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galloped back up, kicked the clothes out of the way, and carefully laid the rug on top of the bald patch. It looked a bit odd, cos of sticking out at an angle, but at least it covered things up. It would have been perfectly all right if Angel hadn’t gone and interfered. She came in with another load of clothes, took one look at the rug and said, “It’s supposed to go here, by the side of the bed.”

      “That’s boring,” I said. “That’s where everybody has them.”

      “Yes, for a reason,” said Angel. “It’s where they go.”

      “Not if you’re being creative.”

      She isn’t creative; that is the problem. I don’t think she has very much in the way of imagination. Before I could stop her she’d snatched up the rug, revealing the bald patch in all its horror. I cringed. I’d been secretly hoping that by some miracle it might have shrunk a bit during the day, but if anything it seemed to have grown even worse.

      Angel shrieked, “Oh my God!”

      That was the moment when Mum appeared in the doorway.

      “Now what?” she said. There was a distinct note of tetchiness in her voice – and that was before she’d seen the bald patch. It didn’t bode well. “Don’t tell me you two are at it already?”

      Angel said nothing; just pointed, with quivering finger. Mum walked to the end of the bed. She looked. There was a rather nasty moment of silence.

      “All right,” said Mum. She took a long, deep breath, like she was counting to ten. “So how did it happen?”

      “It wasn’t Rags’ fault!” I said. “He found some loose ends and he tugged on them!”

      Mum’s eyes followed the trail from the edge of the bed to the base of the cabinet.

      “These loose ends?” More fronds had sprouted overnight; a whole forest of them, short and bristly. “Frankie,” said Mum, “what have you been doing?”

      I tried my best to explain. All about the cabinet and the lack of corners. How I hadn’t actually set out to cut a hole.

      “You mean, it just happened? All by itself?” Mum shook her head. She didn’t sound cross; just kind of… defeated. “Words fail me,” she said.

      It’s a pity they can’t fail Angel occasionally. I have never known anyone go on like she does.

      “Well, that’s it,” she said. “I’m not living in this tip! You can just get your stinky clothes out of my room and bring them back up here. Look at it! Look at the state of it! How could I invite any of my friends round? They’d think we were too poor to have decent carpets!”

      “We are,” said Mum. “That’s what I find so depressing. I don’t know what your dad’s going to say, my girl, but you’d better brace yourself. He’s not going to be best pleased.”

      “She’s a vandal!” shrilled Angel. She swept a load of clothes out of the wardrobe and marched across to the door.

      “Where do you think you’re going?” said Mum.

      “Going back to my own room!”

      “You’ll do no such thing. You come back here! You agreed to swap.”

      “That was before she hacked the carpet to bits. Why should I be expected to live in squalor?”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop being so melodramatic,” said Mum. “You’re only going to be in here for a few weeks, it won’t kill you.”

      I knew what Angel’s game was. She hadn’t really wanted to swap rooms in the first place; she was just using the carpet as an excuse. Mum obviously knew it too, cos she told her sharply to pull herself together.

      “Put those clothes back and go and get the rest of them. And you, Frankie, start clearing your drawers. Let’s at least get the job done before your dad arrives home. You’d better be prepared. It may well be,” said Mum, “that he’ll decide to stop your pocket money for the next few months until we’ve saved enough to replace the carpet.”

      “Dunno why you’d bother,” said Angel. “Might just as well put down a load of straw.”

      “I wouldn’t mind straw,” I said.

      “No, you’d probably be happier in it… then you could wallow, like a pig.”

      Angel went banging off down the stairs. I shouted after her: “I like pigs!”

      “I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you,” said Mum. “That’s Dad’s van I just heard pulling in. Do you want me to break the news, or would you prefer to tell him yourself?”

      “Rather you did it,” I mumbled.

      “That’s probably a wise choice,” said Mum.

       Chapter Three

      Sometimes my dad can be so lovely! He wasn’t anywhere near as cross as I’d thought he’d be. I reckon Mum was a bit put out. She’s always complaining that she’s the one that has to keep telling us off, and that just now and again it ought to be Dad’s turn. This was definitely his turn. But when I rather desperately explained about the lack of corners, and my bedroom ceiling not being high enough, he laughed. He actually laughed. Mum gave him such a look.

      “Well,” said Dad, “now I’ve heard everything!”

      “Hacking her carpet to bits,” grumbled Mum.

      “Not good,” agreed Dad. “Definitely not good. But I have to admit, there’s a certain muddleheaded logic to it.”

      I don’t know why he said that. Muddleheaded. What was muddled about it?

      I told him that I’d been using my imagination. “Like you always say we should. Don’t just give up, look for a solution. That’s what you’re always telling us.”

      “True,” said Dad.

      Mum made an impatient huffing noise. “So what do we do about the carpet?”

      “She’ll have to live with it.”

      “Like that will be any hardship.” Mum said it rather bitterly. “She already exists in a tip, as it is.”

      “Well, that’s her problem. I guess we should just think ourselves lucky she didn’t go for the other option.”

      “What’s the other option?” I said.

      “Cutting a hole in the ceiling?”

      “Oh!” I was entranced. “I never thought of that.”

      “Precisely! Let us be thankful for small mercies.”

      “I can’t say I’m exactly brimming over with gratitude,” snapped Mum. “One perfectly good carpet ruined, and Angel in a sulk, which is all we need.”

      Dad said, “What’s she in a sulk about?”

      “Having to live in a pig sty for the next four weeks. And who could blame her?”

      Mum left the room, obviously in somewhat of a huff.

      “There, now,” said Dad. “You’ve really upset her. You’d better go and apologise.”

      I said, “I have apologised!”

      “Well, do it again. And make sure you mean it! The only reason I’m being as lenient as I am – which is far more than you deserve – is that I’m proud of you for offering to help out with Emilia.”

      I glowed. I love it when Dad is proud of me! It doesn’t happen that often.

      “It’ll be like work experience,” I said.

      “I

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