Violet Ink Read online

  Contents

  Izzy

  Mellow Yellow

  Red Card

  Rose-coloured Glasses

  Left Foot Blue

  The Colour of Happiness

  Izzy

  Got the Blues

  All That Glitters Is Not Gold

  Tickled Pink

  Izzy

  Green with Envy

  Purple with Rage

  Darkness-destroyer

  Red Herrings

  Not Everything Is Black Or White

  Black of Night

  Bolt from the Blue

  Caught Red-handed

  Red Sky in the Morning, Shepherd’s Warning

  Violet Ink

  Once in a Blue Moon

  Izzy

  True Colours

  Roses Are Red, But Violets Are Not Actually Blue

  Red Rag to a Bull

  Red-letter Day

  Red Alert

  In the Pink

  Little White Lie

  Seeing Red

  Izzy

  Love Is Golden

  A Golden Opportunity

  Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Puffin

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Rebecca Westcott was born in Chester. She went to Exeter University to train as a teacher and has had a variety of teaching jobs that have taken her to some very interesting places, including a Category C male prison. When she was a teenager her granny handed her a packet of letters. These letters were later the inspiration for a story about a girl, her big sister and an unexpected event. Rebecca currently teaches in a primary school and lives in Dorset with her husband and three children. Violet Ink is her second book.

  Books by Rebecca Westcott

  DANDELION CLOCKS

  VIOLET INK

  For Mum, who always keeps her glow on and

  without whom this story would not exist

  Izzy

  My big sister, Alex, is a letter writer.

  She says nobody writes letters

  any more,

  but they should

  because letters are special.

  She says you can hold a letter and

  keep it

  close to you and read it

  any

  time

  you

  want.

  Emails can be wiped and texts are

  gone

  if you lose your phone – but letters stay

  forever.

  This is just one of the ways that

  Alex is different

  from other people I know

  and it’s one of the reasons that

  I want to be

  just

  like

  her.

  Mellow Yellow

  I am a hundred per cent determined to win. Never, in living memory, has Alex lost a game of Snap, but tonight history is about to be rewritten. In fact, it’s my New Year’s resolution. I have decided that this year is going to be the Year of Yellow and that means the Year of Happiness because yellow is a very happy colour. Winning this game against Alex is definitely going to make me happy. I crack my knuckles and wiggle my fingers – best to be flexible and ready for ninja-like moves.

  ‘OK,’ says Mum, shuffling the cards. Our deck is ancient, all dog-eared and crumpled. ‘Are we all agreed on the rules?’

  ‘Bring it on,’ says Alex, sounding confident. I just nod, not taking my eyes off the cards that Mum is dealing out on to the kitchen table. When all the cards have been shared out between the three of us, we each pick up our pile, keeping the cards face down so that they can’t be seen.

  ‘Your turn to go first,’ Mum says to me.

  I put down the first card, turning it over as it reaches the table. Alex slams a card on top and the game has begun.

  Jack, Two, Queen, Ace. I am totally focused, looking at nothing but the cards mounting up in front of me. My mouth is half open, the ‘s’ ready on my lips. I WILL beat her this time – there’s no way she can win again.

  Three, Ten, Jack, King, King.

  ‘Sn–’ I start, but unbelievably my noisy, annoying big sister gets there before me.

  ‘Cheese sandwiches!’ she yells, nearly deafening me, and whacking her hand down on top of the stack of cards, just in case we’re in any doubt about who has won. ‘I win! Again!’

  I cannot actually believe that this is happening. She’s going to be utterly unbearable now. I really thought I’d win this time. I’d just like to win ONCE – is that too much to ask? I think I’d be a pretty good winner too and not do what Alex is doing now, making ‘loser’ signs at us and dancing round the kitchen bragging. I’d just smile generously and say, ‘Good game.’ Well, I think I would. It’s hard to know what I’d do when I never actually get to win. Ever.

