Little Darlings Read online

  ‘Maybe we’d be better off walking?’ Mum suggests, sighing – but then a lorry stops.

  ‘Where are you going to, darling?’

  ‘Robin Hill.’

  ‘Oh yeah? OK, hop in.’

  ‘I’ve got my daughter.’

  ‘She can hop in too.’

  ‘You’re actually going to Robin Hill?’

  ‘I’m going to Kingtown. That’s just past it, so I’ll shove you out on my way, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Oh, it’s more than OK, it’s absolutely wonderful!’ says Mum.

  She takes hold of my hand and we clamber up into the cab. The lorry driver shakes us both by the hand.

  ‘Hi, girls,’ he says. ‘I’m Ginger, for obvious reasons.’

  He’s got bright red curly hair and a cheery freckled face. He doesn’t look like a madman who will axe us both to death, but I’m still wary, though Mum’s grinning at him like he’s her best friend.

  ‘Well, nice to meet you, girls,’ says Ginger. ‘So how come you’re out and about at this mad hour? Partying all night, eh?’ He pauses. ‘Oh dear, not doing a runner from the old man?’

  ‘I haven’t got an old man – and I don’t want one either,’ says Mum. ‘It’s kind of complicated, Ginger. We’re going to be like surprise guests.’

  ‘I see,’ says Ginger, though he clearly doesn’t. ‘Oh well, it’s great to have a little company in the cab. Someone to chat to. When I’m working nights I tend to get a bit dozy round about this time – don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m not about to nod off . . .’ He lowers his head for a split second and gives a snorty snore and then bellows with laughter. ‘Your faces! No, don’t worry, girls, you’re safe with me.’

  We are safe too, all the way down the dual carriageway. Then he slows down and stops in a hotel car park.

  ‘Here we are. Told you I’d get you here safe and sound,’ says Ginger.

  Mum and I sit up straight, rubbing our eyes. I think we both dozed off. Mum’s ponytail has collapsed altogether and the make-up’s smeared round her eyes, but she still smiles radiantly.

  ‘We’re here, at Robin Hill?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, just down that lane.’

  ‘Then you’re a gold-star darling, Ginger,’ says Mum, and she kisses him on the cheek.

  I mumble thank you and hope I won’t have to kiss him too. We jump down from the lorry cab and Ginger blows kisses to us as he drives off, his snub nose wrinkling.

  ‘Doesn’t he look like a pig when he does that!’

  ‘That’s a horrid thing to say, Destiny,’ says Mum, but she giggles. ‘He didn’t act like a pig though, did he? He was a total sweetheart – and the taxi driver too. We’ve been so lucky.’

  Mum’s still smiling, though she’s wrapping her arms tight round herself and stamping her legs, shivering.

  ‘What are we going to do now then, Mum?’ I say in a tiny voice.

  She looks at me reproachfully. ‘For a bright girl you can be very slow on the uptake, Destiny! We’re going to find Danny’s house.’

  I look longingly at the hotel. I think of a hot bath, a clean bed with white sheets . . . Mum’s looking too. She fiddles with her tangled hair.

  ‘It would be lovely to have a bit of a wash and brush-up first,’ she says. She takes my hand. ‘OK, let’s give it a go.’

  She walks towards the entrance of the hotel. I try to pull her back.

  ‘Mum! We can’t! We haven’t got any money!’

  ‘We can always do a runner in the morning,’ says Mum.

  My heart starts thumping. Is she serious? She marches through the glass door into the hotel lobby. She’s serious all right.

  There’s no one in the hotel lobby. No one at the reception desk. No one. Mum peers around. She looks at the soft purple sofa right in front of us.

  ‘Well, we can always have a kip on that,’ she says. ‘Go on, lie down, darling. You look all in.’

  I stand there, swaying on my feet, and then move unsteadily towards the sofa. I touch it cautiously, like it might be alive – and then I sit on the edge. It feels so good I can’t help leaning back – and then I lie down properly and put my feet up.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ says Mum. ‘Here, budge up, make room for me.’

  But as she comes to join me, a man walks out of a room at the back and stares at us.

  ‘Good Lord, where did you spring from?’ he says. He glares at me. ‘You can’t sleep there!’

  I jump up off the sofa. He peers at the cushions, as if I might have left muddy marks all over them.

