‘Oh, we’ll definitely go and have a cup of tea in Peggy’s Parlour,’ said Mum, giggling. ‘It all looks so old-fashioned. I do hope Peggy herself is a little old lady in a black dress with a frilly white apron, tottering around writing everybody’s orders in a little notebook tied to her waist.’
‘You are daft, Mum. Don’t let’s go there yet though. I want to see the sea.’
‘OK, OK, stop bouncing around in your seat!’
We drove on past a proper restaurant, a pub, and a white hotel with a big green lawn and several swings.
‘See, there is a hotel! Oh Mum, can we stay there?’
‘Maybe. It might be a bit expensive.’
‘But Auntie Avril’s given us heaps of money.’
‘It might have to last us a long time until I manage to get a job,’ said Mum. She nibbled at her lip. ‘Beauty, what can I do? Jobwise, I mean. I’ve only ever been a receptionist, and I was hopeless.’
‘You could do heaps of things, Mum,’ I said. ‘You could . . . be a cookie baker.’
It was a little joke to make Mum laugh. She smiled at me. ‘OK, that’s what I’ll do,’ she said.
She turned down a steep little lane towards the seafront. There were more houses now with sloping gardens. Some of the houses had signs.
‘We could stay in one of these,’ I said.
‘OK, we’ll pick one later,’ said Mum.
We drove downwards, round another bend, Mum’s foot hard on the brakes – and then we were at the seafront.
‘Oh, Mum!’ I said.
‘Oh, Beauty!’ said Mum.
Rabbit Cove was perfect. There was a high cliff on either side (the rabbit’s ears) sheltering a beautiful cove of soft golden sand. There was hardly anyone on the beach, just a few families with little kids running about trailing seaweed and sticking flags in sandcastles.
An old-fashioned artist with a beard and a baggy blue shirt was sitting up on the little white wall, painting. At the other end of the wall there was a small car park, a little wooden hut for toilets, and a beach shop-cum-café festooned with buckets and spades and an old tin ice-cream sign spinning outside.
‘It’s just like a picture in an old story book!’ I said. ‘It’s so lovely!’
I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t making it all up. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. Rabbit Cove was still there, serenely beautiful.
‘I’m so pleased it’s lovely,’ said Mum. ‘I was hoping and hoping it would be and yet sure it would be this ropy old pebbly place, all grey and ugly.’
‘Maybe I’m still dreaming?’ I said. ‘And you’re dreaming it too, Mum.’
‘Well, let’s park the car and then we’ll have a little run on the beach. If you can feel the sand between your toes you’re definitely wide awake,’ said Mum.
We put the car in the little car park. I delved into my suitcase for my drawing book and new felt tips and then we went on the beach. I kicked my shoes off and wiggled my toes in the soft powdery sand.
‘I’m definitely not dreaming!’ I said.
Mum kicked her own sandals off and did the same. ‘Doesn’t it feel great!’ she said. ‘Here, roll your jeans right up, Beauty. We’ll go and have a paddle.’
We ran across the sand, slowing as it became hard and damp, and then both of us shrieking as the first wave washed round our ankles.
‘It’s absolutely freezing!’ Mum said. ‘I think you can be the chief paddling girl, babes. I’ll sit and watch.’
Mum sat back on the soft sand looking after my felt tips for me while I waded around up to my knees, jumping waves, stooping to search for shells, walking up and down the little ridges in the wet sand. When I went back to Mum I was soaked right up to my bottom but she just laughed at me.
‘They’ll dry soon enough. That’s what the sun’s for! Are you hungry, sweetheart? Shall we have a picnic? Wait here!’
Mum sprang up and went skipping over the sands, not bothering to put her sandals on. She went into the beach shop. When she came out she was carrying two huge whippy ice creams with a big carrier bag over her arm.
‘The ice creams are for pudding but we’ll have to eat them first or they’ll melt.’
Mum sat down cross-legged and we licked our ice creams appreciatively. Each ice had two chocolate flakes and a little blob of raspberry sauce.
‘They’re a Rabbit Cove special,’ said Mum. ‘The chocolate flakes are meant to be ears and the jam blob is a little bunny nose.’
