Clementine Rose and the Seaside Escape 5 Read Free Page A

rattling around here on my own.’
    Digby frowned. There was a memory scratching inside his head.
    ‘So much for that mind like a steel trap, eh, Pertwhistle?’ Aunt Violet teased. ‘More like a sieve, don’t you think?’
    Digby grinned. ‘Well, as Clementine pointed out earlier, neither of us are spring chickens any more.’
    Just as Mrs Dent finished pouring the tea and Lady Clarissa served the cake, the front door banged and there was the sound of feet running down the hallway.
    ‘I think the children are back,’ said Mrs Dent. She went to intercept them.
    ‘What have you done with Lavender?’ Uncle Digby asked.
    ‘She’s having a sleep in her basket,’ Clementine said. ‘She was ’sausted.’
    Clementine took a bite of her sponge cake and picked up the glass of lemonade Mrs Dent had poured for her.
    ‘This is almost as good as Uncle Pierre’s cake,’ said Clemmie, while munching happily.
    Mrs Dent appeared in the doorway with two children. ‘I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Della, and my grandson, Freddy.’
    The girl was tall and thin with light-brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She had piercing green eyes and wore green shorts and a pink t-shirt with a glittery heart in the centre. The boy was blond-haired and blue-eyed and, on first glance, looked more like Clementine than his sister.
    There was a chorus of hellos from the adults.
    ‘You said she was older,’ Della whispered to her grandmother. ‘She’s just a baby.’
    ‘Della,’ Mrs Dent chided.
    Clementine looked at the girl. She wore nice clothes but her face seemed the complete opposite of her grandmother’s. There was no sparkling and twinkling. Della looked as if she had swallowed something nasty.
    ‘Freddy, Della, aren’t you going to say hello to Clementine?’ Mrs Dent asked.
    ‘Hello.’ Freddy gave a shy smile.
    ‘Hello,’ Della said with a pout.

    Clementine’s tummy twinged. Her mother looked at her and nodded.
    ‘Hello,’ Clementine replied.
    Mrs Dent set about cutting some more cake for the children and directed them to sit at the other end of the table, near Clementine.
    Soon the adults were chatting about this and that and the children were left to their own devices.
    ‘How old are you?’ Della asked Clementine with a mouthful of cake.
    ‘I’m five and a half,’ the younger girl replied.
    Della sighed. ‘Granny said that I’d have someone to play with but you’re way too young. I only play with people who are seven and over.’
    ‘I can do lots of things a seven-year-old can,’ Clementine said hopefully.
    ‘Like what?’ Della challenged her.
    ‘I can skip with a rope,’ Clementine said.
    ‘Any baby can do that,’ Della scoffed.
    ‘I can read lots of hard words and I can make up poems,’ Clementine said.
    ‘No, you can’t.’ Della shook her head. ‘Five-year-olds are too stupid to make up poems.’
    ‘That’s not true,’ Clementine said. She wondered why this girl was so mean and bossy. It seemed strange that her grandmother was about the kindest person Clemmie had met, but Della was crabbier than her teacher, Mrs Bottomley, and Joshua Tribble put together.
    ‘I can make up a poem about you,’ Clementine blurted.
    Della’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, you can’t.’
    ‘Yes, I can,’ Clementine nodded.
    ‘Show me then,’ said Della.
    Clementine was trying to remember what Uncle Digby had taught her about limericks.
    ‘There once was a girl called Della . . .’ Clementine stopped. She was thinking about the next line. It was hard to come up with something that rhymed with that name.
    Uncle Digby had half an ear on what was happening and leaned over and whispered something to Clementine.
    The child smiled.
    ‘Well, get on with it,’ Della said.
    Clementine tried again: ‘There once was a girl called Della, who was in love with a cute little fella –’
    Della glared at Clementine. ‘I don’t love anybody!’
    ‘But I haven’t finished yet.’ Clementine felt her bottom lip