My Mum Tracy Beaker Read online

  ‘Yes, poor you! And poor Miss Oliver. Tracy’s always had a problem with authority, especially teachers.’

  ‘Still, I suppose it’s good that she sticks up for me,’ I said. ‘But it’s bad bad bad that she started doing kick-boxing because of it.’

  ‘I’m not sure Tracy doing kick-boxing is a great idea,’ said Cam.

  ‘She hasn’t kicked anyone yet, as far as I know. She just goes to classes at Sean Godfrey’s gym. I wish she’d kick him.’

  ‘Ah, the new boyfriend,’ said Cam. ‘The flash footballer. You know, he was the saddest, scruffiest kid ever, though certainly daft about football. I can’t believe he’s done so well for himself.’

  ‘He’s a terrible show-off and he wears stupid clothes. I don’t get why Mum acts so soft with him.’

  ‘I’ve never heard Tracy called soft before! It sounds as if she’s really keen on him then.’

  ‘She can’t be! And anyway, she’s been going out with him for more than three months so she must be getting fed up. Any day now he’ll be history, you wait and see,’ I said fiercely.

  I was wrong wrong wrong. When Mum came to collect me in the morning she looked different. Her eyes were shining and she was pink in the face. We had to whizz over to Marina’s to pick up Ava and Alice, but when we’d dropped them off at their school and driven to mine, Mum suddenly blurted out, ‘Jess, I’ve got something to tell you.’

  My tummy went tight. I didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. ‘Must go, Mum. Miss Oliver goes nuts if we’re late,’ I said hastily, and made to open the car door.

  ‘You’ve got five minutes, Jess. Listen!’

  ‘I can’t, Mum. I need to sort out some homework. Tell me later.’

  ‘It’s good news, I promise. Great news,’ said Mum.

  ‘What?’ I said warily.

  Mum reached out and held my hand. ‘You know Sean and I have been seeing each other for the last few months?’

  ‘Three months and one week.’

  ‘Have you been keeping count then?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘And you like Sean, don’t you?’

  I stared at her. She was my mum. She was supposed to know me through and through. I’d never actually said, I can’t stick Sean Godfrey, but surely it was obvious.

  ‘Are you breaking up?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Who said anything about breaking up?’

  ‘You always do. After three months,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not breaking up with Sean. It’s the exact opposite. Oh, Jess, we’re going to live together, you and me and Sean,’ Mum said. ‘Can you believe it?’

  I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to put my hands over my ears and go la-la-la so I couldn’t hear another word. I started scrabbling in my school bag, just for something to do.

  ‘Well, say something! Isn’t it wonderful? What are you looking for?’

  ‘It’s this homework, I said.’

  ‘Never mind your silly old homework. What do you think about us being a proper family at last?’ Mum asked eagerly.

  ‘We’re a family already,’ I told her.

  ‘Yes, I know, but it’ll be so different with Sean being part of things.’

  ‘I know it will,’ I said, nibbling at my lip.

  ‘Stop doing that, you’ll make it sore! Oh, Jess, come on, talk to me. Tell me what you really think,’ said Mum.

  ‘It’ll be too much of a squash,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sean Godfrey’s too big. He takes up too much room. For a start he’ll need most of the sofa so we won’t be able to sit together. And there’s not room for three at the kitchen table. And whenever he has a shower he’ll splash everywhere,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Jess. Don’t you get it? He won’t be coming to live with us! We’ll be going to live with him. We’re going to be living at Sean’s, right on the other side of town. It’s ever so swish, with huge leather sofas – they’re big enough for all of us. And he’s got a proper dining room, and his kitchen has a big fancy trestle table for when you have breakfast. And wait till you see his shower. It’s so powerful it’s like being in a rainstorm. And two of the bedrooms have baths too, those roll-top ones with clawed feet. You’ll absolutely love it.’

  ‘No I won’t,’ I said. ‘I love it at Marlborough Tower, just you and me.’

  ‘But it’s a dump, you know it is, no matter what we do to it. And I can’t see how I’ll ever earn enough to get our own place – certainly not a fantastic house like Sean’s. He’s really serious about it, Jess. He’s actually asked me to marry him! You always said you wanted to be a bridesmaid. Well, now’s your chance!’ said Mum.

