Lottie Project

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘I mean it, Jo. I feel . . . bad. Robin will be all right now, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Once they’ve got him all warmed up and checked over then I’m sure he’ll be able to go home.’

  ‘And can we go round and see him straight away?’

  ‘Well, not if his mother’s there too. I don’t want to look as if I’m butting in. And maybe this might bring them back together again as a family . . .’

  I didn’t dare ask her if she’d mind terribly.

  Jo went off to the supermarket to explain why she was so late – and I went to school.

  Lisa and Angela came charging up to me the minute I set foot in the classroom.

  ‘Hey, Charlie! Did you hear on the radio? That little boy who went missing, Robin. Isn’t he the one your mum looks after?’

  So I had to say yes, and then when I told them we’d been with Robin’s dad half the night and that I’d actually seen Robin in the hospital they asked me dozens of questions, and practically all the class gathered round wanting to hear. So I had to turn it into a proper story and spin it out a bit while they all gasped and exclaimed. They didn’t even quieten down when Miss Beckworth swept into the room and told everyone to go to their seats.

  ‘Miss Beckworth, Charlie’s practically headline news, she helped find that little boy. Tell Miss Beckworth, Charlie!’

  So I told the story all over again, though I was starting to tire of the whole tale. It didn’t seem right that even Miss Beckworth seemed mildly impressed. But then she asked the one question I was dreading. Trust her.

  ‘Why did the little boy run away, I wonder?’

  I just shrugged and backed away to my desk, sharpish.

  Jamie stared at me, looking a little puzzled. ‘I love the way you tell things, Charlie. Making it ever so exciting and funny,’ he said.

  I made little slurpy noises with my lips, to show I thought he was sucking up to me.

  ‘But did it all really happen?’ Jamie persisted.

  ‘Yes! What do you think I am, some kind of nutter with a compulsion to tell blatant lies to everyone?’

  ‘But how come your mum looks after this little boy? I thought you said she was a lecturer, like mine?’

  I took a deep breath, thinking hard. A blatant lie indeed. Well, call it an elaborate evasion. It was time for another.

  ‘She lost that job, right? So for the moment she . . . she teaches little Robin.’

  I had to tell my story all over again at playtime to kids in different classes, and they went off and told other kids, so that by dinner time it was all over the school. There were many different versions by this time. Some assumed that my mum and Robin’s dad were already a definite item, which infuriated me.

  Others gave me an even more prominent role in the story, so that I’d gone out in the early morning and tracked Robin through the park to the station all by myself. It was starting to turn into a story about how I’d saved little Robin’s life.

  It was a relief when school was over at last. I went rushing straight home, wondering if Jo would be round at Mark’s place with Robin.

  But she was at home, looking tired out herself, pulling fluff out of her bunny jumper, pick pick pick.

  ‘Is Mark’s ex-wife round at his place then?’ I asked delicately.

  ‘I think she’s at the hospital. With Mark,’ said Jo.

  ‘What? Is Robin still there then?’ I paused. ‘He is OK, isn’t he?’

  Jo’s fingers fidgeted down the sleeve of her fluffy jumper. ‘Well, I’m sure he’s going to be OK, yes, but . . .’

  ‘But what? Tell me!’

  ‘I don’t really know much. Mark only had ten pence for the phone. He just said that the doctor was a bit worried about Robin’s chest—’

  ‘His chest?’

  ‘Apparently he’s always been slightly asthmatic, and he did get very chilled, so now he’s got a touch of pneumonia.’

  ‘Pneumonia! People die of pneumonia!’

  ‘Now calm down, Charlie. There’s no need to get yourself all worked up. I promise Robin’s not going to die—’

  ‘You promised he’d be as right as rain, out of hospital as soon as they’d got him warmed up.’

  ‘Well, he will be as right as rain. They’ll just need to give him some antibiotics.’

  ‘And people always get completely better after pneumonia if they take antibiotics?’

  ‘Well, nearly always. How do I know anyway?’

  ‘Let’s go and see him now.’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine he can have too many visitors. He’ll need to be kept quiet. He’s got his dad – and his mum.’ Jo’s jumper was going to be picked bald quite soon.

