The girls’ play drags on for so long that everyone gets fidgety, especially when half of them forget their words and keep nudging each other and whispering. Someone starts up the ‘Off, off, off!’ chant, and soon everyone’s shouting it. Two of the girls run off in tears, but two of them act it out to the bitter end. I think one of the girls is a Flatboy sister, but even so their scores are terrible because the play’s so boring.
Then it’s Angel’s turn – and she’s certainly not boring. She’s wearing a skimpy top and very tight shiny white leggings and she struts onstage, grinning and wiggling her hips to this very sexy music. I see Mr Roberts tense, wringing his hands, clearly wondering what on earth Angel’s going to do next. She does a few simple cartwheels, arches her back and walks across the stage on her hands and feet, and then spins on her bottom for a bit. Angel has a very big bottom so this is easy-peasy for her. It’s not really a brilliant acrobatic routine at all, but when she finishes there’s a roar of applause.
Angel is no one’s sister, but she hangs out with the Flatboys. She gets two tens from the boys and a nine from Blonde Wig – and even the little girl gives her an eight. Angel’s in the lead and she knows it. She punches the air and looks thrilled. When she swaggers offstage she gives me a little poke in the chest. She doesn’t say a word, but it’s obvious what she means: Beat that!
Raymond comes after her, and he’s truly brilliant, leaping about all over the stage and twirling his arms and legs, but because he’s wearing leggings the boys yell stupid comments at him and he gets a rubbish score. It’s so unfair – Jeff and Ritchie come next with a silly comic ballet routine. They just lumber around and make silly gestures, but they’re given higher marks than poor Raymond.
Everyone’s getting fed up now, chatting away, so Mr Roberts has to raise his voice and bellow to announce the Superspeedos. They all have a red Superman sign clumsily inked on their T-shirts, but thank goodness they don’t wear red underpants over their trousers. They still look a little silly, but their routine is quite clever, all of them managing backflips more or less simultaneously, and it’s clear they’ve rehearsed far more than Jack and his lads. They do a lot of leaping, swooping movements too, making out they’re flying, and then they end in a row with arms spread, grinning. I’d give them an eight or a nine – they’re definitely the best act yet apart from poor Raymond – but those hateful Flatboys give them one each. Blonde Wig wavers a little and gives them five, and the younger girl gives them a ten, but they’re not even in the top three and it’s so unfair. They all look gutted and I don’t blame them, but I haven’t got time to think about that now because Mr Roberts is announcing me.
‘Please put your hands together and welcome the last lovely contestant for Bilefield’s Got Talent, Miss Destiny Williams, who will delight us with her namesake song, Destiny, made famous by Mr Danny Kilman. I give you Destiny!’
Oh God. I walk right out onstage, and there’s everyone staring back at me. Some of them clap half-heartedly, all of them staring at my black outfit. I get hot inside my beautiful leather jacket. I’m scared I’m sweating onto the sleeves. I see them all whispering and giggling. I do my best to blot them all out. I open my mouth and start singing.
‘You are my Destiny . . .’
The words and the music take over. I’m just a voice, and it soars around the hall. I finish and there’s a pause, as if they’re all stunned. Then there’s clapping. Some kids are clapping loudly, even cheering – but some are silent, not knowing what to make of me. I’m the new girl. They aren’t sure if I’m in the Flatboy camp or the Speedos. And if I’m neither, how can they vote for me?
The two Flatboys confer – and both give me two. Blonde Wig gives me three. The little girl looks bewildered and gives me nine, but of course it’s not enough to get me anywhere. I don’t even do as well as Fareed. I come second to bottom, just above the girls in the play.
10
SUNSET
‘Please may I open my presents?’ Sweetie begs.
‘Not yet, darling. You have to wait till your party, when the magazine people come,’ says Mum.
‘Oh for God’s sake, let the kid open a few of her presents. What harm will it do?’ says Dad. He’s up very early, specially for Sweetie’s birthday.
‘Rose-May will kill us. She’s had all the presents professionally wrapped to go with the party theme.’
‘What is my party theme, Mum?’ Sweetie asks, jumping up and down, looking so cute in her white embroidered top and pink jeans.
