Diamond Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Oh yuck, Mum! Are you really going to feed him yourself? That’s so, like, animal,’ said Rochelle. ‘Aren’t you scared it’ll spoil your figure?’

  ‘Well, I’ve done it four times over and everything’s bobbed back into place – or thereabouts,’ said Mum, patting herself.

  Her chest was impressively big now but her tummy was much flatter, nearly back to normal. She looked really really tired, though. Her face was so pale, and she had great dark smudges under her eyes. Her hair was all tangled and greasy, hanging lankly about her shoulders.

  ‘Shall I wash your hair for you, Mum?’ I said.

  ‘I could run you a bath. We’ve got lots of hot water. We got the electrics working. If there’s any trouble I know how to fix it,’ said Jude.

  ‘Can I bath the baby, Mum? Oh please, let me,’ said Rochelle. ‘Give him here!’

  ‘No, no, no!’ said Mum. She said it so fiercely we all jumped and baby Sundance got startled, his little fists flying in the air. He wailed, and Mum rocked him in her arms.

  ‘Ssh, ssh! There now, baby,’ she murmured into his tiny red ear.

  ‘Mum?’ said Rochelle. ‘Mum, I promise I’ll be ever so careful with him.’

  ‘I know, I know, but he’s not a toy, sweetheart.’

  ‘You let me bath Dixie when she was tiny.’

  ‘I bet you banged my head on the bath!’

  ‘I’ve bathed all of you,’ said Martine on her way out to make the tea. ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll see to him. While I’m still here.’

  ‘No, not just yet, Martine,’ said Mum. She took a deep breath. ‘Listen, girls, it’s hard to explain, like, but we’re still bonding, Sundance and me. I want to take care of him for the next few days, all right? I don’t want any of you bathing him, dressing him up, changing his nappies—’

  ‘Like we’d want to change his nappies?’ said Jude, pulling a face. ‘Mum, you look done in.’ She put her hand on Mum’s forehead. ‘You’re burning up. I don’t think you should have come out of hospital so soon. When Bruce comes how’s about we get him to run you back to the maternity ward, just so they can check you out?’

  ‘No way,’ Mum snapped. ‘Will you girls quit fussing! All I want is my cup of tea.’

  ‘Here you are, Mum,’ said Martine, bringing it in from the kitchen.

  Mum drank it down in three gulps and then lay back on her pillow, clutching Sundance. He was nodding off to sleep, his delicate eyelids drooping. Mum nuzzled him close, and in a minute she was asleep too.

  The four of us stood watching, still a little awed, like shepherds in a Nativity painting. It seemed so weird that yesterday we’d just been Mum and us four girls. Now this new baby brother had changed everything.

  ‘That’s my little brother Sundance,’ I whispered to Bluebell.

  ‘And that’s my brain-dead sister Dixie who still plays with cuddly toys,’ Rochelle said, sighing.

  ‘Ssh! Let’s go in the kitchen. We don’t want to wake them,’ said Martine. ‘Come on, we’ll all have some tea.’

  ‘Is she really going to call him Sundance?’ Jude whispered. ‘She’s so hot, I’m sure she’s got a fever. What’s childbed fever? Do you think she’s got it?’

  ‘Of course not. Shut up, Jude. Come on,’ said Martine.

  We went and huddled in the kitchen. We’d got our own table and chairs in there but it didn’t feel like our kitchen at all. The sink was clean now but none of us wanted to go near it. The floor was all stained and dirty, with half of the floor tiles cracked or missing.

  I curled my legs up so my bare feet wouldn’t touch it. I’d lost one of yesterday’s socks in the messy sitting room and I didn’t know where my clean ones were. I decided to go without. My trainers rubbed my feet so I left them off too.

  I flew Bluebell round and round. She ended up perching on my big toe, gripping it with her wiry little claws.

  ‘Do you have to sit like that, Dixie?’ said Rochelle. ‘Your feet are filthy. This whole house is a tip. Mum’s mad bringing us here.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Martine.

  ‘Don’t you ever stop moaning?’ said Jude. ‘We’ll just have to get this house sorted, that’s all.’

  ‘Well don’t look at me,’ said Rochelle. ‘I’m the one that did all the bogging scrubbing. I’m sick of it. I’m next to the youngest, so it’s not fair I have to do all the hard work.’

