Girls Heart Christmas

  Girls Heart Christmas

  A collection of festive and uplifting stories by

  Alex Campbell

  Jo Cotterill

  Paula Harrison

  Joan Lennon

  Luisa Plaja

  S C Ransom

  Jenny Smith

  Deirdre Sullivan

  Julie Sykes

  Lynda Waterhouse

  Edited by Jo Cotterill and Julie Sykes

  Published as a Girls Heart Books Christmas Special 2014

  The Evil Sprout © 2014 by Luisa Plaja

  Red Sauce and Brown Sauce © 2014 by Jo Cotterill

  Out of the Shadows © 2014 by Joan Lennon

  Puppy Eyes © 2014 by Paula Harrison

  Guarding Agnes © 2014 by Alex Campbell

  Lucky Elvis © 2014 by Julie Sykes

  Blue Crescent © 2014 by S C Ransom

  The Little Drummer Girl © 2014 by Deirdre Sullivan

  The Keys to the Ice Palace © 2014 by Lynda Waterhouse

  Evie’s Christmas Miracle © 2014 by Jenny Smith

  Cover image © 2014 Cathy Brett

  Girls Heart Books

  Girls Heart Books began in 2011 and brings together some of the best writers for 8-14s on one blog site. Readers can find personal posts by best-selling authors Cathy Cassidy, Jacqueline Wilson, Liz Kessler, Cathy Hopkins and many more – and they can leave comments that will be responded to by the authors themselves.

  Girls Heart Books aims to be fun and inspirational, thought-provoking and silly, and we hope to go from strength to strength as the years go by. All proceeds from this book will go to keeping the site running for the readers and booklovers of the future.

  Come and visit us at http://girlsheartbooks.com/ soon!

  Table of Contents

  Girls Heart Christmas

  Girls Heart Books

  The Evil Sprout

  Red Sauce and Brown Sauce

  Out of the Shadows

  Puppy Eyes

  Guarding Agnes

  Lucky Elvis

  Blue Crescent

  The Little Drummer Girl

  The Keys to the Ice Palace

  Evie’s Christmas Miracle

  Contributors

  The Evil Sprout

  by Luisa Plaja

  The sprout made me do it. Not many people would believe me, but it’s true.

  Brussels sprouts are evil.

  I said this to Mum about ten times while she was doing the Christmas food shop online, but would she listen?

  “Steve and Holly will expect sprouts, Jasmine,” she said, tapping at her laptop. “Fresh ones, not the frozen kind. They’re part of the whole Christmas... experience.”

  I tried not to huff.

  “It’s very kind of Steve to offer to cook, and I promised to provide the ingredients,” she continued. “Which includes sprouts. Besides, they’re tasty. And healthy.’

  No, Mum wouldn’t listen to me, and it led to disaster.

  Sprouts hadn’t been a problem last year, or the two years before that. It was the only good thing about my parents’ divorce. You had to look on the bright side.

  On the much darker side, Christmas dinner itself had been a bit of an issue. Four years ago, after Dad moved out in late November, Mum had trouble ‘summoning the energy’, as she put it. Dad had always been the shopper and head chef in our family, not her. “I earn the money and he spends it,” she used to joke.

  We had corner-shop chicken tikka ready meals that first Christmas, a shaky time for fridge-filling, let alone home-cooking. The following year we stretched to a supermarket korma, upgraded to a full ‘Indian Takeaway In A Box’ last year. (It was weird how Mum fell back on the food of Dad’s youth – or the English supermarket version of it, anyway – when Dad used to roast a turkey every 25th December.)

  Sometimes I missed the traditional Christmas dinner, but I didn’t miss the sprouts. Or the arguments.

  This year, things were different. This year, Mum had Steve, who worked in actual catering in a proper hotel restaurant. And Steve had Holly, who was nearly my age. (“What a stroke of luck!” Mum said when she first admitted to me that she’d ‘met someone’. “Now we can both have new friends!” Except that I wasn’t looking for a new friend. And, even if I was, I wouldn’t find it in the shape of Holly, who wore pink and loved boy bands and could not be further from the kind of person I wanted in my house on Christmas Day if she actually turned into a giant Brussels sprout herself and went to sit on my plate, pretending to be tasty and healthy.)

