The Red Ribbon by Lucy Adlington

Author:Lucy Adlington [Adlington, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-5362-0418-6
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2018-09-15T16:00:00+00:00

The sun set with streaks of scarlet. Even summer nights must grow dark. Invisible in the straw of our bunk, I was glad no one could see me crying like a little baby. Rose put her skinny arms around me and kissed my shaved head. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve like some dirty beggar girl.

“I was dreaming,” I told Rose, in between sniffs and snuffles.

“Were you back at home?”

I had that dream sometimes — waking up in my bed at home and hearing Grandad clattering about in the kitchen, washing dishes. It was worse than the nightmares, because I had to wake up and remember it wasn’t true.

“No. I was back at Madam’s house, in that attic sewing room. The dress was there, soaking up a pool of blood. Really deep, sticky red blood. I looked in the mirror and saw myself — just a load of bones fastened together with skin, in this horrible striped dress and these awful ugly shoes! You know, we weren’t disgusting until we came here. They made us this way, then they sneer at us. They make us live like rats in a sewer and wonder why we stink!”

“I know, I know,” Rose crooned, still holding me close. “It’s not fair, dear.”

“Not fair?” I would’ve sat up in fury if that hadn’t meant banging my head on the rafters above. “Not fair? It’s completely evil, that’s what it is. I hate being one of the ugly ones! Why can’t we have the nice things and live in posh houses? Madam sleeps on a comfy mattress with lace-edged pillows, Carla gets to gorge on cookies and read fashion magazines, and we’re . . . we’re here . . .”

In the dark I heard the rustle of straw and the cries of someone else suffering. I felt something crawl over my neck. A louse. These little beasts loved the cracks in our skin and the seams of our clothes. They drank our blood until they were fat and swollen. I slapped it into a splodge of red.

“I’m sorry, Rose, so sorry. I made you sew that sunflower and you knew it was wrong. You’ve known all along we’re making magic for the wrong people. They shouldn’t have our beautiful talents. They don’t deserve them.”

“Beauty is still beauty,” she said.

“Not on a . . . a . . . turd, it isn’t. What? Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry, I can’t help it!” she choked. “The image of Madam as a big poop in a silk gown, twirling around on the commandant’s arm . . . It’s just too disgusting and too hilarious.”

“Glad you think something’s funny,” I said woefully.

That set Rose off giggling even more. It was contagious. I began to laugh too. Have you ever been desperate to stop laughing, because it’s driving everyone else mad, and making your ribs hurt, and because you really don’t feel that happy anyway? That’s how it was. In the end we just clutched each other until the silly-shakes stopped.

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