Diamond Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  It seemed a very long way to the Planet Estate. Mum started to get as bored as us girls.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said.

  ‘Have a barley sugar,’ said Bruce, offering her the packet.

  ‘I’m eating for two, mate. I need more than a blooming barley sugar. Come on, let’s stop for a snack. We could have an early lunch, give us a bit of energy for all the unpacking.’

  She made Bruce stop at the next service station. We wandered round and round the food court in a daze. There was so much to choose from, not just the same old stuff you get down the chippy or the Chinese.

  Martine said first of all that she was too miserable to eat. Then she said she’d just have a salad. And maybe a piece of cold chicken. And a packet of crisps. And some fruit. And maybe a KitKat and a coffee.

  Jude had a large plateful of spaghetti bolognese.

  Rochelle had a Cornetto and a cream doughnut and a Mars bar.

  I had prawn sandwiches. I didn’t like the sandwich part but I enjoyed picking out the little pink prawns and making them swim across my plate. Then I had a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. I spent ages spooning on the cream so that each red strawberry mountain had its own cap of creamy snow.

  Mum had macaroni cheese for the baby’s benefit and a big bowl of chips for herself. She tried to get Bruce to have chips too and a big mixed grill. ‘I like to see a man eat a proper plateful,’ she said. Bruce said he could only stomach tea and toast mid morning. He paid for it hurriedly, counting it out in coins.

  Mum nudged up close with her tray, calling for us all to come over quick. It looked like she was hoping Bruce might pay for our lunch too. Bruce looked terrified and made for a table so quickly he bumped his tray and spilled half his tea over his buttered toast. Mum had to pay. The bill came to £36.99.

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Mum. She said a worse word, actually.

  The lady at the till blinked at her. ‘Language!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well, the Queen herself would start effing and blinding at this sort of rip-off,’ said Mum. ‘You add that up again. You must have added at least a tenner.’

  ‘Mum!’ Martine hissed. ‘You’re showing us up!’

  ‘We could put some stuff back,’ I suggested, though I’d already winkled a couple of prawns out of my sandwich and eaten the biggest strawberry.

  ‘I’ve only got a snack – unlike some people,’ said Rochelle, nudging Jude.

  ‘I bet my spag bol cost less than all your rubbish,’ said Jude, nudging her back.

  ‘Shut up, girls. No, you’re not putting anything back. OK OK, we’ll pay for our food, but let’s hope you’ve got gold knives and forks to eat it with,’ said Mum, fishing two twenties out of her purse.

  She didn’t have much money left, yet she still had to pay Bruce for driving us. I hoped the Planet Estate would have a good chippy because that’s what we’d be eating all week.

  Bruce hunched up small when we all sat down with him, holding his plate of soggy toast as if we were about to snatch it away from him. Mum tried to chat to him to show she had no hard feelings over him not forking out for our meal, but he kept shrugging and shaking his head. He kept peering round to see if people were looking at us. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen out with us in case people thought he was our dad.

  ‘How’s your toast, Uncle Bruce?’ I asked, squeezing up beside him.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s just toast. I’m not your uncle, I said.’

  ‘Do you know any of my real uncles? Or aunties? Or maybe my gran and grandad?’ I asked, leaning up so close I could whisper in his ear. I didn’t want Mum to hear me. She always said we didn’t need any other family. She said we were a fine family all by ourselves, the Diamond girls.

  So how come she was so desperate for this baby boy?

  ‘I don’t know your dad’s folks, Trixie. I don’t even know your dad that well. We’re just work mates, really. I deliver the wreaths.’

  ‘So you’ve never been to his house?’

  ‘Well, a couple of times. Socializing. He’s always having people round, your dad.’

  ‘He’s never had me round,’ I said. ‘Tell me what his place is like, Uncle Bruce, please!’

  ‘Well, it’s just … just a house. It’s modern, quite comfy. Maybe a bit too full of satin cushions and ruffled curtains, but then I’m a bloke, so I wouldn’t really go for anything too frilly and feminine.’

  ‘Why does my dad want frilly stuff then?’

