My Mum Tracy Beaker

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘You’re giving them far too much!’ he growled to Mum.

  ‘But if they feel their plateful’s good value, they’ll keep coming back, and they’ll tell their mates too,’ said Mum.

  She was great with the mums when they came in with their huge buggies. She always made a fuss of the babies and toddlers, and was happy to warm up their food from home. She slipped the children free toasted soldiers to keep them quiet while their mums drank their coffee and shared a chocolate brownie.

  ‘They take up half the caff and sit there nattering a full hour or more for the price of two coffees and one cake,’ Fred complained. ‘Where’s the profit in that, Tracy Beaker?’

  ‘Quit nagging her, Fred, she’s doing a grand job,’ said Margie – but she wasn’t too happy when Mum started chatting to all her old lady friends, refilling their teapots for nothing and letting them show her photos of their grandchildren.

  ‘It’s lovely that she’s such a friendly person, but I’m having to do most of the serving here while she’s sitting down with Susan and Kath and Marilyn,’ Margie murmured to Fred.

  I signalled to Mum, but she just winked at me, happy to be so popular. I tried not to worry, and wandered over to the window to distract myself. I started counting all the passers-by, but there were far too many – people dashing to and fro to catch buses, and ladies hurrying towards the shopping centre. So many ladies – in jeans and T-shirts and denim jackets, in loose tops and leggings, in smart suits and kitten heels, in slinky dresses and stilettos … A lady with ultra-styled hair, a slinky dress showing off her figure, and high heels that made her wiggle as she walked. I blinked behind my glasses. I knew that lady. I’d seen her before. It was Justine Littlewood.

  ‘Who are you staring at, Jess?’ Mum asked, rushing past with a fry-up in either hand.

  ‘Oh, no one in particular,’ I said quickly.

  But Mum was looking through the window herself now. With a flick of her fancy hair, Justine Littlewood turned her head and saw us standing there, staring out. For a moment she looked shocked. Then she started smiling. She stood there, hands on her hips, shaking her head. She looked Mum up and down, clearly taking in her shiny face and tousled hair, her apron, the two fry-ups. She mouthed one word at Mum. Loser.

  There was a crash. Two crashes, as both plates of food landed on the floor, tomatoes and baked beans and egg yolk spraying our legs. I’m not sure Mum even noticed she’d dropped them. She ran outside, though I yelled at her to come back. She ran right up to Justine Littlewood, who took a couple of steps backwards, looking alarmed. She wasn’t quick enough.

  Mum’s leg shot out and up. Her foot flew through the air. Justine Littlewood wobbled in her high heels and landed slap-bang on her bottom. Mum’s kick-boxing classes hadn’t been in vain.

  FRED SAID MUM had to go right that minute. He said he didn’t want members of his staff brawling with the general public, thank you very much.

  ‘It’s not Mum’s fault. That lady is her worst enemy – she stole her fiancé,’ I explained, but he wouldn’t listen.

  Fred counted out Mum’s small wage packet in an insulting fashion and thrust it at her. ‘Come on, get out of here, and take your bratty daughter with you,’ he said.

  When we got outside, both of us bright red in the face, Justine Littlewood came tottering up.

  ‘I’ve dialled 999! I’m going to have you for assault, Tracy Beaker. I’ve got witnesses, haven’t I?’ She appealed to various gawping passers-by. ‘They all saw you attack me. It’s a wonder I didn’t break my legs. I’m going to A and E to get myself X-rayed, just to make sure. As it is I’m going to be bruised all over! In fact, I bet the police will go for grievous bodily harm. How dare you!’

  ‘Just shut your face, you scheming little toad,’ said Mum, taking my hand. ‘Come on, Jess.’

  ‘I didn’t have to scheme much! Sean just fell into my arms,’ Justine Littlewood called after us. ‘He’s so glad to be rid of you – do you know that? We’re blissfully happy, him and me. And we’re going into business together. I’ve made a success of my life, Tracy Beaker. It looks like you’ve messed things up every which way. Loser! Loser!’

