‘You don’t half look daft, Rosalind,’ said Robbie, but I just stuck my tongue out at him.
Smash was rushing around the rails, helping herself to armfuls of clothes.
‘Come on, Rosalind, let’s try them all on,’ she said, whirling around.
‘Oh, this is so boring!’ said Robbie.
‘You choose some clothes from the boys’ section, Robs,’ I said.
‘I don’t like those sorts of clothes – they don’t look comfy,’ said Robbie. ‘I’m going off to find this pet department.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair! I want to see the pets too – and it’s my wish,’ said Smash.
‘If you like, Robbie, I’ll get an assistant to pick out an outfit for you, and then we can go to check out the kitchen equipment while Smash and Rosalind and Maudie try on their clothes. Then we should all have time to go to see the pets together,’ said Naomi.
It was a suggestion that pleased everyone, though Robbie was still surprised that she thought kitchen equipment his top priority. But he went off willingly enough while we had a wonderful time trying on all the outfits. Robbie returned looking utterly astonished.
‘Ros, Ros, you’ll never guess what! They had saucepans and baking dishes and knives and all sorts of stuff –’
‘So? Robbie, what do you think of these clothes? Do you think I look okay?’
He barely gave my outfit a second glance, and simply shrugged.
‘I suppose,’ he said.
I thought I looked wonderful. I’d chosen a deep-blue silky T-shirt with the moon and stars patterned on it, amazing black designer jeans that cost twenty times more than my old ones and a pair of sapphire-blue sparkly sneakers.
‘Ros, listen,’ said Robbie. ‘All that kitchen stuff – it was called the Robbie Range.’
‘Yeah? Well, you could pretend it’s your range then,’ I said.
‘But it is mine! It had my face on the packaging,’ said Robbie.
‘Are you sure?’ I said, not really interested. ‘Look at my shoes, Robbie!’
‘They’re a bit too sparkly,’ said Robbie. He suddenly looked worried. ‘I don’t have to wear sparkly shoes, do I? Dad won’t like it.’
Naomi had chosen red boots for him, but they were plain canvas, with blue laces. He had new jeans too, and a red-and-blue checked shirt, perfect Robbie clothes.
We’d had a hard time getting Maudie dressed because she insisted she wanted Big Girls’ clothes. She didn’t just mean styling, she meant sizing too, so all her chosen dresses trailed on the ground and she staggered along in enormous high heels.
‘You can choose one long dress and a pair of high heels for dressing up, Maudie. But I think you need something more your size for your show,’ Naomi said firmly. She picked out a beautiful little blue and green flowery dress with a tiny blue and green teddy tucked in a pocket in the front.
‘Maudie’s in a show?’ said Smash. ‘You look great, Maudie! Give us a twirl then to show off your flouncy new skirt.’
Smash’s new skirt was the exact opposite, a tiny tight little strip of material that barely showed under her big black T-shirt. It had a great sparkly silver star and the word Superstar! embossed on the front. She had black tights and strappy silver heels, really quite high ones. I looked at her enviously, though I’d never have dared wear such an outfit myself.
‘Of course, Maudie’s in her special television show,’ said Naomi, as she paid the astronomic clothes bill. ‘And Robbie has his special show too.’
‘What about me?’ said Smash.
Naomi laughed and pointed to Smash’s T-shirt.
‘Come on! You’re the superstar, Smash.’
‘Am I in a show?’ I asked, my tummy turning over.
Naomi looked surprised.
‘No, Rosalind, though I’m sure that could be arranged. Would you like that?’
‘I – I don’t think so,’ I said.
I knew I’d be absolutely terrified of going on television – and yet I didn’t really want to be left out either. Perhaps I was the only one of us who wasn’t rich and famous at all. Maybe I just hung out with my brother and sisters and helped them. I was surprised to find I minded quite a lot. But then the clothes assistant came over to me.
‘I know this is an awful cheek and terribly unprofessional of me – but could I possibly have your autograph, Rosalind? My daughter absolutely loves your books!’
