Sugar and Spice

Copyright

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities ie entirely coincidental.

HarperCollins Children’s Books

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2005

Text © Jean Ure 2005

Illustrations © Karen Donnelly 2005

Cover illustrations by Nicola Slater

The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007161379

Ebook Edition © JULY 2013 ISBN: 9780007374380

Version: 2017-11-03

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

The Secret Writings of Shayanne Sugar

Three

Four

The Secret Writings of Shayanne Sugar

Five

The Secret Writings of Shayanne Sugar

Six

Seven

Eight

The Secret Writings of Shayanne Sugar

Nine

Keep Reading

Also by Jean Ure

About the Author

About the Publisher

“Ruth! Time to get up.”

Time to get up. Get yourself dressed. I’m not telling you again! Every morning, same old thing.

“Did you hear me? Ruth?”

Yes, I did! I heard you.

“I’d like some kind of response, please!”

And then she’ll go, I hope you haven’t gone back to sleep?

“I hope you haven’t gone back to sleep?”

Get up, get dressed. How many more times?

Why doesn’t she just give it a rest?

“Do I have to shout myself hoarse? Get yourself up this instant!” Mum suddenly appeared like a tornado at the bedroom door. “And get your sisters up, as well. For goodness’ sake! It’s gone seven o’clock.”

Boo hoo! So what?

“Do you want to be late for school? Because you will be!”

Don’t care if I am. Sooner be late than get there early.

“All this big talk,” said Mum. “Going to be a doctor. Going to pass exams. You’ll be lucky to get a job in Tesco’s if you don’t shift yourself and make a bit of an effort!”

Mum had no idea. She didn’t know what it was like. She didn’t know how much I hated it. Hated, hated, HATED it!

“Ruth, I’m warning you.” Mum marched across to the window and yanked back the curtains. I could tell she was in a mood. “I can’t take much more of this! I’m running out of patience.”

So why couldn’t she just go away and leave me alone? I burrowed further down the bed, wrapping myself up in the duvet. I was safe in the duvet. In bed, in the bedroom. At home. I’d have liked to stay there for always. Never go out again anywhere, ever. And specially not to school.

“I mean it,” said Mum. “I can’t be doing with this battle every morning. I’ve got your dad to see to, I’ve got your brother to see to…now, come along! Shift yourself! I don’t have all day.” And with one tug she hauled the duvet right off me.

“Mu-u-um!” I squealed in protest, curling myself up into a tight little ball and clinging to the pillow with both hands. “Mum, please!”

“Enough,” said Mum. “Just get yourself up. And don’t forget your sisters!”

They were still asleep. They’d sleep through an earthquake, those two. All snuggled up together, Kez with her thumb in her mouth, Lisa on her back, blowing bubbles. Ah! Bless. Like a pair of little angels. I don’t think. Actually, I suppose, they’re not too bad, as sisters go.

They can sometimes be quite sweet, like when Kez climbs on to your lap for a cuddle, or Lisa does her show-off dancing, very solemn, with her fingers splayed out and her face all scrunched up with the effort she’s putting into it. She’s really cute when she does her dancing!

Other times, though, they can be a total pain. This is because Mum lets them get away with just about everything. Dad too. He’s even worse! Spare the rod and spoil the child is what one of my nans says. I know you’re not allowed to beat your children these days (Nan was beaten with a cane when she was young) but I do think Mum and Dad ought to exercise a little bit more discipline. I try to, but it’s a losing battle. They just cheek me or go running off to Dad.

“Dad! Ruth’s being mean!”

Then I’m the one who gets the blame, cos I’m twelve years old and they’re only little, except I don’t personally think nine is as little as all that. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been rude to my older sister when I was nine. If I’d had an older sister. I certainly wouldn’t have helped myself to her things without asking, which is what Lisa is always doing and which drives me completely nuts. Kezzy is only six, so maybe there is a bit of an excuse for her. Maybe.

Anyway, I wasn’t wasting my breath pleading with them. I just got hold of the pillows and yanked. That got their attention! Kez blinked at me like a baby owl. Lisa started wailing.

“Get up!” I said, and kicked the bed. Unlike Mum, I don’t stand for any nonsense. You have to be firm. “Go on! Get up!”

