Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Kelly and I didn’t do much better.

  My heart sank as she tied our legs together with her mum’s scarf. She did it so tightly she cut off all the blood supply to my foot. She looked very determined. Kelly liked to win.

  I would have liked to win too. But I knew we didn’t have a chance.

  I tried hard to get ready, get steady and go.

  ‘Run!’ Kelly commanded.

  I ran. She ran. But not together.

  We tripped over. It hurt rather a lot. I wondered if I ought to stay lying there on the grass.

  ‘Get up!’ Kelly squealed.

  I decided to get up. I was barely on my feet before Kelly tore off again. I staggered along beside her for three or four paces, and then tripped again.

  ‘Oh Tim, you’re so useless!’ Kelly yelled.

  I agreed with her meekly.

  ‘Look, shut up and get up,’ Kelly said sharply.

  I tried to do as I was told. It didn’t work.

  We were last in the three-legged race. We didn’t actually finish. Kelly tore the scarf off our legs and stormed off. I was left to limp the rest of the way to the finishing post by myself with everyone laughing at me. I saw Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave pretending not to have noticed. I saw Mum’s face. I saw Dad. I felt so awful. Then I heard another loud braying laugh and a cry of, ‘Mummy’s boy!’

  Prickle-Head.

  I felt even worse.

  But Dad looked up. He’d heard the laugh too. Prickle-Head didn’t have his dad with him this time, only Pinch-Face. Pinch-Face saw my dad looking suddenly fierce. He said something to Prickle-Head. They both scooted off sharpish.

  I felt a fraction better. But only a fraction.

  ‘Cheer up, Tim,’ Biscuits said. ‘Dean and me were hopeless too. They laughed at us and all.’

  But Biscuits had learned the knack of making people laugh with him. They laughed at me.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry, Kelly,’ I said humbly.

  Kelly raised her eyebrows and sighed.

  ‘So I should think!’

  ‘You be quiet, our Kelly. Tim did his best,’ said Kelly’s mum. ‘You were the mean one, rushing off like that and leaving him on his own. Anyway, it’s only a bit of fun, kids.’

  ‘That’s right,’ my mum said gratefully.

  Dad didn’t say anything.

  I knew he thought I was useless too.

  I tried hard not to mind too much as the races went on and on. Nobody made me go in for anything else. But it didn’t matter. I cheered Kelly and Dean in all their running races. They won. I cheered Biscuits in his sack race. He didn’t win but he bounced along grinning all over his face so that everyone clapped nevertheless. I was pleased for him. But I still minded and minded about me inside.

  Then the dads had a race. My dad ran like crazy and went purple in the face. Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave ran like he was hardly bothering. And won.

  My dad congratulated him but I could see he minded a lot.

  Then it was the mums’ race.

  ‘I’m not going in for it,’ said my mum.

  ‘Go on, it’ll be a laugh,’ said Kelly’s mum. There was nothing going to stop her going in for it, even though she didn’t have the right sort of shoes to run in, just backless sandals with heels. She gave them to Kelly to hold and went to the starting post, practically dragging my mum with her.

  I saw my mum’s face.

  I realized she hated sports just the way I did. She especially hated the idea of running in front of everyone and looking stupid. I felt a horrid new squeezing in my tummy. My mum was plumper than the other mums. And I’d seen her running for a bus. Her legs kicked out at the sides and her bottom waggled. I didn’t want to see everyone laughing at Mum.

  ‘This is going to be a laugh,’ said Biscuits.

  Then he saw my face.

  ‘Hey, your dad gave you some pocket money, didn’t he? Let’s go and get an ice-cream from the van over there,’ Biscuits suggested.

  ‘OK.’ I looked over at Kelly who was prancing around in her mum’s high heels.

  ‘Not her,’ Biscuits said quickly. ‘Just you and me.’

  So we sloped off together while everyone else was waiting for the start of the mums’ race. We bought an ice-cream each and stood licking them at the edge of the cliff.

  We heard great shrieks and roars and laughing behind us.

  I winced.

  ‘Hey, let’s have our own private Super-Tim and Biscuits-Boy race,’ said Biscuits, swallowing the rest of his ice-cream whole. ‘We’ll have a roly-poly-down-the-sand-to-the-beach race, right?’