  As Mum geared up to press ‘send’ on the Christmas grocery shop, she said, “I want this to be perfect, Jasmine. I’m buying sprouts. Now, one bag or two?”

  “None,” I tried for the last time. “Sprouts. Are. Evil.”

  “One, then,” Mum conceded, clicking at her keyboard with a big sigh.

  I got the last laugh when the shopping was delivered, though. Because Mum, in her usual absent-minded way (though she said it was my fault for ‘distracting her’) didn’t click ‘one bag’. She clicked ‘one sprout’.

  The supermarket people took her at her word. They delivered one sprout. A single, solitary sprout, in a clear plastic bag that seemed to magnify its wicked green wrinkles.

  To be fair, Mum had a laugh too. She burst into giggles when she saw it. “This is no good!” she said, setting the lone sprout at the centre of the kitchen table. “How will we divide it between the four of us?”

  “Three,” I corrected. “I don’t want any.”

  This only made her laugh more, as she mimed cutting the sprout carefully into three portions. I joined in too – I couldn’t help it, because her laugh was ridiculously infectious. I’d almost forgotten that after the past few years.

  “It will just have to do,” Mum said in the end, wiping tears of hysteria out of her eyes. “I can’t go shopping again now. I have so much to get ready! Oh, Jas, will you help me?”

  She wanted everything to be just right for Steve and Holly. This meant cleaning and fussing and general panic. Steve and Holly were not just coming for lunch. They were staying all day. (“It’ll be nice for both of us!” Mum said. “Having our friends here on Christmas Day!” Yes, Mum. Except that Holly was not my friend.)

  I looked at Mum’s hopeful face and took a deep breath. “I’ll do the decorations,” I offered. Well, it had always been my favourite Christmassy thing to do.

  “Thanks, Jas. I’ll get the box down from the attic.” Mum left the room with an extra spring in her step.

  That was when the sprout first opened its eyes.

  They weren’t real eyes, of course – just two paler bits among a mass of dark green. But they were definitely eye-shaped. I don’t think anyone else would have noticed, but I knew the truth. The sprout was looking at me.

  Then it did something even worse. It spoke to me, beaming words into my head.

  The sprout said, “No, Jasmine. Don’t do it. Don’t help. Make Steve and Holly feel unwelcome!”

  My heart thumped and I glanced around, but I was alone. With the evil sprout.

  “Listen to me, Jasmine,” it insisted.

  I shook my head, which calmed me down enough to give the sprout an indignant glare. After all, nobody tells me what to do, least of all a horrible vegetable.

  Mum reappeared with the box and together we set to work untangling the paper streamers we’d put away four years ago and not bothered with since. While we dusted and sorted, I kept glancing at
the sprout. Perhaps I should tell Mum what it had said about Steve and Holly? But she’d never believe me – she’d probably think I was covering up my own bad feelings towards them, which would upset her. I preferred to tackle the sprout by myself rather than see her sad again.

  The evil vegetable kept quiet even after Mum went upstairs to blast the Dyson, and I started thinking I might have imagined the whole thing. But just in case, I left the kitchen door open to keep an eye on the spout while I ran around the house, hanging streamers and tacking up tinsel. I was enjoying myself so much that I almost forgot my worries. Until the next time I passed the kitchen, and the sprout gave me a disapproving stare.

  “Stop making things so nice,” it beamed into my head. “We don’t want Steve or Holly here! Don’t you agree?”

  “Go away,” I said. I reached over and flicked the sprout a little way across the table, but it settled, still staring at me.

  On the big day, the house looked gorgeous, if I said so myself. My decorations made our walls all festive and fun. In the kitchen, Mum had taken the dinner ingredients out of the fridge, ready for Steve’s Masterchef act. Most of the food was arranged on a special low trolley table that Mum had wheeled in for the occasion. “It leaves more worktop space for the cook,” Mum announced.