  I felt Mum twitch. ‘Come away, Mum. Please please please don’t kick her again!’ I begged, pulling at her. ‘Quick, before a policeman comes! Oh, Mum, don’t get arrested!’

  Mum saw that I was frantic so she let me lead her away, while Justine Littlewood screamed abuse after us.

  ‘Hurry, Mum!’ I kept urging her.

  ‘She won’t have called the police. She’s just bluffing. And I didn’t kick her, I didn’t even touch her – she just fell over because she lost her balance. I wish to goodness I had kicked her now,’ Mum said furiously, but she kept pace with me.

  All the way home I was terrified the police were after us. I couldn’t even relax when we were in the car because it was so terribly distinctive. I kept hearing sirens behind us. We had to leave the car miles away from the Duke Estate. As we were trudging along the pavement I heard a wailing noise coming along the road.

  ‘Oh, Mum! Run! Let’s hide in the park! Quick!’ I yelled.

  ‘It’s not the police, Jess, it’s an ambulance. See? It’s OK,’ she said.

  I breathed out so hard I felt dizzy.

  ‘Here.’ Mum took my bag and gave me a quick hug. ‘I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to frighten you so. I’m a terrible mother.’

  ‘No you’re not, you’re the best mother in the world,’ I insisted.

  I went on saying it when we were back in our flat, but Mum couldn’t seem to take it in. She sat on the sofa and kept shaking her head.

  ‘She called me a loser, Jess. And she’s right. I am a loser. I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ve never had a proper job or relationship. I always thought the one thing I could be proud of was being a good mum – and then I go scaring you to death every time I lose my temper,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not your fault you’ve got Anger Issues, Mum. It’s because you didn’t have a proper mum looking after you,’ I said, sitting beside her.

  ‘Neither did Justine. And Sean certainly didn’t have a proper mum. Yet they’ve both made a big success of their lives. It’s just me,’ said Mum, and she hid her face in her hands.

  She stayed sad no matter how hard I tried to cheer her up. She got a Monday-to-Friday job in a big coffee shop straight away, but she didn’t like it because she had to make coffees all day and didn’t get a chance to talk to the customers.

  ‘But it’s a job. And I get paid, even though it’s a pittance,’ she said.

  She tried to be friends with the girls who worked there, but they were both in their teens and very giggly.

  ‘They’re OK, but they treat me like I’m an old lady,’ said Mum. ‘I suppose I am in their eyes.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Mum. You’re still young. Well, youngish,’ I said. ‘You look young anyway.’

  ‘No I don’t. I look like an old bag,’ she said.

  She wasn’t looking that great actually. All her sparkle had gone. She was very pale and she was getting thinner, so that her T-shirts hung off her and her jeans were baggy round the bottom. Even her hair lost its spring and drooped limply.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Cam when we paid our daily visit to Alfie. ‘How would you like to go to a spa and have a lovely massage? I went with Mary – I thought I’d hate it but it was absolute heaven. You could get your hair done and your nails painted.’

  Cam was certainly looking great.

  ‘It’s not my sort of thing,’ said Mum. ‘And however much would it cost?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Mary paid for me. But it could be my birthday treat to you.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Mum.

  ‘So what would you like for your birthday?’ Cam persisted.

  ‘I’m not bothering with my birthday this year.’

  ‘Don’t be daft – you always love it when it’s your birthday,’ said Cam. ‘What shall we do next Saturday? Shall I throw you a party?’<
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  ‘Oh yes!’ I said.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Mum. ‘And don’t even think of a surprise party, because the surprise will be the birthday girl walking straight out. How many times do I have to say it? I’m ignoring all birthdays from now on.’

  ‘No celebrations whatsoever?’ Cam asked.

  ‘What’s there to celebrate?’

  ‘Not even any cards or presents?’ I asked in a tiny voice. I’d already spent ages secretly making Mum a card – a picture of the Earth, a round blue and green globe. It was right at the bottom, and quite small like all my drawings, but I’d drawn a giant Mum standing on top of it and taking up the rest of the space. In my best handwriting I’d written: Happy Birthday to the Best Mum in the World. I’d also made her a present out of an old cornflake packet. It was a little house with cardboard furniture, where Mum and Alfie and I might live in the future.

