I got up and went into the kitchen, feeling shy and stupid. Micky was making a cup of coffee, wearing his black clothes, looking fresh and washed though his cheeks were shadowy with stubble. Star was sitting on the table sipping a glass of water and swinging her bare legs. They were deep in conversation but they both stopped when I appeared.
‘I want a drink of water,’ I said, like a stupid toddler.
‘Sure,’ said Micky, pouring me one. ‘Now, Star and I were just discussing breakfast.’
‘We have cornflakes. But there isn’t any milk,’ I said.
‘I can go round to the corner shop,’ said Star. ‘I think it opens early on Saturdays.’
‘You can’t go out and do the shopping,’ said Micky fondly.
He looked as if he thought she was too little to shop. I wanted to tell him that Star had done the shopping ever since I could remember. She was much better at it than Marigold. I opened my mouth but Star glared at me. She obviously liked him thinking she was just a dumb little kid.
‘I thought we’d go out for breakfast,’ said Micky.
We blinked at him. You could go out for lunch, out for dinner. We’d never thought about going out for breakfast before.
‘Where?’ I said. Then I suddenly got hopeful. ‘How about McDonald’s?’
‘We don’t want burgers, we want breakfast!’ said Micky. ‘I know exactly where we’ll go. You two girls get your glad rags on. I’ll try and wake your mum. She was out for the count when I last looked.’
We got ready in no time. Star didn’t bother with make-up. She wore her black jeans – to be like him – and she tied a black velvet ribbon round her neck.
‘That looks stupid,’ I said grumpily. The black on her white skin looked beautiful.
I wore my own black embroidered top and a black and white checked skirt that Marigold made me from a 50p remnant. She’d embroidered black and white yin and yang signs in some of the squares but she’d got fed up before she’d sewn it up properly and so I had to safety pin it together. I wanted a black velvet ribbon necklace to set off my outfit too but I couldn’t copy Star.
We’d woken Marigold together. She said, ‘Micky?’ even before her eyes were open.
‘He’s still here. He wants to take us out for breakfast,’ Star said proudly.
‘Great,’ said Marigold, swinging her legs out of bed. She staggered as she got up. ‘Oh God,’ she said, clutching her head. ‘I feel like death.’
She was a long time showering and dressing and putting on her make-up. When she came into the kitchen at last her face was sickly white, her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair hung limply, straggling about her ears. Her cross tattoo still wasn’t healing properly, and looked raw and scabby. She wore the skimpy sequin top and short skirt she’d had on yesterday. It didn’t look right in the morning light.
I looked at her worriedly. Up until that moment I’d always believed Marigold was beautiful. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Micky was looking at her too, a little crease in his forehead.
‘OK, sweetheart?’
I tried to feel relieved. Sweetheart. He must really care about her then. Although he said it in a casual offhand way, as if it was what he called all his girls.
‘Right, Star,’ he said, putting his arm lightly round her shoulders.
He said her name specially, as if a real little star sparkled on his lips.
He had his car outside, a red Jaguar XJ6. Star squealed when she saw it.
‘Oh wow,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been in a Jaguar before.’
‘Sit in the front with me,’ said Micky.
Star glanced at Marigold. She nodded and put on her dark glasses.
‘Yes, sit beside your dad,’ she said.
Micky chuckled.
‘I can’t hear that enough times. Dad! It’s so weird too, because this last year or so I’ve been very conscious of time passing—’
‘Like a crossroads!’ Marigold said triumphantly, climbing in the car, showing a great deal of her decorated legs. ‘Oh Micky, we’re soulmates! That’s why I had to get the cross. Hey, maybe I’ll get Steve to add your name and mine, at the back of the cross? Or maybe in a swirly pattern, joined at each end?’
‘Whatever,’ said Micky. ‘No, what I was meaning, I’d got to thinking how much I’d like to have a kid, seriously wondering about it, though the idea of little puking babies kind of put me off. And now I can’t believe my luck! A beautiful ready-made daughter, the sweetest surprise of my life.’
Star giggled as he helped her fix her seat back. She peered over her shoulder and mouthed, ‘See!’