‘Let’s just say it’s specially for you, darling,’ says Mum. ‘Now, we’re all going to be busy-busy-busy getting the big living room transformed – the party planners should be arriving any minute. I want you children right out of the way until well after lunch time. Danny, I don’t suppose you could take them out somewhere? Maybe Kingtown?’
‘Oh yes, that would be the best birthday treat ever!’ says Sweetie, bouncing on Dad’s lap.
‘I’d love that too, Sweet Pea, you know I would, it would be the greatest fun in the whole world, but I’ve got to nip up to London this morning—’
‘Oh, Danny, it’s Sweetie’s birthday!’ says Mum.
‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m not going to miss a moment of it, don’t you worry. But I need to see some of the lads – there’s talk about this benefit concert and they want me to take part.’
‘Which lads?’ Mum asks suspiciously.
Dad taps his nose. ‘What’s it to you, hmm? You get on playing parties and I’ll get on with doing the work that pays all the bills, OK?’
He slopes off, leaving Mum clenching her fists.
‘Right. Well, I can’t take you out, darlings – I have to sort out the party planners and rush to get my hair and nails done. So I’ll need my car, and it looks like Dad’s taking his – so maybe you can ask John to drive you and the children somewhere, Claudia?’
It turns out that John’s already off running errands and won’t be back until after lunch.
‘This is just too bad,’ says Mum, sighing. ‘Well, you’ll just have to keep the children amused up in their rooms, Claudia.’
‘That’s not a very good birthday treat,’ says Sweetie, drooping.
‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about it, darling. I was relying on your daddy, but of course that was a big mistake,’ Mum starts. ‘He’s so selfish he doesn’t mind who he lets down – even you, Sweetie.’
Sweetie puts her thumb in her mouth.
‘Don’t suck your thumb, you’ll ruin your teeth!’ Mum snaps.
‘I can still take the children out,’ Claudia says quickly. ‘We’ll take the bus to Kingtown.’
‘A bus!’ Sweetie cries, spitting out her thumb. ‘Oh, a bus!’ She twirls around as if Claudia has offered her a ride in a fairy-tale chariot.
‘A bus, a bus, a bus, we’re going on a bus!’ Ace screams, capering about.
‘Now don’t get the children too over-excited, for heaven’s sake,’ says Mum. ‘Just keep them quiet and calm, especially Sweetie. She’s going to need to be on tip-top form this afternoon. She’s got to cope with a really big photo shoot. There can’t be any tears or tantrums.’
‘I’ll do my best to make sure Sweetie enjoys her birthday,’ Claudia says coldly.
‘That wretched woman!’ she mutters to herself as we go out the gate, Claudia, Sweetie, Ace and me.
‘Mum gets awfully worked up before we have a magazine shoot,’ I say.
‘Why does she think it’s a good idea to turn her own daughter’s birthday into a commercial bear-garden?’ says Claudia.
‘Bear-garden!’ Ace repeats. ‘Where are the bears in the garden? I’m Tigerman and I want to play with the bears, but they might have big claws.’
‘You roar at them and they’ll run away,’ I say.
Ace roars at every hedge and tree and picket fence along the road. Sweetie skips along beside him, pointing her toes.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ Claudia grumbles to me. ‘Imagine making the poor little mi
te wait till the photographer’s there before she can open her presents! And did you know Margaret’s been told to make two birthday cakes just in case they can’t get all the photos they need of her blowing out the candles and cutting the cake the first time round.’
‘I like having two cakes,’ Sweetie calls.
‘And then apparently there are going to be all these completely strange children coming, not Sweetie’s real friends from school, but celebrity children. I’m willing to bet Sweetie’s never even met half of them before.’
‘I know. I had that happen to me for one of my birthdays when I was little, and it was awful. I didn’t know what to say to anyone, and I had to play all these awful games, and there was a clown doing silly tricks and he scared me. I’m so glad Mum doesn’t make me have birthday parties now.’
‘You’re silly, Sunset,’ says Sweetie. ‘I love having birthday parties. I want to play lots of games. Mummy says the birthday girl always has to win. I shall wear my violet dress and Mum says I’ll have real rosebuds in my hair.’ She skips round and round us, her hair flying out in a golden cloud.
‘Will you have flowers in your hair, Sunset?’ Claudia asks.
‘Maybe thistles and dandelions?’ I joke. ‘No fear!’
