My Mum Tracy Beaker
Page 10
Alfie gave an excited bark as if he understood every word. He pulled on his lead, urging me onwards.
‘Heel, boy,’ I said.
He took no notice and went bounding ahead, zigzagging this way and that, winding his lead right around me. Then he stopped to do a wee, which made me giggle.
‘That’s it, Alfie. Wee-wees outside. Not indoors!’ said Sean Godfrey.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s properly trained,’ Mum said quickly.
Alfie seemed uncertain about getting into the car, so I had to lift him in and then keep him cuddled up on my lap. When the car got going he started trembling, so I whispered to him soothingly.
‘It’s all right, Alfie. You’re safe with me. We’re taking you to your new home!’ Then I stopped. ‘Where are we taking him?’
‘We’re taking him to our new home,’ said Mum. ‘Change of plan! We’re moving in with Sean straight away.’
WE HAD TO go back home for our things, of course. Mum packed quickly while I took Alfie for a walk all round the Duke Estate.
We attracted crowds of children wherever we went.
‘Look, Jess Beaker’s got a dog!’
‘What’s your dog’s name, Jess?’
‘He’s so sweet! Can I pat him?’
‘But we’re not allowed dogs. You know that! He’ll have to be put down!’
‘Yes, if you don’t you’ll get evicted.’
I just smiled at them all. Alfie smiled too, and wanted to give everyone a lick.
It felt so great, everyone wishing they were me. But I didn’t have time to hang out with all the Marlborough Tower kids. I went over to Devonshire, which was where all the toughest families lived. The big boys were the worst. The Shireboys had knives, and once a kid from Marlborough was crazy enough to disrespect them and ended up in A & E. Even the little boys were scary and threw stones, and the babies in their buggies looked like they’d spit at you.
‘You’d better guard me, Alfie,’ I said.
I hoped Alfie understood ‘guard’ better than ‘heel’.
Two boys from Tyrone’s gang called, ‘What you doing here, Beaker Bum? Clear off back to your own tower or we’ll give you what for.’
‘You shut up or I’ll set my dog on you,’ I said.
They didn’t shut up. They said worse things.
‘Get them, Alfie,’ I said, slackening his lead.
Alfie went rushing up to them – and started licking their hands and wagging his tail. He was a total failure as a guard dog, but he was so cute the boys stopped yelling at me and squatted down to pet him instead.
‘Is he really yours, Jess Beaker?’
‘You’re not allowed dogs if you live here!’
‘Yes, but I’m moving, see. Me and my mum are going to live over at Sean Godfrey’s house,’ I said.
They gawped at me. ‘You’re having us on!’ they said in unison.
‘No I’m not. His car’s parked down at Marlborough and my mum’s packing our stuff right this minute. I’ve come to show Alfie to Tyrone. Is he about?’
They shook their heads.
‘Think he’s indoors,’ said one. ‘He’s on the ninth floor.’
‘There was a bit of a domestic going on earlier,’ said another. ‘Shouting and slapping and that.’
It had taken all my courage to come over to Devonshire Tower. I didn’t dare climb the stairs to the ninth floor and knock on Tyrone’s door. His mum looked terrifying, and her boyfriend was probably worse.
But luckily I wasn’t put to the test. One of the boys suddenly pointed. ‘There he is – over by the playground.’
He was on one of the swing tyres, his back to us. They shouted his name but he didn’t turn round. He was hunched over, his head down.
‘Doesn’t look like he wants company.’
‘I’ll go and see,’ I said. ‘Come on, Alfie. I want you to meet my mate Tyrone.’
We walked over to the play area. It was obvious there was something wrong with Tyrone. I could hear sniffling noises. I hoped he wasn’t crying. I coughed loudly so he’d know someone was coming.
Alfie hadn’t understood about enemies, but he was brilliant when it came to my friends. He went rushing up to Tyrone and tried to lick his ankles.
Tyrone wriggled and half laughed, half cried. Alfie jumped straight up on his lap and licked his face. Tyrone winced. No wonder. He had a bloodshot eye, and the skin all round it was puffed up alarmingly.
‘Oh, Tyrone, your eye!’ I said.
