She bargained hard and got the box for twenty-five, though she still thought it a ridiculous price. ‘I must be daft. I could buy you several brand-new books at WHSmith for that,’ she grumbled, but she grinned at me. ‘You’re spoiled rotten, do you know that, Jess Beaker? And I’m probably going to rupture myself heaving the blooming box back to the van!’
‘I’ll carry it, Mum!’ I said. It was so heavy I could barely lift it, but I insisted on struggling with it all the same.
Another dealer – an old lady – was hauling along two huge plastic laundry bags of stuff to the car park, with a boy carrying another two for her. A chunky boy in a baseball cap. That boy.
‘Look, Mum! It’s him. The boy who was getting food out of the waste bin,’ I said. ‘The one you said looked as if he was starving.’
‘Is it?’ said Mum. ‘Oh well, he looks quite chipper now, doesn’t he?’
I wondered if the old lady was his granny. He helped her stow all four bags in the back of her battered car. She rummaged around in her bum bag and brought out a little silver coin – a fifty-pence piece, or maybe just a twenty, I couldn’t really see properly. The boy looked very disappointed and said something. The old lady shook her head and muttered, waving him away, clearly telling him that was all he was getting.
He said something back and then sloped off. The old lady got into her car and drove off. It wasn’t his granny then. The boy’s head was down and he looked fed up. I stared after him – and, as if he knew I was watching, he raised his right hand and made a very rude gesture.
I gestured back, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
‘What did you just do?’ Mum said, horrified.
‘Nothing, Mum. I was just flexing my fingers – they keep cramping after carrying that box,’ I said quickly.
When we got home I sat cross-legged on the floor showing Flo all the books while Mum started on lunch for Cam and Mary. They’re both veggies so she was doing a big tray bake of sweet potatoes and eggs and cheese and asparagus and broccoli.
‘I’m sure it’ll taste lovely, pet, but personally I think nothing beats a roast,’ Flo said wistfully, though she perked up when Mum started making an apple crumble too.
I read Jemima Puddle-Duck, loving the quaint old-fashioned words and the soft watercolours.
‘What’s that little book, Jess?’ Flo asked, squinting at the picture on the front. ‘It’s not Mother Goose, is it? I was in the pantomime – it was such a laugh! Hard work with all those matinees and screaming kiddies, but it was a jolly cast.’
‘Did you play Mother Goose?’ I asked.
‘No, lovey, the goose is always a man. And the principal boy is always played by a girl. Yours truly in this case, and very dashing I looked in my white tights, even if I say so myself. Dear old Arty was the best Mother Goose in the business, so we made a fine pair,’ said Flo, her eyes misty with memories.
‘Was he your boyfriend, Flo?’ I asked. I knew he’d left her the shop in his will, and she always spoke about him very fondly.
‘Not exactly, dear. I wasn’t really his type, in a manner of speaking. But we were always the best of pals, and sometimes that’s more important. Friendships last for ever, but I’m not so sure about romance.’ Flo sighed. ‘I’ve made a few mistakes in that department.’
‘Like Mum and Sean Godfrey. That was never going to work,’ I said firmly.
‘Your mum’s still young, sweetheart,’ Flo said gently. ‘She might fall for someone else one day.’
‘Oh, I know,’ I said, nodding. I was certainly doing my best to give her a push in Bill’s direction.
It was a big treat to see Cam and Mary. They’d been once before, when they helped us move all our stuff, but we were dying to show them what we’d done to the shop since. As soon as they came through the door, Mum and I raced each other to get to Cam first for a big hug. Alfie joined in too, leaping up eagerly and nearly knocking us all over. Cam put her arms round all of us, and for a few moments we were lost in our little family world – but then she broke away to say hello to Flo, and Mum and I said hello to Mary.
We referred to them as Cam-and-Mary, and we were ever so happy that they’d got together – but it was still a little odd that Mary was family now too, when she used to be my teacher. When she was little Mum had always had a bit of a problem with teachers so, although she gave her a hug, it was rather restrained. I felt too shy to hug Mary properly – you’d never, ever dream of hugging your teachers – but she gave me a kiss and seemed really happy to see me.
