Diamond Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Ouch! Keep your stunted little eagle under control, our Dixie! OK, let’s see if I can read your palm. Ah! I see change on the horizon. Change of scenery – it says so in the stars. Or is it the planets? Here’s your Mount of Mercury’ – she tickled my palm – ‘look how pronounced it is. It definitely features in the future. Ooh, what’s this I see? Look at this wiggly line here. How significant is that!’

  ‘What? What does it mean?’ I knew Jude was only fooling around but she said it all in exactly Mum’s tone of voice, making it sound so special, as if she really could read my palm.

  ‘It means you’re going to have fun on your new planet. See, the line squiggles around, just like a smile.’ She traced the line for me.

  I twisted my hand. ‘But if you look this way it’s a frown,’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to keep your hand the right way up,’ said Jude, tickling me. ‘Now, what about this young budgie here? Hold out your wing, if you please.’ Jude pretended to examine Bluebell’s feather tips. ‘Aha! Someone will be spreading their wings and flying off into the great blue yonder.’

  ‘But then flying back to me?’ I said.

  ‘God, you’re such a worryguts,’ said Jude.

  We heard Martine coming in. Mum said something, then Martine.

  ‘I’m not bogging well going and that’s that!’ she yelled.

  ‘Hm,’ said Jude. ‘It’s easy predicting there’s trouble ahead for someone!’

  3

  MARTINE STILL WASN’T packed on Saturday, when we were moving. She stayed out all Friday night with Tony.

  ‘She’s simply making her point,’ said Mum, wearily making us all tea and toast. She was still in her black silky nightie. It used to look slinky but now it was strained to the utmost, one of the seams starting to split.

  ‘How come you’re so cool about Martine staying out when you went absolutely bonkers when I came in at midnight that time?’ said Jude, chewing toast.

  ‘I knew Martine was safe next door, silly. You were skyrocketing around fighting with a lot of wild boys,’ said Mum.

  ‘What if Martine doesn’t come back?’ said Rochelle, licking honey off her toast with her pink pointy tongue.

  ‘Quit messing around with your food like a toddler,’ said Mum irritably. ‘Eat that toast. It’s going to be a long day and we’ve got a hell of a lot to do.’

  ‘If Martine stays with Tony’s folks then I’ll have our bedroom all to myself,’ said Rochelle. She sounded hopeful.

  Mum glared at her. ‘Quit talking rubbish. Of course Martine’s not staying at Tony’s. Now come on, eat up, all of you. We’ve got to be all set and this tip cleared up by ten o’clock when the guy with the van comes for us.’

  ‘My dad’s pal,’ I said proudly.

  ‘I hope he’s not another undertaker,’ said Rochelle. ‘He’ll turn up wearing black and he’ll carry our table on his shoulders very slowly, like it’s a coffin.’

  ‘My dad’s not an undertaker, he’s an embalmer,’ I said.

  ‘And he’s not going to do all the humping around, apparently. He’s got a bad back. It’s our job to get the van loaded,’ said Mum.

  We stared at Mum in her tight black nightie. She looked like she’d explode if she lifted so much as a tray of teacups. Mum rubbed her stomach anxiously, pressing her lips together.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll get it sorted,’ said Jude.

  ‘Yeah, Jude and I will carry all the furniture,’ I said.

  ‘You, pet!’ said Mum, grabbing hold of me by the wrist.

  I’m horribly small and scrawny for my age and I’ve got particularly stupid matchstick arms and legs. Jude’s tried to teach me how to fight but I’m rubbish at it. I just duck if anyone attacks me. I’ve done a lot of ducking in the playground, especially after Jude went to secondary school. It didn’t seem to make much difference when Rochelle left. She was sometimes the one doing the attacking.

  ‘I’m not loading any stupid van. I’ll break my nails and I’ve just got them perfect,’ said Rochelle, waving her beautiful long pink nails, the thumbs decorated with little glass hearts.

  ‘You’re not loading the van, you’re going to be doing the scrubbing. Wear my Marigold gloves if you’re fussed about your nails,’ said Mum. ‘No arguing, now! Let’s all get cracking.’

  Jude went out and rounded up some of her gang. She didn’t like any of the boys but they all looked up to her. She soon had half the lads from North Block getting our furniture along the balcony, into the lift and out onto the courtyard.

