Best Friends

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I blinked at Grandad. 'Who?'

  Grandad shook his head at me. 'Who do you think? Come on, Gemma, who do you have the most fun with?'

  I knew who Grandad was getting at. But I wasn't in the mood for fun.

  We were back in our bed and breakfast early to get a good night's sleep before the long journey home the next day. I had a very bad night's sleep.

  Grandad gave me a very serious talking to before 193

  we went to collect Mrs Cholmondly It was a funny name. It was spelled Chol-mond-ly but for some weirdo reason it was pronounced Chumly.

  'Now, you are to behave yourself utterly with Mrs C,' said Grandad. 'One complaint from her and I'll be out of my job altogether. Now, Mrs C is a sad old lady. She's hurt her knee so she's probably in a lot of pain and feeling fussed and worried. She might be a bit sharp or snappy with us. You must not give her any cheek back. You must try to be understanding. You're basically a very kind little girl. I know you'll try your best.'

  Grandad looked so anxious I put my arms round his neck.

  'Don't worry, Grandad. You're a very kind big man to take me all the way up here, especially as I mucked it all up anyway. I swear I'll be good to Mrs Chummywhatsits. Your job will be safe, I swear it will.'

  I felt like swearing all the way home. Mrs Cholmondly was not the slightest bit chummy.

  Grandad picked her up on the exact dot of nine o'clock next morning but she greeted him with a very sharp, 'So there you are! I've been waiting and waiting. It's simply not good enough. Well, come along, jump to it now you're here. I have a great deal of luggage.' She paused to draw breath and saw me standing beside the car.

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  'Shoo, little girl, shoo!' she said, waving her crutch fiercely at me. 'Don't you dare scratch that shiny car.'

  'It's all right, madam,' Grandad said quickly. 'She's my granddaughter. She's coming with us.'

  Mrs Cholmondly banged the floor with her other crutch, so nearly over-balancing that Grandad had to grab hold of her. She shook him off furiously.

  'She is certainly not coming with me. I'm not paying an extortionate amount of money for you to give free rides to half your family'

  I looked at Grandad helplessly. What were we going to do now? Maybe he should have hidden me in the boot as this Old Boot was proving so difficult.

  But Grandad could be Mr Smoothie when he wanted. 'I've brought Gemma with me deliberately, madam. I thought she might prove helpful to you.

  I figured we'd make several stops along the way.

  She can fetch and carry for you and accompany you to the ladies' room. She's here simply to help you and make your journey as comfortable as possible.'

  Grandad smiled at Mrs Cholmondly. Her powdery cheeks and tight little mouth twitched slightly, as if she might be considering smiling back. She didn't go quite that far, but she did summon me to her side with an imperious wave of her crutch.

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  'Come along then, child. Take my arm and make yourself useful. You can help me into the car but you must be extremely careful not to touch my poor knee as it's excruciatingly painful.'

  I felt ready to tug her entire leg off by the end of the journey. She nagged, she moaned, she complained continuously. She took up very nearly all of the big back seat so that I was hunched right up against the window, barely able to move, but she still prodded at me to make sure I made space for her poorly knee. I was making space for a hundred elephants' knees, but did I protest?

  I didn't even mouth a word of complaint when she kicked off her nasty black buttoned old lady shoes and flapped her horrible old lady bunion feet right in my face. I had to help her stuff her warty toes back into her shoes when we stopped at the motorway services. Then I had the most terrible task of all – assist-ing Mrs Cholmondly in and out of the lavatory.

  'Ah, aren't you a kind girl helping Granny?' one lady cooed.

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  I badly wanted to stuff 'Granny' head first down the lavatory pan and pull the chain on her. Instead I simpered sickeningly.

  We drove on, mile after mile. We

  stopped at many service stations because Mrs Cholmondly seemed to have a blad-der the size of a pea. We ate several meals, Mrs Cholmondly complaining bitterly at the standard of the food and spilling soup all down her massive bosom. She made me run for paper napkins and help mop it up. I still didn't say a word.

  'Cat got your tongue?' said Mrs Cholmondly.