  ‘It’s Stella’s taste, dear.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know. His wife,’ said Bruce, buttering his second slice of toast. ‘She’s very girly, like. And his girls are all fluffy curls and lipstick too. Even the baby’s a curlyknob, all dainty and dimples.’

  I felt as if he’d stabbed me straight in the ribs with his knife. I put my prawn sandwich down. I tore at the crusts, turning them into breadcrumbs. I remembered the fairy story of Hansel and Gretel and how they were abandoned in a forest because their mum and dad didn’t want them. They left a trail of breadcrumbs so they could find their way back. I didn’t get that. Why would they want to go back to such horrible parents? I decided I’d stay in the forest. I wouldn’t go near that gingerbread cottage and get caught by the wicked witch. I wouldn’t even have a lick of her candy-cane door knocker. I’d clear off and make my own cottage. Bluebell would live with me. I’d have a trapeze in my garden and she’d have her perch and we’d swing in unison and turn somersaults just like a circus act.

  ‘Dixie! Stop daydreaming. You look so gormless with your mouth hanging open. Do you have to mangle your food like that? Especially when that sandwich cost me a fortune! Pull yourself together! Bruce is talking to you.’

  I knew Bruce was talking. I’d been trying to get him to tell me stuff about my dad all morning but now he’d started I didn’t want to hear. I knew my dad had a wife and two other daughters but I didn’t want to think about them. I hadn’t known he had a new baby. I didn’t want to think about her. It was the one thing I’d always counted on. I was his baby.

  I’d been a dreadful baby. Mum and Martine and Jude and Rochelle had told me often enough. I’d been premature, like a little skinned rabbit, all purple and shrieking my head off. I went on shrieking for months and months, wanting to be fed every three hours, night and day.

  ‘Tiny little thing, but you had the lungs of a bull-moose,’ said Mum. ‘God, you didn’t half bellow! And then you were forever ill – jaundice and eczema and croup. I’d walk you up and down, up and down, and you’d yell and wheeze and scratch and scream until I very nearly chucked you out the window.’

  It was no wonder my dad never wanted to see much of me.

  I muttered something about going to the toilet and mooched off while Bruce was in mid-sentence. I was sick of hearing about babies.

  I sat in the toilets a long time, reading all the rude rhymes on the door. I stroked Bluebell on my lap and pretended she was flying up above every cubicle, peeking at everyone peeing. I heard Mum and the girls come in, calling for me. I kept quiet and clutched Bluebell by the beak.

  I waited until Mum’s voice got high and panicky and then I pulled the chain and sauntered out. I tried to look surprised when Mum rushed at me.

  ‘There you are! Oh dear lord, we’ve been calling till we’re hoarse. I was about to phone the police. I thought someone must have whipped you away with them.’ Mum hugged me hard. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling, Dixie?’

  ‘Course she heard. She was just winding us all up,’ said Rochelle, tossing her hair.

  ‘I didn’t hear,’ I said. Well, I’d tried hard not to.

  ‘So what were you doing all this time?’

  ‘I had a funny tummy,’ I said. This wasn’t exactly a lie. My tummy had screwed itself up into a knot the moment Bruce mentioned my dad’s baby.

  ‘There! I bet it was that prawn sandwich,’ said Mum.

  ‘It wouldn’t affect her immediately,’ said Martine, putting blusher on her pale cheeks. ‘God
, I look such a sight. I’m scared Tony’s going to go off me. What if he clicks with some other girl while I’m away?’

  ‘Oh shut it, Martine,’ said Jude. ‘What if you click with some other guy?’

  ‘Tony’s my one and only,’ said Martine. She said it seriously but it sounded so silly we all laughed, and even Martine sniggered a little.

  ‘Ton-eee’s my one and oh-oh-onleee,’ Rochelle sang, camping it up.

  ‘You are so wet, Martine,’ said Jude.

  ‘So are you – now!’ said Martine. She flipped her hand under the running tap and squirted Jude in the face.

  They started having a grand water fight until Mum bashed them with her handbag.

  ‘For God’s sake, girls, stop acting like little kids. Look at you, you’re soaked! Come on, let’s get going. Bruce will be wondering what the hell has happened to us.’

  He was prowling nervously up and down outside the Ladies. He looked astonished to see Martine and Jude dripping wet but didn’t bother to pass comment. He did edge up to me, though.

