‘Yeah, well, that was the plan. But I talked Tracy round,’ said Sean Godfrey, sitting on a velvet pouffe beside Flo.
‘I bet you did,’ she said.
‘Hey, I know you, don’t I?’ he said. ‘You used to be on telly, didn’t you? It was some comedy thing, right?’
‘You’ve told him, haven’t you, Tracy!’ said Flo.
‘I didn’t breathe a word, Flo,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘I used to watch it when I was a kid. You were the funny cleaning lady. You cracked me up every week. What was it you used to say – “Allo, dearies,” and then something about mucky bits,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘Priceless!’
‘Allo, dearies, let me slosh a bit of disinfectant in all your murky corners!’ said Flo, putting on the right voice.
‘That’s it!’ he said, roaring with laughter.
Tyrone and I exchanged glances. It wasn’t even funny. I felt ultra-gloomy. Flo was clearly enchanted by Sean Godfrey too.
Tyrone wandered around the shop in a bit of a daze. ‘Is this where you live now? Is this your living room?’ he asked.
‘It’s a shop. This is all our stock. We sell it,’ I said. Honestly, Tyrone could be so thick sometimes.
‘You sell all this old junk?’ He looked at the price tag on a faded patchwork quilt. ‘Seventy-five quid? You could get a brand-new duvet for twenty-five in Argos!’
‘Yes, well, this is all hand-worked. And it’s maybe a hundred years old. It makes it an antique,’ I explained.
‘It still wouldn’t keep you very warm,’ said Tyrone.
‘Are you denigrating my lovely Victorian quilt, youngster?’ said Flo, leaning forward so that all her necklaces jingled.
‘You’ll have to excuse the boy, Flo, he doesn’t know any better,’ said Sean Godfrey, though he’d never got the point of antiques either. The newer and shinier the better, like his house and his cars.
Yet when Mum came back into the shop carrying the coffees in willow-pattern china, he went on about how lovely it was, drinking out of a proper cup – much better than slurping out of a mug. He was trying to impress so much that it made me want to spit.
Mum had brought in some hazelnut cookies (my favourite), the whole packet arranged in a circle on a plate. She ate one – so did Sean Godfrey and Flo and I. Well, I ate most of mine but gave Alfie a couple of tiny chunks, though he’s not supposed to eat biscuits. That meant there were four left – and Tyrone ate them all!
‘You must be feeling peckish!’ said Mum. She had a slight edge to her voice, but Tyrone didn’t notice.
‘They’re good,’ he said, patting his tummy. ‘I like your home cooking, Tracy.’
‘That’s not the meal, Tyrone,’ I said. ‘That’s just elevenses. Well, half past elevenses today. And they’re not home cooked, we got them from Morrison’s. We’ll have the meal at lunchtime.’
I was a bit worried about what we were going to do until lunchtime. And the rest of the afternoon, come to that. Tyrone was my friend but I’d never really hung out with him. He was just in my class at school. We hadn’t even seen each other much on the Duke Estate. I’d lived in Marlborough Tower and he’d lived in Devonshire, and the kids from each tower didn’t really mix much. In fact, you were taking your life in your hands if you went strolling around Devonshire.
There were at least two gangs, one with the really big lads and one for the younger ones, like at school. Tyrone was boss of the primary school lot, and they could be really mean if they felt like it – but the older ones were truly scary and carried knives. You ran if they came anywhere near you. That’s what I loved about Cooksea. No one was out to get you. The worst that could happen was a boy in a baseball cap snatching your ice cream.
No, the worst that could happen was Sean Godfrey swaggering back into our lives. He was listening to one of Flo’s stories, laughing in all the right places, egging her on. She’d taken a real shine to him and was patting his hand fondly as if they’d known each other for years.
Even worse, Mum was looking as if she was glad to see him. She was acting in a very aloof manner, barely joining in the conversation, sitting right at the other side of the shop, but she was watching Sean Godfrey all the time, as if he was hypnotizing her.
I HATED THE whole visit. Tyrone got a bit fidgety too, wandering around the shop and picking up stuff, having several near accidents with china figures. Sean Godfrey shook his head and told him to chill. Tyrone sat down again, but he kept cracking his knuckles and tapping his feet.
