The Bed and Breakfast Star by Jacqueline Wilson

trouble. You’re a good girl really, I know you are. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
    I cheered up a bit then, but when we went down to breakfast the bunny lady said loudly to the switchboard lady: ‘Oh-oh, there’s one of the little trouble-makers.’ She pointed at me with a lilac fingernail to match a new purple fluffy jumper. ‘The Manager wants to see your dad in his office,’ she announced.

    ‘He’s not my dad,’ I said and walked straight past, Hank on my hip, Pippa hanging on my hand.
    ‘Mack is my dad,’ Pippa whispered. ‘Is he going to get into trouble, Elsa?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I said uncomfortably. Maybe we were all in trouble. Maybe we really were going to get chucked out.
    We went to sit with Naomi and her family at breakfast. They were looking dead gloomy too. Naomi’s mum didn’t smile at me the way she usually did.

    ‘I’ll tell you a really good joke about cornflakes,’ I said.
    ‘No jokes, Elsa,’ she said, sighing.
    ‘OK, I’ll tell you this cornflake joke tomorrow. It’s a cereal,’ I said. I roared with laughter. It wasn’t that funny, but I wanted to lighten the atmosphere.
    Naomi’s mum stayed resolutely gloomy. Naomi chewed her lip anxiously. Even Nicky and Neil couldn’t crack a smile.
    ‘What’s up, eh?’ I said, starting to feed baby Nathan, playing the aeroplane game.
    He at least seemed happy enough to play, but Naomi’s mum caught hold of my arm and took away my spoon.
    ‘No, leave him be. Leave all my family be. Haven’t you done enough?’
    ‘Oh, Mum,’ said Naomi. ‘It isn’t Elsa’s fault.’
    ‘She was the one who talked you into that television interview,’ said Naomi’s mum. ‘And now the Manager says we’ll have to go.’
    ‘Well, he says we’ve got to go too. But he doesn’t mean it. He just wants to scare us,’ I said. I tried to sound reassuring but I was getting scared too. ‘Look, I’ll go and see the Manager. I’ll tell him it was all down to me if you like. Then at least you’ll be OK.’
    So after we’d had breakfast I lumped Hank along to the Manager’s office, Pippa trailing behind us. I didn’t have a hand free to knock so we just went barging straight into his office. The Manager wasn’t on his own. He wasn’t having a little cuddle with the bunny lady. He was with Mrs Hoover, and he didn’t look at all cuddly. He was telling Mrs Hoover off, wagging his finger at her.

    ‘What’s the matter?’ I said. ‘Why is he being nasty to you, Mrs Hoover?’
    ‘You! Out of my office this instant,’ said the Manager. ‘It’s your mum and dad I want to see, not you lot.’
    ‘I keep telling you, I haven’t got a dad. That Scottish bloke is nothing to do with me,’ I insisted.
    ‘Oh yes! Thank you for reminding me. Yes, my receptionist informs me that there’s more disgusting graffiti about a Scots person inside the ladies’ downstairs cloakroom,’ said the Manager, still wag-wag-wagging that finger at poor Mrs Hoover.
    ‘She didn’t do that! I know for a fact that Mrs Hoover didn’t write all that stuff on the walls,’ I said quickly, my heart thumping. Everyone seemed to be getting into trouble because of me and it was awful. I decided to make a clean breast of things. (What a weird expression. I haven’t got a breast yet for a start. And it wasn’t even clean because the basin in room 608 was getting so gungy I hadn’t felt very much like washing recently.)
    ‘All the Mack jokes – they’re mine,’ I said.
    The Manager and Mrs Hoover both blinked at me.
    ‘You wrote all that revolting rubbish?’ said the Manager.
    ‘I thought some of the jokes were quite funny,’ I mumbled.
    ‘You children! Vandals! Hooligans!’ said the Manager.
    ‘It was just me. Not Pippa. She can’t write yet – and even if she could, she quite likes her dad. It’s just me that can’t stick him. But you can stop telling Mrs Hoover off because, like I said, it was me.’
    ‘Oh Elsa,’ said Mrs Hoover.