The Suitcase Kid Read online

  Contents

  About the Book

  Title page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Prologue

  A is for Andy

  B is for Bathroom

  C is for Cottage

  D is for Dad

  E is for Ethel

  F is for Friends

  G is for Garden

  H is for Haiku

  I is for Ill

  J is for Jelly

  K is for Katie

  L is for Lake

  M is for My Mate Graham

  N is for Night

  O is for Old People

  P is for Photographs

  Q is for Questions

  R is for Radish

  S is for Starlight

  T is for Time to go Home

  U is for Unconscious

  V is for Vagrant

  W is for Welcome

  X is for Xmas

  Y is for Yacht

  Z is for Zoë

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  When my parents split up they didn’t know what to do with me . . .

  My family always lived at Mulberry Cottage. Mum, Dad, me – and Radish, my lovable toy rabbit. But now Mum lives with Bill the Baboon and his three kids. Dad lives with Carrie and her twins. And where do I live? I live out of a suitcase. One week with Mum’s new family, one week with Dad’s.

  It’s as easy as A B C. That’s what everyone says. But all I want is to go home – back to Mulberry Cottage . . .

  An all-time Jacqueline Wilson favourite, now with an extra-special new introduction!

  In memory of Hilda Ellen Smeed

  I’ve had so many touching letters from children who identify with Andy in The Suitcase Kid. Many families split up nowadays, and it’s often particularly difficult for the children. They don’t just have to cope with Mum and Dad not living together any more. They often have to get along with new step parents, new siblings, new living arrangements. Some children cope right from the start. Other find it much more of a struggle.

  Andy badly needs to hang onto Radish, her little lucky mascot rabbit. She’s had her since she was a baby, and now she carries her everywhere, in her pocket, in her schoolbag, tucked into her hand at night. Radish is my little toy rabbit. She used to belong to my daughter Emma, but when she got too big to play with little bunnies she still didn’t really want to throw her away. Radish had become very much part of our family so I happily adopted her. She stands on my desk and keeps me company when I write. Whenever I get stuck I play silly games with her. She rides on my computer mouse and slides down my paperweight. Sometimes I tie a big rubber band to the end of a gigantic jokey pencil and Radish practices her bungee jumping. (Authors are very good at wasting time when they get stuck!)

  Radish now has her own little fan club. I frequently get letters sent to Ms Radish Wilson, and she gets numerous presents, miniature jewellery, pinafore dresses, small Sylvanian friends. One Christmas I got sent a huge cardboard doll’s house for Radish, complete with carefully constructed furniture in every room, even a little library with tiny books on each shelf, all written and illustrated in a miniature hand.

  In the past, when I could answer all my letters properly, I used to draw Radish at the top of each letter, often with a special little message. I’d alter her outfit according to the seasons. In the spring she’d have an Easter bonnet (with special ear-holes) and have her arms stretched round a giant Easter egg. In summer she’d wear a stripy bikini and be clutching a bucket and spade in her paws. In autumn she’d wear a duffle coat and welly boots and be waving a sparkler. In winter she’d wear a red robe and a false white beard and play at being Santa Paws.

  I decided to write The Suitcase Kid with a little chapter for every letter of the alphabet. This was fine at first, A is for Andy, B is for Bathroom, C is for Cottage – but I found it very difficult managing U and V and W and XYZ, especially as I wanted to round the story properly and give it a happy ending. I know a lot of children think the true happy ending would be Andy’s parents getting back together again but I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to give any child reader false hopes. I wanted to show Andy gradually learning to accept the situation, making new friends, growing a little, getting everything under control – until everything really is as easy as ABC.

  When my parents split up they didn’t know what to do with me. My mum wanted me to go and live with her. My dad wanted me to go and live with him. I didn’t want to go and live at my mum’s new place or my dad’s new place. I wanted to stay living in our old place, Mulberry Cottage, the three of us together. Four, counting my pet Sylvanian family spotted rabbit Radish.

  There were all these arguments about who would get custody of me. I thought they were talking about custard at first. I hate custard because you can never tell when there’s going to be a lump and it sticks in your throat and makes you shudder.

