Harriet Bright in a Pickle (6 page)

‘I'm Cinderella,' said Harriet Bright to Mr Beatty at the corner shop. She always stopped here on her way home on Friday.

‘That's nice, Harriet,' he said, scooping out her favourite strawberry ice cream then dipping it in chocolate and sprinkling it with nuts. ‘Say hello to your mum and dad for me.'

‘I'm Cinderella,' she said to her mother and father when she got home.

‘That's nice, Harriet,' said her mother.

‘And you're my wicked stepmother,' said Harriet Bright.

‘Excellent!' said Harriet Bright's mother. ‘A character part. I like those. Your Aunty Beryl was on the stage, you know. In
The Twelve Days of Christmas
. She was the best partridge I have ever seen. Though I did feel that the pear tree let her down. The leaves tickled his nose and he sneezed uncontrollably through the first ten days of Christmas. Poor Aunty Beryl,' she sighed. ‘It wasn't easy being a partridge in a sneezing tree.'

Harriet Bright's father looked up from his newspaper. ‘Who will I be, Harriet?' he asked.

‘You can be my kind but weak father,' said Harriet Bright. ‘You get bossed around by the wicked stepmother too. But you aren't in the play much.'

Harriet Bright's father smiled. ‘That's good, because your kind but weak father has a big game of golf tomorrow,' he said.

Harriet Bright took her school bag upstairs and thought about Cinderella.

‘Cinderella was very unhappy so I need to be very unhappy too,' she said to herself.

‘I'm going to make a list of
all
the things that have ever made me unhappy.'

Harriet Bright took out her notebook and started to write.

Harriet Bright looked at her list. It was
very
long.

I've been so unhappy, she thought with surprise. And this made her feel very sad – not like Harriet Bright
at all
. I must be getting into character, she thought. Just like Mrs Glossia said. Because I'm Cinderella now, I'm feeling lonely and sad. And very hungry too. It's funny how changing your name can change the way you look at the world.

She thought of old Mr Crabbeapple who lived down the road.

Harriet Bright's mother said he didn't have a kind word to say about anyone.

But he did have
lots
of
ones.

Harriet Bright hadn't heard some of them before.

‘If he wasn't so old and lonely, I'd report him,' said Harriet Bright's mother.

‘Crabby by name, crabby by nature,' her father always said when they drove past his house.

Maybe Mr Crabbeapple just needs to change his name, thought Harriet Bright. To something more cheerful.

She made a note in her book to suggest this to him next time he yelled at her.

Then her mother called from downstairs. ‘Dinner's ready, Harriet.'

Harriet Bright slammed closed her
Unhappy Times
and jumped off the bed.

‘Lucky I'm still really Harriet Bright. And BRIGHT'S a
word. Like a trumpet. It's against my name to be unhappy for
too
long,' she said to herself as she skipped downstairs for dinner.

‘Morning, Cinderella,' said Harriet Bright's mother as she pulled back the curtains.

Blazing sunlight settled on Harriet Bright's face and tried to squeeze under her eyelids.

‘G r
r r r r,' said Harriet Bright. ‘What's the time?'

‘It's 7.59 on a beautiful Saturday morning,' said her mother, throwing back the duvet.

Cold air rushed onto Harriet Bright.

The tiny little hairs on her toes stood up in fright.

Harriet Bright opened her eyes in alarm.

It was
Saturday
.

    
NO SCHOOL.

Pancakes for breakfast.

‘You've got lots of chores to do today, Cinderella,' said her mother.

CHORES!

Harriet Bright sat upright in bed.

HAD HER MOTHER WOKEN UP MAD?

‘I want you to unload the dishwasher, sweep the kitchen floor, and then wash the kitchen windows – inside and out,' said Harriet Bright's mother.

WHAT!

‘But – I'm a child,' said Harriet Bright. ‘Children aren't allowed to work. It's illegal.'

‘I thought you were Cinderella,' said her mother.

‘Well, I am but –'

‘Cinderella did chores all day,' said her mother.

‘But Cinderella didn't have a dishwasher,' said Harriet Bright.

‘Well, she was very unlucky,' said her mother. ‘And since we don't have a gloomy grimy chimney for you to clean, or a cold stone floor for you to scrub, you'll just have to use the modern appliances. So
UPS-A-CINDERS!'
she chuckled. ‘Let the Cinderella day begin.'

Harriet Bright looked at her mother in shock.

Her mother
always
helped her get ready for school plays.

She stayed up late making Harriet Bright's costumes and sewing on special bits.

She helped Harriet Bright learn her lines.

Harriet Bright needed to talk to her mother
about how to beat Polly Manning to the part of Cinderella.

And other
Important Things
like what she should wear for the audition.

And
if she should wear her hair in plaits or in pigtails.