Naomi produced a pen and a postcard from her handbag. It was a postcard of me, sitting at a desk with one hand cupped under my chin, gazing dreamily into the distance. Underneath the photo there was a little caption: Rosalind Hartlepool, children’s writer. I managed to sign my name with a flourish, though my hand was trembling. I was a proper published author – so maybe I was rich and famous too!
In confirmation, Naomi consulted her watch and then patted my shoulder.
‘Your book-signing is advertised for half past three, so we’re cutting it a bit fine – but there should just about be enough time for us to go and see the pets before we set off.’
I was so dazzled by the word book-signing that I could barely concentrate on where I was going. Then we entered the amazing Pet Kingdom – and it was just like an animal fairyland. There were rooms full of dinky designer clothes for cats and dogs and an entire pet toy department full of fluffy mini-mice and chewy chickens and little balls and sticks and bendy bones.
We looked through a glass wall and saw a special spa room for pets. We watched the most glorious little Yorkshire terrier enjoying a wonderfully pampering massage. A loving assistant styled his creamy white coat until it reached honey-blonde silky perfection. He gave a tiny woof of delight and nibbled daintily at a doggy treat.
‘Oh, I want that little dog!’ said Smash, as the assistant carefully tied a bow tie studded with diamonds round his tiny neck.
‘You can’t possibly have Duffy!’ said the manager of the pet department. ‘He’s actually Sir Duffield, our most important client, and he has his own mommy and daddy who love him very dearly. But we do have a whole roomful of very precious VIPs – Very Important Pets – who are all for sale. Allow me to show you.’
We gasped at all the animals: gambolling puppies, delicate kittens, floppy-eared rabbits, squeaking guinea pigs, little white mice with pink twitchy noses, a fluffy chinchilla as soft as thistledown, a pair of lovebirds coyly twittering at each other, and a red and green parrot preening itself, murmuring ‘Pretty boy, pretty boy!’
‘Where monkeys?’ said Maudie, looking for another Psammead – but she seemed happy enough with a chinchilla substitute. She wanted to carry him about in her arms, but we persuaded her he’d be safer travelling in his cage. Maudie hugged her blue stuffed rabbit as a substitute.
Smash stalked about excitedly in her high heels, wanting everything, but she eventually chose the parrot.
‘I shall teach it to say all sorts!’ she said. ‘Pretty Smash, pretty Smash – say “Pretty Smash”!’ she repeated.
The parrot looked at her shrewdly with its little beady eye, and opted for a quiet life.
‘Pretty Smash, pretty Smash,’ he chirped.
Smash squealed with delight. He imitated her squeal at top volume, so we all had to put our hands over our ears.
Robbie wondered if there were any pet lions or tigers, but was happy enough in the dog section. He fell in love with an adorable black Labrador puppy with huge brown eyes. An assistant opened up its cage so that Robbie could coax the puppy out and hold him gently in his arms. The puppy looked up at him and licked his nose lovingly.
‘Oh, he’s so wonderful!’ Robbie whispered, tears in his eyes.
Robbie had been begging for his own dog for years, but Mum said she couldn’t cope with a pet in our tiny flat.
I wondered about choosing a dog too, but then I saw a very little cream Siamese kitten with mushroom-coloured ears and paws, and I knew I simply had to have her.
‘She’s so gorgeous! I just love her to bits,’ I said. ‘I think I shall call her Tin
a, because she’s so tiny.’
‘I’m calling my puppy Giant because he’s going to grow up big and strong and growl at all my enemies,’ said Robbie.
‘My parrot is called Gobby-Bird,’ said Smash.
‘I think that’s highly appropriate,’ said Naomi, as the parrot shrieked its head off. ‘What are you going to call your chinchilla, Maudie?’
‘Monkey!’ said Maudie, who didn’t seem very skilled at distinguishing between different animal species.
We needed a whole troupe of assistants to accompany us downstairs and out of the back entrance to the car, carrying large padded travelling cages for Tina and Giant and Monkey and an enormous ornate cage for Gobby-Bird. It was quite a trial getting all of us into the stretch limo. It needed to stretch a little more for it to be a comfortable fit, but we managed all the complicated manoeuvring at last, while Bulldog and a team of security men fended off the crowds.
‘Now for Rosalind’s signing!’ said Naomi.