  I tucked Bluebell down the neck of my T-shirt, rolled up my cardie sleeves, and started heaving and shoving the cardboard boxes out the door. I tried lifting a couple, gasping and panting, but Mum made me stop.

  ‘You’re too little, Dixie. You’ll do yourself an injury. Your womb will drop and you won’t be able to have any babies.’

  ‘Good!’ I said. ‘Look, I’ll shove the boxes along the balcony, OK, Mum?’

  ‘OK, pet, have a go. We’re a bit strapped for time. I’ll pack up all our Martine’s gear seeing as her ladyship has failed to do it herself.’

  ‘Shall we knock at Tony’s door, Mum? Maybe she’s overslept?’

  ‘I’m not talking to his rubbish mother, not after the mouthful she gave me. I wouldn’t graze my knuckles on her front door. No, Martine will just have to put in her appearance when she’s good and ready.’

  ‘But what if she doesn’t?’

  ‘I don’t think she will,’ Rochelle said, still hoping. ‘Oh bum, I’ve got my jeans all gungy kneeling on the kitchen floor. My best jeans!’

  ‘Why wear your best jeans when we’re moving? What are you like, Rochelle?’ Mum fussed, spilling Martine’s clothes on her bed and then rolling them up in her duvet.

  ‘I didn’t know I was going to be doing the bogging scrubbing. It’s not fair, you always give me the worst jobs, Mum. How come Martine gets out of doing her fair share? She made just as much a mess so she should be scrubbing too, even though she’s maybe not coming with us.’

  ‘There’s no blooming maybe, I keep telling you!’ Mum said fiercely, emptying Martine’s drawers into a big laundry bag. She shook the drawer vigorously, so that little rolled-up socks and wispy thongs and snaky tights bounced all over the carpet. ‘Of course she’s coming. She lives with us. She’s family.’

  We heard footsteps along the balcony and then a tap at the front door.

  ‘There she is!’ said Mum triumphantly.

  It wasn’t Martine. It was a small skinny guy with a bad haircut and round glasses. They didn’t sit comfortably so he had to wrinkle his nose and hitch them up every few seconds.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, glancing at Mum’s stomach anxiously. ‘I’m Terry’s mate.’

  ‘Oh yeah, great. You’re the guy with the van,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m Dixie,’ I said, pushing past her. ‘You’re my dad’s best pal, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, I know Terry, yes, through work.’

  ‘I said he’d be an undertaker,’ Rochelle whispered, giggling behind me.

  ‘No, no, I’ve got this florist’s business. Hence the van.’ He pointed over the balcony way down to a white van with FREDA’S FLOWERS in fancy gold lettering.

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re Freda, are you?’ said Mum.

  We all sniggered. He sighed. It was obviously a joke he’d got sick and tired of long ago.

  ‘Freda was my mum. It was her business. Now she’s gone, I run it. I’m …’ He hesitated for a second. ‘I’m Bruce.’

  ‘Hello, Bruce. I’m Sue Diamond and these are all my girls. Well, shall we get cracking?’

  Bruce looked anxious. ‘Terry did tell you I can’t lift anything, didn’t he? I mean, I’d like to help, seeing as you’re …’ He gestured tactfully.

  ‘Yeah, no worries, mate, we’ve got everything under control,’ said Mum. She tucked her hand through his arm like they were great pals already. ‘You’re a sweetheart to help us out.’

  �
�Well, it’s just a business deal,’ Bruce said nervously. ‘I drive you there with all your stuff for fifty quid, right? I need to be back at the shop this afternoon though. I’m short-staffed, and there might be deliveries – bouquets and that.’

  ‘Sure, sure, we’ll be all moved into our dream house by then,’ said Mum. ‘So let’s get cracking, girls, and get the last of the stuff downstairs.’ She gave Bruce’s arm a squeeze. ‘How about you carrying these clothes, darling?’

  ‘But I’ve done my back in, Mrs Diamond, like I said.’

  ‘Call me Sue, silly. I’ve never been a Mrs in my life, I’m my own woman. I know you’ve got a bad back, mate. So have I, as a matter of fact. You try having a big bruiser of a baby boy leaning up close and personal against your spine! I’m not asking you to shift a blooming wardrobe, just a few little flimsy clothes that hang inside it. You can do that, can’t you, Bruce?’

  Bruce saw he didn’t have any choice. He let Mum thrust the duvet containing all Martine’s clothes into his arms.

