Little Darlings Read online

  ‘How dare you make your poor kid beg for you!’

  ‘Look at the state of her! It’s obvious she’s on drugs. She doesn’t deserve to have a child, using her like that. She should be taken away from her.’

  I clutch Mum. ‘No, it’s not like that! We’ve just not got enough money for the tube. Our train goes from Euston. Show them the tickets, Mum!’

  But the man in uniform is coming over to us, looking angry – they’re all angry now, and so Mum and I run for it, up the steps into the big wide street. We stand there panting and sobbing.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ I say, hugging her.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ Mum says, holding me tight. ‘I’m not going to let them take you away.’

  She sounds like Mum again and I lean against her.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘Well, looks like we’ll have to walk it,’ says Mum. She glances down at our shoes. I’m in my trainers but she’s in her best white high heels. She’s already got sore red patches on both ankles. She wobbles on her heels for another couple of roads, but then she reaches down and takes them off. She’s got these nylon pop socks on, with her big toes already poking out. By the time we reach Euston Station at long, long last they are in tatters and Mum’s limping, but she doesn’t give a word of complaint.

  ‘Thank God,’ she says as we walk into the station.

  At least it’s familiar – but strange too. It’s nearly empty – just a few lads messing about down one end, an old drunk man mumbling to himself, and a boy and a girl sitting on the cold station forecourt, oblivious to everything.

  ‘Funny,’ says Mum. ‘Where is everyone?’

  I look up at the departure board. There’s nothing there, nothing at all until five forty-five in the morning.

  ‘Oh, Mum, there aren’t any more trains tonight,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Destiny, there must be trains,’ says Mum, but then she sees the station clock.

  ‘Oh no. You’re right. We’ve missed it.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘We’ve missed everything.’

  I’m scared she’s going to start shouting and crying again. I hold onto her tightly. I can feel her trembling.

  ‘What sort of a mother am I?’ she mutters.

  ‘You’re a lovely mother, the best,’ I say fiercely.

  I’m looking all around but there’s nowhere comfy we can curl up. We end up sitting on two hard bench seats by the locked-up WHSmith stand.

  ‘We can’t stay here all night,’ says Mum, but we have to, we’ve no other option. We can’t find a little hotel because we’ve no cash and Mum doesn’t have proper credit cards any more because she used to find it too tempting to buy stuff, especially for our house. We got into debt, but we’re paying it off, and we’ve kept the house, so we’re doing fine. Apart from tonight.

  I wish we had proper coats with us – it’s so cold now. I nestle up as close as I can to Mum.

  ‘Put your head on my lap, babe,’ she says, so I do. She strokes my hair, gently running her fingers through my ponytail. ‘There now. Shut your eyes. We’re not in a manky old station. We’re tucked up in a lovely big bed with gorgeous fresh white sheets and it’s all dark and quiet, and in a little while you’re going to go fast asleep . . .’ Her voice is still hoarse from all the shouting but she’s my lovely mum again and I listen quietly, lulled. Then her voice falters and I realize she’s crying again.

  ‘Don’t, Mum. Go on, tell me more about the bed. You were making it so real.’

  She shakes her head, her lips pressed together. ‘That’s the trouble, Destiny. I make things up so real that I start believing in them too. That’s why we’re sitting here, babes. I made myself believe we wouldn’t be coming back tonight. Oh, I knew we’d have to come back some time – we wouldn’t want to leave our house – but I thought we’d stay with Danny for a bit.’ She sobs as she says his name. ‘I thought – oh, Destiny, I thought once he’d seen you and me, once he heard your name, he’d remember, he’d realize. It’s time you got to know your own dad, sweetheart. If anything happens to me, he’s all you’ve got and you’re his, quite definitely. You’ve only to look at you: you’ve got his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin, his wild dark hair. You a total Kilman, plain as plain. It’s not as if we want to take liberties. He’s still with Suzy and I approve of that, it’s good he’s faithful to her – though I can’t quite see the attraction.

