Lottie Project

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Yet in his huge great famously Victorian villa he was so different. As if he’d grown to fit his fourteen-roomed house. (I counted.) And I felt different too. As if I’d shrunk considerably. It felt strange just going into his house through that dark-blue front door with the big brass lion knocker. I felt as if I should slink round the back or down the basement steps like my Lottie.

  If Jamie and his family had lorded it over me I’d somehow have felt easier. I could just dismiss them as horrible snobs and sneer at them. But they were ever so friendly. Even Jamie’s elder brother Jules.

  lder brothers are usually a race apart. Angela’s elder brother charges straight past you without even bothering to say hello. He doesn’t even mean to be rude, it’s just that you don’t register with him. But Jules said Hi and chatted like I was his age and he made me and Jamie a toasted sandwich. We ate it in the kitchen – but what a kitchen! I stared round, scarcely able to swallow.

  There was a shelf of cookery books and I had a quick peer but I couldn’t see anything special on cakes. When Jamie’s mum got home much later I saw she wasn’t really a cake-maker. She came in clutching all these files and folders, her cardie falling off her shoulders, her scarf trailing on the ground. She said hello as if she was really pleased to see me, and then she unpacked some shopping and made us an amazing treat of cream cheese and smoked salmon in a strange round roll. (No wonder Jamie is chubby round his chops with all these delicious snacks on offer.) Jules had one of these bagel things too, and then went up to his room to get on with his homework.

  All Jamie’s family are seriously brainy. Jules is going to take twelve GCSEs, and then there are two older brothers, both at university. Jamie’s mum and dad lecture at the university. He teaches French, she teaches Politics and Economics.

  ‘The Economics is a bit of a laugh,’ said Jamie. ‘Mum can hardly add up. She’s meant to pay me when I do stuff like vacuuming and that, two quid an hour, plus appropriate percentage for ten minutes extra, say, and can she work it out? Nope! Clueless, aren’t you, Mum?’

  I didn’t think his mum clueless at all, paying Jamie a measly two quid per hour when the rock-bottom going rate was £3.50 and the Rosens right next door paid Jo a fiver an hour – dead Economical! Things got a bit awkward when Jamie’s mum started chatting about how she remembered me from way back when I had my hair in a pony tail (yuck!) and then she said: ‘And you always looked so cute because your big sister had a pony tail too, so you both walked along to the school, hair bobbing away.’

  I smiled in a strained sort of way and decided to keep my mouth shut. But Jamie didn’t.

  ‘Oh, Mum, honestly! That wasn’t Charlie’s sister. She’s her mum.’

  Jamie’s mum looked startled. ‘Good Heavens! Oh Charlie, what a lovely young mum you’ve got! Not an old bag like me, eh? What does your mum do?’

  I swallowed. ‘Well . . . she used to be sort of a lecturer like you.’ It was true in a way. She was always having to give her staff a right lecture in her shop.

  ‘So now . . . ?’

  ‘Now she’s – well, she’s been made redundant, I mean, it’s not her fault, she didn’t get the sack or anything, it’s just—’

  ‘Oh, tell me about it! We’re in a sticky situation at the moment too. We’re all very worried. So has your mother found another post at all?’

  ‘Well. Not – not lecturing. She’s having to do temporary work.’

  ‘I see. Well, I do hope things sort themselves out soon for her. Is it . . . ?’ She paused delicately, trying very hard not to put her foot in it again. ‘Is it just your mother and you at home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Just Jo and me in a home we’re hanging on to by the skin of our teeth. If Jamie’s mum loses her posh job then they’ll maybe have to swop from smoked salmon to tinned, but they’ll still be able to live in their huge great house. OK, they have actually got a couple of lodgers right upstairs, two students from the university. They’ve got a bedroom each, a shared living room and kitchenette, and their own bathroom and loo. The students’ rooms are bigger than our flat.

  It still leaves the Edwards with so many different rooms. This includes a library. They’ve got books in absolutely every room, even the downstairs loo, and there are shelves in the hall and the living room downstairs, but there’s this huge great room on the first floor absolutely crammed full of books, and there are shelves and shelves of Victorian stuff.

