Ruby Ali's Mission Break Up Page 3

  Ha!

  The duct tape will have caused the tap to spray water in all directions. Judging by the furious reaction, he may well be soaked. My suspicions are confirmed when I catch a glimpse of him through the gap in the door when he comes upstairs. His work suit is wet!

  “Fairies again,” he says aloud. “We’ll have to strike back!”

  Strike back?

  Good! This pretence can end. They are finally going to ask me to leave.

  “What shall we have for dessert?” Cheryl asks after a very tasty meal of Chinese noodles.

  Before I can say ice cream, Jim jumps up from the dinner table. “Fly!”

  I look around. He must have laser vision because I can’t see a thing. “Where?”

  Jim stretches his arm up to the ceiling and grabs something in his fist. He opens his palm and I lean over for a glimpse. There’s nothing there. I throw a glance at Cheryl by the dishwasher.

  “Can I help?” I ask. So far, she hasn’t given me any chores, except to keep my bed made and to bring my basket of dirty clothes down every two days.

  “No, you’re alright,” Cheryl says, her head lowered over the arrangement of the crockery. “Why don’t you go through to the living room and I will bring the ice cream when I’m finished here.”

  Good idea. I scrape back my chair just as Jim launches himself into the air with a tea towel. He just narrowly misses knocking me over.

  “Jim!” Cheryl exclaims.

  Jim’s eyes shine bright and there is excitement on his face. “I’ve got it.”

  “Got what?” I demand.

  “The fly!” Jim bends down to pick the dead fly off the floor with the tea towel. “Got it!”

  I assume he will throw it in the bin. He does no such thing. I watch in horror as he unfolds the tea towel, picks up the black insect and pops it into his mouth.

  I want to vomit.

  “Ugh!” I gasp in disgust. “You just ate a fly!”

  “It’s very nice,” he says, chewing noisily. “A bit like asparagus.”

  I am literally gagging. “Ugh! That’s sick!”

  “Jim!” Cheryl is trying not to laugh.

  “You think this is funny?” I shriek. “He just killed and ate a fly.”

  They both burst out laughing. I don’t get it. I stare at them, confused.

  “He tricked you,” Cheryl says, holding her side as though she has a stitch.

  “What?” I don’t understand.

  “I hid… hid a dry currant in the tea towel and then… then pretended to pick up a fly,” Jim explains in between laughing. “It was the currant I ate.”

  I stare, appalled. “Why would you do that?”

  “To play a trick on you,” Jim says. “It’s no fun if only the fairies have a laugh.”

  I don’t know whether to be offended or amused. It was harmless, and I wasn’t affected by the trick directly. I was just grossed out for witnessing what I thought I did. I shrug but can’t help the small smile creeping onto my face.

  “Oh look! I see it! It’s coming!” Jim cries, flinging his tea towel in the air as if it is a victory flag. “She’s smiling. We have her first smile.”

  Cheryl claps her hands. “Yay! You did it, Jim.”

  I roll my eyes and leave them to their laughter. Honestly, these two treat me like I’m seven years old. I’m still smiling, though, when I pick up the remote control in the living room.

  PIZZAGATE

  The doorbell rings.

  Yes! Mission Break Up is back on and this time will succeed. I am sure of it.

  I jump off the sofa, abandoning my favourite Saturday night show to peep around the living room door. Although Jim’s frame is obstructing a full view of the visitor, the red cap with the rooster image is still visible, along with the pile of food bags just outside the front door. Ha! It is the delivery guy. He is here to drop off the ten pizzas I ordered online.

  “You have the wrong house,” Jim argues. “We didn’t order them.”

  “But you did, sir, from your online account with the option to pay cash at the door,” the delivery guy insists.

  “Let me see the online order,” Jim demands and then turns to shout up the stairs. “Come down, will you, Cheryl.”

  Jim’s shifted position means I have a direct view of the delivery guy. He holds out his phone. “Here you go, sir.”

  Cheryl comes down the stairs and peers over Jim’s shoulder at the receipt.

