My Mum Tracy Beaker Read online

  After that Mum gave up dog walking altogether, even though I promised I wouldn’t let myself get bitten again, and for a while we were quite poor. I missed those dogs so much – even mean little Moe. When we were out I sometimes pretended I was walking my own imaginary dogs. I had four: Wolfie, a long-haired German shepherd as big as me, Faithful, a loving cream Labrador, Pom-Pom, a very girly Pomeranian, and Snapchat, a teacup chihuahua. They even went to school with me and sat by my desk and ran around with me in the playground if I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I suppose I’m way too old for imaginary games, but I sometimes summon up Wolfie and Faithful and Pom-Pom and tiny Snapchat when Tyrone and his mates start bullying me.

  Mum’s last job but one was as a receptionist in a car salesroom. She went out with one of the guys there, and he taught her how to drive. She got quite interested in cars. Cam’s a writer as well as a foster mum, so when she got paid for a series of funny children’s books, she helped Mum buy a little second-hand car. It’s quite old, and we’re not sure it will pass its MOT this year, but we couldn’t really have a flash new car even if we could afford one – it wouldn’t last five minutes on the Duke Estate.

  Cam’s series didn’t make as much money as we’d hoped, but she dedicated the first book to me, which made me feel very proud. Mum’s always liked writing too, so she had a go at a children’s book herself. She read me bits when I came home from school. I thought it was ever so funny but very rude. Mum sent it to Cam’s editor, Marina, but she thought it was not that funny, and much too rude. Mum got upset.

  ‘She thinks you’ve got a fantastic, lively writing style, Tracy,’ said Cam. ‘You’re just a bit too outrageous, that’s all. I’m sure she’d think about publishing it if you toned it down a little.’

  ‘I don’t want to tone it down,’ said Mum. ‘And what’s wrong with being outrageous? I’d have loved this sort of book when I was little.’

  ‘I know you would. But you were a very odd child,’ said Cam.

  ‘I had a very odd childhood.’

  This gave Mum an idea. She decided she’d write her autobiography.

  ‘Really?’ said Cam nervously. ‘You can’t write whatever you like about real people, Tracy. They’ll sue you.’

  ‘Let them try! I’ll change their names a bit. You wait, Cam. This is going to be a real bestseller – for adults, not just kids. It’s going to be a misery memoir!’

  ‘Oh, Tracy!’ said Cam, pulling a face.

  ‘What’s a misery memoir?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re dire books people write about their awful childhoods, all self-pitying and full of shocking details.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Mum triumphantly. ‘They sell shed-loads. Jess and I will be set up for life. Mine will be the most tragic misery memoir ever because I had such a terrible childhood.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ said Cam quietly.

  ‘Yes!’ said Mum. ‘It was total misery.’

  I nudged her fiercely. ‘But you were happy when Cam fostered you, weren’t you, Mum?’ I hissed.

  Mum realized she’d been very tactless. She often is. She can’t seem to help it.

  ‘Oh, Cam, I didn’t mean I was miserable when you fostered me, you banana!’ Mum tried to give her a hug.

  ‘Well, I looked after you for most of this totally miserable childhood, didn’t I?’

  ‘I meant before. When I was in and out of care. I don’t know which was worse. Living with my real mum was no picnic, especially when she got that boyfriend who started slapping us around. And then there was that creepy couple who sent me back the minute they realized they were having their own baby. And the Dumping Ground was dreadful – all those kids running riot and having tantrums and going ballistic.’

  ‘That was just you, Tracy,’ said Cam.

  ‘I was a little angel compared with some of the others! Remember Justine Littlewood and how she took my friend Louise away from me? They were so mean to me, you’ve no idea,’ said Mum, shaking her head self-pityingly. ‘Justine Spiteful Littlewood is definitely going in my book.’

  ‘You could sometimes be a bit mean too,’ Cam pointed out. ‘Look at the way you treated that dear little boy – the one who had the same birthday as you.’

  ‘Weedy Peter Ingham! Oh yes, him! Well, he was such a drip he asked for it,’ said Mum. ‘It’s all coming back in vivid detail. I’m going to start writing it straight away.’