‘Why don’t you two kids take the dog for a walk?’ Sean Godfrey suggested.
‘You come too, Sean,’ said Tyrone.
‘Yes, you come,’ I said. Mum stared at me in surprise as I’d never invited Sean Godfrey to do anything with me before. I just wanted to get him away from Mum, out of the shop, out of the town, out of our lives.
He seemed surprised too. He shook his head. ‘No, kids, I’ve got to keep these two lovely ladies company,’ he said.
So Tyrone and I were packed off together. For the first time in his life Alfie was reluctant to come for a walk with me. He kept looking round, making it plain as day that he wanted Sean Godfrey to come with us, though he cheered up a bit when we got to the seafront.
‘Shall we have an ice cream?’ said Tyrone.
‘You’ve just eaten four cookies!’ I said.
‘Yeah, but ice cream slips down, doesn’t it?’ He dug into his pockets. ‘Only I haven’t got any cash on me. Could you lend us some, Jess? I’ll get Sean to pay you back.’
‘No, greedy-guts!’ I said.
‘Well, let’s go and have a paddle then,’ Tyrone suggested.
We scrunched across the pebbles, Alfie racing ahead.
‘He’s a cracking dog,’ said Tyrone. He sighed. ‘I still miss Staffie.’
He’d had a rescue dog himself but had had to take him back to Battersea.
‘Maybe you’ll get another dog one day,’ I said, though I knew dogs weren’t allowed on the Duke Estate.
‘Maybe your mum will get back with Sean and then he’ll let me come and live at his house too, and then I could have a dog, and we’d all be like a family,’ said Tyrone huskily. He’d gone very red in the face.
‘Oh, Tyrone!’ I could see how deeply he longed for this. ‘I wish it could all work out like that,’ I added, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘It’s just not possible though.’
‘It is,’ said Tyrone. ‘Sean likes me. He even said he’d really like a son. And people get adopted, don’t they? Your mum was adopted.’
‘Yes, but the point is, my mum is never, ever getting back with Sean Godfrey.’
‘She might. I think she still likes him,’ said Tyrone, sitting down on the pebbles and taking off his trainers. ‘She can’t take her eyes off him.’
I hated that he’d noticed it too.
‘Rubbish,’ I said firmly, kicking off my own shoes. ‘Come on then, let’s paddle.’
Alfie dashed into the sea joyfully, up to his tummy in a flash. I was much more cautious, only getting my toes wet and then jumping back.
‘You wuss!’ said Tyrone, running past me – but he screamed as the water splashed his feet. ‘It’s flipping freezing!’
‘What did you think it would be like, bathwater?’ I said.
‘Well, I wasn’t to know, was I?’
‘What?’ I said, and then shut my mouth quickly before I could say any more. Maybe no one had ever taken Tyrone to the seaside. His mum certainly didn’t, and he didn’t see his dad. I didn’t see mine much either, but I had the most wonderful mum and I didn’t have a stepdad – yet.
I didn’t want one at all – I wanted it to be just Mum and me – but if I had to, I wanted him to be gentle and cheery like Bacon Roll Bill. I one hundred per cent didn’t want him to be Sean Godfrey.
I sighed, feeling that life was playing a trick on me. I dreaded the very situation Tyrone wanted with all his heart. I felt so sorry for him I reached out and held
his hand.
‘What you doing?’ he said, going pink, though didn’t take his hand away. ‘You going all lovey-dovey on me?’ He didn’t sound as if he minded.
I went hot with horror, in spite of the icy water nibbling at my toes. I liked Tyrone, sort of, but I never, ever, ever wanted to get romantic with him.
‘I just lost my balance,’ I said, and took my hand away. I knew I couldn’t say I felt sorry for him. He had his pride. And I couldn’t let him think I fancied him, because then he’d go all soppy. He might even try to kiss me, and the very thought made me shudder.
‘You’re shivering,’ said Tyrone. ‘This paddling isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Let’s carry on walking, eh?’
It was a hard job convincing Alfie that this was a good idea. He was intent on teaching himself to swim, going deeper and deeper into the water. I waded in after him, calling till I was hoarse, and at long last he got tired of teasing me and bounded back up the pebbles, absolutely soaking.