  I couldn’t swallow properly. My eyes were prickling. I felt sick.

  ‘I can’t stop you marrying Sean Godfrey if you’re daft enough, but I’m not not not going to be your bridesmaid!’ I said, and I jumped out of the car, ran through the gate and raced across the playground, desperate to get away.

  I WAS RUNNING so hard I could barely see, my eyes blurry as I dodged in and out of the clusters of children straggling into school. I was scared Mum might come chasing after me and make a scene with everyone staring.

  I couldn’t let her catch me. I ran full-tilt – through the school entrance and down the corridor, though this was strictly forbidden. I rounded the corner – and barged right into someone bending over to tie a lace. It was a very big someone. He tipped forward onto his nose and shouted something very rude indeed.

  ‘Tyrone!’ I gasped.

  He scrambled up, his face strawberry pink with fury. ‘Jess Beaker!’ he said, his eyes popping with astonishment. Then he clenched his fists.

  I was for it now! I tried to dodge past him, but then stopped. He had bright red blood spurting out of his nose.

  ‘You’re bleeding!’ I said.

  Tyrone put his hand to his nose – and when he took it away again it was running with blood. ‘Help!’ he said thickly.

  ‘We’ll get Miss Oliver!’ I said. ‘Quick! It’s dribbling all down your shirt! Come on!’

  I took his arm and hustled him towards our classroom. I banged the door open and Miss Oliver looked up from her desk, startled.

  ‘Good heavens, what’s happened?’ she said, rushing towards us. ‘Let me look at you, Tyrone. I can’t believe you’ve been fighting with poor little Jess again. She’s half your size!’

  ‘It was Jess! I wasn’t doing nothing!’ he protested.

  ‘Anything.’ Miss Oliver corrected his grammar automatically as she sat him in her chair and clamped a wad of tissues to his nose. ‘There. Hold it tight and keep still. Are you hurt too, Jess?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Miss Oliver,’ I said shakily. ‘Look, the blood’s coming right through the tissues. What if he bleeds to death?’

  ‘No one’s allowed to bleed to death in my classroom,’ said Miss Oliver. ‘Fetch me some more tissues, Jess.’

  Just then the bell went for the start of morning school. Our classmates started coming in. They stared at Tyrone in awe. He was looking very pale now, and had started to shiver.

  ‘Oh, Tyrone, I’m so sorry,’ I said, clutching his hand. ‘Please don’t die. I don’t want to be a murderer!’

  ‘There’s no need to get into such a state, you two. It’s just a nosebleed. Tyrone will be as right as rain in five minutes,’ said Miss Oliver firmly, but she was looking a bit worried too. ‘Jess, run and get the towel hanging by the sink. Tyrone, pinch your nose really hard.’

  ‘It hurts enough as it is, Miss!’ he mumbled.

  ‘Miss Oliver,’ said Miss Oliver. ‘Perhaps we’d better take you to Mrs Michaels’ office. You come too, Jess.’

  I’d never been sent to Mrs Michaels’ office before. I had never done anything bad enough.

  Mrs Michaels is small and round, and she’s got a young-looking pageboy haircut, but don’t let that fool you. She can be soooo scary. When someone set off the fire alarm deliberately, she had the whol
e school quaking. Even the teachers seem a bit frightened of her. I once saw poor Miss Evans, who can’t keep her class quiet, coming out of Mrs Michaels’ office weeping.

  When Miss Oliver steered Tyrone and me into her office, Mrs Michaels sighed. ‘Oh dear, that’s an almighty nosebleed, Tyrone. Sit down, head forward, paper towels, and try not to drip over my new carpet,’ she said briskly. She turned to Miss Oliver. ‘How did it happen, Miss Oliver? I do hope Tyrone hasn’t been fighting again!’

  ‘Apparently Jess knocked him flying,’ said Miss Oliver.

  I wanted to fall right through Mrs Michaels’ new carpet and disappear.

  She looked at me in astonishment. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she said.

  ‘I know.’ Miss Oliver lowered her voice. ‘Have you met her mother?’ she murmured.

  I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I suddenly stopped being frightened and felt fierce. ‘Are you having a go at my mum, Miss Oliver?’ I asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Miss Oliver hastily.

