Don't Ask Alice Read online

  Don’t Ask Alice

  Judi Curtin

  Illustrations: Woody Fox

  For Dan, Brian, Ellen and Annie

  Thanks to all my family and friends for their ongoing support.

  Thanks to Ellen and Annie for their help with this book.

  Thanks to everyone at The O’Brien Press, especially, once again, my editor Helen.

  Thanks to Andrea and Robert for their hard work in the UK.

  Thanks to all the schools, libraries and bookshops who invited me to read from the first two Alice books, and who unfailingly manage to round up groups of charming, interested children.

  Thanks to everyone in third class in LSP who came up with such inventive book titles.

  Thanks to all the kind children who have taken the trouble to let me know that they have enjoyed Alice Next Door and Alice Again. Special mention has to go to Sarah Holland who writes great letters.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Chapter twenty-four

  Chapter twenty-five

  Chapter twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  About the Author

  The ‘Alice & Megan’ series

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Chapter one

  Breakfast seemed to go on for ever and ever. The porridge burned and stuck to the pot in a revolting, stinky, sticky mess while Mum was listening to a ‘really interesting’ report about the environment on the radio.

  ‘I could get a breakfast roll on the way to school, if you like,’ I said.

  Mum looked at me like I’d threatened to murder someone.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,’ she said. ‘Do you have any idea what goes into those breakfast rolls?’

  I pretended to think.

  ‘Rashers and sausages?’ I suggested after a while.

  Mum shook her head impatiently.

  ‘Now you’re just being silly,’ she said. ‘And it’s so complicated, you’ll be late for school if I try to explain. So you just sit there and I’ll make some more porridge.’

  I jiggled my spoon on the table impatiently while Mum slowly poured more oats and milk and water into a clean saucepan.

  ‘It would be much easier to make porridge in a microwave,’ I said. ‘It only takes one minute, and it never gets burned.’

  Mum stirred the porridge and ignored me.

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ I continued. ‘We can’t make porridge in the microwave because we’re the only people in the whole country who don’t have one.’

  Mum stopped what she was doing, and then there was a big row about all the possible ways microwaves might be rotting my brain. At that moment, I didn’t really care if I got a rotten brain, just as long as I could finish breakfast and get out of there.

  In the end I had to agree with Mum, just to keep her quiet.

  After ages and ages, Mum put the bowl of porridge in front of me.

  ‘One day you’ll thank me,’ she said.

  I wasn’t a bit sure about that, but I didn’t want another argument, so I just smiled and said nothing. That seemed to suit Mum who hummed as she went back over to the sink and began to wash the porridge pots.

  I ate the porridge so fast that I burned my tongue. Then I jumped up from the table, picked up my lunch and my schoolbag, kissed Mum and raced out the door before she knew what was happening.

  * * *

  For some people, this might have seemed like a normal day – a day just like any other old day. It was the first day after the Easter holidays, I was going to call for my best friend Alice and we were going to walk to school together.

  Big deal, you might think.

  Walking to school with your friend?

  What’s so special about that?

  But it was a big deal.

  It was a very, very, very big deal.

  You see, Alice had been away since September. She and her mum and her little brother Jamie had gone to live in Dublin, and for seven awful, never-ending months I’d had to walk to school on my own. Now Alice was back in Limerick, and I was so excited I could hardly breathe properly.

  Luckily Alice had stayed with her dad that night, and he still lived next door to me. I don’t think I’d have made it around the corner to her mum’s fancy new apartment.

  I knocked on her front door, and Alice strolled out, just like it was any old day.

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ she called. ‘Have a nice day at work.’

  ‘Bye, Alice,’ came her dad’s voice from the kitchen.

  Alice closed the front door behind her, and walked slowly down the path. Then all of a sudden she stopped, turned around, and raced back to where I was still standing on the doorstep. She gave me a huge hug.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I still can’t really believe it. It is so, so, so, so, so, so fantastic to be back!’

  I had to laugh. I knew Alice had missed me, but she would probably never have any idea just how much I had missed her.

  And now that she was back, everything was going to be perfect.

  Just like it used to be.

  Chapter two

  When we got to school, our friends Grace and Louise were waiting for us in the playground. We all hugged each other and then we got into a huddle and talked about what we’d done for our holidays. Grace, whose parents are really rich, had been to Lanzarote, and Louise had been to visit her cousins in Galway. I’d spent most of my holidays helping Mum in the garden. Would my friends be impressed if I said ‘I planted six rows of carrots, and ten rows of cabbage and about a hundred rows of gross, disgusting parsnips?’

  I don’t think so.

  So I stayed quiet, and no one noticed.

  A few minutes later, Louise nudged the rest of us and hissed.

  ‘Don’t look now, but guess who’s just walked in the gate.’

  I didn’t have to look. There was only one person in the whole school who we all hated. It had to be Melissa, the meanest girl in the world. Grace and Louise used to be friendly with her, but last year they had got sense, and now beautiful, blonde, horrible Melissa had to manage with only four people who thought she was the greatest thing ever.

