“But I didn’t do it!” Moira is whining. Gosh, I feel so sorry for her. “It wasn’t me! I swear! Even ask her, even ask the old hag! I never did it, I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
Moira’s dark red hair is falling out of its messy bun (so unlike my neat, blonde one). Aunty Tammy West’s short brown hair is slightly frazzled, but holding out. Uncle Evan’s balding head is bright red and shining with sweat. The skin on the bald spot looks exactly like the skin on a ripe persimmon. Nora Brown, my mother, is sitting quietly in the corner, leaning slightly forward, hands on her knees, eyes on the floor.
The West’s living room is dark as always, and now it is reflected in our mood. Moira is jumpy and desperate, like a trapped rabbit. Tammy is disappointed, waiting patiently for Moira to confess, like a teacher who knows the truth but gives you the chance to admit it. Evan’s positively fuming. He’s going to explode as soon as he can find the words to express his fury. Nora’s, like always, withdrawn, quietly grieving. This is just another pebble to add to her mountain of despair. She’s been like that ever since I can remember. Tammy says my father was horrible, but my mother didn’t see that, and he died before she could realise it.
Then there’s me, feeling sorry for Moira. But I’m not about to step in. I’m the perfect angel, who all the adults love. I just wouldn’t be normal to stick up for my misbehaved cousin.
“Moira,” Tammy is saying. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”
“That is such a stupid question! How am I supposed to know? I didn’t do it, so I wouldn’t know who did, now would I?”
There’s a sound like when a jumping castle springs a leak. I look at Evan. His lips move, forming the start of sentences, then changing his mind continually. Just letting that little bit of air escape.
Moira blows a raspberry at him.
“Pffft to you too!”
Nora hiccups.
“What evidence, what tiny, miniscule, microscopic shred of evidence, could you possibly have against me? Prove that I did it. Prove it.”
Poor Moira. She’s got no chance. Even if it’s not her, she’s mucked up just too many times for her parents to believe her.
A lock of hair falls over my eyes, and I push it out of the way. The sudden movement reminds Moira I’m here.
“You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you, Lucy? You were with me all that day.”
I shake my head. Gosh, I’m sorry Moira. But I just can’t.
“I wasn’t with you from twelve to three. That’s when it apparently happened.”
The case may as well be closed. The adults are convinced.
“But it wasn’t me, I swear! Even ask the little boy across the road. He says he saw the person had blonde hair. I clearly have dark red hair.”
“Let’s go get him then,” Tammy says. I hear a small squeak – then realise it’s escaped my own lips. Only Moira hears, and she narrows her eyes at me.
Evan brings in the boy, whose finger is firmly lodged up his nose.
“Did you see who did it?” he’s asking. Every word sounds forced. The boy nods.
“Do you know who it was?”
Another nod.
I gasp unwillingly. This time everyone hears and looks at me. I turn it into a yawn.
“Can you tell us?” Tammy asks.
“No!” Whoops. Was that me again? “I mean – he shouldn’t. It would be wrong.”
“Wrong?” Evan repeats. Well, der, that’s what I just said, isn’t it?
“No. He… he shouldn’t. It’s wrong to use knowledge to condemn someone. Couldn’t he just tell us if it was Moira or not?”
“It wasn’t her,” the boy squeaks. Moira sighs, relieved.
“We still need to know who did it!” Evan cries. “They can’t go unpunished! I’m – I’m terribly sorry, Lucy, but I disagree,” Evan says. “This person should be punished! They can’t get off scot-free.”
Tammy’s nodding.
“Who was it?”
“Her.” I look at the boy. He’s pointing at me!
“What? No! I would never – never – do something like that.” I look at the adults. They have to believe me. I’m always behaved!
“Pffft,” says Evan. “Lucy? As if. Not that goody-two-shoes.” Um, excuse me?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I blurt out.
“Oh come on. This is you we’re talking about.”
“Excuse me? I could be bad if I wanted to! I just choose not to.”
“Yeah? Prove it. Name one bad thing you’ve ever done.”
It’s a trap. I know it is, it has to be. They’re trying to trick me into admitting it. Well I’m not-
“Alright! It was me!” What? I didn’t mean to say that! “I did it, it was me.”
They’re all giving me shocked looks. Except Moira, she’s positively gleeful.
There’s a stunned silence. You could hear an ant sneeze.
Damn, damn, damn! If I had have just kept my mouth shut, if I hadn’t admitted it, they’d have been none the wiser.
Well, guess who’s on toilet-scrubbing duty this month?
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