  “I didn’t order them,” he denies.

  “Please.” The delivery guy is desperate now. “I won’t get paid if you refuse to take them.”

  Jim and Cheryl exchange a glance. The one that confirms they know I did it.

  Yes! Result.

  “Well, we don’t want that, do we?” Jim’s voice changes. He suddenly sounds cheery. “Let’s have the boxes then.”

  “What will we do with them?” Cheryl asks in a worried voice.

  “Donate them to the food bank and homeless people,” Jim says in the same cheery voice, as if there is nothing more he would like to do on a Saturday night.

  “Fabulous idea, darling,” agrees Cheryl.

  Jim pulls his wallet out from his back pocket. “How much, mate?”

  I dart back to the sofa as the delivery guy piles the pizza boxes into the hallway. When Jim and Cheryl walk into the living room, I pretend to be completely engrossed in my TV show.

  “Ruby, we need to complete a task and would like you to join us,” Jim says.

  I pretend it is an effort to tear my gaze away from the screen. “Where do we need to go?”

  “To the food bank and the train station,” Jim says. “Lots of homeless people gather there at night.”

  I frown slightly. I don’t want to go. I need to distract him. “I suppose you think the fairies ordered the pizzas.”

  “Oh no, fairies can’t communicate,” Cheryl says. “We know you did it.”

  I am still. At last, an acknowledgement of my wrongdoing. It is time for the punishment. Time for them to tell me to leave.

  “I didn’t realise you had such a gorgeous heart,” Cheryl says. “We normally give charity donations from Jim’s salary. This will be different.”

  I am lost for words. They have turned the tables on me again.

  “Up you get,” Cheryl says.

  “But I was going to watch my TV programme,” I grumble.

  “You can miss this week’s episode,” Cheryl’s voice has an uncharacteristic firmness to it now. “We can’t leave you alone in the house and anyway, this is your charitable act. Get your shoes.”

  Within minutes, I am in the back seat of the car with the pile of pizza boxes beside me. I scowl at everything outside the window as Jim drives us to the centre of town.

  The first stop is the food bank, which is next door to the library.

  “Just dropping off five boxes of pizza for the volunteers and anyone who comes in tonight,” Jim says to the woman in charge. “Courtesy of this little miss.”

  The woman smiles at me. “What a generous spirit you have.”

  I gaze down at the floor. Somehow, I don’t feel right accepting praise when my intention had nothing to do with being charitable. The woman mistakes it for shyness. “And so sweet.”

  “Oh, if you only knew,” Cheryl says, laughing.

  I pick up the double meaning of that line straight away. Cheryl is referring to the pranks I’ve played. The woman, of course, doesn’t know and just beams.

  “Right,” Jim says. “Now on to the station.”

  The train station is busy with people coming and going. Some are returning from shopping, others are on their way to central London for a night out. There is an archway on the side and many homeless people gather there.

  “Would you like to hand out the boxes?” Cheryl asks me.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Jim interrupts, climbing out of the car. “Everyone has pride, so we’re not going to make a fuss and ask for applause. Let me just hand them out and leave.”


  I stare at the people with their bundles of belongings. Alisha had two older friends who had ended up on the streets after they had left care. Poo was sad about this and said that some people struggled to cope on their own.

  “We need to talk,” Jim says in a serious voice as he gets back into the car. “It was wrong of you to order the pizzas without our permission. I don’t want you to do that again. Is that understood? If you do, then we shall be forced to ground you which means no TV at all.”

  I bite my lip. Today is another failed result in Mission Break Up.

  SWEET BOWL OF MASH

  Cheryl’s mum is coming for Sunday lunch.

  The fosters announce this to me on Friday. Apparently I have to call her Nana, even though I call Jim or Cheryl by their names. She is not my nana. I have never met my real nana, so I resent having to call a stranger Nana.

  When I object, Cheryl explains that her mother thinks of all the foster children in this house as her own grandchildren.

  “Would it hurt to make an old lady happy by calling her Nana?” Cheryl asks.

