Bad Becky Page 2

  ‘No thank you,’ said Becky politely. ‘I like my T-shirt and jeans.’

  ‘You would look really pretty,’ wheedled Dad.

  ‘I don’t want to look really pretty,’ Becky replied slowly, trying her hardest not to be rude.

  ‘Oh very well,’ said Mum, ‘suit yourself.’

  Yes! It had worked.

  ‘Bing-bong! Bing-bong! Bing-bong!’ went the doorbell.

  ‘That will be Great-Aunt Mildred,’ said Mum. Becky noticed that she didn’t sound very enthusiastic. ‘Now remember what I said, Becky.’

  ‘Uuuugh,’ grunted Becky in reply, dropping the angelic act.

  In the hall, Dad, Mum and the brothers greeted Great-Aunt Mildred as she struggled to get through the door. Becky stood at the back, watching. Great-Aunt Mildred was a very big woman and she was wearing a hideous pink dress shaped like a tent and a huge floppy hat covered in flowers. She carried a massive bag over one arm and had a little dog tucked under the other. Becky had never seen such an ugly dog. It looked as if it had walked into a door and squashed its face. It had enormous staring eyes, a fat round body and a stumpy tail, and its constant growling sounded like the rumble of a distant train. It was horrible.

  ‘Hello, everyone!’ boomed Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘Say hello, Poochie.’

  The dog growled a bit more loudly and showed a set of sharp pointed teeth.

  ‘Hello, Aunt Mildred,’ said Dad cheerfully.

  ‘Hello, Aunt Mildred,’ echoed Mum with slightly less enthusiasm.

  ‘Hello, Great-Aunt Mildred,’ said the brothers in unison.

  ‘I’ve had a terrible journey,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred, puffing and panting and marching into the front room.

  Here we go, thought Becky. Hardly through the door and she starts complaining as usual.

  ‘The traffic is terrible these days,’ grumbled Great-Aunt Mildred, lowering herself into a chair. ‘Mad drivers, children on bikes, lorries belching out fumes, buses crawling along. My poor little Poochie is all hot and thirsty, aren’t you, Poochie?’

  The dog growled even more loudly and Great-Aunt Mildred thrust him into Dad’s hands. ‘Fetch Poochie a bowl of water,’ she commanded. ‘And make sure it’s cold.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Mildred,’ said Dad, disappearing into the kitchen with the dog and a none-too-pleased expression on his face.

  ‘My, my, my,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred, looking at the twins approvingly, ‘what big boys you are now. Come and give your Great-Aunt Mildred a kiss.’

  ‘Yuck!’ shuddered Becky. Even the thought of those big wet slobbery kisses made her feel sick.

  ‘Slurp, slurp, slurp,’ went Great-Aunt Mildred, kissing the boys and covering their cheeks with bright red lipstick.

  Becky thought that Ben and Bernard looked as if they were being devoured by an enormous pink jellyfish. There is no way, thought Becky, that she was going to let Great-Aunt Mildred slobber over her like that.

  ‘Hello, Rebecca,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred, screwing up her face as if she were sucking a lemon. ‘I hope you have learnt to behave yourself.’

  ‘Oh yes, Great-Aunt Mildred,’ said Becky sweetly.

  ‘Well, come and give your Great-Aunt Mildred a big, big kiss.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ lied Becky, ‘but I’ve just got over chickenpox. My face was covered in red spots the size of mountains and I was scratching and scratching all day long.’

  Mum glared at Becky. She had never had chickenpox.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘I don’t think you ought to come too close to me then.’

  ‘Neither do I, Great-Aunt Mildred. I would hate you to catch it,’ Becky replied, thinking she’d actually like nothing better.

  ‘Whatever are you wearing, child?’ asked Great-Aunt Mildred next.

  ‘My jeans and T-shirt,’ said Becky cheerfully.

  ‘Little girls should wear nice colourful dresses and ribbons in their hair and dainty shoes,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred, ‘and not jeans and T-shirts. When I was a little girl everyone said how pretty I looked in my party dress. I was the prettiest girl in school.’

  At that moment there was a terrible scream from the kitchen. The noise was something like ‘Oooeeeaaarrrggghhh!’ and was followed by Dad rushing through the door. ‘I’ve been bitten!’ he cried, waving a very red-looking finger in the air and pulling an excruciating face. ‘I’ve been bitten! The dog bit me!’