  ‘Couldn’t we go to the hospital just to ask if we could see him for two minutes?’ I said.

  ‘No, we can’t just keep pushing in,’ said Jo.

  I kept going on at her. I can always wear her down. I had to see Robin again. I hadn’t been able to talk to him when he was trussed up in tinfoil like a tiny turkey. I had to tell him something.

  But I still didn’t get a chance. We found our way to the children’s ward and it was still visiting time so we walked the long length of the polished floor, looking for Robin. There was no sign of him.

  We walked back again, pausing at every bed. There was one empty one and I suddenly took Jo’s hand.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said a nurse, hurrying past.

  ‘We’re looking for Robin West,’ said Jo anxiously. ‘He’s the little boy who was lost.’

  ‘Yes, I know. He’s in the side ward up at the end – but I’m not sure he should have any more visitors,’ said the nurse.

  ‘There, Charlie,’ said Jo. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just put our heads round the door to say hello?’ I pleaded.

  ‘I suppose you can take a quick peep, if you promise to be quiet,’ said the nurse.

  ‘As a mouse,’ I said.

  When we got near the side ward we walked on tiptoe, though the polish made our shoes squeak like real mice. We were still hand in hand. Our clasp was clammy.

  I put my head round the door first. There was Mark, sitting right by the bed, his head in his hands. A pretty blonde woman with a pinched face was wiping her red eyes. And there was Robin lying very still in bed, his face milky white, his eyes closed. Birdie was on his chest, wings spread.

  ‘He’s dead!’ I burst out, forgetting all about my promise to be quiet.

  Robin stirred and whimpered.

  ‘Who on earth . . . ?’ said the blonde woman, glaring at me.

  ‘What do you want, Charlie?’ said Mark, standing up. His grey face was going patchy red with anger. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

  ‘I just wanted to say . . . I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, that makes all the difference in the world, does it?’ said Mark.

  Jo was tugging at me to get me to go. ‘We shouldn’t have come. We were both just so worried about Robin,’ she muttered. ‘Come on, Charlie.’

  ‘He is going to get better, isn’t he?’ I said desperately.

  Mark ignored me but touched Jo on the shoulder to reassure her. The blonde woman tightened her eyebrows.

  ‘He’s still got a high temperature but they’re pumping him full of antibiotics and they keep saying he’ll be fine,’ he said. Then his eyes swivelled to me. ‘No thanks to you.’

  I let Jo tug me out of the doorway and out of the ward. We had to wait a long while for a bus outside the hospital and then it was a twenty-minute walk home. Jo kept talking to me but I hardly said anything.

  She thought it was because I was scared of crying in public. When we got home at last she put her arms round me and said, ‘Right, you can let it all out now. Have a really good cry and then you’ll feel better.’

  I did cry a bit. Jo did too. I don’t know whether she felt better. I didn’t.

  I felt really bad at school the next day. Angela and Lisa still kept on about Robin, asking if I’d seen him and how he was, w
anting me to tell them all about it.

  ‘Look, I don’t really want to talk about Robin,’ I said.

  ‘What are you on about? You did nothing but talk about Robin yesterday,’ said Lisa.

  ‘OK, OK. That was yesterday. This is today, right? Let’s talk about something else,’ I said.

  Angela immediately started burbling about the birthsigns of her beloveds and I groaned and pretended to gag.

  ‘There’s no need to take that attitude,’ said Angela, hurt. ‘You told me to talk about something else, so I did. There’s no pleasing you sometimes, Charlie.’

  ‘Hey, my dad says he’s still taking us to the Red River Theme Park for my birthday,’ said Lisa. ‘Which rides are the best, Charlie? Come on, you didn’t get a chance to tell us yesterday.’

  ‘No!’ I said fiercely.

  ‘You can be a right pain sometimes, Charlie,’ said Lisa huffily. ‘There’s me inviting you out on my birthday treat and yet you just shout at me.’

  ‘Yeah, I can’t stick it when you throw a moody like this,’ said Angela. ‘You think you can treat us like dirt, Charlie Enright, but we might just start to get fed up with it. Isn’t that right, Lisa?’ ‘You bet,’ said Lisa. ‘Come on, Angela.’

