Little Darlings

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘There now, Ace. He doesn’t like to be held by strangers,’ says Mum.

  ‘Really?’ says the girl. She raises her eyebrows at Dad. ‘Most guys do.’

  There’s a ripple of laughter amongst all the girls. Dad laughs too. Mum looks furious, clutching Ace so tightly that he cries harder.

  ‘Shh now, you promised to be a big boy so you can see Daddy’s film,’ says Mum. ‘Let’s take our seats.’

  She starts to push her way through the crowd, Sweetie and me on either side of her – but Dad stays where he is, beside the girl with the big mouth. Mum turns and looks at him. Sweetie prattles on about Milky Star. Ace grizzles and whines. They haven’t got a clue. Mum mouths something at Dad, looking pleading. Dad pauses – then turns his back on her. He leans towards the girl with the big mouth and whispers something in her ear. She laughs.

  I feel so sick I think I’m going to have to rush back to the ladies’ and throw up. Mum’s looking greeny-white too, clutching Ace, her eyes swivelling in case anyone is watching.

  Dad’s saying something else, his head very close to the girl’s, so that her big mouth is nearly smearing his cheek with her shiny lipstick. People are pushing past them, ready to take their places in the cinema auditorium, but they’re chatting and laughing together, totally relaxed, as if they’re in a room by themselves. It’s as if Mum and Sweetie and Ace and me have suddenly stopped existing.

  Mum bites her lip, swaying a little. Sweetie tugs at her impatiently. Mum clearly doesn’t know what to do. Should we go into the auditorium without Dad? What if he never comes to join us? Everyone will see the empty seat. And what about after the film when we go out? The photographers will still be there. ‘Where’s Danny?’ they’ll shout. ‘Hey, what have you done with Danny? Why aren’t any of you smiling? Little munchkin with the red boots, smile.’

  I can feel my eyes filling with tears. Dad still has his back to us. Dad, I yell inside my head. Dad, Dad, Dad!

  He turns as if he’s heard me. He says one more thing to Big Mouth, and touches her arm, his hand cupping her elbow, then he casually strolls over to us as if nothing has happened. He gives me a wink, he blows Sweetie a little kiss, and gently tweaks Ace’s snub nose.

  ‘Come on, then, kids, let’s see the film,’ he says, as if we’re the ones who’ve been keeping him waiting.

  Mum gives him a dazzling smile and hustles us along beside him. ‘Cheer up, Sunset,’ she hisses in my ear. ‘For heaven’s sake, this is meant to be a treat.’

  I’m so muddled I try to smile to please her – and see her wince in irritation.

  ‘Hide your teeth!’

  I feel like biting her with my ugly teeth. I hold it together until we’re sitting all in a row and the lights go down, and then I let my tears spill. I wipe my cheeks quickly with the cuff of my smock. Ace is still grizzling too, thrashing about on Mum’s lap.

  ‘Can’t you shut him up?’ Dad hisses. ‘I told you he was too little.’

  ‘He wants to see his daddy in the movie, don’t you, Ace, darling?’ says Mum. ‘He’ll hush in a minute.’

  She tries giving him his dummy in the dark, but he keeps fidgeting with it, making silly slurpy noises.

  ‘Look, I’ll get some girl to look after him,’ says Dad.

  ‘You try to quieten him, Sunset,’ says Mum, quickly plonking him on my lap.

  I take hold of him firmly by the arms, not his tummy – he can’t stand that. ‘I’m Mummy Tigerman and we’re all cosy in our lair and we have to stay still as still or the bad men will come and get us,’ I whisper in his ear.

  I put my chin on his silky head and rub it backwards and forwards, and after a minute or so I feel him go floppy. He wriggles his bony little bottom further up my lap and lolls his head, silently suck-suck-sucking his dummy.

  Sweetie is secretly sucking her thumb too, cuddling up to Mum, stroking the soft satin material of her skirt. Mum nestles close to Dad, while he sits wide-legged, slightly slumped, his arms over the backs of the seats on either side.

  I wonder if the girl with the big mouth is sitting nearby. It feels as if she’s squeezed up right next to me, whispering in my ear. Watch out, she’s saying. You sit there playing Happy Families, but I can get you.

