‘Are you … scared?’ I whispered.
‘A bit,’ she murmured.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ I told her. ‘Cam’s lovely, honestly.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t know her, do I? And she’s got other girls too, hasn’t she? I’ll be the new one. They’ll all gang up on me. That’s what happens. And then I kick off and I get the blame. And anyway, they probably won’t let me stay with her. I’ll have to go to the place in Manchester and I know it’ll be a nightmare. How would you feel if you were me? Wouldn’t you be scared?’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling stupid. ‘Very scared. I suppose you’ll just have to be brave. You are, you know. I wouldn’t dare run away or scavenge for food or stay out by myself all night.’
‘Yeah, well, that was a bit scary too. Especially last night in the rain. I felt so awful this morning. I couldn’t believe it when you appeared, bringing the food and the blanket and stuff. I might be a bit braver, but you’re the clever one. You think of things, Jess. I just do things and then get into trouble.’
‘But you mustn’t any more,’ I said anxiously.
‘I won’t, not any more,’ she told me.
I didn’t feel very reassured. It was like Mum promising she’d never get mouthy with anyone ever again. She meant it at the time, but then she forgot.
I think Peter might have been listening because he put on the car radio to distract us, flicking through the stations until he found some cool music. It was a good move. I didn’t know any of the songs – I’m not really into that sort of thing – but Jordan was word perfect on most of them. She sang along in her husky voice, sounding really good.
‘You’re a great singer,’ I said admiringly.
‘You sing too,’ she said.
‘I can’t. I don’t know any of the words,’ I admitted.
She was amazed. ‘How come you don’t know this?’ and, ‘You can’t seriously not know that!’ she exclaimed. It made her feel very superior, which would have been annoying at any other time but now I was quite pleased.
However, when we got to the outskirts of London she got quieter again, and said she didn’t feel like singing any more. I suggested playing a car game like I-Spy or Famous People but she gave me a withering look.
‘All right, it was only a suggestion,’ I said.
‘What are these games anyway?’ she asked. ‘I bet they’re babyish.’
‘I like car games,’ said Peter. ‘OK, let’s play just for a bit. I’ll start. I spy with my little eye something beginning with T.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Jordan. ‘And it’s Tracy, obviously, because you can hardly keep your eyes off her. It’s a wonder you haven’t crashed the car.’
‘Less cheek, please,’ he said. ‘And you’re wrong. Try again.’
I think he had chosen T for Tracy, but had now changed it just to be awkward. We all tried and tried and got nowhere, and then eventually he said it was terrace.
‘You what?’ said Jordan.
‘Terrace. As in a terrace of houses,’ said Peter.
‘I love these old Victorian terraces. My foster parents lived in a little terraced house. It was so cosy and old-fashioned. It didn’t even have an inside loo, but it didn’t matter a bit. Well, it did if you were taken short in the middle of the night, but I didn’t really mind. The first year I lived with them Ma would get up too and wrap a blanket around me.’
‘So you called her Ma?’ Mum asked.
‘Yes, Ma and Pa,’ he said.
Mum looked round at Jordan. ‘If you start calling me Ma you’ll get a thick ear,’ she warned her. ‘I always call Cam Cam.’
‘This Cam – she’s really OK?’ Jordan asked me in an undertone.
‘I keep saying, she’s lovely. She’s my second favourite person in all the world after Mum,’ I said.
Jordan fidgeted. ‘Can’t I be your second favourite if I’m going to be your foster sister?’
‘Well, maybe second equal,’ I said, to keep the peace.
‘You said your pa died, Peter?’ Mum asked.
‘And Ma died soon afterwards. I still miss them a lot. They were great parents,’ he said.
So maybe he didn’t have any favourites himself, unless it was Mum. I went a bit quiet then. I liked the idea of Mum having Peter for a boyfriend, though obviously they hadn’t even gone out on a proper date together yet – but I knew I’d hate it if he became her favourite. I felt it had been touch and go with Sean Godfrey at times.
I-Spy was a bit boring with Peter playing because he kept choosing the most obscure words and winning over and over again, which irritated all of us, especially Mum. So we played Famous People instead – that game where you think of a famous person and the others ask you questions to see if they can guess who it is.
