She was staring at me as if I was talking a foreign language.
‘Do you have a sister?’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll lend you one of mine if you like! I’ve got three.’
She took me seriously and shook her head, her little plaits bobbing on her shoulders. They were pulled so tight they looked like they might give her a headache. I could see a little blue vein throbbing on her forehead.
‘Here,’ I said, reaching right over the gate to untie a plait for her.
She stepped backwards, fending me off. ‘No! Don’t! You mustn’t!’
‘I’m only going to loosen your plaits and make them comfier for you.’
‘No! Please don’t. I’m not allowed to untie them,’ she said.
‘OK. Sorry. You’ve got very pretty hair. I wish mine was really blonde, not mouse. Rochelle’s got blonde hair too. She’s the sister next to me. I’m the youngest so far. Until my brother gets born. Have you got any brothers?’
‘There’s only me.’
‘That must be so peaceful! And you get brand-new toys and clothes and never have to take turns. You can have a go on your swing whenever you want.’
I waited hopefully, wishing she’d invite me to have a swing. She didn’t take the hint.
I sighed, leaning further over the gate, though it was starting to cut into my chest. ‘We’re always arguing, us four. Soon we’ll be five. Like I said, my mum’s having a baby. She says he’s going to be called Sundance but maybe she’ll change her mind.’
‘Is Sundance a real name?’
‘Well, it’s weird, isn’t it? We’ve all got funny names. Not like Mary. That’s a nice sensible name.’
‘It’s a holy name. Jesus’ mother was called Mary. She was very very holy and good. But I’m not.’ Mary hugged her chest. There were goose pimples on her little white stick arms.
‘You’re cold. Here, put my cardie on.’
I fiddled with the latch on the gate, and suddenly it swung open. ‘There!’ I said, marching in.
Mary looked very worried.
‘It’s OK. I’m not going to do anything. I won’t even have a swing, not if you don’t want me to. I just want to warm you up with my cardie.’
Mary hunched her elbows against her sides so I couldn’t get her arms in the sleeves.
‘Go on, I’m ever so warm.’
‘I’m not allowed,’ said Mary.
‘Yes you are. I’m not giving you my cardie, it’s just to warm you up a bit.’
Mary let her arms grow limp. I draped the cardigan round her.
‘There! It’s a lovely blue, isn’t it? It’s gone a bit bobbly now but it’s still beautiful. My dad bought it for me. Do you have a dad, Mary?’
‘Yes, but he drives a coach so he’s not home much,’ said Mary. ‘I wish he was home all the time.’
‘Never mind. I don’t get to see my dad much at all. He doesn’t live with us, see. But it’s OK, not having a dad around, just so long as you’ve got your mum.’
Mary stayed very still. She shivered, even though she was smothered in my cardigan.
I looked over at the swing. I took a step towards it. Mary looked more and more worried.
‘It’s OK, Mary. I just want to play.’
‘I’m not really allowed to have someone in to play,’ she said. ‘Mummy might be cross.’
‘Ah. Is she in a bit of a mood, then?’
Mary nodded.
‘Well, look, can I just have one teeny swing? Is that all right? You don’t mind?’
Mary looked as if she minded very much but she didn’t try to stop me. I sat on the white padded seat and kicked my legs. I soared upwards. It was just as good as I’d imagined.
‘Wheeee!’ I sang.
‘Shh! She’ll hear,’ said Mary.
‘OK, OK. Just one little swing more, then I’ll go, I promise,’ I whispered.
I held the ropes and thrust my feet forwards, flinging back my head until I felt wonderfully dizzy. I felt as if I was flying right over the garden and the red pointy roof. Bluebell flew with me, high into the sky.
Then I saw Mary hunched under my blue cardie. ‘OK, it’s all right, you can have a go now,’ I said, jumping off. I staggered. ‘Hey, look at me, I’m drunk!’ I reeled around, putting it on now.
Mary stared but then started giggling.
‘You play at being drunk too, Mary. Pretend to fall over!’
She squatted down obediently but was careful not to crumple her clothes. ‘Daddy got drunk once,’ she said.
