‘Yes, love, walk him round for a bit, see if he’ll nod off then.’
Jude and Rochelle and Martine were all watching.
‘It’s not fair, Mum – why do you keep choosing Dixie?’ said Rochelle. ‘He’s my brother too. I want a go at holding him.’
‘You’re not taking one step with Sundance, not in those silly heels,’ said Mum.
‘I’ll hold him for a bit,’ said Jude, surprisingly. ‘Look, I’ve got trainers on, so I’m not going to trip.’
‘No way, Jude,’ said Mum. ‘You were always a shocker with your toys. You tugged your teddy’s ears off and scalped your poor Barbie.’
‘It was my Barbie,’ said Rochelle.
‘Whatever. We’ll let the baby get a bit bigger before you tote him around. I want him to stay all in one piece.’
‘Look, I’m the one who’s only here because I’m supposed to be looking after the blooming baby,’ said Martine bitterly.
‘I need you to look after me, darling,’ said Mum. ‘How about making me another cup of tea, eh? And you’d better get the other beds upstairs somehow. Or at least the mattresses. You girls can’t sleep downstairs with old Brucie Bad Back.’ She sighed. ‘Pity he’s turned out such a liability.’
‘That’s not fair, Mum,’ I said, walking Sundance up and down. She was settling already, her little warm head lolling in the crook of my neck. I patted her proudly. ‘You knew Uncle Bruce had a bad back and yet you still made him shift the stuff.’
‘Oh put another record on, Dixie. OK, maybe I’m not being fair to him. Who says we’ve got to be fair? Life isn’t fair.’ She sighed, then slipped right down under the duvet, pulling it over her head.
‘But Mum—’
‘Mum!’
‘Mum?’
‘Mum!’
‘Will you all just go away. I’m sick of the lot of you. I just want to be left in peace. So push off!’
14
I ENDED UP having to share a bed with Jude. It was fun at first, but I kept cuddling up too close and Jude pushed me away.
‘You’re like one of those little toy monkeys, Dixie. It’s like you’ve got sticker pads on your palms and you just want to cling. I feel like I’m suffocating.’
‘Bluebell will peck you if you’re mean to me,’ I said.
‘Then I’ll throw her out the bed,’ said Jude, turning over and taking most of the duvet with her.
It was just as well I’m a clingy girl. I had to cling on grimly to the edge of the bed or I’d have tipped off onto the floor.
I woke up when dawn was breaking. I hate the dark because you can’t see what might be creeping up on you, but it’s magical when everything starts to turn silvery, as if it’s been sprinkled with fairy dust. You couldn’t see the bare walls and the ugly floorboards properly. Our rickety bed and the cardboard boxes could be mistaken for ornate painted chests and the finest fairytale four-poster.
I lay quietly making it up inside my head until I heard Sundance start crying. She was like a little car engine. She coughed and spluttered, stopped, started again, and then suddenly revved up into full-throttle roar.
I slid out of bed and went to find her. She was lying beside Mum, wailing away. Mum groaned, burrowing down under the duvet.
‘Mum? Mum, Sundance is hungry.’
‘I’m getting too old for this lark,’ Mum moaned. ‘I’m going to put him on a bottle soon, then you can feed him for me, Miss Earlybird.’
‘I’ll feed him now if you like,’ I said, stuffing Mum’s pillow up my nightie to make a really big chest.
‘Oh Dixie, what are you like?’ said Mum, grabbing the pillow back and putting it behind her head. ‘Here, give me little guzzleguts.’
She took Sundance in her arms and started feeding her. I giggled at the slurping sound in the quiet house.
‘She is a guzzleguts, isn’t she, Mum?’
‘He,’ said Mum. ‘Your little brother Sundance.’
‘But Mum—’
‘Not now, Dixie. Don’t make me go all tense or we’ll give Sundance hiccups. You go downstairs and make me a cup of tea, eh?’
I crept down the bare stairs, imagining rich red carpet and gilt banisters. I breathed in deeply downstairs. Bruce’s lilies made everywhere smell like a beautiful garden. I felt my head and found my freesia still tangled up in my hair. I imagined Bruce coming every day and giving us all garlands of roses and carnation crowns and us stringing lilies across each room like great white paperchains.
I went to the living-room door and knocked politely. ‘Uncle Bruce? Uncle Bruce, are you in there?’ I whispered.