  ‘Anyway, he’s got all her kids. He’s a real family man, you can tell. And we’re family too – well, you are, Destiny, and I thought he’d be desperate to get to know you better. I knew Suzy wouldn’t be thrilled, but I didn’t know why she would mind so much – after all, I knew Danny before she did, and she’s got him all the time now. I didn’t see how she could begrudge us a day or two for you to get to know your dad – and I thought how lovely it would be for you to make friends with Sunset, seeing as there’s less than a year between you.’

  ‘Mum! A girl like Sunset would never want to be friends with me!’

  ‘Yes, she would. I thought they’d ask us to stay overnight, and you could share Sunset’s bedroom. They must have any number of guest rooms where I could bunk down. And then in the morning we’d have one of those really relaxed late breakfasts – lovely fruit and yoghurt and real coffee – and we’d chat for hours and then maybe all have a walk in a London park somewhere and go to a pub, and Danny would ask you all about yourself, and he’d be so thrilled if he heard you sing.’

  ‘Mum! As if!’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a lovely singing voice. You clearly take after your dad – I can’t sing to save my life – and you’d tell him about school and how you’re always top of the class.’

  ‘I’m not always top. Raymond Wallis is heaps better than me at maths and science.’

  ‘I just wanted him to see he’s got another daughter to be proud of,’ Mum persists. ‘I didn’t think he’d ask us to stick around for ever, but I was sure he’d want our address, want to keep in touch, start sending you proper birthday presents – maybe even send you to a posh private school—’

  ‘I don’t want to go to some snobby private school.’

  ‘Yes, but you need to be educated properly. You’re so bright, not like me. I’m dead ignorant, I know that, but you’re my star and I want the best for you.’

  ‘I’ve got the best, Mum – I’ve got you,’ I say.

  ‘I’m a dreadful mum,’ says Mum. ‘Look at us now, stuck here all night. And look at the scene I made! I don’t know what happened, babe. I just lost my head. I couldn’t bear it when Danny didn’t spot us.’

  ‘He did see us, Mum. He just didn’t want anything to do with us.’

  ‘No, no, that’s not true. Well, he might have seen us—’

  ‘And heard us.’

  ‘Yes, all right, I know I was shouting – but he just didn’t recognize us, take in who we were. If only we’d been on our own with him, I could have introduced you all quiet and polite, and then I just know it would have worked.’ Mum pauses, winding my hair round her fingers. ‘I know! We’ll go to his house!’

  ‘Mum, stop it. We can’t do that. We don’t know where he lives anyway.’

  ‘Yes we do. He lives in Robin Hill – you’ve seen the pictures in Hi! Magazine. Remember I showed you their living room? They were all sitting on this big leather sofa when little Ace was just a newborn baby – and there was that lovely tender picture of Danny holding him in his arms. Oh, I’d have given anything for Danny to have held you like that! Well, that was their house in Robin Hill. It’s only about ten miles from London, I looked it up. We could go there now.’

  ‘Mum! Stop it! Look, this is crazy. We haven’t got any money. How can we go there? We can’t walk. Look at the state of your poor feet already.

  ‘We could . . . we could hitch a lift. I always used to do that when I was fifteen, sixteen, and needing to get to places.’

  ‘Mum, please.’ I cup my hands round her face, looking into her eyes. ‘Mum, you’re going
a little bit nuts again. Please stop it.’

  ‘No, I’m not nuts, Destiny, I’m just trying to make it all come right. I blew it at the cinema, shouting my head off, I can see that now. But we’ve still got a chance. We can’t go back to Manchester right this minute, we’ve got to wait till the morning, OK – so instead of sitting on our bums here, let’s go and find Danny’s house and we’ll just say hello to him, keeping it very polite and low-key. What have we got to lose?’

  ‘We can’t just knock on his door!’

  ‘It’s not against the law, especially when you just happen to be Danny’s daughter.’

  ‘Anyway, which door? Do you know his whole address?’

  ‘Not exactly, but Robin Hill’s just this weeny little posh estate. There aren’t many houses there, that’s the whole point. They’re all great big houses with huge gardens, swimming pools, stables, anything you fancy. Oh, Destiny, imagine getting up and going for a swim in your own pool and then having a ride on your own pony! Wouldn’t you just love that?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘We’ll find Danny’s house, easy-peasy. We’ll show him we’re not just silly fans shouting our heads off. Oh, I could slap myself for yelling at him. How he must hate it. But I won’t let you down this time, Destiny, honest to God. I’ll be dead quiet and dignified, and he’ll just need to take a proper look at you and he’ll be bowled over. Oh, Danny’s such a lovely man. He’ll make us welcome, you’ll see.’