‘My mum sometimes gets drunk. She gets ever so funny and giggly. But she doesn’t drink now, because of the baby. I suppose I’d better go now. I’m helping her get the house sorted. She can’t do much because she’s so big. Thank you for letting me have a swing.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘I’ll have to take my cardie back now. Did it warm you up?’
‘Yes.’
‘There, I knew it would! Can I can come and play again?’
‘Well. I suppose. If Mummy doesn’t find out.’
‘What’s up with your mum then? Is she often in a bad mood?’
Mary blinked. Then she took a deep breath. ‘No, she’s a lovely mummy. She’s the loveliest kindest nicest mummy in the whole world.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Well, bye, Mary.’ I made Bluebell give Mary’s nose a very gentle peck. ‘That’s the way budgies say goodbye,’ I said.
Mary giggled. ‘You are funny, Dixie.’
I pulled a silly face at her and staggered out of her garden, pretending to be drunk again. Then I dashed back across the alleyway, leaped up and over the wall at the very first go, and went back through the jungle.
‘My mum’s the loveliest, kindest and nicest,’ I said to Bluebell. ‘And my dad.’
I pretended that Martine and Rochelle and even Jude didn’t exist. I lived in a beautiful black and white house with a garden and a swing with my mum and my dad and my real budgie Bluebell. I had my very own bedroom with a sky-blue ceiling and a rainbow round each wall. The carpet was green as grass with an indoor swing so I could soar backwards and forwards across my room.
Mum and Dad loved each other for ever and they loved me too. They said they didn’t want to risk having any more children, girls or boys, because they could never never never love them as much as me. Dad still worked in a funeral home, and maybe Mum worked there too, carefully dressing all the dead people and powdering their faces and combing their hair. Each night, if there were any lilies left over from Uncle Bruce’s wreaths Mum would plait them into her long black hair and look like a flowery princess.
6
MUM DIDN’T LOOK like a princess when I went back indoors. She was scrubbing away at the toilet upstairs, sitting on the floor with her legs stuck out comically either side of the loo.
‘Hey, babe,’ she said. ‘What have you been up to, eh?’
‘I’ve been in the garden. And I’ve made friends with a little girl over the way.’
‘That’s nice, darling. OK, are you going to help your old mum?’
‘Yep.’ I rolled up my cardie sleeves and started trying to clean the basin. The taps were stiff with black grime that wouldn’t come off.
‘Try using an old toothbrush,’ said Mum. ‘There’s some bathroom stuff in that cardboard box.’
I couldn’t find any really old toothbrushes. Rochelle’s pink toothbrush was a bit bristly.
‘Rochelle will kill you,’ said Mum, when I started scrubbing. ‘So what’s your new friend called?’
‘Mary. She’s very shy. But we played a bit. I think she likes me.’
‘Is she about your age? You could go to school with her.’
‘I don’t want to go to school, Mum. I want to stay home and help you. I could look after the baby when he comes.’
‘You need your education, pet.’
We heard Jude shouting outside. Boys were shouting too. There was a lot of swearing, mostly from Jude.
Mum sighed. ‘It looks like living here is going to be an education in itself. Help me up, Dixie. I don’t know what’s up with Jude but she’s effing and blinding fit to show us all up.’
I ran down the stairs in front of Mum. Martine had to catch hold of me as I ran for the door.
‘Hang on, Dixie, there’s a whole gang out there. It’s not safe.’
‘Jude’s there,’ I said, dodging past Martine.
There were six boys out in the street by the van. Four had hoodie jackets, the hoods pulled over their baseball caps so they looked like fierce birds with beaks. There was one big fat guy with a very rude phrase scribbled across his enormous sweatshirt. The last boy had dark curly hair and a black scarf and an earring, a bit like a pirate. He was standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head at Jude, looking pitying. Jude was swearing away at him, not seeming to notice she was outnumbered. These weren’t boys like the kids at Bletchworth. They were older, and much scarier.