‘I’m in here all right, Dixie,’ he mumbled. ‘Looks like I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. My back’s giving me bloody hell.’
‘That’s so great! I mean, I’m sorry your back’s hurting, but I’m so glad you can stay. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes please, little angel.’
I made two cups. I crept into the living room with Bruce’s. He didn’t have his glasses on. He looked a bit lost without them so I found them next to the mattress and gently edged them back onto his head. He gave his little nose a twitch and they settled into place.
He grunted whenever he lifted his head for a sip of tea. When he’d finished half the cup he lay right back and sighed deeply.
‘Is it very painful, Uncle Bruce?’
‘I’ll live,’ he said. ‘Just about. Now, you’d better leave me be for a bit because I shall have to go to the toilet soon and I haven’t got any trousers on. Oh Gawd, what am I going to do, stuck without pyjamas and toothbrush and shaving kit and underpants—’
‘You’ve managed without pyjamas, you can borrow my toothbrush, Mum and Martine have both got razors – but I don’t think we can help you with underpants!’
I went upstairs to give Mum her tea. She’d finished feeding Sundance and changed her too. We’d got a system going with plastic bags for used nappies now.
‘I suppose I’d better get myself washed up now,’ said Mum, yawning. ‘I’ll grab the bathroom first before all you girls go barging in and use up all the hot water.’
But before she could swing her legs out of bed someone stumbled across the landing and into the bathroom. We heard her being sick, though she was running the bath taps to mask the noise.
‘Oh God,’ said Mum. ‘That’s Martine.’
‘She’s got this stomach bug thing, remember? She was sick yesterday too.’
‘I think I know why she’s being sick. It’s got damn all to do with stomach bugs!’ said Mum.
‘Are you cross, Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m blooming mad at her, Dixie. I told her and told her to be careful. Why wouldn’t she listen?’ Mum thumped her pillow. Sundance wailed, startled.
‘You quieten him, Dixie. I’ve got a few words to say to Martine.’ Mum went storming into the bathroom.
I head Martine gasp as the door banged. Mum started shouting. Martine shouted back. It sounded like the start of an all-out Diamond big barney. Jude and Rochelle groaned sleepily.
‘Dixie? Are you all right?’ Bruce called from downstairs. ‘What’s all the shouting?’
I went down. He was crouched in the hall, duvet wrapped round him for modesty so he looked like a giant caterpillar.
‘What’s going on?’ he groaned.
‘Mum’s mad at Martine.’ I paused. I wasn’t that thick. ‘I think she’s going to have a baby.’
Bruce blinked. ‘But she’s only just this minute had one!’
‘Not Mum! Martine.’
‘She’s just a kid!’ Bruce looked truly shocked. ‘She’s still at school! What a terrible waste. Fancy mucking up her life before she’s even got started.’
‘I’m not mucking up my life!’ Martine shouted, banging out the bathroom. She stood at the top of the stairs, thin and shivering in her skimpy nightie, her hair sticking up all over the place. She didn’t look like my bossy big sister Martine without her fancy hairdo and her make-up and her tight je
ans and pointy boots. She looked younger than Jude, younger than Rochelle, almost as young as me.
‘How dare you say I’m mucking up my life! You don’t know anything about Tony and me. We’re in love. I bet you’ve never been in love in your whole life. You’re such a sad-looking old git no one would ever want you anyway. You’re pathetic. You’ve got so little going for you in your own life you latch onto us like a leech, sucking up to my stupid little sister.’
‘You shut up, Martine Diamond, or I’ll smack you right in the gob!’ I yelled, charging up the stairs. ‘It was me latched onto Uncle Bruce. And I’m not stupid. You’re the stupid one, getting pregnant.’
‘Martine’s going to have a baby?’ said Rochelle, rushing out onto the landing.
‘Oh, this is great! That’s you and your big mouth, Mum. Now the whole family knows my business!’ Martine said furiously.
‘It’s my business now,’ said Mum. ‘I’m the poor Joe Soap who’s going to have to look after you and your baby, even though it’s hard enough managing my own kids.’
‘That’s a big laugh,’ said Martine. ‘You can’t manage yourself, let alone us. Look at us, stuck in this hideous house on the worst estate in England. The girls are running wild. Jude’s getting into fights, Rochelle’s going round with hoodies, Dixie’s filthy dirty and running about barefoot. Oh yeah, well done, Mum. You really know how to bring up a family.’