  ‘My daughter’s tired. We’d like a room, please,’ says Mum, her chin up.

  The man looks at his watch ostentatiously. ‘Our guests don’t usually arrive at this time,’ he says.

  ‘Well, we’ve been to a party,’ says Mum. ‘And now we’d like a room.’

  He sighs, but turns on his computer. ‘Is it just for one night?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘May I have your credit card?’

  Mum bites her lip. ‘Surely we pay when we check out?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but I need to take your credit card details now.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Mum make a pantomime of checking her bag and her jeans pocket. The man waits impassively. ‘Oh no!’ she says. ‘I can’t find it.’

  ‘Now there’s a surprise,’ says the man.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ says Mum.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you can’t stay here. Goodbye,’ says the man.

  I grab Mum’s hand. I don’t want her to bluff any more, it’s so awful. But she takes no notice.

  ‘Where on earth can I have lost it?’ says Mum. ‘I’ll have to ring the credit card people in the morning. Can’t we simply have a room for the rest of the night and I’ll sort out all the financial details later, after breakfast?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s a strict company rule. Guests have to provide their credit card details when they check in.’

  Mum sighs. ‘Well, can my daughter and I at least use your ladies’ room – or is there a strict company rule that says little girls can’t use your toilet?’ says Mum.

  The man taps his fingers on the desk impatiently. ‘Very well. But be quick about it.’

  We aren’t quick at all. We don’t just use the toilet. We wash our faces in the sink. Mum takes her top off and washes under her arms and soaks her filthy feet. She reapplies her make-up and combs her hair and fixes a fresh new ponytail, and then brushes mine into place too. We don’t have toothpaste or brushes. Mum tries rubbing a tiny bit of soap around her teeth instead but it makes her gag.

  ‘There, we look a bit better now,’ she says. ‘Do you want to wash your feet too, Destiny? Mine feel so much better now.’

  ‘No, Mum. We’ve been ages. That man will come banging any moment. Please let’s go.’

  ‘You’re such a little worrypot,’ says Mum, giving me a kiss on the end of my nose. Then she has to scrub it with toilet paper because she’s left fresh lipstick marks all over it.

  ‘Dear, oh dear, we can’t have you looking like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer when you meet your father,’ she says.

  The man is waiting just outside the door of the ladies’ toilet, looking grim. He pokes his head inside, obviously checking to see we’ve not smeared the sinks or peed on the pristine floor.

  ‘I told you to be quick about it. What were you doing, having a bath?’

  I snigger anxiously, but he’s not being funny.

  ‘Now hop it, both of you.’ He glares at Mum. ‘You’re lucky I haven’t called the police.’

  ‘Oh, is it a crime now to ask for a room in your poxy hotel?’ asks Mum. ‘Don’t you fret, I wouldn’t stay here if you paid me now.’

  She takes my hand and marches out in her high heels, ponytail swinging, while I scamper along beside her.

  ‘Oh, Mum, you don’t think he will call the police, do you?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Destiny. Of course he won’t. Cheer up, darling. We’re here,
in Robin Hill.’ She strokes the street sign lovingly, as if it’s a cat. ‘There! Come on.’

  There’s a white wooden barrier across the road and a hut beside it, but thank goodness there’s no one in it. We walk along the pavement into the Robin Hill Estate, feeling like Dorothy stepping out of her front door into Oz. We’re only a few steps away from the busy main road and yet we seem to be right in the countryside: there’s a canopy of trees overhead and thick hedges like the grassy path. Birds are already starting to sing in the trees, though there’s still no sign of dawn. It’s so dark here. I grab Mum’s hand and hold it tightly.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely here?’ she whispers. ‘I knew Danny would live in a wonderful place.’

  ‘Do you really think you’ll know which is his house?’

  ‘Of course!’ says Mum, but now she doesn’t sound so sure.

  As we walk on we discover there are many houses, but most of them are hidden away down long gravel driveways. All you can see are big security gates. Mum climbs up a rung or two on one gate to see if she can spot the house and a light comes on out of nowhere, making us both gasp. Mum jumps down and we make a run for it, right up the lane and round the corner. We flatten ourselves behind a tree, hearts thudding, waiting for shouts and running footsteps and police sirens, but the light has gone off now and there is utter silence.

