‘Yeah, that’ll be great.’ Jordan held out her hand, her little finger out. ‘Make friends, make friends, never never break friends,’ she said, hooking her finger round mine.
I was surprised, because it was the sort of thing we used to do in the Infants. Still, I said it too – and then I ran off with Alfie.
When Mum and Flo had finished giving me a telling off for worrying them I went on Mum’s iPad, pretending I wanted to look up the name of some seabird I’d spotted on the beach.
I looked up the name Jordan Whitely instead. There was nothing about a missing girl who had run away. Poor Jordan. It was such a big deal for her – but no one else seemed to care.
I HAD £3.50 in cash. I had taken a fancy to an old piggy bank in the shop so Flo had given it to me. Whenever someone paid for a little trinket in cash Flo gave me any fifty pences to put in my pig. It rattled in a very satisfactory manner, and I liked hoarding my coins and thinking of the books I’d buy when the pig was full to bursting – but they were needed now.
I couldn’t bear the idea of smashing the pig, so I had to hide upstairs in the bedroom and prise the stopper out of his tummy. The poor pig didn’t make a sound now when I shook him, but it couldn’t be helped.
Now I had to think about food. I’d managed to save a whole slice of fruit cake at teatime, and I snaffled two digestive biscuits when I went to make a cup of tea for Mum and Flo. While I was in the kitchen I cut a big wodge of cheese too, wrapping everything in kitchen foil. Then, in the morning, I slipped half a toasted marmalade sandwich up my T-shirt (marmalade sides together obviously so it didn’t make too much of a mess) and asked if I could take an apple from the bowl.
I packed all the provisions in an old canvas bag.
‘What do you want with that old thing?’ Mum asked, looking up from one of her books on antiques as I headed out. She read all the time in between customers now, sometimes even making notes.
‘I thought I might go for a little paddle while I’m walking Alfie so I’ve packed a towel,’ I said, quick as a flash. It was disconcerting to discover I was such a good liar. Mum didn’t seem remotely suspicious and just went back to her book.
I put Alfie on his lead and set off for the beach. I hung about beside the ice-cream van. I stood there jingling the fifty pences in my pocket, watching a queue of kids being handed their ice creams. It was very tempting. I wondered whether Jordan would decide to blow all her cash on a giant cone with two flakes. I hoped she’d give me a few licks.
She was a long time coming. She was five minutes late, then ten. I took Alfie for a run along the esplanade, twisting round every so often to keep an eye on the people by the ice-cream van. There was no sign of her. Perhaps she wasn’t going to come after all.
I felt indignant when I’d gone to so much trouble to find everything for her. She was supposed to be my friend now! I’d even sworn on Mum’s life not to tell on her. I did a little dance up and down the paving stones to distract myself, careful not to tread on any of the cracks.
Then I started to worry. Perhaps something had happened to her. Maybe she’d got locked in the beach hut. Or perhaps someone had spotted her and carted her off to the police. She might assume I’d told on her, which was an awful thought.
‘What’s happened to her, Alfie, eh?’ I asked, giving him a pat.
Alfie gave a sudden bark. I looked round and there she was, hurrying along, baseball cap pulled down. ‘Jordan!’ I called, without thinking.
‘Shut up,’ she said hurriedly, looking round to see if anyone was listening.
‘Sorry! But I was getting worried. You’re so late!’
‘I don’t have a watch or a phone, do I? When I woke up I came along to the ice-cream van, thinking it might be round about the right time, and the van wasn’t even open and there were hardly any people on the beach and it turned out it was only half past seven. So then I went back and had another kip and I’ve only just woken up.’ She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and grinned at me apologetically. ‘Sorry! It’s great you came though. Have you got anything to eat? I’m starving.’
‘Come to the end of the beach where it’s quieter. I’ve got a huge picnic in my bag. And there’s cash too, if you want an ice cream. There’s actually all my savings – three pounds fifty – so you could have a ginormous one.’
‘I shouldn’t spend it all on ice cream,’ said Jordan, but she looked tempted. ‘What’s the smallest size cost?’