  Mum is laughing and Alex sinks back into her chair, looking across at me with a huge grin on her face.

  ‘How, how –?’ I splutter, but I can’t even get the words out properly. ‘It’s not right, Alex. You’ve GOT to be cheating. We made you say “cheese sandwiches” – there was no way you could win.’

  ‘What can I say?’ says Alex, flicking her hair behind her shoulder and shrugging. I’m sure she’ll think of something though; she’s never usually short of a word or two. ‘Natural talent, I guess. If there was an A level in playing Snap then I’d get an A star, that’s for sure!’

  ‘Well, it’s totally unfair,’ I tell her, feeling cross. ‘We have to play again and this time you’ve got to say “cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches”. And NO cheating.’

  I grab the cards and start to reshuffle the deck, but Mum stops me.

  ‘Not tonight, Izzy. Alex has got studying to do and, sadly for her, Snap is not one of her A level subjects, so she needs to put a bit of effort into doing some work.’

  Alex groans dramatically. Alex does everything dramatically actually, like her entire life is really a show and she’s the star. It means that she’s noisy and bossy and very opinionated, but it also makes her a pretty exciting person to live with. You never quite know what she’s going to do next – the only thing you do know is that it won’t be boring. In the whole seventeen years that Alex has been alive I don’t think she’s ever done anything average. Not like me. My name could be the definition of average.

  ‘Do you have to remind me? We haven’t even gone back to school yet. I was just starting to relax.’ She scowls at Mum. ‘It’s very important that I have rest sessions in between all the hard work, you know – all my teachers say so. Stress can be very damaging at this stage of my life.’

  Mum stands up and starts to clear away our leftover dinner plates. ‘Stress can be very damaging at my time of life too, I’ll have you know. And I think you’ll find the most important part of what you just said was the bit about resting in between working. WORKING! And, as I’ve seen precious little evidence of you doing any actual work over the Christmas holidays, I think you’ll survive with a shorter “relaxation” session tonight!’

  She is smiling at Alex, but in that way that means ‘do what I say or I’ll stop pretending that you have a choice’. Alex pushes back her chair and gets up, pulling a face when Mum has turned towards the sink.

  ‘Sorry, Izzy. I’ll have to thrash you at Snap another night.’

  ‘No rush,’ I mutter. ‘I’m probably going to be really busy with violin practice for the next few weeks.’

  ‘Oh joy. More screeching and wailing to set my teeth on edge.’ Alex grimaces at me as she leaves the room, her pile of school books still on the table and her jumper and scarf hanging over the back of her chair. She’ll be back down in ten minutes, once she’s spent a while making her room right for studying. That doesn’t mean that she’ll tidy it up. No. Alex sa
ys that the ambience has to be right so she’ll drape a silk scarf over her lamp and light some incense sticks, and then flit around lighting candles all over the place.

  It drives Mum crazy – she’s terrified that Alex is going to burn the house down – but Alex says it’s her room and she’s virtually an adult so Mum should trust her for a change. Mum lets her, but what Alex doesn’t know is that, when she’s asleep, Mum always creeps into her bedroom and checks everything is safe. I know this because I check on her too, and one night I opened my bedroom door just as Mum was going into Alex’s room. I saw her tiptoe round the room, turning off the lamp and making sure that the candles were out. When she came out, I pretended that I was going to the bathroom. Mum gave me a hug and put her finger to her lips and I knew that she didn’t want Alex to know that Mum still looks after her.

  I’m glad that Alex has got me AND Mum to keep her safe because sometimes her head is so busy with exciting things she forgets to do the things that she really should be doing. We’re like her protectors so that she can get on with being Alex.

  Red Card

  I have certain expectations when it comes to PE lessons at school. I expect them to be excruciatingly awful and, in all fairness, I’m not often proved wrong. That’s why today’s lesson is coming as such a shock. I’ve been dreading it for ages. We spent absolutely weeks and weeks working on our ball ‘skills’ last term and today, as a grand finale, Miss Lane has planned a huge basketball tournament. It was supposed to happen at the end of term, but it got cancelled because of the Christmas music assembly. I thought we’d escaped it, but sadly not.