  She worked on it for weeks. She sniffled over the sad bits, then suddenly burst out laughing when she remembered playing a trick on someone to get her own back. She read me passages. Some of them made me cry because Mum had been so unhappy. Some made me snort with laughter. Some astonished me.

  ‘Mum! You couldn’t really have done that! You’re making all this up!’ I said.

  ‘It’s all absolutely one hundred per cent true,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ said Cam, when Mum showed her passages too. ‘You can’t write all this stuff about real people.’

  ‘Of course I can. People will be thrilled to be in a book. Especially if it’s a bestseller.’

  But it wasn’t a bestseller. It didn’t sell any copies at all because it didn’t get published. Marina turned it down.

  Mum and I went to see her in her office after school. Her authors’ books were lined up on shelves all round the walls.

  ‘Look, Mum, there’s Cam’s!’ I said.

  I had a copy of each title at home, but it was still exciting to see them all in a row with Cam’s name on the spines. I stroked them proudly.

  ‘You can have a look at one if you like,’ said Marina.

  She’s a very elegant, softly spoken lady with dangly earrings and her hair in a topknot. She was wearing a cream sweater and beige trousers, the sort of clothes you’d think would get dirty in five minutes, though these were spotless. She had a photo of two little girls on her desk, blonde mini versions of Marina.

  I took my favourite of Cam’s stories and sat pretending to read it, while I listened to the conversation anxiously, hoping that Mum wouldn’t be too fierce.

  She got right to the point.

  ‘Why aren’t you going to publish my memoir?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a really interesting read and a fascinating story, but somehow your writing style isn’t quite right,’ said Marina.

  ‘But when I wrote my children’s book, you said I had a great writing style!’ Mum said indignantly.

  ‘Yes, but not for a misery memoir. It needs to be much more sad and serious. Besides, misery memoirs have rather gone out of fashion now.’

  ‘So what’s in fashion?’ Mum demanded.

  ‘Novels about strong women seeking revenge.’

  ‘That’s right up my street!’

  ‘But by the time you’ve written one I think that trend will be over. I’m sorry, Tracy, I know it’s frustrating.’ Marina leaned forward towards Mum. ‘In actual fact, I’ve written a novel myself – well, a children’s book. My two absolutely love it. I’ve tried to get it published, but no one thinks it’s quite right. I know just how disheartening it can be.’

  It seemed crazy that a publisher couldn’t even get her own books published. They were having a good chat about it when Marina’s mobile rang. She looked apologetic as she answered it – and then suddenly gasped.

  ‘Oh no, Ava!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe it! She’s just walked out?’

  Marina listened, shaking her head, screwing up her face. She ran her hands through her hair and dislodged the topknot so that little wisps escaped.

  ‘I’ll come home straight away, darling. Oh no, wait a minute, I’ve got this book launch party at six and I’m giving a speech! If only Dad wasn’t away. Oh Lord, what am I going to do?’ she wailed.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Mum.

  ‘My au pair’s had a row with Ava, my eldest – she can be a bit of a handful – and now she’s packed her bags and walked out. My two girls are in the house on their own and they haven’t had their te
a and my mother lives three hours’ drive away and I don’t really know the neighbours properly—’

  ‘You know me,’ said Mum. ‘Where do you live? Jess and I can pop round and I’ll sort out their tea.’

  ‘But I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that,’ said Marina.

  ‘Of course you can. Don’t worry, I used to work in a children’s home. I’m good with kids, aren’t I, Jess?’ said Mum.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said.

  Marina wavered. I don’t blame her. She’d only known Mum for half an hour – though she’d known Cam for years and years, ever since Mum was little. She’d heard heaps about my mum. Hmm. Maybe that was why she hesitated.

  ‘Maybe I’d better try an agency for emergency nannies,’ she murmured.

  ‘But then Ava and her little sister would be on their own for ages before she came – and she’d be a complete stranger,’ said Mum.

  ‘All right,’ said Marina, suddenly making up her mind. She turned back to her phone. There had been fierce ‘Mum? Mum? MUM?’ noises coming out of it.

