My Mum Tracy Beaker

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Well, you could have told me! The guy at the kick-boxing class didn’t know where you were either,’ said Mum.

  ‘I thought you’d given up going – weren’t you taking Jess swimming or something?’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘Anyway, I don’t go round gassing to my staff, telling them all my plans. Shame I missed you though. I love seeing you aiming kicks and getting all red in the face.’

  ‘I’ll practise on you if you like,’ said Mum.

  They started play-fighting. Mum was quite fierce at first, but soon they were just larking about. They didn’t have a row. They ended up getting all lovey-dovey. Again.

  I wondered about asking Mum to teach me to kick-box. I could try it out on Tyrone when he started to annoy me. He was still going on and on and on about Sean Godfrey. He even started writing his biography!

  Miss Oliver said we all had to choose a person we admired and then find out all sorts of information about them and write it up in our own words.

  ‘And if they’re famous I don’t want you copying Wikipedia word for word,’ she warned. ‘I want you each to write something really original and interesting.’

  Half the class thought I’d write about Sean Godfrey!

  ‘You’re so lucky, Jess. You can find out all sorts of stuff, easy-peasy, and get photos and old football programmes and newspaper cuttings,’ said Aleysha.

  ‘I’m not doing Sean Godfrey,’ I told her. ‘I’m doing my mum Tracy Beaker.’

  ‘But your mum’s not famous!’

  ‘Miss Oliver said we should write about someone we admire. And I admire my mum,’ I said.

  I spent ages working on my biography.

  I drew lots of pictures of Mum and me – in our Marlborough Tower flat, and going round a boot fair, and walking Alfie, and riding in our pink Cadillac.

  I was one of the first to hand their work in to Miss Oliver. She read it immediately, while I was still standing at her desk.

  ‘Well done, Jess,’ she said when she’d got to the end. ‘It’s a lovely piece of work, and I like all the drawings too.’

  ‘Did you see I mentioned your friend Cam?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Miss Oliver, smiling.

  ‘I admire her too. I’ll do a biography of her if we have to do another one,’ I said. ‘I like writing biographies of people.’

  Tyrone was finding writing a biography of Sean Godfrey hard work. He’d filled one side of paper, but it was just a load of match results he’d copied out. He’d added stars for each goal Sean Godfrey had scored.

  ‘It looks rather like the sky at night,’ said Miss Oliver, glancing at it. ‘I can see you’ve put a lot of effort into this, Tyrone, but I’d like you to do some writing too, at least a couple of pages. Tell me about Sean Godfrey the person. Imagine what it feels like to be Sean Godfrey.’

  Tyrone rolled his eyes. ‘It must feel terrific, Miss!’

  ‘Well, that’s a start.’

  So Tyrone wrote that down. Then he got stuck. ‘I don’t know what else to put,’ he said.

  I remembered what Aleysha had said about using football programmes and newspaper cuttings.

  ‘Shall I see if I can find something at Sean Godfrey’s for you, Tyrone? Newspaper cuttings and stuff? He’s got all sorts in his study. I’ve had a peep.’

  ‘Oh, wow! Would you? That would be magic!’ he said.

  When we got back from school Sean Godfrey was already there.

  ‘How’s my girls?’ he asked. ‘And my boy,’ he added, squatting down and making a big fuss of Alfie.

  ‘You’re in a good mood!’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m always in a good mood when you’re around, Trace,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘I thought I’d come home early and take us all out for a meal tonight. What do you fancy? Italian, signora? A beeg plate of spagi boli? Or French, mademoiselle? Steak frites and beaucoup de plonk?’ He put on dreadful silly accents to make Mum laugh.

  ‘How about Indian? I fancy a curry,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will whisk you off to the Taj Mahal, memsahib. I’ll nip out for a run first so the calories won’t stick. Coming with me, Trace?’

  ‘As if!’ said Mum. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea with Rosalie before she goes home.’

  I wondered about asking Sean Godfrey for an old football programme and a cutting or two as he was in such a good mood, but he was so weird about all his football stuff. He didn’t just have it framed on the walls in the living room. The study was like a Sean Godfrey shrine. I wasn’t allowed in there. He didn’t even let Rosalie dust – he did it once a week with a special feather duster, and polished all his trophies.

