Diamond Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Dixie! Close your mouth! Stop that daydreaming, you look gormless,’ Mum snapped.

  ‘I was just trying to think of all the planets, Mum.’

  ‘We’re going to live in Mercury. Then there’s Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Neptune and Saturn.’

  ‘They’ve left out Pluto and Uranus,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘Yeah, well, who’d want to live in Mickey Mouse’s dog or something that sounds very rude,’ I said. I was still counting. ‘So what’s the last planet?’

  ‘Earth, stupid. Where we live. Though you’re generally on a different planet altogether, Dixie. Planet Loony.’ Rochelle stuck out her tongue and made for the door.

  ‘Hang on, Rochelle, take Dixie with you.’

  ‘Oh Mum. I haven’t got time to do a blooming school run. I’m late,’ Rochelle said, on her way to the bathroom.

  ‘I don’t want to go to school today, Mum. Like Jude said, there’s no point, not if we really are moving to this Planet place.’

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble,’ said Mum, but she reached out for me and cuddled me into her. I leaned against her, though I was careful not to touch her tummy.

  ‘OK, OK, little Dix, you can stay off school today.’

  ‘Hurray!’

  ‘Why don’t you like school, eh?’

  I shrugged. There was no point getting started.

  ‘Who’s your teacher? Is she giving you a hard time? You tell her it’s not your fault you’re a bit of a dilly-dream, it’s just the way you were born.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, playing with Mum’s hair.

  It wasn’t the teacher, it was the other kids. This girl had spotted me whispering into my cardie cuff and she’d pounced on Bluebell. She told all the others and they all did budgie squawks and screwed their fingers into their foreheads and called me Birdbrain.

  ‘Well, you’ll be at a new school soon when we’re living in Mercury. It’s the smallest planet, always associated with children – and here I’ll be, having my baby boy in Mercury. Come to that, I’ve always liked Freddie Mercury too,’ said Mum, chuckling. She sighed when I looked blank. ‘You know, the singer with all the teeth in Queen. Freddie … How about that for the baby’s name? Or what about Mercury?’

  ‘If you call the poor kid Mercury he’ll be teased rotten,’ Jude called.

  ‘Call him Justin,’ said Rochelle, coming out the bathroom. ‘Or Craig. Or Robbie.’

  ‘I want something really special. Unusual,’ said Mum.

  ‘What other singers do I like?’ said Rochelle. ‘I know, Baby Busted!’ She cackled with laughter and rushed off to school.

  I relaxed and started plaiting Mum’s long black hair.

  ‘Help me think up a good name, Dixie. I tried hard with you girls. You’re all so lucky – dead individual. There aren’t any other Martines or Judes or Rochelles or Dixies round here. I’m stuck with stupid old Sue. There are heaps of Sues.’

  ‘There’s only one of you, though, Mum,’ I said. I finished one plait and tied it with a piece of string from the kitchen drawer, adding a few paperclips too as silver decoration.

  ‘What are you doing? Turning me into whatshername – Pocahontas?’ Mum said.

  ‘Hey, you could spell your name differently. S-i-o-u-x, like the native American tribe. That’s individual,’ I said.

  ‘Oh well, I’ll give it a thought. Hey, leave off now, it’s making me go all itchy. What about cowboy names for the baby?’ Mum thought. ‘Butch Cassidy?’

  ‘Yeah, but what if he’s a bit little and wimpy, Mum? You can’t call him Butch.’

  ‘The Sundance Kid? Hey, Sundance, that’s a glorious name! And the sun is a perfect symbol of male energy, right? Little baby, are you Sundance?’

  Mum put her hands on her tummy, peering at it intently, as if she could see the baby inside dancing in the sun.

  2

  I GOT PACKED in a jiffy. I crammed my clothes into one big carrier bag. They got a bit squashed but I didn’t care. I don’t like my clothes much. They’ve mostly been Rochelle’s before me and she likes pink and glitter, tight skimpy stuff that shows off her figure. I haven’t got a figure. I’m so small that even miniskirts come way past my knees, I’m so skinny that everything looks baggy on me, and I’m so pale that pink makes me look sickly white. I got born too early. I was smaller than a bag of sugar and I had to stay in hospital for weeks and weeks. I never really caught up with everyone else my age. Rochelle says I’m the runt of the litter.