  Virtually all of Year 7 have been crammed into the hall and put into teams. Our sports hall is quite small so there can only be one game going on at a time, which means that everybody else is either squashed on to benches along the sides of the hall, rammed up against sweaty armpits (the uncool kids, i.e. me) or hanging over the upstairs balcony and yelling words of support and encouragement (a.k.a. abuse). Only the popular, sporty kids ever get to watch from the balcony. I tried to go up there once, but I couldn’t get any further than halfway up the stairs – I’m just not cool enough.

  We’ve been here for what feels like hours and unfortunately it’s now my turn to play. My desperate pleadings in my head, to whichever god it is that looks out for kids who can’t do sport, have failed miserably. The sports hall has not been engulfed by a massive tidal wave, nor has my leg miraculously fallen off. There’s nothing for it except to reluctantly put on the bright yellow bib that is being handed to me and take my place on the court.

  The game starts out as I expected. I loiter somewhere near the end of the court, trying to make it look like I’ve got a tactic. The ball heads in my direction a few times and I trot towards it slowly, doing a little shrug of impatience when someone else races in to get it before me. Really, I should be graded for drama in this lesson: I truly think I manage to look convincingly disappointed when Simon Turner cuts in front of me and snatches the ball as someone foolishly throws it towards me. I even make a little ‘tut’ sound – which actually represents my terror at the near proximity of an airborne missile that could easily break my nose if mishandled, but which to everyone else might sound like a sigh of regret.

  Halfway through we swap ends. I slope down the court, smiling sympathetically at Hannah as we pass in the middle. Hard to believe, but she’s even more hopeless at sport than I am. I wouldn’t say that’s why we’re best friends, but it helps that we understand the trauma of PE lessons.

  The whistle blows and we’re off again. I start perfecting a little dance routine, taking three steps forward, then one to the side and then reversing the entire movement, taking little bouncing steps on my toes. A glance at the clock on the wall and I can see that our ten minutes of torture are nearly up. I’m congratulating myself on a job well done when disaster strikes. I look up just in time to see the ball winging its way through the air, at extremely high velocity, right towards my face. Without even thinking, I put my hands up to protect myself and feel the ball smack into my palms. My fingers tighten instinctively and I, Izzy Stone, am actually holding the basketball.

  I freeze. It feels like the whole world has stopped turning. I know that I need to act fast, that I need to get rid of this thing before it explodes or something, but my brain is struggling to tell my body what it should do. I’m not sure how long I stand there, but gradually I start to hear sounds. I guess that makes sense. I remember someone telling us in science that your hearing is the last sense to stop working when you die. I feel like I might have actually died of fright, but I can hear yelling and when I focus on the voices I can hear that they’re all shouting the same thing. My name.

  ‘Izzy!’

  ‘Come on, Izzy!’

  I shake my head and drag my attention back to the sports hall, the adrenalin pumping through my body making me feel like I can do anything. I’ve got the ball. And everyone is cheering my name. I can DO THIS!

  Tentatively I try bouncing the ball on the ground. It springs back up to my waiting hand and I bounce it back down again, this time taking a step. Yes! I am moving and bouncing and thinking and breathing all at the same time. Go me, Miss Multitasker! Going slowly at first and then gaining speed, I start to head down the court.

  ‘Izzy!’

  The shouts have suddenly got louder and I can hear Hannah screaming my name as if she’s half hysterical. The yells from the spectators seem to have died down – they’re probably all in shock that I’m actually doing OK. I’m running now and I can see from the corners of my eyes that nobody is trying to tackle me; in fact, everybody seems to be standing still, which is weird, but there’s no time to think about that. I dare to take my eyes off the ball for a second and adjust my direction slightly so that I’m sprinting straight towards the basketball hoop. It’s too much to hope that I can actually get the ball in, but I can try. Everyone loves a trier after all.

