They shout and cry,
I wonder why
They moan and scream
While I dream.
I dream of peace
Where no one shouts,
No one tells lies
And no one cries.
I’m all alone
Where no one can moan,
No one can scream
In my land of dream.
Then I go right inside Wardrobe City, shut the doors so no one can hear me, and sing it. My voice is still a frog-croak so it doesn’t sound right – but inside my head I can hear just how it should be. I clasp my arms round myself, thrilled. Claudia is shouting for me but I don’t feel like answering her just yet. Then she starts hammering on the door, trying to wrench the city walls open.
‘Go away, Claudia,’ I say furiously.
‘Well, come out. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought you were lost. You’re too old to play ridiculous tricks like this.’
‘First I’m too young, then I’m too old,’ I say, emerging sulkily.
‘Whatever have you got in there?’ Claudia asks, flinging the doors wide.
‘Stop it, it’s private.’
‘Why have you got your doll’s house inside your wardrobe with all the rest of that junk?’ Claudia asks.
‘It’s not junk – how dare you! Look, it’s my wardrobe. I can put what I like inside it,’ I say.
‘I give up. You’re the three weirdest children I’ve ever come across. I’m at the end of my tether!’ Claudia says. ‘Now get into bed, Sunset.’
‘But it’s nowhere near my bed time yet!’
‘I don’t care. Get undressed, clean your teeth and go to bed this instant. I’m sick of the lot of you.’
‘Are you going to hand in your notice?’
‘Yes I am!’
I don’t know whether to beg her to stay or not. I don’t really like her – but some of the nannies we’ve had have been much worse.
‘Do you hate us, Claudia?’ I ask.
‘What? No, of course I don’t hate you, Sunset! Don’t look like that!’
I jump and put my hand up quickly. ‘Was I showing my teeth?’
‘No! There’s nothing wrong with your teeth. Or you. Or Sweetie or Ace. It’s not your fault.’
‘Is it Mum and Dad’s fault?’
Claudia hesitates. ‘I shouldn’t discuss your parents with you.’
‘Oh, go on. I won’t tell. And if you’re leaving, what does it matter anyway?’
‘Well – they’re pretty impossible to work for. They don’t act like normal human beings at all. All this arguing! They don’t even try to lower their voices. They seem to think they can do anything they want, just because they’re so-called celebrities. They throw tantrums just like little children.’
‘Well, you’re the nanny. Maybe you should put them on the naughty step and not let them have any supper.’
Claudia stares at me, and then bursts out laughing. ‘You’re a funny girl, Sunset. I shall miss you.’
‘So you really really really are leaving?’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. Now, I’d better go and check on the other two. You don’t have to go to bed just yet, Sunset. Go back in your wardrobe if you want to!’ She squeezes my shoulder and goes to the door.
‘Claudia?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Claudia, if – if Mum and Dad split up—’
‘Oh, darling, I don’t think they’ll do that. I know they quarrel dreadfully but I’m sure that’s just their way.’
Claudia doesn’t know about the girl texting Dad.
‘Yes, but if they do – what will happen to us? Will we live with Mum or Dad?’
‘I don’t really know. Your mum, I suppose – though of course you’d still see your dad.’
‘But where would we live? This is Dad’s house, isn’t it?’
‘Well . . . you mustn’t worry about it, Sunset. You’ll be fine. And your mum and dad will be fine too. And if by chance they do break up, they’ll both still be your parents. They both love you very much indeed and will see you’re properly looked after, I’m sure of it,’ says Claudia, and she goes out.
She doesn’t sound very sure. I worry about it half the night. I listen out for Mum, I listen out for Dad. What if neither of them come back? I start to wonder if that might actually work. Sweetie and Ace and I could still live in our house. I could take over and be their mother. We wouldn’t need a real mother. We wouldn’t need a nanny. If Margaret and John left too, I could do all the cooking. I know how to do baked beans on toast and baked potatoes and egg and bacon and fairy cakes already, and I’m sure I could learn lots of other recipes. I can’t drive, of course, but we could walk to places, and maybe get the bus – that would be ever such fun, I’ve always longed to take a bus ride. And I wouldn’t go to school – I so hate Ridgemount House. I’d study by myself at home and I wouldn’t go to the dentist and I wouldn’t get my teeth fixed, I’d just let them be all crooked and I wouldn’t care . . .
