The Bed and Breakfast Star

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘You’ll be the one standing in the shower if you don’t watch it,’ said Mack. ‘And the cold water will be on too.’ He laughed. That’s his idea of a joke.

  He went all the way downstairs to tackle the big lady about another bed. Mum sat on the edge of the double bed, staring into space. Her eyes were watery again. She didn’t notice when Hank got into her handbag and started licking her lipstick as if it was an ice lolly. I grabbed him and hauled him into the tiny shower space to mop him up a bit. The hot water tap in the basin was only lukewarm. I tried the shower to see if that had any hot. I couldn’t work out how to switch it on. Pippa squeezed in too to give me a hand. I suddenly found the right knob to turn. I turned it a bit too far actually.

  Mack’s joke came true. It wasn’t very funny. But at least we all got clean. Our clothes had a quick wash too. I dried us as best I could. I thought Mum might get mad but she didn’t say a word. She just went on staring, as if she was looking right through the wall into room 607. They were still having their argument. It was getting louder. They were starting to use a lot of rude words.

  ‘Um!’ said Pippa, giggling.

  Mack came storming back and he was mumbling a lot of rude words too. The hotel management didn’t supply beds for children under two.

  ‘Hank will have to go back in his cot,’ he said, and he started piecing the bits of the old duck cot together again.

  ‘But it’s falling to bits now. And Hank’s so big and bouncy. He kept thumping and jumping last time he was in it. He’ll smash it up in seconds,’ I said.

  ‘And that’s not Hank’s cot any more. It’s my Baby Pillow’s bed,’ said Pippa indignantly.

  ‘Baby Pillow will have to sleep with you, my wee chook,’ said Mack.

  ‘But he won’t like that. Baby Pillow will cry and kick me,’ said Pippa.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to cry and kick him back,’ said Mack, reaching out and giving her a little poke in the tummy. He noticed her T-shirt was a little damp.

  ‘Here, how come you’re soaking wet?’ said Mack, frowning.

  I held my breath. If Pippa told on me I wouldn’t half be for it. Yes, for it. And five it and six it too.

  But Pippa was a pal. She just mumbled something about splashing herself, so Mack grunted and got on with erecting the duck cot for Hank. I gratefully helped Pippa find Baby Pillow and all his things from one of the black plastic rubbish bags we’d carted from our old house.

  My sister Pippa is crackers. Mack was always buying her dolls when he was in work and we were rich. All the different Barbies, My Little Ponies, those big special dolls that walk and talk and wet, but Pippa’s only ever wanted Baby Pillow. Baby Pillow got born when Mum had Hank. Pippa started carting this old

  pillow round with her, talking to it and rocking it as if it were a baby. He’s rather a backward baby if he’s as old as Hank, because he hasn’t started crawling yet. If I’m feeling in a very good mood I help Pippa feed Baby Pillow with one of Hank’s old bottles and we change his old nappy and bundle him up into an old nightie and then we tuck him up in the duck cot and tell him to go to sleep. I generally make him cry quite a bit first and Pippa has to keep rocking him and telling him stories.

  ‘We won’t be able to play our game if Hank’s got to go in the duck cot,’ Pippa grumbled.

  But when Mack had got the cot standing in the last available spot of space and we tried stuffing Hank into his old baby bed, Hank himself decided this just wasn’t on. He howled indignantly and started rocking the bars and cocking his leg up, trying to escape.

  ‘He’ll have that over in no time,’ said Mack. ‘So what are we going to do, eh?’

  He looked over at Mum. She was still staring into space. She was acting as if she couldn’t hear Mack or even Hank’s bawling.

  ‘Mum?’ said Pippa, and she clutched Baby Pillow anxiously.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ I said, and I went and shook her shoulder. She wasn’t crying any more. This was worse. She didn’t even take any notice of me.

  ‘Here,’ said Mack, grabbing Hank, hauling him out of the cot and dumping him into Mum’s lap.

  For a moment Mum kept her arms limply by her side, her face still blank. Hank howled harder, hurt that he was getting ignored. He raised his arms, wanting a hug. He stretched higher, lost his balance, and nearly toppled right off Mum’s lap and on to the floor. But just in time Mum’s hands grabbed him and pulled him close against her chest.