‘Yum!’ I said, eating all the distinguishing features of my rabbit face.
When we’d finished our ice creams Mum produced two cheese salad rolls, two packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps, two mini chocolate rolls, two apples, two bananas and two cartons of orange juice.
‘This isn’t a picnic, it’s a veritable feast!’ I said, clapping my hands. ‘There’s only one thing missing – cookies!’
‘We should have kept a few of Avril’s cookies. I’m sure she’s not going to munch her way through the whole batch,’ said Mum. ‘Oh well, I’ll have to try and make some more some time.’
We ate all our wonderful lunch and then Mum lay back on the sand, using her handbag as a pillow.
I trickled sand on her feet and she giggled sleepily, shutting her eyes. She was asleep in seconds. I wondered about burying her legs in the sand, but it was too soft and slithery to cling.
I tried to make a sandcastle, using my hands as scoops, but I needed the damp sand nearer the sea and I didn’t want to leave Mum alone. I got out my drawing pad and felt tips and drew a sandcastle instead. I made it a huge sand palace with pinnacles and domes and towers. I had a sand princess with long golden hair peering out of her tower window, waving at the mermaids swimming in the moat around the castle. All the mermaids had very long hair right down to their scaly tails.
I had a blonde, a brunette and a redhead and then experimented with emerald-green, purple and electric-blue long wavy hair. I gave them matching jewellery and fingernails and thought they looked gorgeous, if a little unusual.
I studded the mermaid moat with starfish and coral flowers and decorated the palace with seashells in elaborate patterns. The princess looked a little lonely even though she had the mermaids for company, so I drew more people looking out of the windows. I drew a queen mother with even longer golden hair, a best-friend princess with short black hair, and a handsome prince with a crown on his floppy brown hair. He was holding a very special royal rabbit who had a tiny padded crown wedged above her floppy ears.
Mum turned on her side, opened her eyes and yawned.
‘Have you been drawing? Let’s have a look. Oh, darling, that’s lovely! It’s so detailed. I must have been asleep ages.’ Mum sat up and stretched. ‘Shall we go and have a little walk round and explore Rabbit Cove?’
We stood up and brushed ourselves down. We didn’t have a towel with us to get all the sand off our feet but when we got to the little wall Mum sat us down and rubbed our feet with the hem of her dress.
‘Here,’ said the artist, holding out one of his painting rags. ‘Use this. I’ve got heaps.’
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ said Mum. ‘This is a lovely spot, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I must have painted it hundreds of times but I never get sick of it,’ said the artist.
He was quite old and quite fat, with a smiley face and a little soft beard. He wore a big blue shirt and old jeans dappled with paint and surprising scarlet baseball boots.
‘Are you admiring my funky boots?’ he said, seeing me staring.
‘I’d like a pair like that,’ I said shyly. I stuck my feet in my own boring sandals and sidled towards him, keen to see his painting. It was very bright, the sky and sea a dazzling cobalt blue, the sand bright ochre yellow. I wondered if that was the way he really saw the soft grey-blue and pale primrose cove. He’d painted the children paddling, the families chatting – and right in the middle of his canvas there was a lovely blonde woman lying asleep, a plump little girl by
her side, her head bent over her drawing pad.
‘You’ve painted us!’ I said.
The artist smiled.
‘Oh, God, let’s have a look,’ said Mum, banging her sandals together and slipping them on her feet. She peered at the canvas, giggling.
‘Oh dear, you’ve painted me fast asleep!’ She squinted closely at the painting. ‘You’ve drawn me with my mouth open, like I’m dribbling!’
‘No I haven’t! And anyway, you looked lovely lying back like that.’ He turned to me. ‘You were drawing a long time.’
‘Oh, Beauty loves drawing. She’s ever so good at it,’ said Mum.
‘No I’m not,’ I mumbled. I wished Mum hadn’t told him my stupid name.
‘Yes you are. I shouldn’t wonder if she ends up a proper artist like you,’ said Mum.