Chores were
not
on Harriet Bright's list of things to do today.

rhymes with
she thought. (She was still having Poetic Moments even though she'd decided not to be a worldfamous poet anymore.)

‘I belong on the stage,' announced Harriet Bright, standing on the bed.

‘Not in the kitchen!'

It was 11 o'clock.

Harriet Bright had half-emptied the dishwasher, broken a plate from Aunty Beryl, and was filling a bucket with water and washing detergent.

There were soap suds everywhere.

shrieked Harriet Bright's mother.

Harriet Bright had never noticed before what a very loud voice her mother had. It echoed around the walls in the kitchen.

Harriet Bright could see her mother sitting with her feet up on the sofa, reading
a magazine. ‘I'll have a cup of tea, please,' shouted her mother. ‘Milk and one sugar. And a piece of that banana bread I baked yesterday.'

‘But I'm covered in soap suds,'
replied Harriet Bright, who was slopping water everywhere.

‘Well don't traipse them all through the house,' said her mother. ‘And I hope you're wearing your old clothes. Working hard is a dirty job.'

Harriet Bright looked at the soap suds fizzing on her second-best pair of jeans.
HONESTLY!
she thought. Wicked stepmothers are SO demanding.

Harriet Bright made the tea and cut the banana bread. She put it all on a tray, with a bright red napkin and a yellow flower, and took it to her mother.

Her mother stretched her legs out on the sofa and fluffed up the cushions.

‘Delicious,' she said, tucking the napkin under her chin and taking a huge bite out of
the banana bread. ‘I'd like you to weed the flower garden at the side of the house once you've finished your other chores, please, Cinders. The weeds have just blossomed after all that rain last week.'

‘But I'll get dirty fingernails,' said Harriet Bright.

‘You can wear my gardening gloves,' said her mother. ‘I'm feeling well rested and generous today.'

Harriet Bright frowned. I need a Responsible Adult to sort Mum out, she thought. Someone who won't make me do one nasty chore after another. ‘What time is Dad coming home?' she asked.

‘Not till this afternoon,' said her mother. ‘And you'd better finish washing the front windows. I can see the soap suds drying from here.' She handed Harriet Bright the tray and picked up her magazine. ‘Oh, and if you're going back to the kitchen, I'd love another cup of tea, thanks.'

Harriet Bright picked up the tray with a very big sigh. She made another cup of tea for her mother, and then hauled the bucket outside. But as she soaked her sponge in it, water started to spurt out the bottom.

‘Mum!' shouted Harriet Bright. ‘There's a hole in my bucket. My feet are getting wet!'

‘Well tip the water into another bucket,' said her mother. ‘There's one in the laundry.'

As Harriet Bright struggled back from the laundry with the heavy bucket, she saw Mr Hazel from next door unloading bags of shopping from his car.

‘Hello, Harriet,' he said. ‘Lovely day.'

‘I'm Cinderella,' said Harriet Bright. ‘And I'm not having a lovely day. I've been working since dawn. I have a
very
hard life and a
really
wicked stepmother. I need a Responsible Adult to help me.'

‘Hmmm,' said Mr Hazel, scratching his chin. ‘You don't see many of those around here.

Sorry, Harriet. I'll let you know if I find one.' He picked up his bags and went inside.

Harriet Bright sat down on the grass.

Her fingers were all old and crinkly from being in the water.

Her feet were cold. Her jeans were wet.

‘What would Cinderella do in this
' she asked herself. ‘I really need a fairy godmother. But where do I get one of those?'

Then she remembered. The Yellow Pages!

Her mother said they were a good place to find unusual things.

Harriet Bright crept inside and found the Yellow Pages under the phone.

She looked under
G
. There were ads for:

Goalposts

Goat Farmers

and

Go-karts

but
nothing
for Godmothers.

She looked under
F
. There were ads for:

Fairy Floss

Fairy Parties

and

Fairy Shops

but
nothing
for Fairy Godmothers.

yelled her mother. ‘Have you finished the windows yet? I'm feeling a little peckish and …'

Harriet Bright put her hands over her ears.

She had had enough. It was time for:

DRASTIC
ACTION.

She grabbed her mobile phone, bolted upstairs and climbed into a wardrobe.

Then she rang her father.

He answered immediately.

‘Dad, it's me,' she whispered.

‘Is that you, Harriet? You're all muffled. I can't hear you properly. Where are you?'

‘I'm in the wardrobe. Hiding from Mum. I need you to rescue me.'

‘What did you say? You need me to … test you? I'll have to do it after the eighteenth hole, love. I'm headed for a birdie! Gotta go.
BYE.'

And he hung up.

Harriet Bright couldn't believe it.

Her own father.
DEAF
to her misfortune.
And
headed for a birdie. A poor little baby bird.

Her own mother. Demanding. Shrieking. Always hungry!

Her parents were officially
Out of Control.

THERE WAS ONLY ONE THING TO DO.