Lemonade Sky by Jean Ure

said that! Sammy’s face immediately lit up. She raced across to the phone.
    “Make sure the machine’s switched on!”
    “It’s on,” I said. “We’ll check for messages when we get back.”
    We did, but of course there weren’t any. I hadn’t really expected there to be.
    “She probably hasn’t been able to recharge her phone,” I said. “Did you remember to bring your fan home?”
    “Got it in my bag,” said Sammy.
    “Shall we put it somewhere safe?”
    “No!” She snatched up her bag and held it very tightly. I knew then, for sure, that she’d had an accident. But it was her birthday, so I wasn’t going to embarrass her. I gave her a little push.
    “Go and watch some telly while we get your tea.”
    The tea, when we set it out on the table, didn’t look anywhere near as impressive as I’d hoped. We had:
    1 cheese sandwich
    1 egg and cress sandwich (brought back by me that same day)
    1 Strawberry Frootie
    1 Strawberry yogurt (also brought back by me)
    1 small pink cake
    1 bar of KitKat (supplied by Tizz)
    1 packet of crisps (also supplied by Tizz)
    I didn’t ask Tizz where she’d got the KitKat and the crisps; it seemed safer not to know. I used the last of the orange squash and stuck six matchsticks into the pink cake. I hadn’t been able to find any candles, but I thought perhaps matchsticks would do just as well.
    We let Sammy eat as much as she wanted, which was practically everything. Me and Tizz shared the egg and cress sandwich and the yogurt and one finger of KitKat. Sammy kept saying “Share’s fair!” and pushing stuff at us, but even Tizz nobly waved it away.
    “You’re the birthday girl,” she said.
    After we’d sung Happy Birthday and Sammy had blown out the matchsticks and given me and Tizz a tiny nibble of cake each, we watched some of her favourite DVDs including an especially yucky one about a family of squirrels. A daddy squirrel, a mummy squirrel, and a tiny little baby squirrel called Sam. It made me and Tizz want to throw up, but Sammy loved it to bits. She kept squealing happily and clapping her hands every time anyone said her name.
    “ Sam !”
    “Yeah, but it’s a boy,” said Tizz.
    She just had to, didn’t she? Just couldn’t resist. Sammy went all quiet after that. She sat on the sofa, cuddled up next to me, sucking her thumb. She’d been doing a lot of thumb sucking, just lately. It was like she’d gone back tobabyhood. But I didn’t try and stop her; it would have seemed unkind.
    When we went to bed – I’d given up the battle of trying to make her go at her usual time – she refused to get into her bunk and clambered in again with me.
    It was a horrible night. I was so hungry I found it difficult to sleep. I had to keep resisting the urge to go and raid the cupboard. We didn’t have much left in there, and I really really didn’t want to start stealing again. It not only made me feel bad, it frightened me that I might get caught.
    I woke up next morning with a feeling of deep despair. It was like I’d pinned everything on to Sammy’s birthday. Giving her a good time, making her happy. That had been my one aim. Now that it was over, there didn’t seem to be anything left. I couldn’t go on fighting!
    I wondered if that was how Mum felt when she fell into one of her depressions. Suddenly I could understand how she just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep. I so didn’t want to have to get up and go to school.
    And then I turned over and felt my nightie clinging to me, all cold and clammy. I peeled back the duvet and sure enough, there was a damp patch. Wetting the bed was something Sammy hadn’t done since she was tiny.
    I got her up and dried her off, hoping Tizz wouldn’t notice and make one of her tactless remarks, but of course she demanded to know why I was stripping my bed.
    “Time it got changed,” I said.
    “What about mine?” said Tizz. “Why aren’t you changing mine?”
    “If you want it changed, do it yourself!” I snapped.