But then I start to feel guilty. I don’t really want to get rid of Mum and Dad, do I? What if they don’t come back because I’ve been so wicked? What if they’ve both died and it’s all my fault? I picture two separate car smashes, Mum with scarlet blood all over her white dress, Dad slumped lifeless with his bandanna slipping sideways, and it’s so real I start shaking. I see Sweetie and Ace and me in black velvet, weeping by their twin graves, holding bunches of white roses, scattering petals . . .
But then I hear the front door, and that’s one of them back safely, and two hours later I hear the door again, and I have two living parents once more. They don’t appear till lunch time on Sunday. I don’t think they’re speaking to each other, but they’re speaking to us, both of them fussing over us like crazy. Sweetie and Ace play up to this. Sweetie sits on Dad’s knee as she toys with her roast potatoes, so Ace climbs up on Mum’s lap and demands to be spoonfed.
‘You’re such a baby, Ace,’ says Sweetie scornfully.
‘I’m not a baby, I’m Tigerman, and I’m being fed my lumps of meat by my keeper lady,’ says Ace, chewing. ‘Mum, can we go to the zoo and see the real tigers?’
‘Of course we can, poppet,’ says Mum.
She’s barely eating anything herself, and looks very pale.
‘Oh, that’s not fair, I hate the zoo. All the animals smell of poo,’ Sweetie whines.
‘Hey, that’s a song, Sweetie. I hate the zoo, the animals smell of poo!’ Dad sings it in a silly voice.
‘Dad, I made up a song yesterday,’ I say.
‘Did you, Sunset? Don’t fret, Sweetie, we’re not going to the zoo.’
‘Where are we going, Daddy?’
‘We’re going shopping because my best little girl needs a party dress.’
Sweetie squeals excitedly, and starts burbling away about the sort of outfit she’s after.
Dad isn’t the slightest bit interested in my song. Neither is Mum.
‘You can’t take Sweetie shopping for the dress, Danny. You haven’t got a clue when it comes to the kids’ clothes. I’ll take Sweetie tomorrow.’
‘She’s got school tomorrow. I’m taking her now. You want to go shopping, don’t you, little darling?’
‘I love shopping,’ says Sweetie, clapping her hands.
‘I don’t want to go shopping, I hate it!’ says Ace.
‘Well, you don’t have to go shopping, little Tigerman,’ says Mum, cuddling him. ‘We’re going to the zoo and we’ll see lots of tigers, and the lions too, and all the funny little monkeys and the great fat elephant . . .’
I don’t want to go to the zoo with Ace or shopping with Sweetie. I want to stay at home but I can’t do that. Mum and Dad have given Claudia Sunday off instead of Saturday evening, and Margaret’s gone off to her own home now she’s served lunch. There’s no one to look after me. I argue that I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, but they won’t listen.
‘You go to the zoo, Sunset. You like animals,’ says Dad
.
‘No, you’d better go with Dad if he’s suddenly turned into Gok Wan. You need a new dress for Sweetie’s party too,’ says Mum.
‘Neither of you want me to come, do you?’ I say.
I’m just stating the obvious truth but it really annoys them.
‘Stop being such a little drama queen, Sunset,’ says Mum.
‘Yes, don’t go all stroppy with me, kiddo,’ says Dad. ‘I’m offering to take you shopping and get you a lovely dress, so what’s with the silly face? You want to come, don’t you, Sweetie?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, yes, you’re the kindest daddy in the whole world!’ she says, kissing him.
So I have to trail along with them and it’s a total nightmare. John drives us to Harrods. There’s a place at the back where the doorman lets us park the Merc, and we go up to the girls’ department. The assistants there all recognize Dad and make a fuss of him and coo over Sweetie, and I skulk around while she skips from one dress rail to another, gathering armfuls of clothes.
‘Come on, Sunset, you get choosing too,’ says Dad.
I try to gather my own selection, choosing blue and green and purple clothes because I like those colours, not really thinking about style or whether they go together.