  I grudgingly agree.

  Better still, I think a prank on Nana will lead to a successful Mission Break Up.

  ***

  As I’ve had no success with Alisha’s old pranks, I search the internet for new ones. Luckily, I come across just the right one.

  It is lucky that Cheryl is one of those cooks who stores all leftover food in the fridge. Early on Sunday morning before the fosters wake, I open the container of mashed potato and begin re-mashing it until it is as smooth as ice cream.

  Then I place it back in the fridge.

  My plan is ready.

  Nana arrives just after midday in a taxi. She is a small, elderly woman with a kind face. I like her on the spot.

  Alisha always taught me to judge people by their expressions. According to her, warm and genuine smiles usually mean that the person is kind.

  “Kindness is very important,” Alisha used to say, “because the world is very cruel to children without parents.”

  The reminder of Alisha just brings back the thought that we belong together. We do not have anyone else. Mission Break Up must succeed.

  ***

  I remain silent throughout lunch. Cheryl and her mum are speaking non-stop to each other. I’m surprised when Jim rolls his eyes at me as if to say “listen to them go on”.

  After lunch we sit in the living room and I offer to serve the dessert.

  “Are you sure?” Cheryl asks, darting a quick look at Jim.

  “Yes,” I reply sweetly.

  In the kitchen, I take out the mashed potato container and scoop it out into a bowl. Then I take the ice cream out of the freezer and serve it in three bowls. The chocolate sauce goes on last.

  “Here we are.” I place the tray down on the coffee table.

  “Such a good helper you have here,” Nana says approvingly.

  Cheryl makes an odd sound. I can’t help wondering if they are onto me.

  “Ruby, pass me the remote, please,” Jim asks. He is sprawled on his armchair, looking as if he ate one too many Yorkshire puddings.

  I turn to the TV stand, pick up the remote and hand it over.

  “Thank you.”

  Bending down, I select the mashed potato bowl and present it to Nana. “For you.”

  She takes it with a beaming smile. “Thank you, dear.”

  My own smile is as sweet as the chocolate.

  Cheryl and Jim lean forward to take theirs. I pick up the last bowl and sit down. I can’t wait for Nana to spit out her mashed potato. Cheryl and Jim are bound to get annoyed. Who knows? They may even lose their tempers.

  I watch as Nana pops the spoon in her mouth.

  Any minute now and…

  There is no reaction, neither negative nor positive. She just carries on eating, as do Cheryl and Jim. Reluctantly, I raise my spoon to my mouth to taste the ice cream.

  It is as I suspected. Not ice cream but mashed potato. How could I have mixed up the bowls? How?

  Unless… I peep at Jim as he licks his spoon in an exaggerated manner. There is a small smile on his face which I think he is trying to hide. Then it hits me. He switched the bowls when he asked me to pass the remote. How could I have been so dumb?

  “Finish your ice cream, Ruby,” Cheryl says. “It’s really nice.”

  “Yes, eat up,” Jim adds. “Or it will melt.”

  As if mashed potato can melt!

  I manage a small smile and eat.

  Mashed potato with chocolate sauce is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, but I keep eating until the bowl is clean.

  SMASHED SCREEN

  This new plan is going to work. It is failsafe.

  I have observed that Jim has been working extremely hard on his laptop in the evenings. He says he’s putting together a presentation for a new client which will be great for his career.

  I am going to break Jim’s laptop.

  Of course, I’m not really going to do it. I’m just going to let him believe that it is broken. I know not to damage property. Alisha has done it in the past and landed in a lot of trouble. She once smashed a foster’s window out of rage. Poo had to use all her charm and contacts to keep the police away.

  I don’t want that kind of trouble. I just want the fosters to finally let me go. They need to realise that I’m not the one that they can use to play happy families.

  ***

  Back to the plan. I just need to download a screen saver from the internet and apply it. When Jim lifts his laptop lid, his screen will appear smashed, and he will think he can’t log on. To his mind, the precious presentation will be gone.

