Strawberry Sisters by Candy Harper Page A

consolation, I’m a bit fed up too. Shall we make some cookies?’
    I looked at Mum. I mean, properly looked at her. Most of the time you don’t really see your own mum because you think you know what she looks like and your eyes just kind of skim over her.
She didn’t look great, but I’ve seen her look worse. Last half-term, when her school was being inspected, she was exhausted all of the time; now she looked more . . . droopy. Her hair
was all flat and her skin was pale and she just seemed washed out.
    Mum started stacking up her books and gave me a wink. Even though she was down, she was trying to make me feel better. My brain started whirling around, thinking about Mum. I’ve got to
admit that I’m not very good at thinking about other people. For a long time after the divorce, I was upset, and the problem with feeling angry and hurt inside is that it takes up a lot of
your thinking. You’re so mad about the way you feel that you don’t notice how anybody else is feeling. And, even though I made up with Dad before half-term and decided that I
wouldn’t be so mean and selfish any more, thinking only about yourself is a really bad habit to get into because it’s quite hard to stop. But looking at Mum, all pale and limp, I
stopped worrying about my day and instead I saw a way that I could make hers much better, even if it wasn’t going to be very much fun for me.
    ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I think you should go out for the day. Why don’t you ring Susan?’
    Mum blinked in surprise. ‘Well, I suppose we could all go shopping or maybe swimming. Would you like that?’
    ‘Never mind me; you should go out just the two of you with no annoying kids interrupting.’
    ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t like leaving you girls.’
    ‘I told you before; I’m old enough to be in charge.’
    She didn’t look so sure.
    ‘I won’t let them get up to anything,’ I said. ‘No breaking stuff or painting stuff or jumping on stuff.’
    She smiled. ‘And no using the drill?’
    ‘I won’t let Lucy anywhere near it.’
    ‘I suppose it is daytime.’
    ‘Yep. And we all know that burglars and kidnappers only come out at night.’
    I regretted joking because her smile disappeared. ‘Perhaps I’d better not.’
    ‘You definitely should; you deserve a day out.’
    She thought about it. ‘You haven’t even got Ella here to help . . . But I suppose, if you promise not to let Lucy out, not any further than the garden . . .’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘We were talking about our book group going for coffee sometime. Maybe I could see if anyone is free then we could just go to that place down the road.’
    So Mum made some phone calls and arranged to meet Susan and two other book club people at the cafe, then she hopped in the shower and put on her favourite flowery dress. By the time she kissed
us goodbye, her hair was bouncing around her face and her eyes were bright and she looked much happier.
    When I closed the door behind her, I realised that I was smiling too. The thing about doing something horrible, like keeping Chloe and Lucy out of trouble when you should be enjoying your
Saturday so that Mum can have a nice time, is that it does make you feel good.
    In the kitchen, Lucy shrieked.
    But you do still have to get through the horrible bit.
    After I’d combed all the soggy Weetabix out of Lucy’s hair, and told Chloe that she wasn’t allowed to pelt Lucy with mushed-up cereal even if Lucy did call
her Lumpy Bum, there wasn’t any more trouble. Chloe went back to ball-kicking in the garden and when I went to check on Lucy she was curled up on the broken sofa in the Pit and hunched over
her notebook, scribbling away.
    ‘Is that your friends book?’ I asked.
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘So what are you writing?’ I asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ she said, scratching the pen furiously across the page like she was underlining something.
    ‘Who’s the top scorer then?’ I asked.
    She looked up at me with what I think she imagines is