‘I think you’ve grown, Jess! And you’re so brown! It looks as if you really belong here now,’ she said.
‘And haven’t the two girls done wonders with the shop!’ said Flo. ‘See all the little displays! The takings have gone through the roof since Tracy’s been in charge.’
‘We’re a partnership, Flo. And you’re the one who’s kept the shop going all these years,’ Mum insisted. She showed Cam and Mary round so they could see for themselves, and they exclaimed and admired everything.
‘I just love the way you’ve arranged everything, Tracy. Who’d have thought you’d be Queen of the Antiques Trade!’ said Cam, giving Mum another hug.
‘You’ve done a marvellous job,’ said Mary. ‘You must have studied an enormous amount about antiques in a very short space of time.’
‘I’m not really the sort of girl who likes studying, am I, Cam?’ said Mum, laughing. ‘It’s not the sort of trade you need to read up on. It’s experience that counts. I’ve been haunting boot fairs and charity shops for years. You’ve just got to have a good eye and a gut instinct. Flo’s taught me a lot too. Do you know, we repaired a beaten-up old desk and sold it for a fortune the other day.’
Cam had brought a tin of her home-made blueberry muffins, my favourite, so we all ate one with a coffee. (It was lucky Tyrone wasn’t there or he’d have eaten every muffin in the tin.) Then we sat in the shop and had a proper catch-up. Cam told us all about the girls staying with her. Rosie was still not eating properly and Jax was staying out much too late with her new boyfriend.
‘Dear goodness, I don’t know how you cope with teenage girls!’ said Flo. ‘Doesn’t it do your head in, Cam?’
‘Oh, I’m used to it,’ she said cheerfully. ‘All teenage girls can be a pain at times. I know I was.’
‘And she brought me up – all these others since are a doddle compared to that!’ said Mum.
‘You turned out OK in the end,’ said Cam fondly. ‘And I’m sure all the others will too. However, now they’re older I’m thinking of shutting up shop and relaxing for a while.’
‘About time,’ said Mary.
‘Jax has left school and is starting on a nursery nurse course at college in September. She’s so looking forward to it too,’ said Cam.
‘What about your school, Jess?’ Mary asked. ‘Do you like it?’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘It’s the holidays, Mary!’ said Mum.
‘Yes, I know, obviously, but you have found somewhere for Jess in September?’ She was starting to sound like the Miss Oliver of old.
‘Well, she’ll go to the local primary, won’t she?’
‘Probably, but you have to enrol her and get everything sorted. They’ll need to contact Duke Primary for all her reports. Tracy, you’ve had weeks and weeks to get it all arranged!’ Mary scolded.
‘Yes, like I’ve had all the time in the world,’ said Mum.
‘Surely you’ve had time to spend a morning looking at the schools in your area and asking a few questions,’ said Mary. ‘Jess is very bright. She needs to go to a school where she can flourish. It’s vital at this stage – she’ll be sitting her SATs this coming year, and thinking about secondary schools.’
‘OK, OK, I do get it, you know,’ said Mum. ‘Stop fussing, Mary. She’s my child, not yours. I’ll do my best.’
‘Of course you will,’ said Cam quickly. ‘I know it’s a bore – I’m a veteran at sorting out schooling for my girls. It’s going to be
a hard job finding a teacher as good as Mary though. Do you know they’re making her deputy head in September?’
She was at her most Cam-like, trying to calm everyone down. Flo started talking about her own schooldays and her first job as a chorus girl at fifteen, and Mum sloped off to finish preparing lunch. I went to help her. She was banging the pots and plates about with unnecessary violence.
‘Hey, can I help, Mum?’ I offered.
‘You could grate some cheese if you’re careful. Don’t you dare grate your fingers or Mary will say it’s my fault,’ she muttered. ‘Dear goodness, she’s such a bossy boots. What is it about teachers? They can’t help telling you what to do, even when it’s none of their business.’ She chopped even harder, pieces of potato bouncing about on the worktop.
‘Watch out, Mum.’ I paused. ‘Mary will say you’ve got Anger Issues!’
Mum gave me a look but then started laughing.
Lunch was a success. The tray bake was golden and delicious, and Mum had made a tomato salad to go with it. Even Flo admitted it was good, and she raved about the apple crumble. Cam and Mary were very appreciative too. Mum relaxed visibly.