  ‘Don’t cry. I’ve got you,’ said Mum, sighing. She blinked, back in herself again.

  ‘Where’s the wee boy going to sleep, then?’ Mack asked again.

  Mum shrugged.

  ‘He’ll have to sleep with one of his sisters, won’t he,’ she said.

  ‘Not me!’ I said quickly.

  ‘Not me either,’ said Pippa. ‘He wets right out of his nappies.’

  Hank went on crying.

  ‘He’s hungry,’ said Mum. ‘We could all do with a drink and a bite to eat. I’m going to go and find this communal kitchen. Here Hank, go to Daddy. And you girls, you get all our stuff unpacked from those bags, right?’

  Yes, everything was all right again. Mum rolled up her sleeves and got the cardboard box with our kettle and our pots and pans and some tins of food and went off to find the kitchen. Mack romped on the bed with Hank, and he stopped crying and started chuckling. Pippa said Baby Pillow was still crying though, and she insisted she had to tuck him up in the duck cot and put him to sleep.

  So I got lumbered doing most of the unpacking. There were two bags full of Pippa’s clothes and Hank’s baby stuff. There was an old suitcase stuffed with Mum and Mack’s clothes and Mum’s hairdryer and her make-up and her precious china crinoline lady. And there was my carrier bag. I don’t have that many clothes because I always get them mucked up anyway. I’ve got T-shirts and shorts for the summer, and jumpers and jeans for the winter, and some knickers and socks and stuff. I’ve got a Minnie Mouse hairbrush though it doesn’t ever get all the tangles out of my mane of hair. I’ve got a green marble that I used to pretend was magic. I’ve got my box of felt-tip pens. Most of the colours have run out and Pippa mucked up some of the points when she was little, but I don’t feel like throwing them away yet. Sometimes I colour a ghost picture, pretending the colours in my head. Then there are my joke books. They are a bit torn and tatty because I thumb through them so often.

  I hoped Mum would be ever so pleased with me getting all our stuff sorted out and the room all neat and tidy but she came back so flaming mad she hardly noticed.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, dumping the cardboard box so violently that all the pots and pans played a tune. ‘I had to queue up for ages just to get into this crummy little kitchen, and then when some of these other women were finished and I got my chance, I realized that it was all a waste of time anyway. You should see the state of that stove! It’s filthy. I’d have to scrub at it for a week before I’d set my saucepans on it. Even the floor’s so slimy with grease I nearly slipped and fell. What are we going to do, Mack?’

  ‘You’re asking Big Mack, right?’ said Mack, throwing Hank up in the air so he shrieked with delight. ‘Big Mack says let’s go and eat Big Macs at McDonald’s.’

  Pippa and I shrieked with delight too. Mum didn’t look so thrilled.

  ‘And what are we going to live on for the rest of the week, eh?’ she said. ‘We can’t eat out all the time, Mack.’

  ‘Come on now, hen, give it a rest. You just now said we can’t eat in. So we’ll eat out today. Tomorrow will just have to take care of itself.’

  ‘The sun will come out tooomorrow . . .’ I sang. I maybe don’t have a very sweet voice but it is strong.

  ‘Elsa! Keep your voice down!’ Mum hissed.

  Mack pulled a silly face and covered up his ears, pretending to be deafened.

  We sang the Tomorrow song at school. It comes from a musical about a little orphan girl called Annie. Occasionally I think I’d rather like to be Little Orphan Elsa.

/>   Still, I cheered up considerably because McDonald’s is one of my all-time favourite places. Mum changed Hank and we all got ready to go out. It was odd using the little loo in the bedroom. Pippa didn’t like it with everybody listening so I trekked down the corridor with her to find a proper ladies’ toilet. If Mum saw it she’d get flaming mad again. Pippa got even more upset, hopping about agitatedly, so I ended up trailing her down six flights of stairs and down the corridor to the toilet where we met Naomi. I hoped she might still be there, but she’d gone. The boys weren’t hanging around any more either. The rude words were still on the wall though.

