My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece Read Free

wrong. Roger was licking birthday cake off the carpet. He hissed when Dad grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the hall. Jas stormed off and slammed her bedroom door. I managed to eat a sandwich and three more buns as Dad cleaned the mess, his hands trembling as he picked up the remains of Rose’s birthday tea. Mum stared at the cake on the carpet. This is all my fault she muttered. I shook my head. He spilt it, not you I whispered, pointing at the Ribena stain.
    Dad threw the food into the bin so hard that it rattled. He started shouting again. It hurt my ears so I ran out of the kitchen into Jas’s room. She was sitting in front of the mirror, fiddling with her pink hair. I gave her the bun hidden underneath my top. You look really nice I said, which made her cry. Girls are strange.
    Mum admitted everything after the party. Me and Jas were on her bed, listening. Wasn’t hard. Mum was crying. Dad was screaming. Jas was bawling her eyes out but mine were dry. AFFAIR Dad said, over and over again, like if he yelled it enough times then maybe it would sink in. Mum said You don’t understand and Dad said I suppose Nigel does and Mum said Better than you. We talk. He listens. He makes me – but Dad interrupted, swearing loudly.
    It went on for ages. I got pins and needles in my left foot. Dad asked hundreds of questions. Mum sobbed even harder. He called her A cheat and A liar and said This is the icing on the bloody cake , which made me want another bun. Mum tried to argue back. Dad shouted over her. Haven’t you put this family through enough he roared. The crying stopped suddenly. Mum said something we couldn’t hear. What Dad said, shocked. What did you say .
    Footsteps in the hall. Mum’s voice again, quiet, just outside Jas’s door. I can’t do this any more she repeated, sounding a thousand years old. Jas grabbed my hand. I think it’s better if I go . My fingers ached as Jas squeezed them. Better for who Dad asked. Better for everyone Mum replied.
    It was Dad’s turn to cry. He begged Mum to stay. Apologised. He blocked the front door but Mum said Move out of my way . Dad asked for one more chance. He promised to try harder, to put the photos away, to get a job. He said I lost Rose and I can’t lose you as Mum walked out onto the street. Dad shouted We need you and Mum said Not as much as I need Nigel . And then she left so Dad thumped the wall and broke his finger and he had to wear a bandage for four weeks and three days.

 
    T HE POST HASN’T arrived. It is thirteen minutes past ten and I have been in double figures for one hundred and ninety seven minutes. I heard something at the door a second ago but it was just the milkman. We had to get our own milk in London. We’d always run out ’cos the supermarket was a fifteen minute drive away and Dad refused to go down the road to the shop owned by Muslims. I got used to having dry cereal but Mum moaned when she couldn’t have a cup of tea.
    So far my presents haven’t been that great. Dad gave me football boots that are one and a half sizes too small. I’m wearing them now and my toes feel as though they’re in a mousetrap. First time he’s smiled for ages when I put them on. I didn’t want to say I needed bigger ones ’cos he probably chucked the receipt. I just pretended that they fit. I never get on football teams anyway so I won’t have to wear them that much. In my school in London I tried out every single year but I was never picked, except for once when the keeper was ill and Mr Jackson put me in goal. I asked Dad to come and he rubbed my head like he was proud. We lost thirteen-nil, but only six of the goals were my fault. When the match started, I was gutted Dad hadn’t turned up. By the end, I was relieved.
    Rose bought me a book. Like always, her present was by the urn when I went into the lounge. I got this strong urge to laugh when I saw it there, and imagined the urn sprouting legs and arms and a head and walking