I saw all sorts of things that day. It stopped me enjoying what should have been the most special day of my life because we had so many treats. Micky drove us right to London and we had breakfast in a posh hotel. We had croissants and coffee and this most amazing fizzy drink that was partly orange juice and partly real champagne. I wondered if I was going to get drunk. Star seemed slightly sloshed before she’d had a single sip. She sat close beside Micky and he kept fussing over her food, opening up her little pot of jam and spreading her butter for her.
I spread my own croissant and ate it awkwardly, smearing greasy crumbs all down my black velvet skirt. The bubbles in the Bucks Fizz took me by surprise and I coughed and spluttered. Marigold reached over to thump me on the back and knocked her own coffee over in the process. Star and Micky looked as if they wished they were on their own.
We went to Hamley’s in Oxford Street afterwards, a special huge toy shop. Micky took us to look at the dolls though even he could see that Star was past that stage. I knew I should be too old for dolls too but I ached with longing as I looked at all the specially designed dolls locked away in glass cases. They had beautiful gentle faces and long long long hair. My fingers itched to comb it. They had wonderful romantic outfits too, hand-sewn smocked dresses and ruched pinafores and perfect little leather boots.
I leaned my forehead on the cold glass and stared at them all, making up names for each one and inventing their personalities. They all reached out for me with their long white fingers. They looked so real I was sure they couldn’t be cold and stiff to touch. I chose the one I liked the very best. She had long blonde curls and blue eyes and a dress and pinafore outfit the pink and blue of hyacinths, with pink silky socks and blue shoes fastened with little pearl buttons. I called her Natasha and knew she and I could be best friends for ever . . .
‘Come on, Dol,’ Star said, tugging at my elbow.
When she finally managed to prise me away I left a little blur on the glass where I’d breathed in and out so longingly. Marigold was rushing round all the Barbies, talking in a high-pitched over-excited way, like she was a little girl herself. She was worse down in the toy animal department, picking up bears and lions and monkeys and making them growl and roar and gibber. I got scared one of the assistants would come over and tell us off. I knew Star was tense too, forever glancing at Micky. He seemed surprised but was quite cool about it. He even did a spot of animal talking himself, making a big gorilla lunge at Star so that she squealed. I hung back, thinking of Natasha upstairs.
‘Dol! Say thank you to Micky,’ Marigold said, nudging me.
I hadn’t take it in properly. Micky wanted to buy all three of us a toy animal. He tried to talk Star into having the huge gorilla but she laughed and said he was too scary. She chose a honey-coloured teddy bear with a slightly squashed snout and velvet padded paws. Marigold made a much bigger production over her animal, juggling with hippos and pandas and an enormous plush python, but she eventually chose an orange stripy tiger with great green eyes.
‘It looks exactly like you, Marigold,’ said Micky. He turned to me. ‘You must choose too, Dolphin. How about a dolphin?’
There were big fat turquoise dolphins with black faces and white zig-zag teeth. I didn’t like them at all but I felt it might be rude to say so. I was desperate to get Star on her own to see if I could ask for Natasha instead. I knew she’d cost a lot
more than a dolphin but Micky obviously had lots of money, and he’d been prepared to buy Star the gorilla which was nearly two hundred pounds. But Star was his daughter. And she’d eventually chosen a much cheaper teddy.
I didn’t dare ask outright for Natasha.
‘It’s hard to choose. They’re all lovely. And the dolls are lovely too,’ I added, hinting heavily. But no-one was really listening to me.
I ended up with a dolphin. It swam around in its Hamley’s plastic bag, bumping into my legs at every step, snapping at me with its sinister teeth. Marigold carried her tiger ostentatiously over her shoulder so that people stared at her more than ever. Star held her teddy lightly in the crook of her arm. She had a long conversation with Micky about teddy bears. He had had one special teddy throughout his childhood.
‘I’ve always wanted a special one too,’ said Star. ‘And now I’ve got him.’
I made a vomit noise. Star and Micky ignored me. Marigold was whiter than white, looking like she might do some real vomiting. She talked non-stop. Micky would nod or comment every now and then but he barely looked at her.