  The only garment I really like is my blue cardigan. It’s magic because it stretches every time it’s washed so it’s grown with me the last two years.

  My dad bought it for me. He took me out for the day, just him and me, and he saw I had goose pimples up and down my arms so he bought me my big blue cardie. I’ve worn it every day ever since. I’ve even worn it to school, though we’re supposed to wear navy sweatshirts or jumpers. I got told off, but I insisted that blue’s just like pale navy, so what was the problem? The teachers didn’t bother to send a note home. They’d had enough arguments with my mum in the past when Martine and Jude and Rochelle were at our school.

  I packed all my possessions into one of the cardboard boxes Jude had brought home from Tesco. There was my big book of fairy tales at the bottom. I didn’t bother with the words, I just looked at lovely pictures of princesses with hair waving down to their knees, and made up my own stories. Then there were my notepads and fibre-tip colouring pens and my red gel pen that smelled of strawberries and my yellow gel pen that smelled of bananas. I had a Miss Kitty writing set too but I didn’t really have anyone to write to. I had Martine’s old one-eyed panda and Jude’s monkey with the missing paw and Rochelle’s old Barbies. I didn’t play with them any more but I’d have felt mean if I’d chucked them out.

  Rochelle had done heaps of chucking, but she still had two suitcases and three cardboard boxes brimming over with her bits.

  Jude had even less clothes than me, and just one box containing her baseball bat and her biker boots and her videos and all her fantasy novels.

  Martine was still refusing to pack. She wasn’t speaking to Mum. She wasn’t speaking to any of us, because we were all getting excited at the idea of a house with a garden now. Martine spent almost every second next door with Tony and his family. Mum got so mad at her she went and banged on Tony’s mum’s front door and they had an argy-bargy right on the landing, Martine joining in too.

  ‘Slagging off her own mother in front of everyone!’ Mum wept afterwards. ‘And me in my condition too.’

  Jude and Rochelle and I had to do most of Mum’s packing but we divided it up easily enough. Jude got all the heavy house stuff organized, Rochelle did Mum’s clothes and make-up, and I did Mum’s mystic paintings and her crystal ball and her tarot cards and astrology charts and Every Woman’s Easy Guide to Fortune Telling.

  I had to pack for little Sundance too. Mum had started buying enough little blue dungarees and sleeping suits and weeny fleeces for an entire nursery of baby boys. All brand new. Someone from the social had given her a black plastic rubbish bag full of old baby clothes but Mum wasn’t grateful.

  ‘It’s a blooming insult, giving me this washed-out rubbish,’ she said, tipping them out all over the carpet and stirring them disdainfully with her long pointed fingernails. ‘For God’s sake, look – sick stains!’ she declared, stabbing at a faint white shadow on a little jacket. ‘Right, this is all going in the bin where it belongs.’

  She still hadn’t decided on Sundance’s nursery furniture. She’d gone off the Mothercare selection, and now wanted something more special.

  ‘What, like Harrods?’ said Jude.

  She was being sarcastic but Mum took her seriously. ‘I could check out their nursery stuff, certainly, but I think it might be a bit too traditional, you know? It would be great to get something specially designed, but that might be a bit too pricey.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ said Jude. She paused. ‘Don’t forget you’ve got to pay for the removal van.’
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  ‘Well, I was thinking of asking one of your dads for a bit of help.’

  I sat up proudly. The only one of our dads Mum was still in touch with was my dad.

  ‘I’ll see if he can help us hire a van,’ said Mum.

  ‘Or loan us his hearse,’ said Rochelle, cracking up laughing. Jude joined in. I stared at them, stony-faced.

  ‘You shut up!’ I said, so fiercely that they all took a step backwards, even Jude. ‘Don’t you dare laugh at my dad! I don’t know why everyone thinks his job’s so funny.’

  ‘It’s not funny, it’s downright creepy,’ said Rochelle, shuddering. ‘It’s a good thing you’re not a little kid any more. Imagine holding his hand after he’s been doing his day’s embalming!’

  ‘Yeah, actually, I had a bit of trouble with that aspect myself,’ said Mum. ‘I made him have a very long bath every time he came near me, but I still seemed to smell something weird on him.’

  ‘He doesn’t smell a bit!’ I shouted, nearly crying.