  For the past few days, the evil sprout had been safely buried under a pile of parsnips and potatoes, but now it was back in full view, on the window sill behind the kitchen sink. It was sitting on top of a sealed Christmas pudding and looking smug.

  “Pride of place,” Mum laughed when she saw me eyeing the sprout. She’d been rushing around all morning, doing ridiculous things like polishing the banister. “I can’t wait to show Steve. I haven’t told him about my shopping skills yet – it’s funnier when you see the evidence!” She dashed out of the room in a whirr of perfume and excitement.

  As soon as she’d gone, the wrinkled green eyes drew me closer. “Jasmine,” hissed the sprout. “Today’s the day. Do your worst!”

  Before I could reply, the doorbell rang and Mum came running down the stairs, smoothing her hair and chirping a Christmas carol.

  Steve stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine. Beside him stood a very pink, sparkly Holly and a very large, drooling hound. Someone – Holly, I bet – had tied a silly bit of tinsel around his collar.

  “Sorry we had to bring the dog,” Steve said, more to me than to Mum. She must have known about it and forgotten to tell me. “My ex-wife couldn’t have him over the holidays – her new step-son has allergies – and we can’t leave him alone. He’ll be good. I hope. Won’t you, Beast?” He patted the dog’s matted brown fur.

  “As long as you don’t let him anywhere near the food. He’ll try to eat anything,” Holly said, smiling prettily. Everything about her was super-cute. I scowled. Beast wagged his tail at me.

  “No problem,” Mum said. “Jasmine loves dogs.”

  It was true, I did. And dogs usually loved me back. This one certainly did. Beast chased around me, sniffing and wanting to be petted. I led him to the garden, searching for something to play ‘fetch’ with. Holly followed us and stood awkwardly until Beast brought her the stick I’d thrown. Then she joined in, and we ran around playing for a while. It was hard to dislike someone completely when they clearly adored dogs as much as I did.

  Mum appeared at the bottom of the garden, calling my name. Beast bounded beside me as I walked towards her and Holly followed, hanging back a bit.

  “We’re popping next door,” Mum told me. “I want to introduce Steve to Mrs Nowak before he starts cooking, and maybe borrow a corkscrew. Can you believe we don’t seem to have one? Steve bought really posh wine!” She laughed nervously. “Will you and Holly be all right for a minute? Just yell if you need us.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. Why should I care that Steve was meeting Mrs Nowak, my favourite babysitter?

  After Mum and Steve left, Holly went back to playing fetch with Beast. I didn’t feel like joining in so I stood around for a while, trying not to look at the evil sprout through the window.

  That’s when I noticed that the back door was open. What if Beast ran into the kitchen when Holly and I weren’t paying attention? Holly had warned us about Beast eating everything in reach… I’d better close it.

  I took a step towards the back door, but the sprout narrowed its eyes at me from its safe position on the window sill. “Leave it, Jasmine,” it hissed into my head with its sprout-like spite. “Let the dog ruin all the food. Then Steve and Holly will have to go away... and never come back!”

  Never come back? I wouldn’t have to share my mum… and I wouldn’t have to be friends with Holly. I hesitated.

  Holly and Beast had reached the top of the garden. “Hey, Holly,” I called casually. “Want to see my treehouse?” I pointed. “It’s up there!”

  It wouldn’t have taken me long to close the door. But I didn’t. Instead, I ran towards the wooden ladder, where Holly was waiting for me.

  “Go on up!” I said, eager to get away from the scene of the future crime.

  Holly hesitated. “What about Beast?”

  “Oh, leave him to run around. He’ll be OK. I know dogs.”

  She hopped from foot to foot. “I know dogs too, and especially this one.” She glanced in the direction of the kitchen and I worried that she’d notice the open door, but she didn’t say anything. We climbed up to the treehouse and made ourselves as comfy as we could on the wooden floor. We talked about pets and how funny they can be. I told her I’d always wanted a dog of my own but I hadn’t managed to persuade Mum, and Holly said I could borrow hers anytime. “He’s a menace,” she said.