  But slowly slowly I start to get involved in the film. I like Milky Star too, especially little Davie the drummer, the goofy youngest one. The other three are all ultra-cool, but little Davie always oversleeps, he’s always the last to get a joke – he is the joke half the time as we watch him falling down the stairs and slipping on a banana skin. The other boys are pursued by girls – in fact one of the girls is Big Mouth, blowing kisses all over the place – but no one ever blows a kiss to little Davie.

  Another film starts spooling in my head simultaneously, a film where I’m six or seven years older and Davie bumps into me in the street and we both laugh and apologize and then we go for a cup of coffee, and by the end of the evening we’re girlfriend and boyfriend and Davie lets me play on his drums and I’m so good at it I get to be part of the band too, and Davie and I drum away together for the rest of our lives . . .

  Then the audience laughs and I blink at the real Davie on the screen – and then see Dad. There he is, strutting down a Soho street, his hair tousled under his bandanna, his long black leather coat flapping, and round the corner all four Milky Star boys see him, then gasp and gibber and clutch each other. They get right down on their knees, crying, ‘Oh, Danny, we’re not worthy,’ while Dad puts his boot up on their backs and stands proudly, arms raised, as if he is a lion tamer and they are four unruly cubs.

  There’s a great whoop of laughter in the cinema, and Dad throws his head back and laughs too. He sits up straight now, suddenly bigger, and his laugh is the fattest, funniest laugh of all. Mum laughs along with him, and Sweetie giggles, jumping up and down in her seat. Even Ace wakes up a little and speaks through his dummy.

  ‘Ook at Dad! Ook at Dad!’ he mumbles.

  Well, I’m looking. I watch the film-Dad carefully as he struts down the street, waving one careless hand to the four Milky Stars. I see little old ladies in the street shriek at him and totter along behind, dragging their shopping trolleys, stumbling in their Dr Scholl’s. They’re playing Always and For Ever in the background, but it’s slightly distorted and off-key – and when they get to the line at the end of the chorus, When the wind blows, there’s a sudden blast of wind that nearly blows Dad’s bandanna away and tangles his hair, making him totter too, like an old man.

  Everyone in the cinema is rocking with laughter, but maybe it’s not so funny. Maybe they’re laughing at Dad the wrong way. Maybe they’re laughing because Dad isn’t young and cool and fresh like the Milky Star boys any more.

  Dad’s still laughing but not so loudly now. He’s leaning forward, staring at the screen intently. His own enormous face stares back at him, every line and pore magnified. Then he’s gone and we’re back looking at Milky Star and the audience settles down again. Ace falls asleep but Sweetie starts fidgeting.

  ‘When will there be another Dad bit?’ she whispers loudly to Mum.

  ‘Soon,’ says Mum, though she sounds uncertain. ‘Watch Milky Star – you like them.’

  ‘Not as much as Dad,’ says Sweetie.

  The people in the row in front and the row behind all hear and go ‘Ahhh!’ Dad’s heard her too, and his arm snakes out. He gets hold of her and pulls her onto his lap. There’s another ‘Ahhh’ at Danny Kilman and his exquisitely pretty little daughter Sweetie.

  That’s what they called her in Hi! Magazine: Danny Kilman with his exquisitely pretty little daughter Sweetie, enjoying very special family fun. Dad was riding on a carousel at some charity fête last summer, sitting on a white painted horse with Sweetie in front of him, clutching the gold twisty pole. Dad’s hair was all tousled then too, but he didn’t look lined at all, maybe because he was laughing. Sweetie was laughing as well, wearing a little frilly white top and tiny pink shorts, showing off her flat golden tummy. It’s so unfai
r. Why can’t I be little and shiny with long fair hair and a totally flat stomach?

  I stare at the screen and watch Davie, but this time he takes no notice of me whatsoever. Dad isn’t in the film again, but when the four Milky Star boys get their very first gig, they all tie bandannas over wild dark wigs and wear weird black clothes and huge rings, just like Dad. The whole audience creases up with laughter because they don’t look cool, they look ridiculous. Everyone in their film audience laughs too, and boos them off the stage. Then they get a new manager and he whips off their wigs and throws away their stage clothes and jewellery and has them sing wearing ordinary T-shirts and jeans – and they suddenly look great. Their career takes off and they all get rich and famous and pull gorgeous girls, even Davie.

  When the credits go up there are little cartoon versions of all the main people – and there’s one of Dad too, strutting across the screen and then being blown right up in the air, arms whirling, legs dangling. His bandanna unravels and falls off, together with half his hair.

