Free My Nasty Neighbours by Creina Mansfield Page B

bedroom, given lots of hot drinks and advice about how to get better. Even the advice was welcome after Helen and Ian’s cruel indifference.
    I’ve left a mess next door, I thought and smiled to myself as I slipped into sleep between the clean, well-ironed sheets.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Spend, Spend, Spend!
    O ver the next few days, while the snow melted, I was recovering from whatever it was I’d had.
    ‘You could’ve picked up any number of germs in those … unsanitary conditions,’ said Mum with a shudder. ‘When I went round to clean up your room, I saw some very strange mould in the sitting-room. It was pinky-grey with lumps …’
    ‘They’ll have the Environmental Health Officer round next,’ said Dad, winking at me, ‘though a little untidiness is not a bad thing.’
    Both Dad and Mum showered me with attention. Must be great, being an only child, I thought to myself. Here, in no 10, everything was cleanliness and order. There was a routinefor everything, from lighting the fire to meal-times. For instance, I realised how a blazing fire was regularly achieved. Every morning Mum would rake out the ashes, then put firelighters on crumpled-up newspaper in the grate, so the fire was ready to light later. She’d even put wooden fire screens in front of the fire, so everything was neat and tidy. Dream on, Helen!
    I was unenthusiastic about returning to no 8. Ian and Helen were no fun to live with. By Saturday I was well enough to go next door and collect some of my belongings. I walked back into no 10 carrying a load of clothes and Great Uncle Albert’s tall boy.
    When Mum saw the statue she smiled. ‘Come to stay then?’ she asked.
    I nodded. ‘It’s much better here,’ I told her.
    A visitor was sitting at the kitchen table, sampling the cakes.
    ‘Here’s someone we haven’t seen for ages,’ said Mum, delighted. ‘Young Philip.’ She sat down at the table and helped herself to a rum baba. ‘I used to drive you to school when you were just this high,’ she explained to PsychoPhil.
    Like he’s going to be impressed, I said to myself. Mum was treating him as if he’d been in Australia for ten years. She didn’t seem to realise this was Psycho Phil who’d been dossing down next door and harassing her daughter. With my mum all you needed to do to get away with anything is to prove that you were once seven years old.
    ‘So what are you doing now, Philip?’ Mum asked brightly. Points, Leaving Cert, qualifications – parents’ favourite topics were about to be discussed.
    ‘I’m taking a year off,’ grunted Psycho.
    ‘Before university?’ Mum guessed.
    ‘No, between serial murders,’ I said softly.
    But Mum was off. ‘Are you still interested in dinosaurs?’ she asked.
    ‘Every seven-year-old is interested in dinosaurs,’ I pointed out, reaching for a butterfly cake. The way Psycho was putting the cakes away, there would be none left for me.
    ‘I’ve decided to spend Great Uncle Albert’s money,’ I told Mum, hoping to get her attention. ‘I’m going shopping, I’m going to buy a cameratripod.’
    But Mum was too deep in discussion about Jurassic Park to hear me. I grabbed another cake and left her to fuss over Psycho Phil.
    I called into Abbas and we made our way to the shops. The tripod cost a mint, but it’d be worth it. I was going to make sure that from now on there would be records of our family’s greatest moments.
    On our way home we took a short-cut through a lane full of antique shops. As we passed one called Flanigan’s I saw something in the window that made me stop and stare.
    ‘Great Uncle Albert’s ship!’ I cried, pointing at the glass case in the centre of the window.
    ‘What?’ said Abbas, staring at the ship, but I couldn’t wait. I was half-way into the shop, with Abbas muttering behind me, ‘This place looks pricey.’
    The antique dealer came out from a back room. He looked disappointed when he saw us. ‘How may I help you?’ he asked with