  I turned around and watched as Melissa kind of glided across the yard. She was wearing a totally cool new denim jacket, and she kept tossing her hair like someone in an ad for shampoo. Already her four best friends were fluttering around her like over-excited butterflies.

  Alice laughed.

  ‘Same old Melissa. I bet she’s really looking forward to seeing me again. What did she say when she heard I was coming back?’

  Grace, Louise and I looked at each other and grinned. This was going to be so much fun.

  ‘We didn’t tell her,’ I said.

  ‘We thought we’d surprise her,’ added Louise.

  Alice grinned, and kind of slipped in behind Grace, who’s really tall. I knew this was going to be great. Alice was always the only one in our class who could really stand up to Melissa and her mean ways, and Melissa was goi
ng to be so sorry to see her again.

  Melissa was getting close. She looked at Louise first.

  ‘Ever hear of a hair-straightener?’ she said.

  That was really mean, because Louise hates her curly hair. Louise went red, but before she could say anything, Melissa turned to me.

  ‘Hi Megan, did you have a nice holiday? Or did you and your super-cool mum with the lovely fashionable clothes spend your time saving the planet for the rest of us?’

  Melissa’s friends giggled like this was the funniest thing they’d heard in their whole lives.

  Usually it makes me really mad when Melissa mocks my mum, but this time I didn’t care. I didn’t reply. Nothing Melissa said could hurt me now.

  Just then Alice stepped out from behind Grace.

  ‘Hi Melissa,’ she said. ‘So nice to see you again. What did you do for your Easter holidays? Pick on people? Kick grannies in the shins? Steal sweets from babies?’

  Melissa stopped her hand in the middle of a hair-flick.

  ‘Alice?’ she whispered, like a character in a film who’s just seen the person who has sworn to kill them.

  Alice grinned cheerfully. ‘That’s me – got it in one.’

  All the colour had drained from Melissa’s face, making her even paler than usual.

  ‘What… what… what are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you, I expect. I came to get an education,’ said Alice.

  ‘But… but…’

  Grace, Louise and I started to laugh. Melissa was always so cool and so confident; it was great to see her lost for words.

  She tried again.

  ‘But… you… I … mean… don’t you live in Dublin?’

  Alice grinned again,

  ‘Well, I did move to Dublin, but I missed you so much I decided to come back.’

  Suddenly Melissa relaxed a bit,

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re just back for a visit.’

  Alice thought for a second,

  ‘I suppose you could say that. It’s just that it’s going to be a very long visit. I plan to stay here in Limerick for the rest of my life.’

  Melissa looked like she was going to throw up all over her fancy new pink sandals. Just then the bell rang, and the rest of us ran into school. Now that Alice was back, school was going to be fun again. I just knew it.

  Chapter three

  The next few weeks were great. Some mornings I called for Alice at her dad’s place, and other mornings I picked her up from her mum’s place. At first it seemed a bit weird, but soon it just seemed normal, and it was hard to remember a time when her family had all lived together in one house.

  The whole class was getting really excited because our Confirmation was coming up. We did hardly any real work. Most days we went to the church and practised hymns, and stupid stuff like getting in and out of our seats, and walking to the altar in neat lines. At first it was really hard, and people kept ending up in the wrong places, and our teacher, Miss O’Herlihy, kept saying stuff like, ‘What are we going to do when the bishop is here?’ and ‘You’re going to make a holy show of me!’ After a while though, it got so easy we could do it in our sleep, and it was really boring, but as Alice said, anything was better than maths.

  At lunchtimes, we mostly talked about what we were going to wear for our Confirmation. Melissa told anyone who would listen that she was going to Arnott’s in Dublin to buy a designer dress and matching high-heeled shoes. Grace was actually flying to London to buy an outfit, but that didn’t seem as bad because she didn’t keep going on and on about it.

  I didn’t say much during these conversations. I never, ever have cool clothes. If it was up to Mum, she’d knit me a Confirmation dress, or weave it from twigs and leaves or something. Whenever I mentioned Confirmation clothes to Mum she just said,

  ‘Stop fussing – it’s ages away. And Confirmation is a religious occasion – it isn’t just about the clothes you know.’

  I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes, but it might as well be. If I had to wear something totally gross, Melissa would probably laugh out loud when she saw me, and the whole day would be ruined.

  So one Saturday, I got up really early and did loads of jobs before Mum and Dad got up. Then I brought them their breakfast in bed. (I even made porridge to get Mum in a good mood.)

  My little sister Rosie was already in Mum and Dad’s bed, all curled up like a baby. Dad laughed when he saw me coming into their room with the cups and bowls rattling on the tray.

  ‘What’s all this about, Megan?’ he said. ‘I suppose you want something.’

