    We eat yellow eggs and home-grown broad beans, and Mum makes plum crumble for pudding.
    I hate broad beans, but I eat them anyway.
    After supper, I give Syd his bath. He gives me a foam moustache and beard.
    I even help him into his pyjamas.
    At bedtime, Mum asks, “Are you sure you’re OK?”
    And I wait a really long time before saying, “Fine, Mum, just tired.”
    Mum feels my forehead, tucks us both into bed, and sings songs to us until I’m on the edge of sleep.
    I wish I was someone else.
    I’m going to get Mum to drive me to school tomorrow.

Today Is Mostly Ropes
    Although I dream of large women in leopard-skin coats, never once has it crossed my mind that I should give up the box. Well, not till now. It’s assembly, and Mrs Mason, the head teacher, is whining on about semi-colons so everyone’s doodling and passing notes. I’m replaying the conversation at the zoo.
    If she’d only give me a certain box.
    So I could just do it. I could give the chauffeur the box, and that would be that, problem solved.
    Phew.
    And then I think about Dad, about the littlecollection of things he bothered to send me. The little clues about his life, the pictures, even the tools. They only want the box because of the diamonds, and the diamonds don’t exist, and they shouldn’t have it anyway, because it’s mine. He gave it to me.
    But then they’re going to tell Mum about the sweets.
    I hate this.
    I look across at Ellie; she’s the only person paying any attention to Mrs Mason. She’s also the only person I can talk to about this.
    Funny that, I wouldn’t have thought it a week ago.
    The lesson bell rings.
    I follow Ellie down the corridor to the PE shed, but I can’t get close, there’s a cluster of boys dancing sideways, and I can’t reach her.
    “Ellie,” I call, but she’s gone through the changing-room doors. I bash through them with my shoulder and stop dead.
    Mrs Gayton’s standing in the middle of the changing room, already changed. Mrs Gayton used to be in the army, and you can really see it now. Although she’s ancient she’s wearing a sleeveless vest and baggy military shorts. The most disturbingthing about it is the tattoo of a mermaid on her chicken-skin thigh. It’s stretched and wrinkled and slightly green.
    It’s not something that innocent children should see.
    Ugh.
    She’s prowling, looking like she wants to give us all very short haircuts or at the very least make us scrub floors and eat beetroot for the rest of our lives.
    It’s going to be gym today, I can tell, because Mrs Gayton’s got bare feet. Bare, bunioned, calloused, veiny feet. Not that she actually does any gym herself. She just sneers at us and blows her whistles.
    I think that if you peeled her skin back, she’d be green underneath. Like an alien.
    But despite Mrs Gayton, I still feel pleased that it’s gym, not rounders or tennis, because I’m rubbish at things with balls, and I’m brilliant at climbing and jumping things.
    Today is mostly ropes.
    I climb mine easily and swing a somersault over the bar at the top.
    Luckily Mrs Gayton’s got her back to me. She’s focusing on Ellie.
    “Come on, Ellie,” she says. “Would you
please
try to climb the rope. Everyone.” She gathers the class around. “Shall we watch Ellie try to climb the rope?”
    The boys stop screaming and running about. The girls drop their skipping ropes and come to stare.
    Ellie can’t climb the rope. She can’t even get above the knot at the bottom. She struggles and fights with it, until her arms and feet are pink.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs Gayton,” says Ellie. “I can’t do it.” She slips down to the floor.
    “Exactly. Thank you, Ellie, you’ve just demonstrated, perfectly, how not to climb a rope.”
    Ellie’s face flushes red to match her hands