Fruit and Nutcase

by Jean Ure

Then the Social came and moved her, her and her mum, ‘cos they said their accommodation was sub-standard, meaning it was like ours, all damp and fungussy and falling to pieces, so now they’re on an estate and it’s miles away, miles and miles, and I never see her. But she was my friend.

  There isn’t anyone at school I would want to be friends with. They all think I’m a retard. Tracey Bigg said once that I ought to be in a special unit.

  Wait until I’ve had my book published! Then she’ll change her tune.

  That’ll show her!

  * Note from Cat’s mum: I’m afraid they do, but you’re quite right, I don’t like it.

  * Note from Cat’s mum: Libel?

  Sunday was one of the best days. We had a really good time on Sunday! A really good time. Mum and Dad didn’t quarrel once. It was one of those extra special days when just everything goes right.

  It started with me and Dad making Mum’s breakfast and Dad taking it in to her, all on a tray, all proper, with a tea towel and all.

  We did:

  Dad said, “Here you are, Moddom! Room service!” Mum sat up in bed in her nightie and went, “Ooh! A Sunday treat!”

  Dad said, “We’re spoiling you, ‘cos we love you. Don’t we, Mandy?”

  And then, guess what? He went out to the kitchen and came back with the frying pan, pretending to be Elvis!

  He sang Mum’s favourite, Love me Tender. It made them go all spoony, so I finished off the toast.

  After breakfast, we did the washing-up. Together! Me and Dad! Usually Dad won’t do the washing-up, he says it’s a woman’s job. This is because he never had to do it when he was a boy, and why Mum says he’s been spoilt. Nan is incredibly old-fashioned. It’s weird because she was around in the Swinging Sixties and so you would think she would be rather swinging herself, but she isn’t at all. It would be hard to imagine anyone less swinging than my nan!

  I think Grandy might have been a bit of a swinger, if Nan would have let him.

  But Nan keeps a tight rein. That is what Mum says.

  Mum says that if she didn’t, Grandy would most likely “break out”.

  But I don’t think he could run very far, at his age!

  After Dad and I had washed up, I came into my bedroom to do some more tape, leaving Dad in the kitchen surrounded by all his bits and pieces from the D.I.Y. He was going to fix the cabinet at last!

  I’d been in here for about ten minutes when there was a knock at the door and Dad peered round. He said, “How much?” I said, “How much for what?” Dad said, “For letting me have a listen! How much’ll it take?” I said, “Da-a-ad,” and threw one of my pillows at him.

  Dad said, “Oh, come on, Mand! None of that prissy missy stuff with me!”

  I told him it wasn’t prissy, it was PRIVATE. “Like a diary.”

  “You mean, you can’t be bought?” said Dad.

  I said, “No, I can’t!” and hurled my other pillow at him.

  “Spoilsport!” said Dad, as he chucked it back at me.

  The next minute I crept over to the door and heard the sound of a drill whizzing in the kitchen, so I knew he’d just been trying it on. All the same, I have found a safe place to keep this tape! This is where I’m keeping it.

  I don’t think Dad would ever do anything behind my back, but he is dead curious to know what I’m saying!

  By the time Mum got up to do the dinner, the kitchen cabinet was back on the wall. Mum was ever so pleased! She threw her arms round Dad’s neck and gave him the hugest kiss ever.

  Dad grinned and said, “Will I get one like that from you, Mandy, when I do your bedroom shelf? Or maybe you’ll let me have a listen to that tape, instead …”

  Dead curious!

  He didn’t get around to doing my shelf that afternoon as Mum’s friend Deirdre came over with her husband and her baby. The baby’s name is Felix. He is really sweet! He has the darlingest smile and these tiny little hands with an amazingly strong grip.

  Deirdre said I could hold him if I wanted, so I took him on a guided tour of the room, showing him things and giving them to him to hold, only most of the time he wanted to put them in his mouth!