  'You're not a very chatty child. I like a kiddie to have a bit of spirit.'

  'Oh, not our Gemma. She's a shy little thing, good as gold,' said Grandad. He then went into a coughing fit. I think he might have been laughing.

  When we eventually bundled the horrible old bag off to her poor daughter's house she fumbled in her bag for her purse.

  'Here, child, this is for your help on the journey,'

  she said, holding out her hand.

  She pressed twenty pence into mine. The price of just one of those dreaded visits to the toilet!

  'Never mind, little darling. She didn't give me anything at all,' said Grandad. 'Well, Gem, this trip has been a learning experience for both of us. I've discovered something on the drive back. I'm not 197

  sure I like it when you're being a good little girl.

  You're much more fun when you're being bad.'

  Grandad didn't tell on me to Mum about the Cake Incident but she could tell the visit hadn't been a total success. Mum and Dad and Callum and Jack were very tactful and didn't ask any awkward questions. Even Barking Mad sidled round and round sympathetically, the soul of canine tact.

  Biscuits' approach was more direct. He came rushing up to me the minute I got into school on Monday.

  'How did you get on, Gemma? Did Alice like her cake? Did it taste yummy?'

  'I don't know,' I said. 'I was dying to try it but it would have meant licking it off Flora's face and I didn't fancy that.'

  Biscuits blinked at me. 'Who's Flora? It was Alice's cake.'

  'Yeah, exactly. Only this foul girl Flora got the cake knife and acted like it was hers and so I shoved her head in it.'

  Biscuits' mouth fell open. 'You are so bad, Gemma!'

  'I don't mean to be. It just sort of happens. And it's so stupid because I spoil everything. Alice and I couldn't make our birthday wish so now I don't see we can ever stay best friends.'

  198

  'Yeah you can. This boy Tim and me are great mates and yet we only get to see each other on holiday'

  'Alice's mum would never in a million years let me go on holiday with them.'

  'I bet this Flora's mum wouldn't be too keen either! You are one scary girl.'

  'Biscuits . . . you're not scared of me, are you?'

  'Yeah, look, I'm shaking in my shoes,' said Biscuits, wobbling about. 'You're the girl who stalked me right into the boys' toilets and wanted to beat me up!'

  'I didn't really mean it. Well, I don't think I did.

  I was just a little bit mad at the time.'

  'You're always a little bit mad. But that's OK.

  Nobody's perfect.'

  'You're generally quite good at acting perfect.

  How come you're always so nice, Biscuits?'

  'Oh, it's just my ace personality' said Biscuits, grinning.

  'Well, I don't want to spoil things and make you big-headed so I'll shut up now. Shall we practise our Fat Larry project? You can be him, like I said, and I'll read out the recipes while you demonstrate, OK?'

  'I've got a better idea,' said Biscuits. 'We're both going to be Fat Larry. Come round to my house after school. Bring your grandad – my granny specially invited him. Just wait till you see what my mum's got for you!'

  Seventeen

  Biscuits' mum had made me my very own Fat Larry emerald sparkly suit! I clasped it to my chest and danced round with it, the empty green arms wrapped round my neck.

  'Oh Mrs McVitie! It's wonderful! You made it specially for me. You re so kind.

  'Well, Billy said he badly wanted


  you to have this Fat Larry suit too, you see. I had the material anyway.

  I bought yards and yards of it

  because my Billy's a growing lad

  and I can't always keep up with what size he is, bless him. It took me no time at all to run up a little mini suit for you. I've sewn in a cushion for extra padding round your turn. You're a little tiddler compared with the McVities!'

  I gave her a big hug. Grandad said how very very grateful he was. Mrs McVitie made Biscuits and me special strawberry ice-cream sodas. We scooped up 200

  the ice cream with long silver spoons and then slurped up the soda through red straws.

  Biscuits' granny made Grandad a cup of tea and gave him a slab of her own home-made millionaire shortbread. Grandad said no millionaire could possibly buy better food, and he smacked his lips together, making enthusiastic mmmmm noises. It sounded as if he was kissing someone. Biscuits' granny giggled like a girl, almost as if he was kissing her.

