‘Oh, don’t start her off. She doesn’t half get on my nerves with that stupid toy bird,’ said Rochelle.
‘You get on my nerves,’ I said. ‘You just whinge and whine and moan moan moan but you don’t help get things organized.’
‘Oh yeah? So what’s your major contribution, Ms Brain-dead Queen?’ said Rochelle.
‘I know a neighbour we can ask for candles,’ I said proudly.
Jude and Rochelle stared at me.
‘No you don’t, stupid,’ said Rochelle.
‘I do. My friend Mary lives at the back of our garden. We can ask her mum. She says she’s ever so kind,’ I said.
Rochelle snorted. ‘Oh God, she’s really gone crackers now. There are little friendies at the bottom of our garden! You’ll end up in a loony bin if you don’t watch out, Dixie.’
‘She’s real. I played with her in the garden. I did!’
Rochelle raised her eyebrows and sighed. ‘My sister, the nutcase,’ she said.
‘You come and see,’ I said, crumpling up my chip paper and throwing it at her.
‘Yuck! Stop it, you’ll get my top all greasy;’ said Rochelle. ‘I’m not going out into that jungle out the back. There’ll be all sorts hiding in the grass – mice, toads, snakes.’
‘I’ll come with you, Dixie,’ said Jude.
‘No, don’t! Don’t leave me by myself!’ said Rochelle.
‘Now who’s the baby?’ said Jude. ‘You’ll have to stay, Rochelle, as we haven’t got a door key. Besides, Martine will be coming back sometime.’
‘I bet she doesn’t. I bet she hitches a lift back to Bletchworth. She’s not daft. I wish I could go with her.’
I wished she would too. I thought how peaceful it would be, just Jude and me. And Mum, of course. Though now there would be the baby too.
‘It’s all the baby’s fault,’ I said, as Jude and I went out the front door. ‘If Mum hadn’t got pregnant she wouldn’t have wanted the extra room and we wouldn’t have moved. I hope little Sundance is extra sweet or I shall seriously dislike him.’
‘Sundance! I hope Mum’s joking,’ said Jude. ‘No, it’s not his fault. He didn’t ask to be born, did he? I don’t know why Mum wants to keep on having all these boyfriends and babies. I just don’t get her.’
‘Yeah, I know. But Mum says she’s finished with blokes now,’ I said, skipping along beside Jude.
‘As if!’ said Jude.
‘Well, if you get your Rottweiler – you know, to chase away Rochelle’s white cats – then he’ll maybe chase all the boyfriends away too.’
‘That was just a game, Dix.’ Jude turned round and looked at me. ‘So this Mary, is she a game too?’
‘No, she’s real, I said. Look, see over the wall? That’s her house. Doesn’t it look clean and tidy? Mary’s so clean and tidy too.’
I checked the grey cuffs on my cardie, the stain on my T-shirt, the hems of my jeans, black and fraying where they trailed on the ground. ‘Jude, are we dirty?’
‘What? Well, you’re a bit grubby, certainly. I’m clean. Cleanish. And Rochelle’s never out the blooming bathroom. Ditto Martine.’ Jude climbed onto the wall. She stood right up on it, legs braced. ‘So that’s your Mary’s house then? Wow!’
‘The one opposite, with the black wooden fence. Jude, be careful.’
She’d started to tightrope-walk along the top of the wall, showing off.
‘Whoops, whoops, I’m falling to my death,’ Jude said, waving her arms around, winding me up.
‘Stop it!’
What if something really happened to Jude? I imagined her pitching off the wall and breaking her neck. All my family was disappearing. I only had Rochelle left, and I didn’t even like her …
‘Dixie?’ Jude held out her hand. ‘Come on, don’t look so worried. I’m only messing about, you know I am.’
‘What about Mum?’ I said.
‘Mum will be fine,’ said Jude, though she didn’t sound sure. ‘Come on, don’t let’s think about Mum just now. She’ll be back safe and sound with the baby soon, you wait and see. Tomorrow. So let’s get ourselves sorted out now, right? We’ll go and see if your pal Mary’s mum will give us some candles.’
Jude helped me over the wall into the alleyway. I stopped her as we got to Mary’s back gate.
‘Maybe we ought to go to the front?’ I said. ‘We can’t just barge right into their back garden, can we?’