  After we’d been all round the room, I sat with him on my lap, and then I said to Deirdre that I thought maybe his nappy needed changing – it was just this strange feeling that I had! – and so we went into the kitchen and I was right, he’d gone and pooped himself with all the excitement. I suppose to some people it might have seemed a bit yucky and pongy, but he’s only a teeny baby, after all, and it is quite natural, so that it didn’t bother me one little bit. I even helped Deirdre to change him! When we got back to the sitting-room she said to Mum, “Your Mandy is quite a little mother already.”

  Mum said, “Yes, I expect she’d like a brother or sister of her own, wouldn’t you, Mand?”

  Quickly, because someone has to be responsible in this family, I said, “Yes, but only when my book is published and I have made a lot of money and we can move into a proper house. I think we ought to wait until then, otherwise where would it sleep?”

  Everyone seemed to find this rather amusing, I can’t think why, but grown-ups do tend to laugh at the strangest things. Dad said, “Wait until you have a book published? Stone me! We’ll be waiting for ever! How do you expect to write a book when you don’t ever read any?”

  “My tapes,” I said. “They’re going to be one.”

  Dad said, “Oh! Your tapes.” And then to Deirdre and her husband, whose name is Garry, he said, “She’s making these top-secret tapes that I’m not allowed to listen to.”

  Garry said, “Quite right! How can she slag you off if she knows you’re going to be breathing down her neck?”

  I said, “I’m not slagging him off! I wouldn’t ever slag my dad off.” And then I looked at Felix, back in his mum’s arms, and I said, “I’m going to have six babies when I grow up.”

  Everybody laughed – again – except Dad, who said, “You’re a bit young to be thinking of that sort of thing.”

  “She can dream,” said Garry.

  “The only problem is,” I said, “finding the right man.”

  “That’s all our problems,” said Deirdre.

  “Boys are just so grungy,” I said.

  Later in the afternoon we all went down the road to the park, where there was a fair going on. Oliver and his mum were there. Oliver and me waved at each other as we passed. Oliver called out, “Hi, Mandy! I’m having fun!” When we’d gone on a bit Deirdre said, “Who was that strange little chap? He looked like a turnip!”

  I said, “That’s very unfair to turnips,” and everyone laughed, but afterwards I felt mean and wished I hadn’t said it. Everyone laughs at Oliver.

  Dad had seen a coconut shy. They had all these coconuts wearing politicians’ masks and Dad couldn’t wait to go and throw things at them! We were just making our way over there when Garry caught my arm and said, “Hey, look at that, Mand!” and pointed to where there was this notice announcing:

  Mum and Deirdre immediately wanted me to have a go, but I couldn’t think what I could do. (I didn’t know then that I could put on voices or maybe I’d have been the Queen or someone.)

  It was Dad who told me to sing a song. He said, “Go on! What about that one Grandy taught you? One about the dustman?” Garry said, “Yeah! Brilliant!” and he and Dad marched me over to the person that was in charge and got him to write my name down on a list and I just didn’t know how to get out of it. I thought perhaps Mum might tell Dad to stop being so daft—I mean me, singing!—but she seemed just as keen as he was. She kept saying, “Imagine if you won!”

  I was quite nervous when my turn came ‘cos lots of the other kids had been really good and nobody had sung a song like Grandy’s dustman song. But Deirdre said, “Sock it to ‘em, baby!” and Dad gave me a little push, and before I knew it I was out there, in front of everyone, and this man was introducing me as “Miss Mandy Small, who is going to sing for us.”

  This is the song that
I sang:

  And I did this clumping dance to go with it, which made everyone laugh.

  I’d never done the dance before. It just, like came to me all of a sudden, and so I did it.

  I don’t expect it’s the sort of song that Cat’s mum would approve of *but people clapped and clapped and guess what? I got third prize!!! It was a CD of Oasis, which was a pity in a way as we don’t have a CD player but Deirdre does, so I gave it to her to keep for me and she said I could go over and play it whenever I liked. So far I’ve played it about fifty times!

  After the talent competition Oliver came up to us with his mum and said he thought I should have won first prize, not third. He said he was going to tell everyone at school about it only of course he didn’t, did he? He forgot. And I couldn’t very well go round telling people myself, so Tracey Bigg never got to hear. I’d like to have seen the expression on her face if she’d seen me winning a prize!