Then we go into the changing rooms. Sweetie has her own assistant helping her in and out of all her clothes, though she can easily dress herself. They even offer to help me, but I back away in horror and mumble that I’ll manage.
Sweetie looks adorable in every single one of her outfits: a deep violet silk dress, a white ruffled smock threaded with pink ribbons with matching tight pink jeans, a little blue and white shirt dress, and a rainbow dress with a full skirt and little yellow buttons like smiley suns. She prances in and out of the changing rooms showing Dad and all the other assistants, flouncing around and twirling like a little model on the catwalk. Dad claps his hands each time and says she looks beautiful. Well, she does.
I stand half in and half out of my clothes, staring at myself in the changing-room mirror, wanting to burst into tears.
‘Come on, dear, let’s see what you look like,’ the assistant calls from the other side of the curtain.
I know all too well what I look like. The blue dress is too tight and makes my stomach stick out, the purple top and short skirt look ridiculous because I go in and out in the wrong places, and the green makes my skin look green too, as if I’m about to be sick.
The assistants smile anxiously. Dad frowns.
‘Yeah, yeah, it’s just they’re not quite . . .’ He flaps his hands. ‘Maybe you’ll have to wait for your mother to come with you, Sunset. She’ll be able to pick something out for you.’
So I change back into my own clothes, humiliated, while Dad buys every single one of Sweetie’s outfits because she looks adorable in all of them. I wander around the girls’ department while they’re getting them wrapped up. On a stand of fluffy pink and lilac accessories I see a tiny pair of black net mittens.
I pick them up. Then I rush back to the jeans section and find black ones – and then a black T-shirt.
‘Dad! Oh, Dad, please can I have these?’ I beg.
‘Oh, Sunset! Look, we’re all ready to go. Why couldn’t you have tried them on earlier? What are they anyway? Isn’t black a bit plain for a party?’
I take a deep breath. I tell the most sickening lie. ‘I want to look like you, Dad. You know, that picture on the Midnight album. You look so cool.’
All the assistants coo at me this time, going ‘Ahhh!’ in unison. Dad looks astonished – but pleased too.
‘Don’t be daft, Sunset,’ he says, but he puts his arm round me and gives me a little hug. ‘So you want to look like your old dad, eh? OK, run along and try them on, sweetheart.’
I run and do just that. Thank goodness the jeans are big enough and the T-shirt’s not one of those skinny tight ones so it covers my tummy properly. I wriggle my fingers into my mittens, and then try pulling my hair up in a ponytail. As if I’d want to look like Dad! I look like Destiny, I really do. Like sisters.
The assistant’s making me go and show Dad what I look like in the black clothes. Dad stares, acting a bit puzzled.
‘Yeah, you’re right, they suit you. But haven’t you got another outfit just the same? I’ve seen you wearing those little net mittens, haven’t I?’
Not me, Dad. Destiny. Your other daughter. But I can’t say it here, in front of half of Harrods.
Sweetie is scowling at me. ‘That’s not a party dress, Sunset. You’re supposed to wear pretty stuff at my party.’
‘You’ll be the pretty one, Sweetie,’ I say, not minding for once.
I wait till John’s driven us home and Sweetie’s gone charging off to try on her new clothes again. Mum and Ace are still out at the zoo. Dad is reaching for his mobile.
‘Dad?’ I reach up and give him a hug. ‘Dad, thank you ever so much for buying my lovely new outfit,’ I say.
Dad ruffles my hair. ‘That’s OK, sweetheart. You look good in it.’
‘You have seen someone in black jeans with little black mittens.’
‘Yeah, me, on the cover of Midnight, like you said. I wonder if I could ever go back to that goth look. Do you think I could still get away with it?’
‘Yes, of course, Dad – but I didn’t mean you. There was this girl at the premiere of Milky Star, remember?’
Dad frowns the moment I say the name Milky Star. ‘Stupid little kids! They prance about on YouTube and suddenly they think they’re stars. I thought I was doing them a favour, giving them a helping hand, when all the time they were taking the mickey.’