  ‘Did you mean to knock Tyrone over, Jess?’ Mrs Michaels looked as if she was struggling not to laugh.

  ‘Of course she didn’t!’ Tyrone snorted. ‘We weren’t fighting! She just came barging into me by mistake.’

  ‘Don’t try to talk, Tyrone. We’ll time you. If you’re still bleeding after fifteen minutes we’d better call an ambulance,’ said Mrs Michaels.

  ‘I’m not going to no hospital!’ Tyrone protested.

  ‘I’m not going to any hospital,’ said Miss Oliver.

  I started shivering now. I’d watched the TV hospital dramas. I pictured Tyrone lying on his back in a pool of blood, with great pincers attached to his nose. Suddenly Mrs Michaels’ new carpet started going up and down like waves.

  ‘Oh dear, Jess – you’re feeling faint, aren’t you?’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘Sit down and put your head between your knees. I don’t want two casualties cluttering up my office.’

  I sat down in that weirdly embarrassing position. Still, it did stop the carpet behaving like the sea. When I felt less wobbly, Mrs Michaels took Tyrone and me to a side room with two narrow beds.

  ‘Is this your bedroom, Mrs Michaels?’ I asked, wondering if she actually lived at the school.

  ‘Well, it certainly feels as if I’m here twenty-four seven,’ she said. ‘But I keep this room as a little sick room. You’d both better rest for a while. I’ll leave the door open and keep my eye on you.’

  It felt strange lying down beside Tyrone, as if we were on a sleepover together.

  ‘Did I actually faint?’ I whispered.

  ‘No, but your eyes went all funny,’ said Tyrone. ‘You didn’t half look spooky.’

  ‘Well, you look spooky too, with all that blood,’ I said. ‘Is it stopping yet?’

  ‘It might be a bit.’ Tyrone snuffled experimentally. ‘No, it’s gushing now.’

  ‘Shut up!’ I said, feeling queasy.

  ‘Look, you did it to me!’

  ‘I know. I’m ever so sorry.’

  ‘Well, I barged into you before, didn’t I? So we’re kind of even now.’

  ‘I suppose.’ I thought about it. ‘So then will it be your turn to knock me over?’

  ‘Nah. You’re all right, Jess Beaker. Don’t you worry, I won’t have a go at you any more, and I’ll make sure no one else does either,’ said Tyrone. ‘I’m your mate now. I’ll look after you.’

  I wasn’t really sure I wanted Tyrone to be my mate, even though I didn’t have any particular friends at school, but I felt it would be churlish to say No thanks when his blood was turning the towel dark red.

  ‘Do try and stop bleeding, Tyrone,’ I begged.

  ‘I’m doing my flipping best.’

  ‘I’ll try to magic it to stop.’

  Mum did this for me whenever I had a headache or a sore tummy or a snuffly nose. She’d stroke my forehead or my tummy or my nose and say, ‘See here, nasty bug, you’re to stop upsetting my girl. I’m working my secret powers on you. You’ll suffer if you linger, believe you me! Oh, it’s getting frightened. It knows I mean business. It’s packing its bags right this minute. There, your headache/sore tummy/snuffly nose is starting to get better, isn’t it?’

  I know it sounds ridiculous, but it nearly always did seem better. Of course it could have been the stroking, or simple coincidence, but it always seemed like it really was magic.

  So I gingerly made my hand hover over the soggy towel covering Tyrone’s nose and willed the bleeding to stop. I didn’t say anything out loud, like Mum does – I didn’t want Tyrone to think me a complete nutter – but even so, it worked! It was difficult to tell at first but, when Tyrone lowered the towel, his nose was still a mess but there was no fresh blood – and it stayed that way.

  Mrs Michaels had a look and pronounced him better. She seemed very relieved. She put on little plastic gloves and washed his face with a clean towel, and then we both peered at him closely. His nose stayed dry, though it was a bit pink and swollen.

  ‘I suppose you might have broken it,’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘Maybe your mother had better pop you up to A and E to get you X-rayed.’

  ‘I’m not having no X-ray,’ said Tyrone. ‘I’m fine now, Miss— Mrs Michaels.’