  I smiled. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, that too.” She smiled back.

  Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. It might even be OK if she came over sometimes. We could talk about dogs some more.

  It happened a few minutes later. There were shouts from Mum and Steve. Holly and I scrambled out of the treehouse and ran to the kitchen where they were standing, looking shocked.

  “Beast!” Steve reprimanded the dog.

  “It’s ruined,” Mum sighed. “All gone.”

  She was right. Beast had sampled and trampled most of the Christmas food – except, of course, the sprout and the pudding it was sitting on. The kitchen was a massive mess. My heart pounded. I could have stopped the carnage if I’d only shut the door! But it wasn’t really my fault... was it?

  The sprout sat in guilty silence. It must have rolled over a bit because I couldn’t see its eyes anymore. But that didn’t make it any less evil.

  Steve turned to Mum. “Well, I’m sure I can get us a table at the restaurant. The advantages of working in catering!”

  I was glad to leave the sprout behind. I bit my lip as we drove to Steve’s workplace and joined all the fancy people who’d dressed up and booked to eat away from home. We let Beast play in the hotel gardens and we kept an eye on him from the brand new conservatory, which we had to ourselves because it wasn’t quite ready for ‘the public’. Steve’s work friends busied themselves around us and pretty soon we were eating a hearty Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. I even managed to stop feeling sorry for long enough to enjoy it.

  There were sprouts, but I avoided them. “I hate sprouts,” I explained when Steve tried to pass them to me.

  “Oh, I don’t mind them,” said Holly. “They’re part of a proper Christmas, in a way.”

  Mum caught my eye. “It’s just as well we ate out,” she began. She told the story of her order for a single sprout, and Steve laughed so hard that it summoned Beast, who pressed his nose against the outside of the conservatory glass.

  Afterwards, a kindly waiter brought a selection of desserts.

  “I hate Christmas pudding,” Holly said.

  “Oh, I don’t mind it,” I told her.

  Steve and Mum smiled indulgently and carried on with their conversation.

  “I’ve always hated it. It’s evil.” Holly lowere
d her voice to a half-whisper. “You know, it was your Christmas pudding that made me do it.”

  “Do what?” I half-whispered back, though no one was paying attention to us.

  Holly took a deep breath. “I noticed the back door was open before we went to the treehouse. I should have closed it so Beast couldn’t get into the kitchen. But I didn’t.” She corrected herself hastily. “I mean, it was the evil pudding’s fault. Nobody would believe me, but it’s true. It was staring at me through the kitchen window, putting thoughts into my head, telling me I should ignore the open door. It wanted me to make the day a disaster, so that my dad wouldn’t want to be with your mum anymore. And I wouldn’t have to spend time... with you.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, though. You seem OK, after all. I didn’t mean to spoil everything.”

  I glanced at Mum and Steve, animated and rosy-cheeked. They looked happy. I thought about me and Holly, whispering together. We looked like friends. “You didn’t spoil anything,” I told her. “And I believe you. In fact, guess what? I had an evil sprout telling me to do the same thing. So, you know... it wasn’t just you.”

  Holly gasped, and I knew she understood.

  By the time the four of us got home, our tummies were bursting with massive amounts of food and laughter. I knew Mum would be worried about cleaning the kitchen, so I rushed in first.

  “Tell you what, Mum, I’ll make a start on the mess,” I called to her. “You can finish off the difficult bits later.”

  “I’ll help you, Jasmine,” Holly offered shyly.

  Mum and Steve protested, but not very much. They settled in front of the telly with a contented sigh. Beast curled up at their feet, obviously exhausted by his day of destruction.

  The sprout was still in the kitchen, sitting quietly on top of the Christmas pudding, surrounded by Beast-induced chaos.

  Holly and I got to work, chatting and giggling as we tidied. I used an entire roll of kitchen paper mopping around before I noticed a cloth by the sink. Instead of picking it up, though, I reached across for the sprout and the pudding. The green wrinkles looked totally harmless now – and I could tell by Holly’s expression that the pudding wasn’t beaming terrible thoughts at her, either.