Midnight - Softcover

Jacqueline Wilson is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author, and a multi-award-winning author.

One

'Are you sure you're going to be all right?' Mum asked.

'They'll be fine,' said Dad. 'Come on, or that mini-cab chap will start creating.'

'You've got the number of the hotel just in case?' said Mum. 'It's by the phone. Of course, in a real emergency you'd better call the police.'

'There wouldn't be much point. They'll all be at your dance,' I said.

Dad bared his teeth in a silly smile. He'd swapped his dark tunic and trousers and white working shirt for this equally naff evening uniform of satin-striped suit and frilly shirt. He wore a clip-on bow instead of his clip-on tie. And a clip-on face, pink, jovial, jowly, always Mr Plod the Policeman.

'Come on, Iris, quit flapping.'

'We should have driven them over to your mum's—' She stopped and drew in her breath. We all knew we couldn't go back to Grandma's.

'We should have got a babysitter,' Mum said lamely.

'We're not babies, Mum,' I said.

She gave me a quick kiss. She smelled weirdly sultry after spraying herself liberally with last holiday's duty-free Giorgio. Mum is so not a Giorgio girl, though she'd tried hard tonight, wearing a Wonderbra to give herself an impressive cleavage in her black clingy dress. It was a bit too clingy. You could see the outline of her knickers as she went to the living-room door. My mum would die rather than wear a thong.

Still, who am I to talk? I wear little-girly white cotton underwear and Mum would have me wearing little white socks too if she could have her way. She treats me like I'm three, not thirteen.

'Will? Come downstairs, we're going now,' Mum called.

Will is fifteen, nearly sixteen. He's my brother. He's not just my brother. He's always been my best friend too — and my worst enemy.

I gave him my first smile when I was six weeks old. When I was six months I'd hold out my arms to him, straining for him to pick me up. I can't remember, of course. These are Mum's little stories, but she always tells the truth. Well. That's what we thought.

I can remember way back though, when I was still in my buggy. Will would kneel in front of me and give me my own private puppet show. A fairy story. I was Goldilocks, even though my hair was black, and there were just two bears, not three. Big Growl, Will's bear, and Little Growl, my bear.

Will wasn't even at school yet but he made up plays that lasted for hours. No, not hours - and they can't have been real plays. He just made Big and Little Growl dance about in front of me, one of them booming in a glorious great growl, one of them squeaking in a winsome weeny growl. I know that's all it can have been, and yet the carpet around me sprouted forests and Big Growl and Little Growl padded about me on real paws. I reached out and patted their furry bodies and smelled the honey on their breath.

When Will started school Mum tried to play Teddies with me, a trite game of 'This is Big Growl and this is Little Growl'. They stayed shabby toys, their glass eyes glazed, their mouths stitched. But the moment Will was back they would lift their snouts in the air and growl a welcome. It was obvious. Will was magic.

He could work black as well as white magic even when we were both very young.

'You wait, Vi,' he'd say, if he thought I'd pinched the biggest cake at tea time or had one turn too many on our shared swing.

The waiting was the worst. He always knew how to bide his time. He'd generally wait until we'd both been put to bed. Then he'd creep into my room.

'Big Growl's very angry with you,' he'd whisper in my ear. 'He's going to bite your nose right off.' Will would pinch my nose hard. 'He's going to rip you into ribbons with his claws.' Will would scratch down my arms, his nails digging right in. 'He's going to smother you with his great big bum.' Will would shove Big Growl onto my face, pressing harder and harder.

I got my head free and screamed once. Mum came running into my room.

'Oh, poor Violet's having a nightmare. I've given her Big Growl to cuddle,' said Will, without missing a beat.

I could have shown Mum my scarlet nose or my scratches but I didn't dare. She never suspected a thing.

Dad often looked at Will sideways, but then it was his job to be suspicious. And he didn't like Will even then. We all knew that for a fact, though no one said a word about it.

We don't talk about a lot of things.

Will barely talked to any of us now. He came home from school, fixed himself a gigantic sandwich and then sloped up the stairs to his bedroom. And stayed there. All evening. Mum used to take his supper on a tray but Dad said why should she act like a servant to her son? He expects her to act like a servant to him, but that's a different story. So now Will waits until he knows they're watching News at Ten and then sneaks down to the kitchen and heats himself a family-sized pizza or a whole pack of oven chips.

I've tried hanging out with him in the kitchen but he won't talk to me either. He'll grunt yes or no to any question but now he'll never initiate any conversation.

I can't bear it. I tried reaching out and taking his hand one time. He didn't snatch it away. He just looked down at our clasped hands as if they didn't belong to us. My hand went limp like a dead fish and I slithered it out of his grasp.

'Will!' Mum shouted now. 'Will, please come downstairs.' She was almost begging.

I thought he'd stay up in his room but his footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slowly, taking his time. But he came right down into the hall, through into the living room.

'Ah, there you are,' said Mum brightly. 'Now, you will look after your sister, won't you?'

Will stared at her silently. He'd changed out of his school uniform into a big grey shirt, soft black waistcoat, jeans and bare feet. He wore a string of little silver beads around his neck. His black hair stuck out oddly, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He looked even paler than usual, an almost greenish tinge to his white skin.

Half the girls at school are in love with Will. And some of the boys.

'Oh, we're going in for necklaces now, are we?' said Dad.

Will didn't blink. He went on looking at Mum.

'They're all the fashion for boys now,' she said quickly. 'Will? You're the man of the house tonight, all right? You're in charge.'

'OK,' said Will.

Mum's hitched-up chest heaved with relief. She smiled at Will. 'You'll look after Violet?'

'Sure,' said Will. 'Don't you worry, we'll be fine.'

'That's my boy,' said Mum.

She used to say that all the time to Will. She hadn't said it for ages now. Will waited until Mum and Dad were at the front door.

'I'm not your boy,' he said.

He spoke quietly but I know she heard. There was a long pause. Then Mum called another goodbye, sounding so forlorn.

'Goodbye, Mum,' I called, feeling sorry for her.

'Goodbye, Violet. Goodbye, Will. Goodbye, darlings.'

'For God's sake, you're starting to sound like the Walton family,' said Dad. 'Bye kids. Get to bed at a reasonable time. No larking about and staying up till midnight. We won't be back till very late. The dance doesn't end till one and then I expect there'll be a bit of faffing about chatting.'

'Yeah, you and your mates cracking open yet another bottle or two of whisky,' Will said softly.

They were out of the door by this time. Mum cried one more goodbye like some sad calling bird with only one song. Then the front door slammed shut.

We were on our own. I looked at Will. He looked at me, his deep-green eyes very bright. I thought he'd slope straight past me up to his room but he stayed where he was, staring at me. I tried to stare back but my eyes swivelled first. I looked foolishly round our boring beige living room and then looked back. Will was still staring.

'What?' I said, my heart thudding.
'I'm just subjugating you to my will,' he said.

'Shut up!' I said, giggling.