‘Oh yes! And Alfie?’
‘Definitely Alfie. Let’s go and collect him.’
It was still only eight o’clock when we drove round to Cam’s. All the girls were still fast asleep, but Cam and Alfie were up – and Miss Oliver was already there.
‘We’re going on another hike,’ said Cam.
‘You’re not taking Alfie again, are you?’ I asked anxiously. He had come back exhausted from his first one.
‘Who do you want to spend the day with, Alfie – Mary and me, or Jess and Tracy?’ said Cam.
Alfie came bounding over to me!
‘Oh, Alfie, you clever dog,’ I said, making a huge fuss of him.
Mum and I took him for a walk in the park first so he could have a wee and stretch his legs, and then we secured him safely in the back of the Cadillac.
‘So where are we going, Mum?’ I asked.
‘I don’t really know!’ she said. ‘You choose, Jess.’
‘No, it’s your birthday. You have to say where.’
‘I can’t think. Not a town. What about the country somewhere? Alfie would like that. Or … I know! The seaside. It’s not very sunny, but it might brighten up later. Do you fancy a trip to the sea?’
‘Yes please! Alfie’s never seen the sea. He’ll be so excited.’
‘I remember the first time I saw the sea. Mike took all us kids from the Dumping Ground camping for a week. It was magic. I couldn’t believe the sea was so huge. I went charging into the water for a paddle without even bothering to take off my shoes and socks! I was a right nutter when I was little. Still am!’
‘Shall we go there then. That same beach?’ I suggested.
‘Good idea!’ Mum looked at a map of the coast on her phone. ‘Aha! This is it. Cooksea. It’s only a little place. It hasn’t got a pier or a big amusement arcade or anything like that – is that still OK?’
‘Let’s go for it,’ I said.
So we did.
MUM PUT ON her shades, and we pretended we were movie stars driving along in our pink Cadillac. Mum drove fast so our hair tangled in mad curls, and our cheeks grew pink. We started singing daft old pop songs. Mum often forgot the words and I didn’t know them anyway, but it didn’t matter – we made up new crazy words or la-la-la’d.
People stared at us, singing away in our flamingo-pink car. Some of the drivers tooted and people on the pavement waved. We tooted and waved back.
‘Watch out, the Beaker Babes are in your area,’ Mum yelled. ‘We’re here to have fun!’
‘We are having fun, aren’t we, Mum?’ I asked.
‘You bet we are,’ she said. ‘Let’s make the most of it. We might have to sell the car to keep us going.’
‘But it’s your special car, Mum, the kind you always wanted right from when you were a little girl,’ I reminded her.
‘I’m a big girl now, and I have to think of boring things like the rent and new shoes for you and school trips – and I think you need new glasses because you’re always frowning nowadays,’ said Mum.
‘My shoes still fit, sort of, but anyway my feet will soon be big enough to wear your shoes – the red sparkly high-tops! I don’t want to go on any stupid school trips because I haven’t got any proper friends now, not even Tyrone, not that I care – and I don’t need new glasses, honest. I’ve been frowning because I was worried, but I’m not worried any more because my unbirthday wish came true. I wished you’d be happy again, and you are!’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Mum, and she put her foot down and we zoomed along even faster.
‘Not too fast, Mum!’
Alfie started whimpering and fidgeting in the back.
‘I think he needs a wee,’ I said, craning round anxiously.
Mum stopped at the next lay-by, and I walked Alfie along the grass verge, where he did lots of wees. There were several lorries parked there – the drivers were having breakfast at the refreshment hut. They all gathered round to admire the Cadillac as they munched their bacon rolls.
We’d already had our strawberry hearts, but the bacon rolls smelled so delicious we had a second breakfast while Mum chatted to the lorry drivers. They all wanted to peer inside the bonnet, and stroked the Cadillac’s shiny pink sides the way I stroke Alfie.
‘Lovely car you’ve got there,’ said one of the drivers. He had big blue eyes and a big white smile. ‘And a lovely little girl and a lovely dog. And you’re quite lovely too. What’s your name, Mrs?’