‘I’m not a proper artist. I wish I was! No, I just like painting.’ He looked at me. ‘You’ve seen my work. Can I see yours?’
‘Oh no, mine’s silly. It’s just made-up stuff,’ I hedged.
‘Go on, show him, Beauty,’ said Mum.
I opened up my drawing pad and flashed my sand picture at him bashfully.
‘Oh my goodness! Let’s have a proper look.’ He took the drawing back from me and peered closely at my picture.
‘I know it’s silly and babyish,’ I said. ‘I was just sort of fooling around. I know you don’t really get rabbits with crowns and mermaids with green and purple hair. Well, mermaids aren’t real anyway, obviously.’
‘That’s the whole point of painting though. We can imagine the world the way we want it,’ he said. ‘I think you’re very talented, Beauty. Is that your real name?’
‘Poor Beauty hates her name,’ said Mum. ‘You can call her Cookie if you like. That’s her new nickname.’
‘I think Beauty’s much more distinctive,’ he said. ‘What’s your name? Total Delight? Ravishing? Gorgeous?’
Mum laughed. ‘I’m Dilys – but everyone calls me Dilly.’
‘I’m Mike.’
We all nodded and smiled and then stood a little foolishly, not knowing what to say next.
‘So . . . are you here for a day out?’ Mike asked.
‘We’re here on a little holiday,’ said Mum.
‘Oh, lovely. You’re staying here in Rabbit Cove?’ said Mike.
‘Oh yes,’ I said.
‘At the hotel or a guest house?’ Mike asked.
Mum and I looked at each other.
‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ said Mike.
‘No, no, it’s just we haven’t quite decided where we’re staying yet,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we should go and do that straight away, Beauty? Oh heavens, I hope they’re not all fully booked.’
‘It’s not the proper holiday season yet. You should be fine,’ said Mike. ‘There’s just the one proper hotel in Rabbit Cove but there are lots of bed-and-breakfast guest houses.’
‘That’s what we’d prefer. Could you recommend a particular one, seeing as you’re local?’ said Mum.
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Mike. ‘There’s a row of them just up the hill in Primrose Terrace. I’ll come with you if you like. I’ve finished my painting for today.’
He let me help screw up all the tubes of oil paint and fit them carefully in their box.
‘I love the smell of oil paint and the way it’s so thick and shiny,’ I said.
‘Have you ever used oil paints yourself?’ Mike asked.
‘No. Dad doesn’t let me have paints,’ I said without thinking. I wished I hadn’t said Dad. It suddenly stopped being a holiday. I started to feel scared and sad all over again.
Mike was looking at me carefully.
‘Tell you what – if you’re around the beach tomorrow you can come and have a daub with me. I’ll give you your own little bit of canvas, OK? Is that all right with you, Dilly?’
‘It’s very kind of you.’
We went to get the car, Mike walking with us.
‘Do you think the bed-and-breakfast places will have their own car park?’ said Mum.
‘There’s a little alleyway behind the terrace of houses. You can park the car there. I’ll show you if you like.’
He got in the car beside Mum and directed her to the alleyway. It was a tight squeeze to get the car slotted in the space and Mum’s always been rubbish at parking. She made one attempt. Two attempts.
‘It’s OK,’ Mike said gently. ‘How about swinging the steering wheel round, backing in – no, no, the other way!’
‘Oh God, I’m hopeless!’ said Mum.
‘No, you’re not. It’s blooming difficult parking here. It takes ages to get used to it. Do you want another go – or would you like me to back it in?’
‘You do it, please!’
Mike had the car properly parked in a matter of moments. He didn’t crow though, he just shrugged and smiled when Mum thanked him. We got the two cases out of the boot, and Mike insisted on carrying them for us. I carried his paints and his art folder and his folding easel, feeling very important. I hoped people would look at me and think I was the real artist.
‘OK, here we are, Primrose Terrace. Which guest house do you fancy?’
We gazed up and down the street. They were tall narrow Victorian houses painted in pretty pastels, pale yellow, pink, peach and white.
‘Which do you think, Beauty?’ said Mum. ‘What about the one that’s painted primrose yellow to match the name of the terrace?’
