We had a private snigger. There was a present from Auntie Avril, the first Mrs Cookson. She always liked Mum because she thought she’d taken Dad away from the second Mrs Cookson, Auntie Alysha. Auntie Avril hated Auntie Alysha. They couldn’t even be in the same room together without starting a screaming match, but Auntie Avril and Mum were quite matey.
Auntie Avril sent very good birthday presents. This time she’d given me a large tin of fifty felt-tip pens, special Swiss ones with fine points, all the colours of the rainbow. Dad frowned when he saw them.
‘You watch what you’re doing with them crayons,’ he said, but mercifully he didn’t confiscate them.
The present that made me smile the most was one wrapped in blue paper with a white rabbit pattern. The label was carefully printed TO BEAUTY, LOVE FROM SAM AND LILY.
‘Oh my goodness!’ said Mum. ‘Fancy Sam and Lily knowing it’s your birthday!’
‘Who on earth are Sam and Lily?’ said Dad.
‘They’re special friends of Beauty’s,’ said Mum.
Mum was my special friend. I knew her writing, even though she’d tried to disguise it. I ripped off the paper – and there was a DVD compilation of all the best Rabbit Hutch shows.
‘Oh how lovely,’ I said.
‘Looks very babyish to me,’ said Dad, glancing at it. He stood up, patting me on the head. ‘Glad your birthday’s got off to a good start, Beauty. What’s your favourite present, eh?’
I didn’t have any choice.
‘The toy rabbit,’ I said.
Dad chuckled triumphantly, rolling his eyes. He looked alarmingly like the rabbit himself.
‘Now, girls, I’ve just got to dash to the office to meet up with this guy who’s going to sort everything out for me.’
‘But it’s Beauty’s birthday, Gerry! The children are coming at twelve!’
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be back long before then, fusspot. You two girls get the living room in spit-spot shape. The caterers are arriving at eleven. OK, my darlings. Ready to show off our Happy Home?’
Dad went off whistling his silly song. Mum and I rushed round dusting and vacuuming. The house already seemed spotless but Dad winced at the tiniest scuff or smear. When it was all utterly perfect Mum sent me off to sit on her bed and watch Sam and Lily on her DVD player.
‘While you’re watching could you bear to write some labels for me?’ said Mum. ‘You made such a lovely job of the party invitations. It would be great if you’d write this out for me, eighteen times over.’
She put the message in front of me, scribbled on her shopping-list pad:
‘Is that OK?’ she asked anxiously.
I wasn’t going to tell her but she saw my eyes flicker. ‘What is it? Have I got it wrong?’
‘I think “here’s” is maybe spelled differently, Mum,’ I said gently.
‘Oh lordy! Good job you’re my little brainbox. Spell it properly for me then, sweetie, while I go and sort out all the cookies.’
I wrote out the eighteen labels with Auntie Avril’s felt-tip pens while Sam and Lily chatted to me. They kept getting distracted from each little programme to wish me a happy birthday. Sam even sang the birthday song for me, making Lily’s ears sway in time to the music.
‘Are you having a lovely birthday, Beauty?’ Sam asked.
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I’m scared it’ll all go wrong when all the girls come. You know how they all tease me. It would be OK if Skye and Arabella and Emily weren’t coming. Do you think they’ll laugh at my new party dress? It’s not a bit like the sort of stuff they wear.’
‘It’s much much nicer,’ said Sam. ‘We think you look stunning in your dress and pinafore and special boots. Your mum’s chosen a wonderful outfit for you. We’re not so sure about your dad’s present though. You’re a bit frightened of that great big pink rabbit, aren’t you, Lily?’
Lily snuffled, nodding her head.
‘I was frightened just at first,’ I said. ‘It’s hideous, isn’t it?’
We have a private chuckle together and then Sam and Lily went through their paces for their ten programmes, pottering in the garden, clearing out the rabbit hutch, coping with a cold, smelling the spring flowers, getting wet in the rain. I especially loved that episode because Sam made Lily her own little sou’wester to keep her ears dry.
I finished off the labels and ran down to give them to Mum. She had eighteen special transparent gift bags lined up on the kitchen table. I stuck a label on each one and then Mum brought out four huge tins.