‘One pound fifty,’ I said.
‘Will you get one then? I’m scared the man will recognize me.’
It turned out the ice cream didn’t cost anything at all. When the ice-cream man saw me he gave me a grin and said, ‘Hello, it’s little rainbow sprinkles! Come for your specials, sweetheart?’
‘No, I’m just buying one small ice cream with my piggy-bank money,’ I said.
‘Well, in that case have this one on me, and pop your pennies back in your piggy bank,’ he said. He even gave me rainbow sprinkles on top.
‘Here you are,’ I said nobly to Jordan, handing it over, though my mouth had started watering.
She took one big lick and then offered it to me. ‘We’ll share it,’ she said.
She didn’t share it accurately – she took very big licks, slightly more often than me – but I was pleased all the same. I don’t think Mum was ever very good at sharing. She hated sharing her birthday cake with Peter Ingham. Why did he have to like guys? He might have been a good boyfriend, though he didn’t really seem Mum’s type. She liked men with a bit of spark. I wasn’t sure, but I thought Bill was quite sparky.
‘Have you ever had a boyfriend, Jordan?’ I asked.
‘Heaps,’ she said, breaking off the bottom of the wafer and then digging it into the ice cream. ‘Look, I’ve made a baby cone!’
It was always very irritating when people did that because then the ice cream started melting through the hole and dripping up your sleeve, though if you didn’t often have ice creams you mightn’t realize.
‘I’ve got a sort of boyfriend,’ I said, determined not to be outdone. ‘His name’s Tyrone. He’s good at football.’
‘So’s Ryan. He can bore for England about it,’ said Jordan, licking her wrist. I knew that would happen.
‘So he’s your boyfriend now?’
‘No, I’ve broken up with him. When I ran away I went round his place first. I hoped he’d do a runner with me. I wanted it to be romantic – the two of us against the world. But he wouldn’t come. Chicken!’ she said, flapping her arms around. She flapped a little too violently and ice cream flew into the air. ‘Oh rats,’ she said. ‘Still, we’d nearly finished it, hadn’t we?’
‘And I’ve got heaps of food in my bag if you’re still hungry.’
We squatted down behind a wooden groyne and I tipped everything out of my bag. The food was a bit squashed but still edible, and Jordan seemed delighted.
‘Oh wow! You’re a star, Jess! You nicked all this for me?’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, I didn’t really nick it – it came from home so it’s kind of mine,’ I said.
‘Did you ask your mum for it then?’ Jordan demanded. ‘You told her, didn’t you?’
‘No, of course not! I swore I wouldn’t, you know I did. I just took it when she wasn’t watching,’ I said. ‘I snaffled the toast and marmalade right in front of her, but I was quick about it.’
‘I’ll bet you were,’ said Jordan, looking at me appraisingly. ‘You ever nicked stuff from shops?’
My heart started thumping. ‘No!’
‘Don’t look so worried. It’s easy-peasy. Everyone does it. The big shops put their prices up because they expect people to shoplift. Anyway, how else am I going to get all the stuff I need? I haven’t got a mum around to give it to me, have I?’
‘It might not be so wrong for you to do it – but it would be for me,’ I said.
‘Yeah, but they keep an eye on me because I’m big and I look streetwise. You’re little and cute with your curls an
d your specs. They’d never, ever expect a kid like you to nick stuff,’ said Jordan.
‘Well, I’m not going to anyway,’ I said.
‘Because you’re chicken.’
‘No, because I don’t want to.’
Jordan did the silly arm-flapping thing again.
‘Stop it!’
‘Pathetic little goody-goody nicey-nicey Jessie-Wessie,’ she mocked.
‘You can just shut up. I thought we were supposed to be friends! Stop being so mean to me after I brought you all that food! And the three pounds fifty! That was all my savings!’ I said indignantly.
‘Like three pounds fifty is going to buy me clothes and everything else I need!’ said Jordan.
‘Well, as if I care,’ I said, scrambling to my feet and whistling to Alfie. ‘You can push off and do your own shoplifting. I’m sick of you. I’m going home.’