‘Tracy Beaker,’ said Mum. ‘And it’s Miss, not Mrs. It’s going to stay Miss too. Come on, Jess. Back in the car. See you, guys.’
‘That man fancied you,’ I said as we set off again.
‘Yep,’ said Mum.
‘But you didn’t fancy him?’
‘Nope. I’m not going to get involved with any more men. We’re fine just as we are, you and me …’ Mum paused, waiting for me to open my mouth. ‘And Alfie,’ we said in unison.
There was country all around us now, rolling green hills as far as you could see. The sky seemed much bigger and bluer than it was in London, and the sun made everything look so bright it was as if we had landed in Munchkinland.
‘We couldn’t have picked a better day for the seaside,’ said Mum. ‘Not far now. I remember this hilly part from when I was a little kid. Mike took us hiking, and we were all completely knackered by the time we got to the top of that big hill over there. Then, on the way back, we walked across a meadow and Justine stepped in a cowpat and we all fell about laughing.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t push her, Mum?’ I asked.
‘Me?’ she said, grinning. ‘Maybe I gave her just a little shove. Accidentally on purpose.’
‘You’re bad, Mum. When are we going to see the sea then?’
‘Soon soon soon!’ said Mum.
We drove through a little village.
‘Oh yes, Mike took us to have cake in a teashop here, and we had to swear we’d be on our best behaviour so as not to show him up!’ said Mum.
‘Hey, shall we stop now and have a cake, Mum? A birthday cake?’ I suggested.
‘I’m still too full of bacon roll,’ said Mum. ‘And I’m not sure about Alfie’s manners in a teashop. He might play tug with the tablecloths and slobber on the scones. Anyway, we’re nearly there. We’ll see the sea in a minute.’
We drove up such a steep hill that the car juddered in protest, but when we got to the top there was a wonderful view of fields stretching out to the sky, with the sea glittering silver in front of us.
‘Is this Cooksea?’ I cried. ‘Oh, Mum, it looks lovely!’
‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside!’ Mum sang, and pretended to be a trumpet for the tiddely-om-pom pom part.
I sang, ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean, my Bonnie lies over the sea’, and did all the hand gestures too.
‘Very good,’ said Mum. ‘Are you making up all those gestures?’
‘No, Miss Oliver taught us,’ I said. ‘I do like her, especially now she’s Cam’s friend.’
‘I like her too,’ said Mum. ‘How could I ever have called her a bossy old bag?’
‘You were awful, Mum!’
‘I know. That was a terrible thing to say, even for me.’
‘I’m so glad you like her now.’
‘She’s different when she’s not being a teacher. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think. It just matters that Cam likes her.’
‘So long as she doesn’t like her more than us! She’s our Cam, isn’t she, Mum?’
‘Of course she is. Fancy her getting into this rambling lark! They were going on a twelve-mile hike today – imagine!’
‘Alfie’s much happier being with us. He doesn’t have walking boots like Cam and Miss Oliver. I’m sure his paws must have ached dreadfully after all that hiking,’ I said.
When we parked the car on the seafront and let Alfie loose on the beach, he bounded about like a puppy. He gambolled over the pebbles, sniffing ecstatically, ran to meet all the other dogs on the beach, and th
en dashed towards the sea. He leaped over the tiny waves at the edge, barking with joy.
I took off my shoes and socks and paddled with him. Mum did too, rolling up her jeans and splashing about like a little kid. She got quite wet but she didn’t seem to mind.
We sat down on the pebbles for a while and threw stones into the sea. Mum was good at finding flat ones that skimmed the water three or four times before sinking. I searched for shells without much luck, but found a pebble with a perfect round hole in the middle. I peered through it.
‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with TB,’ I said.
‘Um … let me see. Terrible Bore? Total Blockhead? Tyrannical Bimbo?’ Mum joked.
‘It’s Tracy Beaker, silly!’ I said. ‘Are you having a good birthday, Mum?’
‘The best ever.’
It was getting rather cloudy and we were still damp, so we went for a walk along the promenade to warm up. We had races. Alfie always came first and laughed at us, his tongue lolling. I came last but I didn’t mind.