  ‘Shh, darling. No need to panic. I’m sending my friend Tracy round to keep an eye on you and Alice and give you your tea,’ said Marina. ‘Here – have a little word with her.’ She gave her phone to Mum, putting it on speaker so that she could hear too.

  ‘Hi, Ava. Hi, Alice,’ said Mum. ‘I hope you’re OK with this. I’m bringing my daughter, Jess, with me. You can all play together while I make tea.’

  My tummy went tight. I always feel a bit anxious meeting new children, especially if I have to play with them. I didn’t like the sound of Ava, and Alice was probably just as bad.

  ‘Are you the Tracy who wrote the children’s story?’ Ava asked. ‘The one with all the rude bits? Mum started reading it to us.’

  ‘What did you think of it? I bet you liked it,’ said Mum.

  ‘It was funny,’ said Ava.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? Your mum’s missed a trick not publishing it,’ said Mum. ‘What do you like for tea?’

  ‘Not boring old pasta or fish or anything with broccoli,’ said Ava. ‘We don’t like any of that rubbish healthy stuff.’

  ‘Well, I’ll give you a surprise – and I bet you both like it.’

  ‘OK then. You can come.’

  ‘Is that OK with you too, Alice?’ Marina asked.

  Ava seemingly wouldn’t give the phone to her. ‘She’s nodding,’ she said.

  So that was how Mum got a brand-new job – and I made a best friend.

  ON THE WAY to Marina’s house Mum went to a drive-through McDonald’s.

  ‘Mum!’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to cook them something.’

  ‘This is quicker – and I bet they’ll like it better,’ she said.

  I wasn’t going to argue. I like McDonald’s too, and so does Mum. We go there for a treat. Most days we eat pasta and fish and lots of broccoli, because Mum is determined that I should grow up healthy.

  Five minutes later we arrived on Marina’s doorstep. It was a very posh old house in a terrace of cream-painted houses.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Mum, clutching our big carrier of food. ‘We’re going to have a house like this one day, Jess, you just wait and see.’

  She bent down and opened the letter box. ‘Hi there, girls,’ she shouted. ‘It’s the Tracy Beaker Takeaway Service!’ She grinned at me. ‘That’ll make them come running.’

  It did. Ava was just as I’d imagined. She was a bit older than me, and looked just like her mother, thin and elegant, with long fair hair. She wore amazing clothes – a fantastic soft blue sweater and tight jeans, both clearly designer. She had astonishing blue high heels too, but they were much too big for her – she wobbled when she walked. I think they were Marina’s.

  Alice was younger, and still wearing her school uniform, like me. She was a tiny bit chubby and she’d lost the ribbon on one of her plaits. She was blinking at Mum and me, nibbling her lip. I knew her tummy felt tight too, but she smiled when she saw we’d brought McDonald’s.

  Ava looked pleased too. ‘Though Mummy doesn’t actually allow us to eat burgers and fries,’ she said.

  ‘OK,’ said Mum cheerily. ‘You two can just sit and watch. But we’re eating them, aren’t we, Jess?’

  I nodded. Alice looked very upset.

  ‘Mum’s just joking,’ I said quickly. ‘We’ve bought some for you too.’

  ‘We won’t bother messing up any plates. Let’s just eat out of the boxes. And there’s Coke or milkshakes – I wasn’t sure which you’d like best,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t expect you’re allowed them either, Ava, so you can have plain tap water.’

  Ava ate a cheeseburger and fries, and had a Coke and a milkshake. She said they would be facetiming with their dad soon, so Mum quickly cleared away – one swipe and into the bin, another swipe and table wiped.

  Ava wanted to message her friends, but Mum said we should all sit round the table and play a game to impress their dad.

  ‘That’s what parents want their kids to do – play old-fashioned games,’ she said. ‘We do it all the time, don’t we, Jess? And we read and paint and bake.’

  ‘Boring!’ said Ava, yawning.

  ‘I like reading,’ said Alice softly. ‘I don’t paint because of the mess, but I like drawing. I’ve never baked, but I wish I could because I love cakes.’