  ‘Of course he doesn’t smell. Mum’s the one that smells,’ said Jude.

  ‘Oi, you! I don’t blooming well smell.’

  ‘Yes, you do, of all those weird little oils,’ said Jude.

  ‘They’re lovely, and they’re doing me good too. I need neroli and lavender to calm me. No blooming wonder when I have to deal with you lot! Here, Dixie, take that scowl off your face. I didn’t really mean it about your dad, darling, you know that. Come here.’ Mum held her arms out and pulled me to sit on her lap, though her huge tummy meant I had to perch right at the end of her knees.

  ‘Your dad’s a very sweet guy,’ Mum said softly. She divided my long hair until she found my ear. ‘I think he’s the best out of all my special guys,’ she whispered.

  Rochelle’s got sharp ears. ‘You always said my dad was your all-time favourite, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘All your dads were lovely guys,’ Mum said. She sighed and settled back in her seat, patting her bump. She started chanting the dad story.

  We all knew it backwards. She had soothed us to sleep telling us the tale when we were little. It was like our special bedtime story.

  ‘First there was my lovely Dave, Martine’s dad. We were childhood sweethearts. We first went out in Year Ten – imagine! We were so in love. Thought we knew it all too, as you do. I couldn’t help being thrilled when I knew Martine was on the way, though I knew my mum would create. She always had a down on me, my mum, said I’d go to the bad. Dave did his best to stand by me, bless him. But how could he cope with a baby when he was still a kid himself?

  ‘Then Jude’s dad came along,’ said Mum.

  Jude blew a raspberry, but she listened all the same.

  ‘Dean knew where he was going all right, and for a while he took care of me. He did his best to be a dad to Martine too. He could be so sweet and tender with us, he made my heart melt. But he could be a tricky guy too, especially if he was crossed. I loved him with all my heart but I knew I had to leave him when he started slapping me around.’

  ‘Good riddance to him,’ said Jude.

  ‘Then there was my dad, Jordan,’ said Rochelle. ‘He was the best looking, wasn’t he, Mum? I bet you’d have stayed with him for ever if he hadn’t died.’ She looked at me. ‘Then you wouldn’t be here today, Dixie. You wouldn’t even exist.’

  I knew she was just trying to wind me up, but I suddenly felt panicky. I looked down at myself, scared my arms and legs would start fading away as I turned into a ghost girl.

  ‘Of course there was always going to be a Dixie,’ said Mum. She waved her fingers in the air, squinting at five little lines on her palm. ‘Read my hand! Four gorgeous girls – and one beautiful bouncing boy! It was always my destiny, darling. Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t sort out how it was all going to happen. It was so sad, losing my Jordan. You’re right, Rochelle, he was so handsome my heart started hammering just at the sight of him. He was so talented too. He’d have been a real star in the music world if he’d only had the right breaks. It wasn’t really his fault he got into the drug scene. It goes with the territory, right? Oh God, it was so awful awful awful when the police called me.’ A tear slid down Mum’s cheek. She always cried when she talked about Jordan.

  Rochelle snuffled and puckered up like she was crying too. She always acts like losing her dad was the big tragedy of her life, but as he took his overdose when she was two years old I don’t think she can even remember him.

  Mum ran her hands through Rochelle’s lovely long blonde hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek as if they were both still grieving.

  I perched Bluebell on my finger and started grooming her feathers. Mum turned to me. I elbowed Rochelle out the way. She pouted and pinged her fingers at Bluebell, making her fall off and land on her head.

  ‘You pig,’ I said, hitting out at her.

  Rochelle dodged, laughing.

  I cradled Bluebell, stroking her poor beak. ‘You’ve bent it, Rochelle, look!’

  ‘Oh dear, how will the poor little soul pick up all her birdseed now?’ said Rochelle. ‘Though I forgot, she doesn’t actually eat, does she? And she clearly can’t fly to save her life. Pretty duff sort of budgie, if you ask me.’

  ‘And you’re a pretty duff sort of girl to tease your poor sister so,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t let her get to you, Dixie darling.’

  ‘Tell me about my dad, Mum,’ I said.