We had lunch in Planet Hollywood and we got three T-shirts and then we went to the Trocadero and went all round Sega World. I tried counting up in my head how much all this was costing. Maybe Micky was a millionaire?
We went for a walk round Soho afterwards. Star and I had a giggle at the sex shops. Then we went to Chinatown and Micky bought us embroidered Chinese slippers, black for me, green for Marigold, and ruby red for Star.
We were still very full with lunch but we stopped for cakes in a French teashop. Marigold didn’t order a cake. She had a lemon tea. She kept sipping and sipping it. Maybe she was thirsty because she’d been doing so much talking. I chose a big creamy cake with pink marzipan icing. It was beautiful but I felt embarrassed in case Micky thought I was greedy. He and Star chose strawberry tarts. Star didn’t eat her pastry. She just pecked out the big strawberries and relished them, licking them clean of cream and delicately nibbling the red flesh.
Micky watched her with amusement.
‘Don’t mess around with your cake like that, Star. Eat it up properly,’ said Marigold.
‘Let her eat it how she wants. She’s enjoying herself,’ said Micky.
‘You can say that again,’ said Star. ‘This is the best day of my life. I don’t want it to ever end.’
There was a funfair in Leicester Square with one of those mad machines where they strap you in and whirl you round and round.
‘Hey, let’s have a go!’ Marigold yelled.
Micky looked at Star. She pulled a face.
‘Hang on, Marigold. The kids will be sick straight after eating those cakes.’
‘Oh come on! You come with me, Micky,’ said Marigold. ‘Do let’s, darling. The girls will wave at us, right? Come on, let’s have some fun!’
Marigold looked as if she was being whirled round right where she was. Her hair stood out, her eyes glittered, her whole body jumped and twitched. She grabbed Micky’s arm, trying to pull him.
‘I hate those things, babe,’ said Micky. ‘And we can’t leave the girls standing by themselves, there are all sorts of crazy characters round here. Hey, why don’t we all go on the roundabout?’
‘Oh yes, I love roundabouts,’ said Star.
‘So do I,’ I said, though no-one was listening to me.
I pretended Natasha had kicked her way out of her glass cage with her little blue boots and had run all the way down Regent Street to find me.
‘Yes, we love roundabouts, don’t we, Dol?’ she said, and she put her little hand in mine and jumped up and down, her silky curls flying out round her face.
Marigold was getting in a state and I didn’t want to see so I swept Natasha up into my arms and told her that she could come and live with me. I’d undress her and wrap her in my special silk scarf each night and we’d cuddle up in my bed and tell each other secrets and then we’d go to school together each day and all the other girls would want to be Natasha’s friend but she wouldn’t talk to anyone but me. Well, she might say hi to Owly but absolutely no-one else. We’d be work partners and she’d be brilliant at lessons and do all the writing for me and we’d come top all the time . . .
‘For God’s sake, Marigold,’ said Micky, and he shook himself free from her clutching hand.
She stood for a moment, her hand empty. Then she started laughing.
‘Well, I’m going to have fun,’ she said, and she dashed off to the whirly machine herself.
Micky looked at Star.
‘Is she often like this?’ he said.
Star hesitated. ‘She’s OK,’ she said eventually. ‘Can we go on the roundabout?’
I chose a black horse with red nostrils and a purple saddle. I sat behind the twisted gold rail so that Natasha could sit in the front. Star chose a white horse with a scarlet saddle. She sat at the front. Micky got up behind her. I watched them and felt giddy even though the roundabout hadn’t started. I looked across the square for Marigold. She was sitting up on the machine, showing a lot of her legs, still clutching her tiger. There were lots of other people strapped in too but the seats either side of her were empty.
The roundabout started. Each time it twirled me past the machine I craned my neck to spot her. It had started hurtling violently backwards and forwards and round and round. Everyone was screaming. Marigold’s mouth was a huge O as she screamed louder than anyone.
I gripped the barley-sugar rail until my hands hurt. The roundabout slowed down but Micky paid for us to have two more turns. He and Star were talking all the time. It was as if their white horse had galloped off the roundabout and carried them far away.
