Jean Ure - Sugar and Spice

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

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

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

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007161379

Ebook Edition © JULY 2013 ISBN: 9780007374380

Version: 2017-11-03

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.”