  I nodded. No point pretending – Mum and Dad could always see through me anyway.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Please, please, please can we go and buy me Confirmation clothes today? Everyone else has theirs already, and if I don’t get something soon everyone’s going to think I’m a total loser.’

  Mum sat up in bed so I was able to get a good look at her nightie, which was all faded and about a hundred years old.

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Megan,’ she said, ‘And I’ve told you before, anyone who judges you by your clothes doesn’t deserve to be your friend.’

  I sighed.

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘Forget the loser thing. But please, Mum, will you take me in to town today to buy new clothes?’

  Mum thought for a minute.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was thinking of tidying out the garden shed today. I thought you might help me. You could––’

  Dad interrupted her.

  ‘Go on, Sheila. Put the poor girl out of her misery. I’ll take Rosie to the park, and you two can go shopping.’

  As soon as he said this, Rosie popped up her head and said,

  ‘Yay! We’re going to the park,’ and everyone laughed – especially me.

  * * *

  An hour later we were in town, and after I’d managed to steer Mum away from the charity shops and the horrible shops that sold grey, hairy, tweedy stuff for grannies, we did OK.

  I ended up with really cool white trousers, a blue and white stripy top, and a loose white shirt to wear over it.

  On the way back to the car, I was so happy I felt like singing. The impossible had just happened – I was actually going to look normal on my Confirmation day.

  Then I had a totally scary thought.

  What was Mum going to wear for my big day?

  I had to know, but at the same time, I reeeeally didn’t want to know.

  This could be a complete disaster.

  How would anyone even notice my cool new clothes if Mum was there beside me looking like a weirdo from the dark ages?

  ‘Er, Mum,’ I said, ‘Are you getting something new to wear for my Confirmation?’

  She tossed her crazy hair back from her face, and laughed like I’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

  ‘What a thought!’ she said. ‘Sure, haven’t I a wardrobe full of clothes at home?’

  It was true, she did have a wardrobe full of clothes at home. A wardrobe full of ancient, ugly and totally embarrassing clothes. A wardrobe full of clothes that looked like they belonged in a museum.

  While I was still getting over the shock of Mum wearing her old clothes to my Confirmation, she continued,

  ‘Actually, if I work really hard I could finish the jumper I’ve been knitting for myself. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  I gasped.

  Surely she was joking?

  She had to be joking.

  Mum had been knitting this jumper for about two years. It was a huge, shapeless thing, made out of odd scraps of wool left over from other ugly knitting projects. It was a disgusting mixture of orange, red, pink, brown, purple and gross, slimy green. It was as if all the horrible jumpers Mum made me wear when I was small had come back to haunt me. If Mum finished this jumper and wore it to my Confirmation, I might as well just give up forever. I might as well go to the ceremony with the word ‘loser’ tattooed in capital letters right across my fo
rehead.

  I stopped walking.

  ‘I know your jumper is going to be beautiful,’ I lied, ‘But why don’t we go and buy you something new. You deserve it.’

  Mum smiled.

  ‘Thanks love, but if I’m getting something new for myself, I’d prefer a new juice extractor, or maybe a nice new pair of gardening gloves. Still though, it’s very kind of you to suggest it. You’re a very thoughtful girl, Megan.’

  Then, right in the middle of the street, she turned and hugged me. I wriggled free as soon as I could. It was bad enough being seen in town with my mum. If anyone saw her hugging me, my life was over.

  Mum didn’t even notice how embarrassed I was. She just walked on, muttering to herself.

  ‘Now, if I work hard, I can finish the left sleeve tonight. I can join in some of that lovely yellow wool from that cardigan I made for Rosie last year, and maybe some of the brown too.’

  I felt like throwing myself onto the footpath and crying my eyes out.

  I was doomed.

  It would take a miracle to get my mum into some decent clothes.

  * * *

  A few days later, the miracle happened.

  Dad came home from work waving an envelope over his head. He actually skipped into the kitchen. I’d have been embarrassed if I wasn’t laughing so much.

  ‘I won a prize in the office raffle,’ he said. ‘It’s the first time I’ve won in twenty years.’

  Mum ran over and tried to grab the envelope from him. (She loves getting stuff for nothing.)

  ‘What is it, Donal?’ she said. ‘What did you win? Is it the voucher for the pellet stove? Or the gardening weekend? I’d just love to go on a gardening weekend.’

  Dad shook his head.

  ‘Sorry, love. It isn’t any of those. It’s a voucher for a clothes shop.’

  He opened the envelope and read,

  ‘O’Donnell’s on Catherine Street. Two hundred and fifty euro. Not bad, eh?’

  Mum sighed. ‘Two hundred and fifty euro on clothes. That’s an obscene amount. I wouldn’t spend that in twenty years.’

  She was right. Most of the clothes Mum wore cost fifty cent in the charity shop bargain bin. When she got married she borrowed her wedding dress from a friend of her granny’s. Why couldn’t she be more like Alice’s mum, Veronica, who could spend two hundred and fifty euro on clothes in her coffee break?