I ran off. I thought she might come after me and apologize, but she didn’t. Alfie ran with me, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He kept stopping and looking back, wondering why Jordan wasn’t with us.
‘She’s a horrid girl. We don’t like her any more,’ I told him. ‘Catch me being her friend now.’
When I got home Mum was in a terrible tizz, marching about the shop. She was supposed to be dusting but she picked up the ornaments and set them down with such fury it was a wonder they didn’t shatter at her touch. There were two old ladies in the toy corner having a long, loud conversation about kids today – it was a wonder Mum didn’t heave each one up and dust their grey hair and set them back down on their Dr Scholl sandals.
‘What’s up, Mum?’ I asked when they eventually tottered out of the shop, not buying anything. I was worried that she was mad at me because I’d been gone so long.
‘That wretched Mary,’ said Mum through gritted teeth. She picked up a wooden Pinocchio doll and tapped it hard on its long nose. ‘She’s got a long nose too and I’m sick of her poking it into our affairs. Why can’t she mind her own business?’
‘Why? What’s she done?’ I asked, sitting on the sofa beside Flo. She’d started a knitting fad and was busily plaining and purling some odd mustard-yellow garment, needles clicking so busily that I practically bounced up and down. I very much hoped that the jumper or cardie or cape or tunic wasn’t for me.
‘She’s just sent your mum a long email with reports on the three local primary schools, and their SATs results – whatever they are – and the pros and cons of each one, and the names of the head teachers, and probably a detailed account of what they like for breakfast and what they watch on telly,’ said Flo, chuckling. ‘I dare say it’s very helpful of her, but I’m with your mum on this one. None of her business!’
‘It’s like she doesn’t trust me to find a school for my own daughter,’ said Mum. ‘I wrote an email back right away, telling her as much!’
‘Oh, Mum!’ I said. ‘You weren’t rude, were you?’
‘Of course not. I was ultra-diplomatic. I was short and to the point, but perfectly polite.’
‘You didn’t tell her to bog off, did you?’ I asked, horrified.
‘No! I just said it was nice of her to go to all that trouble, but actually we’d already got you enrolled at a lovely school, thanks very much,’ said Mum.
I blinked at her. ‘Have we?’
‘No, but we’ll do it today. We’ll have a look round all the schools, and then tell the council which one we want. You’ll mind the shop for us, won’t you, Flo?’
‘Course I will, darling. And I’d better have Alfie too. You can’t go barging into schools with him in tow, it’ll be too distracting,’ she said.
Mum looked me up and down, and then brushed my hair vigorously and made me change my T-shirt and even started cutting my nails.
‘Ouch!’ I protested. ‘Let me do it, Mum. I’m not a baby!’
‘I’m not having you wandering round like a little scruff. I want you to look immaculate, OK?’ She glanced in an old looking glass in the shop. ‘Oh help, I’m the total scruff. Hang on a minute!’
She charged upstairs. We could hear her rushing around, and the sudden clonk clonk on the floor as she discarded her shoes and selected different ones.
‘I think we’ve got time for a cup of tea while she’s getting ready,’ said Flo. ‘Pop the kettle on, Jess, there’s a dear.’
We’d drunk our tea by the time Mum came clattering downstairs in her high heels, wearing her best dress, face fully made up, hair in a top knot.
‘Right,’ she said, chin in the air. ‘Off we go.’
She’d printed off Mary’s long email. ‘I’m only looking at it to get the addresses,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what she’s written about them. How does she know what’s best for you anyway? You’re my daughter.’
‘But Mary is a teacher, Mum,’ I muttered. ‘And she taught me. So she does know a bit. Quite a lot in fact.’
I didn’t actually say that out loud, not with Mum in this kind of mood. I knew she knew that Mary was just trying to be helpful. But Mum’s always had a problem with teachers. And now that Mary was Cam’s special friend the problem had grown.
I sighed heavily.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Mum. ‘Don’t worry, Jess. I’ll find you a good school, I promise.’
‘I know, Mum. I just miss Cam,’ I said.
‘I miss her too,’ she said.