  Biscuits and I had a slab of millionaire's shortbread too, of course, but we ate it up quickly (but appreciatively), licked the chocolate from our lips, took our gorgeous sparkly suits, and retired to the garden to work on our Fat Larry routine.

  We worked and worked and worked on it, day after day. We watched Grandad's video again and again, until we'd got Fat Larry's smile and bouncy walk and catchphrases off pat. We pored over Biscuits' Fat Larry cookery books, mouths watering, picking out recipes.

  I had big ideas about a camping stove so we could make crepes in the classroom but when I had a quiet word with Mrs Watson she rolled her eyes at the very idea.

  'I suppose it would be one way of testing the efficiency of the school's fire extinguishers, but I don't think my nerves would stand it, Gemma.'

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  'Don't worry, Mrs Watson, it wouldn't be me doing the cooking, it would be Biscuits.'

  'He's very nearly as accident prone as you are!

  And if you're within a hundred yards of a camping stove I know it would spontaneously combust.'

  'You never give me the benefit of the doubt, Mrs Watson.'

  'That's very true, young Gemma.' Mrs Watson put her head on one side. 'What exactly are you and Biscuits up to?'

  'We're cooking up something very

  special!' I said, cracking up laughing.

  'But I promise we won't do any proper cooking on school premises. We'll have to act like the Blue Peter people and say, "Here's one I prepared earlier.'"

  Barry Baxter did a brilliant project based on the Blue Peter presenters, going right back to the days when Mum and Dad watched Peter and John and Val. Barry did it all very seriously, but he had some funny bits too, and he made everyone giggle when he mentioned that naughty baby elephant.

  I giggled too, but I started worrying. It looked like Barry might be a clear winner. The rest of the class didn't offer much competition. I was so glad Biscuits had persuaded me not to go for Michael Owen. There were so many footballers I would have kicked myself. Half a dozen kids picked Harry Potter 202

  as a hero, saying the same old Hogwarty hogwash till we nearly all went Potty. There were girl bands and boy bands and Justins and J. Los all strutting the same old stuff.

  I'd begged Mrs Watson to let Biscuits and me do our project first thing after break time so we'd have time to prepare. We were so busy preparing there wasn't time to eat anything – a first for both of us.

  'Never mind. We'll eat our fill afterwards,' said Biscuits, getting all the goodies out of his rucksack.

  'Don't you dare nick a toffee now, Gemma, or there won't be enough to go round.'

  'Just one little lick,' I said, teasing him. Then I looked at the classroom clock. 'Quick! The bell's going to go any second. Let's get our gear on.'

  We pulled our emerald

  sparkly suits on over our

  school uniform. I combed

  my hair back behind my

  ears. We both scribbled a

  black felt-pen Fat Larry

  moustache over our lips. Then

  we beamed and waggled our

  eyebrows, Fat Larry style.

  'We're looking good,''

  said Biscuits.

  Better than good. We re the best, I said.

  Everyone fell about laughing when they came 203

  into the classroom and saw twin Fat Larrys in emerald-green sparkly suits. Even Mrs Watson laughed until tears trickled down her cheeks.

  'You two!' she gasped. 'Oh Gemma! Oh Biscuits!'

  Biscuits and I shook our heads.

  'We're not Gemma and Biscuits,' I said. 'We're Fat Larry.'

  I nodded at Biscuits. He nodded at me.

  'Hey, you guys!' we said, in Fat Larry's big friendly boom. 'It's Fat Larry time to give your turns a t-r-e-a-t!'

  Biscuits patted his own

  substantial stomach. I

  patted my cushion. We did

  our little Fat Larry soft shoe

  shuffle, step, tap, step, tap,

  step, tap, step, kick sideways.

  I stepped and tapped and

  kicked with my left leg and

  Biscuits stepped and tapped

  and kicked with his right leg, so it looked like we were mirror images of each other.

  'Hey, you guys, you're looking slightly saddo. We'll cook you something to sweeten you up,' we chorused.

  Biscuits produced a saucepan and a wooden spoon. Mrs Watson twitched.