‘That’s quite a good choice,’ said Mike. ‘But maybe . . .?’
‘There’s the pink one,’ said Mum.
‘Not pink,’ I said, and Mike nodded in agreement.
‘OK, OK, the peach one. That’s got lovely roses in the garden,’ said Mum.
‘Mmm. Maybe,’ said Mike. He was looking towards the white house at the end. I laid his art stuff down carefully and ran to have a proper look at it. It had a shiny green door and green willowleaf curtains and there were white flowers painted on a sign above the door. I read the name – and came flying back to Mum and Mike.
‘We have to stay in the white one at the end. It’s called Lily Cottage!’
‘Excellent choice,’ said Mike. ‘Let’s see if they’ve got any vacancies.’
We walked up to Lily Cottage. I rang the bell.
We waited. I rang again. Nothing happened.
‘They’re obviously not in,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe we’d better go next door after all.’
‘Or maybe I can let you in?’ said Mike, producing a key. He put it in the lock and opened the door with a flourish.
‘It’s your house!’ said Mum, laughing.
‘It’s how I earn my living,’ said Mike, grinning. ‘I’ve got a double bedroom free with an en suite bathroom and a sea view. It’s my best room and very cheap. Come and take a peek. I hope you like it.’
It was a lovely old-fashioned room with a patchwork quilt on the bed, a rocking chair in the corner, two comfy armchairs with flowery cushions, a scarlet Chinese storage chest – and Mike’s bright paintings all round the white-washed walls.
‘We’ll definitely take it!’ said Mum.
‘Make yourself at home,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on. I’m sure you’d like a cup of tea.’
‘I wish this was our home,’ I said to Mum, when he’d gone downstairs.
‘Oh Beauty!’ Mum sighed and opened her handbag, taking out her mobile. ‘I think we’d better phone home.’
‘What? We’re not going back, are we?’
‘No, no. But it’s only fair to let your dad know where we are. You’re his daughter. I can’t just whisk you away and not let him keep in contact.’
‘Not yet though, Mum. We’re on holiday.’
SUPER SUMMER RECIPES
ELSA’S BERRY ICES!
These sweet and refreshing home-made lollies are perfect for a hot summer’s day. You’ll need a blender for this recipe.
INGREDIENTS
(Makes enough lollies for you and all your frien
ds!)
300g of your favourite summer berries, chopped into pieces (strawberries or raspberries are good!)
50g caster sugar
70ml water
A splash of fresh lemon or orange juice
DIRECTIONS
1. Heat the water in a pan until it begins to boil.
2. Carefully add the sugar and stir until it dissolves.
3. Add the fruit to the pan, plus the lemon or orange juice. Mix well.
4. Using a blender, whizz the mixture up until it’s nice and smooth.
5. Pour the mixture into lolly moulds and add wooden sticks.
6. Pop in the freezer until solid, and enjoy in the sun!
STAR’S SCRUMPTIOUS S’MORES!
S’mores are an American treat that are perfect for a barbecue or a campfire! You will need long, thin metal skewers (or wooden ones, soaked in water beforehand) for toasting your marshmallows. Make sure an adult always helps when you are making s’mores, and be very careful around the flames.
INGREDIENTS
(Makes enough for ten people, or five with a real sweet tooth!)
1 packet of plain digestive biscuits
1 large bar of milk chocolate
1 large bar of white chocolate
1 bag of marshmallows
DIRECTIONS
1. Break the chocolate into bite-sized slabs. (It’s easier to do this when it’s still in the wrapping.)
2. Take two digestive biscuits and place them on a plate. Then choose one piece of white chocolate and one piece of milk, and place one each on top of the biscuits.
3. This is the fun bit! Take a metal or wooden skewer and push a marshmallow onto the end of it.
Hold it above the barbecue or camp fire and turn it steadily, until the marshmallow has gone a lovely golden-brown colour and is starting to bubble and crisp!
4. Carefully push your hot marshmallow on top of one of your pieces of chocolate. Then place the other biscuit and chocolate slab on top and press down, making a yummy marshmallow sandwich!
Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays Page 13