  I thought he’d probably say no, good mood or not. I decided not to risk asking. I’d just borrow some little token and hope he’d never notice. I knew I’d be in serious trouble if he caught me in his precious study, but he wouldn’t be back from his run for ages. It wasn’t just a jog around the garden. He changed into a vest and silly little shorts and set off for a proper run to the local park. He’d be gone for an hour or more.

  So I crept into the study and tiptoed around, keeping a careful eye on Alfie, who had followed me in. He padded softly, as if he knew we had to be stealthy. All around the room there were framed newspaper cuttings and magazine articles, along with football shirts in glass cases and all kinds of silver trophies. I obviously couldn’t sneak them away. But there was heaps more stuff filed away in cabinets and in the drawers of the big desk. Sean Godfrey surely wouldn’t miss a couple of little souvenirs.

  My heart was beating fast even so. Was it a crime if you took something from your own home? I knew it probably was. And it all clearly meant so much to Sean Godfrey. I didn’t like him much, but now that I was in his study I found I didn’t want to steal from him, even just a piece of newspaper.

  Maybe I’d better wait to ask, and risk him saying no, I thought. Perhaps he’d not mind too much. After all, he liked Tyrone. He’d like the idea of being picked for Miss Oliver’s biography project. And Tyrone could return everything afterwards.

  I stood there dithering, wondering what to do. Alfie got a bit bored, and stuck his nose into the open desk drawers, sorting through the papers himself.

  ‘Alfie! Don’t! You’ll crumple them,’ I said, panicking.

  I bent down, pushed him away, and took out all the things he had rumpled, hoping I could smooth them out. Underneath, at the bottom of the drawer, I saw a phone.

  It was like my new one, but a different colour. Was it another present for someone? I wondered. But it was already out of its box – it looked as if it had been used.

  Why did Sean Godfrey have it hidden away in a drawer? He already had a phone, so why did he need this spare one? I picked it up, puzzled. I touched the screen and stared at the screensaver. His other phone had a photo of Mum. This one just had a deep blue sky scene. I touched the screen again, and was asked for a password. I wondered what Sean Godfrey’s was.

  I’d chosen mine carefully. It was 170830. My birthday’s on 17 January, Mum’s is on 8 May, and Cam’s is on 30 October. Birthdays are very important in our family. It makes the number easy for me to remember. I wondered when Sean Godfrey’s birthday was. Or had he chosen some other number combination? What was important to him?

  I looked up at a framed newspaper cutting with the headline PREMIERSHIP SEAN! There was a big photo of him leaping into the air in triumph. Tyrone had told me all about this match. According to him, it was legendary. Sean Godfrey had scored a hat-trick, and the third goal meant that the team won the Premier League.

  I looked at the number 7 on his football shirt. I squinted at the date on the newspaper: 2008. I tapped in 372008 – but it didn’t work. I tried reversing the 3 and the 7 – and the phone opened up! I felt like a genius, though it had taken the simplest deduction.

  I pressed the messages symbol. Then I stopped dead, staring at the latest little box.

  Hi, Big Guy! It’s gr8 doing business with u, lol!

  Ur the best. Better than the best. Luv and more
,

  ur bad girl J xxx

  My hands started shaking. I scrolled upwards. I saw Sean Godfrey’s last message.

  Ur one hot babe, my J. Can’t wait to see you!

  Ur S xxx

  They were texting several times every day. Some of the stuff they said made me feel sick. It was obvious what was going on. She never used her full name, but she had sent photos. I stared at her triumphant smile. It was Justine Littlewood.

  ‘Jess!’ Mum came bursting into the study. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What on earth are you doing? You know you’re not allowed in here. What are all those programmes doing jumbled up on the floor? Alfie, leave! Jess, how could you? Sean will go nuts if he finds out. Come and help clear it all up – don’t just stand there texting like a moron,’ she said furiously.

  I stood there helplessly, the words still dancing in front of me. ‘It’s not my phone, Mum,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What? What’s the matter? Why are you looking so worried?’

