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  ‘I liked it better at Jenner Street Primary, Mum.’

  ‘I know, love, but your dad set his heart on you going to Lady Mary Mountbank. It is a really good school. You’ll go on to the Seniors, swan off to university, get a brilliant degree, have a fantastic career, whatever. I don’t want you to end up like me. I’ve never had a proper job. I was just a receptionist at Happy Homes – and I wasn’t even a good receptionist. I was too shy to speak up properly and I kept getting muddled using the telephone switchboard. Your dad called me into his office all set to fire me only I was wearing some silly skimpy top and he got distracted and asked me out on a date instead.’

  ‘Maybe if you weren’t so pretty you’d have simply got the sack. You’d have found some other job and some other man, someone the complete opposite of Dad.’ I tried to imagine him. I saw Sam, as if I had a tiny television set inside each eye. ‘Someone gentle, who listens and lets you do what you want. Someone who never ever shouts. Someone who’s always always always in a good mood.’

  Mum lay still, holding her breath as if I was telling her a fairy story. Then she gave a long sigh.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said sadly. Then she tickled me under the chin. ‘No, wrong. If I hadn’t married your dad I wouldn’t have had you, babe.’

  ‘But you’d have had another girl. You could have met a dead handsome guy and then I’d maybe be a real beauty.’

  ‘You’re my Beauty now – and we’re going to make you even more beautiful at the hairdresser’s.’

  Mum was trying hard to sound positive. I hoped the hairdresser’s would be totally booked up, maybe with a bride and her mum and six bridesmaids and a flower girl – but they were depressingly empty when we went in the door. They could fit us in with ease.

  My hairdresser was called Becky. She was very blonde and very slim and very pretty, almost as pretty as Skye. I was worried she’d act like Skye too, sniggering and making faces in the mirror to her colleagues as she shampooed my straggly hair and then twisted it into spiral curls, lock by lock. But she was really sweet to me, chatting away as if we were friends. She spent ages on my hair. When she’d finally finished dabbing at it with her styling comb she stood back, smiling.

  ‘There! Don’t you look lovely!’ she said.

  I didn’t look lovely at all. My hair twizzled this way and that in odd thin ringlets. My ears stuck out comically in between the curls. I wanted to hide my head in her wastepaper basket and weep, but she’d tried so hard to please me I politely pretended to be delighted with my new-look corkscrew head.

  Mum had a similar hairstyle but it really did look lovely on her. Her little pale heart-shaped face was framed with a halo of pale gold curls. Skye’s mother was actually right – she really did look like my big sister. When we went round the town shopping lots of men stared at her and a gang of boys all wolf-whistled.

  ‘No one would laugh if you were called Beauty, Mum,’ I said. ‘Hey, let’s swap names. You be Beauty and I’ll be Dilly.’

  ‘Dilly’s a duff name too. Dilys! I suppose my mum thought it was posh. Let’s choose different names. I’ll be . . . mm, what shall I be called? Something dignified and grown up and sensible.’ Mum giggled. ‘All the things I’m not.’ She saw the sign on the front of a shop. ‘How about Claire?’

  ‘OK. I’ll be Sara, after Sara Crewe. Let’s be best friends, Claire.’

  ‘Are we the same age then?’ said Mum.

  ‘No, I’m a couple of years older than you,’ I said firmly. ‘So I get to sort things out for both of us.’

  Mum laughed. ‘Yep, I think you’ll be good at that,’ she said.

  We played the Claire-and-Sara game as we went round the shopping centre looking for a good birthday present for Rhona. She was our friend, but only our second-best friend. We were best friends, and now we’d left college we shared a flat together and we both had fabulous jobs. Claire was a television presenter and Sara was a children’s book illustrator.

  ‘Maybe you’ll work in the same studio as the Rabbit Hutch show and you’ll get to meet Sam and Lily, Claire,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I know Sam already,’ said Mum, acting Claire. ‘Don’t tell, but we’re actually dating.’ She looked at me a little anxiously. ‘Is that OK, Sara, or do you want Sam as your boyfriend?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  ‘Well, perhaps we’ll have to share him,’ said Mum, giggling. ‘I’ll go out with him one week and you can go out with him the next.’

