All About Ella

by Sally Nicholls

1.
Monday's Child is Fair of Face

It's Monday morning. We're late for school. Mum is hurrying. Her hair isn't brushed. Her jumper is on inside out. My brother is sick and she wants to go home to him. She pulls my hand.

"Ella, come on now. We haven't got all day."

She isn't listening to me.

"Mum." I say it again. "What day was I born on?"

We're at the school gate. She stops and looks at me.

"Oh, Ella, I don't know," she says. "What sort of a silly question is that?"

It's not a silly question.

"It's a poem. Mr. Holly read it us. Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is - is -"

I can't remember what comes next. But what day you were born on is important. If you know what day it was, the poem tells you what kind of person you are.

I'm angry with her now.

"You can't even remember me being born!"

Mum sighs and kneels down beside me.

"Of course I remember you being born," she says. "It was three o clock in the morning. I was so tired. But I couldn't stop looking at you. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

I'm not angry anymore. I lean against her and put my arms round her neck. She hugs me.

"Your jumper's on inside out," I say, into her neck.

She pulls away and looks at me. Then she sighs.

"So's yours," she says.

2.
Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

I have ballet on Tuesday. I don't want to go. I stamp about the house not wanting to go. Dad tells me to be quiet or I'll wake David up. Mum says,

"But you love ballet, Ella."

That's. What. You. Think., I stamp. Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.

I don't care if I do wake my brother up.

He sleeps too much. Being ill is no excuse.

Granny takes me to ballet anyway.

"Nobody cares about me," I say, in the car.

"Nonsense!" says Granny, overtaking a van.

"It is not!" I say. "Mum can't even remember what day I was born!"

"Well, it was a long time ago," says Granny. The van driver begins to overtake us. "Oh no you don't, sonny."

"You can't remember either!" I say.

"No," says Granny, looking at me. "But I know what happened. I was looking after David. Your Dad rang us up in the middle of the night to say you'd come. We were both asleep, but he didn't care."

"He cares now," I say. "If I wake David up."

But Granny is overtaking the van again, and doesn't hear.

3.
Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

I bet my brother David was born on a Wednesday. He's very ill. And he's grumpy.

He's lying on the sofa with a book when I get home on Wednesday. I sit on his feet and turn on the telly.

"Turn that off," he says.

"No," I tell him. "I want to watch Rugrats." And I turn my head away. I do what Mr Holly tells people to do at school. I ignore him and hope he'll go away.

He doesn't.

"I was here first," he says. "And my head hurts."

"I'm only watching television," I say. Television can't make someone's head hurt. "It's my house as much as yours." I fix my eyes on the screen. He pushes himself up and grabs at the remote. I shriek.

"No-o-o!"

Big mistake.

Mum comes in from the kitchen and sees me. Her face is tight and angry.

"Ella. In here. Now."

I stamp out of the living room and into the kitchen.

"It's not fair!" I say, before she has even started. "You always let him win!"

Mum shuts the door and turns to me.

"Ella. Listen. Listen to me. The world isn't all about you. Your brother's very poorly. You know that, don't you? You've got to try and be a good girl just now, while he's ill. Can you do that?"

I don't want to be a good girl. I don't. I want to watch Rugrats.

"I hate him!" I shout at her. "I wish he was dead!"

Then I run out of the room and up the stairs.

4.
Thursday's Child Has Far To Go

On Thursday, no one comes to pick me up from school. My friend Miriam and her mum wait with me at the gate.

"I expect something's happened to your brother," Miriam's mum says.

"No, he's fine," I say quickly. "Much better than he was. Almost well again."

Mr. Holly rings home. There's no answer. He rings Mum's mobile. No answer. He rings Granny. No answer there, either. He wants to ring Dad's work, but I can't remember the number. I get more and more frightened. Maybe something awful has happened to David.

Maybe it's my fault.

Maybe Mum remembers what I said and doesn't want me any more.

Miriam's mum says I can go home with them.

"I expect something's happened to your brother," Mr. Holly says.

Miriam lives a long way away, on the other side of town.

"Did you find out when you were born?" she says.

"No," I say

"I was born on a Thursday," Miriam says. "At breakfast time."

I think about Miriam, being born at a breakfast table. In between the eggs and bacon. While her dad pours the tea.

I look out of the window at the dark streets.

"It's right what the song says," I say. "You do have a long way to go."

The phone is ringing and ringing when we get there. It's Mum. She's at the hospital.

"Are you okay?" she says, when Miriam's mum gives me the phone.

"Yes," I say.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. David's had to have a blood transfusion. He's going to stay here tonight. Will you be all right there 'til Dad finishes work?"

"Yes," I say.

Miriam wants to play on the swings, but I don't want to. I go and watch her mum making cakes. The kitchen smells of warm and chocolate and cooking.

Miriam's mum gives me a whisk to lick.

I wonder if you can make people iller by wishing.

When Dad comes, I run into his arms. He picks me up and kisses me.

"It's okay, chickie," he says.

"I thought you were never coming," I say. I wrap my legs around him, tight.

