My Mum Tracy Beaker

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘We’ve just had a row,’ said Tyrone. ‘Because I cheeked her boyfriend. So he gave me a clip round the ear and I said some more stuff, and Mum chucked me out the flat.’

  ‘She chucked you out?’ I echoed.

  ‘See if I care. Especially as I’ve got his fags,’ said Tyrone, swaggering.

  I tried to imagine Sean Godfrey slapping me and Mum throwing me out of the flat. I was a bit ashamed for feeling so sorry for myself. It was far worse being Tyrone.

  We walked to the shops in the middle of the estate. Amir was sitting on the floor sorting out the Sunday papers. He grunted at us. He doesn’t like children very much.

  ‘Come in separate,’ he barked.

  He’s got this new rule that children have to go in one at a time, so he can keep an eye on them. He says that otherwise one will distract him while the other nicks something. He’s probably right.

  ‘You stay outside,’ I told Tyrone.

  He was bending down, clutching his stomach.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘Hunger pains!’ he groaned. He was only messing about, but I bought him a KitKat and cheese-and-onion crisps all the same. It meant I could only buy the small size of nail-varnish remover but I hoped Mum wouldn’t mind.

  ‘Oh, you star!’ said Tyrone when I handed them to him outside the shop. He wolfed down the crisps in less than a minute and then snapped the KitKat in half to give me my share.

  ‘No, it’s OK, I’ve had proper breakfast.’ I thought about it. ‘You could come to ours and have some too – cornflakes and toast and that …’

  ‘Is Sean Godfrey there?’ Tyrone asked eagerly.

  ‘No, but he’s coming soon. We’re going to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home to get my dog, Alfie,’ I said proudly.

  ‘You’re getting a dog? You lucky thing! But they won’t let you keep it. I got this dog – well, I found him in the street, and he didn’t belong to no one, so I looked after him. At first he was frightened, but I was dead gentle and then he really loved me, but some pig shopped me and the council told us we had to get rid of him. He went to Battersea. If you see a tan Staffie there, he’s my dog, and tell him it’s not my fault, eh?’ said Tyrone, starting on his KitKat.

  ‘What did you call him?’ I asked.

  ‘I just called him Staffie. If you say it, he’ll look up at you – he knew his name,’ said Tyrone. ‘Can I really come for breakfast? Won’t your mum be mad?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, though I wasn’t at all sure. When Tyrone knocked me over, Mum had been mega-mad with him. He’s still the enemy in her books, and once my mum thinks you’re the enemy she goes on hating you no matter what.

  She looked astonished when she saw Tyrone with me.

  ‘What are you doing here? Are you picking on Jess again?’ she said, hands on her hips.

  ‘Mum! You know Tyrone is my mate now,’ I said. ‘Can he come in for some breakfast? He says he’s starving,’ I said.

  ‘He’s got a KitKat rammed in his mouth!’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes, but he hasn’t had proper breakfast.’ I lowered my voice. ‘His mum chucked him out because they had a row.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. If he was mine I’d chuck him out too!’ But all the while Mum was saying this she was getting out the cornflakes again and putting the kettle on to boil. ‘Sit down here, kid. And stop wasting your money on junk food.’

  ‘Jess bought it for me,’ said Tyrone, swallowing the last of his bar and getting started on a big bowl of cornflakes.

  ‘She did what? With my change? That’ll come out of your pocket money, Jess Beaker!’ said Mum, starting on her nails.

  ‘That stuff gets up my nose!’ Tyrone complained.

  ‘Tough!’ said Mum. ‘And don’t eat those cornflakes dry like that! Pour some milk on!’

  ‘We don’t bother with milk at home,’ said Tyrone, grabbing a handful of cornflakes.

  ‘Looks like you don’t bother with spoons either. Polish up your manners, kid.’

  ‘Is Sean Godfrey really your boyfriend?’ Tyrone asked, with his mouth full.

  ‘Yep,’ said Mum.

  ‘And Jess really is getting a dog?’

  ‘Yep,’ Mum said again.

  ‘But we’re not allowed to have dogs on the Duke Estate,’ said Tyrone. ‘I told Jess. I don’t want her getting upset when she has to give her dog away like I did.’