I tucked my arm in hers and we walked to the school nearest our shop.
It was a big modern building with a fence painted different colours to make it look child-friendly. There was a big notice in the playground.
‘Okaaay!’ said Mum. The gate was locked, but there was a bell and an intercom on the wall.
She pressed the bell. She pressed it again. And a third time.
‘Mum!’ I protested.
‘Well, they need waking up, dozy lot!’
At last a voice spoke out of the wall. ‘I’m afraid Lockwood School is closed for the summer holidays.’
‘We know that,’ said Mum, raising her eyebrows at me. ‘I’m thinking of enrolling my daughter Jess at your school. I’d like to come in and meet the head teacher, please.’
‘Oh, you can’t possibly do that,’ said the voice. ‘Mrs Brookes isn’t here. Like I said, the school is closed.’
‘Well, can you let us in and show us around then?’ Mum asked.
‘I’m just admin. I’m not authorized. You’ll have to come back at the start of term if you want to see Mrs Brookes, but you’ll be wasting your time. We’re completely full up, with a long waiting list.’
‘But Lockwood’s our nearest school. We must be in your catchment area,’ said Mum.
‘That can’t be helped, not if we haven’t got any places – not unless there are exceptional circumstances.’
‘Like what?’ Mum asked, quick as a flash.
‘If your daughter had serious health issues and couldn’t travel very far, for example.’
Mum looked me up and down and had to admit that wasn’t the case.
‘Or if she’d been seriously bullied at her former school,’ the voice continued.
‘Yes! She was knocked over by this great big lout!’ Mum declared eagerly, choosing to ignore the fact that the great big lout was Tyrone and we were friends now.
‘Well, we would need detailed reports from her old school and a letter to say the bullying had been detrimental to her mental or physical health.’
‘Oh,’ said Mum, deflating. ‘She’s a very brave, resilient little girl and didn’t like to make a fuss. So are there any other circumstances?’
‘Only if she’s in care, and that’s clearly not the case,’ the voice pronounced.
‘But I was in care all my childhood. Won’t that count?’ said Mum, semi-seriously.
‘Of course not. I’m sorry, I have a lot of work to do. I’m afraid I can’t carry on this conversation any longer.’
‘Well, my daughter is excellent in all aspects, just like your wretched OFSTED report, so you’re missi
ng a trick by not letting her into your school,’ said Mum. ‘Still, your loss. Come on, Jess.’ She glared at the wall as if the very bricks had been talking to her, and pulled me away.
‘What will we do if all the schools are full up?’ I asked.
‘They won’t be.’ Mum tapped the address of the second school into her smartphone. ‘Right – Primrose Juniors.’
‘That’s a nice name,’ I said. I imagined a small school painted pale yellow, with a green lawn at the front speckled with primroses all year round.
The actual Primrose Juniors was nothing like that. It was on a big estate on the outskirts of Cooksea. It was even bigger and bleaker than Lockwood and had barbed wire along the top of the fence.
‘Is that to keep the children in?’ Mum asked. ‘It’s like a prison camp.’ She rang the bell. She rang it lots of times. No one answered. ‘Oh well, I wouldn’t want you to go there anyway. Horrible-looking place. Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll try the next school – I bet it’ll be third time lucky.’
St John’s Church of England Primary seemed much more friendly. It was an old red-brick school with coloured flags over the gateway, left over from their summer fete.
‘This looks better,’ said Mum. She rang the bell.
Someone answered straight away. ‘St John’s. Can I help you?’ said a cheery voice.
‘Yes, I hope so!’ said Mum. ‘Can we come in and have a chat, please? I’d like to enrol my daughter at your school.’
‘Well, our head isn’t here but you can come in and I’ll take down your details,’ said the voice.
Mum gave me the thumbs-up sign. ‘Yay!’ she mouthed. ‘Looks like they can take you, Jess!’
The gate opened and we headed towards the school entrance. A chubby lady came out to welcome us – but her face fell a mile when she saw me.
‘Oh dear!’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize your daughter was so big!’
We stared at her.
We Are the Beaker Girls Page 10