  We’d worked up quite an appetite by the time we’d trudged up the stairs to put on our jumpers and then down all over again with Mum and Mack and Hank. It was a long long walk into the town to find the McDonald’s too. Pippa started to lag behind and Mum kept twisting her ankle in her high heels. I started to get a bit tired too, and my toes rubbed up against the edge of my trainers because they’re getting too small for me. Mum moaned about being stuck in a dump of a hotel at the back of beyond and said she couldn’t walk another step. Mack stopped at a phone box and said he’d call a cab then, and Mum said he was crazy and it was no wonder we’d all ended up in bed and breakfast.

  It was starting to sound like a very big row. I was getting scared that we’d maybe end up with no tea at all. But then we got to a bus stop and a bus came along and we all climbed on and we were in the town in no time. At McDonald’s.

  Mack had his Big Mac. Mum had chicken nuggets. I chose a cheeseburger and Pippa did too because she always copies me. Hank nibbled his own French fries and experienced his very first strawberry milkshake.

  It was great. We didn’t have a big row. We didn’t even have a little one. We sat in the warm, feeling full, and Mack pulled Pippa on to his lap and Mum put her arm round me, and Hank nodded off in his buggy still clutching a handful of chips.

  We looked like an ordinary happy family having a meal out. But we didn’t go back to an ordinary happy family house. We had to go back to the Bed-and-Breakfast hotel.

  The people in 607 were still arguing. The people in 609 still had their television blaring. The people in 508 were still into heavy-metal music. And it was even more of a squash in room 608.

  We all went to bed because there wasn’t much else to do. Mum and Mack in the double bed. Pippa and Hank either end of one single bed. Me in the other. Baby Pillow the comfiest of the lot in the duck cot.

  Hank wasn’t the only one who wet in the night. Pippa did too, so she had to creep in with me. She went back to sleep straightaway, but I didn’t. I wriggled around uncomfortably, Pippa’s hair tickling my nose and her elbow digging into my chest. I stared up into the dark while Mack snored and Hank snuffled and I wished I could rise out of my crowded bed, right through the roof and up into the starry sky.

  We’ve always had different breakfasts. Mum’s never really bothered. She just likes a cup of coffee and a ciggie. She says she can’t fancy food early in the morning. She cooks for Mack though. He likes great greasy bacon sandwiches and a cup of strong tea with four sugars. I’d like four sugars in my tea but Mum won’t let me. It’s not fair. She does sometimes let me have a sugar sandwich for my breakfast though, if she’s in a very good mood. I say she needs to eat a sugar sandwich to sweeten herself up.

  Pippa likes sugar sandwiches too, because she always copies me. Hank has a runny boiled egg that certainly runs all over him. His face is bright yellow by the time he’s finished his breakfast, and he always insists on clutching his buttered toast soldiers until he’s squeezed them into a soggy pulp. Sometimes I can see why Mum can’t face food herself. Mopping up my baby brother would put anyone off their breakfast.

  Mum certainly didn’t look like she wanted any breakfast our first morning at the Royal. She’d obviously tossed and turned a lot in the night because her hair was all sticking up at the back. Her eyes looked red and sore. I’d heard her crying in the night.

  ‘How about you taking the kids down to breakfast, Mack?’ she said pleadingly. ‘I don’t think I could face it today. I’m feeling ever so queasy.’

  ‘Aw, come on, hen. I can’t cope with all three of them on my own. I’m not Mary Piddly Poppins.’

  ‘You don’t have to cope with me,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘I sometimes wish to God I didn’t,’ Mack growled.

  He’s always like that with me. Ready to bite my head off. He’s the one who’s like a lion, not me.

  I wish I could figure out some way of taming him.

  ‘I’ll feed Hank for you, Mum, and see that Pippa has a proper breakfast,’ I promised kindly.

  ‘Your mum’s going to have a proper breakfast herself,’ said Mack. ‘That’s what she needs to make her feel better. A good cooked breakfast. And if we’re getting it as part of this lousy bed-and-breakfast deal then we ought to make sure we all eat every last mouthful.’

  ‘All right, I’m coming,’ said Mum, slapping a bit of make-up on her pale face and fiddling with her hair. She took out her mirror from her handbag and winced. ‘I look a right sight,’ she wailed.

  ‘You look fine to me,’ said Mack, giving her powdered cheek a kiss. ‘And you’ll look even better once you’ve got a fried egg and a few rashers of bacon inside you.’

  ‘Don’t, Mack! You’re going to make me throw up,’ said Mum.

  I’d throw up if Mack started slobbering at me like that.