  Mum didn’t look quite so fierce then. ‘Yes, but we’re not staying here. We’re moving,’ she said.

  ‘Where?’ Tyrone asked, looking alarmed.

  ‘We’re going to live with Sean,’ Mum said proudly.

  Tyrone actually stopped eating. He stared. ‘You lucky beggars,’ he said softly.

  ‘You could come to tea when we’re there if you want,’ I said, surprising myself. I hadn’t even asked Alice to tea yet, and she was my best friend in all the world.

  ‘I can’t really, can I?’ said Tyrone, looking at Mum.

  ‘We’ll have to see,’ she said, starting to paint her nails silver.

  ‘See if Sean Godfrey will let me come, as it’s his house?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it will be mine too,’ said Mum. ‘And Jess’s.’

  ‘And Alfie’s,’ I said. ‘He’ll want you to come because you like dogs.’

  Sean Godfrey seemed to like Tyrone too. This time he came five minutes early! He raised his eyebrows when he saw Tyrone tucking into his second bowl of cornflakes.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had a son too, Trace,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ said Mum.

  ‘So who are you, then, lad? Jess’s boyfriend?’

  ‘No!’ I said indignantly.

  Tyrone went pink and choked on his cornflakes. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Godfrey!’ he said, leaping up and holding out his hand. In his haste he nudged the milk jug, and it went flying.

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ Mum snapped, rushing for a dishcloth while Tyrone dabbed ineffectually at the puddle with the hem of his T-shirt.

  ‘Let me do it,’ said Mum, elbowing him out of the way. ‘It’s gone all over the floor! I’ll have to mop it all up or it’ll smell.’

  ‘Don’t bother about it, Tracy. You’ll be out of this dump soon enough,’ said Sean Godfrey.

  ‘It’s not a dump!’ I said, stiffening. How dare he call it that when we’d made it look like a little palace.

  ‘No, it’s not!’ said Mum. She stood up straight, her hands clenched around the dishcloth so that a little milk trickled onto the floor.

  Sean Godfrey looked baffled. ‘I’ve heard you call it a dump yourself!’ he protested.

  He just didn’t get it. Mum could call it anything she wanted, but it was still ours, and she’d tried so hard to make a lovely home for us. She looked as if she was about to lose her temper big-time.

  ‘Sorry, ladies!’ said Sean Godfrey quickly. He shook his head at Tyrone. ‘See the trouble you’ve got me into?’

  He was joking, but Tyrone took him seriously, and bent his head in shame. It was so weird seeing him act like a dumb little kid when he usually seemed so big and menacing.

  ‘Cheer up, lad. Only kidding. Here, have you got a phone? Do you want a selfie?’

  Tyrone nodded. ‘Please!’

  While Tyrone was setting up his phone, Sean Godfrey went over to Mum.

  ‘Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings – or the kid’s. You know me, I just don’t think,’ he said softly.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ she said, still sounding angry – but when he gave her a kiss on the cheek she took a deep breath, finished mopping, rinsed out the dishcloth, and then went to get her jacket. It was the first time I’d seen her stop herself flying into a temper. Miss Oliver would have been astonished.

  I didn’t know how I felt about it. I hated Sean Godfrey thinking that our lovely home was a dump, when it was absolutely nothing of the kind. We kept it so clean and neat, and the colours were lovely, and every chair and cushion and picture was carefully chosen, every ornam
ent a memento of a happy day browsing in junk shops or ambling around boot fairs. Our flat might be very small and cramped compared with Sean Godfrey’s mansion, but I liked it much better.

  Still, we couldn’t have dogs here, and I desperately wanted Alfie. I suppose Mum desperately wanted Sean Godfrey, crazy as that might seem. We had to put up with him saying stupid things.

  He was actually being quite tactful with Tyrone. He asked him if he was into football, and they had a boring natter about matches and teams and scores. When we went downstairs, the four of us, Sean Godfrey spotted this bashed-about football in the gutter and kicked it to Tyrone. He kicked it back, and they started playing footie. It was still quite early, so not a lot of people were up, but the kids larking about and the old ladies setting off for church and the guy coming back from Amir’s shop with a carton of milk and a Sunday paper all gawped in awe.