  I didn’t know what to do. If I showed Mum those texts, she’d see for herself what Sean Godfrey was really like. But it would destroy her.

  ‘Whose phone is it?’ she asked.

  I shook my head helplessly. I had a mad thought that I should hurl the phone out of the window so she couldn’t see it, or dash it against the desk to break it, or run to the nearest loo to drown it … But Mum already had her hand on it. The photo of Justine Littlewood was still showing.

  Mum looked at it. She flicked through the messages. Then she dropped the phone and sat down in a heap on the carpet.

  MUM? OH, MUM, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I wish wish wish I hadn’t found the stupid phone.’

  Mum said nothing. Her head was bent so I couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Please, Mum. Say something. Look, we don’t know that all those stupid messages really mean anything.’

  I knelt down and put my arm round her. She didn’t cuddle into me. She didn’t shrug me off. She just sat there, utterly lifeless. I put my head against hers and tried to tuck her curls behind her ears so I could see her face. She was crying. She wasn’t making any sound at all, but tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Mum! Don’t cry! You never cry!’ I said.

  ‘I’m not crying. It’s hay fever,’ said Mum, in a tiny voice. Then she screwed up her face. ‘That’s what I always used to say when I howled back at the Dumping Ground. Especially when Justine Littlewood took my best friend Louise away. And now she’s done it all over again. It’s like I’m on a roundabout and I keep going round and round and everything repeats itself. I can’t get off, no matter how hard I try.’

  ‘But you like roundabouts, Mum,’ I said stupidly.

  ‘I thought I’d made it this time. I’ve mucked up so much. I didn’t try hard enough at school, I’ve never had a proper job, I’ve never had a long-term relationship – not even with your dad – I’ve never been able to give you a nice home, I’ve just messed up royally time after time. Then I met Sean, and there I was, suddenly in cloud-cuckoo-land, believing it was all coming right at last. Only now it’s all messed up again. What’s the matter with me, Jess? What’s the matter with me?’ She clenched her fist and punched the end of the desk really hard.

  ‘Mum! Stop it – you’ll hurt your hand!’ I grabbed hold of it. The knuckles were starting to bleed. I started to sob. ‘Please don’t! You’re frightening me!’

  ‘Oh, Jess! I’m sorry,’ she said, wringing her poor hand.

  ‘Don’t punch the desk! What about punching Sean Godfrey instead?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll punch Justine Littlewood! She obviously couldn’t bear it when she saw the photo in the magazine and realized that everything had gone right for me at last. She had to come slinking along to take him away.’

  ‘But he hasn’t gone, Mum. He’s still here. With you. And he’s bought you a great big diamond engagement ring and he’s going to marry you in a fairy-tale castle,’ I said.

  ‘No he’s not,’ said Mum. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘But what will we do?’

  ‘We’ll go back to Marlborough Tower. Thank goodness the council hasn’t re-let it yet.’

  ‘But what about Alfie?’ I said desperately.

  ‘Oh God, Alfie,’ said Mum.

  Alfie had been cowering in a corner, frightened by all the tears, but now he thought Mum was calling him. He came bounding up and gently licked her damp face.

  ‘I can’t bear it if I can’t keep Alfie,’ I said.

  ‘You can keep him, Jess. We’ll have to ask someone else to look after him – just for a few weeks until I get things sorted – but I’ll find somewhere we can all live together, you, me and Alfie,’ said Mum.

  ‘But how?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll do it, I promise. I never break a promise to you, do I?’ Mum stood up shakily and then pulled me up too. She dropped the phone with its horrible messages back in the drawer. Then she shoved all the programmes on top of it.

  ‘Do you think I might have just one programme for Tyrone?’ I asked.

  ‘What? Here!’ Mum thrust several at me. ‘Take them!’

  Rosalie was hovering in the hallway anxiously. She’d clearly been listening.

  ‘Oh, Miss Tracy! Come and have another cup of tea,’ she said sorrowfully.

  ‘I don’t think tea’s going to help,’ said Mum, but she went into the kitchen and let Rosalie make another pot of tea. Rosalie got out the cake tin too, but Mum shook her head.

