‘It certainly can,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘A total whatsit!’
They didn’t actually say the word whatsit, they said something much ruder. Mum caught my eye. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you saying that, Jess!’ she said.
We went on looking.
‘Have you seen anything you want, Mum?’ I whispered. ‘You should pick yourself a birthday present. We’ve still got heaps of Cam’s money left.’
‘You must pick something too. Everything’s very reasonably priced,’ Mum whispered back.
I spent ages rummaging, and eventually decided on a blue china bunny with big ears, just like the one Alice had in her bedroom. One of his paws was a bit broken, but I didn’t mind. Mum dithered over an old leather suitcase and a silky kimono and a baseball jacket, but eventually chose an old doll with blue eyes and thinning yellow hair and a torn dress.
‘But you don’t even like dolls, Mum!’ I said, surprised.
‘Yes, I know, but this one’s a bit like the one I had when I was a little girl, my Bluebell. I loved her,’ said Mum. Then she hissed, ‘And she’s only ten pounds, a total bargain! She’s worth heaps more, even though she’s so shabby.’
The shop lady seemed delighted when we showed her our choices. She peered at the price tags. ‘I’ll knock a bit off, seeing as we’re like old friends already,’ she said. ‘You can have the doll for eight, and the little SylvaC bunny for two, seeing as he’s got a chip on his paw. That’s a tenner, if you please.’
Mum looked at me. I looked at her. We hesitated. They were almost too much of a bargain.
‘Is it too much, dears?’ the lady asked. ‘Are we going to haggle?’
Mum nibbled her lip. ‘It’s not enough,’ she said. ‘Not nearly enough.’
‘You mean you want to pay more?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘Your prices are far too generous.’
The shop lady shrieked with laughter. ‘Oh my, this is interesting haggling! Don’t be so silly. Give me the tenner, and take your doll and your bunny and no more nonsense. Tell you what – if you feel really badly you can make me a cup of tea, because I’m gasping.’
‘Certainly,’ said Mum.
‘There’s a little room out the back. You’ll see the kettle. Excuse all my washing things. I camp down here nowadays. Can’t manage the stairs. Make a cup for yourself too – and the kiddie. Do you drink tea, dear?’ she asked me.
‘Yes please,’ I said.
‘And what’s your name?’
‘I’m Jess.’
‘Pretty. I used to know a lady called Jessamine Heart. I don’t suppose the name rings any bells with you girls, but she was reasonably well known in her day. An actress, though she didn’t have much talent, poor dear – just an impressive figure and a way with men. Do you know the type?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Mum called from the little kitchen.
‘I wonder if you’ve heard of Florence Garland?’ the shop lady asked. ‘Now she was an actress. You might have seen her most famous film on the telly – Death of a Lady? She was the lady and she died beautifully, even though I say so myself. She was on the stage too – mostly drawing-room comedies, but she did some Shakespeare too. She once toured as Rosalind and got rave reviews in all the papers. I’ve got them stuck in a scrapbook somewhere. When she was a little older she did sitcom – she was the comical cleaning lady for seven series of Life with the Lilliputs.’ She put her head on one side and started talking in a funny Cockney accent. ‘’Allo, dearies, let me slosh a bit of disinfectant in all your murky corners! That was my catch line. People used to shout it after me in the street.’
‘So you’re Florence Garland?’ said Mum, coming to peer at her.
‘I used to be. Now I’m simply poor old Flo who hasn’t had a part in years. I had a tough time – had to do some waitressing, which played havoc with my feet. Ever done waitressing, dear?’ she asked Mum.
‘Yes – it’s a killer. I’m working in a coffee shop now, and that’s even worse.’
Flo clucked sympathetically. ‘And what’s your name, darling?’
‘Tracy Beaker.’
‘Now there’s a name with a familiar ring. You haven’t been on the telly, have you?’
‘Oh, there was some documentary about me when I was a kid,’ said Mum, going back to make the tea.
‘Oooh!’ said Flo. ‘So why did they feature your mum, pet? She wasn’t one of those sickening child phenomenons who speak twenty languages and do advanced algebra when they’re five?’
