Dear Scarlett Read Online Free PDF Page A

wish she wouldn’t.
    “Is she?” asks Uncle Derek, looking right at me. “Does she do it often?”
    I can’t answer, I’d cry if I did. I look back at my plate and make a face from the sausages. There’s nothing else to do with them.

    When Syd’s finally gone to bed, Uncle Derek joinsus in front of the telly. We’ve been watching
Toy Story 3
for the six millionth time, but as he won’t let us watch anything that isn’t a U or a PG, it’s a choice of that or
Barbie on Ice
. At least, I’m watching it; Ellie’s on her DS.
    On the screen, the toys have made their escape but they’re on the conveyor belt slipping down towards the rubbish. Here in the sitting room, Uncle Derek’s next to us, running on the spot with a stopwatch. I notice he’s growing a moustache. I think he thinks it makes him look cool. Actually, it just makes him look like a man who can’t grow a moustache properly.
    “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three,” he pants.
    The toys tip into the rubbish chute.
    Uncle Derek stops and takes his pulse . “Fifty-five , fifty-six.”
    The toys clutch each other and sink towards the furnace in the middle.
    Uncle Derek runs again.
    The toys say their goodbyes – this is the bit where Mum starts crying if she’s here.
    “Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one – hurgh.” Uncle Derek falls back on an armchair. “All done.”
    The plastic aliens rescue the toys with the claw. I don’t really know what he’s “all done”, but I’m glad it’s over.
    Uncle Derek is really quite annoying; I don’t mind him as a babysitter, but beyond that…
    I get about a minute’s peace while Uncle Derek “tests his recovery rate”, and I’m sucked back into the story.
    The toys are on their way back home, it’s all going to be all right.
    “Blimey!” says Uncle Derek, leaping to his feet.
    I stare at the screen, I was really hoping we could get to the end of the movie without more Uncle Derek fuss, but he’s really jumping about this time.
    Ellie even looks up from the DS.
    “Where did these come from?” He’s looking in my school bag.
    “Dad,” says Ellie. “What’re you doing?”
    “These.” Uncle Derek holds up the roll of tools.
    “What are they?” asks Ellie.
    They both stare at me.
    Rats. I left the top open.
    I stare at the telly, but I can feel the blush creeping down from my hairline.
    “Dad’s,” I mutter.
    “Yes – I guessed that – but did your mum have them all this time?” Uncle Derek looks worried, so I take a long time to answer.
    “No, Dad’s solicitor brought them.”
    “But what are they?” asks Ellie, again.
    Uncle Derek looks at me really hard. “Does your mum know?”
    I shrug. I’m not going to tell him, it’s none of his business.
    “Oh.” He places the roll of tools on the arm of the chair and sits back.
    We all stare at them, except for Woody and Buzz, who are climbing in and out of cardboard boxes on the screen.
    Uncle Derek’s face is mostly white, with two little pink spots on his cheeks.
    “D’you know what they’re for?” he asks.
    I turn my head back to the screen. Perhaps he’ll just go away if I don’t show any interest.
    Really slowly, he unrolls the tools so that they lie glinting on the floor. I look at them again. Long slender picks, with hooked pointy ends. He reaches into a pocket at the back of the pouch, and pulls out a key. Well, a sort of key. The end looks like a key, but the rest of it’s more like a saw. I’d nevernoticed that one.
    “A bump key,” he says, pulling out the longest of the tools in the pouch. “And this thing here is an overlifter, very handy on mortice locks.”
    “What are you talking about?” asks Ellie, looking across between me and her dad.
    Uncle Derek’s face moves through panic, confusion, sadness and lands in exhaustion. He looks at his watch. “What time’s your mum due back?”

Uncle Derek Spills the Beans
    We’re still sitting on the sofa with the tools laid out in front of us. Uncle Derek