  ‘Right!’ I said, and then I stepped over the edge and started rolling right away.

  ‘Hey! Cheat! I didn’t say go!’ said Biscuits behind me, as he hurled himself over the edge of the beach too.

  I went roly-poly roly-poly roly-poly over and over and over, my eyes squeezed shut to stop any more sand getting in them. I bumped a few bits and went very wobbly but it was still fun, if scary. And I landed on the beach first.

  ‘I won!’ I said as I landed bump on my bottom on the beach.

  ‘Look who it isn’t! Old Mummy’s boy!’ came a dreadfully familiar voice.

  But it sounded odd. Hollow. Sort of echoey and far away.

  I blinked. I couldn’t see Prickle-Head anywhere. Then I realized. He was in one of the sandy caves, burrowing away. I saw his great big boots and Pinch-Face’s trainers sticking out.

  I decided it would be wise to hasten back up the cliff sharpish.

  ‘I’m second!’ Biscuits shouted above me, hurtling down in a great flurry of sand.

  He was sliding down with great thumps and bumps. And suddenly the sand all around him started shaking.

  I stared. And then I shouted, ‘Get out of the cave quick! The cliff is giving way! The sand’s all sliding!’

  Pinch-Face backed out so quickly that Biscuits couldn’t steer past him and landed bang on top of him. They sprawled in a heap, Pinch-Face groaning, Biscuits giggling.

  ‘Where’s Prickle-Head?’ I said. ‘Did he get out too?’

  ‘Must have done,’ said Pinch-Face, picking himself up.

  There was a huge mound of new sand down on the beach.

  ‘Wow! I caused a landslide,’ said Biscuits, looking at the sifted sand. ‘No, a sandslide!’

  I stared. Something glittered in the sand. A stud. Several studs. Prickle-Head’s boots! He was buried in the sand!

  ‘Quick!’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get him out. Dig, you two. Come on. He’s buried alive under all that sand. He’ll die if we don’t dig him free.’

  I hated Prickle-Head but I didn’t want him to die. We scraped and scrabbled at the sand covering him.

  ‘Do his head end so he can breathe,’ I said, but when we tugged his top half free his head lolled. His eyes were shut. I bent my own head nearer. He wasn’t breathing.

  ‘He’s dead!’ said Pinch-Face.

  ‘I’ve murdered him with my landslide!’ said Biscuits. ‘Oh help, oh help, oh help, oh help.’

  ‘Run and get help, what’syourname, Rick, quick!’ I yelled. ‘Biscuits, stop it! Keep getting the sand off him. Maybe that’s stopping his breathing. It’s crushing his chest.’

  ‘He’s dead already, I just know he is!’ Biscuits gasped, clasping Prickle-Head’s horribly lolling head.

  It suddenly reminded me of floppy old Dog Hog and the game we’d played in the car together on the way to Llanpistyll.

  ‘Artificial respiration!’ I said. ‘Quick, Biscuits, do it!’

  ‘I don’t know how!’

  ‘You did it with Dog Hog and Walter Bear.’

  ‘I was just messing about. Oh Tim. He is dead.’

  ‘Then I’ll have a go at this kiss of life thing,’ I said, as Biscuits scraped more sand off Prickle-Head.

  I tilted his head back further so I could get at his mouth properly.

  ‘Breathe into it then!’ said Biscuits.

  ‘No, wait,’ I sa
id, seeing all the sand around Prickle-Head’s mouth. I shoved it open with my fingers and scooped lots of spitty sand out.

  ‘Is he breathing now?’ said Biscuits.

  ‘Not yet.’

  I stared at Prickle-Head’s face, wondering how to do it. I need the mouth to stay open – and my breath to get down inside him. I pinched his nose to stop the air getting out, took a deep breath, and then breathed quickly into Prickle-Head’s mouth. Then I took another breath and did it again. And again. And again.

  Biscuits kept scrabbling all the while, clearing the sand.

  I breathed and breathed and breathed.

  ‘It’s not working,’ Biscuits wept.

  I went on breathing into Prickle-Head.

  I breathed again and again and again.

  Prickle-Head suddenly coughed.

  I shot up from him. Prickle-Head turned his head sideways.