5.
Friday's Child is Loving and Giving

I don't want to go to school on Friday, but Dad says I have to. He leaves work specially early to come and pick me up.

We go to the hospital. Walking up to the big doors, I get scared. I don't really hate David. What if he's died while I was at school? What if it's my fault? What if they arrest me, for fighting with him and wishing he was dead? I wonder if I'm a Wednesday's child, who will always be miserable, or a Thursday's child, who be sent far away.

"Daddy?" I say. I slide my hand into his. "What day was I born on?"

"I don't know," he says. He sounds surprised. "I can't remember. I remember driving your Mum to the hospital, though. I drove so fast. I wanted to get you here as quick as I could."

"Was I born here?" I say, surprised. I didn't know I'd ever been to hospital. In my family, David goes to hospital, not anyone else.

"Of course you were," says Dad. He looks down at me. "Would you like to go see?"

The baby ward is at the top of the hospital. There's a place where you can look through a window at all the babies lying in little cradles. They are red and crumpled and very small. I wonder what it's like, being so tiny. I wonder if they're scared, lying there in the strange, white room without their Mummies.

"Did I look like that?" I say.

"Just like that," says Dad.

There's a man standing next to us looking through the window.

"That's my little girl," he says, pointing. "There." He's smiling and smiling.

"Did you smile when I was born?" I say.

"Of course I did!" says Dad. "Me and David and Granny came to visit you. Granny brought you your ship mobile. David brought Little Teddy."

"Little Teddy?" I didn't know he was a present from David.

"Everyone bought presents," said Dad.

I stand quiet by Dad.

"Can we buy presents now?" I say.

I'm still a little scared, but it's all right. David is sitting up in bed talking to Mum.

"Hello," I say, shyly.

"Hello," he says. And Mum gives me a hug and kisses the top of my head.

They like their presents. We give Mum a mug with a picture of a frog in a top hat and David a pack of Uno cards. Dad wanted to buy something boring like bath stuff for Mum. But I said the mug would make her laugh, and it does. She puts it on her shelf to remind her of me. We play Uno on David's bed for ages, until it's time to go home.

6.
Saturday's Child Works Hard For Her Living

On Saturday, Dad and I get the house ready for Mum and David. We wash up all the dirty mugs and plates. We throw away the fish and chip wrappers and baked bean tins. We Hoover the carpet. We buy flowers for Mum.

"David and I did this when you were coming home from hospital," says Dad. "David was only tiny. He wasn't as helpful as you. But he was so excited about his baby sister."

It is very cold and cloudy. We drive to the hospital. They are packed and waiting for us. Dad carries Mum's bag. I carry David's.

The four of us walk back to the car, slowly. We're almost there, when it begins to snow. All the air is full of snowflakes. We stop and stare. David holds out his arms and snowflakes land on them.

I stick out my tongue and lean back as far as I can, trying to catch a snowflake. Snow falls on my face, in my hair, down my back. When a snowflake lands on my tongue, I cheer.

"I got one! I got one!"

David laughs. I flick snow at him. He flicks some back at me. There isn't enough yet for proper snowballs, so the snow doesn't go very far. But we don't care.

7.
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day,
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Sunday is good.

"We should celebrate," says Dad.

"Celebrate what?" says Mum.

"Coming home," says David.

"Getting through the week," says Dad, but he's smiling.

"All right," says Mum. She's smiling too. "What shall we do?"

"Let's have a picnic!" I say. I like picnics.

Mum laughs. It's cold and wet outside.

"And no one's been shopping!" she says.

So we have an indoor picnic. We put a rug on the floor and we eat everything that's left in the kitchen. We have Golden Syrup sandwiches and carrot sandwiches and raisins and cherry-cake cherries and Cornflakes with no milk and frozen peas, because they're nicer than cooked ones.

"Ella," says Dad. "Please tell me. Why do you care when you were born?"

"There's a poem," I explain. "It tells you who you are."

"And who are you?" says Dad.

"I don't know," I say. "That's the problem."

"I can find out," says David. He is lying on the sofa, eating ice cream. He drops hundreds and thousands on my head to make me look at him. "There's a calendar on the computer. You can put your birthday in and find out what day it was."

"Well, there you are!" says Dad. "Shall we look?"

I nod. Dad gives David his laptop and he turns in on.

Suddenly, I'm not so sure I want to know. It's all right if I'm Monday or Tuesday, but what if I'm Friday and have to keep giving things all the time? Or Saturday and do all the work?

It's too late to change my mind, though.

"Sunday!" David says. "Bonny and blithe and good and gay. Eugh!"

Bonny means pretty, that's okay. But good ...

"I'm not good!" I say.

"Well," says Mum. "Sometimes."

"What does blithe mean?" I say. "And gay?"

"Happy," says Mum, quickly. She smiles at me and holds out her hand. "They both mean happy."

I crawl over to her and she puts her arm around me. I lean against her. I'm not sure about this poem. I'm not going to be good just because some poem says I am.

And no one can be happy all the time.

Poems are all very well. But I quite like being me.