We’d closed the shop over lunch, but when we opened up again we were suddenly inundated with customers, mostly old folk on a coach trip to the seaside. Flo couldn’t cope with them all by herself, so Mum helped while I went for a walk with Cam and Mary and Alfie.
I did quite like Mary, but I wished Cam and I could be on our own. We went for a really long walk, right across the clifftops, round the golf course, and then up past Cooksea Manor. The gardens were open to the public on Sunday afternoons.
‘Oh, marvellous,’ said Mary. ‘Look at those hollyhocks! And the poster says they’ve got a big water lily pond. Let’s go and have a look round.’
But the lady at the entrance said she was very sorry, Alfie looked adorable, but unfortunately dogs weren’t allowed into the gardens.
‘Never mind, Mary. You go and have a look while I keep Jess and Alfie company,’ said Cam.
Mary bustled off, and Cam put her arm round me. ‘How’s it going then, Jessica Bluebell Camilla Beaker? Happy?’ she asked, rubbing her cheek against the top of my head.
‘Very,’ I said, snuggling against her. ‘Though I wish I could see you more often, Cam.’
‘I wish I could see you more too, love. And your mum. She’s happy too?’
‘Yes, ever so. She loves it at the shop,’ I said.
‘Have you both made any new friends here?’
‘Flo’s our friend. And we’ve got heaps of other friends. We like Bill best – he does absolutely magic bacon rolls. He gets on very well with Mum!’
‘I’m sure he does.’
‘I have a feeling Mum and Bill might start going out together!’ I said.
‘Really? So Mum wants to start dating again? You think she’s over the whole Sean thing?’
‘Of course she is,’ I said. ‘He’s history.’
‘He came to visit you the other day though.’
‘Yes, but that was just to bring Tyrone. He was desperate to come and see us.’
‘Desperate to see you!’ Cam teased.
‘Yeah, well, Tyrone’s a friend, I suppose – but he doesn’t half get on my nerves at times. And I don’t think I’m really friends with Alice and Ava any more. Still, I don’t really need a best friend, not now I’ve got Alfie,’ I said, giving him a pat.
‘Yes, Alfie’s a real pal,’ said Cam. ‘And you’ll make lots of other friends when you go to school. Hey, Tracy said you saw Peter Ingham from the children’s home the first day you came to Cooksea. The one who has the same birthday as her. I think she used to give him rather a hard time, but they were good friends too. She said he’s a head teacher now. Maybe he’ll be head of your new school!’
‘No, I think he’s head of a secondary school. He was having a peer in our shop the other day, but he didn’t come in.’
‘I take it he’s not your mum’s type now?’ Cam said.
‘Not really! You know she doesn’t go a bundle on teachers!’ I said – and then blushed because I’d been so tactless. ‘But she likes Mary, truly!’
‘That’s good, because I like Mary,’ said Cam. ‘And she likes you and your mum. She didn’t mean to sound bossy earlier.’
‘I know. And I expect Mum knows too. She just doesn’t like it when people tell her what to do.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that!’ said Cam.
When Mary came out of the gardens she had a potted plant in either hand, with flowers like great big pink daisies.
‘They were for sale and I couldn’t resist them. I love echinacea. I’ll plant one in your garden and I thought Tracy might like one to plant in hers,’ said Mary.
Flo didn’t really have a proper garden, just a scrubby patch of grass and a shed where she kept a lot of junk – but maybe Mum and I could make part of it into a flower bed.
‘Thank you very much, Mary!’ I said. ‘What did you say it was called?’
‘Echinacea. You can make herbal tea with it. It’s supposed to ward off colds,’ she said.
Mum was often a bit sniffy about herbal teas but she seemed delighted with the plant and actually gave Mary a kiss. ‘I love these big daisies,’ she said.
‘It’s called echinacea, Mum,’ I told her.
‘Yeah, echinacea, whatever. We’ll make a little flower garden out the back. You can sit out and sunbathe in a deckchair, Flo.’
‘That would be lovely, sweetheart,’ said Flo. She smiled at Cam. ‘Your girl doesn’t half spoil me!’