  Time seems to be in slow motion now and I’ve got plenty of time to think about what’s happening. Maybe I’m not completely rubbish at physical activities. Maybe I just needed to find MY sport. Maybe I’ll be invited to join the basketball team and will get to hang out with the cool kids.

  I can still hear Hannah screeching my name. Her throat is going to really hurt if she keeps that up much longer. I’ve reached the end of the court and, without a second’s hesitation, I throw the ball up, up, up. The hall goes completely silent as every single person follows the ball’s journey towards the hoop. I hold my breath – and it goes in. IT GOES IN!

  Turning to face Year 7, I punch my fist in the air. I’ve never actually done that move before, but it feels right. I’m jubilant! I know now why footballers celebrate their goals and it’s all I can do not to pull my PE shirt over my head and run round the hall, whooping.

  ‘Yes!’ I cry, jogging towards the centre of the court, where Hannah is walking quickly towards me. The hall is still silent and I wonder briefly when the cheering will start. And then Hannah is next to me, holding on to my arm.

  ‘Did you see?’ I ask her, starting to laugh. ‘Did you see what I did?’

  ‘I saw, Izzy,’ she says.

  ‘Wasn’t it amazing?’ I say, still unable to stop laughing. I actually don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment.

  ‘It really was,’ Hannah tells me. ‘It was also the wrong hoop.’

  I can’t actually make sense of what she’s saying for a moment, but, as the sound of the rest of my team making horrid muttering noises reaches my ears, I stop laughing and feel my stomach start to turn over. Howls of surprised laughter start to flood across the court from every side, threatening to drown me. They’re loudest of all from the balcony and I keep my eyes low so that I can’t see what’s going on up there. I don’t think I’d like it.

  ‘What?’ I ask her, hoping I’ve misunderstood.

  Hannah starts leading me off the court as Miss Lane yells at everyone to calm down and get changed.

  ‘We swapped sides at h
alf-time, didn’t we?’ Hannah whispers, pulling me over to the bench where we’ve left our bags. She’s totally mortified on my behalf, which is small consolation when all I can hear is the hysterical laughter of the rest of Year 7.

  I close my eyes and replay the last minute in my head. The silence. The fact that nobody ran after me. They were all in shock that anybody could be so utterly, ridiculously stupid as to run the WRONG WAY.

  ‘Nice one, Izzy,’ someone hisses as they walk past me and I wonder for a second if I keep my eyes closed for the rest of the day then maybe nobody will actually notice me. It used to work when I was little and Alex and I would play hide-and-seek. I used to hide by standing in the middle of the room with my eyes closed – Mum told me that I was convinced that if I couldn’t see Alex then she couldn’t see me. Sadly, I’m no longer two years old and, as I feel someone shoulder-barge me, I quickly decide that being able to see could be crucial to my survival.

  I open my eyes and look at Hannah. She grimaces at me, a look filled with pity and embarrassment, and picks up her bag.

  ‘Everyone will have forgotten all about it by lunchtime,’ she says unconvincingly. I nod and together we head through the sports hall doors, my face bright red and my head hanging down in total shame.

  I’m eating my sandwiches in the hall and trying to ignore the looks that are being directed my way by the rest of the school. I suppose it’s good that most people think it’s funny – well, everyone except the other people who were on my team. They spent most of maths letting me know just how unfunny they found the entire incident. Apparently, we were only one goal away from winning. Actually, I don’t think it’s called a goal in basketball. Maybe you score a try if the ball goes in. Or is it a hoop? I have no idea and, as I have no intention of ever setting foot on a basketball court again, I have no reason to find out. Whatever it is, we could have won if only I hadn’t taken it upon myself to randomly run the wrong way and give the point to the other team. I’ve heard every theory going about why I must have done it.