Near the cliffs we saw a long row of beach huts, all painted different colours.
‘Aren’t they lovely? If we had one, which colour would you choose, Mum?’ I asked.
‘Red. This one, with the white cockleshell above the door,’ she said.
‘Yes, it’s definitely the best. I wish it wasn’t all shut up so we could see inside. Do you think anyone actually lives there?’ I asked.
Mum shrugged. ‘It looks empty to me.’
‘Do you think we could live there?’ I suddenly felt excited. ‘Oh, Mum, it would be wonderful. I know it’s very little, but we’re not very big, are we? I’m sure there would be space for a bed, just about, and during the day we could use it as a sofa. And Alfie could live with us because there are heaps of dogs here. Think how he’d like to have doggy friends to play tug with. And we could go paddling every day. It would be so brilliant!’
‘Beach huts don’t have toilets, Jess.’
‘There’s bound to be public toilets somewhere.’
‘They don’t have proper cooking facilities either.’
‘We don’t need to cook. We could eat fish and chips every day,’ I insisted.
‘You can’t live in a beach hut for nothing. You have to buy them,’ said Mum.
‘Couldn’t we save up? Maybe sell the car?’
‘Beach huts cost thousands and thousands of pounds.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I do wish you’d kept Sean Godfrey’s engagement ring.’
‘Mm, I keep thinking that too,’ said Mum. ‘Especially if Justine Husband-Snatcher Littlewood’s wearing it now.’
‘Mum – do you still mind terribly?’ I asked in a tiny voice.
She pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. I did love him. Maybe I still do, though I hate him now too. And it was so heavenly, everyone envying us, and not having to worry about money. To be honest I miss that the most.’
‘I don’t miss it one little bit,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m glad because it was mostly for you. I wanted you to have the home you deserve, Jess.’
‘I’m fine, just so long as we’re together,’ I said.
‘It’s awful – you always end up having to reassure me,’ said Mum. ‘That’s what mums should do, not daughters.’
‘Who says? We’re the Beaker Babes. We do it our way,’ I said. ‘Race you? Bet I win this time!’
I did – but I think Mum and Alfie let me. Then the sun came back out and we sat on a bench and did some sunbathing.
‘Are you still full of bacon roll, Mum?’ I asked hopefully.
‘No, I’m getting quite peckish now. It must be from all that running,’ she said.
‘You know I said we could have fish and chips every day if we lived here?’ I said. ‘Do you think we could have fish and chips now?’
‘Great idea,’ said Mum.
We wandered up into the little town looking for a fish-and-chip shop. Then we took our cardboard boxes into a park and sat on a bench and ate our lovely lunch while Alfie ran around in circles with the other dogs, coming back every few minutes for a morsel of fish or half a chip.
‘I think this is the best fish and chips ever,’ I said, swinging my legs happily.
‘Absolutely,’ said Mum. She patted her tummy. ‘I’m full to bursting now. Shall we go for a little mooch around the town and see if they’ve got any junk shops?’
The High Street just had ordinary shops – WHSmith and Boots and pound shops – but there were more interesting ones in the little side streets. There was a jewellery shop that sold second-hand necklaces and bracelets and rings. Mum sighed over the price of the tiny diamonds.
‘Mine was such a biggie,’ she said. ‘Still. I’m not going to keep looking back and dwelling on the past. Maybe that’s why I fell for Sean. I got carried away remembering us as kids and how different we were then. It made me feel fond of him right from the start.’
‘You didn’t feel fond of Justine Littlewood, and she’s part of the past too,’ I pointed out.
‘True. Do you know something? It’s time I grew up and stopped harping on about what happened donkey’s years ago. I’m going to make a conscious effort to forget all about my childhood. Give me a quick slap about the chops if I ever say the words Dumping Ground again,’ said Mum.