‘Look at the state of you, you daft dog!’ I said, struggling back after him.
Alfie shook himself vigorously, making a rainstorm.
‘Thanks, pal!’ said Tyrone, flapping his wet football shirt and spattered shorts.
I was even wetter, my shorts dripping down my legs.
‘Will your mum create?’ Tyrone asked.
‘Probably not,’ I said, stuffing my wet feet into my trainers. ‘Come on, let’s run and maybe my shorts will dry in the sunshine.’
We bounded along the promenade, past the beach huts. Several of them had their doors open, with families sitting on deckchairs drinking tea out of thermos flasks. There was one boy peering intently at his mobile and stabbing at the screen, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes – but he was too small to be the ice-cream snatcher.
I peered into all the beach huts, hoping to see him. He’d take one look at Tyrone and decide not to pick on me ever again. But I couldn’t see him anywhere, even though we went right to the end of the promenade. We climbed up the chalk path to the top of the cliffs. Tyrone was desperate to show me how fit he was now, though I could run nearly as fast. Alfie could beat both of us.
When we were at the top I put him back on his lead, just in case. I felt as if I should put Tyrone on a lead too because he kept going near the edge.
‘Come back, you idiot!’ I shouted.
‘I’m not scared,’ said Tyrone, dancing a little jig. Then he slipped in his shiny new trainers and fell backwards. His bottom landed right at the very edge of the cliff.
‘Tyrone!’ I yelled.
‘Whoops!’ he said, still clowning, and then glanced round and saw the sea far, far below. He said a very rude word and clutched at the grass with both hands.
‘Wriggle forward on your bum!’ I shouted.
‘I can’t! I’ll muck up my new shorts!’ he said.
‘Don’t be crazy. Wriggle!’
I wanted to try to pull him to safety but he was twice my size, twice my weight. If he tried to cling to me we’d both topple over the cliff. I could barely hang onto Alfie, who was straining at his lead, trying to reach Tyrone too.
‘You’ve got to wriggle, Tyrone!’ I yelled, starting to cry.
‘I don’t know why you’re blubbing. It’s me that’s teetering on the edge,’ he said, but he had a go at wriggling. He did his best, grunting with effort, like a great baby trying to slide along the carpet.
‘That’s it! Wriggle more!’
He jerked himself forward, his shorts scraping on the grass and chalk and stones, but he kept on going until he was more than a metre from the edge.
‘Now try standing up, very slowly, and then run to me!’
He stood and then he ran. I clutched him tight, while Alfie licked his bare legs. Tyrone hung onto me for a few moments, breathing shakily. I think he was trying not to cry too. I could feel him trembling.
‘You idiot!’ I said.
He sniffed and pushed me away. ‘I was just mucking about to scare you,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t in any danger. Your face was a picture when I pretended to fall!’
We both knew he was talking rubbish, but I let him bluster and fib so he could save face. He was desperately upset when he craned round and saw the grass stains on his shorts. They were a bit torn too.
‘Oh no, look! That stain will never come out! And they’re all ripped!’ he wailed.
‘It’s only two tiny tears,’ I said. ‘My mum can sew them up for you.’
‘I don’t want them patched! They were brand new. Designer! Sean bought them for me specially.’
‘Well, I expect he’ll buy you some more. He’s got lots of money. He won’t mind. He was always trying to buy me new stuff when we lived at his place, but I wasn’t having it.’
‘Why?’ said Tyrone, looking astonished. ‘You’re nuts, Jess. And so’s your mum. Everyone on the estate thinks so.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘We’re much happier here, Mum and me.’
‘Living with a weird old lady in a tatty junk shop?’ said Tyrone.
I felt like pushing him back over the cliff. We argued all the way round the town. I wanted to show off my lovely new home but Tyrone refused to be impressed.
‘It doesn’t have a proper sandy beach, it’s just them pebbles and they hurt your feet. And there aren’t any good sports shops and the clothes shops are rubbish. There isn’t even a McDonald’s!’ he said.
‘Who cares?’ I said, though Mum and I missed McDonald’s quite a lot. ‘You wait till you try my mum’s sausage and mash!’