  ‘Whoops!’ Mum says, giggling shakily.

  ‘Mum, they’ll think we’re burglars and lock us up!’

  ‘Oh, Destiny, stop it, you’re doing my head in. I’m trying to stay positive here. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t Danny’s house. He’s got a lovely garden. I’ve seen photos of him playing with the children in it. He’s obviously such a lovely caring dad. Can’t you see, you’ve been missing out all these years, darling. I want him to start caring for you too, just a little bit. It’s high time.’

  ‘But, Mum—’

  ‘Shut up, Destiny. Why do you always have to argue with me? I’m your mother and I know best. Now come along.’

  So I walk along beside her, not saying anything. She’s starting to limp again, but she keeps her shoes on, wanting to keep her feet clean. She’s humming, but so softly I can barely hear her. I don’t have to listen to know what tune it is. It’s Destiny, my song.

  We stumble up and down grassy lanes, getting glimpses of huge houses, one with a big lake, one with tennis courts. I imagine Danny rowing, Danny running round with a racket. Another house has a huge Alsatian that leaps towards us as we peer through the gate. It can’t get at us but we run anyway, frightened its loud barking will alert someone.

  ‘That can’t be Danny’s house. He’d never have a mad dog like that with children around. It would swallow little Ace for breakfast,’ Mum pants.

  I’m starting to think we’ll spend the rest of the night stumbling around Robin Hill, probably going backwards and forwards past Danny’s house several times without ever realizing. But right at the end of the lane there’s a big gate with limp bouquets of flowers and little teddies tied to it, and all along the wall there are smudges and blobs of writing, though we can’t read them in the gloom. We don’t need to. It’s obvious they are passionate messages from fans. This must be Danny’s house.

  Mum squeezes my hand tight. ‘We’ve found it, Destiny!’ She gives a little chuckle. ‘They’ll be so surprised when we knock on the door!’

  ‘Mum! We can’t knock now. It’s much too early.’

  ‘Oh, darling, we can’t wait now,’ says Mum, pacing up and down in her punishing high heels. ‘I can’t wait, I can’t wait!’

  ‘Mum, what would we think if there was a knock on our door at three o’clock in the morning? It’ll worry them so – and they’ll get angry too.’

  ‘Not when we explain,’ says Mum, but she’s started to waver. ‘Maybe you’re right. We’ll wait till it’s daylight, OK? It’ll give us a chance to get a bit of beauty sleep.’

  So we sit down on the path and lean against the wall. In spite of the cold and the worry and the excitement we both fall fast asleep.

  4

  SUNSET

  I wake up early, even though I was awake half the night. Mum and Dad rowed for hours and hours. They were yelling so loudly that Ace woke up and started crying too. I got to him before Claudia and lifted him out of his bed and took him back into my room. Sweetie came too, burrowing into me with her little sharp elbows and knees, her long hair tangled all over my face.

  We lay there uncomfortably while the shouting went on. I tried pulling the duvet up over our heads. I made Sweetie and Ace pretend we were bears in a cave, but it only distracted them for a minute or two and then they got hot and poked their heads out of the duvet again. Mum was screaming now and Dad was shouting very, very rude words. Ace started muttering them too, but I put my hand over his mouth.

  ‘Stop it, Ace. You mustn’t say that.’

  ‘Dad is.’

  ‘Dad’s being very bad.’

  ‘Why is he so cross with Mum?’ Ace mumbled. ‘I hate it when Dad’s cross.’

  ‘Mum’s crying,’ said Sweetie. ‘Shall we go and stop them, Sunset?’

  ‘No, then they’ll be cross with us. Shh now.’

  ‘I want Mum!’ Ace said.

  ‘Well, you’ve got me just now. Come here, little Aceman Spaceman. Time to dream your way over the moon and in and out the stars.’

  I stroked his hot head and his silky straight hair while he nestled close, and in a few minutes he was breathing deeply, fast asleep.

  ‘He didn’t do a wee in his pot,’ Sweetie whispered. ‘Watch out, Sunset, he’ll wet the bed.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ I said firmly, though I worried she might well be right.

