✅ My Sister's Problem

9. The Beginning

"This little guy was on the floor," I said, holding up Lincoln with one hand while the other pointed to a space just on this side of the curtain. It was close enough that she might have kicked him over there without realising in her madcap rush to the bathroom. Now there was no need to explain why I'd had the bear or what I'd been doing with him for the last hour.

"Thanks," she said, and snatched him out of my hand. Then she froze, staring at the toy. "Why do I care? I'm not a little kid anymore, I don't need stuffies. You keep him if you care about him so much." She turned and walked back into her room, thrusting the well-loved toy back into my arms. I noticed in her hands was another of her soft toys, and she stopped when she came to look at that one. The little gerbil's fur was slicked down against its skin, and from the state of it I could only guess that she'd been desperately trying to wash it in the sink. I didn't know much about how to wash plushies, but I knew that wasn't a good idea. If it was waterlogged, it could easily start to grow mould on the inside.

If it had been any other toy, I would have said nothing after she spoke to me like that. But if I could recognise the markings on her two gerbils correctly, that one was named Bosnia. It had been a birthday present, and ended up being the last thing she got from Dad. If she lost that she would be inconsolable.

"Do you need a hand with that?" I asked. "They're hard to wash, Mum had to throw one of mine out after I spilled something on her. We need to make sure–"

"Look, I'm sure you want to show how smart you are. But this is my business, it's nothing to do with you. I just spilled juice on him, it's not a big deal. I can do it by myself. I don't need you sticking your nose in my business. So butt out, right? It's not a big deal, it could happen to anybody, and it was only juice."

"Yeah," I said, trying to placate her as her volume and pitch both continued to rise. I got the impression she might start crying if she got any more emotional, and I didn't want that. "It's just you might–"

"Shut up! I don't need your help, I'm not a baby. And it's only once, it could happen to anybody!"

"What could?" Mum's voice filled the room as I heard the door open behind me. Her voice wasn't as loud as Lindy's, but it had a weird penetrating quality that meant you wouldn't think of interrupting. "And what justifies a screaming fit at three o'clock, when you both have school in the morning?"

"Sorry, Mum," Lindy lowered her voice, and hurried back over to the archway that joined our rooms. If she had to talk to Mum, she wanted to do it from here. Maybe she thought she could somehow hide her accident, if Mum didn't see the state of her bed right now.

"So, what could happen to anyone?"

"I... you know I have a bottle of water next to my bed? In case I'm thirsty when I wake up?" Mum nodded. I knew that as well; I could have a glass of water in reach, and I thought Mum did too, but the energetic sleeper couldn't be sure to keep it upright all night. "Well, I... I kind of... knocked it over again. And I... I had juice today, so I spilled it on Bos, and I was trying to wash him. I don't want him to get sticky, and then Sally's barging in saying she wants to do it for me 'cause I'm not old enough to work soap by myself or something, I hate that she's treating me like a baby, and..." Her voice was rising again, getting emotional, but she had the self control to stop herself in front of Mum.

"Is this correct, Sally?"

"Something like that," I nodded. I knew Lindy was lying, and Mum did too, but I didn't want to be the one ratting her out. "I wanted to help."

"That's probably a good idea," Mum said. "Remember all the fuss you made over that bunny? Anyway, Lindy, if you don't want your sister to help, would you talk to me about it? Washing toys is a lot harder than washing clothes. With a chonky bean like Bosnia, I think getting him dry is going to be a big job. You don't have the right tools to do it yourself. I'm sure you don't want to throw him out, do you?"

"Okay, you can help," Lindy accepted. "What do I gotta do?"

"How about we let your sister get back to sleep first? No sense everyone being awake at this time." Mum started walking towards Lindy, who tried a nonchalant pose that would block the entrance to her room.

"We should go downstairs," she said, bluffing frantically. She didn't want Mum to see her bed; but it was already obvious that she needed adult help to deal with this situation. She was just too embarrassed to ask for it. She tried moving forwards, going across my room to the door rather than returning to her own. She waved a finger at me as she passed, and added "Don't go in my room. It's only Bosnia that got stuff spilled on, so I should go help him get cleaned up."

I gently pushed past her, and made my way into the bathroom. After I closed the door behind me, I hoped that Lindy would be a little more open with what she needed to say. She could imagine that only Mum knew, and I would believe whatever she had said about her juice. As much as I felt bad when I saw her discomfort, it was still hard not to laugh when she was trying to say she'd just spilled something on one soft toy. That plush gerbil was the most important thing to her, it seemed. She'd been so desperate to wash him that she'd run straight to the bathroom, and apparently hadn't even noticed a huge wet patch on her pyjama pants that made it very clear what had happened.

"I think you spilled some on yourself as well," I heard Mum's voice, slightly muted by the walls. "I'd best check there aren't any marks you missed." I heard Lindy's voice after that, but I couldn't make out the words. She was getting farther away, presumably she hadn't been able to keep Mum out of her room.

"I didn't! I'm not a baby!" The next words I heard were a frustrated wail, just as I was about to open the door again. I counted to ten under my breath, and then stepped quickly back into my own room, taking care not to look towards Lindy's room. I hadn't seen anything, I told myself. I didn't know about her little accident, so she could still pretend to be a big girl. I promised myself that I wasn't going to tease her about it, no matter how much of a pain in the butt she was over the next week or two. She'd given my chance to wear diapers now; I could take one from her pack tomorrow, assuming Mum would buy supplies in her usual organised fashion, and she was sure not to notice. Then after a week or two everything would go back to normal, my curiosity sated, and we could pretend this whole business had never happened.

I waited until I heard Lindy's door open before I stepped out at the top of the stairs. As I expected, Mum was coming towards me along the landing, and she was dragging the big canvas bag that we used for lugging all of our bedsheets down to the laundry room once a week.

"Hey," I said, holding up a hand so that she might listen before sending me back to bed. "I think–"

"Your sister's spilled some juice on her sheets as well," she said. "Berry juices are a nightmare to get out if you let them dry, so I thought–"

"I know," I said. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tease her or anything. I was a pain last time, but I hope I've grown up since then. And I'm not surprised she doesn't want me to know."

"So you don't know, then," she said. "Good girl. I'm proud of you. But you'd best get back to bed before your sister wonders why you're still awake."

"I just thought... you'll need to wash sheets tomorrow anyway. It's wasting water and soap if you do two loads. We've been doing environmental consciousness in school, you know? I can hear Lindy struggling to get clean sheets on her bed, so you can go help her and I'll strip mine too. Gets everything done faster, means you don't have to run the machine again tomorrow, right?"

She nodded, and I could tell she was proud of me. She didn't need to be, I was just covering for myself. If she noticed a small damp patch on my sheets as she tipped them into the machine, she would assume it was just because they'd been pressed against something wet in the bag. My secret was safe.

I didn't account for Lindy telling Mum I'd got chocolate on my pillow a couple of days before, desperate not to be the only one who'd made a mess. But I confessed reluctantly, and suddenly all my behaviour made perfect sense to Mum. Even the nervousness. She'd told me before about sneaking sweets at bedtime, but she decided that given my good behaviour tonight, she wasn't going to give any punishment. There would be nothing more to say; she'd asked Lindy to promise that this wouldn't happen again, and she demanded the same of me.

I would have to be more careful in future. She wouldn't see any more evidence of my sweet tooth. Unfortunately, my tattletale sister was unlikely to have so much success in hiding her problem.