“Don’t want to get up,” grumbled Lisa. “Haven’t finished sleeping.”

“Can’t help that,” I said. “You have to go to school.” When I was nine, I loved going to school. I couldn’t get there fast enough. “Who’ve you got this term?” I said.

Lisa sniffed and said, “Mrs Henson.”

I felt this great well of envy. Lisa didn’t know how lucky she was! Mrs Henson was just the best teacher I ever had. The best. When I told Mrs Henson I wanted to be a doctor she didn’t laugh or say that I’d better not set my sights too high. She said, “Well, and why not? I’m sure that would be possible, if you work hard enough.” She made you feel like you could do anything you wanted. You could be a doctor or a teacher. You could even be Prime Minister!

“Mrs Henson is just so lovely,” I said.

Lisa said she wasn’t lovely. “She tells me off.”

“In that case, you’re obviously doing something wrong,” I said.

“I’m not doing anything wrong. She just picks on me!”

“Mrs Henson doesn’t pick on people,” I said. I felt quite cross with my stupid little sister. Fancy having a wonderful teacher like Mrs Henson and not appreciating her! If I still had Mrs Henson, Mum wouldn’t have to bawl and bellow at me every morning. I’d be out of bed like a shot! “You just get dressed,” I said. “And stop whining!”

I dragged on my school clothes, which I hated almost as much as I hated school. Black skirt, grey jumper. Ugh! It made me feel miserable before I even got there. I’d always looked forward to having a school uniform as I thought it would be something to be, like, proud of, but nobody could be proud of going to Parkfield High. (Or Krapfilled High, as some of the boys called it. I know it sounds rather rude, but I think it’s more suited than Parkfield since there isn’t any park and there isn’t any field and it’s absolutely crud. Which is why I hated it.)

Lisa was now complaining that she couldn’t find her knickers and Kez had gone and put her top on inside out, so I had to stop and grovel on the floor, all covered in shoes and socks and toys and books and dirty spoons and empty pots.

I found the missing knickers, which Lisa then screamed she couldn’t wear on account of someone having gone and trodden on them and left a muddy footprint; so we had a bit of an argument about that, with me telling her that no one was going to see them, and her saying that they might, and me saying how? – I mean, how? “Boys peek when you go upstairs,” she said, which meant in the end we had to get out a clean pair, by which time Kez had not only got her top on inside out but had put both feet down the same leg of her trousers and couldn’t work out what to do about it. Honestly! My sisters! Was it any wonder I was always late for school? Not that I cared. Nobody ever noticed, anyway.

In the kitchen, Mum was putting on her make-up, filling lunch boxes, getting breakfast, dressing Sammy. Sammy is my little brother. He’s four years old and is even more spoilt than Kez and Lisa. This is because he’s a boy. There is a lot of sexism going on in my family.

Mum said, “Ah, Ruth! There you are. About time! Just keep an eye on the toast for me, love. Oh, and lay the table, will you, there’s a good girl.”

So I kept an eye on the toast and laid the table and finished dressing Sammy and removed the raw carrot from my lunch box as I’m not a rabbit, whatever Mum may think, and put some more peanut butter in my sandwiches when she wasn’t looking, and got out the Sugar Puffs, and got out the milk, and finally took Dad’s breakfast tray in to him, being careful not to spill his mug of tea. Dad always has his breakfast in bed, then Mum helps him get up and settles him comfortably for the day before rushing off to work, dropping Sammy off at Reception and Kez and Lisa at Juniors. I have to make my own way, by bus, but that’s all right; I’m quite good at getting around London. It’s easy when you know how. Also it means that I can d-a-w-d-l-e and not get into school too early. If there is any danger of getting in too early I wander round the back streets until I can be sure that the first bell will have gone.

It’s quite scary in the playground, even in the girls’ part, as there are all these different gangs that have their special areas where you’re not allowed to go. Unless, of course, you happen to belong to them. I do not belong to any of them, so I have to be really careful where I tread. It’s like picking your way through a minefield. Any minute you can stray into someone else’s territory, and then it’s like, “Where d’you think you’re going?”