‘Give it a rest, Martine,’ said Jude, coming to join us. She went to Mum and put her arm round her. ‘Take no notice. She doesn’t mean it, she’s just upset.’
‘I mean every word of it. It’s true, and we all know it,’ said Martine. ‘How dare you lecture me, Mum. Look at you and all the guys in your life. Oh, pardon me – all the guys no longer in your life, like all our dads.’
‘Shut your mouth, Martine,’ said Jude.
‘How can she see my dad when he’s dead?’ said Rochelle.
‘She still sees my dad. Sometimes,’ I said.
‘What about the baby’s dad? You can’t fool me with that artist fairy tale. What was he, a one-night stand? I bet you don’t even know his name! No wonder everyone calls you a slag back at Bletchworth,’ said Martine.
We all gasped. It was the word we never said, not even to each other. We all looked at Mum. We expected her to fly at Martine. But she just stood there, looking stunned. Tears started falling down her cheeks.
Martine put her hand over her mouth, as if she wished she hadn’t said it. She looked like she was starting to cry too. If only they’d been left alone they’d have both sobbed and then said sorry and they’d have a big hug and the barney would be over.
Bruce didn’t understand. ‘Don’t you dare call your mother a slag, Martine!’ he called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. Look, you’ve made her cry. Aren’t you sorry?’
‘No, I’m not bogging sorry!’ Martine shouted. ‘She is a slag. And she’s made me cry heaps and heaps, but she’s never said sorry to me. Well, I’m out of here now.’
‘Don’t go, Martine,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll work things out. I’ll look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after. I’m going back to Bletchworth to live with Tony and his folks. I should have stayed there, like I planned. You made such a fuss about needing me to help with the baby but you won’t even let me near him. You’re bonkers enough to let daft little Dixie carry him round and change him but you won’t let me. Every time I come near you tell me to clear off. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’ She went off to get dressed, and then started rushing round grabbing all her things and stuffing them into carrier bags.
‘Mum!’ I grabbed hold of her shoulder. Her old kimono split a little at the seam, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Mum, tell Martine about Sundance. Then she’ll understand and she’ll stay.’
Mum shook her head. She took Sundance in her arms and looked at her helplessly. ‘My little boy,’ she whispered.
‘She’s not!’
‘Did they really all call me a slag back at Bletchworth?’ Mum said.
‘No! No, of course not. Martine was just being horrible. Don’t take any notice of her, Mum. I don’t care that she called me daft. Maybe we don’t care that she’s going.’
‘She’s not really going, she’s just showing off,’ said Mum. ‘How could she get all the way back to Bletchworth by herself?’
There was a sudden bang down in the hall, like the front door slamming.
‘She can’t have gone yet! She hasn’t got all her stuff. She didn’t even say goodbye!’ I said.
‘She’s just trying to scare us. She’ll be back in ten minutes,’ said Mum.
We waited.
Martine didn’t come back.
‘I’m going to go looking for her, Mum,’ said Jude, stepping into her jeans and shoving on her trainers.
She was gone nearly an hour. She came back on her own.
‘I’ve looked everywhere,’ Jude said, almost in tears. ‘She could have caught a bus, she could have gone anywhere – I didn’t know where to look first. Then I thought about a railway station and I couldn’t find it for ages; it’s way over the other side of the town. She wasn’t there though. I asked if they’d seen her, I asked heaps of people, describing her, but everyone just shrugged. I truly tried, Mum.’
‘I know, Jude. Don’t fret, darling. Maybe she’s just gone round the shops, calming herself down. She’ll be back soon, you’ll see.’
Mum kept trying to phone Martine’s mobile, but it was switched off. Mum left messages. Jude and Rochelle and I left messages. I decided to send a special secret text to Martine telling her why I was the only one Mum let care for Sundance. I was so slow at texting that I’d only got as far as ‘I didn’t want to tell tales but’ when Mum said she wanted to try phoning again so I had to get the text cleared sharpish before she saw it.
We forgot to have breakfast. Bruce lay patiently on the mattress in the living room, but when I went to visit him I could hear his stomach rumbling. He made his own phone call to the lady who worked in his shop. She was called Iris, which seemed a perfect name for a lady who worked with flowers. I didn’t like the sound of her all the same.
‘Is she pretty, Uncle Bruce?’