  ‘And I’m going to draw Lily. Yeah, I’m going to make a picture book all about her.’

  ‘Do you think Rhona would like a book as a birthday present?’ said Mum, swapping back to herself.

  ‘I’m not sure what sort of books she likes,’ I said. I thought about it. ‘Do you think she’d like A Little Princess? It’s my absolute favourite book.’

  ‘Then I’m sure she’d like it too.’

  So we bought her a copy in W H Smith’s, and then we went into the actual Claire shop and bought her three slim silver bangles and then we went to New Look and bought her a pink T-shirt with Princess written in silver lettering on the front.

  ‘There, it all goes beautifully together,’ said Mum. ‘She’ll love her presents, Beauty.’

  ‘Do you really think so? They’re more interesting than a stuffed teddy bear, aren’t they? That’s what Lulu and Poo-poo are giving her.’

  ‘She’ll like your presents best, Beauty,’ said Mum. ‘Just you wait and see.’

  Six

  ‘There, you look lovely, Beauty,’ said Mum, giving me little strokes, as if I was Lily.

  ‘No I don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Yes you do, darling, honestly,’ said Mum.

  I dodged round her to get to the long mirror in her bedroom. I knew she was simply saying that to make me feel good – but I still wondered whether somehow she could be right. I looked in the mirror, hoping for a miracle.

  It hadn’t happened. I stared back, a podgy, awkward girl with corkscrew curls, a frilly blue blouse and a white skirt way too tight. I looked at myself until I blurred, because my eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I look a total berk, Mum,’ I said flatly. I stuck out my tongue at my image and waddled about in my black patent shoes, turning myself into a clown.

  ‘Stop it, darling. You look great. Well, maybe the shoes aren’t quite right. They do look a bit clumpy,’ said Mum. ‘We should have got you some lighter party shoes. White, or maybe silver?’

  She suddenly darted to her wardrobe and rummaged at the bottom among her own shoes. She produced a pair of silver dance shoes and waved them triumphantly in the air.

  I stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

  ‘I can’t wear them, Mum. They’re yours! They’ll be much too big.’

  But when I sat down and put them on they very nearly fitted me. I was alarmed at the thought I had feet as big as my mum’s already. They’d be totally enormous by the time I was grown up. I’d have to wear real clown’s boots, those long ones as big as baguettes.

  ‘They look great on you!’ said Mum.

  ‘But they’ve got high heels!’

  ‘They’re not that high. Anyway, it’ll make all the other girls jealous if you’re wearing proper heels,’ said Mum.

  I considered this. ‘OK. So how do you walk in them?’ I said, wobbling to my feet. I took one uncertain step and nearly fell over. ‘The answer is, with great difficulty!’ I said, clutching Mum.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Beauty. You just need to practise,’ said Mum.

  I staggered around the bedroom and out onto the landing. I toured my own bedroom, my bathroom, Mum and Dad’s bathroom, Mum’s dressing room and one of the spare bedrooms. I fell over once and twisted my ankle twice.

  ‘Maybe the heels aren’t such a good idea after all,’ said Mum.

  I begged to keep them on, knowing that none of the other girls had proper high heels, not even Skye.

  Wonderfully, Dad wasn’t back from his golf game when it was time to leave for the party,
so Mum drove me in her little purple Ka. Dad bought it for her on their tenth wedding anniversary. It had purple velvet cushions in the back and two fluffy purple teddies with their arms wrapped round each other and silly smiles sewn on their snouts to show they were in love with each other. I knew for a fact that one colour Mum didn’t care for at all was purple, but she squealed obediently when she discovered the car outside our house. It was tied up with an enormous purple satin ribbon so that it looked like a gigantic Easter egg.

  I sat in the back with the canoodling teddies while Mum drove to Rhona’s house. We set off in good time but we ended up arriving ten minutes late. Mum drives very slowly and cautiously. She takes ages edging out onto the main roads, not making a move until there’s not another car in sight. She also got lost twice.

  ‘I’m sorry, babes, I’m so useless,’ she said, drawing up outside Rhona’s house at last.

  There was a big bunch of pink and blue balloons tied to the gate to show there was a party going on. The living room glowed rose with pink fairy lights. I saw hordes of girls rushing around, waving their arms and dancing. We could hear the music from inside the car. Skye bobbed into view, flinging back her long silky hair as she step-tapped sideways.