‘Why not?’ said Jude. She stood at the gate, looking across the neat green lawn. There were no toys scattered, no balls or bikes, no one sitting on the beautiful canopied garden swing.
‘If we just wander in then Mary’s mum might think we’re burglars,’ I said.
‘OK, OK, we’ll go round to the front and knock, if it makes you happy,’ said Jude.
I don’t think she was too keen on marching over that weirdly perfect lawn either.
We went down the alleyway to the end, turned left, and then went back down Mary’s street. It was as if we’d walked into a different world altogether. The houses were all tidy and clean and freshly painted, with shiny door knockers and little porches and ruffled curtains at the spotless windows.
‘I wish our house looked like these,’ I said. ‘Do you think they’re one of the other planets?’
‘No, silly, these aren’t council houses, these are private. They’re posh, can’t you tell? Is Mary posh?’
I considered. I started to worry. ‘She’s not snooty posh,’ I said.
‘Which is her house, then?’ Jude asked.
I couldn’t work it out. I peered at the rows of identical black and white houses. I didn’t know how to match up the fronts with the backs.
‘It’s this one,’ I said, pointing at the nearest.
Jude clicked open the metal gate. I tugged at her sweatshirt.
‘No! Next door. Or the one after. I don’t know,’ I said.
Jude sighed. ‘What are you like, Dixie?’ she said. ‘Come on, which is it?’
I dithered. ‘Maybe we should go back and try the back way after all?’
‘Maybe we’ll just knock on any old front door and ask,’ said Jude.
She went in the next gate along. The hedge was growing out across the pavement and the car on the front drive was red and sporty.
‘Not that one, Jude. This might be it,’ I said, nodding at the next house with the metal gates. The hedge was clipped into a green wall, not a leaf out of place. It reminded me of Mary’s plaits.
Jude swung the gate open and started walking up the crazy paving path. I hung back.
‘What are you waiting for? She’s your friend,’ said Jude.
I trailed after her, wishing I’d held my tongue about Mary.
‘Come on,’ said Jude irritably.
She rapped loudly with the lion door knocker. We waited. My heart was beating as if I had a little knocker right inside my chest. Then the door opened, although the lady looking at us kept one hand on the latch so that she could slam it shut in a second.
She was very pretty, with lovely golden hair curling almost to her shoulders and very blue eyes. They were outlined with grey pencil, very carefully, without a single smudge. Her skin was peachy with powder, her lips pearly pink. Mum didn’t often bother to do her face if she was staying in during the day, but she wore lots of black eye make-up and deep red lipstick when she went out on the razzle.
Mary’s mum didn’t look as if she’d do any razzling down the pub or the club. She was wearing a pink fluffy sweater and a white pleated skirt. She looked like a mum in a telly advert, the sort who’d make a meal on her cooker and then serve it up on a tablecloth.
She looked at Jude, she looked at me. ‘Yes?’ she said.
I swallowed hard. I tried to say something but only a mouse squeak came out.
‘My sister’s friends with your daughter,’ said Jude.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
‘I’m her new friend,’ I whispered.
She was shaking her head. Jude
glared at me, thinking I’d made it all up after all.
‘You’re Mary’s friend?’ she said.
I took a deep breath, nodding.
‘Where did you meet her? At school?’
I hesitated.
‘They were playing together in your garden,’ said Jude, not realizing she might be getting Mary into trouble. ‘We’ve just moved in. We’re on the Planet Estate.’
Mary’s mother nodded, watching me with her corn-flower-blue eyes. She looked like a princess in my fairy story book.
‘So Mary invited you into our garden?’ said her mum.
I knew I had to be very careful. ‘Well, no, I was in that lane at the back of our house and your house. Mary was in your garden. I talked to her.’
‘Ah,’ said Mary’s mum. ‘Well. That’s very nice. I’m glad you’ve made friends. But I’m afraid she can’t come out to play just now, dear. She’s not very well so I’ve sent her to bed early.’
‘Well, we really came round to ask you a favour,’ said Jude.
‘Oh?’ said Mary’s mother warily.
‘I – I wonder if you could loan us—’ Jude started.
‘No, I’m sorry, dear,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m afraid I never give to anyone at the door.’