  Cam saw my face. ‘Maybe other people want to celebrate your birthday, Tracy,’ she said sharply.

  ‘So what? It’s my birthday and I can do what I want on the eighth of May. And I want to do a big fat nothing.’

  Cam sighed. ‘I learned long ago that there’s no arguing with you when you’re in this mood. Let’s drop it.’

  However, when we came to take Alfie for his walk on Friday 7 May, Cam invited us to stay for tea – and she’d made a cake. It was a lovely jam and cream sponge with white icing on top. She’d decorated it with strawberries and written in red icing: This is not a birthday cake, Tracy!

  ‘Oh, Cam!’ said Mum. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

  ‘You know I don’t,’ she said.

  ‘It’s an absolutely beautiful not-a-birthday cake, Cam,’ I said.

  ‘And you don’t have to share it with … what was the name of that little kid with the same birthday as you?’ Cam asked.

  ‘He was called Weedy Peter!’ I said.

  ‘That’s right. You didn’t want to share your cake with him. You were so mean to him, poor little devil, yet he thought the world of you, Tracy.’

  ‘It was because Mum didn’t want to share the birthday wish,’ I said.

  ‘Well, this cake doesn’t have candles, obviously, but I dare say Mum can have a wish if she cuts the first slice,’ said Cam.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, I’m not a little kid any more,’ Mum snapped.

  ‘OK, you have a wish instead, Jess.’

  So I cut the cake, closing my eyes tight and wishing with all my might. I wish wish wish Mum would cheer up and we could go back to being happy again!

  The cake was delicious, the best cake ever – even better than Rosalie’s coffee-and-walnut. I ate two big slices, but Mum only had a very small slice and then she left half.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it, Mum?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Thank you very much, Cam. But really, you shouldn’t have bothered,’ said Mum, in a very flat voice.

  ‘I rather wish I hadn’t bothered either,’ said Cam, her cheeks pink.

  She was getting angry with Mum – and yet when we said goodbye she pressed an envelope into Mum’s hand.

  ‘I said no birthday cards,’ said Mum.

  ‘It’s not a card.’

  ‘Look inside, Mum!’ I said.

  ‘You look,’ she said, shrugging.

  It was fifty whole pounds!

  ‘Buy yourself something special,’ Cam said.

  ‘Stop it, Cam. You’ll make me cry,’ said Mum.

  ‘You’re Tracy Beaker. You never cry.’

  I cried a bit when I had to say goodbye to Alfie, like I did nearly every time. I just couldn’t help it, especially when he whimpered. Cam promised me that he only cried for a minute or so, and then he cheered up and ate his supper and played with the girls and slept all night curled up on his cushion – but I still worried about him dreadfully.

  Still, the next day was Saturday, so I could be with him all day long. I woke up early and lay curled up tight in bed, wondering if my wish had come true. I decided to make Mum breakfast in bed for a special surprise. I so so so wanted to make her happy. I made tea, being very careful with the kettle, and I made toast too, cutting Mum’s two slices into heart shapes. They were a bit lopsided, but they looked quite good once I’d spread them with butter and strawberry jam.

  ‘Wakey wakey, Mum,’ I said, carrying the tray carefully into her bedroom.

  ‘Shh, Jess! It’s Saturday. We don’t have to get up early,’ Mum mumbled from under her duvet.

  ‘But, Mum—’

  ‘Let me go back to sleep.’

  ‘But I’ve made you breakfast!’

  ‘What? Oh, Jess, I’m not really hungry. I’m too tired.’

  ‘I turned your toast into a special surprise,’ I muttered.

  Mum sighed and sat up. ‘Show me,’ she said.

  I put the tray on her lap. ‘Do you see – I’ve made you little hearts,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Mum didn’t sound surprised – or even pleased – but she sipped her tea and nibbled half of one piece of toast.

  ‘Does it taste better like that?’ I asked.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And I know you don’t want anyone to go on about your b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y, but I’ve got you a card and a present,’ I said. ‘Can I show you?’

  ‘If you must.’