Jordan was great at guessing celebrities, but we found it hard work guessing her famous people as we’d often never heard of them. She loved this game and said she was cleverer than all of us. We were totally stumped on her last choice. We established that she was thinking of a female, still alive, not a YouTuber or a singer or an actor or a model, and we tried endless possibilities, but Jordan kept on shaking her head.
‘Come on, it’s easy-peasy!’ she said.
‘Are you sure we’ve heard of her?’ Peter asked.
‘Yes!’
‘Oh come on, Jordan, we give up. Tell us,’ said Mum.
‘It’s you,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You. Tracy Beaker!’ she declared triumphantly.
‘But I’m not famous.’
‘Yes you are, Mum,’ I said. ‘Everyone knows you.’
‘See!’ said Jordan.
‘Yes, but I’m not really famous,’ said Mum. ‘I’m not famous for anything. I wish I was! I used to want to be a writer, but that’s never going to happen.’
‘It’s already happened, Mum. You wrote that book about yourself,’ I pointed out.
‘Did you?’ Peter sounded extremely interested.
‘Yes, but my friend Marina, who’s a publisher, said it wasn’t much good. And I’d probably be sued simply because I told the truth about people,’ said Mum.
‘You mean you wrote an actual autobiography?’
‘Yes, and I thought it was brilliant,’ I said loyally. It was true. I’d really enjoyed it, especially the parts where Mum was ultra truthful. ‘You should read the chapter about Justine Littlewood!’
‘I want to!’ said Peter. ‘So, did you write about me too, Tracy?’
‘I might have. Just a bit,’ said Mum, sounding awkward.
Peter had had a whole chapter to himself. Mum hadn’t been exactly flattering. I’d felt very sorry for the poor weedy little boy she kept bossing about.
‘Can I read it?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I think I chucked it out after Marina turned it down,’ Mum said quickly.
‘Yes, she did,’ I said, backing her up. I was pretty sure Peter wouldn’t like what she’d written.
‘I might write a book about myself one day,’ said Jordan. ‘So long as my story has a happy ending,’ she added meaningfully.
Then we stopped playing Famous People because we were nearly at Cam’s, and Mum had an argument with Peter’s satnav because she felt it wanted to take us the long way round – but eventually we drew up outside.
‘Is that it?’ Jordan asked, peering up at the tall, shabby grey house.
‘Hey, I never realized, it’s a terrace house!’ I said. ‘Mum and I used to live up at the top where those blue curtains are. Look at the window boxes, Mum! They’re new. Don’t they look lovely?’
They were full of bright red geraniums, which cheered up the house enormously. Someone had been working hard in the garden too, planting rose bushes on either side of the path, and a honeysuckle beside the door.
‘I bet that’s Mary,’ said Mum.
We must have made a noise walking up the path because the door opened before we’d rung the bell.
Jordan stared.
‘Nope! I don’t like her. It’s not gonna work,’ she muttered, stepping backwards.
‘She’s not Cam, she’s Mary. She’s been approved as a foster carer too,’ Mum said, nodding at the pin-neat figure in her crisp shirt and white jeans and immaculate trainers. Alfie gave her a happy woof and strained at his lead, because she and Cam used to take him for long interesting walks.
‘She used to be my teacher,’ I whispered. ‘But she’s Cam’s partner now. She’s OK, really.’
She was joined on the step by Cam, whose hair was sticking up like a lavatory brush, her T-shirt and jeans crumpled because she hates ironing, her canvas boots grey with age. Alfie broke free and hurled himself at her, jumping up excitedly.
‘That’s Cam,’ I said, and I heard Jordan breathe a sigh of relief.
Mum rushed up too, and gave Cam such an enthusiastic hug she nearly knocked her over. I always get a lump in my throat when I see Mum and Cam together. It’s as if Mum whizzes back to my age for a few seconds.
Then Cam freed one arm and held it out to me, so I joined in.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Mum breathed in Cam’s ear.
‘Calm down, love, it mightn’t work out,’ she muttered. She peered over Mum’s shoulder. ‘Hi! So you’re Jordan,’ she said.