‘These are the oatmeal-and-raisin cookies,’ said Mum, pointing. ‘And these are the plain, but I’ve iced them with lemon frosting and stuck those little silver balls on top so they look quite pretty, don’t they? Then these are cherry cookies and these are chocolate chip.’
‘You’re so clever, Mum! They look wonderful.’
‘They do, don’t they!’ Mum agreed happily. ‘We’ll give each girl three of each kind, OK? You get filling and I’ll tie the tops with ribbon.’
Mum had brought beautiful thin satin ribbon, all different colours. When each bag was neatly tied up Mum washed her hands and then tied one lock of my hair into a tiny plait and secured it with the last of the green ribbon.
‘There, it matches your eyes!’ said Mum. ‘You’d better go and get into your party finery now, the caterers will be here any minute.’
I went upstairs and put on my grey dress and pinafore and my lovely boots. I looked at myself in the Venetian glass and then I went to check in the long mirror in Mum’s bedroom. Sam and Lily were still talking on the television. They stopped and looked at me.
‘Oh, Beauty, you look lovely!’ said Sam, and Lily’s eyes shone as she stared at me.
I blew them both a big kiss and then switched them off. I imagined them snuggled up together asleep in the dark of the Rabbit Hutch, waiting until I wanted to wake them up again.
Mum came running in to change into her party outfit – a cream dress that showed off a lot of her own creamy skin. Mum squinted sideways at herself in the mirror.
‘Do you think I ought to wear a little camisole under this dress, sweetie?’ she asked.
I lowered my voice, doing my best gruff Dad imitation. ‘If you’ve got it, babe, flaunt it,’ I said.
Mum cracked up laughing. ‘You are a card, Beauty.’ She cupped my face with her hands. ‘You’re going to have the happiest birthday ever, just you wait and see.’
The caterers arrived and started setting up the buffet on the dining-room table. Mum and I hovered, worried about getting in the way, but when they put the extraordinary profiterole tower in pride of place in the middle of the table Mum spoke up.
‘Can we leave room for a plate of my home-made cookies, please?’ she said.
She’d arranged all the left-over cookies from the tins on her best green-leaf plate. She laid them in circles, lemon iced cookies in the middle, then the cherry, then the chocolate chip, with the darker oatmeal round the edge. They looked like a beautiful biscuit flower. To make the plate even prettier Mum had scattered little white and purple freesia heads across the cookies.
‘They look lovely, madam,’ said the head caterer – and Mum flushed with pride.
Then we heard the front door bang and Dad came stomping into the dining room. He didn’t pause to take off his shoes. It was immediately obvious he was furious about something. Mum took my hand and squeezed it.
‘Hello, Gerry, darling,’ she said. ‘Look, doesn’t Beauty’s birthday buffet look wonderful?’
Dad barely glanced at it. He nodded curtly at the caterers, stretching his mouth into a grimace.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mum murmured. ‘Is the super-stretch limo still coming? The theatre has reserved the seats?’
‘Oh, everything’s fine and hunky-dory for Beauty’s birthday,’ said Dad, ruffling my hair and pulling my ribbon out of place. ‘I’ve fixed that all right. I’m just stuffed when it comes to the Water Meadows development.’
&nbs
p; ‘But I thought this chap was going to fix it all for you?’ said Mum.
‘That’s what I thought. But he’s gone and got cold feet. And not only that, he’s blabbed to someone else about a little gift I gave him.’ Dad lowered his voice to a hiss so the caterers wouldn’t hear. ‘And now there’s ridiculous talk of bribery.’
‘Oh no!’ said Mum, her hand to her mouth. ‘But . . . isn’t that a criminal offence?’
‘Sh! Don’t act as if I’m about to be frogmarched off to jail. It won’t come to that, but it might mean hiring lawyers and it’s all going to be horrendously expensive one way or another – and the Water Meadows deal is off now, whatever happens.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ Mum said.
‘I should think you jolly well are, because we’re going to have to pull our horns in very smartly. No more fancy frocks and finery for either of you!’ Dad turned to me. ‘Make the most of this birthday, Beauty. It looks like it’ll be the last proper party you’ll have in a long time.’