Rochelle was standing beside Jude. She looked angry too, her cheeks bright pink, her eyes glittering. ‘Will you just bog off!’ she yelled. She wasn’t yelling at the boys. She was yelling at Jude.
‘Yeah, push off, big sister,’ said Pirate Boy.
‘OK, when you’ve stopped hitting on my little sister. Do you know how old she is? Twelve!’
‘Shut up, Jude! I’m very nearly thirteen.’
‘And very well developed too, darling,’ said Big Fat Guy.
‘You talk to her like that and I’ll punch you straight in your fat chops,’ said Jude.
He said worse. Some very rude things about Rochelle and Jude. Her fist clenched and she punched him right on the chin. He shook his head, looking dazed.
‘Right, she’s asked for it,’ said one of the Hoodies. ‘Let’s teach the stroppy little cow a lesson.’
Two of his mates seized Jude by the shoulders and slammed her up against Bruce’s van. Jude lifted her leg and tried to kick them, but the others caught her. The first Hoodie stepped forward, grinning.
‘Leave her be, she’s only a silly little kid,’ said Pirate Boy.
Jude unwisely said something very rude and insulting back. Then she spat in the Hoodie’s face. He clenched his fists. I screamed and started running, but someone pushed me out the way. This person elbowed his way through the boys. The biggest Hoodie lunged at him but he blocked the punch with an arm that seemed made of wood. Then he used this bionic arm to strike sideways at his ribs. The Hoodie fell to his knees, gasping.
‘Now clear off!’ he shouted. ‘Leave these girls alone!’
They went running for it.
I stared at this amazing Superman. It was Bruce!
‘Wow, Uncle Bruce, you were simply brilliant! That was just like a cartoon fight, wham-bam-bash! And it was you doing all the bashing! You saved Jude from getting beaten up.’
‘I didn’t need saving,’ said Jude sourly, sucking her fist. Her knuckles were bright red from punching the Big Fat Guy.
‘Let’s see that hand,’ said Bruce.
‘It’s fine,’ said Jude. ‘Just keep your nose out of things, right?’
‘You keep your bogging nose out of things, you stupid interfering pig!’ Rochelle yelled. ‘How dare you come charging up acting like a total idiot! You can’t tell me who I can talk to!’
‘He obviously wants to do a lot more than talk, idiot. He’s way too old for you. And he looks a complete plonker too. What does he think he is, an extra in Pirates of the Caribbean?’
‘I think he’s really cool,’ said Rochelle. ‘And I think he liked me, until you mucked it up telling him how old I am.’
‘Yeah, twelve – but you’ve got the brains of a six-year-old,’ said Jude, poking Rochelle.
‘Don’t you dare start hitting me!’ said Rochelle, pushing Jude.
‘Someone needs to slap some sense into you! Can’t you see what those boys are like?’
‘You’re just jealous because they were chatting to me, not you,’ said Rochelle. ‘You can’t stick it if someone fancies me, Jude Diamond.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, stop being so idiotic!’ said Jude, shoving her in exasperation.
Rochelle was wearing her best red suede high heels. She found it hard to balance on them at the best of times. She tottered backwards and ended up on her bottom with her legs in the air.
Pirate Boy was still lurking at the end of Mercury Street. He was looking back over his shoulder. Rochelle went as red as her shoes. She swore furiously, staggered upright and flew at Jude, trying to scratch her face with her long fingernails.
‘Hey, hey, cut it out, girls!’ Bruce cried.
They both told him to mind his own bogging business and carried on fighting. Jude could normally floor Rochelle in seconds but now Rochelle was so angry she was almost a match for her. I screamed, begging them to stop. Martine pocketed her phone and tried to wade between them. Jude accidentally punched her on the shoulder. Martine whipped off her shoe and started trying to whack them both about the head.
‘Stop it! Please stop it, you crazy girls!’ Bruce shouted hoarsely.
‘This will put a stop to it,’ Mum gasped, waddling up to us with a brimming bucket.
Suddenly we were all drenched in soapy water, screaming, sobbing, soaking wet.
‘My cardie’s all wet! And Bluebell!’ I wailed.