  ‘You all right, Trix— Dixie?’ He fidgeted. ‘Your mum pointed out I wasn’t being tactful, going on about your dad’s family. I didn’t mean any harm. I thought you wanted me to tell you stuff about him. I didn’t mean for you to get upset.’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ I said. I fiddled around up my cardigan sleeve, feeling for Bluebell.

  ‘You looking for a hankie?’ asked Bruce.

  I shook my head. I remembered I’d stuffed Bluebell down my T-shirt. I felt for her, pretending I had an itch. She slipped through my fingers and swallow-dived to the floor. I picked her up quickly, blushing.

  ‘Is that a budgie?’ said Bruce. ‘I had a budgie when I was a little boy.’

  ‘A real one?’

  ‘Yes, our Sammy. We used to let him out of his cage and he’d perch right on the top of my head, singing away. He could do all sorts of tricks.’

  ‘I’m going to have a real budgie but I won’t keep it in a cage because I think that’s cruel. I’m going to train it like a hawk so it flies around wherever it wants but comes when I whistle to it.’

  ‘Oh yes? I think you might have to do quite a lot of whistling,’ said Bruce. He ruffled my hair. ‘I’ll tell your dad you’re a really cute kid when I see him.’

  ‘Did he ask how I was then?’

  I saw his eyes flickering behind his glasses.

  ‘Yes, he did. That’s right, and he also asked me to tell him exactly what you look like now.’

  ‘Oh!’ I fiddled with my hair, and turned over the grubby cuffs of my cardigan. ‘I look a mess.’

  ‘No you don’t. I’ll tell him you look little, but very pretty.’

  I stared up at Bruce. ‘I think maybe you need new glasses!’ I said.

  Bruce smiled at me. He had rather goofy teeth and they showed a lot when he smiled. He remembered and put his hand over his mouth to hide them.

  ‘I’m glad you and my dad are mates,’ I said.

  He didn’t point out they weren’t mates this time. He nodded at me and gave me a little pat on the shoulder.

  Mum was busy rounding up the girls. Martine was on the phone again, Jude was looking at action DVDs in the shop and Rochelle was flicking through magazines.

  ‘Put that back, Rochelle, I’m not buying it. I don’t care whose pin-up they’ve got inside. I’ve just spent a small fortune on a meal. We’ve got a whole house to fix up now.’

  ‘How do you mean, fix up?’ said Jude.

  ‘Well, they said it might need a coat of paint, a little bit of work here and there. Nothing major. We could give a painting party, all hands on deck, eh?’

  Mum was looking at Bruce’s hands in particular. His fingers became fists.

  ‘It’s council, isn’t it? They’ll get it painted for you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh bless! Yeah, if you’re prepared to wait ten years. I’m having a baby, sweetheart, and my little boy needs a nice new blue nursery. And all my girls want lovely bright bedrooms too, don’t you, darlings?’

  ‘Count me out, Mum. You know I’m just here till the baby’s born,’ Martine said.

  ‘You sound like a stuck CD. I’ve got the message,’ said Mum. ‘But wait till you see the house, Martine, you might just be tempted to stay. It’s going to be lovely, you’ll see. I can just picture it. The Planet Estate’s practically out in the country. We can get a buggy with really big bouncy wheels and take the baby for long country walks, get some roses in his little cheeks—’

  ‘And there’s a garden, isn’t there, Mum?’ I said.

  ‘We’ll make it a lovely garden. Maybe grow roses. And what’s that creeper stuff that smells good? Honeysuckle! We’ll drape it all round the front door. Maybe we could have a water feature like Charlie with the chest, though that might be a bit dodgy when the baby starts to walk.’

  We talked houses and gardens for ages in the van. We didn’t seem to be getting near any countryside. We stayed stuck on grim motorways for a long time and then we branched off into a bleak grey town of ugly square buildings and torn-down posters and scribbled-over walls. There were six enormous concrete tower blocks on the horizon.

  ‘God, what a dump!’ Mum muttered.

  Bruce glanced at her. I didn’t like his expression.