  ‘He’s being sick. Yuck!’ said Biscuits.

  ‘He’s alive!’ I said.

  ‘Oh Tim! He is alive. I’m not a murderer after all. And you’re a hero!’ said Biscuits.

  And then lots of people came running down the zigzag path and more sand started sliding, so Biscuits and I dragged Prickle-Head completely free. We were surrounded by people and there was noise and pushing and questions – and then suddenly someone came charging through everyone, running even faster than Kelly. It was my mum!

  She picked me right up and hugged me hard.

  ‘Oh Tim! I thought it was you who’d been buried! Oh thank God you’re safe. And Biscuits is too?’

  ‘Mum! Put me down! People are looking.’

  ‘I’m fine. And I do hope Prickle-Head is. Tim saved him. He gave him the kiss of life. He was wonderful!’ said Biscuits. ‘He’s a hero!’

  ‘Tim! Wow! You saved his life? What did you do that for? I thought you didn’t like him!’ said Kelly, barging through everyone. ‘Still, you are a hero. My boyfriend Tim’s a hero.’

  ‘Oh son! Did you really give him the kiss of life?’ said Dad, giving me a hug too. ‘How did you know what to do?’

  ‘I just sort of sussed it out. I didn’t do much. I’m not really a hero,’ I said, trying to wriggle free of Mum and Dad, scared everyone would start laughing again.

  But no one was laughing now. Prickle-Head was carried up the cliff to be taken to hospital. He seemed reasonably OK now, though he had sick all down his front.

  ‘That Tim rescued you. He gave you the kiss of life,’ said Pinch-Face.

  ‘No wonder I was sick!’ Prickle-Head gasped.

  He wasn’t at all grateful! But I didn’t care. Everyone kept saying I was a hero. And back at the carnival they gave me a special cup. It was supposed to be for the child that won the most races.

  ‘But you must have it instead, Tim!’

  ‘I’m ever so glad you’re my boyfriend, Tim,’ said Kelly.

  ‘You’re a real Super-Tim,’ said Biscuits.

  I don’t know about that. I’m not quite Super-Tim standard.

  But I’m Tim – and I feel Super!

  I CHANGED OUT of my grubby work dress and cap and apron while locked inside the ladies’ waiting room at the station. I felt better and braver in my emerald best dress, and my skimpy work clothes were much lighter to carry.

  The third-class rail ticket cost a great deal of money, much more than I’d reckoned. The housekeeping jar was a lot lighter when I put it back in my case. It was very unnerving reaching Waterloo and having to negotiate my way up and down the platforms to find the correct locomotive for Bignor, but I managed it successfully.

  I hadn’t realized that it would be such a long train journey to the coast. I fidgeted a great deal as I gazed out of the window. England was much larger than I’d realized. I stared until my eyes blurred, but I still hadn’t glimpsed any great expanse of water.

  I opened Mrs Briskett’s parcel for some lunch, and then carried on nibbling on and off throughout the journey. A grim-faced lady sitting next to me sniffed in disgust and twitched her skirts away from me, acting as if I were spilling crumbs all over her. It was certainly a temptation.

  A much sweeter family joined the train at Arundel: a jolly father in a straw hat and blazer, a pale mother with a babe in arms, and two girls in sailor suits, one my age, one about eight or nine.

  They all smiled at me, and the two sailor girls started chatting as if we were old friends, telling me they were having an early seaside holiday and it was going to be great fun.

  I offered the girls a slice of Mrs Briskett’s shortbread and talked to them a little. They were astonished when I said I’d never been to the seaside before.

  ‘We go to Bignor every single year. We think it’s the most splendid tip-top place ever,’ said the older girl. ‘We go bathing every day, and listen to the band and watch the pierrots. Oh, you will love it! Where will you stay? We always go to the same lodgings near the promenade. Maisie and I can see the sea from our bedroom window.’

  ‘Where are your mama and papa?’ asked Maisie. ‘Are you travelling all on your own? How queer!’

  ‘Maisie!’ the mother rebuked her gently. She smiled at me. ‘Are you going on a visit, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, to see my mama.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely, dear.’

  ‘Why don’t you live with your mama, then?’ asked the older girl.