No! I think it was because she was in a children’s home,’ I said.
‘Yes, and you’ll never guess what we used to call it,’ said Mum, coming in with a tray and three different china cups with odd saucers, though they all had pretty floral patterns and fancy gold rims. ‘The Dumping Ground!’
‘Oh, my! Would you believe it! I didn’t give the shop the name, mind you. It’s a bit too basic for my taste. I’d have called it something like Florence’s Antique Emporium, only it wasn’t mine when it started up. It was run by a dear soul called Arty Williams – Arthur, actually, but he always hated the name. He was in the theatre too. I’d known him for years. He retired and bought himself this little antique shop by the sea, and when I was on my beam ends he helped me out, bless him. I moved in, and we got on like a house on fire, but then poor Arty had a heart attack – and I discovered he’d left me the shop in his will. I went to all the big antique fairs – even bought a van and did house clearances – but a couple of years ago I had my stroke, and now it’s a devil of a struggle to keep going.’ Flo sighed. ‘If only I had someone to help me out, but no one seems interested in working in a junk shop any more.’
Mum looked at me. I looked at her. Alfie looked up at both of us.
‘What is it, dears?’ Flo asked, sipping. ‘Ah, this is the ticket. You make a lovely cup of tea, Tracy Beaker.’
‘Look, this is probably a ridiculous suggestion, and you must say no if you’re not one hundred per cent keen on the idea, but how about me working here with you? I could go around looking for stock and tidy up the shop a bit, and I could help out with the chores. What do you think?’ Mum asked.
‘What do I think? I think it’s a tremendous idea!’ said Flo, spilling her tea down her large front. She dabbed at herself with the shawl. ‘I couldn’t pay you that much, of course – but you could have free accommodation upstairs, if it’s just for you and little Jess, though I dare say it’s all in a bit of a mess. Hop upstairs and have a look at it, see what you think.’
There was a bedroom and a little box room and a bathroom, all a bit tired and musty.
‘But we could scrub all the rooms and paint them and make them look great in no time,’ said Mum. ‘And just think what we could do with the shop! We could display everything cleverly and make it look great, like a giant version of our flat! It’s the job of my dreams, and I think I’d actually be good at it! What do you think, Jess? I know it’s completely mad, but shall we give it a go?’
‘But how will I get to school, Mum?’
‘You could go to a new school. Would you mind?’
‘Well … I won’t like leaving Miss Oliver.’
‘Yes, but you’ll still see her now she’s Cam’s friend. And after this term you wouldn’t be in her class anyway. This is our chance, Jess! A new start! And Flo likes Alfie, so we could have him here with us all the time,’ said Mum.
‘Then yes, yes, yes, let’s!’ I cried.
When we went back downstairs there was a lot more discussion. Alfie started to get a bit fidgety, so I took him for a walk up and down the street, promising not to cross any roads or talk to strangers.
‘Will you like living here, Alfie?’ I asked him.
Alfie sniffed happily, zigzagging backwards and forwards. It was clear that he thought Cooksea was dog heaven, especially if he could go for a run on the beach every day. It was my idea of heaven too, so long as we could still see Cam lots. We could visit her in the car – and maybe at the weekends she co
uld come and hike along the cliffs with Miss Oliver. Perhaps Marina could bring Ava and Alice and we could all play on the beach together. We could ask Rosalie to come on her day off – she could lie in a deckchair in the sun and have a bit of a rest. I might even invite Tyrone, but only if he promised not to go on and on about Sean Godfrey.
Mum and Flo were still making plans when Alfie and I got back, and then they talked for ages afterwards as well. They were both getting so excited, Mum jumping about and Flo rattling her jewellery. We had lots more cups of tea and some rather stale biscuits, and before we left Mum made Flo her supper. It was a microwave ready-meal for one, so Flo couldn’t share it with us, though she wanted to.
‘When we come to live here I’ll make you lots of lovely freshly cooked meals, Flo,’ Mum promised.
‘Do you ever make roasts, darling? That’s what I miss most of all,’ she said.