  Anyway, Mum then decided she had to have a go at something so she went to this stall where you had to throw hoops over pegs ‘cos there was a teddy bear she was desperate for. She tried and tried, but she couldn’t get the hoops anywhere near, so in the end Dad said, “Let me have a go,” and he won it for her! A huge great big teddy bear! Mum wanted to give it to me, to make up for the CD that I’d had to give to Deirdre, but Dad wouldn’t let her. He said, “No way, Sand!” He sounded quite hurt about it. He said, “I got it for you.” So Mum kept it and now it sits on her pillow and she calls it Dumpling. I don’t mind about not having it. I’m too old for teddy bears!

  We stayed in the park till nearly eight o’clock. We ate burgers and fries and iced donuts, and Garry bought me candy floss, and I saw a girl from school and wondered if she’d heard me singing in the talent competition (which she obviously hadn’t or if she had she never mentioned it). Altogether it was a lovely, lovely day and one that I shall remember for ever. When I am old and grey like Nan I will still be telling my grandchildren about it, about me winning third prize and singing My Old Man’s a Dustman. And maybe I will croak my way through it and do the little dance and they will look at me and think, “Poor old Nan! She’s past it.” But I won’t care! ‘Cos I will still have the memory.

  When we got home, Deirdre and Garry came in for a cup of coffee and we all sat and watched the telly and I was allowed to stay up till almost midnight. This is something my nan thinks is terrible, a child being allowed to stay up. But Mum and Dad always let me, if anything exciting is going on. They don’t really mind what time I go to bed. Dad says, “She’s not stupid. She’ll go when she’s tired.” And I do, as a rule, but that night I was having too good a time!

  Deirdre wanted to see the floorboard before she left. She knew about it ‘cos of my black eye. She said, “You’d better show me. I don’t want to go falling through it.” But Dad told her it was all right, it was further along the landing, and anyway he’d roped it off.

  We all stood, gazing at the floorboard.

  “Oh, that’s really classy, that is,” said Garry.

  Poor Dad looked quite crestfallen!

  Next day was Monday. Ugh! I hate Mondays. Mondays mean school.

  It was the last week before the summer holidays and I begged and begged Mum to let me stay at home. I looked such a sight!

  How could I tell Miss Foster I’d fallen through a floorboard? I’d just be so embarrassed! She’d already heard about the kitchen cabinet falling on me and the banisters breaking. Miss Foster doesn’t understand about old houses. She lives in a modern flat. She doesn’t realise that old houses are always a bit crumbly.

  But anyway I had to go ‘cos Mum said it would be breaking the law if I didn’t and Mum’s dead scared of breaking the law. She said, “Nobody’s going to laugh at you.”

  Huh! That’s all she knew.

  Tracey Bigg laughed like a drain.

  Miss Foster said, “Dear me, Mandy! In the wars again? What happened this time?” I told her that I’d fallen down the stairs, and old Tracey, she pulls this face, as if to say, “She would!” and afterwards, when I go into the playground, she’s waiting for me with her gang and she’s made up another of her stupid rhymes.

  She needn’t think I care.

  I’ve been thinking what sort of house we’ll buy when my book is published and we have lots of money.

  It’s got to be a real house, not just rooms in someone else’s. And it’s got to have a garden, so that I can grow flowers.

  This is the sort of house I think we’ll have.

  And it won’t be in London! It will be somewhere nice, like Croydon. My Uncle Allan and Auntie Liz live in Croydon. They live in Linden Close, and it’s really beautiful.

  Uncle Allan is Dad’s brother. He has done well for himself, my nan says. He is a manager in Sainsbury’s, and that, I think, pays more money than being a window cleaner. But I bet my dad could be a manager in Sainsbury’s if he wanted! He just doesn’t want, that’s all.

  When we have our house it will be like Uncle Allan’s, in a nice road that is all quiet, with trees and grass. And it will have a name, such as Sky View or The Laurels or Mandalay. Mandalay, I think, is pretty. There is a house near us called Mandalay. When I was little I used to think it said Mandy!

