Free Pick 'n' Mix by Jean Ure

’specially enjoy vacuuming. I used to enjoy ironing but I’m not allowed to do that any more, since one of Angel’s blouses got shrivelled and everyone blamed me. I always get the blame for everything. It never even occurred to Tom, or to Mum, that it might have been Melia and not me that had pulled out Tom’s wires. Oh, no! It had to be Frankie. But it was definitely Melia that broke Mum’s mug.
    I’d put it out on the table, ready to pour the water in, and even as I reached out for the kettle Melia had gone flumping past with her arms flailing about and sent it flying. She wasn’t even aware that she’d done it! I stared, in disbelief. I just couldn’t believe that she’d gone and broken it. I’d given that mug to Mum last year, on her birthday. I’d chosen it ’specially cos it was so pretty, I knew Mum would love it. It had all flowers painted on it, like the ones she grew in the garden. Pansies, I think they were.
    Mum had been really pleased. She’d said, “Oh, Frankie, that is quite beautiful! From now on, I shall make it my special coffee mug. Everyone take note… this is the mug I have my coffee in!”
    Melia turned round. One of her feet went scrunch. She looked down, in surprise.
    â€œFrankie,” she cried, “you’ve broken the mug! Frankie, you’re so clumsy. ”
    I am not an evil-tempered person, I really am not. I don’t fly into tremendous rages and yell at people. But in that moment I felt like getting hold of Melia and shaking her. I said, “Listen, goofball !” and I gave her a poke. “How’m I s’pposed to have done it? I wasn’t anywhere near! I was over there, wasn’t I? By the stove.” Poke. “It was you! You were the—”
    That was when she skidded on a bit of broken mug and went down flomp on to the floor.
    I might as well be honest. My immediate reaction was to feel intensely irritated. Trust Melia! And then Rags came wobbling over, with his tail wagging, and pushed his ball at her. He loves it when people are down at his level, he thinks they want to play.
    It was Melia, not me, who pushed him to safety. “Rags, go ’way!” she cried. “You get hurt!”
    For a moment, I almost softened. I mean, I’d yelled at her, I’d called her goofball, I’d pushed her over, and all she could think was that Rags might get hurt. But then I looked at the shattered pieces of Mum’s broken mug, and all my anger rose up again and nearly choked me. I yanked Melia to her feet and shoved both her and Rags into the garden while I got the dustpan and brush and began sweeping up the bits. Angel came in while I was doing it.
    â€œOh,” she said, “you’ve broken Mum’s mug!”
    â€œIt wasn’t me,” I said. “It was Melia. She just walked past and it fell over.” I sighed. “Mum loved her mug!”
    â€œHm, well… now you know how it feels,” said Angel.
    She didn’t say it unkindly, she actually sounded quite sympathetic for once, but the fact is she has never really forgiven me for shrivelling her blouse. I wondered if I would ever forgive Melia for breaking Mum’s mug.
    I supposed I would have to; you can’t go on nursing a grudge for ever. Not unless you’re Angel, who tends to collect grudges the way other people collect shoes, or china ornaments. She stuffs them all into one big bag which she carries around with her wherever she goes. Dunno what she’ll do when the bag gets filled; start on a second one, I guess.
    I tried quite hard to go on feeling aggrieved. Mum had so loved her mug! But then this really hysterical thing happened and my grudge just melted away. We were downstairs, watching television; me, and Mum, and Dad. Melia was in the bath, Tom was in his room, still putting his wires back, Angel was in the hall, saying goodbye to her latest boyfriend (whose name I cannot now