  ‘Charlotte!’ the mother said, shaking her head. ‘You girls! Stop plaguing your new friend with your questions.’

  ‘My mama works in Bignor,’ I said.

  ‘Your mama works! Why’s that?’

  ‘That’s enough, girls!’ said their mother, looking a little uncomfortable.

  They weren’t a very grand family. They were only travelling third class like me, and their clothes were a little shabby. I could see the telltale black line around the skirts of both girls where their hems had been let down, and although their boots were highly polished, they were cracked and down-at-heel. Even so, there was a huge divide between us. That little baby sleeping in the mother’s arms would grow up safe within a family. She would be able to stay a child well into her teens. She would never be told it was her place to be a servant.

  The baby was starting to get fretful, and wouldn’t be soothed, though the mother rocked her tenderly. ‘Hush now,’ she said, over and over, but the baby wouldn’t hush at all.

  The father tried tickling her and then talking to her sternly, which made the baby cry harder. The girls chatted to each other, clearly not expecting to take their turn as nursemaid.

  ‘Let me take her,’ I offered.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s very querulous, poor lamb,’ said the mother. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to quieten her. Sometimes she cries for hours. I think it’s the colic.’

  I was used to little babies. In my last year at the hospital I had spent many hours in the nursery, helping care for the newborn foundlings before they were despatched to foster homes in the country.

  ‘Come to Hetty, baby,’ I said, picking her up from her mother’s arms.

  She had a cross red face, her forehead wrinkled as if she had every care in the world. The silly little thing did not know how lucky she was. I held her upright and pressed her against me, patting her back.

  ‘There now. Do you have a sore stomach? This will make it feel better,’ I said.

  I walked up and down the carriage, rocking her against me. She stopped screaming, snuffled several times, and then quietened altogether.

  ‘Oh my! You’ve worked wonders!’ said the papa.

  ‘You’re very good with babies, dear,’ said the mother. ‘There, Charlotte, there, Maisie! See how nicely she’s soothed your little sister!’

  I took a deep breath, aware of a sudden glorious solution to my situation. ‘I would be very happy to be your nursemaid,’ I said.

  I meant it in all seriousness, but the family all laughed merrily, as if I were joking.

  ‘I – I would not cost very much,’ I ventured further, but this made them laugh even
harder.

  I felt I could not pursue the point any further. I continued to walk the baby. She stayed fast asleep, even when the train drew into the station at Bignor-on-Sea at last. I carried the baby very carefully down the steps to the platform, my suitcase hanging off one arm. The father went dashing off to supervise the removal of the family’s luggage from the guard’s van. I waited with the rest of the family.

  Maisie was jumping up and down excitedly, declaring, ‘I can smell the sea already!’ She was so convincing that I imagined the water lapping against the brick walls of the station.

  ‘I hope there’s time for a bathe before tea!’ said Charlotte. ‘Will you have a bathe too? Wait till you see what it’s like, Hetty! Do you have your own bathing dress? If not, you can hire one on the beach.’

  ‘I expect I will do that,’ I said.

  ‘And you’ll need a bucket and spade! Maisie and I always make sandcastles. It’s absolutely ripping fun. We made such a splendid castle last year, with a proper moat, and then the sea came in and filled it up, and we made stained-glass windows out of fruit drops. Maisie had to lick them first, which was a little disgusting, but she didn’t mind at all—’

  ‘Charlotte, calm down!’ said her mother, smiling at her. She reached for the baby. ‘Thank you so much for looking after little Flora. I’ve never known her so contented.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ I said solemnly. My arms felt very empty when I gave her back.

  ‘Well . . .’ The mama was looking around at the crowds on the platform. ‘Can you see your mama anywhere? She will be meeting you, won’t she?’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t know I’m coming. It’s a surprise,’ I said.

  ‘Do you know where to find her? Perhaps you might care to walk part of the way with us?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ I said.

  We walked out of the station in a little procession, the papa alongside the porter, who had a huge trolley full of their luggage, then the mama and the baby, and then Charlotte and Maisie on either side of me, talking nineteen to the dozen, telling me all about the seaside.

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked, because we were in a perfectly ordinary street, though the light was brighter than usual and the air felt fresh and clear.