‘Dad, this girl . . . she was dressed like me, in my new clothes, black jeans and T-shirt and little mittens. She looks like me, but better—’
‘Rose-May led me right up the garden path, but I’ll show her. No one’s making a monkey out of me.’
‘Dad, listen, this girl in black with the mittens – she’s your daughter, I know she is, and she’s lovely, and if you’d just say you’d meet her – her and her mum – I know just how happy it would make them. Please say you’ll meet them.’
‘Will you quit this nonsense!’ Dad takes hold of me, a hand on each of my cheeks so I’m forced to look right at him. ‘I don’t have any secret mystery kids!’
‘But she says—’
‘I don’t give a stuff what she says. There are hundreds of mad fans out there, and they all say I’ve fathered their wretched kids. It’s just a scam, Sunset, a way to get their hands on my money. So stop playing these pathetic little games about sisters. You’ve only got one sister and that’s Sweetie – and I wish to God you were more like her.’
9
DESTINY
Dear Sunset,
Everyone’s getting all het up because it’s the talent contest TOMORROW!!! I kid on I’m not the slightest bit bothered, but actually I’m just a bit scared too. We do the contest to the whole school in the afternoon, and it will be awful if they don’t like me and shout, Off, off, off! so I don’t even get to finish my song. There’s a panel of schoolkids too, one from Year Three, one from Year Four, and two from Year Five, and I’m not sure they’ll vote for me either because I’m not in any gang and the boys mostly don’t like me at my school – not that the girls do either. They have to make comments on our performance. Imagine the fun they’re going to have, making us feel like idiots. I shall just have to sing so well they’ll give me a high score even if they hate me. I’m a bit worried about the Jack the Lads and the Superspeedos – they’re two rival street-dance acts, and they’re both looking quite sharp now. Mind you, they’ve had a LOT of help from Mrs Avery, our PE teacher, which isn’t exactly fair. She’s choreographed their entire acts. Well, I suppose Mr Roberts tried to help me a bit, giving me all these daft suggestions, wanting me to stand in a certain way and jiggle around when I start the chorus – honestly, totally cheesy ideas. I’m not taking any notice. I’m just going to sing it my way.
But it’s not the school perf
ormance that’s really getting to me, it’s the contest in front of all the adults in the evening. There’s going to be a panel of teachers judging that. My mum’s coming and she’s so excited about it, much more worked up than I am. We’ve been allocated two tickets – I suppose it’s one for our mums and one for our dads. Imagine if our dad came to the show!
Love from Destiny
I put the letter in an envelope, write the address and seal it – and then undo it all over again because I’m fussing about that last sentence. I meant it as a joke, but what if Sunset takes it seriously? What if she thinks I’m hinting to her to get Danny to come? Was I hinting? Oh wow, it would be so incredible seeing him there in the audience. Mr Roberts would wet himself. ‘Are you. . . Danny Kilman?’ he’d go, and Danny would toss his long hair and shrug and say, ‘Yeah, just come to hear my kid sing.’ Actually I’m not sure I could sing a single note with Danny in the audience. Think of all the other kids too! After the show I’d take Danny and say, ‘Right, Dad, I’d like you to meet my friends,’ and he’d say hi to Jack Myers and Angel and all the rest, and they’d practically pass out on the spot.
Like any of this could ever happen! He didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in Mum and me – he just ignored us, couldn’t even crack a smile. He doesn’t sound that friendly a father to Sunset. And her mum’s horrible. Perhaps Sunset’s not so lucky after all. I do like her though, ever so. I cross out the dad bit on my crumpled letter and scribble instead, I wish you could come and hear me sing, Sunset. Pity we live so far away from each other.
And now it’s the day of the concert, I know it the moment I wake before I even open my eyes. My heart starts thudding. I tell myself I’m mad to get into a state over a silly little school concert. As if I care about this school or anyone in it. But I care about my mum and I care about me, and this is our song, and I have to make it special. My throat dries and I clutch my neck anxiously, wondering if it’s sore, whether I’ve got some cough or cold bug and won’t be able to sing. I get up and go in the bathroom and clean my teeth, gargling for a bit, and then I try out my voice as I have a quick bath, and it’s fine – perhaps a bit husky, but it’ll do.