The Dare Game

by Jacqueline Wilson

  'Nonsense. It seems like it hasn't been brushed for weeks. It's

  like a bird's nest.'

  'O-u-c-h!'

  'Do you make this fuss

  when Cam does your hair?'

  'She doesn't.'

  Mum sighed, shaking her head. 'I don't know, she's being paid a fortune, and yet she lets you wander round like a ragamuffin.'

  'Cam's not really into how you look,' I said, trying really hard to hold my head still though it felt like she was raking grooves in my scalp.

  'Typical,' said Mum. 'Well, I care how you look.'

  'I care too, Mum,' I said. 'Ouch! No, it's OK, don't stop. We women have to suffer for our beauty, eh?'

  Mum creased up laughing though I hadn't meant it as a joke. 'You're a funny little thing,'

  she said. She paused, tapping the back of her hairbrush on her palm. 'You do love me, don't you, darling?'

  'Ever so much,' I shouted.

  It still didn't sound loud enough to Mum.

  'More than anyone else?'

  'Yes!' I insisted, though my throat ached as I 132

  said it. 'Yes. You bet. You're my mum.'

  She reached out and patted my face, cupping my chin. 'And you're my little girl,' she said.

  'Though you're getting to be such a big girl now.' She fingered my lips. 'They're all chapped.

  You need a spot of lip balm. Half a tick.' She rooted in her handbag amongst her make-up.

  'Oh, Mum, make me up properly, eh?'

  Mum put her head on one side, looking amused. 'It might help give you a bit more colour, I suppose.'

  'Yeah, I want to look all colourful like you, Mum.'

  She laughed. 'We've got different skin tones, pet. But I can certainly liven you up a bit.

  You've got quite a nice little face, though you must watch it when you scowl. You don't want to be all wrinkly when you're my age. Smile, Tracy.'

  I smiled until my ears waggled.

  'Maybe you could get away with a pale pink lipstick and a spot of rouge on your cheeks.'

  'I want bright red lipstick like yours!' I had a rootle in her bag myself.

  'Get out of there!' said Mum, trying to snatch it back. 'Tracy! You're mucking up all my things.'

  133

  I'd found a red mock-crocodile wallet.

  'You after my money?' said Mum.

  'Is there a photo of me inside?' I said, opening it.

  I peered. There was a photo but it certainly wasn't me. 'Who's he?' I asked.

  'Give that wallet here,' said Mum, acting like she meant it now.

  'Who's the guy?' I asked, handing it over.

  'He's no-one,' said Mum. She took the photo out of the plastic frame. 'This is what I think of him,' she said, and she tore the photo into tiny little bits.

  'Is it my dad?'

  'No!' said Mum, sounding

  amazed, like she'd forgotten I'd ever had a dad. 'No, it's my boyfriend. My ex.'

  'The one that went off with the young girl?'

  'That's the one,' said Mum. 'The slug. Still, who needs him, that's what I say.'

  I said he'd have to be crazy to go off with anyone else when he had someone as beautiful as Mum. She liked this a lot. We sat down on the sofa together, and I put Curly carefully on my lap and tucked Marshmallow under my arm. Mum fed me another white chocolate. I 134

  didn't really fancy it but I ate it up anyway, licking her long pointy fingers so that she squealed.

  'You and me will be all right, won't we, Tracy?' said Mum. It seemed like she was seriously asking me.

  'We're going to be just great,' I said.

  'We'll stay together, yes?'

  'Yes, yes, yes!'

  'It's what you want?' Mum persisted.

  'More than anything in the world,' I said.

  We had a huge hug, Mum and me (Curly and Marshmallow got a bit squashed but Mum didn't nag), and it was like we were spinning in our own little world, and it was whirling us all the way up into outer space.

  135

  I got a bit miffed when I went back to my home. Football and Alexander were there already, playing football. Well, Football did the kicking. Maybe Alexander was meant to be the goalie. He seemed to be acting as a goalpost too.

  I didn't think they had any right to be there.