  We will definitely have a house; it is the first thing we will get.

  Another thing we will have is a car. Everybody has a car. Even Deirdre and Garry have one, though it is what Dad calls a banger, meaning it is clapped out and you can hear it coming from streets away.

  We will have a better car than that! A little one because they are sweet, and also they would not use so much petrol.

  We are the only people I know who don’t have a car (apart from Misery Guts, but she is too old). It is all right for Tracey Bigg going on about the ecology and how cars are poisoning the planet, but her mum has a whacking great huge one which she comes and picks her up in after school. It is a real gas guzzler.

  Our little baby car will only need a tiny drop.

  Anyway, I can’t say I’ve ever noticed Tracey walking home to save the planet being poisoned. She jumps into the car quick enough. She’s all mouth, that girl is.

  I have made up a rhyme about her.

  Tracey Bigg goes “Wah-wah-wah”

  When she talks it’s all blah-blah

  She’s a stupid steaming nit

  Posho loudmouth bighead twit.

  If I knew how to spell it I’d chalk it up on one of the lavatory walls.

  I will know how to spell it when Cat’s mum has typed it out. Ho ho! You just watch it, Tracey Bigg!

  * Note from Cat’s mum: Nonsense! It’s great fun.

  Hi! It’s me again. Back on line, doing my life story. I’ve been working on it for ages, now. Ever since Cat first suggested it, which was way back months ago.

  I aim to finish it pretty soon. I asked Cat when she wanted it done by, and she said, “Well, just as soon as you can manage.” What she means is, I should get it all down before I go completely fruit and nutty.

  I will be fruit and nutty, before very long. Just as I think I’ve got my mum and dad sorted, they go and do something else totally mad and daft and irresponsible. It’s like they are both completely off the wall.

  I hoped after I fell through the floorboard we’d have a bit of peace and quiet in the Small household. I mean, the hot water heater had already blown up, so that couldn’t happen again. The floorboard had been roped off, and so had the banisters; I just couldn’t see what else there was that could go wrong. But trust my mum and dad! They’ll always find something.

  First thing that happens, Dad gets out of bed in the early hours of the morning and forgets about the floorboard and goes and treads on one of the nails he’s knocked in to stop people falling through. He doesn’t half yell!

  He yells so loud that even Mum wakes up. Her and me come rushing out, and a door opens somewhere down below and old Misery Guts starts shrieking up the stairs.

  Dad’s got this big hole in his foot and he’s in agony, d
ancing up and down. Mum bathes it for him but we haven’t got any Dettol, only household cleaner, and he won’t let her use that. I say what about if I go down to the garden and get some mud, ‘cos I’ve heard that if you put mud on to wounds it helps them heal, but he won’t let me do that, either.

  He bawls, “What’s your game? For crying out loud! I could lose my leg!”

  Misery Guts then joins in with “Mr-Small-do-you-mind-I-am-trying-to-get-some-sleep!” to which Dad shouts something a bit rude and goes limping back to bed, and I lie awake all the rest of the night wondering what we’d do if he really lost his leg and thinking that I’ve got to finish this book, quick, and get some money in case he can’t clean windows any more.

  So that’s the first crazy thing that happens. The second thing is that I meet Mum at Bunjy’s after school and she’s dead set on going off to buy some paint that will glow in the dark so’s we can paint the floorboard and Dad won’t be able to tread on it by mistake any more. So we get this paint, it’s bright yellow, and we go rushing home with it all happy, and we have a cup of tea and a bit of a watch of the telly, ‘cos there’s this programme Mum really likes called Carrot Tops (it’s for kids, really. But it is quite funny). Then Mum sends me down the road for some fish and chips while she gets on and paints the floorboard.

  When I come back Mum’s yanked out all Dad’s nails and the floorboard’s gleaming bright yellow like a fried egg yolk. It hits you the minute you get to the top of the stairs. It kind of YELLS at you.

  “Nobody could miss seeing that,” says Mum, proudly.

  But guess what?

  You’ve got it! Dad misses it.

  Actually, he goes and puts his foot right in it.