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going,” Prunella protested. “Can you dance?”
    Cindy flushed, which was answer enough.
    â€œWho cares.” Constance shrugged, inspecting a saucer she was taking a long time to dry. “No one is going to dance with a scruffy kid like her.”
    The dishes were nearly finished. Cindy concentrated on washing a cup very carefully. Soon she would be able to make the excuse she had to go home to feed Mayberry.
    â€œAnd I don’t know why Mother offered to lend you Prunella’s clothes,” Constance taunted. “They won’t improve the way you look.”
    â€œWho wants to look as silly as you?” Cindy asked.
    â€œI didn’t notice anybody asking you to save them any dances, little Miss Grubby,” Constance sniggered.
    Cindy felt the heat rush up into her cheeks. Her head throbbed, and her eyes became hot and prickly.
    â€œGrubby yourself,” she retorted as she flung the cupful of dirty sink water over Constance.
    â€œLittle pig,” Constance snarled and slapped Cindy hard across the face.
    No one had ever slapped Cindy across the face or anywhere else. Her father didn’t believe in corporal punishment.
    â€œPig yourself,” Cindy yelled and hurtled the cup towards Constance’s head.
    Constance ducked. The cup shattered loudly on the tiled floor. The door opened.
    â€œReally, girls! What’s this nonsense?”
    Mrs. Barry’s eyes were narrowed, and her mouth thinned to a straight red line. For the first time, Cindy realized that not only did she dislike Mrs. Barry, but she was also scared of her.
    Her father was behind her. His eyes were fixed on the shattered white fine bone china cup on the floor. He had a stunned expression on his face.
    â€œIt’s not my fault.” Constance lowered her voice and put a goody goody expression on her face. “She threw the cup at me for no reason at all.”
    Everyone, even the professor, looked at Cindy as though she was the pig, and not Constance.
    â€œI’ve got to feed Mayberry.” Cindy tried to keep the quaver out of her voice.
    She dropped the tea towel and rushed out the front door, banging it shut behind her before she burst into tears.

 
    Chapter Nine
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    â€œYou will have to stop being so unpleasant and rude, Cindy.” Her father was still cross when he arrived home that evening. “Mrs. Barry and her daughters are going to be living with us soon.”
    â€œThey’re stupid and spiteful, and I hate them.”
    â€œYou might be happier in boarding school,” her father said thoughtfully.
    â€œSend them, not me,” Cindy yelled back at him. “Why do I have to be kicked out of my own home?”
    â€œGoodnight, Cindy,” her father answered coldly.
    The next morning, he and Cindy ate their tomato sandwiches in silence. He only spoke once and that was to ask Cindy to pass the raspberry cordial. A car horn tooted.
    â€œGuinevere wants me to talk to someone who is interested in buying the fish.” The professor pushed back his chair and stood up.
    â€œYou’re going to sell your fish?”
    â€œSome of them.” Her father looked uncomfortable. “Do you want to come with us?”
    â€œNo.”
    The horn tooted again, and her father left. Cindy rubbed at her eyes. There was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away. Her father had never left before without saying goodbye.
    She thought about running away, but who would feed and look after the animals if she wasn’t around? This reminded her about Mayberry. She mixed up a bowl of milk and went outside. Prunella was in the pen patting Mayberry.
    Her pale blue slacks had stains on them, and her frilly blouse was all crumpled. She almost didn’t look like Prunella, with that soft, happy look on her face and her grubby clothes. Cindy felt the hard lump in her throat go away.
    â€œI didn’t want to go with Mother and Constance. Can I feed Mayberry?”
    There