  They walked off across the playground arm in arm. I was left all by myself.

  I decided I didn’t care a bit. There were lots of other girls desperate to be my friend. Or even boys. Like Jamie.

  I went and found him in his usual place, head deep in a book. Still Tess of the d’Urbervilles, but he’d nearly finished it, even though it’s hundreds and hundreds of pages long.

  ‘You’ll go cross-eyed reading so much,’ I said, flopping down beside him. ‘Are you really enjoying that?’

  ‘It’s great,’ said Jamie. ‘Here, Tess murders this guy at the end, the one who had his wicked way with her – Alec.’

  ‘The one she had the baby with?’ I said. I tried to remember the film, but I just had this hazy picture of pretty girls in white frocks doing a dance, and afterwards Jo and I had done our own dance in our white nighties. ‘Did Tess have a daughter or a son?’

  ‘A little boy.’

  ‘So what happens to him? I don’t think there was a little boy in the film.’

  ‘No, he dies when he’s a baby.’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it says.’

  ‘Babies don’t just die.’

  ‘They did then. Especially little puny ones. They just need to get a little cold and then it develops into pneumonia or something—’

  ‘Shut up!’ I shouted.

  Jamie jumped. ‘What’s up?’ he said. ‘Hey, Charlie – where are you going?’

  I didn’t know where I was going. I wanted to get away from him, away from Lisa and Angela, away from the whole school . . .

  I made for the gate, deciding to make a dash for it and bunk off school for the afternoon. But Miss Beckworth was on playground duty and her eagle eyes were beady-bright.

  ‘Charlotte Enright! Where on earth do you think you’re going, young lady?’ she called.

  I was so desperate I kept on running but I collided with a bunch of little kids coming back into school after going home for dinner. I tripped as I dodged them and fell flat.

  I heard them squealing excitedly. Ominous footsteps paused by my side. I didn’t try to get up. I just lay where I was – and cried.

  ‘Out of the way, children. There’s no need to gawp. Off you go. Shoo!’ said Miss Beckworth. She seemed to be bending down beside me. ‘Charlotte?’

  I howled harder.

  ‘I need to know if you’ve really hurt yourself badly and need medical attention,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Can you try and sit up so we can examine the damage?’

  So I had to sit up, snivelling and snorting. I’d cut my knee and grazed the other, but it was nothing much. Certainly nothing to cry about. Though I was spouting like a fountain.

  Some other kids were coming nearer, eyes popping at the sight of Charlie Enright bawling her eyes out.

  ‘Will you go away, please?’ Miss Beckworth said briskly. ‘Charlotte, you’d better come with me.’

  She put her hand under my armpits and got me to my feet. She walked me across the playground, shielding me from the stares. She took me right into school and sat me down in the empty classroom.

  ‘There.’ She looked at me, and felt up her sleeve for a tissue. ‘Use this.’

  I blew and mopped.

  ‘That’s better. Now. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m not crying because I fell over,’ I said.

  ‘I realize that.’

  ‘And I’m not crying because I shouted at Jamie. Though I feel bad about that.’

  ‘I expect Jamie’s used to your shouting at him,’ said Miss Beckworth drily.

  ‘And I shouted at Lisa and Angela too and I think they’ve broken friends with me, but I’m not crying about that either,’ I said.

  ‘So . . . what are you crying about?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘The little boy who was lost?’

  I nodded. ‘He’s ill. He’s got pneumonia. Everyone says he’s going to be all right, but I’m so scared that maybe . . .’ I cried harder.

  ‘Now, calm down, Charlotte. I haven’t got any more tissues! You mustn’t worry. Look, I’ve had pneumonia myself and I recovered perfectly. I know you’re obviously very fond of this little boy—’

  ‘No, I’m not! I’ve been horrid to him. That’s why I’m crying. You think I’m being all kind and concerned but it’s because I’ve been so bad.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Go on. I think I’m pretty shockproof after twenty-five years of teaching. So tell me.’