  ‘See,’ said Jamie proudly, pulling various volumes down and displaying them in front of me.

  I saw. No wonder Jamie’s Victorian project was so brilliant. Still, he was letting me look at the books if I wanted.

  ‘You’ve still got time to do a proper project instead of that old diary thing,’ he said. Unwisely.

  ‘Cheek! I don’t want to do a boring old project. Who wants to be like everyone else? I’m doing my diary – and yes it is “old”, it’s supposed to be old, it’s meant to be written by a Victorian, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘OK, OK. You don’t have to get all heavy with me,’ said Jamie. ‘You’re so fierce, Charlie.’

  ‘Fierce?’ I said. I said it again, savouring the word. I felt as if he’d paid me a real compliment.

  ‘So don’t you want to borrow any of the Victorian books, then? Because we can go and play a game on my computer if you want. Or I’ll show you my dinosaur stuff. Or we can play War.’

  ‘War? You mean fight?’ I said, grinning. ‘I know who’s going to win.’

  ‘No, it’s a game, with all these little soldiers – they fight, and there are little guns and land mines and all that stuff. It’s great to play but Jules won’t play it with me, neither will Mum or Dad or anyone because they’re all pacifists.’

  ‘I’m not. I’ll play you. But just let me look at this book a tick.’

  I’d found a whole set of Victorian girls’ books. I wanted to see if there might be any Lottie could have read. There was one huge fat annual with lots of pictures, like a magazine. There was one coloured picture of a huge table groaning with wobbly jellies and puddings like castles and all sorts of dinky sweets and teeny sandwiches . . . and fancy cakes.

  ‘Hey, look! I just want to take a couple of notes, OK?’

  ‘OK. Though why don’t you borrow it?’

  ‘You mean I can take it home with me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Oh. Well. Great.’ I tucked the huge book under my arm. ‘So let’s play War.’

  We played War for hours. It was a great game. And guess who won!

  Jamie’s mum ran me home in her car. I was worried she might object about the book because it was probably valuable as it’s so old but she didn’t turn a hair. Her hair is already grey. I wonder what it’s like to have a mum old enough to be your granny. I think it’s much more fun to have a mum young enough to be your sister.

  ‘We’ve heard so much about you, Charlie,’ said Jamie’s mum.

  I blinked.

  ‘You’ve made a big impression on Jamie,’ she said.

  I thought about it. I’d made a literal impression on Jamie several times.

  ‘We’re going to the V and A on Sunday afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Sorry. The Victoria and Albert Museum. I know Jamie would love it if you’d come with us – and it would be very useful for this famous Victorian project.’

  ‘Well. Thank you very much. But Sunday is sort of special. Jo and I do things together.’

  ‘She’s very welcome to come too.’

  ‘Thanks, but . . . I don’t think we can.’

  ‘Well, another time maybe. And do come round to our house any time you want. It’d be lovely to see you,’ said Jamie’s mum.

  I was a little bit dubious. Did Jamie have an actual thing about me? He hadn’t acted all lovey-dovey when we were in his room. The mere thought of Jamie Edwards acting lovey-dovey was enough to crease me up. Just let him try! And anyway, I didn’t want to go to some stuffy old museum on a Sunday. Like I s
aid, Sundays were just for Jo and me.

  So I was utterly shocked and stupefied when Jo dropped this ginormous bombshell.

  ‘We’re going out on Sunday,’ she said.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘How would you like to go to Red River Theme Park?’ she said.

  I stared at her. I’d been wanting to go to Red River ever since it opened. Lisa had promised she’d get her dad to take Angela and me for her birthday treat, but that wasn’t until next year. And it wasn’t a certainty anyway, because it cost a fortune to get into Red River.

  ‘We can’t afford it,’ I said to Jo.

  ‘We’re being taken out,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it great?’

  ‘Who’s taking us out?’ I said, starting to smell a rat. A great big rat with twitchy whiskers on its lean lost face. And I was spot on.

  ‘Mark was talking about taking Robin this Sunday and he thought it would be so much more fun if we all went together. He’s paying, and I’m getting a picnic together. It’s going to be a fantastic day out.’