  ‘That’s just what I’m going to do, sweetheart. Dear Terry. I was so out of it, crying over Jordan, and Terry was so kind and talked to me for hours and hours, helping me sort everything out—’

  ‘The oak coffin or the ash coffin or the deluxe mahogany lined with purple satin,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘Bog off, bad girlie,’ said Mum. ‘You can mock, but if it wasn’t for Terry’s sweetness I think I’d have gone right out of my mind. I was heading that way anyway, going a little bit bonkers every lonely evening—’

  ‘And so you had a little bitty bonk with creepy old Terry,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘You’re getting way too lippy, madam. Just you watch it. I might be eight months pregnant and the size of a flipping elephant but I can still sort you out, no problem,’ said Mum. ‘Terry is a lovely lovely guy and if only he didn’t already have a family I’m sure we’d be together now. Though maybe I’m not destined to shack up with any of my guys for long. I figure it’s us Diamond girls together – and we’ll have to look to Junior here to look after us when we’re all old ladies.’

  ‘What about Junior’s dad?’ Jude said.

  Mum sighed. ‘I knew it was just going to be a brief encounter. He was so lovely and so artistic. Imagine, a painter! I wish he’d got to know you girls. I’d have loved him to do a portrait of all us Diamonds.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell us his name, Mum?’ I said.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t even know it,’ Rochelle muttered.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, why do you always have to get involved with all these guys?’ said Jude.

  ‘I’m not involved with anyone right now, Miss Priss. I must admit, I haven’t been very lucky with my guys.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Jude.

  Mum pulled a face but refused to react. She rang my dad at his work to see if he could help us. It didn’t sound as if he was pleased to hear from her. Mum kept sighing and pulling faces and going ‘Yeah, yeah,’ and ‘Look, I don’t ever bother you at home, darling, so quit nagging me. We do share a daughter. Do you want to have a little word with our Dixie?’

  My throat went tight. I kept swallowing, trying to get enough spit into my mouth so I could speak. But I didn’t have to. Mum nodded more.

  ‘Sorry, Dixie, Dad sends his love and he’ll be in touch very soon but he’s up to his eyes in work right now,’ said Mum.

  ‘Up to his eyes in corpses?’ said Rochelle.

  Jude shoved her. Rochelle shoved back, squealing.

  ‘Shut up, girls!’ said Mum. ‘No, no, listen, Terry, it’ll just take half a second – we’re moving, we
need a van. Please, darling, be a mate and help us.’

  I waited, clutching Bluebell, just in case he changed his mind about having time to talk to me.

  Mum put the phone down. She smiled reassuringly. ‘There! All fixed!’

  ‘Is Dad coming with a van?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he can’t make it at the weekend, sweetie. It’s difficult for him. I can understand. But he’s got this mate, he’ll get him to come. He might charge a bit, but it should just be peanuts. Dixie? Dad says he misses you a lot, sweetheart, and he told me to give you a big hug from him.’

  I sloped off to my bedroom after Mum gave me the hug. My bed had all my stuff stacked on it so I curled up under Jude’s duvet. She came in a few minutes after me.

  ‘What are you doing in my bed? Hey, I sound like the three blooming bears!’

  I kept my head in her pillow.

  ‘Are you crying, Goldilocks?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fibber! Don’t get my pillow all wet and snotty.’

  ‘I’ve stopped now,’ I said, sitting up and wiping my eyes on my cardigan sleeve.

  ‘Were you crying just because you wanted to see your dad?’ said Jude. ‘You’re daft, you. I don’t ever see my dad and do I care?’

  ‘Yeah, but your dad was nasty and hit Mum. And Martine. I expect he hit you too, even though you were just a baby.’

  ‘I’d like to see him try now,’ said Jude, punching the air violently and making the bed bounce. ‘I’d soon sort him out. Mum’s much better off without him. She’s much better off without any of them.’

  ‘How come Mum can’t see they’re going to let her down when she looks into her crystal ball and reads the tarot and works out all her star charts?’

  ‘Mum and her stupid crazes! Don’t take it so seriously, Dixie. It’s just a bit of glass and some old cards and some silly figures about stars. How can Mum possibly tell the future with that silly old rubbish?’

  ‘Because she’s psychic?’

  ‘She’s no more psychic than I am,’ said Jude. She grabbed my hand. It was the one clutching Bluebell. She gave him a little stroke and then acted like he’d pecked her finger.