I like the way the words sounds, like a bouquet for a witch’s child. I start making up a little song as we walk down the road towards the busy hill and the bus stop.
Thistles and dandelions,
They are my flowers.
Burdock and tangleweed,
Blackberries sour,
Rosehips and crab apples,
They are my fruit.
Rabbit foot, snakeskin
And eye of newt,
Duck’s beak and antler
Ground up for a spell.
I am the witch’s child
But I wish you well.
It takes me a while to get all the lines right, and I haven’t got a pen and paper so I have to keep mumbling it over and over as we wait at the bus stop. The music comes easily – it’s strange and eerie, and every fourth line I drag out the words with a little wavery bit at the end.
I’m almost as excited about the bus ride as Sweetie and Ace. I’ve only been on a bus twice before, and even though I’m ten I want to sit upstairs at the front and pretend to drive the bus. I sit beside Claudia, humming my new song very softly to myself.
Sweetie and Ace sit on the other front seat, jumping up and down with their hands on the front rail, little knuckles white, though Claudia keeps begging them to sit down nicely. She’s vaguely nodding to my tune.
‘Is that one of your dad’s songs?’ she asks.
‘No, it’s mine,’ I say proudly.
‘Sing it,’ says Claudia.
‘I can’t. I’m rubbish at singing.’
‘Go on, have a go.’
So I kind of whisper it. Claudia listens carefully.
‘Did you make that up all by yourself?’
‘Well, sort of,’ I say, blushing. ‘I think I copied “eye of newt” from Shakespeare, and we once had to read a poem called “Goblin Fruit” in drama, and I copied from that just a little bit.’
‘It’s very good,’ Claudia says quickly. ‘Perhaps you should sing it to your dad?’
‘He wouldn’t be interested,’ I say.
‘Sunset, he’s your dad. He’ll be proud of you,’ says Claudia, though she doesn’t sound totally sure.
‘Is your dad proud of you, Claudia?’ I ask.
Claudia smiles. ‘Oh yes, my dad’s a silly old sausage. I was never one of the brain boxes at my school, but I won a prize for thoughtfulness when I was about your age, Sunset, and when I marched up to collect my certificate there was this terrific hooting sound and it was silly old Daddy blubbing. Can you imagine!’
I’m trying my hardest to imagine it.
‘What about your mum? Is she proud of you too?’
I hope I’m not being terribly tactless. I don’t think Claudia’s mum could possibly be proud of her. She isn’t at all pretty and she has a habit of wrinkling her nose to hitch her glasses up. I would have thought she’d be forever on at Claudia to get a decent haircut and use more make-up on her shiny face and switch to contact lenses.
‘Oh, Mummy’s a lamb,’ says Claudia, still smiling. ‘She always says she’s proud of me, though heaven knows why, because I always make rather a bish of things. She calls me her extra-special favourite daughter – but she says that to both my sisters too, she’s so sweet.’
I think about last prize day when I won the English prize. Dad didn’t come. He said those kinds of affairs gave him the fidgets. Mum did come, and she said, ‘Well done’ – but she also nagged on and on about the way I’d walked up to the front of the hall. ‘Plod plod plod, like a ploughman,’ she said. ‘Maybe we ought to send you back to ballet.’
I try to see myself reflected in the bus window. I’m wearing my new black T-shirt and jeans and my lacy mittens. I thought at first when I put them on this morning that I might look a little bit cool, but now I’m not so sure.
When we get to Kingtown Sweetie wants to go straight to the shops, so we let her, because it is her birthday. There’s one of those make-a-bear places in the big shopping centre. Sweetie isn’t that interested – she’d sooner go to the shop that sells all the glittery jewellery and make-up – but the manager is standing near the doorway and comes rushing out.
‘Are these Danny Kilman’s children?’ she asks Claudia, sounding awestruck. She must be a keen reader of Hi! Magazine. ‘Oh, my! Would they like a complimentary bear each?’
‘That’s very kind, but no thank you,’ Claudia starts politely.
‘Oh, please, please, please, Claudia, I’d love a bear,’ Sweetie begs, switching on the charm simply because it’s second nature now.
‘I want a Tiger! I’m Tigerman and I want a toy tiger!’ says Ace.