I don’t know why I never belonged to a gang. Cos nobody ever asked me, I guess. When we were at Juniors we all mixed together. My best friend was Millie and my second best friend was Mariam. I thought that when we went to senior school we’d all go on being friends. But almost the minute we arrived at Parkfield, they got swallowed up into gangs. The gangs were, like, really exclusive – if you’re not one of us, we don’t want to know you. It meant that when we were at school, all the people I’d been juniors with almost didn’t talk to me any more. There was a gang of white girls I could have joined, maybe, if I’d wanted, but there was this girl, Julia Bone, who was their leader, and she said to me one day that I looked really geeky.

“D’you know that? You look like a total nerd. Are you a nerd?”

I suppose I probably am, cos instead of saying something back to her, such as, “You look like a horse” (which she does, with those huge great teeth of hers), I just went bright red and didn’t say anything, so that everyone tittered and started calling me Nerd or Geek. I know if I’d told her she looked like a horse they would’ve respected me a bit, and might even have let me into their gang, but I always think of these things too late. At the time my mind just goes blank.

It was way back at the start of Year 7 when Julia Bone told me I looked like a nerd. All that term they called me names. Another one was Boffin. The Geek. The Nerd. The Boffin. I’d hoped they’d forget about it during the holiday, but we’d just gone back after Christmas and they were still at it. Yesterday I’d made a big mistake, I’d arrived before the bell had gone, and practically the first thing I’d heard as I crept into the playground was, “Watch it, Geek! You looking for trouble?”

I never look for trouble. I know they say you should stand up to bullies, but how can you when there’s loads of them and only one of you? I think it’s best just to keep out of the way.

I reached Mum and Dad’s bedroom safely, without spilling any of Dad’s tea, and pushed the door open with my bottom. Dad was propped up against the pillows, all ready and waiting. He said, “Thanks, Ruthie. That’s my girl! How’s school?” He talks in little bursts, all puffy and wheezy. He has this thing where he’s short of breath. “School OK?”

I said that it was, because Mum is always careful to remind us that Dad mustn’t be upset; and in any case, what would be the point? Dad couldn’t do anything. You had to go where you were sent, and I’d been sent to Parkfield High.

“Lessons OK?” said Dad.

I smiled, brightly, and nodded.

“Learning how to be a doctor?”

I nodded again and smiled even more brightly. It’s a kind of joke with Mum and Dad, me wanting to become a doctor.

“That’s the ticket,” said Dad. “Keep at it!”

Back in the kitchen, Sammy had poured milk all over himself and Kez was making a fuss because she said her toast was “burnded”. She’ll only eat it if it’s, like, blond. Lisa was snuffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. She’s always snuffling – she can’t help it. She has what Nan calls “a weak chest”. But she doesn’t have to wipe the snot off on her sleeve – that’s disgusting! At the breakfast table.

“Where’s your hanky?” I said.

“Haven’t got one.”

“Well, get one!”

“Don’t know where they are.”

“What d’you mean, you don’t know where they are? They’re where they always are! Th —”

“Oh, Ruth, just go and get her one!” said Mum. “And scrape Kez’s toast for her while you’re at it.”

I’m frequently surprised that my legs aren’t worn to stumps. I know Mum can’t do everything, but I do occasionally wish that I could have been Child Number Two instead of Child Number One. I don’t think that being Child Number One has very much going for it.

In spite of fetching hankies and scraping toast and collecting Dad’s breakfast tray and getting the tiresome trio into their shoes and coats while Mum saw to Dad, I still managed to reach school before the bell. My stomach did this clenching thing as I turned into Parkfield Road and saw it there, waiting for me, like a great grey prison.

There’s this wire mesh stuff over the windows, to stop them from being broken, and the walls are always covered in graffiti. Every term the graffiti’s removed and every term it comes back again. I think some graffiti’s quite pretty and I don’t know why people object to it. But the stuff on our school walls is mostly just ugly, same as on our block of flats. If Mum’d seen them she would’ve known why I hated school so much, but Mum had enough to cope with, what with Dad, and work, and the tiresome trio, so she hardly ever went to parents’ evenings. Actually, I don’t think many other parents did, either. They would’ve found it too depressing, not to mention a total waste of time. You know those tables that they print, saying which schools have done best and which have done worst? Well, my school was one of the ones that did worst. It always did worst. It was the pits.