  ‘You probably frightened him,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred, quite unconcerned about Dad’s suffering. ‘Where is my little Poochie?’ The dog trotted towards her and jumped up on to her lap. ‘Did that big, big man fwighten you, Poochie?’ she asked the dog in a silly voice that made Becky cringe.

  Dad glowered before going in search of a plaster.

  ‘Why don’t you boys take Poochie into the garden?’ said Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘He’s been in a hot stuffy car all morning.’ She tickled the dog under his chubby little chin. ‘Does my ickle Poochie-Woochie want walkie-walkies?’ she asked. ‘Does he? Yes, he does.’

  Bernard and Ben reluctantly and very carefully attached the fat unfriendly creature to his lead and led him out towards the back garden.

  He growled at the brothers, baring his sharp teeth and sticking his stumpy little tail bolt upright. Becky could see that her brothers were not at all keen on taking the savage little brute for ‘walkie-walkies’, but she knew that they had no choice.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Aunt Mildred,’ asked Mum, ‘and a piece of chocolate cake that I’ve baked specially?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred – without saying please, Becky noticed. ‘I love chocolate cake. I bake delicious chocolate cakes myself. Everyone says they are as light as a feather.’

  At that moment there was a terrible shriek from the garden. The noise sounded like ‘Eeeaaarrroooggghhh!’ and, seconds later, Bernard and Ben rushed through the door with the dog snapping at their heels.

  ‘Get it off!’ cried Ben, hiding behind the table.

  ‘Get it off!’ echoed Bernard, climbing on a chair.

  ‘It’s ripped my new coat!’ wailed Ben.

  ‘And torn my trousers!’ moaned Bernard.

  ‘He must be hungry,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘Does my ickle Poochie-Woochie want his din-dins?’ she asked. ‘Does he? Yes, he does.’ She dug into her large bag and took out an enormous packet of dog biscuits and a huge tin of dog food. She thrust them towards Becky. ‘Get him his dinner,’ she said, ‘and don’t give too much.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Becky asked, scowling as she reluctantly took the dog food.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ replied Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘Good little girls do as they are told, and they are seen but not heard.’

  Becky looked down at the dog. He looked back at her with the unblinking stare of a killer shark. ‘Come on then,’ she said.

  Poochie obediently trotted into the kitchen behind Becky. But as soon as she started shaking some biscuits into a bowl, the dog edged towards her, growling, his sharp teeth gleaming.

  Becky stopped what she was doing, put her hands on her hips and stared into Poochie’s eyes. It was her really, really angry stare. Mum said it was a stare that could turn milk sour and freeze soup in pans. Then she stabbed the air with a finger. ‘Be quiet! You silly dog!’ she shouted. One more growl out of you and I’ll lock you in the store cupboard where it’s dark and spooky.’

  Poochie gazed at her for a moment

  and the growl died in his throat. Then he whimpered and stuck his tail between his legs as he scuttled into a corner.

  ‘Now sit,’ ordered Becky, ‘and behave yourself!’

  The dog did as he was told; he had met his match.

  When Becky went back to the living room Great-Aunt Mildred was devouring a large piece of chocolate cake. She looked like a monster chomping away, thought Becky. Chomp, chomp, chomp.

  ‘It’s not as nice as the chocolate cake I make,’ Great-Aunt Mildred was telling Mum. ‘Mine is much lighter and has mo
re chocolate in it. I have won prizes with my chocolate cake.’

  Becky sniffed. Huh, she thought, I bet she has.

  ‘Blow your nose, Becky,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred. ‘Nice little girls don’t sniff and snuffle like anteaters.’

  Becky wished there were such things as Aunt Eaters. Great lumbering, red-eyed, dribbling monsters with gnashing teeth and great slashing claws that went in search of horrible aunts and gobbled them up. Aunt Mildred took another huge mouthful of chocolate cake.

  Becky dug deep into the pockets of her jeans for a handkerchief – and then she felt them. The maggots! She had forgotten about the maggots. She had put them in there when she and the brothers had gone fishing the day before.