‘That’s ultra important!’ said Bob the chauffeur, smiling at me. He quickly drove us the short distance from Knightsbridge to Piccadilly. There was a huge four-storey bookshop there, but it looked as if it would take us hours and hours to get inside, because there was a large queue of children snaking all the way to Piccadilly Circus, round the statue of Eros, and then back again.
‘I wonder why they’re all queuing up like that to get into the bookshop?’ I asked.
Naomi laughed at me.
‘They’re queuing for you, Rosalind! They want to buy your latest book and get you to sign it.’
‘They’re queuing for Rosalind?’ said Smash, stunned.
‘Will we have to queue for her too?’ Robbie asked.
‘Of course not, Robbie. We’ll go inside straight away. I’m sure they’ll have laid on some refreshments for us,’ said Naomi.
‘Can Giant have some refreshments too?’ said Robbie.
‘And Tina?’
‘And Monkey?’
‘And Gobby-Bird?’
Naomi sighed, sounding a little tired, but she gave us a cheery smile.
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ she said.
We were ushered into the great big bookshop, Bulldog magically summoning up yet more minders to quell any overenthusiastic fans and ferry our unruly menagerie into the shop.
‘It’s so great to have you do another signing in our shop, Rosalind!’ said a lovely thin dark-haired man called Gary. ‘I wonder if you could sign a few special dedications for us first?’
He led us upstairs to a special staffroom. There was a spread of delicious food on a table: strawberries, raspberries, little figs, crisps, nuts, olives, and nibble-size chocolate eclairs and cream doughnuts. However, I only had eyes for the books on the table. They had a lovely red-and-gold cover with the title Four Children and It picked out in silver, together with my name, Rosalind Hartlepool.
I fingered the cover, trembling. It really was my book. There was the same postcard photo of me on the back cover gazing dreamily back at me. I opened the book and started reading.
‘It’s quite good!’ I said, astonished – and then I blushed scarlet because I sounded as if I was showing off.
‘It’s very good,’ said Gary. ‘Could you sign on the title page? I’ve got a list of special customers. I’ve got the names all written down here. Perhaps you could sign one each for Brooklyn, Cruz, Romeo and Harper Seven, another two for Junior and Princess, ditto for Apple and Moses, a joint copy for Maddox, Pax, Zahara, Shiloh, Knox and Vivienne, one for Bluebell, another for Suri, and one for Lourdes because she’s still a big fan.’
I signed busily, while Smash and Robbie and Maudie ate some of the refreshments and supervised the feeding and watering of the pets. Maudie insisted on feeding her stuffed blue rabbit too. Tina the kitten curled up on my lap as I signed, nestling into me.
‘There, that’s brilliant,’ said Gary. ‘Are you ready to face your fans now?’
He escorted me down to the ground floor. As soon as people caught sight of me, there was an amazing squeal and stir and flash of cameras. I was led to a chair almost like a throne with a canopy above it, declaring I was Rosalind Hartlepool, Child Wonder Writer. I sat down on my grand chair, selected a pen from a handful waiting on the table and smiled at the girl first in the queue. Gary beckoned her over and helped her get her Four Children and It open at the title page.
‘Hello, what’s your name?’ I asked.
‘I’m Rebecca, probably your biggest fan,’ she whispered shyly. She was shy of me!
I wrote To Rebecca, with love from Rosalind Hartlepool on her book in my best handwriting and she thanked me as if I’d given her a wonderful present. She walked off clutching her book to her chest, saying, ‘I’ve met Rosalind Hartlepool!’ over and over to her mother.
It was so astonishing I could barely believe it. Well, I knew it was only happening because of the Psammead, but it seemed real all the same. I smiled and spoke and signed for each child in the queue in such a bubble of happiness I felt I’d rise up like a balloon any moment and hover above everyone. Every now and then Robbie and Smash and Maudie came over and peered at me incredulously.
‘How come you’ve written this silly book when it was my idea to be rich and famous?’ said Smash.
‘I like writing stories too. Maybe I could write a book one day,’ said Robbie.
‘Ros read me story,’ said Maudie, trying to climb on to my lap alongside the kitten.
Naomi had to take them all back upstairs. She was looking at her watch rather worriedly.