‘It’s nothing,’ he mumbled.
‘Did your mum thump you?’
‘Yeah, she did, but it was her boyfriend that punched me in the face for upsetting her. I hate him. I hate her too,’ said Tyrone. ‘Is this your Alfie then? Wow! You lucky thing, Jess.’
‘I looked for Staffie at Battersea. I saw a brown one, but I don’t think he was yours,’ I said sadly.
‘Probably not. I had him ages ago.’
‘Tell you what – you can have a little share of Alfie, if you like. We’re not going to be living here any more, but I’ll get Sean Godfrey to drive me over sometimes, and then you can take Alfie for walks with me if you want,’ I said.
‘That would be great. With Sean Godfrey too?’ Tyrone asked hopefully.
‘Yes, if you like. He says you’re very talented at football,’ I said.
‘Yeah, but he didn’t really mean it.’
‘Yes he did, he told us. And he wants you to join his special squad. For nothing.’
‘Oh wow. Really?’
I nodded. I sat on the next tyre and we both swung very slowly and gently so that Alfie wouldn’t get seasick. He kept jumping off Tyrone’s lap and jumping onto mine, and then back again.
‘You’re like a jumping bean, Alfie,’ I said.
‘He’s a great little dog.’ Tyrone stroked him. ‘You’re so lucky, Jess,’ he said again.
I swallowed. ‘I know.’
I kept telling myself just how lucky I was all the way to Sean’s house. I walked Alfie all round the huge grounds and showed him a tree far away in a corner.
‘This is a good place for wee-wees,’ I said. ‘Poos too, if you can manage it. But you must never, ever go to the toilet in the house, OK?’
Alfie didn’t seem to be listening. He bounded over to the glass extension and peered at the pool. He barked hopefully.
‘No, this isn’t a pool for dogs. It’s for humans. And I don’t even know if you can swim or not. Maybe when Sean Godfrey’s not around I’ll let you try a little doggy paddle. I wonder if they do water wings for dogs,’ I said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you round the house now. But you’ve got to behave indoors, OK, Alfie? Promise?’
I wiped all four of his paws with a tissue first, which was just as well. Alfie was very keen on the cream rugs. He thought they were specially put there for him to roll on. He liked the cream sofas even more, assuming they were dog loungers. He especially liked the beds upstairs, and threw himself on each one, play-fighting the duvet.
I said, ‘No, Alfie,’ again and again and again, but he just grinned at me, saying, ‘Yes, Jess,’ again and again and again.
I showed him the kitchen because I knew it wouldn’t have any rugs or sofas or beds. Sean Godfrey was sitting at his huge kitchen table, drinking a beer.
‘Hi there, Jess,’ he said. ‘Like a drink? A juice or something fizzy?’
‘No thank you,’ I said politely. ‘But could Alfie possibly have a bowl of water?’
‘Sure,’ said Sean Godfrey, and poured half a bottle of Evian water into a china soup bowl.
‘See how lucky you are, Alfie,’ I whispered. ‘Other dogs get ordinary tap water in any old chipped bowl.’
Alfie was very appreciative, and slurped and slurped. I had to wait for him to finish. I didn’t know what else to say to Sean Godfrey and he didn’t seem to know what to say to me now, though he nodded his head in a friendly fashion whenever he caught my eye.
My dad never knew what to say to me either. I kept re
hearsing things I might say to Sean Godfrey inside my head, but they were all too direct. Do you really love my mum? Will you always look after her? Do you like the idea of us living here? Do you wish I wasn’t part of the bargain? Are you pretending to like me the way I’m pretending to like you?
‘Your mum’s still upstairs getting your room sorted,’ said Sean Godfrey at last, taking another swig of beer. ‘We can get it painted all pretty and pink and girly if you like.’
‘No thank you,’ I said politely, though inside I was thinking, Yuck!
‘Well, you choose a colour then. And you can have some new cushions and rugs and maybe a little dressing table. And toys too,’ he went on.
‘Can’t I keep my old things?’ I asked.
‘Well, you can if you want, but I thought you’d like new stuff,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘To go with your new bedroom.’
I started to get worried and went to find Mum, Alfie gambolling along beside me.