  Well, not before me. I flounced back to the kitchen. Alexander had supplied the cardboard refrigerator with a packet of Jaffa Cakes. I felt this was extra mean as I'm not very keen on orange. I ate three even so, just to show him. I wanted a drink but there was just this silly cardboard cut-out kettle. I scrumpled it up. What sort of idiot was he?

  'It took me a long time to get the sides equal and the spout right,' Alexander said reproach-fully, standing in the kitchen doorway.

  'Never mind your silly bits of cardboard!

  137

  Hey, you'll never ever guess what!'

  'What?' said Alexander.

  'I'm going to live with my mum.'

  'Are you?' said Alexander, as if I'd said 'I'm going to help myself to another Jaffa Cake'.

  'What do you mean "are you"? That's a bit of a limpy wimpy response. Why aren't you, like, "Wow, Tracy, you lucky thing, how fantastic, super-duper mega-whizzo brilliant"?'

  Alexander stood to attention. 'Wow, Tracy.

  You lucky thing,' he said obediently. Then he paused. 'What else was it?' He was acting like he didn't think I was the luckiest kid in the whole world.

  'Look, you haven't seen my mum.' I wished I had a photo to show him. 'She looks totally fantastic. She's really really beautiful, and she wears these wonderful clothes, and her hair and her make-up are perfect. She made me up too and styled my hair and I looked incredible.'

  There was a very rude snort from the living room where Football was obviously flapping his ears, listening to every word.

  I marched in to confront him, Alexander shuffling after me. Football dodged back and 138

  shielded his face, pretending

  to be dazzled. 'Here's Tracy

  the Incredible Beauty!' he

  said, fooling about.

  I gave him an extra

  withering look. 'You can scoff

  all you like, but maybe I'll take after my mum and end up looking just like her,'

  I said.

  'And maybe that's a little fat piggy flying through the air,' said Football.

  Alexander's head turned, mouth open, looking for the flying pig.

  'My mum's given me all these presents too,'

  I said. 'Heaps and heaps.'

  'Whoops! There's a whole herd of piggies flying past,' said Football.

  Alexander blinked and then got it at last and chortled loudly.

  'It's true! She's spent a fortune on me. She's given me everything I could ever want.'

  'What, the computer? And the rollerblades and the mountain bike?' said Football, starting to look impressed at long last.

  I hesitated. 'She's giving me all those later, when I'm living with her.'

  'Aha!' said Football.

  139

  'But she's already

  given me this new T-

  shirt. Look, it's designer,

  none of your market copy

  rubbish either, look at the

  label.'

  'Cool,' said Football.

  'And she gave me this enormous box of chocolates, so many I couldn't possibly eat them all.'

  'Well, maybe you could pop them in our fridge,' said Alexander, still giggling weakly.

  'We're a bit short on provisions at the moment.'

  'Yeah, well, they're fresh cream, and when I got them back to Cam's they'd gone a bit funny-tasting so we had to throw them out.

  But I've still got the box. I'll show you it if you don't believe me, Football. And my mum gave me heaps of other stuff too, the most fantastic cuddly toys and a special collector's doll, an actual modern antique that costs hundreds of pounds.'

  'A doll?' said Football.

  'Well, it's more like a g
iant ornament. I tell you, it's simply beautiful. My mum's the greatest mum in all the world.'

  140

  Alexander was looking serious again, his eyes beady.

  'What?' I said.

  'She can't really be the best mum, not if she left you,' he said. 'I think if you leave your little girl it makes you a bad mum.'

  'She couldn't help it,' I said quickly. 'It was just the way things were. She had things to do. And she had this really gross boyfriend.

  She didn't have any option. She thought I'd be fine in the Children's Home.'

  'I thought you hated it,' said Alexander. He was really starting to get on my nerves.

  'I got along OK,' I said fiercely.

  'Not till Cam came along,' Alexander persisted. 'What about Cam, Tracy?'

  'What about her?' I said,

  sticking my face into his

  and baring my teeth. I was

  very nearly tempted to bite.