I knew it wasn’t the moment to remind Dad I’d never asked for a proper party. I looked at his red face and his twitchy eyelid and his clenched fists, all the warning signs. He was primed like a hand grenade. He was just about keeping it together because the caterers were here but all it needed was one tiny trigger – and then he’d explode.
The girls were due to arrive in twenty minutes. I thought of Dad screaming and shouting in front of Skye and Emily and Arabella and I wanted to die.
‘Don’t look so tragic, Beauty!’ said Dad. He forced a smile to his face, teeth bared as if ready to bite. ‘Don’t you worry about Daddy’s little troubles. You’re still going to have a grand time with your little pals. Look at this lovely spread, yum yum!’ Then he frowned. ‘What’s the big green plate doing bang in the middle?’
Dad marched up to the table and banged the cookie plate. They all bounced out of their elaborate pattern and the freesias fell off.
‘What are you doing, fobbing me off with all these arty-farty fancy biscuits? I didn’t order them!’
‘I know, sir. Your wife made them,’ said the chief caterer. ‘She asked us to put the plate there.’
‘My wife? Is she paying your company then? I think you’ll find I’m the poor Joe Soap writing the cheque, and if that’s the case you’ll take your orders from me. Move that home-made rubbish off the table, pronto. Look at it, half the biscuits are broken anyway!’
They were broken because Dad had thumped them around. Mum picked up the plate and carried it into the kitchen. She kept her head held high but I saw the tears in her eyes. I followed her and gave her a big hug.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum. They looked so lovely too,’ I said.
‘Never mind,’ said Mum, swallowing hard. ‘We can still give the girls their own special bags.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ said Dad, following us into the kitchen. ‘Beauty, stop looking at me like that! Dilly, shove all that biscuit muck in the bin where it belongs. I don’t want you to start all these damn daft cooking experiments, you’re useless at it. Your job is to look beautiful, so brighten up and put a smile on your face, for pity’s sake. You need a bit more sparkle. Put some jewellery on. That neckline’s a bit bare. I know, wear your diamond collar.’
I froze.
‘Yes, good idea,’ Mum said calmly. ‘Or even better, my string of pearls. They’ll look beautifully creamy with this dress. I’ll go and put them on.’
‘No, pearls are a bit mumsy and understated. I want you looking flash, girl. Go for the diamonds,’ said Dad.
Mum walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. I followed her, feeling frantic.
‘Stop trotting after your mother, Beauty. You’re acting like you’re her little shadow. Come here, let’s look at you. You’re a bit pale. What’s up with you?’
Dad didn’t wait for an answer. He went to pour himself a drink and order the caterers around. Mum stayed upstairs. Then there was a ring at the door. It was only quarter to but one of the girls was here already!
‘Go on then, Beauty, answer the door to your first guest,’ said Dad, prodding me out into the hall. ‘Dilly, what the hell are you doing? Get yourself down here!’ he hissed up the stairs.
I went to the door. It was Arabella and her mother, both of them long and thin and jittery, like thoroughbred ponies.
‘Happy birthday, Beauty,’ Arabella neighed.
It was the first time I’d ever heard her use my real name.
‘Happy birthday, Beauty,’ Arabella’s mother said in her high posh voice. She said my name as if it was in quotation marks, her eyebrows raised. ‘Where’s Mummy, dear? I’d just like to check on all the arrangements. Is it right that all the girls will be delivered back to their own homes?’
‘Please come in. Oh yes, they’ll be delivered in a super-stretch limo,’ I said.
Mum came flying down the stairs. She was wearing a big gold heart locket. Dad joined her in the hall.
‘Ah, Mrs Cookson – and Mr Cookson,’ said Arabella’s mum. ‘This is Arabella.’
‘Hey, hey, Gerry and Dilly, please,’ said Dad, shaking hands. ‘Welcome to our Happy Home.’
My throat dried. I thought Dad was going to start his Happy Homes song and dance routine. Mum obviously thought so too because she started talking hurriedly about car times and the theatre seats and when we’d get back home.
‘Dilly, Dilly, quit burbling,’ said Dad.