I tried to talk to Natasha but I couldn’t make it work any more. I was on a horse by myself and it was getting dark and the day was about to end and I didn’t know what was going to happen and I was scared.
Marigold was much more scared than me. She was shaking all over when she stepped off that stupid machine. Micky had to put his arm round her to support her. She leant back against him, nuzzling into his neck.
‘Come on, I think it’s time we went home,’ said Micky.
‘Your home?’ said Marigold.
‘No, not mine,’ said Micky. ‘You know I live in Brighton now.’
‘Our home,’ said Marigold. ‘Never mind. Just so long as we’re together. Oh, Micky, I can’t believe we’ve found each other again. And we’re going to have fun fun fun fun.’
1 don’t know who she was kidding. Maybe not even herself. She chatted and sang and bounced around all the way home, but she sounded desperate. Micky waited to announce the obvious until he’d drawn up outside our house. He made sure we were out of the car.
‘I have to go back now. But it’s been a truly great day and I’ll come again really soon.’
He gave me a little squeeze on the shoulder, he gave Star a shy kiss on the cheek, and then paused helplessly in front of Marigold. She’d started to cry.
‘No tears, babe. I’ll be back soon, I promise,’ he said, giving her a kiss on her cheek as if she was a child like us.
Then he jumped back in his car and drove off. I looked at Star. She watched the car until it was out of sight. She went on watching, as if she could still see it. She wasn’t crying like Marigold. Her face was carefully expressionless but her eyes were shining.
Micky sent presents every day. Not just for Star. For me too – and Marigold. Some were funny little presents, like a dainty flowery hankie for Star and me and a great big giant red and white spotted hankie for Marigold to mop up all her tears. Some were practical. He sent a mobile phone because he knew our own phone had been cut off. Some were expensive, necklaces in little black velvet drawstring bags. I had a little silver dolphin on a silver chain. I wished I didn’t always get stuck with dolphins. Marigold had a big droplet of amber almost the exact orange of her hair. Star had a round black shiny stone that gleamed like a star whenever it caught the light. It hung on a narrow black velvet ri
bbon.
‘Black onyx,’ said Marigold.
‘No. It’s a star sapphire,’ said Star, saying the name as if it was holy.
‘It’s not. Sapphires are blue, everyone knows that,’ I said.
‘Star sapphires are different. They’re black and they look like they’ve got a star trapped inside. Micky told me,’ said Star.
She seemed to have managed to do a lot of talking with Micky. She sometimes sneaked the mobile phone into her schoolbag before Marigold was up. She certainly didn’t seem surprised at the present that arrived early on Saturday morning. It was two children’s tickets to Brighton and back, dated that day.
‘What are they?’ I said stupidly.
‘Oh Dol, wake up. Come on. let’s hurry. Pack your nightie, we’re staying overnight. Ugh, on second thoughts, don’t, it’s way too gungy. You’d better just sleep in your knickers. Now, toothbrush, hairbrush, clean underwear . . .’ Star’s things were all to hand, suspiciously spick and span. She’d known about this all right.
‘Isn’t there another ticket?’ I asked, looking in the envelope.
‘They’re both here, with Micky’s note,’ said Star.
‘No, I mean a third ticket. For Marigold.’
‘For me?’ said Marigold, stumbling into our bedroom.
She looked pretty hopeless. She’d been drinking a lot since last Saturday, and talking non-stop about Micky. Talking non-stop to him too, whenever she could grab the phone away from Star.
Star shook her head. Marigold went white and ran to the bathroom. We heard her being sick.
‘She’s upset,’ I said.
‘She’s drunk too much,’ said Star. ‘Please hurry up, Dol. It’ll be much easier if we go now. We can phone Micky from Victoria to say which train we’re getting and he’ll meet us.’
‘We can’t just leave her!’
‘We can. She leaves us,’ said Star.
This was true enough. But it still seemed too terrible a thing to do to her.
She looked worse then ever when she came out the bathroom at last. She was shivering in her petticoat, holding her own arms tight. She looked at the things Star was quickly stuffing in her shoulder bag.
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