  ‘We don’t have days out on Sundays. We have days in. Just you and me. As a matter of fact, I was asked out on Sunday, the Edwards family asked me, they wanted to take me out for this bumper day in London, a drive all round the sights and lunch in Planet Hollywood and then this museum for Victorian stuff and then tea at one of those really posh hotels, scones and cream cakes and all that, and then – then we were going for dinner at the Hard Rock Café and – and then—’

  ‘Then you were going to be violently sick, I should think,’ said Jo. She reached out and ran her finger up and down my lips, the way you do a baby to make it go wibble-wibble-wibble. ‘This is a bad mouth,’ said Jo. ‘It is telling fibs.’

  ‘They did ask me out on Sunday, honest,’ I insisted.

  ‘Well, you can’t, because I’ve already said we’re going to Red River with Mark and Robin,’ said Jo. ‘Come on, Charlie! You’ve been desperate to go to Red River for ages. I thought you’d be over the moon. I think it’s absolutely great of Mark to invite us.’

  ‘Why us, though? Why isn’t he going with this girlfriend of his?’ I said.

  ‘What girlfriend?’ said Jo. She frowned.

  ‘The one he’s started seeing on Friday nights when you babysit,’ I said.

  ‘Oh. I see. Ah,’ said Jo.

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘What?’ Although I suddenly knew what.

  ‘I think you maybe got hold of the wrong end of the stick,’ said Jo. ‘I never said Mark had a girlfriend.’

  ‘So where did he go when you went round to babysit?’

  ‘Well . . . the first Friday he was going out, just to see this film he fancied, but we got chatting, and then we watched this film together on the telly instead, so—’

  ‘So you’re the one who’s been telling dirty great lies,’ I said.

  ‘No I’m not!’

  ‘And you’re his girlfriend now, aren’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Of course I’m not. Don’t be so silly. I’m not Mark’s girlfriend. I work for him. I’ve only known him a few weeks. Oh, Charlie, don’t be so difficult.’

  I felt like being difficult. I was Mega Mad. No-one seemed to understand why. Lisa and Angela and I went round the shops on Saturday afternoon and they thought I was completely nuts.

  ‘Can’t you get this guy to take us too?’ said Lisa hopefully. ‘Say we’re your all-time best friends and you can’t go without us. After all, I promised I’d get my dad to take you two on my birthday.’

  ‘This guy isn’t my dad though. He isn’t anything. He’s just this creep who’s started chatting up my mother.’

  ‘Still, who cares if he’s a creep? You still get to go to Red River,’ said Lisa.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll go in your place if you don’t want to,’ said Angela. ‘I just go to church on Sundays. You count yourself lucky, Charlie.’

  ‘No, you’ve got to be a good girl and go to church,’ said Lisa. ‘I’ll go instead of Charlie. I just have to go to all these boring antique fairs with my mum while my dad plays golf, it’s not fair.’

  ‘Neither of you are going,’ I said. ‘And I’m not going too.’

  I told Jo that on Saturday evening, while she was busy getting all this picnic stuff together.

  ‘OK,’ said Jo, mashing up hard-boiled eggs.

  ‘I really mean it. I’m not going. And you can’t make me,’ I said.

  ‘Right,’ said Jo, mashing harder.

  ‘So that’s settled,’ I said.

  ‘Yep,’ said Jo, pounding so hard that the bowl rattled.

  ‘I’m not going to Granny’s or anything. I’ll just stay here. By myself. I’ll be fine,’ I said.

  ‘Aha,’ said Jo, and her hand slipped and she banged it hard on the edge of the kitchen top. She bent over, clutching her wrist.

  ‘You’re not supposed to mash like that. You’re hopeless when it comes to cooking,’ I said. ‘Jo?’

  She didn’t answer this time. Her head was so bent I couldn’t see her face for hair. I went over to her. I saw a tear trickling down her cheek.

  ‘I’ve really upset you, haven’t I?’ I said.

  ‘No. I’ve just hurt my wrist, that’s all,’ said Jo.

  She can be as stubborn as me sometimes. Her wrist wasn’t really hurt. And she stopped crying when I put my arms round her and told her that I would go to Red River on Sunday if she really really really wanted me to go.