  My tummy tightened.

  ‘I don’t think I really want to go to the party,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Beauty! Come on, darling, you’ll be fine once you get inside,’ said Mum, squeezing my hand tightly. ‘You’re going to have a lovely time.’

  When I teetered up to the front path in my high heels and knocked at the front door Rhona opened it immediately. She smiled as if she’d been waiting specially for me. She was wearing a red stripy top and a short black skirt. She had red lipstick on too, though it had gone a bit wobbly at the edges.

  ‘Happy birthday, Rhona! You look lovely,’ I said.

  Rhona was blinking at my new corkscrew hair.

  ‘Wow, Beauty, you look so different,’ she said. She swallowed. ‘You look lovely too,’ she said.

  Her eyes slid down my blue frills and white pleats. When she saw my shoes her mouth widened in genuine delight.

  ‘Oh my goodness, look at your shoes! Mum won’t let me wear even the weeniest heels, she says I’ve got to wait until I’m at least thirteen. Oh you’re so lucky!’

  I walked in proudly, keeping my legs rigid, willing myself not to wobble.

  ‘Here’s your present,’ I said, offering it shyly.

  I’d spent ages wrapping it up. Rhona didn’t snatch it carelessly or shove it in a corner. She held it carefully, stroking the silver paper and pink satin ribbon.

  ‘Rhona! Come on, it’s the Don’t Feel Like Dancing song!’ Skye called from the party room.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Rhona.

  She undid the ribbon, smoothing it out and then winding it in a little silky ball. She slid her finger under the wrapping paper and eased it off. She slipped the three silver bangles over her wrist and waved her arms so that they jangled. She held her pink Princess T-shirt against her, showing that it would fit her perfectly. She opened her book and peered at it politely.

  ‘Thank you so much, Beauty,’ she said, giving me a big lipsticky grin. ‘They’re wonderful presents.’

  ‘I’m so glad you like them,’ I said.

  We smiled at each other. I wanted to freeze-frame us so we stayed in that magic moment in her hall, on the edge of her party, Rhona and me. But then Skye shouted again and Rhona rolled her eyes at me.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Just wait till they all see your gorgeous silver shoes!’

  They didn’t notice my high heels at first. They were too busy gawping at my hair. Skye gave an exaggerated double take when she saw me, standing still, hands on hips. She was wearing an even shorter skirt than Rhona and a little black vest top that showed her totally flat tummy. She’d inked a blue star round her belly button that looked almost like a real tattoo.

  ‘Oh my God, who’s this? Hey, it’s the Corkscrew Kid! Old Ugly Curlynob!’ She got started on my blouse next, pulling the pussycat bow, saying her granny had exactly the same blouse, she’d bought it for ten pence at a jumble sale. Emily and Arabella hooted with laughter.

  ‘Shut up, Skye,’ said Rhona, but no one could ever shut Skye up.

  I turned my back on her and went over to the sofa. An entire squadron of teddy bears were squashed up together, jostling each other with their furry paws.

  ‘Look at Beauty’s fantastic shoes,’ said Rhona.

  ‘She can’t walk properly in them,’ said Skye. ‘Wiggle-waggle wobble-bum.’

  I plonked myself down in the midst of the teddies, blinking hard. The others started dancing – Rhona and Skye, Emily and Arabella, Lulu and Poo-poo, everyone. Some girls danced in a little group together. I could have got up and danced with them, but I didn’t. I picked two of the teddies and made them dance instead, up and down the arm of the sofa.

  Then they had a singing contest. Skye had given Rhona a karaoke set for her birthday. She had first go to show us how to do it. Skye was brilliant at it of course, using the mic professionally and jigging along to the music. Rhona tried hard when it was her turn but she kept getting the giggles and losing her place. Arabella and Emily performed as a duo and were quite good, jumping up and down and shaking their hips in unison.

  ‘Whose turn is it now?’ Skye asked.

  There was a general clamour of ‘Me! Me! Me!‘

  Skye ignored all of them. She was looking straight at me.