  Sean Godfrey showed off with a lot of fancy footwork, which made the kids clap, but then he stopped to show Tyrone how to do it. Tyrone was surprisingly good at catching on, and did a passable flick himself.

  ‘Well done, lad! You’ve got talent!’ said Sean Godfrey, patting him on the back.

  Tyrone’s pinkness became positively neon.

  He followed us to the flash red car and ran his hand lightly and lovingly over the gleaming paintwork. ‘Fantastic wheels,’ he murmured.

  ‘Want to come for a spin?’ Sean Godfrey asked.

  ‘What, to Battersea? Then I could see my Staffie!’ Tyrone cried.

  But suddenly his mum came lumbering up. She still had her bedroom slippers on, and last night’s mascara was smudged around her eyes.

  ‘Oi, you!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over, you little tyke! Wait till I get you back home!’

  ‘But, Mum, this is Sean Godfrey, and he’s giving me a ride in his car. Sean Godfrey, Mum – you know, the footballer!’ Tyrone gabbled.

  ‘I don’t care if he’s David blooming Beckham, you’re not going off in any strange bloke’s car.’

  ‘But it’s with Jess too, and her mum Tracy Beaker,’ said Tyrone.

  ‘Yeah, well, Tracy Beaker!’ said his mum as she collared him and started dragging him away. She said something very rude about my mum.

  Thank goodness Mum was getting into the car and didn’t hear. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to control her temper this time.

  ‘Poor old Tyrone,’ said Sean Godfrey as we got into the car.

  ‘Is he really good at football?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, he’s not bad,’ he said. ‘He can come and join my junior squad if he likes. We do a general fitness workout and then football training. I’m strict with the kids – no point letting them mess about wasting everybody’s time – but they seem to have fun.’

  ‘That mother of his would never fork out for anything like that,’ said Mum.

  ‘Well, seeing as he’s Jess’s pal, I’ll let him in for nothing.’

  ‘Oh, darling, that’s so sweet of you! Isn’t it, Jess?’

  ‘You could come too, Jess. It’s for girls as well as boys,’ said Sean Godfrey.

  ‘No thank you,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s not really my thing.’

  I hated most games. I couldn’t catch a ball or throw it accurately. I wasn’t great at running either. On Sports Day I came last in the egg-and-spoon race! I wish there was a sport called Reading a Book, where competitors had to choose the best book in the library, find the cosiest corner, and read. There could be different categories: the sprint, where you just had to read a page; the five thousand metres, where you read a chapter; the ten thousand metres, where you read two; and the marathon, where you read the whole book. I bet I’d win every race.

  Most of the children in my class didn’t like reading at all. Miss Oliver once told us about a scheme where children read to dogs to give them confidence. I wondered if she’d let me take Alfie to school!

  My tummy felt tight as I wondered whether Alfie was still curled up in his dog bed, waiting for me. Perhaps some other family had come along and they’d decided he’d be better off with them. I got more and more tense the nearer we got to Battersea.

  Sean Godfrey was looking at me in his driving mirror. ‘Are you feeling sick again, Jess?’ he asked, alarmed. ‘Try to hold it in, kid! Not on the upholstery!’

  ‘She won’t be sick – she’s just feeling anxious, that’s all,’ said Mum. ‘We’re nearly there, Jess.’

  When I got out of the car I felt a bit wobbly, but I couldn’t just stand still and take a few deep breaths. I set off at such a pace I might have found myself winning a race after all. I was so out of breath when we got to the Dogs Home that I could hardly speak.

  ‘We’ve … come to see … Alfie!’ I gasped to a girl in a blue Battersea T-shirt.

  We hurried past all the other dogs. I saw one brown Staffordshire bull terrier, so I paused to say ‘Hello, Staffie’ to him, but he didn’t even glance my way. Then we got to Alfie’s kennel … and it was empty!

  ‘He’s gone!’ I cried.

  ‘No he’s not – he can’t be. Look, it says Reserved on his kennel. Perhaps he’s tucked himself away in a corner somewhere,’ said Mum.

  ‘He’s not anywhere – look! Someone else has got him! Oh, I loved him so much!’ I was struggling not to cry.