‘We’re not begging,’ said Jude, fiery red. ‘We don’t ever beg. We were just wondering if you’d loan us a candle because the lights aren’t working in our house.’
‘A candle?’ said Mary’s mum. She looked surprised. Then she smiled. ‘Yes, of course. Wait here a minute.’ She shut the door on us.
‘Why won’t she let us in after her? Does she think we’re going to nick her ornaments? Blow this. Blow her. Come on, Dixie, let’s go back,’ said Jude.
We started down the pathway again.
The door opened. ‘Hey, girls! I thought you wanted a candle,’ said Mary’s mum. She was holding a whole packet of them, with some matches too.
‘Thank you very much,’ I said, bobbing back. ‘We’ve already got matches, but thank you for the thought.’
She smiled as I took the candles, looking prettier than ever.
‘Maybe Mary can come and play tomorrow?’ I said.
‘Maybe,’ she said, still smiling.
She closed the door again. I waited, counting the candles.
I heard her in the hall, calling for Mary. Then I heard a sharp slap and someone crying.
8
‘YOU MEAN PIGS! You’ve been gone such ages!’ said Rochelle. ‘I thought you weren’t ever coming back. And it’s getting dark and what are we going to do?’
‘Candles!’ I said, jiggling them at her. ‘From my friend Mary’s mum.’
I shivered. I hadn’t told Jude about the slap or the crying. It seemed too private and shameful. I didn’t see how anyone could hit a little girl like Mary. Maybe I’d made a mistake. I didn’t see the slap, I only thought I heard it. Perhaps Mary tripped over, bumped herself and started crying. Her mum couldn’t have hit her. She was the kindest sweetest mother in all the world.
I wondered about my own mum. ‘Do you think Mum’s had the baby yet?’ I asked. ‘How long does it take?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Jude, with a shudder.
‘It can take ages. Days, sometimes,’ said Rochelle. ‘It’s the worst pain you can ever imagine. Far far far worse than the worst period pain ever, though of course you wouldn’t know about that, Dixie.’
I thought about my worst pain ever, when some girls at my old school had punched me in the stomach until I was sick. I wondered what it would feel like to be punched in the stomach for days on end.
I cuddled in to Jude.
‘Baby,’ said Rochelle, but when we all flopped down on Mum’s bed she wanted to cuddle up too. ‘It’s Pop Idol tonight,’ she whined.
‘Go on, we’ll pretend like it’s on the telly,’ I said.
‘You and your pretending, Dixie,’ said Rochelle, raising her eyes to the dingy ceiling. ‘Yuck! Look, it’s filthy! We’re all going to go down with some terrible disease like rabies.’
‘You get rabies from mad dogs, you nutter,’ said Jude. She bared her teeth and started growling and slavering at her.
‘It’s scabies. A boy in my class back at Bletchworth had them. Then I fell over and hit my head and had scabs and the teacher thought I’d got them,’ I said.
I wondered what the school would be like here. Probably the kids would be even nastier, the teachers even meaner.
‘Sing, Rochelle,’ I said.
She started working her way through old Britney and Beyonce numbers, standing on the bed and wiggling her bottom. Jude and I cheered her at the end of each song and gave her glowing reviews. Jude’s were way over the top, saying stuff like Rochelle had the voice of an angel and the figure of a she-devil, sending her up. Rochelle took her ultra-seriously and started preening, prancing all round the room.
Then she started singing one of Mum’s old favourites, that weird Queen song like an opera with lots of strange words like Beelzebub and Galileo. We tensed up when she got to the ‘Mama Mia’ part. Rochelle stopped at the second Mama and rubbed her lips, as if she could wipe the sound away.
‘This is stupid,’ she said, flopping down on the bed.
It suddenly seemed very very quiet in the house. It was starting to get dark. I thought of all the tough boys on the estate, out on the prowl. I thought of the men who’d broken into this house and drunk themselves crazy and puked in the sink.
‘Shall we push the cupboard against the door so no one can get in?’ I whispered.
‘What about the window?’ said Rochelle. ‘They could simply smash it and climb in.’
‘No one’s going to break in – but if they do I’ll fight them off,’ said Jude. ‘Let’s play the television game again. I know, I’ll be Match of the Day.’