  ‘I’ll help you carry some,’ I said, seeing as he was still sort of my dad’s friend.

  ‘No, Dixie, you start rolling up the rugs. Look at that fluff! Rochelle, you were meant to sweep under them, you dodo. Jude, you get all your boy pals loading our stuff into the van, OK?’ Mum said, giving us all little pokes as she organized us.

  She prodded Bruce too and so he started plodding along the balcony, Martine’s clothes flapping over his arms.

  Then there was a bang of a door, and a lot of shouting. Bruce shuffled back again, looking bewildered. Martine was yelling at him.

  ‘Mum? What’s going on? What’s this creep doing with all my clothes?’ she shouted.

  ‘He’s not a creep, he’s my dad’s friend!’ I said indignantly.

  ‘Yes, don’t you dare come marching in here, yelling and screaming and showing us all up, madam,’ said Mum, folding her arms above her stomach.

  ‘I’m yelling because you’re getting rid of all my clothes!’ said Martine. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was sticking up all over the place, like she’d tossed and turned all night. ‘I know you’re mad at me, Mum, but I never thought you’d throw all my clothes out!’ She was breathing heavily as if she might start crying any minute.

  Mum was working herself up too, her face blotchy with rage. ‘What do you think I’m doing, sending them all off to Oxfam?’ she shouted.

  ‘Well, that’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?’ said Martine. ‘Look, even my leather jacket!’ She plucked it from Bruce’s arms, starting an avalanche of clothes all over the hall. Bruce shrank back against the wall, bracing himself for another onslaught.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked helplessly.

  ‘You pick up all those clothes and take them down to the van,’ Mum snapped, as if he’d dropped them deliberately.

  Bruce gathered up the clothes and sloped off, side-stepping Martine as she made a half-hearted grab at them.

  ‘Stop it, Martine!’ said Mum.

  ‘You stop it, Mum. There’s no point putting all my stuff in the van. I’m not coming. Can’t you get that into your head? I’m staying with Tony, no matter what. I love him.’

  Mum raised her hand. I was sure she was going to slap her. Martine thought so too and tried to dodge. But Mum’s hand curved gently round Martine’s flushed cheek, cupping her chin.

  ‘Martine, pet, can’t you learn by my mistakes? I know you love Tony – but it won’t last.’

  ‘It will, it will! We’re going to love each other for ever.’ Martine brushed Mum’s hand away. Mum’s arm swung sadly, her fingers still outstretched. She took a deep breath.

  ‘If you’re going to love each other for ever then can’t you give me a month or two? I need you to help settle us into the new place. I can’t manage just now, not with the baby making me so bulky. I can’t lift or carry or stretch. See what I’m like,’ said Mum, acting it out.

  ‘We’ll help you, Mum,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Dixie! You’re too little, like I said.’ Mum lowered her voice. ‘And Jude’s not girly enough and Rochelle’s too scatty.’ She looked deep into Martine’s eyes. ‘I need you, darling. You’re my girl, my eldest. You and me together, Martine, making it work. You don’t have to stay once your baby brother’s born and I can run around all over the shop. Help me. Please. I can’t make it work, not without you.’ Tears started dripping down Mum’s cheeks. She didn’t blink or try to wipe them away. She stared steadily at Martine.

  Martine suddenly started crying too. ‘Oh Mum,’ she said. She threw her arms round Mum’s neck. ‘All right, I’ll come.’

  ‘I knew you would,’ said Mum, hugging her tight.

  ‘Just till the baby’s born.’

  ‘Well, give me a week or two after to recover. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I can’t snap straight back into action the way I did when I had you, darling. Still, they say boys are easier. I hope the little whatsit sleeps soundly. I don’t fancy all that two-o’ clock-in-the-morning feeding caper.’

  ‘Well I’m not doing it!’ said Martine, but she clung onto Mum, nuzzling her head against her neck as if she was still a baby herself.

  ‘My big girlie,’ Mum said softly, running her fingers through Martine’s tufty hair.

  ‘Typical!’ said Rochelle, pushing past to wave her grubby mop over the balcony. ‘I do all the hard work, scrubbing away like stupid Cinderella, ruining my only decent jeans in the process, and she gets all this fussing. How come manky old Martine’s your favourite, Mum?’

  ‘You’re all my favourite Diamond girls,’ said Mum. ‘Little sparkling gems, the lot of you – especially the pretty one with the Marigold gloves.’