  We trailed down all the stairs to the ground floor, where this breakfast room was supposed to be. Mack started sniffing, his hairy nostrils all aquiver.

  ‘Can’t smell any bacon sizzling,’ he said.

  We soon found out why. There wasn’t any bacon for breakfast. There wasn’t very much of anything. Just pots of tea and bowls of cornflakes and slices of bread, very white and very square, like the ceiling tiles in reception. You just went and served yourself and sat at one of the tables.

  ‘No bacon?’ said Mack, and he stormed off to the reception desk.

  ‘Hank needs his egg,’ said Mum, and she marched off after Mack, Hank balanced on her hip.

  Pippa and I sighed and shrugged our shoulders. We straggled off after them.

  The big lady was behind the desk. She was wearing a fluffy blue jumper this time. I hoped she’d painted her fingernails blue to match, but she hadn’t. Still, Mack was certainly turning the air blue, shouting and swearing because there weren’t any cooked breakfasts.

  ‘It’s your duty to provide a proper breakfast. They said so down at the Social. I’m going to report you,’ Mack thundered.

  ‘We don’t have any duty whatsoever, sir. If you don’t care to stay at the Royal Hotel then why don’t you leave?’ said the big lady.

  ‘You know very well we can’t leave, because we haven’t got anywhere else to go. And it’s a disgrace. My kids need a good breakfast – my baby boy needs his protein or he’ll get ill,’ said Mum.

  She spoke as if Hank was on the point of starving right this minute, although she was sagging sideways trying to support her strapping great son. He was reaching longingly for this new blue bunny.

  The big lady stepped backwards, away from his sticky clasp.

  ‘We’re providing extra milk for all the children at the moment. We normally do provide a full cooked breakfast but unfortunately we are temporarily between breakfast chefs, so in these circumstances we can only offer a continental breakfast. Take it – or leave it.’

  We decided to take it.

  ‘Continental breakfast!’ said Mum, as we sat at a table in the corner. ‘That’s coffee in one of them cafetière thingys and croissants, not this sort of rubbish.’ She flapped one of the limp slices of bread in the air. ‘There’s no goodness in this!’

  There were little packets of butter and pots of marmalade. And sugar lumps. Lots of sugar lumps.

  I got busy crushing and sprinkling. I made myself a splendid sugar sandwich. Pippa tried to make herself one too, but she wasn’t much good at crushing the lumps. S
he tried bashing them hard on the table to make them shatter.

  ‘Pippa! Give over, for goodness sake. Whatever are you doing?’ said Mum, spooning cornflakes into Hank.

  ‘It’s Elsa’s fault. Pippa’s just copying her,’ said Mack. ‘Here, give me that sugar bowl and stop messing around. You’ll rot your teeth and just have empty gums by the time you’re twelve.’

  I covered my teeth with my lips and made little gulpy noises to see what it would be like. I tried sucking at my sandwich to see if I’d still be able to eat without teeth. I swallowed before the lump in my mouth got soft enough, and choked.

  ‘Elsa! Look, do you have to show us all up?’ Mum hissed.

  ‘Stop it!’ said Mack. ‘Otherwise you’ll get a good smacking, see?’

  I saw. I was trying like anything to stop choking. I got up, coughing and spluttering, and went over to the service hatch to get myself some more milk. There was a big black lady with a baby serving herself. I wondered if she might be Naomi’s mum and asked her between coughs.

  She said she wasn’t, but helpfully banged me on the back. I took a long drink of milk and peered all round the room, hoping to spot Naomi. There were old people and young people and lots of little kids, black people and white people and brown people and yellow people, quiet people and noisy people and absolutely bawling babies. But I couldn’t spot Naomi anywhere. Maybe she had her breakfast sitting in the washbasin in the Ladies.

  I did spot one of the boys who’d been writing rude words all over the wall. He saw me looking at him and crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. I did likewise.

  ‘Elsa!’ Mum came and yanked me back to our table. ‘Don’t you dare make faces like that.’

  I pulled another face, because I was getting fed up with everyone picking on me when it wasn’t my fault. Then I saw a lovely lady with lots of little plaits come into the breakfast room. She had two little boys with her, and she was carrying a toddler. And there was a girl following on behind, her head in a book.