  I don’t see at all. She’s making it all up again, she can’t seem to help it. I can’t figure out a way to stop her. At least she’s not angry now, she’s not shouting. Her whole face is lit up. She looks like those people on Songs of Praise, devout and inspired, singing Danny’s praises instead of God’s.

  We leave the station and Mum moves straight to the side of the road and holds up her hand like a lollipop lady. None of the cars take a blind bit of notice of her. No one even slows down.

  ‘Come on, Destiny, you put your hand up too.’

  We stand with our arms up until we get pins and needles, but we don’t get anywhere. Then a man in a white van stops and Mum gives a shout of triumph and runs up to his window – but by the time I’ve run up too he’s driven off and Mum’s left on the pavement, her face red.

  ‘What’s happened, Mum?’

  ‘He was a nasty man, dead crude. We wouldn’t want a ride with him. Don’t worry, we’ll get a proper lift in no time.’

  No time, no time. We seem to have stepped right into no time. Endless hours go by, and yet it’s only minutes on Mum’s watch. I’ve never been up this late in my life. I’m so tired. My eyes smart and I ache everywhere and all I want to do is lie down. I’d curl up on the mucky pavement given half a chance. My head feels way too big for my body, like it’s going to snap straight off my neck any minute and roll along the gutter like a bowling ball.

  A car draws up but it’s full of young drunk men, and this time Mum doesn’t even bother to ask if they’re going anywhere near Robin Hill. They start yelling at us, making horrible suggestions. Mum holds my hand tight, our palms sweating. Then a taxi draws up, and thank heavens the car of drunks drives off.

  ‘Are you OK, girls? Giving you grief, were they?’ the taxi driver asks. ‘Good job I saw you waving.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I wasn’t hailing you. I was just trying to hitch a lift,’ Mum says, still clutching my hand. I can feel her trembling.

  ‘Are you crazy? You don’t want to do that, especially not with the little girl.’

  ‘I know, I know, but we’ve run out of money and I have to get us to Robin Hill,’ says Mum.

  ‘Robin Hill?’ He blows through his lips doubtfully. ‘You live in Robin Hill?’

  ‘We’re visiting someone there.’ Mum pauses. ‘Family.’

  ‘Can’t they send a car for you if they live in Poshville?’ says the cabbie.

  ‘It’s a surprise visit,’ says Mum.

  He’s looking at her like she’s making it all up. She is making it up and I can’t stop her any more. I’d give the whole world for us to be curled up in bed in our own little house. I screw my face up to stop myself crying. The taxi driver’s looking at me.

  ‘You all right, kid?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ I mumble, because I don’t want to let Mum down.

  ‘Look, tell you what, I’m about ready to pack it in for the night. I live in Putney. That’s more than halfway to Robin Hill. Hop in the cab and I’ll take you as far as Putney High Street, OK?’

  ‘Oh, you’re an angel. Thank you so, so much,’ says Mum, and she bundles me into the back of the cab and jumps in after me before he can change his mind.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right – see that shining plate above my bald bonce? That’s my halo,’ says the cabbie. ‘So where are you girls from, then?’

  ‘Wythenlathen. It’s near Manchester,’ says Mum. ‘We’ve got our own house.’ She always says it so proudly.

  ‘You got a husband at home?’

  ‘No, it’s just Destiny and me,’ says Mum, putting her arm round me.

  ‘Destiny! That’s an unusual name.’

  ‘She’s called after a Danny Kilman song.’

  ‘I know it well. I’ve always liked Danny. You a big fan, then?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh yes, we’re his number-one fans,’ says Mum. She winks at me. ‘I know him.’

  I give her a nudge, not wanting her to say any more.

  ‘Nice bloke, is he? A bit wild, I suppose, but that goes with the territory.’

  ‘He was really lovely to me,’ Mum says.