  My mum got mad and my dad got mad and I got mad too. I felt I was being split up. Half of me wanted to side with Mum. Half of me wanted to side with Dad. It was much easier for Radish. She just sided with me. She lives in my pocket so there’s never been any hassle over who gets custody of her.

  We had to go for family counselling. It seemed a bit daft because my mum and dad didn’t want to be a family any more. This lady chatted to me. She was trying to be ever so casual but I knew she was trying to suss things out. She had some little dolls in her office, a mummy doll and a daddy doll and a whole set of children dolls in different sizes. She wanted me to play with them. I poked the mummy doll and the daddy doll in the stomachs and said I didn’t like playing with silly old dolls.

  But this lady saw me fiddling about in my pocket and she got a glimpse of Radish. I like to hold her tight when I’m feeling funny.

  ‘Oh, what a dear little toy. Do let me have a look,’ she said, in that silly voice grown-ups always use when they’re trying to get you to like them.

  ‘She’s not a toy, she’s a mascot,’ I said. I didn’t want to show her Radish at all. She’s mine and she’s private. But I had to let this lady paw her about and undo her frock and turn her upside down in a very rude sort of way.

  ‘What’s Bunny’s name?’ she asked.

  You’d have thought I was two years old, not ten. I just shrugged and shook my head.

  ‘That’s Radish,’ said Mum. ‘Andrea’s had her for years and years. She’s a very important member of our family.’

  ‘Actually, I bought Radish for Andrea. As a silly Saturday present. I like to give her a little treat every now and then,’ said Dad.

  ‘You did not give Andrea Radish! I bought her one Christmas to go in Andrea’s stocking,’ said Mum.

  ‘Look, I can vividly remember buying that rabbit in the corner shop—’

  ‘They don’t even sell Sylvanian families at the corner shop. I bought it from the toy shop in town and—’

  I snatched Radish back and put my hand gently over her ears. She can’t stand to hear them arguing.

  ‘Never mind,’ said the lady, trying to shut them up. She was still smiling at Radish.

  ‘Hello, Radish,’ she said, peering right into her little furry face.

  I scowled at her. OK, Radish is real for me, but I can’t stick it when grown-ups act like she’s real too.

  ‘I expect you’re feeling a bit sad and worried about where you’re going to live, little Radish,’ said the lady.

  Radish kept her lips buttoned.

  ‘We know what Mummy wants and we know what Daddy wants, but what do you want, Radish?’ said the lady.

  Radish wouldn’t say a word.

  ‘I think she’s a bit shy,’ said the l
ady. ‘Maybe it’s hard to say anything in front of Mummy and Daddy.’

  So she asked Mum and Dad to step outside the room for a few minutes. They didn’t really want to. They both kept looking at me. You know what it’s like at school when you’re the team leader and everyone wants to be picked first to go in your team. Pick me, said Mum. Pick me, said Dad. I stared down at Radish until they’d gone outside.

  ‘Poor Radish. This is a bit tough on her, isn’t it,’ said the lady.

  Radish and I stayed silent. The lady was quiet for a bit too. And Mum and Dad outside. I wondered if they were listening. But then they started up another argument. They whispered at first, but then got really cross and let rip.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the lady. ‘Well, Radish. Here’s Mummy. And here’s Daddy.’ She propped these horrible dolls up at either end of her desk. Then she got some toy bricks and built a little house for the mummy doll and a little house for the daddy doll. She reached out and took Radish, putting her in the middle. Then she looked at me. ‘Where does Radish want to live, Andrea? Does she want to live in House A?’ She pointed to the mummy doll’s house. ‘Or does she want to live in House B?’ She pointed to the daddy doll’s house.

  ‘She wants to live in House C. Mulberry Cottage, where we’ve always lived. With Mum and Dad and me,’ I said.

  ‘I know she does. But she can’t. Not any more. It wouldn’t work out. Just listen to Mum and Dad,’ she said. They were shouting now. ‘They can’t be happy living together. You can see that for yourself, can’t you, Andrea? But they both love you very much and they want you to be happy. So which house do you think you and Radish would be happiest in? House A?’ She pointed to the mummy doll’s house again. ‘Or House B?’ Daddy doll’s turn.