I was about to go slinking off down a side street and give the playground time to clear when someone called out, “Hi, Ruth! Wait for me!” and Karina Koh came huffing up the road. I obediently stopped and waited, cos it would’ve been rude not to, and also I wouldn’t have wanted her to feel hurt, but I can’t say that my heart exactly leapt for joy.

Out of the whole year, Karina was the only one who called me Ruth (rather than Geek or Nerd) and the only one that ever wanted to hang out with me, so you might have thought I’d be a little bit grateful to her; maybe just at the beginning I was, when she first, like, came up to me in the playground and sat next to me in class. It’s horrid being on your own and I did think that Karina would be better than no one. I even hoped we might become proper friends, but the truth is, I didn’t really terribly like her. She’d been thrown out of Julia Bone’s gang, which was why she’d latched on to me. She said we could be a gang all by ourselves. “Just the two of us! OK? And we’ll take no notice of the others cos they’re just garbage. They’re all garbage, and we hate them! Don’t we?”

She was always wanting me to hate people. Usually I agreed that I did, just to keep her happy, but it was a lie, cos I didn’t. Not really. I hated school. I think perhaps I hated school so much that I didn’t have any hate left over for actual people. Not even Julia Bone, who Karina hated more than anyone. She told me all sorts of things about Julia Bone.

“She smells. Have you noticed? I always hold my breath when I have to go near her. I don’t think she ever has a bath. I don’t think she even knows what a bath is for. She doesn’t ever wash her hands when she’s been to the toilet. I’ve seen her! She’s rancid. She lives in a bed and breakfast. Did you know that? She has to live there cos her dad ran off. Her mum’s, like, on drugs? She’s a real junkie! And her sister’s a retard. The whole family’s just garbage.”

Karina knew everything about everybody. But only bad things; that was all she ever told me. Like that morning, on the way in to school, when she told me that “Jenice Berry’s mum’s gone into the nut house.” Jenice Berry was best friends with Julia Bone, so naturally Karina hated her almost as much as she hated Julia.

“They took her off last night. Came to collect her. She was raving! I know this cos we live in the same block.”

She sounded really pleased about it. I said that it must be frightening, having your mum taken away, but Karina said that Jenice deserved it.

“They’re all mad, anyway. The whole family.”

Sometimes I thought that Karina wasn’t really a very nice person. Then I’d get scared and think that maybe I wasn’t a very nice person, either, and that was why nobody wanted me in any of their gangs, which would mean that I was even less of a nice person than Karina, since she’d at least started off in a gang. I hadn’t even done that.

Other times I thought maybe Karina had only become not very nice because of everyone rejecting her, in which case I ought to be more understanding and sympathetic. So I tried; I really tried. I wanted us to be friends and she kept saying that we were, but every time I felt a bit of sympathy she went and ruined it. Like now when she said in these gloating tones that “People like Jenice Berry always get what’s coming to them. Her and Julia Bone…they’ll get theirs! It’s only a question of time.”

We walked through to the playground just as first bell was going. Julia caught sight of us and yelled, “Watch it, Geek! We’re out to get you! And you, Slugface!”

I won’t say what Karina shouted back as it was a four-letter word, which I didn’t actually blame her for as it’s quite nasty to refer to a person as a slugface, even if they’re not that pretty (which Karina is not!). And I wasn’t really shocked, which I would’ve been once. Everybody used four-letter words at Parkfield. All the same, I did wish Karina wouldn’t answer back; it only made matters worse. Although maybe that’s just me being a wimp. I suppose it was quite brave of her, really.

As we set off across the playground I caught sight of Millie, who used to be my best friend. I waved at her and she twitched her lips in a sort of smile but she didn’t say hallo or anything. Her gang was one of the toughest. They weren’t as mean as Julia’s lot, but only because they would’ve thought it beneath them. They were, like, really superior. Like anyone that wasn’t black wasn’t worth wasting your breath on. It was hard to remember that this time last year me and Millie had been sharing secrets and going for sleepovers with each other. She wouldn’t even give me the time of day, now. Nor would Mariam, though I think Mariam would’ve liked to, if it hadn’t been against the rules.

All the gangs had rules. The main one was that you didn’t go round with anyone who didn’t belong, which was why nobody went round with me – except Karina. Even the people that just hung out in little groups kept away from us; I dunno why. Karina said it was because I was a boffin. But I didn’t mean to be!