  ‘Cheer up, Jess – there’s heaps of dogs to choose from,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘What about this fluffy little mutt over here? Or there’s a German shepherd – they’re great guard dogs. We don’t actually need to get a dog from here at all – we can go to a breeder and get a proper pedigree dog – any kind you like.’

  ‘We want a rescue dog,’ said Mum.

  ‘We want Alfie!’ I said, and the tears started dribbling down my cheeks.

  ‘Cam said they’d reserved him for you! It says so on his kennel! So what are they playing at?’ Mum demanded. ‘They’re not going to get away with this. If they’ve given Alfie to someone else, then they’ll jolly well have to get him back. He’s ours, isn’t he, Jess?’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ I snivelled.

  ‘No need to get in such a state, Trace! You can’t go throwing your weight around in here,’ said Sean Godfrey.

  ‘Watch me!’ said Mum, and she squared her small shoulders and marched back along the corridor. Sean Godfrey and I had to hurry to keep up with her.

  He winked at me. ‘Your mum can be very forceful at times, can’t she?’ he said.

  I didn’t like him talking about Mum like that. For once I was glad she was in a strop. Maybe she really would get Alfie back for me.

  She barged her way through to the front of the queue at the reception desk. ‘I’m sorry but this is an emergency,’ she explained when people objected. ‘My daughter was promised a specific dog, Alfie. He was reserved for my Jess, but he’s not in his kennel – he’s obviously been given to someone else, which is simply unforgivable. Look at my little girl – it’s broken her heart. You’re going to have to track down Alfie, because Jess saw him first!’

  The Battersea lady smiled at Mum reassuringly. ‘It’s OK! Of course we wouldn’t give Alfie to anyone else. He’s probably just gone for his walk with a member of staff. All the dogs are taken out for a run. Look, I can see some coming back. Maybe your Alfie is one of them.’

  And he was! Another Battersea lady had him on a long blue lead. His head was up and he was staring straight at me as if he really recognized me!

  ‘Alfie!’ I called, squatting down and holding my arms out wide.

  He came running towards me, and then started licking my face, mopping up my tears for me.

  ‘Oh, Jess!’ said Mum.

  ‘There now, I told you there was no need to get upset, babe,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘Aren’t you going to apologize to the girl at the desk?’

  ‘Don’t call me babe. And don’t tell me what to do,’ Mum hissed. Then she turned to the queue and the Battersea lady, and said, ‘I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, b
ut I was just so upset. My daughter’s been wanting a dog for years, and now at last it’s possible and she’s just fallen in love with Alfie. You know what it’s like.’

  They did seem to know what it was like, because everyone was smiling now. We had to go to another room with another lady and fill in more forms, and Mum and Sean Godfrey had to show some identification.

  ‘Though of course we already know who you are, Mr Godfrey,’ said the third Battersea lady.

  And all this time she was holding Alfie’s lead, but he was licking my face and bouncing about and scrabbling at my legs, wanting my whole attention.

  ‘He’s telling you he wants to be your dog,’ said the lady.

  ‘Well, I want to be his girl,’ I said. ‘He’s the best dog in the whole world.’

  ‘Do you know his history?’ Mum asked. ‘Why was he brought here? He looks like he has a nice nature, but does he ever get wound up or aggressive?’

  ‘Like someone I know,’ Sean Godfrey muttered, chuckling.

  Mum threw him a look. ‘I’ve got to be careful. I don’t want Jess getting bitten,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t mind if Alfie has Anger Issues,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll be very understanding.’

  ‘Alfie’s got a lovely temperament,’ the Battersea lady assured us. ‘We always get to know our dogs and make sure they go to the right homes. We wouldn’t let an aggressive dog go to a home with children. No, his former owner simply couldn’t look after him any more so she brought him here for re-homing.’

  ‘How could anyone not want to look after Alfie!’ I exclaimed, hugging him.

  ‘It happens, Jess,’ said Mum. Maybe she was thinking about Granny Carly not looking after her.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ I said softly.

  ‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Right! Say goodbye to all your Battersea friends, Alfie. You’re coming with us,’ she said.

  I took Alfie’s lead and walked out with him. ‘Hey, best dog in all the world,’ I said. ‘You’re really mine now!’