What I Did by Christopher Wakling

to do with experiments they did on dogs, experiments which proved that dogs can do more than ten different kinds of barks which people completely understand. Even people who don’t have dogs! I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m excited. I’m . . . I can’t think of the others. But Lizzie isn’t a dog, she’s even cleverer, she’s a human, even though her brain is not yet hugely developed. It will get there, just you wait and see. There are whole countries in Africa, too, and the people there are less fortunate, so we pay a pound to wear our own clothes to school every now and then. It helps them develop. I wore my fuzzy spider’s-legs T-shirt last time it happened and Freddy called me babyish. I ignored him until I realized I had a plain white T-shirt in my PE kit bag and put it on instead. Spider’s-legs is too small now anyway. It would probably nearly fit Lizzie. Next time we come round I’ll bring it because I know exactly where it is. She is still crying, but louder now and I don’t actually like the sound of crying so I take a risk and ignore Dad’s shhh and say, — She just wants to open it herself.
    Obvious is the opposite of oblivious, I think. Oblong has nothing to do with it.
    I turn a chair round so the seat bit is facing Lizzie and yes, what did I tell you. She climbs straight onto it up to where the present in its wrapping, very nice, very red, is sitting on the table. She reaches for it. Her hands remind me of starfish but squids have excellent suckers. Have you seen Finding Nemo ? I have. Nemo only has one fin so he’d be terrible at opening presents but his dad never gives up the search.
    â€” It’s for Mummy, darling, Cicely explains. — Mummy’s present.
    Lizzie grabs it anyway. Also obvious: it’s all so obvious.
    â€” She wants to unwrap it for you, I say.
    â€” But it’s not for her, says Cicely.
    â€” Yes, I know, I say, and I go on, nicely slow: — But Lizzie doesn’t care. It’s the unwrapping bit she wants to do. I know this because when I was small I liked tearing everything off everything, too.
    Cicely glances at Dad again and it really does look as if she would prefer to open the present herself, which isn’t like Mum, who always lets me open everything, even Cheerio boxes. Careful you don’t spill them! But if Cicely wants to do something to stop Lizzie from opening that present then she should have done it sooner because Lizzie is already into the wrapper, very quickly nimble, rip, rip, rip. I’m impressed: by the time she is as old as me I bet she’ll be better than me at zips.
    Inside the wrapper is a white cardboard sleeve thing with a blue velvety box inside that and with yet more impressive speed Lizzie slides the blue box through the white one and pops the lid. Cicely sees what’s inside and takes a deep breath. And I guessed right: she didn’t have to worry about Lizzie stealing her present, because Lizzie loses interest in what’s inside the box immediately. All she really wants to do is have another go on the sparkly red paper and silver ribbon, which has slip-slithered under the table. Down she slides to fetch it.
    Cicely is still peering at the blue box’s insides. Some tribes read entrails to see if they’re superstitious, or tea leaves. And I lean forward to see what all the fuss is about and I see it. A necklace curled on a little cushion thing. Boring!
    â€” Why don’t you teach Lizzie how to do cat’s muddle with that ribbon, suggests Dad.
    â€” Not muddle, cradle!
    â€” Not with little Lizzie it won’t be, says Dad. — Take her to her room and see what sort of new knots she can produce.
    Cicely still hasn’t said anything. This is not at all like her because she’s normally very chatty as well as polite. Perhaps she doesn’t like the necklace, or its cushion. I take one of Lizzie’s hands, very hot, very