  I ran to fetch them. I showed Mum the card of her and the world. It didn’t look quite as good as I’d hoped. Mum nodded at it and gave a weird sort of smile, but she didn’t seem to like it. Then I showed her the little cardboard house. It was a bit wobbly so I stood it on the tray.

  ‘See, it’s our house, Mum,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean, our house?’ she said dully.

  ‘The house we’ll have later on, you, me and Alfie. I’ve drawn all three of us.’

  ‘And how are we going to get this house, eh?’ Mum asked. ‘Will we pay for it with cardboard money?’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mum. We’ll get a house one day, you’ll see. A little one, where we can have Alfie with us.’

  ‘No we won’t,’ she said. ‘It’s never going to happen, Jess. We’re going to stay stuck here, in this hateful mouldy dump.’ She said it despairingly and thumped the duvet hard. The tray jerked, her mug toppled over and the cardboard house was flooded with brown liquid. It started buckling.

  ‘Our house!’ I started crying.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake – it’s only cardboard. You can make another one,’ said Mum.

  ‘No I can’t!’ I shouted suddenly. ‘There’s no point! I made it specially for you, and I tried so hard to make it look good, and you don’t even like it. You won’t even pretend. Well, I’m not pretending any more either. You’re spoiling everything. You were horrid to Cam last night, and now you’re being horrid to me. It’s not my fault Sean Godfrey cheated on you! We were so happy before you met him, so why can’t you be happy again now? You won’t even try! You’ve just given up! You’re meant to be the great Tracy Beaker who gets the better of everyone, but you’re just hopeless and mean and sorry for yourself. Look, I’ve written on your card that you’re the best mum in the world, but it’s not true, not any more! You’re a rubbish mum!’ I took hold of the card and ripped it in two, and then I ran out of the bedroom.

  I went to my room and pushed my chair hard against the door so it couldn’t be opened, and then I threw myself on the bed, and cried and cried. I was clutching Woofer, and I cried so hard I made him soggy. Every now and then I stopped sobbing to catch my breath and heard I Mum moving about, and then the sound of the bath running.

  I cried some more, and then curled up tight in a ball, my chin on my knees. I couldn’t believe I’d said all that. I’d never, ever said anything as bad to Mum. I felt like my whole head might explode.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m sick of her. She is a rubbish mum. Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish,’ I whispered, but I was started to feel shivery with worry.

  I listened again. I couldn’t hear anything now. Was Mum all right? It was a big relief wh
en I heard her coming out of the bathroom. I stayed in bed, hiccupping, though I’d stopped crying now. Then there was a little knock on my bedroom door.

  ‘Jess? Can I come in?’

  I didn’t answer. I heard Mum joggling the door handle.

  ‘Jess, are you all right?’ she called. She sounded anxious.

  I pressed my lips together.

  ‘Jess!’ Mum was pushing at the door now. The chair suddenly toppled over and the door opened, and she came over to my bed.

  ‘Hey, Jess?’ She lifted up the duvet and peered in at me. ‘I’m sorry, baby. I am a rubbish mum.’

  ‘Not really,’ I whispered.

  ‘No, really. I deserve a good kick up the bum. Yes, I’ll kick-box myself, OK. Watch!’

  She jumped off the bed. I watched as she leaped into the air, doing a couple of crazy back kicks, aiming at her bottom.

  ‘Mum! You’ll hurt yourself, you mad thing!’

  ‘Good! Jess, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been so selfish and pathetic – but I’m going to pull myself together now. See!’ She pulled at her own arms and legs. ‘There, that’s better. Now let’s find some sellotape to see if we can stick your beautiful card together – and maybe I can blow-dry the little house with my hair dryer and make it as good as new. I love it, I really do. Please forgive me.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said.

  We had a big, big hug. Mum’s hair was still wet from her bath and my cheeks were still wet with tears, but neither of us minded. When I was washed and dressed we had another cup of tea, and Mum insisted on eating up her other strawberry heart-shaped slice of toast, even though it had gone cold.

  ‘It’s totally yummy,’ she said. ‘Hey, Jess, I think I want to celebrate my birthday after all. We could spend Cam’s present. Let’s have a day out together, you and me!’