‘You wait till you taste Mum’s roast potatoes!’ I said.
‘I’m positively drooling at the thought,’ said Flo. ‘Oh, dears, I’m not dreaming, am I? This is all too marvellous for words! You will come back, won’t you? Promise?’
‘Promise promise promise,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve got stuff to sort out, but we’ll come back next Saturday, and I’ll be phoning you heaps in between to let you know how things are going.’ She gave Flo a kiss, and I did too.
‘Bless you, Jess. You two seem like family already!’ said Flo, getting a little weepy. ‘The daughter and granddaughter I never had.’
Mum already had two mums and I had two grannies, but we were happy to add Flo to our family.
‘I feel we’re dreaming too,’ said Mum as we walked back to where we’d parked the Cadillac on the seafront. ‘It’s just all too good to be true. Let’s move in as quick as quick in case Flo changes her mind. It won’t matter if you miss a few weeks of school, will it? It would do you good to have a proper holiday, sweetheart.’
‘I’m not sure what Miss Oliver is going to say!’ I said.
‘She’ll say I have Responsibility Issues,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘And she’s probably right too. Still, I’m going to try to be the best mum in the world. We’re going to be so happy here, Jess, I just know it – you, me and Alfie.’
‘And no more Sean Godfreys?’ I dared ask.
‘Absolutely not. I’ve finished with men. I’m Tracy Beaker. I’m not going to be dependent on any guy. I’m going to make my own way in the world – and be a stonking great success too!’ said Mum. ‘Hey, it’s ages since we had those fish and chips. Shall we have a meal here before we drive back? I’m not sure they’ll let Alfie into a restaurant, but we could have a pub meal. You can take dogs into most pubs.’
‘Can we afford it?’ I asked.
‘Probably not – but it is my birthday,’ said Mum, ‘and I feel like celebrating.’
We stopped at the first pub we came to, just round the corner from the seafront. It was called the Spade and Bucket. Along each windowsill they had little children’s buckets planted with red geraniums, and on either side of the door was an umbrella stand full of seaside spades.
‘Oh, Mum, it’s just the sort of thing we’d do!’ I said.
The pub was quite full, and when Mum asked the lady behind the bar if we could have a table in the restaurant part, she shook her head doubtfully.
‘It’s all booked up for a party, dear,’ she said.
‘Oh please, couldn’t you squeeze us in somewhere?’ Mum asked. ‘This is a really special day for us and we’d love a meal to celebrate.’
We looked at her pleadingly. Alfie looked especially hopeful, giving little expectant whimpers.
The lady’s face softened. ‘Well, I dare say I could find you a corner at the back,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’
The restaurant was full of laughing, joshing people, all crowded round a huge table. They didn’t even notice us making our way over to a little table, which the lady set specially for us.
Mum pulled a face when she looked at the menu. ‘Mm, it’s a bit pricier than I thought. Perhaps we should share a main – is that OK? And drink tap water.’
‘But we’ll pretend it’s the very best champagne,’ I said.
‘Deal,’ said Mum.
We ordered spaghetti bolognese because it seemed like the most filling thing, and no one seemed to mind us sharing. In fact, I think the lady made sure that our plate was piled really high. It tasted wonderful, though it’s always quite difficult to eat spag bol tidily, and I couldn’t help dribbling a bit down my T-shirt. My hand was bright orange too, because I fed Alfie a little portion under the table.
When our plate was empty we felt very full.
‘Yum!’ I said, rubbing my tummy.
‘Yes, double yum,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t think I could manage any pudding even if we could afford it.’
Just as she said this, the lady came in carrying a great big cake with sparklers on top.
‘Oh my goodness!’ said Mum. ‘A birthday cake! She must have guessed when I said we were celebrating! Oh, Jess! I’m having a birthday cake after all!’
‘And you can have your birthday wish, Mum!’
‘I haven’t got anything left to wish for,’ said Mum. ‘Still, I suppose I can think of something if I try hard!’