  'My mum says she can't

  really care about me. She's just fostering me for the money.'

  'You can't be easy to foster, Tracy,' said Alexander, backing away from me. But he still wouldn't shut up. 'I think she's fostering you because she likes you. Don't you like her?'

  141

  'She's all right,' I said awkwardly. 'Anyway she can't like me all that much or she'd fight harder to keep me, wouldn't she?'

  Alexander deliberated. 'Maybe she's just trying to fit in with what you want because she likes you lots and lots.'

  'Maybe you should just shut up and mind your own business,' I said. 'What do you know anyway, Alexander-the-totally-teeny-tiny-gherkin.'

  I gave him a push and waved at Football.

  'Come on, let's play footie then. I'll give you a real game.'

  Football stopped staring

  and sprang into action. He

  passed the ball to me and I

  kicked it so hard it bounced

  back off the opposite wall, hit

  the sofa, and then ricocheted

  straight into the television set.

  'That's the second television gone for a burton – and it takes ages to make,' Alexander wailed.

  'You and your stupid cardboard rubbish.

  Let's clear it all out the way,' I said, giving the crumpled cardboard another kick for good measure.

  142

  Alexander looked as if he was about to cry.

  I don't know why. I wasn't kicking him. But when Football caught on and got ready for a major WRECK-THE-JOINT I diverted him upstairs where it wouldn't matter so much.

  Alexander hadn't attempted any Interior Design – but there were old boxes to kick to bits and a filthy old mattress to jump on.

  Alexander came trailing upstairs after us and stood anxiously in the doorway, not daring to join in. I felt mean, but I still couldn't forgive him for being so obstinate about my mum.

  Football went into Major Demolition Mode for a minute or two and then decided to take a rest.

  'You think it's great I'm going to live with my mum, don't you, Football?' I said. 'Hey, don't lie on the mattress, you'll get fleas.'

  'Yuck!' said Football, leaping up again.

  'Yeah, I think it's good about your mum, seeing as she's going to be giving you all them presents. You've got to look out for number one, Tracy. Go for what you can get and the one who'll give you the most.' He kicked his ball against the wall and then jumped up and headed it expertly back again. 'Wow! Did you 143

  see that?' He waved his arms in the air, showing off like mad.

  'It's not just the presents and stuff,' I said.

  'It's because she's my mum.'

  'Mums are rubbish,' said Football.

  'You wouldn't say that about dads!'

  'Yes I would,' said Football, and this time he kicked the ball so dementedly it veered off the wall and smashed the opposite window. It disappeared out of sight.

  'Whoops!' said Football.

  'I think maybe that's enough wrecking,' I said.

  'Watch that broken glass, Football,' said Alexander. 'You'll cut yourself.'

  'What are you doing, you nutter?' I said, as Football opened the window, spraying more glass all over the place.

  'We need a dustpan and brush,' said Alexander. 'Maybe I can devise something out of cardboard?'

  'You and your daft bits of card-

  board,' I said. 'Hey, Football, what are you doing now?'

  Football was climbing out of the window!

  'I'm getting my ball back,' said 144

  Football, peering out. 'It hasn't come down.

  It's stuck up on the guttering, look!'

  'Football, get back!'

  'It's terribly dangerous, Football!'

  'Not the drainpipe!'

  'You're far too big. Don't!'

  Football did. He reached for the drainpipe.

  It wobbled and then started to buckle.

  Football let go sharpish.

  'Get back in, Football,' I said, clawing at his ankles.

  He kicked my hands hard – and then leapt.

  I screamed and shut my eyes. I waited for the crash and thump. But there wasn't one.

  Alexander was making little gaspy noises beside me. 'Look at him!' he whispered.

  I opened my eyes and stared in disbelief.

  Football had leapt across a sickening gap into the fir tree that grew up

  against the wall. He made

  loud triumphant Tarzan

  noises.

  'You're crazy!'

  'No, I'm not! Haven't you

  ever climbed a tree? And

  this one's a piece of cake,

  just like going up a ladder.'