  ‘Give Jess some though,’ she said.

  Rosalie cut me a large slice of coffee-and-walnut. It was as creamy and moist and delicious as always, but it didn’t seem to taste right any more. There was something wrong with my throat – I couldn’t swallow.

  ‘You’re not really leaving, are you?’ Rosalie said.

  Mum nodded.

  ‘Because Mr Sean’s got some secret lady?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call her a lady.’

  ‘It won’t mean anything though. He can’t help himself – he loves the ladies. But I’ve never seen him so happy with anyone as he is with you. He’s like a little boy again. It’s you he wants. The other one won’t last five minutes. They never do. Can’t you just ignore it?’

  ‘I wish I could,’ said Mum.’

  ‘I would,’ said Rosalie. ‘It’s not as if you’re married yet. And when you are, Mr Sean might take his vows seriously. He’s not a bad man at heart. He’s just used to doing what he wants. All that money and fame from his football has gone to his head. He’s made such a fuss of you too. Look at your ring! And the funny pink car. He adores you. You can ask for anything you want and he’ll give you it, you know that.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to be poor again?’

  Mum shook her head.

  ‘And what about little Jess? And Mr Alfie dog? Don’t go! It’s been so good having you here, just like a proper family,’ said Rosalie.

  ‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted for Jess,’ Mum whispered.

  ‘Think about it,’ Rosalie begged, putting on her coat to go home. ‘Please, Miss Tracy.’

  ‘Please just call me Tracy.’

  ‘I wish I could call you Mrs Sean,’ said Rosalie. She gave Mum a big hug, and then me.

  It was very quiet in the kitchen when she’d gone. Mum sat at the table staring into space. I hauled Alfie onto my lap and held him tight. We waited. I licked my finger and dabbed at all the cake crumbs on my plate, counting them. I decided that if I ended up with an even number, we’d go. If it was an odd number, we’d stay. But there were too many crumbs and they all smeared into each other.

  ‘What are you going to do, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  We waited some more. Then Alfie started barking and jumped down off my lap. He’d heard Sean Godfrey running up the driveway. The front door opened, and I looked at Mum and she looked at me, and then Sean Godfrey burst through the kitchen door, grinning and sweaty, jogging on the spot now.

 
‘There!’ he puffed. ‘I reckon I’ve made room for a massive chicken vindaloo now! I’ll just have a shower. Why are you two looking so serious, eh? Go and put your glad rags on, girls!’

  Mum shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea after all, Sean,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What’s up? Don’t you feel well, Trace?’ He sat down beside Mum and peered at her face. ‘You’re very white. Have you got a headache, babe?’

  ‘I’m not ill. I’ve had a shock.’ Mum looked at me. ‘Maybe you’d better go to your room, Jess. Take Alfie with you.’

  ‘But, Mum—’

  ‘Jess!’

  So I went out, but I stayed in the hall, sitting cross-legged just the other side of the door, my arms round Alfie.

  ‘What shock, Trace?’ Sean Godfrey sounded so concerned. I wound my fingers through Alfie’s fur, waiting for Mum’s reply.

  ‘I know about you and Justine,’ she said, so quietly I barely heard her.

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘You. And. Justine,’ Mum said, much louder, spitting each word out.

  ‘Well?’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘What about her?’

  ‘You’ve been seeing her.’

  ‘Yes. She came round the gym. And I invited her back here for a meal.’

  ‘And you’ve been seeing her ever since,’ Mum said.

  ‘No I haven’t. You’re getting your knickers in a twist for nothing. I know you were a bit jealous of her that night, but there’s no need to torture yourself imagining things, babe. I only have eyes for you – you know that.’

  ‘The liar!’ I whispered into Alfie’s ear.

  Mum called him something much worse. Then, ‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me. I know you’ve been seeing her.’

  ‘You’re so insecure, Trace. Remember you thought I was still seeing Sandy?’

  ‘You’re probably seeing her too. But this isn’t about her. It’s about Justine Littlewood. And what the hell makes you think I’m jealous of her?’