  I hear Dad muttering something to Mum. When the lights go up they’re both frowning. But then people start talking to Dad, calling along the row: ‘Hey, Danny, you were fantastic!’ ‘Danny, you’re such a good sport!’ ‘I think you totally stole the show!’

  Dad smiles stiffly and acknowledges this, but he mutters more to Mum.

  Ace is still asleep, clinging to me like a little monkey, so I lumber along the row with him towards the exit. Sweetie is tired out too. She’s very pale and she’s rubbed her eyes so her shadow has smudged, but when she hears the people in front talking about the after-premiere party at Falling Rain, a nearby nightclub, she claps her hands.

  ‘Oh, a party! Let’s go to the party, and Milky Star will be there!’ she cries.

  ‘You’re not going to any party,’ says Dad. ‘You’re going home. It’s way past your bedtime, missy.’

  Mum looks anxious. ‘I could get John to take the kids home and Claudia will put them to bed so we can party, Dan,’ she says quickly.

  There’s no way she’s going to let Dad party on his own, not with girls like Big Mouth around.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for partying,’ says Dad. He says it mildly enough but Mum jumps at it.

  ‘Right. Fine. OK, let’s hit the road.’ She phones John to tell him we need him outside the cinema right this minute. There’s an awful mad milling of people in the foyer again, but Mum pushes her way through, steering Sweetie, while I hang onto Ace.

  When we get outside on the now-scuffed red carpet, Mum looks one way for the car, Dad the other. The photographers are mostly gone. There’s just a few faithful fans leaning on the barriers.

  ‘Hey, Danny, it’s us! We’re still here. Look, here’s Destiny!’

  It’s the woman with the ponytail and the daughter, the one who kept staring so. I shiver, clutching Ace. Have they been standing out here in the cold for the last two hours while we’ve been watching the film?

  ‘Danny, please, come and talk to us,’ the mother yells, but Dad ignores her.

  ‘Where the hell’s John with the car?’ he mutters.

  ‘He’ll be coming any minute, babe,’ Mum says. ‘Isn’t that the Merc over there? Maybe he can’t park any nearer. You keep hold of Sweetie and I’ll run and look.’

  She dashes off, running all wiggly because of her tight skirt and high heels.

  ‘Danny! Quick, darling, now Suzy’s out the way. Come and meet Destiny!’ the woman screams.

  Dad picks Sweetie up and walks back to the cinema entrance, not even looking round. ‘Bring Ace over here, Sunset,’ he calls.

  I turn round too quickly, wobbling in my silly new boots.

  ‘Whoops! Watch out, darling!’ The ponytail mother reaches out, trying to catch me. Destiny is by her side, staring.

  ‘You are so lucky,’ she whispers to me.

  3

  DESTINY

  We watch them getting into their silver Mercedes. Suzy’s in the back, with Ace on her lap, Sweetie in the middle, then Sunset. Danny sits in the front with the chauffeur. Mum steps forward as if we’re part of the family too, ready to squash into the car – but when she’s still a few paces away it drives off.

  ‘Danny!’ Mum calls, and she’s got tears running down her face. She goes on calling his name, ‘Danny, Danny, Danny,’ like some demented bird.

  ‘Mum, he can’t hear you. He’s in his car. He’s gone,’ I say, giving her a little shake.

  People are staring at us. There’s a whole crowd of stars pouring out of the cinema now, going on to some party.

  ‘Mum, please,’ I beg, but she won’t listen to me. She just stands there, shaking and crying and calling for Danny.

  There’s a sudden surge forward as the Milky Star boys come out in a little bunch. They laugh and chat to the fans, but the little one, Davie, is staring at Mum. The others look too, and one of them laughs. I clench my fists. But Davie is still looking concerned. He comes right over. He touches Mum gently on the arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Mum barely focuses on him. She’s still staring into the dark, looking at the long-gone car.

  Davie looks at me. ‘Is she with you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s my mum,’ I say fiercely.

  ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘She’s – she’s just upset,’ I say. ‘It’s OK. I’ll – I’ll take her home.’

  ‘You want me to call a cab or something?’

  ‘No, no . . .’ Oh, definitely no. We took a taxi from the station to Leicester Square and it cost a fortune. Mum’s only got a couple of pounds left in her purse. ‘No thank you, we’ll be fine.’