‘How dare you, Mum!’ Martine said furiously.
‘If you’re all going to act like little wildcats you’ll get treated like them,’ Mum retorted.
‘I wasn’t fighting, I was trying to stop them. Look, my mobile’s soaked! I’ll kill you if you’ve ruined it!’
‘My best suede shoes! They’re sodden! You’ve spoiled them. You’ve all utterly humiliated me. I hate you all!’ Rochelle screamed.
‘Shut up, you stupid little show-off, you’re the one that started all this,’ said Jude. Her wet hair stuck flat to her head so she looked like a seal. She felt her face and looked at the smear of blood on her fingers. ‘You’ve clawed me, you little cat!’
She gave Rochelle another push. Rochelle retaliated by trying to scratch her again.
‘Mum, Mum, stop them!’ I shrieked, shaking my wet hair out of my eyes.
Mum didn’t seem to be listening to any of us. She let the empty bucket fall to the ground with a clank. She put her hands on her stomach. Her face screwed up.
‘Oh no!’ said Bruce. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No I’m not bloody all right,’ Mum muttered. She made little whimpering noises, her eyes screwed up.
‘Oh Gawd, it’s not the baby, is it?’ Bruce asked.
Mum nodded, bending right over. Water trickled down her legs, as if she’d wet herself.
Bruce took two steps backwards, greasy-white with shock. Martine stopped wiping her mobile and stared at Mum. Jude started biting her thumb, one cheek still bleeding. Rochelle stopped shrieking and stood still, patting her damp hair into place.
‘It’s not due yet, Mum,’ said Martine.
‘Can’t help that,’ Mum said, breathing out weirdly, blowing whoo-whoo-whoo.
‘Stop it, Mum, you can’t be actually having it!’ said Rochelle. ‘It must be indigestion or something.’
‘Indigestion, my bottom,’ Mum gasped, though she used another ruder word. ‘My waters have broken. I’m having the baby now!’
‘Oh God, oh God, what are we going to do?’ Rochelle said, staggering around on her silly suede heels. ‘How can you have a baby here?’
‘We’ll need the bedding out of the van. And we’ve got the kettle. We need lots of hot water,’ said Bruce.
‘What for?’ said Jude.
‘I don’t know. That’s what they always do in movies – get clean linen and hot water,’ said Bruce.
‘I’m not in some stupid old cowboy film, you berk. I’m having my son in hospital. I’m not booked in anywhere yet but they can hardly turn me away when I’m about to give birth any minute,’ said Mum. She straightened up, breathing more slowly. ‘God! I’d
forgotten what it’s like. Right, I’d better dig out a nightie and my washing stuff. And make-up. And the little blue sleeping suit, the one with the tiny teddies, for his little lordship. And the big blue shawl. Go on, jump to it, girls, I haven’t got much time, judging by the strength of these contractions.’
Bruce was shifting from one leg to the other, still horrified. ‘You’re going to hospital, you said?’
‘Yes, of course I am. You’ll drive me there, won’t you? Because I’m not up to tottering off down the bus stop, matey.’
‘Yes, of course I’ll take you. But then I’ll have to get cracking. You’ll have to find someone else to look after the girls. I’m no use. They don’t do a thing I say.’
‘I do what you say, Uncle Bruce,’ I said.
‘One out of four isn’t that promising, Dixie,’ said Bruce, but he smiled at me. ‘Anyway, let’s get the rest of the furniture out the back of the van, girls, so your mum can stretch out properly. Or should we leave one of the beds so she can lie on that?’
‘Not my bed! I don’t want it getting all icky with blood and baby stuff,’ said Rochelle.
My three sisters went to sort out the back of the van with Bruce. I let out my own breath like I was having a baby myself.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ I whispered. ‘I think he might be staying. You can stop pretending now.’
‘Mm?’ said Mum, clutching her stomach again. ‘Oh Gawd, here it comes already. Tell them to get a move on, Dixie. My boy’s going to pop out here on the pavement at this rate.’
‘You mean you’re really having the baby now?’ I said, my heart starting to thump.