  I looked at House A. I looked at House B. I looked at Radish. I made her walk one way. I made her walk the other. I made her trek backwards and forwards across the desk.

  ‘She still wants to live in House C. But if she can’t do that – and I still think she could – then she wants to live in House A and House B.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the lady. ‘You mean she wants to live in House A one week and House B the next week?’

  So that’s how it was decided. Radish lives with me, in my pocket, as she’s always done. She’s the luckiest one. And I get to live in my mum’s house one week and my dad’s house the next. It’s as easy as A B C. I don’t think.

  MY NAME IS Andrea West but I mostly get called Andy. My sly little stepsister Katie calls me Andy Pandy. Everyone just thinks she’s being cute. Katie specializes in cute. We are exactly the same age – in actual fact she’s five days older than me – and yet she barely comes up to my waist. I happen to be big. Katie is extremely small. People don’t twig she’s ten. They think she’s only about seven or eight, and she plays up to this for all she’s worth. She blinks her blue beady eyes and wrinkles her small pink nose and puts on this squeaky little sugar-mouse voice. People go all drooly and practically nibble her ears. Katie is not a sugar mouse. Katie is a King-Size Rat.

  She’s very spoilt. She’s got her very own television set and video in her bedroom. When it’s my week to sleep at my mum’s place I have to share with Katie. She always insists that she gets to choose what’s on television, and she always gets first pick of the videos. She’s got heaps. She’s got some pretty impressive creepy gory horror films that her dad knows nothing about. She hides them inside her Care Bears cases. She’s also got the usual Walt Disney stuff. And then she’s got this WATCH WITH MOTHER video. Have you seen it? It’s a bit dopey really, with little kids programmes that my mum and dad used to watch on telly donkey’s years ago. Including a little clown puppet called Andy Pandy. We watched it together, and that’s when Katie started calling me Andy Pandy.

  I couldn’t stick it and I told her to shut up and she wouldn’t. So I had to make her. My mum saw us thumping each other and she was furious. She didn’t say a word to Katie. She just picked on me.

  ‘How dare you hit Katie! I can’t believe you could be so mean. You’re twice poor Katie’s size. I simply won’t have this hateful bullying. You make me desperately ashamed of you. Katie’s gone out of her way to welcome you into her home and then you behave like this!’

  I wanted to hit my mum then as well as Katie.

  ‘It’s not fair. You don’t know what she’s like,’ I wailed, only I just sounded like a tell-tale-tit.

  I stalked off and shut myself in the bathroom, Radish clutched tight in my hand. We stayed in the bathroom for ages and even when we came out we didn’t speak to anyone all the rest of the day. Mum tried to make it up with me when we went to bed, but I still wasn’t saying anything, not with Katie grinning away in the dark.

  It wasn’t until days afterwards that Mum and I were on our own for once. Uncle Bill was working late. Only he’s not my uncle. He’s my horrible stepfather and I simply can’t stick him. I can’t understand what my mum sees in him. I take a good look and all I can see is this great hairy baboon. He’s got all this thick black hair like a baboon. He’s got a squashed-up ugly face like a baboon. I’ve never caught a glimpse but I bet his bum’s bright red like a baboon’s too.

  Paula was round at her friend’s house. Graham was shut up in his bedroom playing computer games. And Katie was out at her ballet class.

  ‘So it’s just you and me, pal,’ said Mum. ‘What shall we do, eh?’

  I shrugged and made out I was busy watching the telly. I was still feeling a bit miffed. But Mum came and sat beside me on the sofa and put her arm around me. I made myself go stiff at first but Mum went on cuddling and soon I sort of collapsed against her. I ended up on her lap. My mum’s quite little and I’m big and I probably squashed her but she didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Mum, fiddling about with my hair, doing it in little tiny plaits.

  I’m growing my hair but it’s taking forever. It hasn’t even got near my shoulders yet. Katie has got long hair right down her back and it’s a glossy bright black.