  ‘Take care then, kid,’ Davie says, patting me on the arm too, and then he goes off to join his Milky Star mates, and they all jump into a black stretch limo.

  ‘Oh wow! Oh my God! Davie talked to you!’ this girl gasps, jumping up and down.

  ‘He’s so cute. He’s definitely my favourite,’ says her friend.

  ‘He touched you – and your mum!’

  Mum blinks at them. She’s stopped screaming, but she’s still mouthing Danny.

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ I say, putting my arm round her. ‘Let’s go.’

  She starts walking obediently. I’ve no idea where we’re going. We walk across this big square, the crowds still jostling, everyone shouting and laughing on their night out. Mum and I are drifting along like a pair of zombies.

  ‘Mum, do you know which way the station is?’

  Mum looks around blankly. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, shivering. ‘I didn’t think – it wasn’t meant to happen like this. I was sure we wouldn’t be going back tonight. I thought . . . I thought we’d go off with Danny. I wasn’t going to be pushy. I know he’s got his other family too, but we’ve waited eleven whole years. I was sure, once he saw us, he’d realize straight away. Oh, Destiny, he didn’t even look at us. Didn’t he hear me? I shouted and shouted!’ She’s starting to shout again now, her voice very high-pitched.

  ‘That woman’s drunk, and that’s her little girl with her too! Disgraceful!’ someone mutters.

  I want to punch them. My mum’s never been drunk in her life. The most she drinks is a couple of glasses of cava at Christmas. How dare they! But Mum sounds drunk, shouting and rambling, and she looks drunk too, her eye make-up smudged all over her cheeks and her hair falling down.

  I tell myself she’ll be all right when we get on the train, but I’m starting to be so scared. It’s like Mum’s shrunk down into being a little girl and I’m the grown-up now, left looking after her.

  We’re walking and walking and yet we’re not getting anywhere. I wait till I see a crowd of jolly middle-aged ladies, all linking arms and singing songs from We Will Rock You! I stop the kindest-looking one.

  ‘Excuse me, but could you tell me if we’re near the station?’

  ‘I’m sorry, lovey, I’m a stranger here myself. We just came up to see the show – we’re on a coach trip. Can’t you take a coach home?’

/>   ‘We’ve got train tickets,’ I say, wondering if I’m going to start crying too.

  ‘There’s the station just down the street, dear!’ a man interrupts. ‘Just follow your nose, you can’t miss it.’

  I don’t really believe him, but I drag Mum down the street anyway, and there it is, the railway station. It’s definitely a railway station, but it doesn’t look right at all. It’s old, with a fancy tower in the forecourt. Mum doesn’t seem to notice. I take her hand and we go inside. I hope in a mad kind of way that it will all suddenly transform itself into the right station – but it all looks so different, and when I look up at the train departures board, all the names are wrong.

  I stop a man in uniform. ‘Please can you tell us which is the train to Manchester?’

  He looks at me as if I’m crazy. ‘You can’t get to Manchester from here! You have to go from Euston.’

  ‘Where’s Euston?’

  ‘It’s another station. You’d better take the tube.’

  He points to where the underground is. We go down stairs and along tunnels, but then there are machines that won’t let us through. I unzip Mum’s shoulder bag and find our tickets, but the machine still won’t open its gates. Another uniformed man comes and peers at our tickets.

  ‘No, no, they’re just returns from Manchester to London. You need tube tickets too.’ He’s speaking loudly, as if we’re both stupid.

  I find Mum’s two pounds but it’s not enough for both of us.

  ‘Couldn’t we send the money later, when we get home?’ I beg, but they won’t listen.

  I pull Mum away from the ticket office, and in desperation stop the next group coming chattering down the stairs. They’re all girls a few years older than me, laughing and larking around.

  ‘Please, I’m sorry to bother you, I’m trying to get the fare to Euston Station. Could you spare some change?’ I ask.

  They take no notice and push past as if they haven’t even heard me.

  Mum’s heard though. Her head jerks like she’s been slapped. ‘Destiny! Stop it! Don’t beg!’

  ‘We’ve got to. How else are we going to get there?’ I say, and I turn to another couple nearby. ‘Please, I’m sorry to bother you . . .’ I go through the whole spiel again, but they look disgusted – not with me, with Mum.