  ‘What have you got in your pocket?’ asked Great-Aunt Mildred, munching away on the chocolate cake.

  ‘Nothing, Great-Aunt Mildred,’ replied Becky.

  ‘Yes, you have. You’re fiddling with something.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Becky, wishing she would mind her own business for once.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ Great-Aunt Mildred persisted, spitting out bits of chocolate cake as she talked.

  Becky felt like telling her that it is very bad manners to speak with your mouth full, but she merely said, ‘It’s nothing really.’

  ‘Let me see, child,’ said Aunt Mildred, holding out her hand.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ said Becky.

  ‘I insist,’ said Great-Aunt Mildred angrily. ‘Do as you are told.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Becky, and she scooped out a handful of wriggling maggots and placed them in Great-Aunt Mildred’s hand.

  ‘AAAAhhhhhhuuuuuggggg!’ screamed Great-Aunt Mildred. Her hand shot up and all the maggots flew into the air. Becky couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched one or two of them land neatly down the front of her great-aunt’s dress.

  Letting her plate of chocolate cake slide to the floor, Great-Aunt Mildred leapt to her feet and shot out of the door like a stampeding elephant, followed by a yelping Poochie.

  After the front door had slammed behind her, Mum, Dad, the brothers and Becky shuffled into the kitchen, each one of them lost for words. They sat down at the kitchen table, all a bit

  dishevelled and badly in need of a cup of tea.

  ‘She said my chocolate cake wasn’t very nice,’ said Mum glumly as she poured the tea.

  ‘My finger hurts,’ said Dad angrily. ‘Nasty dog!’

  ‘My new jacket is ruined!’ grumbled Ben.

  ‘So are my new trousers!’ complained Bernard.

  Becky stayed completely silent. She was waiting for her telling-off to start.

  Then something totally unexpected happened.

  ‘I suppose we’ll not be seeing Great-Aunt Mildred for quite some time,’ said Mum; the corners of her mouth twitching. Becky couldn’t believe it – her mum wasn’t cross at all – she was trying to stop herself from smiling!

  ‘I think you’re right,’ replied Dad, with an unmistakable grin on his face.

  Becky looked at her mum and dad, and then at the brothers, who were smirking like mad.

  They all looked at Becky. Then Dad slid a plate across the table. On it was the last slice of chocolate cake.

  Becky’s mouth began to water. It was a huge wedge of dark mouth-watering sponge with sweet creamy filling and a thick crust of icing on the top. Her absolute favourite.

  ‘I think Becky deserves this,’ Dad said, and the rest of the family nodded in agreement.

  Perhaps having Great-Aunt Mildred to tea wasn’t all bad, Becky thought to herself as she took her first enormous bite of chocolate cake.

  The Birthday Party

  ‘I don’t want to go to Simon’s birthday party!’ cried Becky, stamping her foot and pushing out her bottom lip.

  Becky knew this little outburst was a bit babyish but it was one of her favourite means of getting her own way. If Mum didn’t feel up to an argument, she would usually sigh and shake her head and give in with the words, ‘Oh very well, suit yourself.’

  That morning, however, the tactic was not working. Mum was not in the mood to be disobeyed.

  ‘Well, you’re going,’ said Mum firmly. ‘You’re lucky to get an invitation. And no more arguing, young lady, or you’ll go to your room for the rest of the day.’

  ‘But –’ began Becky, thinking she would have another try.

  ‘And no “buts”,’ interrupted Mum.

  Wow, thought Becky. Mum sounded just like Mrs Groucher this morning.

  Becky put on her best sulky face. ‘It’ll be really soppy, I know it will,’ she said. ‘All the boys will be kicking a football or climbing trees and they won’t let me join in, and all the girls will be playing with dolls or dressing up, and I definitely don’t want to join in with that.’

  ‘And, of course, there’ll be horrible raspberry jelly and ice cream and nasty buns and awful chocolate cake,’ said Dad with a grin.

  ‘And a party bag for everyone,’ said Ben. ‘You won’t want that.’

  ‘And there’ll be a magician,’ said Bernard. ‘He’ll be very boring.’