  ‘You have a go, Ugly Corkscrew,’ she said.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Come on, you’ve got to join in. Don’t be a party pooper,’ said Skye. ‘It’s your go now. Choose your song.’

  I’d never even heard of most of the songs. Dad hated all modern pop music, calling it ‘that waily-thumpy rubbish’. He listened to old rock bands from ages ago. I could sing those songs all right, but they weren’t on offer.

  I dithered helplessly. Skye raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Get on with it, Ugly. Come on, come on, come on!’ She turned it into a chant. The others started joining in.

  ‘We’ll sing a duet, you and me, Beauty,’ said Rhona.

  Skye frowned. ‘No, let her sing solo. You’ve had a go anyway, Rhona.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s my party, so I can sing as often as I want,’ said Rhona, smiling sweetly. She scanned the songs on offer. ‘We’ll sing Baby Boo.’

  She took hold of me and pulled me to the mic. I squeezed her hand.

  ‘I don’t know it!’ I whispered.

  ‘You don’t need to. I’ll sing the main bit and you just go Baby Boo boo boo, boo boopy do after each line. It’s easy-peasy, Beauty.’

  She started the music and sang the line. I mumbled my way through the daft Baby Boo refrain. Rhona sang the next verse and then I went through the Baby Boo babble again. I realized Rhona was right. It was easy-peasy. She got the giggles again in the last verse because there was a whole lot of silly stuff about making you moan, obviously a reference to s-e-x. When Rhona collapsed I sang the lines because I knew the tune now. We sang the last line together and yelled the chorus: ‘Baby Boo boo boo, boo boopy do,’ finishing with a twirl.

  I wobbled wildly in Mum’s heels and clutched Rhona. We both ended up on the floor, shrieking with laughter. The others laughed too, but they were laughing with us, not at us. Well, Skye wasn’t laughing.

  ‘I hope you realize what a fool you’re making of yourself, Ugly,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t think Rhona wants to be your friend. She’s just being kind because she feels sorry for you.’

  I tried not to take any notice but I worried that she might be right.

  I got to sit on one side of Rhona at her birthday tea. Skye sat the other side of course. It was wonderful food: giant turkey-and-bacon-and-salad club sandwiches held together with toothpicks; sausages dipped in tomato sauce; potato wedges with sour cream and salsa dips; four-cheese pizza with pineapple topping; mini burgers with relish and pickles; an enormous trifle with whipp
ed cream and cherries; fairy cupcakes with pink and lilac and baby-blue icing; chocolate fridge cake and a huge birthday cake in the shape of an R, decorated with little silver hearts and crystallized roses.

  ‘It looks so beautiful,’ I said in awe.

  ‘Oh, my mum loves cooking,’ said Rhona. ‘Let’s tuck in!’

  I picked up my plate and started munching.Rhona’s mum poured us all glasses of juice – cranberry, orange or raspberry.

  ‘Which juice would you like, dear?’ she asked me.

  ‘Cranberry, please,’ I said indistinctly, my mouth full. I swallowed. ‘Oh, Mrs Marshall, this is absolutely delicious.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ she said, smiling at me, and then moving on.

  ‘Good grief! Look at the way Ugly’s piled her plate high,’ Skye muttered. ‘She’s such a greedy guts, no wonder she’s got such a big belly. Look, it’s sticking out all the pleats in her ridiculous skirt.’

  Rhona pretended not to hear but Arabella and Emily sniggered. I wanted to push Skye’s head plop into the bowl of trifle. I tried to act as if I hadn’t heard her. I ate my entire plateful – though the food tasted like cardboard now.

  It was easier after tea because the grown-ups came into the living room with us and Skye was too sly to be blatantly mean to me in front of the Marshalls. Mr Marshall stuck a false moustache under his nose, balanced a silly hat sideways on his head, and said he was Bumble the Conjuror. He did a lot of tricks that didn’t work properly. I wasn’t sure if this was deliberate or not. I tittered uncertainly when he picked the wrong card or tapped the wrong box. Rhona roared with laughter and kept yelling, ‘Oh, Dad, you are so so stupid!’

  I held my breath the first time she said it, but Mr Marshall didn’t turn a hair. He just pulled a funny face, sticking one finger in his mouth, looking all droopy and woebegone. Rhona laughed all the more.