  'Gemma, I said you couldn't cook,' she hissed.

  'Cool it, little lady,' I said daringly, Fat Larry 204

  style. 'It's not like real cooking.'

  Everyone craned their necks to see Mrs Watson's response.

  'OK, Fat Larry. I'll cool it just this once,' she said, and everyone giggled.

  I read out the recipe for ultra-sticky yummy toffee while Biscuits mimed making it with the pan and the spoon. Then he held up baby Polly's toy clock and whizzed the big hand round to indicate the passage of time while I whipped out the big tin of toffee he'd already made. We handed it round and everyone helped themselves, even Mrs Watson.

  'Well done!' she said indistinctly, her teeth stuck together with toffee.

  'This is only the appetizer!'

  I said.

  Wait till you see our

  main course!' said Biscuits.

  'It's highly appropriate,'

  I said, as Biscuits returned to

  his pretend kitchen at the

  front of the classroom. 'This is

  Fat Larry's special chocolate

  biscuit cake!'

  I read out the recipe in Fat Larry's voice, smacking my lips and going 'Yummy-yummy' at appropriate intervals. Biscuits stirred his imaginary ingredients and then put his 'cake' into the store 205

  cupboard, which we'd

  quickly labelled FRIDGE. I

  made Polly's clock fast-

  forward rapidly and

  Biscuits took the real

  chocolate biscuit cake out

  of the cupboard with a

  flourish. Everyone clapped

  and cheered when Biscuits

  got his knife and started

  cutting the cake into thirty chunky cubes.

  Biscuits saved me a slice with extra cherries. The extra cherry on our cake was Mrs Watson announc-ing we'd won the contest for the best project. Barry came second. Biscuits promised to make him a special Blue Peter cake as a consolation prize.

  'What about making me a cake?' I said.

  'I'm working on a special cake for you,' said Biscuits. 'Just be patient for a week or two.'

  I knew what he was getting at. He was planning on making me a cake for my birthday party. There was just one problem. I didn't want a birthday party this year. Every single sausage on its stick and each egg sandwich and all the fancy fairy cakes would remind me unbearably of Alice. I couldn't stand the thought of another birthday cake but Biscuits seemed so keen on the idea that I didn't want to upset him.

  I told Mum and Dad (without t
elling them what 206

  had happened to my last birthday cake!).

  'How about a birthday supper instead of a birthday tea?' Dad suggested. 'You could choose your favourite cooked meal.'

  'Not spaghetti bolognese!' said Mum. 'Anyway, I don't think I could manage a proper cooked meal for everyone after I've done a full day at work.'

  'Mum, I told you ages ago, I don't want the kids in my class to come to a party,' I said. 'Well. Maybe I want Biscuits. But nobody else. Just family'

  'Callum will want to invite Ayesha. Grandad's coming, of course. And what about Biscuits' family?

  It's about time we invited them back – his mum and his dad, and there's a baby sister, isn't there?'

  'And his granny June! We certainly can't leave her out,' said Grandad.

  'That's ten and a half people,' said Mum. 'Where are they all going to sit? And what am I going to cook? Oh dear, I wish Mrs McVitie wasn't such a brilliant cook.'

  'She's not a patch on her mum,' said Grandad, smacking his lips reminiscently.

  'Pizzas!' said Dad. 'We'll have takeaway pizzas in the garden, with beer for the men, wine for the women and Coke for the kids. Simple! We'll finish up with the boy's cake and we'll all sing "Happy Birthday" to our Gem. Is that what you'd like, darling? You've gone awfully quiet.'

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  I had a lump in my throat like I'd swallowed a stone. They were trying so hard to be kind to me and make my birthday special. Only it wouldn't work. It wasn't what I wanted.

  I just wanted Alice to be sharing our birthday the way she always did.

  Dad was looking at me eagerly. They were all looking at me. I had

  to think about what

  they wanted.

  I swallowed very

  very very hard and

  got rid of the stone. 'Pizzas in the garden sounds like a super idea,' I said. 'Yummy, yummy.'

  My voice went a bit weird and squeaky and I had to blink hard to stop myself bursting into baby tears.