  For one reason or another, each member of the family was very keen that Becky should be out of the way that Saturday afternoon. Mum wanted to go Christmas shopping in town, and buying presents for the children would be impossible with her sharp-eyed daughter watching her every move. Dad was hoping to have a quiet time watching the football on the television, and the brothers had two friends coming round and they didn’t want their little sister spoiling things. They all looked at Becky hopefully.

  Mmmm, she thought. All that yummy food and a party bag full of goodies and a magician as well. Perhaps it didn’t sound that bad, after all. Becky imagined a table piled with all her favourite food. Then she imagined a tall wizard with a long white beard and flowing hair and fingers like twigs. He’d be dressed in a pointed hat, with a cloak glittering with stars and moons

  and he’d be holding a golden wand ready to perform all sorts of magic.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Becky. ‘But I’m not wearing a stupid dress.’

  All the children were gathered round Simon giving him presents when Becky arrived. Simon was a tall, pale-faced boy with long lank hair and doleful eyes. He wore large round glasses and that afternoon was dressed in a red waistcoat and matching bow tie.

  ‘I’ve brought you a colouring book,’ chirruped Araminta to Simon. She was wearing a bright pink dress with a green sash and her hair was in ringlets. ‘It’s got lots of lovely pictures of animals for you to colour in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Simon, stroking the cover of the book gently. ‘It’s super.’

  ‘I’ve brought you a reading book,’ said Gareth. He wore a very clean white shirt and tie and polished shoes. ‘It’s called Nice Stories for Children and has eighty pages.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Simon again, placing it next to the colouring book. ‘It’s just what I wanted.’

  ‘And I’ve brought you a jigsaw of a beautiful garden,’ said Jade, thrusting a parcel wrapped in silver paper into Simon’s hand. She too was in her best party dress. ‘It’s got five hundred and ninety-nine pieces.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Simon.

  ‘Well, I’ve brought you an intergalactic, space-zapping water pistol,’ said Becky.

  Simon’s mother, who was making delighted sounds at all the presents up to this point, suddenly gasped and snatched the parcel from Becky’s hands. ‘I don’t allow guns,’ she said.

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Becky, snatching it back. ‘I’ll have it then.’

  While the rest of the children played Pass the Parcel, Musical Chairs and other party games that Becky thought were soppy, she filled the big green intergalactic, space-zapping water pistol.

  She squirted the windows, she squirted the chairs, she squirted the ceiling, she squirted the floor. When she squirted Simon and made him cry, his mother told Becky that if she squirted one more time, she would be taken home.

  ‘When is the magician coming
?’ asked Becky, stuffing the big green intergalactic, space-zapping water pistol in the back pocket of her jeans.

  ‘After tea,’ said Simon’s mum. ‘And you have to be very, very good or he’ll turn you into a frog.’

  Sometimes grown-ups say the most stupid things, thought Becky.

  At tea, Becky ate three packets of crisps, six sandwiches, five buns, four bowls of ice cream and jelly and two pieces of chocolate cake. Then she flopped on the floor feeling nice and full.

  At that moment the magician arrived. He was not what Becky expected at all. Instead of a tall wizard with a long white beard and flowing hair, and fingers like twigs, a pointed hat, a cloak glittering with stars and moons and a golden wand, the magician was a small plump man with a shiny bald head and a very large red nose. He was dressed in a baggy red and yellow checked suit and wore a big spotted bow tie. He carried a large sack with Marvo the Magician written in silver letters on the front.

  ‘Hello, children!’ he shouted cheerfully, waving his hand in the air like a floppy daffodil in the wind.

  ‘I’m the incredible Marvo the Magician.’

  ‘You don’t look like a magician,’ said Becky. ‘You look like a clown.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t!’ snapped Marvo.

  ‘Oh yes, you do,’ snapped back Becky.

  Marvo decided to ignore her. ‘Now children, I would like you all to gather here in front of me on the carpet.’ Becky placed herself at the very front. The magician eyed her suspiciously before rummaging in his large sack. He brought out a silver wand. ‘I can do a magic trick, with my little silver stick.’

  ‘I thought magicians called them wands,’ said Becky.

  ‘Well, I call it a stick,’ said Marvo, glaring at her. ‘I wonder if some nice, well-behaved and very polite little boy or girl would like to come and help Marvo the Magician with his first magic trick?’

  Becky was at his side before anyone else had time to blink.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ she said.