  ‘Not any more,’ I said. ‘You’re in the middle now. Martine and Jude, then you – piggy in the middle! – then me, then Sundance. I’m not the baby any more. He is.’

  ‘Yeah, and I bet he’s a lot more clued up than you are already, Dixie. He’s sweet, isn’t he? So little.’

  ‘I think he looks big,’ said Martine, sipping at her tea. She pulled a face. ‘Think of the size of his head and how it must hurt coming out.’

  ‘Don’t! Still, Mum’s all right now,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘No she’s not,’ said Jude.

  ‘Yeah, well, she’s tired, obviously, but she’ll be OK when she’s had a good sleep,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘She looks awful. And she’s acting weird,’ said Martine. ‘All that fuss about us not touching the baby, like we’re going to hurt him. What’s she on about, all this bonding lark?’

  ‘She did go a bit funny when Dixie was born, remember?’ said Jude. ‘But then Dixie was in hospital for ages and Mum had to keep trailing backwards and forwards to visit her.’

  ‘And she was still grieving for my dad. She got dead depressed, she told me,’ said Rochelle, nodding importantly.

  ‘I hope she’s not getting depressed now,’ said Jude.

  ‘I’m depressed, stuck here when I want to be back home with Tony,’ said Martine.

  Jude looked at her. ‘Are you really going to walk out on Mum and all of us?’ she said.

  ‘I’m not going right this minute. But soon. I’ve got my own life to lead, Jude. I want to be with Tony.’

  ‘How come he comes before us?’

  ‘Because I love him,’ said Martine.

  ‘More than you love Mum and us?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s different. Look, one day you’ll understand,’ said Martine.

  ‘I understand,’ said Rochelle. ‘I can’t wait – though I wouldn’t ever fancy a boy-next-door type like Tony. There’s no need to shove me, Martine, he literally is the boy next door. No, I want some guy who’s really good looking and dynamic and dead sexy.’

  ‘Like that guy with the earring!’ said Jude in disgust.

  ‘Well, why not?’ said Rochelle. ‘I think he was pretty fit.’

  ‘Yeah, fit to take you round the back of the house and mess around with you to show off to all his mates,’ said Jude.

  ‘Look, who are you to judge? You don’t like boys. I do.’

  ‘He’s not a boy, he’s a big lout – and you’re just a silly little girl,’ said Jude.

  Rochelle shook her head pityingly, looking at Martine. ‘She doesn’t have a clue, does she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Martine, shifting uneasily. ‘Maybe you should be careful, Rochelle. Jude’s right, you’re only a kid. You don’t know what you’re doing.’

  Rochelle flushed. ‘Don’t you start ganging up on me too, it’s not fair.’ She scrabbled in the empty biscuit packet, licking her fingers to get the last of the crumbs. ‘I’m still starving. Why can’t we have some proper breakfast? And what are we going to have for lunch?’

  ‘Oh dear me, let’s all go and ask cook what she’s conjured up,’ said Jude sarcastically.

  I pretended in my head that we really did have a cook – a lovely cheery lady with a red beaming face. She let me lick her cake bowl and called me fond foodie nick-names like Pancake and Cherry Bun. I daydreamed we had lots of servants, a kind chauffeur who whizzed us to the shops and the seaside and all the amusement parks in a big white limo long enough for all us Diamond girls to fit inside.

  We were very very rich and we lived in a huge black and white house and we all had our own bedro
oms and Bluebell had her own aviary with lots of other budgies, but she always stayed my absolute favourite. I wondered about Bruce and whether he could come and live with us too. Maybe he’d just come and visit, seeing he was my uncle …

  Then I heard a car door slam outside. It was the real Bruce come visiting! I rushed to the door, worried that the others might get there first and tell him to go away. He was looking anxious, hitching his glasses up and down, with a bulging carrier bag in one hand and a big bouquet of roses and lilies and freesias in the other.

  He smiled when he saw me and handed me the bouquet with a flourish. ‘Flowers for you, madam,’ he said. ‘Well, they’re actually for you to take to your mum. But you can have a freesia just for you. Here, don’t they smell pretty?’ He pulled out a little lilac freesia and tucked it in my hair, behind my ear.