  I look at her anxiously. He wasn’t lovely at all, he totally ignored her. I get that panicky feeling like when you have a bad dream and wake up in the middle of the night with your heart pounding and you don’t know what’s real and what’s not.

  The cabbie chatters on, talking about seeing Danny on telly, the famous interview when he got fed up with the silly questions halfway through and went lurching off, saying stuff that had to be beeped out. We’ve got a tape of it and we’ve played it so often we’re both word-perfect for the full twenty-three minutes, and when we get to the end we always chant along with Danny: Oh beep off, you silly beeping beeper, and then roar with laughter.

  Mum and the taxi driver are laughing now but I don’t want to join in. I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen if we ever get to Robin Hill. It’s all much too scary, so I lean against Mum and shut my eyes and sing a Danny song in my head to blot out their voices.

  ‘Ah, has she nodded off?’ says the taxi driver.

  ‘She’s had a very exciting day, bless her,’ says Mum, patting my shoulder.

  ‘You seem very close, you two.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’re all in all to each other, Destiny and me,’ says Mum.

  ‘Watch out when she gets to be a teenager. I used to be real close to my daughter, and she thought the world of her old dad, she did – though, mind you, she could always twist me round her little finger. But now – oh, Lord help me, you ask her to do the simplest thing and she stamps around and sighs, and she’s like, Oh, Dad, you’re so stupid. If I’d talked to my old man like that I’d have got a slap round the earhole, but kids today, they’re as lippy as anything, and there’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘Oh, I expect my time will come, but just now my girl’s a total darling. I don’t know what I’d do without her – or what she’d do without me.’ Mum’s voice goes shaky, and I yawn and snuggle down with my head on her lap, trying to distract her, worried she’s going to start crying all over again.

  I’m glad we haven’t had much to eat because I’m starting to feel sick all hunched up like this, and it would be awful if I threw up in the guy’s cab when he’s been so kind to us.

  It takes such a long time to get to Putney. I really do doze off and dream of a great high fairground roller-coaster. Mum and I are crouched in a car, swooping up and down, screaming our heads off. Way ahead of us we see Danny and his family. They’re almost at the end of their ride. I
f they get off before us, we’ll lose them for ever. Mum decides we’ll have to jump for it, jump all the way down. She keeps telling me it’ll be fine, taking hold of me, shaking me, but I can’t jump, it’s too high and scary, so I’m stuck going round and round on the ride for ever—

  ‘Destiny! Come on, sweetheart, wake up!’ says Mum.

  I’m back in the taxi and it’s stopped moving. We’re suddenly still.

  ‘Did we crash?’ I mumble.

  ‘No, silly, we’ve just got to Putney. We have to get out now,’ says Mum. ‘Thank you so much for the lift. Here, I’ve only got a couple of quid – I know it’s peanuts, but take them anyway as a kind of tip.’

  ‘No, you hang onto what you’ve got, love. I hope you get to Robin Hill OK. I’d take you there myself but I’m bushed. I need to go and kip down, snuggle up with the missus. You going to be all right now, you and the kid?’

  ‘We’re going to be just fine – and thank you so much,’ says Mum. ‘Say thank you, Destiny.’

  I thank him obediently. Mum leans over and gives him a kiss, but I don’t go that far. She waves goodbye to him until the taxi is a little black dot and disappears.

  ‘What a lovely guy,’ says Mum. ‘See, Destiny, there are still some genuinely gold-star people in this world. Imagine, a cabbie giving us that great long ride for nothing. Now all we have to do is hitch another lift . . .’

  We walk along Putney High Street until Mum selects a suitable spot where the shop lights make us clearly visible. There are any number of cars still swooping past even though it’s so late – no, so early now – but they whizz past in an instant. Then another taxi stops and Mum gives a little excited whoop, but this time the cab driver shakes his head at her when she says we have no money.

  ‘Do me a favour, I’ve got a living to earn,’ he says, and drives off.

  So we’re back to hitching again, and now I’m so tired I can hardly stand upright. Mum sits me down in a shop doorway and stands by herself on the edge of the kerb, waving her arms about. Cars stop every now and then, but either they think Mum’s on her own and drive off when she calls to me, or they’ve never heard of Robin Hill.