  The bed’s still dry now, and I should lift him out quick and put him on his pot, but if he wakes up he’ll wake everyone and it’s so quiet and peaceful. Sweetie’s stayed in my bed too. She’s stretched out like a starfish, taking up most of the space. She’s still got purple shadow on her eyelids. I stare at my sister, sighing. It’s so unfair. Why can’t I be little and pretty. I’d give anything to be tiny and blonde and beautiful like Sweetie. She doesn’t have to bother to be nice to people all the time. Everyone likes her just because she looks lovely. I comb her long locks gently with my fingers and put my head very close to hers so that I have long fair hair falling past my shoulders.

  Sweetie murmurs in her sleep and pushes me away.

  ‘Excuse me, but this is my bed,’ I mutter, but she doesn’t budge.

  So I slide right out of the bed and stand and stretch. Then I tiptoe across the carpet and carefully open the doors to Wardrobe City. I have a white fitted wardrobe the whole length of one wall, but I’ve managed to squash all my boring dresses and jackets and tops and trousers up at one end. That means I can use more than half of it for Wardrobe City.

  It started off with my doll’s house. Hi! Magazine gave it to me when Sweetie was born. They did a twelve-page photo feature on Mum and Dad and their new baby girl. They showed Mum in bed with Sweetie (in her bunny sleeping suit) and Dad bringing Mum breakfast on a tray; Mum and Dad lying back on the bed with Sweetie in their arms; Mum working out while Dad cradles Sweetie; Mum and Dad in party clothes sitting on the big velvet sofa with Sweetie in a long white christening robe on Mum’s knee; Sweetie in her own fairy-tale rocking cot with Mum and Dad kissing her goodnight. I’m in that one too, with my finger up to my lips, saying shush (teeth hidden). Then they wanted a photo in my bedroom with me sitting on the floor with Sweetie on my lap and all my teddies sitting in a ring around us, but they felt the wall looked a bit white and bare so they sent out for a large doll’s house to fill in the blank space!

  I don’t think I’d ever even seen a doll’s house before. I forgot all about my new baby sister and just wanted to kneel in front of this wonderful pink and white house with its glossy white-tiled roof and white pillars and three little white steps up to the rose-coloured front door. It had a tiny brass lion-head knocker that you could really tap, and a little letterbox
slit for fingernail-sized envelopes. The door was hinged so a small doll could knock and then slip indoors. I longed to squeeze through the front door myself. I crouched down to peer through the lattice windows to see if I could spot any dolls inside, waving tiny pink plastic fingers at me.

  ‘Do you want to see inside?’ said Mark, the photographer’s assistant. He touched a hook on the side of the house. It swung right open, exposing all three storeys of the doll’s house, rudimentarily furnished – a bed here, a rug there, a stove in the kitchen and a tiny toilet with a little seat in the bathroom.

  I fetched my smallest thumb-sized bear and walked her round the doll’s house, laying her down on the bed, sitting her on the rug, standing her by the stove to cook porridge and then squatting her on top of the toilet. I forgot all about my teeth. I was smiling from ear to ear.

  Sweetie had got bored by this time and the nanny (not Claudia – was it Rhiann or Agnieszka or Hilke then?) fed her so I could play undisturbed for twenty minutes. That teddy was called Furry and had always been the baby of the bear family, but she grew up rapidly in the doll’s house and became Mrs Furry, proud owner of a miniature mansion. I fashioned her a little apron out of a tissue and she bustled about the house, diligently dusting with her paw.

  When Sweetie was fed and changed and ready for the cameras again, I reluctantly laid Mrs Furry down for a rest on her bed and sat on the floor with my sister, trying my hardest to look winsome. I was hopeless at it. I couldn’t keep my lips over my teeth and my head kept lolling self-consciously to one side, and I was so worried about blinking each time the camera flashed that I stared, cross-eyed and rigid, into the lens. Sweetie was newborn but she already had the knack. She couldn’t quite smile yet but she opened her blue eyes wide and pursed her little rosebud lips and clasped one of my fingers in the cutest way, already playing to the camera.

  When we were done at last, and the photographer and his assistant were packing up all the weird white dishes and silver paper and endless cameras and stands and batteries and cables, I went and knelt by the doll’s house. I woke Mrs Furry and she trailed wretchedly round each room, kissing each bedknob on the bed, the woolly edges of the rug, the rings of the cooker. She even bent down and kissed the toilet.