  ‘You’re all right then, you and your sisters? I was so worried about you stuck here all by yourselves. Martina did stay, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, we were fine,’ I said, patting my flowery hair and then peering in his carrier bag. ‘Wow, you’ve got those flaky roll thingies. And orange juice! Is this all your breakfast, Uncle Bruce?’

  ‘Ha ha, as if I’m going to eat a dozen croissants all by myself! No, they’re for you and your sisters. Then when you’ve had your fill we’ll see about getting you all to the hospital to see how your mum’s getting on.’

  ‘We don’t have to go to the hospital, Uncle Bruce. Mum’s back already! Come and see.’

  I tugged his arm and pulled him indoors. He dumped his bag and the bouquet in the hall and let me pull him towards the crammed living room.

  ‘She’s still asleep, don’t go in!’ Jude hissed.

  ‘Just let him peep at the baby,’ I said.

  ‘The baby’s nothing to do with him,’ said Martine.

  ‘Too right,’ said Bruce.

  I went on pulling, wanting to show off to him. I crept round the door. I expected Mum to be lying back on the pillow, the duvet up under her chin, but she was sitting up, cradling the baby in her arms. She was crying.

  ‘Mum! Oh Mum, are you in pain?’

  ‘Ssh! No, no, I’m fine, I’m just – over-emotional,’ Mum sniffed, wiping her eyes with the silky corner of the baby’s blanket.

  ‘You should still be in hospital,’ said Bruce.

  ‘Who asked your opinion?’ Mum said rudely. ‘I had to get back to my girls, didn’t I, seeing as you scarpered?’

  ‘Look, they’re not my responsibility – even though I’ve come all the way back today and I’ve got breakfast and lunch and tea stuff, and even disposable nappies for the baby. I didn’t know what kind to get. Did you have your little boy?’

  Mum clutched Sundance tightly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You look a bit rough, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Bruce.

  ‘I do mind! Look, you be Mr Good-Guy and fix the kids something to eat and drink. I want a bit of peace to feed the baby and get him changed. Dixie, where’s the box with all the baby things?’

  I scrabbled at the hundred and one cardboard boxes all round the living room until I found the right one, crammed with little blue outfits. I fingered the little sleeping suits, making them kick their legs up and down as if they had tiny dancing babies inside them.

  ‘They’re all so sweet, Mum. Can Sundance wear these weeny stretchy dungarees? Look, there’s a sun embroidered on the front – they’re perfect.’

  ‘OK, OK – and find me the little yellow and blue stripy top that goes with it.’

  ‘Let me dress him, Mum, please!’

  ‘No! I told you, I’m doing it. I’m doing everything for him. Off you go now.’

  ‘Can’t I even watch?’

  ‘No you can’t. You go and make yourself useful in the kitchen. He’s my little boy.’

  ‘He’s my little baby brother,’ I said, edging up to the bed. ‘Can I just give him a kiss, Mum?’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Mum, sighing. ‘But don’t go poking at him with that damn budgie, OK?’

  I gave Sundance a kiss on his little wrinkled forehead. He was very pink in the face.

  ‘He’s hot in that blanket. It can’t be much fun for him, all bundled up. Can’t he have a little kick without it?’

  ‘You leave him be. I’m the one who knows all about babies,’ said Mum, but she suddenly started crying again. ‘I’m the one who knows beggar all about anything,’ she wailed.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mum! Shall I get Jude or Martine?’

  ‘No, just leave me be. Take no notice. You always get weepy just after having a baby. Nothing to worry about,’ said Mum.

  I couldn’t help worrying.

  I went into the kitchen and ate part of a croissant, sucking at the end, pretending it was a cigar. Then I stuck it under my nose like a moustache.

  ‘You’re a caution, Dixie,’ said Bruce.

  ‘Stop encouraging her. Don’t play with your food, Dixie,’ said Martine.

  ‘Yuck, imagine eating that croissant with Dixie’s snot dribbled all over it,’ said Rochelle.

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit snotty,’ I said, but I went off the idea of eating it all the same.

  Jude wanted to take Mum a croissant but Mum yelled at her to go away.

  ‘She’s got a mouth on her, your mum,’ said Bruce.

  ‘Well, she’s not feeling too great, is she?’ said Martine. ‘You try having a baby.’

  ‘I’m never ever having babies,’ I said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Jude, eating Mum’s croissant herself.