But the lady was taking the cake over to the big table. All the people there started singing, ‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Mum said – or words to that effect. ‘It’s someone else’s birthday cake!’ She peered over at the table.
‘Happy birthday, dear Peter! Happy birthday to you!’
‘Peter!’ Mum exclaimed.
A slim good-looking guy with fair hair was standing up, smiling bashfully.
‘It can’t be!’ said Mum.
He made an attempt to blow out all the candles when they stopped sparkling. He only managed a quarter of them.
‘It is!’ said Mum, and she stood up and dashed over to the big table.
‘Mum! Mum, what are you doing?’ I asked, trying to grab hold of her.
She ran right up to the fair-haired man. ‘Peter Ingham!’ she declared. ‘You were always hopeless at blowing out candles. Let me!’ She took a deep breath and blew hard – and every single candle went out.
‘Tracy Beaker!’ he said. He looked as if he was going to throw his arms round Mum, but then he thought better of it and just flapped them awk-wardly in the air. ‘I was just thinking about you too! I saw this fantastic vintage pink Cadillac parked on the seafront. Remember you always used to go on about your mum coming to drive you away in a Cadillac?’
‘It’s mine!’ said Mum. ‘But what are you doing here, Peter?’
‘A while ago I came here on a nostalgic trip – remember our camping holiday? And then I got a job just up the coast and I live down here now, Tracy,’ he said.
‘Is this the Tracy you always go on about – the one from the children’s home?’ said the woman sitting next to him. She looked very pretty in her silky blue dress.
‘Yep, that’s me,’ said Mum. ‘Are you Peter’s partner?’
The whole table laughed.
‘He’s my boss – or he will be next term. He’s going to be our new head,’ she said.
‘You’re a headmaster, Peter?’ Mum asked incredulously.
‘Yes, I know – it’s mad, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘These are my friends from the school. We’re all teachers, so maybe you won’t like us! What do you do now, Tracy? I always thought you’d be a writer – you were so good at making up stories when you were a kid!’
‘I’ve done a bit of writing, yes,’ said Mum. ‘But now I’m considering moving into the area as an antique dealer. And this is my daughter, Jess.’ She beckoned me over.
‘Oh, good heavens, she’s the spitting image of you! Hi, Jess! Are you as fierce as your mum, eh? She used to scare me silly at times,’ Peter said, grinning.
‘Yes, she’s good at that,’ I said.
‘Come on, Pete! Stop c
hatting up your old girlfriend and cut your cake!’ someone shouted, and the others joined in.
Peter went pink. ‘Shh, you rowdy lot.’ He picked up a knife. ‘Cut it with me, Tracy. We have a tradition to keep up! We share our birthday cake.’
So they cut it together, and then Mum closed her eyes, and I knew she was making a wish at last. I don’t know what she wished for. She won’t tell me. But I hope it comes true.
LAUGH OUT LOUD
THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER
I DARE YOU, TRACY BEAKER
STARRING TRACY BEAKER
THE WORST THING ABOUT MY SISTER
DOUBLE ACT
FOUR CHILDREN AND IT
THE BED AND BREAKFAST STAR
HISTORICAL HEROES
HETTY FEATHER
HETTY FEATHER’S CHRISTMAS
SAPPHIRE BATTERSEA
EMERALD STAR
DIAMOND
LITTLE STARS
CLOVER MOON
ROSE RIVERS
WAVE ME GOODBYE
OPAL PLUMSTEAD
QUEENIE
LIFE LESSONS
THE BUTTERFLY CLUB
THE SUITCASE KID
KATY
BAD GIRLS
LITTLE DARLINGS
CLEAN BREAK
RENT A BRIDESMAID
CANDYFLOSS
THE LOTTIE PROJECT
THE LONGEST WHALE SONG
COOKIE
JACKY DAYDREAM
PAWS & WHISKERS
FAMILY DRAMAS
THE ILLUSTRATED MUM
MY SISTER JODIE
DIAMOND GIRLS
DUSTBIN BABY
VICKY ANGEL
SECRETS
MIDNIGHT
My Mum Tracy Beaker Page 25