He wasn’t used to stairs, and stood stock-still, puzzled, until I showed him that you went up step by step. He soon got the hang of it, and liked it so much he wanted to tear up and down dementedly, barking with excitement.
‘Shh, Alfie! Stop that barking! It’s just stairs. Come on, we’re looking for Mum,’ I said.
She was on her hands and knees in one of the bedrooms, delving into the big laundry bag containing my clothes.
‘These bags!’ she said. ‘They were part of my childhood. Whenever I went to a new home I had to shove all my stuff in. It made me feel like I was dirty washing. We’re going to get ourselves a set of matching suitcases, Jess!’
I squatted down beside her and rummaged through the bag too. ‘Where are all my things, Mum? All my cuddly toys?’
‘What, the ones I won at the amusement arcade? I didn’t think you’d want them any more. They’re all a bit grubby now, and you never play with them,’ said Mum, smoothing out T-shirts and jeans.
‘I do want them! Mum!’
‘Look, I’ve saved old Woofer for you,’ she said, throwing him to me.
‘I should think so!’ I said, catching him.
Alfie leaped up excitedly, thinking it was a game. ‘Look, Alfie wants to make friends with him!’ I said, holding Woofer out to him.
It was a mistake. Alfie didn’t understand. He seized Woofer in his mouth and ran round and round the room with him triumphantly.
‘No! Alfie, bring him back!’ I called.
‘As if!’ said Mum.
Alfie came running towards me.
‘There, look! Good boy, Alfie,’ I said, holding out my hand for Woofer.
Alfie still didn’t understand. He seemed to think that Woofer was a tuggy toy. He clamped his jaws tight and pulled hard, as if this was a wonderful game. When I eventually distracted him by throwing a pair of my socks, I gazed at Woofer in dismay. He looked extremely shocked, his head lolling, one leg hanging loose, and the stitches on his tummy coming undone.
‘Oh dear! Don’t worry, I’ll see if I can sew him back together again,’ said Mum.
I swallowed hard. I was so used to pretending Woofer was real that it was hard remembering he didn’t actually have any feelings.
‘Alfie didn’t mean it,’ I whispered into his floppy ear. ‘He was just playing with you. Don’t worry, I won’t let him do it again – he can’t help being a bit rough.’
Alfie was now deep in the laundry bag, pulling out more socks, knickers and pyjamas, scrabbling through them joyfully.
‘You’d better take him out of here,’ said Mum. ‘He’s driving me crazy.’
Alfie managed to get a pair of knickers caught on the end of his nose and looked so funny that we both burst out laughing.
‘Come here, you monkey,’ I said, grabbing him. I sat on the bed with Alfie on my lap, though he struggled to get down.
‘Watch he doesn’t get his paws on that white duvet!’ said Mum.
I looked at it. ‘Can’t I have my blue duvet?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s ever so faded now, and it’s got that hot chocolate stain. It wouldn’t really go with the rest of the room, would it?’ said Mum, looking around at the pale grey walls and the biscuit-coloured rug.
‘Sean Godfrey said I could have the room any colour I wanted,’ I said.
‘Sean, not Sean Godfrey. Well, yes, you can, but maybe you’d like a different colour scheme. You’ve had blue for ages,’ said Mum.
‘I like blue,’ I said.
‘OK, OK. I was just suggesting.’
‘Sean Godfrey suggested pink. Frilly and girly. I don’t have to have pink, do I?’ I asked.
‘No, you can have anything you like.’
‘Then I’ll have blue. Again. We like blue, don’t we, Alfie?’ I said, and I gently made him nod his head.
‘You can have blue then. Blue walls, blue curtains, blue bedding, blue clothes – you can wear bright blue face paint and dye your hair navy, OK?’ said Mum. ‘But don’t think I’m always going to give in to you, Jessica Bluebell Camilla Beaker. Look, I know this is all a bit of an upheaval and probably feels rather overwhelming. I feel a bit weird too, actually,’ she said, looking around the room. ‘It’s like I’m in a dream. This is all I’ve ever wanted for us, Jess. I can’t quite believe it’s all happened for real.’
Alfie started whimpering a little, desperate to get down from the bed. So I let him go, and he immediately ran over to the door, lifted his back leg and did a wee all down the white paint.