‘Mmm, I don’t know. I suppose so. Though she’s no spring chicken.’
‘So she’s more like a tough old bird?’ I said hopefully.
‘No, no, she’s very genteel.’
‘What does that mean? Posh?’
‘She’s got nice manners. Very ladylike. She’s very kind too – she didn’t make a fuss when she had to stay late on Saturday and she’s going to open the shop for me today. She’s being very helpful, my Iris.’
‘Is she yours? You said you didn’t have a girlfriend!’
‘She’s not my girlfriend, sweetheart,’ said Bruce. ‘She wouldn’t look twice at a man like me!’ He chuckled at the idea and then winced in pain. ‘I think I’m going to have to ask Jude to go out to a chemist. Do they let kids buy painkillers? And we’re all going to need a spot of lunch – and tea, come to that. Do you think your mum’s up to cooking yet?’
‘Mum doesn’t really cook much. We play parties sometimes and she fixes us little sandwiches and cream buns and ice cream but mostly we just go down the chippy.’
‘Then I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do today. When I can stand up properly I can maybe fix us something.’
‘Can you cook then, Uncle Bruce?’
‘Nothing too fancy, like, just good plain roasts and curries. I do a very tasty macaroni cheese – your mum might like that.’
‘You’re a very good catch, Uncle Bruce. Iris is mad not to look at you twice. So, you’ve never been married?’
‘Nope. I don’t think I’m the marrying kind, Dixie.’
‘Do you think Martine will marry Tony?’
‘Maybe,’ Bruce said, but he sounded doubtful.
‘I’d really love to be a bridesmaid in one of those long sticky-out frocks –
pink or peach or lilac. No, blue, and then I could carry Bluebell and she’d match. I could have a proper bridesmaid’s posy and she could carry a weeny raffia basket of flowers in her beak.’
‘Very fetching,’ said Bruce.
‘Martine will be safe, won’t she?’
‘Of course she will,’ said Bruce.
I knew he couldn’t really know but I needed him to tell me even so. Mum had stopped reassuring me. She was starting to panic, phoning and phoning, while she paced around the house in her nightie and kimono.
‘Shall we sort out the furniture now you’re up, Mum?’ said Jude. ‘We could get all the boxes unpacked too.’
Mum shook her head distractedly. ‘I don’t want to make a home here. I hate it. We all hate it. And it’s all my fault,’ she said, tears brimming. ‘It’s a filthy dump.’
‘It might be a dump but it’s not filthy any more,’ Bruce muttered. ‘I cleaned it up, didn’t I?’
‘Look at all this scribbling on the walls,’ Mum said despairingly.
‘A quick coat of paint would soon sort it out,’ said Bruce. ‘You could get on to the council again. Or if you get no joy you could buy a few cans of paint and get the girls to help you. I’d do it if my back was up to it. A spot of white would brighten it up no end.’
‘It would still be a dump if you painted it sky-blue pink,’ Mum said. ‘If only I’d stayed put. It seemed so clear in the charts. I could see great changes, new opportunities; exciting challenges – but I got it all wrong. I should have stayed in Bletchworth. Even though they all called me a slag. Well. Maybe they’re right.’
‘You’re not a slag, Mum,’ said Rochelle.
‘Definitely not,’ said Jude. ‘I’ll punch anyone who says you are.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ I said. I paused. ‘What exactly is a slag?’
‘Oh Dixie, you kill me, you really do,’ said Mum, shaking her head. ‘You girls are just trying to be sweet to me. I don’t know why. I’m a terrible mum.’
‘I don’t want to be sweet to you,’ said Bruce. ‘I’m pretty damn annoyed with you, seeing as I’ve worked my bottom off for you and your girls and you’ve barely said thank you. Here I am, stuck on my back like a stag beetle, barely able to move, knowing I’ve got a flower shop without any flowers when the business is rapidly going down the pan as it is. But I’ll tell you one thing. You’re not my definition of a slag. A slag is a rude, rough woman, Dixie, who’s got a bad mouth and rushes round drinking and chatting up all the men, and doesn’t give a stuff about her children. Well, I’ve heard you sounding off, Sue, so I know you swear, and maybe you like a drink and going out clubbing. You’ve had quite a few boyfriends in your time. Maybe you don’t always act like a little lady – though how should I know? But I do know one thing. Slags don’t make good mums and you’re a lovely mum to your kids.’
Diamond Girls Page 16