  Rochelle peeled off her pink rubber gloves and flapped their flabby fingers at Mum. Mum grabbed one for herself and they had a silly Marigold glove slap-and-flap fight.

  Bruce came back empty-armed and stepped warily round them, shaking his head. ‘I’m not sure I like all those young lads getting in and out my van,’ he said. ‘I know some are helping load your stuff but there’s others just generally mucking about. One of them was fiddling with the steering wheel and when I ticked him off he gave me a mouthful you’d never believe.’

  ‘Oh, I’d believe it all right,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t you worry, Bruce, mate, just tell our Jude and she’ll soon sort them out for you. We’re nearly done anyway. I can’t wait to get out of this dump and start out in our lovely new house, eh, girls?’

  Martine didn’t look like she agreed one little bit. She went to tell Tony she was coming with us after all. He came down to see us off when the van was fully packed. He didn’t say a word to any of us, but he took Martine in his arms and gave her a really passionate twirly-tongue kiss.

  Mum tutted but didn’t try to stop them. All Jude’s gang hooted and catcalled, while Jude herself mimed being sick. Rochelle looked envious. I wasn’t sure what I felt. I rather wanted someone to love me lots, but I thought it would feel very wet and squirmy kissing like that. I decided I preferred budgies to boyfriends as they just gave you neat dry pecks of affection.

  The biggest boy in Jude’s gang suddenly caught hold of her by the wrist and started kissing her. Jude wasn’t having any of it. She gave him such a shove he staggered backwards onto his bottom. Jude rubbed her lips with the back of her hand, shuddering, like she was removing slug-slime. All the other boys howled.

  Rochelle sidled up to them, tossing her fair curls over her shoulder. She sucked her mouth into a little pink pout to show that she wouldn’t mind a kiss. The boys jostled around her, some of them making kissy-kissy noises, but they were just teasing her. Rochelle flounced into the van.

  ‘Honestly, what creeps,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you hang round with that crowd, Jude.’

  ‘I don’t hang round them. They hang round me,’ said Jude.

  ‘Yeah, well, say goodbye to your little gang,’ said Mum. ‘We’re off now. Put Tony down, Martine, and get in the van. Let’s get goi
ng.’

  Bruce steered the van very slowly round all the blocks while we did our best to steady all the stuff in the back. Mum wound down a window.

  ‘Bye, boring old Bletchworth!’ she shouted at the top of her voice.

  People turned and stared. Some of the women shook their heads and tutted. Mum blew raspberries at them all. Lots of the men wolf-whistled. Even the decorator guys painting the windowsills on South Block bent down from their cradles and waved. Their little gang had been painting the whole Bletchworth Estate for months. All the girls were crazy about the youngest guy, who was dark with a cheeky grin. He went out with a different girl every night and he was already a dad, even though he was only seventeen.

  He seemed to have taken a shine to our Martine because he called out, ‘Bye, gorgeous, nice knowing you!’ He waved so wildly he dropped his paintbrush and it landed with a thump on the top of Bruce’s van.

  ‘Blooming heck! What an idiot! I hope he hasn’t made a dent in my van,’ said Bruce. ‘Let’s get out of here before he starts hurling his paint pots too.’

  Mum was laughing but she was crying too.

  ‘Are you sad, Mum? Don’t you want to go now?’

  ‘I’m fine, Dixie. Of course I want to go. This is the start of our brand-new life. Let’s get that wheel of fortune whirling!’

  4

  ‘ARE WE NEARLY there yet?’ I said.

  ‘For God’s sake, Dixie, we’ve only been driving ten minutes!’ said Mum.

  ‘I think I’m starting to feel sick,’ I said.

  ‘Breathe deeply and look straight ahead,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ll buy you some barley sugar at the next service station.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Bruce.’

  ‘I’m not your uncle, dear.’

  Still, he acted like an uncle, buying us all sweets when he stopped for petrol. I still felt sick. It didn’t help that I was squashed up the wrong way, but I was so wedged in with boxes I couldn’t turn round. Martine was practically sitting on top of me, texting Tony nonstop on her mobile. Jude and Rochelle were fighting over who had more room, fiercely shoving each other. I sometimes got in the way of their shoves. I clutched Bluebell and pretended we were flying right out of the window, soaring straight into the sky, up to our own silent, sisterless planet.