‘Try to speed it up just a little, Rosalind, or we’ll be late for the live television show,’ she murmured.
My bubble burst. ‘I haven’t got to be on television, have I?’ I said. I was fine talking to all these lovely bookworm children one by one, but the thought of looking into a television camera and talking to millions of viewers at a time made me feel sick with terror.
‘No, no – it’s Robbie’s show,’ said Naomi.
She helped get Robbie, Smash, Maudie, and all the animals and one loudly squawking bird into the limo while I signed like crazy until I reached the last child, who was crying because she thought she’d never get to see me and have her book signed. I gave her a big hug and put lots of kisses under my signature, thanked Gary fervently for all his help and then let Bulldog pick me up and run with me to the car.
We drove frantically fast through the traffic to White City. Robbie clutched me in the car, looking pale.
‘I feel a bit sick, Ros,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t really have my own television show, do I?’
‘Look, it should be my show, seeing as it’s my wish,’ said Smash. ‘I’ll go on television. I’m sure I’m more rich and famous than you are, Robbie. You can’t do anything.’
‘That’s not fair, Smash. Stop being mean to him,’ I hissed fiercely.
‘I’m not being mean, I’m actually trying to be kind and stop Robbie embarrassing himself. Again.’
But Robbie didn’t embarrass himself at all. He wasn’t famous for singing or dancing or telling silly jokes. He was famous for cooking. He was Robbie the Teatime TV Child Chef.
‘So that’s why all those pots and pans had my face on!’ he said when he was led on to his own stage set in the television studio. It was a proper little kitchen with a big cooker and a sink and a dresser holding a hundred and one Robbie Hartlepool kitchen utensils. All these little Robbies had shiny smiles – and my Robbie smiled back at himself, thrilled to bits.
The television crew greeted Robbie with great respect, running backwards and forwards with microphones and drinks of water. A make-up lady even dabbed a little powder on Robbie’s face because he’d gone pink and shiny with excitement. Then we were all told to be very quiet. Smash held Maudie on her lap and put her finger up to her mouth.
‘Sh, Maudie!’ she whispered.
‘Sh, sh, sh!’ Maudie said loudly – but when Robbie’s signature tune started up Maudie shut her mouth tight and did
n’t make a sound.
Robbie smiled straight at the camera, his new red-and-blue checked shirt neatly matching the red and blue curtains hanging at the kitchen window above the sink. He hadn’t had time for any rehearsal, he hadn’t even been told what to cook – but somehow here in the studio Robbie knew exactly what to do.
‘Hi, everyone,’ he said. ‘Today I’m going to show you how to make some really scrumptious cakes. They’re all extra easy-peasy to make. I’ll start off with chocolate crispy cakes.’
He reached for a packet of cornflakes and a large bar of chocolate.
‘These are great to eat as a snack when you get in from school. You can make a boxful as a present when you go to visit your granny. You can take them on a picnic as a chocolatey treat after you’ve munched all your sandwiches.’
He set about making the chocolate crispies, and poured the mixture carefully into little cake wrappers.
‘Now, while these are cooling, we’ll make a five-minute sponge cake,’ said Robbie. ‘You need some butter and sugar, and some flour and one egg and a little milk. You just mix them all together. You don’t need a proper cake mixer. You just stir them round, beating until they’re smooth. Just think of your worst enemy at school, or the meanest teacher, and beat and beat and beat. It’s great fun, and you won’t even have to do much washing-up afterwards because I guarantee you’ll want to lick the bowl clean.’
Robbie made his own sponge cake, and when he’d put it in the oven he showed his viewers how to make buttercream for the filling and lemon-flavoured icing for the topping.
‘I like lemons,’ said Robbie. ‘Let’s make some lemon tarts too. We’ll make a batch of extra fruity jam tarts, some with lemon, and some with blackcurrants – a yummy way to get lots of vitamin C. First we make the pastry and then we roll it out and cut it into tart shapes.’
He had some little scrappy pieces of pastry left over.
‘I’m not going to waste them,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a little pastry man for my baby sister and when he’s cooked I’ll give him a lemon coat and blackcurrant trousers.’
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