  So I did. All of it. And stuff about Jo and me from way back. Stuff I’d never dream of telling anyone – let alone Miss Beckworth.

  She listened to it all – and then she put her arm round me and let me cry on her shoulder even though I was all slurpy and snotty.

  ‘I know you think you’re all-powerful, but the little boy didn’t run away just because of you,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘You’re only a little part of all this. You were a bit silly and spiteful but you’re truly sorry now – and you certainly didn’t mean any of this to happen. I’m sure the little boy will get better.’

  ‘You’re really sure?’ I said, sniffing. ‘Because you’re never wrong about anything, are you?’

  ‘That’s right!’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Now, you’d better run along and wash that poor old face. Try to cheer up, Charlie.’

  It wasn’t until I was right along in the girls’ cloakrooms that I realized. Miss Beckworth had called me Charlie!

  SICKNESS

  He’s been found! I can scarcely believe it. Little Freddie is back with us – though we are all still so worried about the poor lamb because he is sick.

  He wasn’t taken by thieves and robbers. It was a woman half-demented because all her own babies had died. She watched us in the public gardens, she admired Freddie’s chubby cheeks and golden curls – and when Louisa fell in the pond and I rushed in after her this woman snatched our Freddie and made off with him.

  She was all set to make him her child, but her brain was so addled she scarcely fed our poor little boy and left his napkin unchanged. She covered him with just one thin sheet at night and of course the poor child caught a chill. She took fright as he grew dangerously sick and eventually she wrapped him in her cloak and left him on the doorstep of the foundling hospital. (She was observed and followed, and is now in police custody.)

  The Master and Mistress were sent for when Freddie was found and great was their rejoicing – but their joy turned to terror when they saw the state of their poor darling. They took him home and we put him straight to bed and called the doctor. He listened to Freddie’s rasping breathing and felt his fevered brow.

  ‘There is nothing I can do,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘Keep him warm, feed him sugared water, and let us hope the Good Lord sees
fit to spare him.’

  The Mistress and I have been taking turns to nurse him. For once we are not like Mistress and servant at all. We are more like sisters, united in our desire for Freddie to recover. I feel as much for Freddie now as little Ada-May at home.

  Victor and Louisa are being as good as gold. Eliza is looking after them, while I nurse Freddie. Mrs Angel is forever bringing him bowls of nourishing broth but the poor mite is too poorly to even suck the spoon.

  Oh, please let him be saved!

  SEASIDE

  We were back to Charlotte the next day. We had English first lesson, one of those boring writing exercises – a formal letter of apology. It seemed a perfect opportunity to make things up with Lisa and Angela. (I didn’t need to go to letter-writing lengths with Jamie as I was sitting right beside him. I could just give him a nudge and mumble, ‘Sorry I yelled at you to shut up. You can tell me to shut up some time if you want.’ Jamie blinked at me. ‘I’d have to make sure you were in a good mood first!’ he said – displaying his famous intelligence.)

  Anyway, I got cracking with my apology letter. I think I did it beautifully, in my very best handwriting, no blotches, no smears. I put my address at the right-hand corner, I remembered the date, I flaunted an amazingly varied vocabulary, I didn’t make a single spelling mistake, I signed off appropriately, and I even personally decorated my piece of paper. You look:

  My Desk

  Miss Beckworth’s Class

  Avondale Junior School

  Truly Terrible Tuesday

  Dear Lisa and Angela,

  Do not rip this letter up in disgust when you see it’s from the appalling, beastly, crosspatch, dolthead, egotistic, foul, gross, horrible, irritating, jealous, knavish, loathsome, mangy, nerve-wracking, odious, presumptuous, quarrelsome, ratty, spoilt, terrible, unkind, verminous, wicked, X-rated, yucky, zero called Charlotte Alice Katherine Enright (commonly known as Charlie), who used to be your friend. No wonder you both broke friends with me! I have been Utterly Foul (though with just cause seeing as I’ve had Terrible Things on my Mind) but that is no excuse to be hateful to you two, who are the dearest sweetest kindest friends any girl could ever wish for. And if I had a wish it would be this: Please will you make friends with me again?