We turned a corner, went down another alleyway – and stared open-mouthed at the shop ahead of us. It was double-fronted and very shabby. The windows were dirty, but we could see that it was packed to the ceiling with all kinds of junk – old wicker chairs and battered suitcases and faded satin eiderdowns and spotted mirrors and plaster ducks and pictures of ladies with green faces. But we weren’t focusing on the things in the shop window. We were looking at the sign above it. It announced its name in scrawly writing:
‘Does it really say that, Mum,’ I said, blinking, ‘or are my eyes playing tricks on me? Maybe I do need new glasses after all!’
‘That’s what it says all right. What a weird coincidence! Still, it can’t be anything to do with my children’s home. It’s just a clever name for a junk shop. All the stuff here has been dumped, right? Let’s go in and have a rummage, eh?’
We opened the door cautiously and peered into the gloom. The bell above the door tinkled. The huge velvet cushions covering an ancient sofa suddenly moved, and Mum and I stepped back in alarm. The cushions heaved themselves upright – and a head appeared at the top.
‘Hello, my darlings!’ said the lady, as if we were her best friends and she’d been expecting us for ages.
She was very large and wore a rather grubby long green velvet dress, with a silky yellow shawl round her shoulders, the fringing coming away. She looked as if she’d been reclining on the sofa for many years. When she eased herself up – with the help of two ebony sticks – we saw that she could barely walk, her large feet spilling out of her slippers. She had several ropes of amber beads dangling over her very big front, and a pair of glasses instead of a locket hanging from a gold chain. She propped the specs on her nose and peered at us.
‘Do come in and have a rummage.’ She spoke in a very dramatic way, waving her arms about, though this affected her balance and she nearly toppled over. Mum rushed to help her.
‘Thank you so much, darling. I always forget I need these wretched sticks nowadays. Never have a stroke, dear. Total misery. Here I am, day after day, positively marooned, a heap of blubber – though inside I’m still skipping around like a teenager. Settle me back on the sofa or I’ll fall bum over bosom and become even more of an old crock,’ she declared.
Mum did her best to do as the shop lady suggested, though it was quite a struggle. Alfie watched with interest, and when she was settled again he tried to jump up beside her.
‘No, Alfie! Down!’ Mum and I shouted.
‘Yes, Alfie! Up!’ said the lady, patting the sofa with her hand. She had a ring squeezed onto every finger and they clattered toget
her.
For once Alfie did as he was told, and jumped up, though there was hardly any space for him on the sagging sofa. He landed mostly on the lady’s large tummy, but she didn’t seem to mind a bit.
‘What a lovely friendly little chap! He is a boy, isn’t he? From this angle I can’t see if he’s got a willy,’ she said.
I’d never heard an old lady say two rude words in the space of a minute, especially in such a posh fruity voice. I looked round at Mum uncertainly. She was grinning.
‘Yes, he’s a boy. His name’s Alfie – and he’s certainly taken a shine to you,’ she said.
‘Oh, darling, once upon a time all chaps made a fuss of me – but now I count myself lucky if a little dog snuggles up to me when customers come into the shop. Not that I get many customers nowadays. And who can blame them? Everything’s in such a pickle.’ The shop lady waved her hands dismissively and set her rings clanking.
‘Well, we’d love to have a look round,’ said Mum.
‘Certainly, certainly. Have a good poke. If you don’t see anything you fancy – and who could blame you? – there’s cupboards and chests and cardboard boxes all crammed fit to bursting, only I haven’t got room to display them, and in any case these silly old hands are too clumsy. Last time I tried, I broke the spout off a rare Clarice Cliff teapot and smashed a French porcelain doll to smithereens.’
So Mum and I edged our way through a maze of chairs and tables and trunks and looked at everything while Alfie sat with the lady like a perfect little lap dog.
‘Just tip him off if he’s squashing you,’ Mum said.
‘Never! He’s such a little treasure,’ the lady declared. ‘I love dogs. He reminds me of my dear Chin-Chin. He was the love of my life, a black-and-white Japanese Chin – went everywhere with me when I could still get around, and after my stroke he scarcely left my side. It broke my heart when he died. I was desperate for another, but I can’t walk a dog in this state, so it wouldn’t be fair. Life isn’t fair, is it, girls? In fact, life can be a real whatsit!’
My Mum Tracy Beaker Page 24