  ‘We’ll play Consequences,’ said Mum. ‘Ava, find us four pieces of paper – Alice, four pens or pencils. Spit spot!’

  ‘Who do you think you are, Mary Poppins?’ said Ava.

  ‘Will you give us a spoonful of sugar?’ Alice asked hopefully.

  ‘No chance,’ said Mum, tweaking her nose.

  Ava and Alice had never played Consequences before! Alice got a bit worried when we had to write down a man’s name, and then turn the paper over and pass it to the next person.

  ‘I don’t know which man to put. And I’m not very good at spelling,’ she whispered to me.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s just a game. And I’m not very good at spelling either,’ I said. I was fibbing – I nearly always get ten out of ten when we have spelling tests at school – but I wanted to comfort her.

  ‘This is the lamest game ever,’ said Ava, but when we came to read out the finished Consequences she fell about laughing. Mum is very good at ridiculous – and frequently rude – suggestions.

  We were all laughing when their dad phoned.

  ‘Hey, girls! What’s all the giggling? Where’s Aggie?’

  ‘She’s walked out on us. And Mum has to work late so she’s got this weird friend Tracy to look after us,’ said Ava.

  ‘Ava!’ said her dad. ‘You mustn’t call people weird! Is Tracy in the kitchen with you?’

  ‘Here I am,’ said Mum, pulling her chair over and waving. ‘I’m here with my daughter, Jess. Marina’s coming back around eight. Don’t worry, your girls are fine.’

  ‘We like Tracy, Dad,’ said Alice. ‘Guess what she gave us for tea!’

  ‘I gave them a little bit of salmon and broccoli and a baked potato,’ Mum said quickly. ‘I hope that’s OK.’

  ‘Sounds excellent.’

  When Ava and Alice had said goodbye and shut the computer, they both looked at Mum.

  ‘You lied to my father!’ said Ava.

  ‘Yep,’ said Mum. ‘I was being kind to him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, now he can relax and feel you’re being fed just the way he likes.’

  ‘But it’s still a lie, isn’t it?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Not a great big whopper. And I was being kind to you girls too, because if I’d faffed around making a proper meal, I wouldn’t feel like baking. But I fancy making a cake now. Who wants to help?’

  ‘Me!’ said Alice.

  ‘Me!’ I said.

  Ava hesitated. ‘OK. Me too!’

  Mum peered into the larder. It was like a little supermarket in there, every shelf neatly packed. They had all kinds of fancy things we hadn’t heard of, but Mum found self-
raising flour and caster sugar and, after a lot of ferreting about, a packet of icing sugar. I found butter and eggs in the fridge.

  ‘OK, we’ll wash our hands,’ said Mum.

  ‘Spit spot,’ said Alice, giggling.

  ‘And then we’ll don our aprons, fellow bakers.’

  She wore the father’s blue-and-white striped butcher’s apron. It came down to her toes. Ava wore Marina’s apron, very crisp and white. There weren’t any aprons left for Alice and me, but Mum found us tea towels.

  ‘Right. Ready, steady, BAKE!’ she said.

  ‘Can we make red velvet cake? No – a lemon polenta! No – a croquembouche!’ said Ava.

  ‘A what?’ said Mum.

  ‘It’s a profiterole tower,’ she explained. ‘You have them at weddings.’

  ‘Do you now? Well, we’re not at a wedding. We’re making fairy cakes,’ Mum said firmly.

  ‘Fairy cakes!’ Ava rolled her eyes, but she seemed happy enough to take her turn at stirring and spooning the mixture into little crinkly cases on a baking tray. Then we all licked out the bowl.

  ‘This is the very best bit!’ said Alice.

  While the cakes were cooking we made the icing. When they were cooling, Ava went back to messaging her friends and Alice took me upstairs to see her bedroom. I’ve got the best bedroom of anyone in Marlborough Tower, I know that for a fact, but it’s still not quite as nice as Alice’s.

  Hers is blue like mine, but the ceiling is painted with a pearly white moon and silver stars. I lay on Alice’s bed to get the full effect.

  ‘It’s just like we’re floating in space,’ I said.