‘Oh my Lord!’ said Mum, using my knickers to try to mop it up.
‘It’s not his fault, Mum. He was trying to tell me he needed to go – I just didn’t realize in time. He drank a whole bowl of water downstairs,’ I gabbled. I peered at the door. Some of Alfie’s wee had sprinkled the carpet in a very worrying way. ‘What will Sean say?’ I asked.
‘I don’t imagine he’d be thrilled – but he won’t know because I’ll scrub it clean somehow. But you’d better make sure you take Alfie out into the garden regularly. Don’t tell Sean just now – I don’t want him thinking we’re a liability when we’ve only been here five minutes,’ said Mum. ‘And I want you to be careful too, Jess.’
‘I’m not going to wet the carpet!’ I said indignantly.
‘I should hope not! No, I mean you’re to keep your things tidy and not make a mess. No games like Twister! And no potato prints!’
‘Mum! I don’t do babyish stuff like that any more,’ I said.
Twister had been one of my favourite games. I pretended this terrible wind was blowing, and made it toss the cushions and curtains about and send all the books tumbling off the shelf, and then Mum and I had to hide under the table clutching each other. When we were hungry I’d stagger out to the kitchen, almost on my hands and knees, snatch up a packet of biscuits, then crawl back, and we’d munch companionably, even though the wind was howling around us.
I’d also loved making potato prints. We’d learned how to do them in Infants – cutting a pattern in half a potato, dipping it in a saucer of paint and then stamping a design on a sheet of drawing paper. I did this at home, but we soon ran out of paper, so I printed on the kitchen wall. I did a very neat frieze above the skirting board, and Mum said she thought it looked great, though even then I knew she was only pretending.
‘So I can never play a game or do any art now we live here?’ I said.
‘Yes, of course you can, just don’t go too wild. And clear up after yourself. Sean’s very particular,’ said Mum.
I pulled a face.
‘Don’t look like that! He had it very tough when he was young. He never had any clean clothes and his house was a dump. He just likes to keep things nice now. I can understand that, can’t you?’
I didn’t really want to understand. Mum was forever making excuses for Sean Godfrey. And, because it was his house, he got to say what we did. That evening we had to watch a James Bond film in his cinema room. Lots of kids might have thought this a treat, but I don’t like them. I don’t think Mum’s that keen
either, but she made out she was loving every minute. I know for a fact that she was holding hands with Sean Godfrey in the dark.
He cooked us a meal too – great big steaks and very thin chips. The chips were fine but I don’t really like meat, especially when it’s a vast lump that’s still bloody in the middle. I only had a few nibbles of mine.
‘Come on, Jess, eat up. That’s prime fillet,’ said Sean Godfrey.
‘I don’t like meat very much, thank you,’ I said.
‘It’s good for you. You could do with eating a bit more – you’re very pale and skinny,’ he said.
I like being pale and skinny. Who wants to be big and beefy, with a red face like Sean Godfrey? I thought Mum would stick up for me, but she told me to eat up too.
I cut up my meat but I didn’t actually eat it. I slipped little bits to Alfie under the table. I think Mum knew what I was doing, though she kept quiet. Sean Godfrey didn’t have a clue until Alfie gave an eager woof for another piece.
‘You’re not giving that prime steak to the dog, are you, Jess?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Well. Just a little bit.’
‘Do you have any idea how much it cost?’
‘I’m sorry. But Alfie needs to be fed too.’
‘Yes, and he’ll get fed. I’ve bought tins of dog food for him. Tell you what, I’ll give Alfie the steak for his tea, and serve you a plate of dog food. Is that what you’d prefer?’
‘It’s all right, Jess,’ Mum said quickly. ‘Sean’s only teasing. Aren’t you, Sean?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, pulling a funny face.
I wasn’t sure.
‘Perhaps eat another three mouthfuls and then you can leave the rest,’ said Mum. ‘She doesn’t have a very big appetite, Sean.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to force the kid to eat. It’s just I thought it would be a treat. When I was a kid I hardly ever got a burger, let alone steak. Most nights we had to make do with a portion of chips from the chippy.’