Jean Ure - Jelly Baby

Dad looked at me like it was the first time he’d ever seen it.

“It is a bit on the short side,” he said. “Did Cass buy it for you?”

I said, “No, I bought it for myself. Lottie’s got one as well. I’ve had it for ages. ”

“You presumably don’t go out in it?” said Caroline.

“I should hope not!” said Dad.

“I …” I hesitated, not quite sure what to say. Was there something wrong with going out in it? I was saved by Cass coming through from the kitchen.

She said, “Oh really, Donald! Don’t be such a prude. She always wears leggings with it, or thick tights.Absolutely nothing to get fussed about! Hello, Caroline. Good to see you again. Dinner won’t be long; just finishing it off.”

Dad, sounding puzzled, said, “If she’s had it all this time, why haven’t I seen it before?”

“Because you go round with your eyes closed,” said Cass. “I’m afraid, Caroline, this brother of mine is so wrapped up in the eighteenth century he really has no idea what’s going on in the real world.”

Caroline laughed. She said, “Tell me about it! Anyone who can reverse into somebody twice in just two minutes …”

I liked that she could laugh about Dad reversing into her. Not everybody would. She was obviously a very tolerant, good-natured sort of person. Not someone who would lose patience with Dad when he couldn’t find his front-door key or forgot to put petrol in the car, both of which had happened in the past week. I decided that Caroline was exactly what he needed!

I was glad, though, that Cass had spoken up in defence of my skirt. Just for a minute I had started to feel a bit self-conscious, thinking that maybe it was indecent or something. I knew it couldn’t be, or Lottie’s mum would never have let Lottie buy one. As mums go, she is quite strict. But I didn’t want Caroline to think badly of me. At school recently we’d been discussing role models and I’d decided that that’s what Caroline was – my role model. She was so smart, and so cool, and so … sophisticated! I really wanted to make a good impression on her.

Em stuck her head round the door and said, “Shall I start bringing things in?”

“I’ll help!” I went racing after her into the kitchen. “I suppose you went and told her?” I hissed.

“Told her what?”

“About me saying it was chicken and mushroom!”

“All I said,” said Em, “was are we supposed to be telling her the truth or not? OK? Here! Take the sprouts. And don’t go dropping them. ”

“Oh, this looks very tasty,” said Caroline, as we all took our places. The pie sat steaming in its dish, the top all beautifully brown and crusty, with little pastry roses decorating it. Cass had gone to such a lot of trouble.

“I hope it meets with your approval,” she said, passing Caroline a plate. “I don’t want to mislead you … it’s not actually real chicken.”

“It’s not?” said Dad. He sounded a bit put out. “Bitsy? I thought you said it was!”

Em looked at me, rather hard.

“Just for once,” said Dad, “it might have been nice.” He turned apologetically to Caroline. “I’m afraid I live in a house full of mad veggies,” he said.

“You’re one too!” cried Em.

“Not through choice,” said Dad. “They bully me, you know. I have no say in the matter, I just have to eat what I’m given.”

“I’m sure it will still be delicious,” said Caroline.

I kept shooting little glances at her as she ate. I think she enjoyed it. At any rate, she cleared her plate. She didn’t come back for seconds, though. I did! But I am quite a greedy sort of person. You don’t get to be as slim as Caroline by gorging yourself.

Triumphantly, as Cass began to clear away the dishes, I said, “If you hadn’t been told it wasn’t chicken I bet you wouldn’t have known, would you?”

“Well … I think I probably would have done,” said Caroline, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t very lovely.”

“But how could you tell?” I said. “It looks like chicken.”

“I suppose it doesn’t quite … taste like it.”

“Chicken tastes of blood,” said Em.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Dad threw up his hands. “Do we have to?”

“I’m just saying,” said Em. “It’s full of stale blood.”

“Em!” Cass jerked her head. “Help me take the dishes out.”

I jumped up. “I’ll go and get the pudding!”

I was so proud of my possets. I carried them through triumphantly on a tray.

“Bitsy made these herself,” said Cass.

“Ah, the famous possets!” Dad rubbed his hands. “They always go down well.”

I said, “Yes, cos it’s real lemon and real sugar and real cream.”

“What else could it be?” said Em.

“Could be soya cream.”

“Oh! I never thought of that. Maybe next time—”

“ No. ” Dad snatched a couple of pots and handed one to Caroline. “Don’t go and ruin a good thing.”

“I just thought—”

“Not now,” said Cass. “Let Caroline enjoy her pudding.”

As soon as I started on my posset, Bella appeared. With one bound she was up beside me, nearly pulling the tablecloth off in the process.

“Good gracious,” said Caroline. “A cat on the table?”

Dad frowned. “Bitsy, put her down.”

“Dad!” Em looked at him reproachfully. “You know we don’t say that. She’ll think we’re taking her to the vet to be …”

“Murdered,” I said.

“Euthanised,” said Dad.

“It means the same thing!” Em was getting quite worked up. “Just don’t say it.”

Em is very protective where Bella is concerned. Well, with all animals, really. She is going to be a vet when she grows up.

Dad shook his head, like, What can you do ? “Just put her on the floor,” he said. “We don’t have cats up here while we’re eating.”

I opened my mouth to object cos, I mean, Bella is used to joining us on the table no matter what Dad said, but Cass, sitting next to me, gave me a warning jab.

“Just do what your dad says.”

I set Bella on the ground. She immediately jumped back up again.

Dad said, “Bitsy …”

I said, “Yes, all right! She just wants a bit of posset.” I dug out a blob with my finger and gave it to her to lick. She purred appreciatively. “Lemon possets are one of her favourites,” I said. “She’d live on them if she could!”

Caroline said, “Really? It surely can’t be good for her.”

“It’s the cream,” I said. “Cats love cream.”

“But it’s so fattening! No wonder she has a bit of a tum.”

It was true, I suppose. Bella’s tummy does sometimes wobble slightly as she walks.

“She’s not fat ,” I said earnestly. “It’s mostly fur. Feel!” I held Bella out to her, but Dad intervened.

“I did tell you, Bitsy, to put her on the floor.”

“I’ll put her on the sofa,” I said. “She’ll be happy there. When we first had her,” I told Caroline, “we called her Belle o’ the Ball. Now Dad says she’s Bella the Ball! But she does have very thick fur.” I added this quickly before Em could give me another of her looks. Bella is mainly her cat and she won’t let anyone say anything bad about her.

“Well, now,” said Cass, “if everyone’s eaten enough I’ll go and put the coffee on. Bits, do you want to give me a hand?”

“Caroline hasn’t finished!” I said. She’d only eaten half her posset.

“No, no, I’m through.” Caroline pushed her plate away from her. “It was lovely, but I’m just too full up after all that pie.”

“I don’t think she liked it,” I whispered to Cass as we went through to the kitchen.