Hetty Feather's Christmas by Jacqueline Wilson

Author:Jacqueline Wilson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780857535535
Publisher: RHCP
Published: 2017-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

That still wasn’t all! There was a Victoria sponge, choux buns with coffee filling, little lemon curd tarts, brandy snaps stuffed with cream, and a huge Christmas cake studded with almonds and cherries. I made it my mission to try a bit of each, and just about managed it. Then I drained my glass of lemonade and leaned against Miss Smith, utterly stuffed, my tummy tight as a drum.

‘Well, Hetty dear, I think you’re certainly well fed now!’ she said. ‘I’d better take you home before you fall fast asleep.’

Mr Rivers clapped his hands as the maids started clearing all the dishes. ‘Cracker time!’ he said.

Algie gave a shriek. ‘My favourite, Pa! Can I have mine first?’ he begged.

‘Oh well, you must definitely stay for a cracker, Hetty!’ said Miss Smith.

I didn’t know what she meant. At the Foundling Hospital we used that word when someone hit someone else extra hard, but I hardly thought Mr Rivers was going to punch little Algie, no matter how mischievous he’d been.

Mr Rivers went over to the large mahogany sideboard and brought out a big cardboard box full of brightly coloured paper twists, like giant wrapped bonbons. He handed them round, though he didn’t seem to notice the servants. I wondered if I’d get one. Mrs Rivers gave a little warning cough when he approached me, but he ignored her and handed me a pretty green cracker with a picture of a fairy stuck on it. I wanted to keep it pristine, but everyone paired up and pulled their crackers, breaking them in half with a snap and an actual crack.

This seemed a terrible shame. Beth clearly thought so too, because she gave a little scream every time a cracker was pulled, and clutched her own pink one to her chest, refusing to pull it with unsmiling Nurse Budd.

‘Oh dear goodness, that child will be the death of me,’ said Mrs Rivers. ‘Why does she always have to be so contrary?’

Beth sat down beside the Christmas tree, bent protectively over her cracker, and started rocking it as if it was her baby. Clover sat down beside her and patted her shoulder.

‘Leave the child alone, Clover – you’re only encouraging her naughtiness,’ Nurse Budd hissed.

‘Can I keep my cracker too, Miss Smith?’ I whispered.

‘I think you might like to see what’s inside,’ she said. ‘Shall we pull mine first?’

Reluctantly I pulled one end of her cracker. It burst open, and out flew a tiny pair of scissors – magical miniature scissors in the shape of a heron, its long beak forming the two blades.

‘Oh! May I?’ I picked them up and made the ‘beak’ open and close. ‘How lovely! Do you think they really cut?’

Miss Smith rummaged around in her bag and found an old receipt. ‘Try,’ she said.

I snipped, and the receipt was instantly halved and then quartered.

‘They work perfectly – and they’re so sharp! We’re only allowed the most horrible blunt scissors for sewing. I think the nurses fear we might stab each other.

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