  ‘Well, if it starts bleeding again you must come to me immediately. Take it easy today. No sport. And as for you, Jess Beaker …’

  I quivered.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’

  I watched, all right. At lunch break I wondered anxiously if Tyrone had got tired of being my mate and would be seeking revenge – but he seemed fine. He was mucking about with his gang in the playground, but every so often he’d look over in my direction and yell, ‘You OK, Jess Beaker?’

  I nodded and said yes, but I wasn’t really feeling OK. I’d been distracted by the entire Tyrone incident, but now I kept thinking about Mum and Sean Godfrey. I couldn’t concentrate at all in class. Miss Oliver asked me a question twice and had to snap her fingers at me before I heard her. When the bell went for home time she told me to stay behind.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Jess?’ she asked. ‘Do you feel faint again?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Do you think you hurt yourself when you bumped into Tyrone?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘But you’ve not been yourself today, have you? What’s going on in that head of yours, mm?’

  I wriggled uncomfortably.

  ‘Tyrone’s going to be fine. It was just a nosebleed – nothing to worry about. You’re not in any trouble,’ Miss Oliver said.

  I wasn’t worrying about Tyrone any more. I was worrying about Mum.

  ‘Can I go now, Miss Oliver?’ I mumbled.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘You’d better not keep your mother waiting.’ Perhaps she didn’t fancy Mum barging into her classroom again.

  I got my school bag and jacket, but then I spent a good five minutes in the girls’ cloakroom pulling faces at myself in the mirror. For the first time ever I didn’t want to hurry out to meet Mum. I thought she’d still be mad at me for rushing off earlier.

  When I emerged at last, the playground was empty. Mum was standing at the gate, looking out for me. Her face was all screwed up, but when she spotted me she smiled.

  ‘There you are, Jess!’ she called. ‘Are you OK?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Tyrone hasn’t been picking on you again? I saw him coming out of school and he gave me a funny look.’

  ‘No, he’s fine. We’re sort of mates now,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’

  Mum went on about it as we drove to Ava and Alice’s school. She didn’t say anything about me rushing off this morning. She didn’t mention my being a bridesmaid. The word Sean never crossed her lips.

  When we picked up Ava and Alice, Ava went on and on about getting the star part of the Pied Piper in the end-of-year play.

  ‘I’m going to wear this amazing costume, half red and half yellow, and for the actua
l performance I’m going to dye half my hair red too, so I’ll look really incredible, and I’m going to have extra recorder lessons so I can play my magic pipe.’ She burbled on about it for the entire journey. I didn’t say anything. Alice was very quiet too.

  ‘Are you in this Pied Piper play too, Alice?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘So what part have you got?’ Mum persisted.

  ‘I’m a rat.’

  ‘Yes, poor old Alice – imagine being a rat!’ said Ava. ‘And her costume will just be boring old brown with a yucky tail. I’m sooo glad I’m not a rat.’

  ‘I’d have loved to be a rat when I was Alice’s age,’ said Mum. ‘I’d have been a really wicked rat, rushing around biting people – especially sisters who show off.’

  She thought that might make Ava shut up, but when we got to her house she demonstrated her Pied Piper dance, recited her first few lines over and over again and made her recorder squawk through the Pied Piper tune.

  ‘Yes, I do think you could do with a few extra lessons,’ said Mum. ‘How about you rehearsing your part, Alice? Do you have to squeak and scurry about?’

  ‘She’s a bit rubbish at squeaking,’ said Ava. ‘She sounds more like a cat than a rat. And she doesn’t know how to scurry. She just plods. Can we bake a cake again, Tracy? We could do the icing half red and half yellow, like my Pied Piper costume.’

  Marina had filled a shelf in her larder with all sorts of colourings and decorations because she liked it when we made cakes. So we made a Pied Piper cake – yellow sponge with a red raspberry jam filling, and the icing on the top half yellow and half red, as Ava had suggested. While we were doing the icing, Mum coloured some marzipan dark brown and made cute little rats running around the edge of the cake.

  Alice cheered up and ate most of them.

  ‘I still think my rat costume is horrid,’ she confided to me when we were lying in her bedroom looking up at the stars on the ceiling.