  I even made some more little fairy cakes for the picnic. With messages.

  Mark was exactly how I imagined him. No, worse. The sort of bumbling Bambi-eyed boy-man that makes some women go bananas. He had a tuft of hair sticking up on top and little round glasses and a big check shirt and faded jeans and one of his socks was black and the other was navy. Pathetic. Mark almost made little Robin look macho. He was ever so scared of me. ‘Hi, Charlie,’ he said, trying to sound dead casual, but he stuttered – and when he attempted this silly little wave, spreading his fingers, I saw his palm was all sweaty. Yuck.

  But there was something far far worse. Jo. She was better at acting cool, of course. If you didn’t know her you’d think she was dead relaxed, making a fuss of Robin and flappy little Birdie, chatting nineteen to the dozen to Mark, telling some silly story about her supermarket job, the day her machine ran away with her and attacked a pile of loo rolls. I don’t think it even happened, she was just making it up as she went along, but it made Mark laugh and even little Robin tittered behind Birdie’s wing. But she was just pretending all the time, her voice too high, her eyes blinking, her hands gesticulating wildly. She was like a clockwork toy that had been wound up too tightly.

  I yawned and started humming to myself while she was in mid-flow to show her I wasn’t impressed. I hardly said a word the entire car journey to Red River Theme Park. Jo was going jabber jabber jabber so there was no point anyway.

  Mark seemed so impressed that he could barely keep his eyes on the road ahead. ‘Yeah? Mmm? Really?’ he’d go, and every so often he’d crack up laughing.

  I slumped back in my seat, weary with this deeply disgusting performance. Mark caught sight of me in his driving mirror. ‘Are you all right, Charlie?’ he said.

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  ‘She’s not feeling sick, is she?’ Mark asked Jo.

  Jo turned round. ‘Stop being a pig,’ she mouthed at me.

  I gave one small snort for her benefit. Robin blinked at me in surprise.

  ‘She’s OK,’ said Jo.

  ‘And you’re OK too, Robin?’ Mark asked. ‘You don’t feel sick or anything?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Robin mumbled. ‘But maybe Birdie does a bit.’

  Oh great. I didn’t care for the idea of Robin chucking up all over me.

  ‘Talk to Robin, Charlie,’ said Jo. ‘Take his mind off it.’

  I didn’t want to talk to Robin. Or his dad. Or my stupid mother, all got up in her fluffy pink top and her tiny skirt. To match her new shrunk tiny brain and her fluffy pink persona. Bimbo M
um. Out with Bambi Man and Birdie Boy.

  ‘What’s up with you, Charlie?’ Jo said, her voice sharp.

  There was nothing up with me. I was the only person in the car acting anywhere near normal.

  ‘She’s shy,’ said Mark.

  Me, shy! I snorted again.

  ‘She’s not shy,’ said Jo. ‘Are you, Charlie? I’m the one who always gets into states about things and can hardly say boo to a goose. Charlie’s always had far more guts than me. She was born a fighter, eh, Charlie?’

  She was sucking up to me now. It was sickening. Robin seemed to find it sickening too. Literally.

  ‘Birdie’s starting to feel very sick,’ he gasped, his face pale green.

  I snapped into action mega fast, opening his window and sticking his little head out just in time. He was sick all over the car, but at least it was outside, not inside. We had to pull up in a lay-by and get him mopped up and the car wiped down. I backed away from both these proceedings. As Mark had to deal with the car Jo had to sluice the sicky dribble off Robin. She’s always had a weak stomach. Still, she was the one who wanted to play Happy Families. Let her be Mother.

  Robin started wimpering that he smelt, and eventually Jo had to waste a bottle of the picnic water washing him. Then Robin snivelled that Birdie smelt too, because one tiny tip of his wing had got stained. Birdie had to have a regular little bird-bath too.

  I was practically at screaming point by the time we drove off in the car. The day didn’t improve. The world and his wife had decided to visit the Red River Theme Park. We were not the world and we certainly weren’t ever going to be anyone’s wife, but we were stuck in their traffic jam. It took hours before we got there, and then there was a huge queue to park and by the time we staggered through the entrance we felt as exhausted as if we’d already had a day out.