‘So you’re Cam,’ said Jordan, trying to sound cool and couldn’t-care-less.
‘Me and Jordan are friends,’ I said.
‘Jordan and I,’ Mary murmured, automatically correcting my grammar, but she held out her hand to Jordan and smiled. ‘Welcome to the fun house.’
Then she looked at Peter, who was hovering politely halfway up the path. She put her head on one side enquiringly. ‘And you’re Tracy’s friend?’
‘Yes, you could say that. How do you do. I’m Peter – Peter Ingham.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Cam was grinning all over her face. ‘Tracy said she’d met up with you again but I didn’t know you were actually …’
‘We’re not. Yet. But I have high hopes,’ said Peter. ‘Hello, Cam. It’s good to see you again. You haven’t changed a bit!’
‘But you’ve changed enormously! You really look like a head teacher now,’ she said.
‘A head teacher?’ said Mary, looking impressed.
‘Anyway, come in, come in,’ said Cam. ‘Jess, how about showing Jordan round?’
Cam and Mary and Mum and Peter went into Cam’s study. I took Jordan to the sitting room, with Alfie at our heels. There were two girls there. Jordan tensed.
‘They’re OK,’ I murmured. ‘I know them all.’
The bigger girl was lounging on the sofa, checking her phone. She looked up and held her arms out wide. ‘Alfie!’ He jumped right on top of her, licking her face.
‘That’s Jax,’ I said.
‘Hey, Jess,’ she said, laughing. ‘Alfie’s washing my face!’
‘He does that to me too,’ Jordan said gruffly.
‘So you’re the new girl?’
Jordan shrugged. ‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘Mind your own business,’ Jordan said.
‘Last chance?’ said Rosie, a painfully thin girl who looked as if her skinny arms would snap any minute. She kept playing with her ponytail, fiddling with the ends and flicking it backwards and forwards like a girl playing with her unicorn doll. ‘Have you often done a runner then?’
‘She’s doing a runner right now,’ I said. ‘And if she can’t stay at Cam’s, they’re going to lock her up somewhere.’
‘I get it,’ said Jax. ‘Don’t look so worried. All the social workers love Cam. They’ll let you stay here.’
‘They were going to lock me up again too,’ said Rosie.
She wouldn’t eat properly. Perhaps, I thought, she’d put on just a little bit of weight since I’d last seen her. I knew better than to tell her that though, or she’d get frantic and stop eating again. Cam had explained it. Rosie was all mixed up in her head and was sure she was fat.
I couldn’t help wondering if big Jax was mixed up too and thought she was thin. She was pretty massive and looked tough, so Jordan was acting tough back, but she didn’t need to. Jax was as soft as butter – I liked her best of Cam’s girls.
She started chuckling at something on her phone. ‘Ah, the pet!’ she cooed. ‘Look!’ She handed her phone to Jordan and me. It was a video of a kitten jumping up into a doll’s cot and snuggling under the covers. It looked so sweet that Jordan couldn’t help smiling.
‘Do you like kittens?’ Jax asked.
‘Course I do. Who doesn’t?’ she said.
‘Ask Cam if you can have one, eh? She always lets the new girls have a treat, something special to make them feel good. She let Rosie have a rabbit, but then it died. Forgot to feed it, most likely.’
‘I did not!’ Rosie protested.
‘Joking, joking!’ said Jax. ‘Sorry, Your Royal Thinness.’
‘Cam got me a Saturday job down at the hairdresser’s,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s good there. Soon as I’ve finished school I’m going to be an apprentice. Antoine’s ever so nice – he’s already learning me how to style hair.’
‘Teaching you,’ Jax corrected her, doing a wicked imitation of Mary’s clipped voice.
‘What do you all think of Mary?’ I asked.
‘She’s OK. Ish,’ said Jax. ‘I don’t quite get what Cam sees in her – still, whatever floats your boat, that’s what I say.’
‘She used to be my teacher,’ I said.