While we were out, Mum had been arranging the books from the boot fair. She’d put them in size order on an old school desk, with a teddy reading Mrs Tiggy-Winkle. I picked him up carefully to see if there was a copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit.
Mary came and bent down beside me. ‘These look interesting. Can I have a look?’ She sorted through them with me, getting them out of size order, pulling out a big red book from the bottom. Mum twitched, but managed not to say anything. Mary held the book up in triumph. It was a big volume of fairy tales.
‘Oh, this is lovely!’ she said. ‘I think Arthur Rackham illustrations are beautiful. What a great find.’ But when she opened it up she saw that some silly child had scribbled over most of the pages with red crayon. ‘Oh no!’
‘Shame, isn’t it?’ said Mum. ‘I’ve gone through pricing them up, but they’re all in a wretched state, apart from a couple of those little Beatrix Potters. I’m hoping they might sell for a tenner each once Jess has finished with them. If not, I might try cutting out the coloured plates and framing them.’
‘Oh dear, I hate the thought of ripping books apart,’ said Cam. ‘Still, it’s a good idea, Tracy. Isn’t it, Mary?’
Mary didn’t react. She was looking at the little books now, first Jemima Puddle-Duck and then Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.
‘They’re not as good as Peter Rabbit but they’re still quite sweet,’ I said. ‘A bit babyish for me now of course.’
‘Yes, young Jess is a brilliant little reader. She tackles all sorts, even great fat books without any pictures at all,’ said Flo.
Mary didn’t reply to either of us. She seemed intent on looking at the Beatrix Potter books.
‘What is it, Mary?’ asked Mum.
‘You can’t sell these for a tenner! I’d say they were worth hundreds of pounds. They’re first editions – and in reasonable condition too,’ she said. ‘I should take them to a specialist book dealer if I were you.’
We all stared at her. Then Flo clapped her hands. ‘Well I never! If they’re really worth that, we’ll make a tidy profit. And you must have your share, Mary. Isn’t that right, Tracy?’
Mum nodded, looking stunned. And stricken. ‘Of course, I thought they might be first editions, but it seemed too good to be true,’ she said shakily.
‘And books aren’t really your speciality, are they?’ said Cam, loyal as always.
‘It looks like Jess had better be
the book specialist from now on,’ said Mum. ‘She was the one who picked them out, not me.’
It seemed like we were all set for another celebratory meal at the Spade and Bucket after Cam and Mary set off back to London, but we were all too full of lunch. Flo had another portion of apple crumble and said she’d have an early night.
‘But you two go and celebrate, darlings,’ she told us.
I was up for it but Mum said she didn’t really feel like it. So we ended up making do with the last two blueberry muffins. Mum didn’t actually eat hers, she just nibbled at an edge and crumbled the rest onto her plate.
I put my arm round her. ‘What’s up, Mum?’
‘Nothing, really,’ she said.
‘It was great seeing Cam, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, lovely.’
‘And Mary. Though she is a bit bossy.’
‘And a bit of a know-it-all.’
‘Yes, she is,’ I agreed.
‘Whereas I’m a know-nothing-at-all,’ said Mum flatly, all the bounce gone out of her. ‘I was going to sell those books for a pittance when they’re worth a fortune.’
‘Yes, but you weren’t to know. The lady at the boot sale didn’t know either, did she?’ I pointed out.
‘Yes, but she was just selling off her grandad’s stuff. She doesn’t run an antique and bric-a-brac shop and brag that she’s an expert,’ said Mum, and she sounded near tears, even though she hardly ever cries.
‘Oh, Mum. Don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter about the silly books,’ I said.
‘Yes it does. I so wanted to show Cam that I was good at this – and it turns out I’m total rubbish, making the most elementary mistakes. And it had to be blooming Mary who pointed it out. She didn’t even crow about it. She was being all nicey-nicey because she feels sorry for me. Tracy Beaker, the care leaver who can’t make a success of anything.’
‘Shut up, Mum! That’s rubbish,’ I said.
‘Well, what have I achieved so far? I mucked around at school and I didn’t stick it out at college. I’ve never had a proper job. I’ve never even had a proper long-term relationship.’
We Are the Beaker Girls Page 7