Tyrone ate three large sausages smothered in onion gravy and a huge portion of mashed potatoes. He said, ‘Thanks very much, Tracy, that was delicious.’ But then he had the cheek to whisper to me, ‘Just not quite as good as McDonald’s.’
I kicked him hard under the table. Sean Godfrey acted like Mum was a MasterChef and kissed his fingertips in that silly way. I felt like kicking him too, though he’d actually been very kind to Tyrone about his ruined shorts.
‘Don’t worry about it, Tiger,’ he said when Tyrone showed him, shame-faced. ‘I was always ripping my gear when I was a lad. I know you didn’t mean to. We’ll get you another pair, OK?’
‘A size bigger, after all he’s eaten today,’ I muttered.
After our huge lunch Flo lay on her sofa, patting her big tummy appreciatively. ‘My, there’s nothing beats a good sausage,’ she said happily.
‘Are you OK to mind the shop for a little while, Flo?’ Sean Godfrey asked. ‘I’d love to take a proper look round Cooksea – it seems such a lovely spot. You’ll show me, won’t you, Tracy? Perhaps we could take the car and drive along the seafront?’
We? Just the two of them together???
I waited for Tyrone to object, but he was sharing a leftover sausage with Alfie and not concentrating properly.
‘Oh, yes please!’ I said quickly. ‘I’d love to go for a drive. Can I sit up front with you, Sean?’
They all stared at me. I saw a flicker of irritation in Sean Godfrey’s eyes, but he smiled and said, ‘Yeah, of course you can, Jess.’
‘That’s my place!’ said Tyrone indignantly. ‘I sit in the front beside you, don’t I, Sean?’
‘Well, kids are actually meant to sit in the back. So how about letting Tracy sit in the front, eh?’ he said smoothly.
Mum was looking at me with narrowed eyes, but she didn’t say anything. We left Flo to guard the shop and trooped off to find Sean Godfrey’s car. He’d parked it up the other end of the promenade. There was a little circle of people around it, patting the shiny red bonnet reverently or posing for photos, pretending to be the owner. Everyone squealed when Sean Godfrey walked up, car keys in his hand; he was recognized straight away. One woman even recognized Mum.
‘You’re Tracy, aren’t you! I read all about your big romance in Glossip magazine! Childhood sweethearts, eh? I was devastated when you broke up. But here you are together again!’
‘No, we’re not together,’ Mum said awkwar
dly. ‘Well, obviously we are, but we’re just good friends now. Aren’t we, Sean?’
‘Very good friends,’ he said.
‘On a little family outing, are you?’ The woman nodded at me. ‘I know you’re Tracy’s daughter. The spitting image of her too! And don’t tell me – are you Sean’s son?’ she asked, peering at Tyrone.
He went pink with pride, especially when Sean Godfrey put his arm round him.
‘He’s one of my mini-footballers but he’s like a son,’ he said.
Tyrone glowed positively puce. I couldn’t stick Sean Godfrey, and I knew he was mostly acting nicey-nicey for his little fan club, but I felt pleased all the same. It meant so much to Tyrone when he made a fuss of him. Sean Godfrey was so annoyingly slippery. I thoroughly despised him when he was acting like an idiot, but then he’d do something kind and I’d almost start liking him.
Mum was looking at him now as if she really, really still liked him – and the annoying woman asked if she could take a photo of them together.
‘You look so lovely, you two. Like you were made for each other. Are you sure you’re not getting back together?’
‘Not going to happen,’ said Mum, shaking her head, though she was smiling.
‘Watch this space,’ said Sean Godfrey, sounding as if he was correcting her.
Those three words echoed in my head as we drove all the way round Cooksea. I sat behind Sean Godfrey, looking daggers at the back of his head. It was a particularly big head too, with a ridiculous hairstyle. I couldn’t understand all these crazy women who fancied him. I especially couldn’t understand my mum.
‘Can we drive past Seacliff Fields please?’ I asked. ‘Tell him the way, Mum.’
‘Why do you want to go to the fields, Jess?’ she asked, turning round and wrinkling her nose at me.
‘I want to show Sean where we go to the boot sales on Sunday mornings,’ I said. ‘Where we see Bill.’
We Are the Beaker Girls Page 5