‘I know, poor you,’ said Rosie. ‘She’s ever so bossy, even though she’s not our main foster carer, Cam is. She keeps trying to coach me in maths and stuff, just so I can get good GCSEs. Says I’m bright and could go to university. As if I want to do that. I want to be a hairdresser – that’s what I’m good at.’ She looked at Jordan. ‘Do you want me to put your hair up in a ponytail?’
‘I can do it myself,’ said Jordan, but then she nodded. ‘Thanks though.’
‘I wish you could put my hair in a ponytail,’ I said, and they all laughed.
‘I wish I had your curly bonce,’ said Jax, ruffling my curls. ‘You’re the dead spit of your mum, Jess. Where is she, anyway?’
‘She’s with Cam, in her study,’ I said.
‘Having a chinwag?’ asked Jax.
‘About me,’ said Jordan. ‘And, like I said, she won’t want me here, I just know it.’
CAM DID WANT Jordan once they’d had a private talk together. She managed to persuade Jordan to provide her social worker’s name and mobile number. After an hour or so she turned up. Jordan had told me she was awful, and called her Megan the Muppet, so I’d pictured her like Miss Piggy, with a round pink face, silly curls and a high-pitched voice. The real Megan was a pale woman with dark circles under her eyes and a quiet voice. ‘Oh, Jordan, we’ve been so worried about you,’ she said wearily.
‘Really?’ said Jordan. ‘So where were the search parties? And the newspaper interviews and the tearful appeals on the telly?’
‘We can’t go to the press every single time a teenager in care goes missing.’
‘Yeah, because no one cares about children in care,’ Jordan said, working herself up. ‘I bet if Jess here went missing Tracy would create a huge fuss and there’d be posters of her everywhere and she’d be on the front page of every tabloid.’
‘Yes, good point – but we’re here because we care,’ said Mum. ‘Now there’s no point in you having a total meltdown. You’re here to prove to Megan that you’ll sort yourself out living with Cam, just like I did, and that you won’t run away again.’
‘Is that OK?’ said Cam.
‘No offence, and I do want to stay with you, but only until Tracy gets herself approved as a foster carer. Then I want to be with her, and Jess and Flo and Peter and Alfie,’ said Jordan.
Megan blinked. ‘Are they more children?’ she asked uncertainly.
Jordan sighed theatrically. ‘See, I told you she was thick,’ she murmured.
‘Hey, attitude!
That’s not going to help your case,’ said Mum. ‘And I know that from experience.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m used to Jordan. She can be a very fierce young lady,’ said Megan. ‘I know she doesn’t really mean it, she’s just upset. I do understand, truly. But we can’t let every young person in care decide for themselves where they’re going to live. We have to make that decision, finding the most suitable placement. It’s all been fixed.’
‘Then unfix it,’ said Jordan. ‘I’m not going to no residential home in Manchester, and you can’t make me. I’ll run away again even if they handcuff me to the wall.’
‘It’s not a medieval prison, Jordan,’ Megan sighed.
‘I imagine it’s pretty expensive keeping a child there,’ said Peter. ‘More than living here in a family situation, where Jordan has a better chance of flourishing.’
‘And you are … Ms Beaker’s partner?’ Megan asked.
‘Are you, Peter?’ Cam asked with interest.
‘I am a friend of long standing,’ he said. ‘And a head teacher with a wide experience of dealing with foster children. I see how they flourish in the right circumstances. As I know from experience. Ms Beaker and I were in the same care home when we were children. Then we were both successfully fostered.’
‘Cam brought me up from when I was ten,’ Mum said. ‘And I was just as much of a handful as Jordan. More so in fact. Cam can vouch for that. But she stuck it out, and now she’s more of a mum to me than my real mum.’
‘And she’s like my granny,’ I said. ‘Only better, because she’s my friend too.’
Cam went pink and ducked her head. Mary looked at her proudly. ‘I can vouch for that,’ she said.
‘And you are …?’ Megan asked, confused.
‘I’m Mary Oliver, Cam’s partner. I was also Jess’s teacher when she was at primary school here,’ Mary explained.
‘So we’re all old friends,’ said Mum.
‘And … was it Alfie?’ Megan went on.
Alfie pricked up his ears at the sound of his name and came trotting forward eagerly.
We Are the Beaker Girls Page 18