  145

  Football climbed up steadily while we craned our necks, watching. Alexander gripped my hand tight, his sharp little nails digging into my palm.

  Football very nearly reached the top, reached out – and clawed his ball back from the guttering. 'Yuck, it's got gunge all over it,' he said, wiping it on the tree branches.

  'Just come back down, you nutter!' I yelled.

  'I'll wash it for you, Football,' Alexander offered. 'Please, just come back!'

  So Football climbed down again, threw the ball back in the broken window,

  leant over the dizzying

  drop, leapt for it, teetered on

  the window ledge, and

  then came crashing into

  the bedroom on top

  of us.

  For a moment we were

  all too stunned to say anything. Football got up first. Alexander and I didn't have any option, seeing as he was on top of us.

  'Dads are rubbish,' Football said, dusting himself down and wiping the gungy ball on Alexander's jersey. 'Smelly mouldering putrid rubbish.'

  146

  It was like there'd been no break in the conversation whatsoever.

  'But you're nuts about your dad,' I said, getting up gingerly and waggling my arms and legs to make sure they weren't broken.

  'That's what I was. Nuts,' said Football.

  'That's your new nickname for me, isn't it?

  Nutter?'

  Alexander sat up and looked at his stained jumper. 'It's my school one,' he said, in a very little voice. Then he swallowed hard. 'Still, it doesn't really matter, seeing as I hardly ever go to school now.'

  'Oh dear, have I spoilt your school jersey?'

  said Football. 'I'm terribly sorry, Alexander, old chum.'

  Alexander chose to take him seriously.

  'That's quite all right, Football,' he said. He got up cautiously as if there was every chance he might be knocked down again. 'What happened with your dad, Football?'

  I held my breath.

  'You shut up, useless,' said Football, but he simply bounced his ball on Alexander's head.

  'Didn't your dad take you to the match on Saturday?' I asked.

  Football suddenly sat back down himself, 147

  his back against the wall. He

  looked do
wn at the bare floor-

  boards. He didn't even

  bounce his ball. 'I waited.

  And waited. And waited,' he

  mumbled. 'But he never

  turned up.'

  Football thought there was something wrong, like his dad was ill or in trouble, so he went round to his place, only there was no-one there. He sat on the steps outside his flat and waited for ages. Then when his dad eventually turned up he had his girlfriend with him, and he was slobbering all over her like she was an ice lolly. Football looked like he was going to be sick when he told us. And it got worse.

  It turned out his dad had taken the girlfriend to the match instead of Football because she'd got this thing about the goalie's legs. They both laughed like it was really cute and funny and had no idea what they were doing to Football. He made out he didn't care.

  He said he was getting a bit sick of their football Saturdays anyway. And his dad got shirty then and said, Right, if that's your attitude . . .

  So Football pushed off and then when he 148

  got back home his mum saw he was upset but it just made her mad and she slagged off his dad all over again.

  'So I called her all these names and said it was no wonder Dad left home because she's such a whining misery. Then she clumped me and cried and now she's not talking to me. So they both hate me, my mum and my dad.

  So they're rubbish, right? All mums and dads are rubbish.'

  He stopped. We seemed to have stopped too.

  The house was very quiet. It was chilly with the window broken. I shivered.

  'It doesn't necessarily follow that all mums and dads are rubbish,' said Alexander.

  There are some silences that shouldn't be broken. Football bounced his ball at Alexander's head again. Hard.

  'I don't really like it when you do that, Football,' Alexander said, blinking.

  'Good,' said Football. He bounced his ball again. It was unfortunate for Alexander that Football has deadly accurate aim.

  'Tracy?' Alexander said, a tear

  rolling down his cheek.

  I felt like there were two Tracys.

  149

  One wanted to put her arm round him and wipe his eyes and yell at Football to go and pick on someone his own size. And the other wanted to bounce a ball on his brainy little bonce too.

  The Tracy twins argued it out. Guess which one won.