  ‘It’s a very unusual combination,’ she told me smugly. ‘Blue eyes and black hair. I take after my mother.’

  Her voice always goes all sad and holy when she talks about her mother. It’s as if she died only last week and so you’ve got to be sorry for her. In actual fact Katie’s mother died when she was little and so she probably can’t remember her properly. Maybe she wouldn’t even know her mum had blue eyes and black hair without the colour photo in the silver frame on the window-sill.

  My eyes are muddy brown. So is my hair. It’s a bit depressing.

  ‘I don’t feel like cheering up,’ I said grumpily, though I didn’t budge off Mum’s lap.

  ‘What was all the hoo-ha with Katie the other day?’ said Mum.

  ‘She called me names.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Andy Pandy.’

  Mum burst out laughing. ‘That’s not too dreadful!’

  ‘Yes it is,’ I said, and I shifted sideways, back on to the sofa.

  ‘Andy Pandy. That’s just a friendly nickname.’

  ‘It’s after that television programme.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Well, Andy Pandy’s OK. He’s the hero. I suppose he’s a bit wet. Anyway, you’re not wet. Why don’t you call Katie Looby Lou and tease her a bit? But don’t fight with her, I won’t have that.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, mums never understand,’ said my mum, ruffling my hair. ‘Let’s watch Neighbours, eh?’

  She turned the television up. I didn’t bother explaining about Andy Pandy. He plays all these daft little games with Teddy and Looby Lou and then the lady with the silly voice says something.

  ‘Time to go home.’

  And Andy has to get in his basket while she sings the Time to Go Home song. Katie calls me Andy Pandy and she sings Time to Go Home in this sweet little voice but it’s as if she’s spitting at me. Because she knows I haven’t got a home any more.

  WE’RE ALL CRAMMED in together when I’m at Alber
t Road. That’s my un-Uncle Bill’s house. I’m never going to call him Uncle. I don’t even call him just plain Bill. Though he is plain. I don’t call him anything at all. I don’t even speak to him if I can help it.

  I can’t stand the way Mum talks to him. She snuggles up to him and hangs on his every word and roars with laughter at his stupid jokes. She doesn’t even get cross if he goes out drinking with his mates after work. That’s really stupid, because she used to nag my dad like mad if he came home late. Though that was probably when he was seeing that dopey Carrie . . .

  My un-Uncle Bill is a painter and decorator though you’d never think it if you saw his house. (That’s how he and my mum met. When he came to paint our hall and stairs at Mulberry Cottage, because it was too high for Mum to reach. Bill the Baboon had a special set of planks. I’d like to make him walk his rotten plank. Right to the edge and over.) His own house in Albert Road is dead scruffy, nowhere near as nice as Mulberry Cottage, so I can’t see why my mum makes out she likes it here. She’s starting to do the decorating herself, changing it all around. Making it her place.

  There’s nowhere that’s my place though. The others are always barging about the kitchen and the living-room. My mum shares a bedroom with old Billy Baboon, so I’m certainly never going in there.

  He’s got three children: Paula, Graham and little ratbag Katie. I don’t like any of them, but I suppose Paula’s the best. She’s fourteen and she doesn’t think much of my mum and they keep having rows. I encourage this like mad, because then my mum might get fed up and want to leave. And then all I’ve got to do is get my dad to leave Carrie and we could all be a family again. We might even be able to buy back Mulberry Cottage and start all over again, living happily ever after.

  Paula has her own bedroom and she’s got pop posters all round the room and she plays her stereo system so loud that the whole house shakes. She’s got special earphones but she deliberately doesn’t use them. We’re the ones that need earphones.

  It’s funny, Paula’s so noisy, yet Graham is the most silent boy you could ever imagine. He’s twelve, yet I’m much taller than him. If we had a fight I know I’d win, easy-peasy. But he’s not the fighting sort. He’s pale and twitchy with glasses and he just likes to shut himself up in his box-room and plug into his computer. I think he’ll turn into a robot one day. He moves in this jerky sort of way, and the rare times he does speak his voice is flat like a machine.