  We drove on down smaller streets of terraced houses and corner shops with iron shutters. Black plastic rubbish bags were strewn all over the pavements, many of them leaking.

  I hunched down to see the six tower blocks. They were getting nearer. I knew what their names were: Mercury, Mars, Venus, Neptune, Jupiter and Saturn.

  Jude was sitting very still too, craning her neck, a look of horror on her face. Martine stopped texting Tony and stared too, her finger blindly stabbing the air. Rochelle stopped singing, though her mouth stayed open. We didn’t say a word, hoping we were wrong.

  Mum prattled on, chatting to us, chatting to Bruce, even chatting to the baby. ‘Who’s my gorgeous boy, then? Stop that kicking now and listen to Mummy. Who’s going to be brought up in a lovely new house then, with his own blue bedroom and his own beautiful big garden? You can run about all you please, my little darling, play footie to your heart’s content. You’re going to live happily ever after, my little Diamond boy.’

  Bruce turned down a street of sad falling-down houses, half of them boarded up. Brambles rioted in the gardens.

  We all saw the street sign. Mercury Street.

  5

  THIRTY MERCURY STREET had rude words spray-painted all over the front door and the brickwork. Two of the upstairs windows were broken and boarded up with cardboard. Water dripped forlornly from the toilet overflow, staining the grey-pebbledash underneath. The front garden was a rubbish tip of McDonald’s boxes, Kentucky Fried Chicken cartons and empty beercans. There were no flowers, no grass, just knee-high dandelions.

  Bruce switched off the ignition. We sat motionless inside the van. No one said a word. Then Mum shook her head.

  ‘This can’t be it,’ she said. She opened the van door and heaved herself out. She blinked at the house, shaking her head. ‘It isn’t our house,’ she said, her hands clasped protectively round the baby.

  ‘Yes it is, Mum. Number thirty. And this is Mercury – it said so back there,’ said Jude, jumping out and standing beside Mum. She looked round warily. There didn’t seem to be anyone about but it wasn’t the sort of place where you left things to chance.

  I wriggled out beside them and held onto Jude’s hand. She didn’t try to swat me away.

  ‘I’m not getting out. It’s way too scary,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘I can’t believe it, Mum,’ said Martine. ‘You’ve messed up my entire life and got rid of our lovely flat for this dump?’

  ‘It’s not our house! I saw it. The girl down the council showed me photos on her computer, I swear she did. It was lovely, all prettily painted with flowers in the garden. The houses weren’t wrecks, they all looked brand new,’ Mum said wildly, whirling round and round as if she might
suddenly spot the real Mercury houses on the horizon.

  ‘It was brand new – once,’ Martine said. ‘She obviously showed you photos from years and years ago, when the estate was newly built. Why didn’t you realize that? If the houses were really that special there’d be a waiting list, wouldn’t there? But no one else would ever be mad enough in a million years to put their names down for this dump.’

  ‘Let’s all get back in the van and go home,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘We can’t,’ said Mum. ‘It’s allocated already. This is our home.’ She stared at it and started crying. ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’

  ‘You’re so stupid, Mum. You don’t ever think,’ said Martine.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Jude. She put her arm round Mum. ‘Don’t cry. It’s not good for the baby. It’s OK. It’s maybe not so bad inside. Let’s go and look.’

  Mum had the keys in an envelope, but you didn’t really need them. It wasn’t worth locking 30 Mercury Street. All self-respecting thieves would give it a wide berth. It smelled damp and stale and musty. I nuzzled my nose into my cardigan sleeve.

  The stained carpet had been half ripped up and lay curled over on itself in the middle of the living room. Someone had used it as a picnic bench. There were screwed-up fish and chip papers and empty lager cans littered all round it. The walls were all scribbled over. Some giant graffiti artists had even left their tag marks right across the ceiling.

  We went into the kitchen. Someone had been sick in the sink.

  ‘Yuck!’ Rochelle squealed. ‘Quick, let’s get out of here. We can’t stay here, we simply can’t.’

  ‘Let’s see the bedrooms,’ Martine said grimly.

  We trooped up the stairs, Jude taking Mum by the arm and leading her, like she’d suddenly become an old lady. There was one big bedroom, two smaller rooms and a tiny cupboard room.