  Yes! That is sure to send him over the edge.

  I will be thrown out, and then the care money will be allocated to Alisha. We sisters will finally be together.

  I lurk around downstairs, waiting for the right time to make my move. I just need to be patient. On Saturday afternoon, he leaves his laptop on the dining table to answer the front door. Seeing my chance, I scoot over to his laptop and download the app.

  This is it.

  Nothing else has worked.

  This must work.

  Taking a deep breath, I play the app.

  Jim is going to be so mad. I just know it. Feeling a little nervous about the rage that is about to be unleashed, I run up to my room and close the door.

  ***

  Exactly eight minutes and twenty-three seconds later.

  “Cheryl!”

  I nearly jump out of my own skin. That is Jim and he sounds furious.

  I run to the door and press my ear against it, expecting more shouting. Nothing. Perhaps he is talking in a low voice, gritting his teeth like I once saw another foster do. It was so intimidating that I’d preferred shouting after that. The thought makes me panic. I need to leave right now. I’m not going to wait for Jim and Cheryl to storm upstairs and talk to me through gritted teeth.

  I grab Bug, shove him in a bag and tiptoe downstairs. I can hear low voices in the living room but can’t make out the words. I have no intention of trying to figure them out either. Moving as soundlessly as I can, I go through to the kitchen, open the back door and run. I know where Alisha lives. It is time for us to be together.

  Almost two hours later, after walking three miles to Alisha’s house, I bang on the door until it swings open.

  “Hey Ruby,” Alisha’s housemate greets me. Julie is in full goth attire today.

  “Where’s my sister?” I demand.

  “It’s nice to see you too,” she says, faking a hurt look.

  “Julie!”

  “Alright!” She turns away to shout. “Alisha! Look who’s here.”

  Alisha takes her time to appear, and when she finally does, I can’t believe how she looks. I have never seen my sister look so scruffy before. Her long hair is a mass of tangles and there are dark circles around her eyes. To make it worse, Alisha’s eyebrows are out of shape. I can see stray hairs at the corners. What is going
on? Why does she look like this? She doesn’t look like she is enjoying life at all.

  If I’m shocked at her appearance, then she is just as surprised by mine. The first words she says are, “Your hair!”

  I shrug. “I cut it off.”

  Her mouth falls open and then she recovers, but rather than inviting me in, she rudely asks, “What are you doing here, Rubes?”

  “They finally kicked me out,” I announce.

  Well, that is not entirely true. I ran before they could physically do that.

  “Who?”

  “The fosters!”

  “But why are you here?” Alisha asks in a quiet voice. “Why didn’t you call Poo?”

  I blink. “Poo? Why would I call Poo?”

  “Because she’s in charge of you.”

  “You’re in charge of me,” I blurt out. “You’re my big sister.”

  Alisha shoves a hand through her tangled hair, suddenly looking very frustrated. “I can’t be in charge of you, Rubes.”

  The lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down quickly. This is not the time to break down. “Why not?”

  “Because Alisha doesn’t have the money to look after you,” Julie says.

  “I’m not talking to you,” I snap.

  She looks offended before stomping back into the house.

  “That was really rude,” Alisha says.

  “I’ve come to be with you,” I say. “Live with you. Remember you promised.”

  “Yes, one day!” Alisha erupts. “I said that we could live together again one day. But today is not that day. I live in a bedsit. There isn’t even space to swing a cat. How am I supposed to take you in?”

  “But you said that…”

  “One day which is not today!” Alisha shouts.

  I stagger back a few steps. Alisha has never shouted at me before. Ever. She always said it was her job as a big sister to look after me. Who is this imposter?

  “Look Ruby, you’re going to have to return to your fosters,” she says. “I can’t look after you.”

  “I’m not going back there.”

  Something stirs in Alisha’s eyes. Is it a hint of the old protection she used to have for me? “Were they mean to you?”

  I cannot lie. “No.”

  I see the relief in her eyes. “Then why can’t you go back?”