  ‘Nor me. It mucks up your figure, makes you go all saggy,’ said Rochelle, posing to show off her own perfect figure. ‘What about you, Martine? You’re Mum’s last hope of being a granny.’

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Martine said fiercely.

  ‘Don’t you and Tony want to have little Martys and Tones?’ said Jude.

  ‘I wish you’d just shut up about it,’ said Martine.

  ‘I’m sick of people telling me to shut up and clear off,’ said Jude. ‘OK, I will. I’m going for a mooch around.’

  ‘No, you can’t! You’ve got to help get this dump organized,’ said Martine.

  ‘Watch me,’ said Jude. She walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and out the front door.

  ‘That’s just typical of her,’ said Martine. ‘She’s the strongest. How are we going to get all that furniture shifted without her?’ She was looking at Bruce.

  ‘I can’t, Martina,’ said Bruce. ‘My back’s really twingeing from yesterday. If I put it out I’ll be flat on my back for a week, when I’ve got to drive up town for my flowers, keep the shop open, manage the deliveries. I can’t risk it.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just manage ourselves, you and me, Rochelle,’ said Martine.

  ‘No way! If Jude can skive off, so can I,’ said Rochelle, reaching for her denim jacket. ‘I’m going out too.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘If Jude can, I can.’

  ‘Jude’s older. She can look after herself. You’re staying here. Rochelle.’

  ‘You can’t boss me about. You’re not my mother,’ Rochelle said. ‘I’m just going down the road, that’s all. OK?’

  ‘No, it’s not OK.’

  ‘Well, tough,’ said Rochelle, and she ran for it.

  Martine ran after her, but gave up when Rochelle was out the door. ‘It’s not fair,’ she said, nearly in tears. ‘I get my whole life messed up and come here to help out and find I get left doing everything, just because I’m the eldest.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to clear off too,’ said Bruce. ‘I can’t stay too long, you know. You can’t leave little Dixie in charge.’

  ‘I’m not little!’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes, look at you growing, practically towering above me,’ said Bruce, peering at an imaginary giraffe-necked Dixie.

  ‘I know I’m small, but I’m not a baby,’ I said firmly.

  Maybe this wasn’t a wise thing to say.

  ‘OK, you c
an make yourself useful,’ said Martine. She braved Mum in the living room and humped several boxes of pots and packets and china into the kitchen. ‘You can scrub out all the cupboards and put our stuff in them. I’ll make a start cleaning upstairs.’

  Martine swished off with a broom and scrubbing brush, looking martyred. We heard her phoning Tony as she went upstairs: ‘Yes, Mum’s had the baby … Sure, they’re both fine … Well, Mum’s a bit whacked, obviously, so I’m having to do everything at the moment. The girls are no help whatsoever.’

  ‘Cheek!’ I said.

  ‘Yes, double cheek! She didn’t even mention me,’ said Bruce.

  ‘Exactly. We wouldn’t have any light or hot water or breakfast without you, Uncle Bruce. We wouldn’t even be here.’

  ‘Ah. Maybe that’s why she’s so cross with me. Anyway, I didn’t come back here for her. Or your sisters. Or your mum.’ He smiled at me, forgetting to hide his funny teeth. I smiled back.

  ‘It’s because you’re my dad’s mate, isn’t it, Uncle Bruce?’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It’s more this uncle lark. I’m getting to like the idea of you as my token niece, little Dixie.’ Bruce sighed and stretched. ‘But I’m also here to help out, so I’d better get on.’

  ‘You mustn’t muck up your back, Uncle Bruce.’

  ‘No, I can’t do any lifting, darling. I thought I’d busy myself checking out the whole house, making sure your washing machine’s plumbed in properly, testing the cooker – boring stuff like that.’

  ‘You are a total star, Uncle Bruce,’ I said.

  ‘Twinkle, twinkle,’ he said, waggling his eyebrows at me, his glasses sliding down his nose.

  I giggled and then sat down beside the boxes, poking about amongst the china and cutlery. I didn’t know where to start. I got out all our different cups and lined them up on the floor, as if they were standing in a queue. Then I found the teapot and turned it into an elephant. The cup children took turns riding on its back, rewarding it with a sugar lump down its spouty trunk.

  Bruce decided he needed his tool box and stepped backwards. He crushed a child and very nearly killed the elephant too. We picked up the pieces together.