Mum flushed. Arabella’s mum blinked. She smiled pityingly at Mum.
‘Bless you, dear, you’re just putting my mind at rest. We can’t help worrying. It’s a female thing, Mr Cookson,’ she said.
Dad stared at her, not liking it that she’d called him Mr Cookson again – but he managed a wintry smile. He held his glass of whisky up.
‘Oh no, nothing for me, thank you,’ said Arabella’s mother, as if he’d offered her rat poison. She turned to Mum. ‘Who’s going to be driving this limousine?’ she asked.
‘Oh, don’t worry, there’s a special chauffeur,’ said Mum quickly. ‘And of course Gerry and I will be there with the girls, keeping an eye on things.’
‘Mmm,’ said Arabella’s mum. She pressed her hand on Arabella’s shoulder. ‘Well, I’ll be off, darling. Remember, you’ve got the mobile if you need me at all. Have a lovely time.’
‘Bye, Ma,’ said Arabella. She thrust a pink parcel at me. ‘This is your birthday present.’
I opened it. It was one of the Princess paperbacks. I’d read it last year.
‘Oh, Beauty, how thoughtful. Araminta’s given you one of them books you like so much,’ said Dad. ‘Say thank you, darling.’
‘Arabella,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Dilly, can I have a word?’ said Dad.
‘In a minute, Gerry,’ said Mum. ‘Would you like some juice, Arabella?’
‘That’s what we’ve got the caterers for, Dilly. I need you.’ Dad took hold of Mum by the wrist.
She had to go with him. They went into the kitchen and shut the door but I could still hear Dad clearly.
‘Why the hell aren’t you wearing your diamond collar?’
‘Thank you very much for my Princess book,’ I said loudly. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Arabella. ‘Someone gave it to me at Christmas and I’ve never been bothered to read it.’
‘You’re to put it on now!’
‘I love reading, I read all the time, I even read in the bath,’ I burbled.
‘What’s your dad getting so het up about?’ asked Arabella.
‘Nothing. He just shouts sometimes, it doesn’t mean he’s really cross,’ I said.
‘You’ve LOST it? What the hell do you mean, you dozy cow?’
Arabella blinked. ‘Your dad just called your mum a cow!’
‘No he didn’t. Shall we eat something? Or we could go out in the garden if you like?’
There was a sudden unmistakable sound from the kitchen, harsh and horrible.
‘No. No, of course not. I expect he just bumped into something. Look, do you see my profiterole tower? I wonder how they’re going to cut it?’
Arabella shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was a slap. This is kind of weird.’ She fingered the mobile phone in her pocket. ‘Maybe I’m going to phone my mum to come back.’
‘No, don’t! You’ve only just got here.’
‘I wish Emily and the others were here,’ said Arabella.
Then the doorbell rang and there was a whole gang of girls on the doorstep. They all crowded into the hall. Dad came out to greet them, getting their names wrong, welcoming everyone to his Happy Home.
Mum stayed in the kitchen. She didn’t come out for another ten minutes, when nearly everyone had arrived. One side of her face was still much pinker than the other and her eyes were red, but she smiled heroically at everyone and helped serve the food, even though Dad told her not to. He made himself another drink.
Arabella was huddled in a corner whispering to Emily and Skye. They kept looking round at my dad and rolling their eyes.
Emily gave me the very same Princess book as Arabella. Her eyes gleamed as she gave me her parcel. I knew they’d done it deliberately but I thanked her all the same.
I expected the exact same copy from Skye but her present was a different shape. It was a little child’s brush-and-comb set, painted with rosebuds. There were two words in swirly writing round the edge of the mirror and across the back of the brush. Little Beauty.
Skye and Emily and Arabella all grinned.
‘There you are, Ugly,’ Skye said. ‘Your very own brush to get the tangles out of your corkscrews, and a mirror specially for you.’
‘I bet it cracks the minute she looks in it,’ said Emily.
‘She looks especially weird today. What is that you’re wearing, Ugly? Some kind of historical costume?’ said Arabella.
‘She’s got her apron on, so maybe she’s the maid,’ said Skye, sniggering. ‘Go on, give us a curtsy, Ugly-Wugly.’
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