‘Ace, stop it. You mustn’t ask for things,’ I say, but I want one of these teddy bears too, even though I know I’m much too old.
We all look pleadingly at Claudia, who looks anxious but eventually gives in. We take a long time choosing our bears and their outfits. Sweetie dithers for a while, exclaiming, while the manager clucks and coos in her wake. She eventually chooses a very flushed pink bear in a magenta ballet frock. Ace sticks in tiger mode and chooses his new stripy friend blue pyjamas and a dressing gown. I can’t decide. All the teddies look so cute and floppy and helpless. I pick one and then another and then a third, gazing at them intently, trying to guess their personalities.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sunset!’ says Claudia.
I get flustered and plump for a panda, though when she’s stuffed I’m not sure I really like her after all. Her head’s slightly on one side as if she’s sneering at me and her body’s too big and bouncy. I’d like her to wear black jeans and a black T-shirt but they don’t make them. I have to compromise with a white blouse and blue denim dungarees.
‘Why did you pick a little boy panda, Sunset?’ Sweetie asks.
‘It’s a girl,’ I hiss – but she doesn’t look like one any more.
‘There now,’ says Claudia. ‘Say thank you very much, children.’
But we’re not finished yet. We have to stand by the shop sign holding out our bears and smiling while the manager whips out her camera. Claudia fusses, not at all sure she should allow this, but she can’t make us give back the teddies now they are made up and personalized, so she’s stuck.
‘Smile, please. Say cheese,’ says the manager.
‘That’s what little mice eat. My Rosie bear says honey,’ says Sweetie.
‘My Tiger bear doesn’t say anything, he just roars and roars,’ says Ace.
‘What does your panda say, dear?’ the manager says kindly to me, so I’m not left out.
I shrug, horribly embarrassed, because I’m too old to play this game. My panda casts her beady eyes on me contemptuously, refusing to say a word.
We pose for further photos and then Sweetie drags me
off to the sparkly accessory shop. She hopes the manager there will also tell us to take our pick of the goodies on sale, but if she recognizes us she’s not letting on. Sweetie rushes from one stand to another, marvelling at earrings, lilac nail polish, pearly lipsticks, neon pink feather boas, dinky purses, cute key-rings and sparkly tiaras. She’s in Sweetie Heaven.
‘Don’t get too excited, Sweetie, I haven’t got my wallet with me,’ Claudia fibs.
‘Don’t worry, Claudia, I’ve got money,’ says Sweetie, delving into the pockets of her smock. She produces a twenty-pound note in each hand! ‘Daddy gave me some birthday spending money.’
‘Oh my Lord,’ says Claudia, rolling her eyes. ‘You’re six years old, Sweetie, and he’s given you forty pounds to fritter away?’
‘Where’s my spending money?’ Ace wails, sitting down and trying to tug his Tiger free from its packaging.
‘Don’t undo that, Ace, for pity’s sake. Stand up, you’re getting in everyone’s way.’
‘It’s not your birthday, Ace, it’s my birthday, and Daddy says birthday girls get lots of treats,’ says Sweetie, sticking a tiara on her head and flinging a feather boa round her neck.
Claudia winces but doesn’t argue. She catches my eye as Sweetie darts around the shop. ‘I told a teeny fib about my wallet, Sunset,’ she whispers. ‘Do you want to choose a little something for yourself?’
‘I’m not really into all this sparkly stuff,’ I say. ‘But thanks anyway, Claudia.’
‘I tell you what. We’ll go to Paperchase when Sweetie’s done and buy you a special little notebook to write your songs in,’ says Claudia. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Oh! Yes please,’ I say.
‘That’s not fair!’ Ace complains bitterly. ‘Sweetie’s getting heaps of girly stuff and Sunset’s getting notebooks and I’m getting nothing.’
‘For heaven’s sake, you’ve just been given your lovely toy tiger.’
‘He’s tired!’ says Ace, yanking him right out of the cardboard box. ‘He’s in his jim-jams and he’s yawn-yawn-yawning and he wants to go to sleep. Night-night!’ He sprawls on the floor right in the doorway, where everyone has to step over him, his Tiger bear clutched to his chest – just as Sweetie reaches for a diamanté necklace and pulls the whole jewellery stand down on top of her.