She jumped up and started dodging in and out of the crowded furniture, kicking a rolled-up sweater and yelling, ‘Here’s Jude Diamond with the ball, running with it – look at the girl go … talent on wheels, dodging, feinting … Come on, Diamond – yes, you can do it! She’s diving at the net – yes, smack in the middle! What a goal – the girl done good, the Diamond sparkles!’ Jude jumped up and down between the boxes, waving her hands in the air.
‘Right, Dixie, your turn,’ she said.
‘Don’t do something wet wet wet on little kids’ telly,’ said Rochelle.
‘I’m going to do a nature programme. And it is wet wet wet because it’s a tropical jungle,’ I said, getting off the bed and crouching low.
I clutched a hairbrush like a mike and started whispering into it, like that old man David Attenborough.
‘So here we are, in this hot steaming jungle, on the track of the lost tribe of giant gorillas,’ I whispered. I took Bluebell out of my sleeve and made her flutter past my face. ‘Birds of Paradise flash their rainbow wings,’ I said. I took Jude’s sweater-football and perched it on my shoulder, one sleeve swinging. ‘Mischievous monkeys leap all around me, wanting to make friends.’ I made the sweater chatter and scratch. ‘But remember, we are on a quest for the lost tribe of giant gorillas – and hist! I hear growling!’
‘Gorillas don’t growl,’ Rochelle muttered. ‘They’re shy and gentle.’
‘Pipe down, we’re watching Dixie,’ said Jude.
I carried on winding my way in and out the furniture, my hand cupped behind my ear. ‘Definite growling,’ I whispered. ‘Which is distinctly odd, because world gorilla expert Rochelle Diamond has led us to believe that gorillas do not growl. She has appeared on my programme, giving us the benefit of her knowledge, informing us all again and again and again that gorillas are sweet, shy creatures that wouldn’t say boo to a goose – but I think the growling sounds very aggressive. It’s coming from over here. Could this be a giant gorilla lair?’
‘They don’t live in lairs, idiot. They build nests in trees,’ said Rochelle.
‘In trees?’ said Jude. ‘Jeez, I wouldn’t want to be walking underneath in case they
turned over too quickly and fell out of their nests. Imagine being squashed to death by a furry gorilla.’
I was scrabbling in Mum’s clothes bag for her fun-fur winter coat. I shoved it over my head, then jumped up on top of two boxes and thumped my chest. ‘Grr! Grr! I am the leader of the lost tribe of giant gorillas! I don’t give a toss what Rochelle says about other gorillas. I am very very very aggressive and I hate know-all girls who think they’re clever and I’m going to get her!’ I leaped right on top of Rochelle on Mum’s mattress, growling fit to bust.
Rochelle squealed and tried to fight me off, the fur coat slipping so that neither of us could see. There was a loud banging somewhere. We both struggled up out of the coat depths, wondering what Jude was up to. But Jude was sitting up too, listening.
‘Jude?’
‘Someone’s knocking at the door,’ she said.
They banged again, fiercely, insistently. Two people knocking, one using their fists. Then someone opened the letter box and shouted through it.
‘Open the door, you dozy lot!’
Martine! We ran to the door, Rochelle and I stumbling over Mum’s fur coat. Jude got there first and slung the door open. Martine and Bruce stood there.
‘At last!’ said Martine.
‘You’ve come back, Uncle Bruce! I knew you would. But where’s Mum?’
‘She hasn’t had the baby yet,’ said Martine wearily. She’d smudged her eye make-up so that she had great panda eyes, and her hair was sticking up in clumps.
‘But it was practically popping out in the van!’ said Jude.
‘Apparently it slowed down once she was in the hospital. The nurse I spoke to said she wasn’t in strong labour yet so we might as well go home,’ said Bruce, rubbing his eyes and yawning. ‘Look, I’ve got to get to my home now, girls.’
‘Not strong labour!’ said Martine, her fists clenched. ‘It was so strong she was screaming. She was in agony!’
‘Now, now, no need to go upsetting your sisters,’ said Bruce. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. She had all of you OK, didn’t she?’
‘No she didn’t. She nearly died having Dixie,’ said Martine, glaring at me like it was my fault.
‘Well, the nurse said she was doing fine – everything under control and proceeding normally. She wouldn’t have fibbed to me, especially as she thought I was the father.’ Bruce shook his head, sighing.
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