mornings for now so that we won’t go bankrupt, he says.
“What does
bankrupt
mean?” I asked him, but he just tweaked my nose and laughed.
“Ask Uncle Horace; he’ll enjoy explaining it to you.”
And I will have a monthly bus ticket from now on to get me to school on time. So will Sally and Conor. I’m a bit worried that I will oversleep one day and miss the bus, but Sally says that she will drag me out of bed by the hair.
We all sat down and drew up a roster. That’s a timetabley thing with jobs for everyone. It was Dad’s idea, but I think he stole it from Aunt B. The jobs change around every week. I’ve got vacuuming this week and walking the dog. Dad says that our home is going to run like a well-oiled machine, shipshape and everything right on time!
Conor rolled his eyes to heaven when Dad said that, but we all agreed to give it a go. Sally says that she gives it one week max. But Dad thinks that if we all do our bit it will work. I hope that he is right, but I’ve asked Mammy to help out . . . just in case.
“The first time Poppy saw your dad he was going out with her best friend, Caroline, and do you know what she said about him in her diary?” Aunt M. told me as she drove along. We were going to pick up Emma first, then Sally.
“You shouldn’t have been reading my mammy’s diary,” I told her, and grinned.
“Well! That’s rich, coming from you, of all people!” She pretended to be highly insulted. “I bet you still read Sally’s diary whenever you get the chance!”
“I certainly do not!” I said. It was my turn to be insulted.
“You do so,” she said, and she squeezed my knee. “Tell the truth.”
“I don’t read it anymore.”
“Yes, you do!” she said, and she squeezed my knee tighter.
“OK, OK . . . sometimes maybe. Now let go of my knee, please!”
“I knew it. I just knew it.” She laughed and put her hands back on the wheel. “You can’t fool your Aunty Marigold.”
“So what did my mammy say about my daddy in her private diary, Aunt M.?”
“She said that he was a long streak of misery with crooked teeth, greasy hair, and a spotty face and she couldn’t see what her friend Caroline saw in him at all. It was obvious that she fancied him straightaway!” And the way Aunt M. said that just made me laugh.
Emma was standing on the path and hopped straight in when Aunt M. pulled over. “Hi, M. Hi, Dig,” she said. (She just calls Aunt M. “M.”)
Today we were going to fetch our dresses. Sally is going to be the bridesmaid, and Emma and I are going to be the bridesmaid’s helpers. “More like my slaves,” says Sally.
“What’s our job exactly, Aunt M.?” I asked.
“Well, you look pretty and carry flowers and generally you are the gofers.”
“Gophers?” I wrinkled up my nose and made faces with Emma. “Aren’t they the funny little animals that live in the desert?” There was a photo of a gopher in my nature book.
“Not those gophers,” said Aunt M. “Go for this! Go for that! That sort of gofers.”
“Oooh,” said Emma. “You mean slaves, like Sally says?”
Aunt M. laughed and pulled over the car outside Mrs. Lemon’s shop. Sally was already waiting. She works in Mrs. Lemon’s shop now every Saturday, but today she popped in to help out because she won’t be able to on Saturday. At first she worked for free until she had paid off Mrs. Lemon for all the stationery she had stolen, but now she gets paid. But she says she would work for free and that Mrs. Lemon is her best old-person friend. Today she had Spiff bars for us all.
“Not for me, thanks,” said Aunt M. “I want to fit into that wedding dress!”
“One Spiff bar won’t kill you,” joked Sally. “You’re beginning to look like a lollipop! A big round head and a body like a stick.”
“Well, thanks very much, Sally. I suppose you’d prefer me to look as fat as my mother?”
“Are you calling our granny fat?” asked Emma. “How dare you!”
“She’s my
“What does
bankrupt
mean?” I asked him, but he just tweaked my nose and laughed.
“Ask Uncle Horace; he’ll enjoy explaining it to you.”
And I will have a monthly bus ticket from now on to get me to school on time. So will Sally and Conor. I’m a bit worried that I will oversleep one day and miss the bus, but Sally says that she will drag me out of bed by the hair.
We all sat down and drew up a roster. That’s a timetabley thing with jobs for everyone. It was Dad’s idea, but I think he stole it from Aunt B. The jobs change around every week. I’ve got vacuuming this week and walking the dog. Dad says that our home is going to run like a well-oiled machine, shipshape and everything right on time!
Conor rolled his eyes to heaven when Dad said that, but we all agreed to give it a go. Sally says that she gives it one week max. But Dad thinks that if we all do our bit it will work. I hope that he is right, but I’ve asked Mammy to help out . . . just in case.
“The first time Poppy saw your dad he was going out with her best friend, Caroline, and do you know what she said about him in her diary?” Aunt M. told me as she drove along. We were going to pick up Emma first, then Sally.
“You shouldn’t have been reading my mammy’s diary,” I told her, and grinned.
“Well! That’s rich, coming from you, of all people!” She pretended to be highly insulted. “I bet you still read Sally’s diary whenever you get the chance!”
“I certainly do not!” I said. It was my turn to be insulted.
“You do so,” she said, and she squeezed my knee. “Tell the truth.”
“I don’t read it anymore.”
“Yes, you do!” she said, and she squeezed my knee tighter.
“OK, OK . . . sometimes maybe. Now let go of my knee, please!”
“I knew it. I just knew it.” She laughed and put her hands back on the wheel. “You can’t fool your Aunty Marigold.”
“So what did my mammy say about my daddy in her private diary, Aunt M.?”
“She said that he was a long streak of misery with crooked teeth, greasy hair, and a spotty face and she couldn’t see what her friend Caroline saw in him at all. It was obvious that she fancied him straightaway!” And the way Aunt M. said that just made me laugh.
Emma was standing on the path and hopped straight in when Aunt M. pulled over. “Hi, M. Hi, Dig,” she said. (She just calls Aunt M. “M.”)
Today we were going to fetch our dresses. Sally is going to be the bridesmaid, and Emma and I are going to be the bridesmaid’s helpers. “More like my slaves,” says Sally.
“What’s our job exactly, Aunt M.?” I asked.
“Well, you look pretty and carry flowers and generally you are the gofers.”
“Gophers?” I wrinkled up my nose and made faces with Emma. “Aren’t they the funny little animals that live in the desert?” There was a photo of a gopher in my nature book.
“Not those gophers,” said Aunt M. “Go for this! Go for that! That sort of gofers.”
“Oooh,” said Emma. “You mean slaves, like Sally says?”
Aunt M. laughed and pulled over the car outside Mrs. Lemon’s shop. Sally was already waiting. She works in Mrs. Lemon’s shop now every Saturday, but today she popped in to help out because she won’t be able to on Saturday. At first she worked for free until she had paid off Mrs. Lemon for all the stationery she had stolen, but now she gets paid. But she says she would work for free and that Mrs. Lemon is her best old-person friend. Today she had Spiff bars for us all.
“Not for me, thanks,” said Aunt M. “I want to fit into that wedding dress!”
“One Spiff bar won’t kill you,” joked Sally. “You’re beginning to look like a lollipop! A big round head and a body like a stick.”
“Well, thanks very much, Sally. I suppose you’d prefer me to look as fat as my mother?”
“Are you calling our granny fat?” asked Emma. “How dare you!”
“She’s my
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