Candyfloss

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Yeah, what secret?’ said Margot. ‘You always have to create, like, a drama, Floss.’

  ‘Well, I guess this is pretty dramatic,’ I said, stung. I decided to show her. I took a deep breath. ‘We’re only going to Australia,’ I said.

  They all stared at me. Rhiannon looked particularly impressed. ‘Wow, you’re going on holiday to Australia!’

  ‘Well, I’m going on holiday to Orlando,’ said Margot. ‘It’s got Disneyland. Australia hasn’t got Disneyland.’

  ‘It’s got the Great Barrier Reef and Bondi Beach and Ayers Rock,’ said Susan, who had crept to the edge of the group. ‘Though actually we should call it by its Aboriginal name, Uluru.’

  ‘Nobody asked your opinion, Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. She turned to me. ‘So when are you going on this holiday, Floss? Any chance I can come too?’

  ‘I wish you could,’ I said. I was regretting telling everyone now. It made it seem too real. I had to explain properly. ‘It’s not a holiday. We’re going to stay there for six whole months.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said miserably. ‘Only I don’t think I want to. I like it here. I’ll miss my dad so much. And I’ll miss you, Rhiannon.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too!’ she said, and she hugged me tight.

  I hugged her back.

  Margot and Judy made silly noises and stupid comments but I didn’t care. Susan hitched her glasses higher up her nose, gave me a wan smile and wandered off. I felt bad that Rhiannon had called her names, but I couldn’t help it. I liked Susan. I wanted to be kind to her but I knew if I started speaking to her properly people would start teasing me too.

  I started to think about the Australian school during lesson time. I would be the new girl. What if everyone started picking on me? I was quite clever but I didn’t ever come top, so they wouldn’t tease me for being swotty, would they? I had a perfectly ordinary kind of name, Flora Barnes. My initials didn’t spell anything silly or rude. I didn’t mind being called Floss or Flossie for a nickname. Rhiannon once or twice called me Flopsy Bunny but that was when she was making a big fuss of me.

  I’d never ever find a friend in Australia like Rhiannon.

  ‘You will stay my friend when I’m out in Australia, won’t you?’ I begged her at lunch time. ‘And still be best friends when I come back?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Rhiannon.

  She wasn’t really concentrating. She was looking over at Margot and Judy, who were huddled up looking at some stupid pop magazine. They were giggling and kissing their fingers and stroking all their favourite boy bands. Rhiannon giggled too, watching them.

  ‘You won’t make friends with Margot when I’m gone, will you?’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Give it a rest, Floss! Which part of Australia are you going to, anyway?’

  ‘Sydney.’

  ‘Is that near Brisbane? That’s where they make Neighbours.’

  We went to the library and found a big book about Australia.

  ‘Wow!’ said Rhiannon, flipping through pictures of bush and beaches and orange rocks and weird white buildings. ‘You are so lucky, Floss, it looks fantastic.’

  It didn’t seem like a real place. It was all too bright and highly coloured and bizarre, like a cartoon. I looked down at the parquet pattern on the library floor and tried to imagine myself going down down down for thousands of miles and then bobbing out in Australia.

  I’d never quite got to grips with geography. I knew the people in Australia weren’t really upside down, but it still seemed a little odd all the same.

  We read a ballad about an Australian called Ned Kelly in our English lesson that afternoon. He was a sheep thief and he ended up getting hanged.

  ‘You’d better not steal any little lambs out in Australia, Floss!’ said Rhiannon.

  Mrs Horsefield asked me to read a ballad about a Tragic Maiden out loud. I read it dramatically, making the Tragic Maiden weep and wail. Margot and Judy started snorting with laughter. Even Rhiannon smirked a little. I could feel myself blushing.

  ‘That was very good, Floss,’ said Mrs Horsefield kindly. ‘You’re very good at reading aloud.’

  I’d always liked reading to my mum when she did the ironing or started cooking, but now she chatted to Steve instead. I’d tried reading aloud to Tiger, but he fussed and fidgeted and kept wanting to turn the page before I’d finished reading all the words.

  ‘Now I want you to have a go at making up your own ballads,’ said Mrs Horsefield.

  ‘Does it have to be all daft and old fashioned and tragic?’ said Rhiannon.

  ‘It can be about anything at all, as long as it’s in ballad form and tells a story,’ said Mrs Horsefield.

  Everyone started groaning and scratching their heads and mumbling. Everyone except Susan, sitting by herself in front of us. She was scribbling away like anything.

  ‘Look at Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Trust her. Oh yuck, I hate this ballad lark. What have you put so far, Floss?’

  ‘The girl sat in an aeroplane,

  Watching the clouds with wonder,

  Worrying how she’d get on

  In her new life Down Under.’

  ‘Down Under what?’ said Rhiannon. ‘That sounds stupid.’

  ‘Well, I know. I want to say “In Australia” but I can’t find a word for it.’

  ‘What about . . . wailier?’ Rhiannon suggested. ‘The girl went ever more weepier and wailier because she was missing her best friend Rhiannon now she was in Australia. There!’

  ‘It doesn’t fit, Rhiannon. It’s too long.’

  ‘Well, say it very quickly then. Now help me, Floss. So far I’ve got, There was a pretty young girl called Rhiannon, who joined a circus and got shot out of a cannon. Hang on, inspiration! It hurt a lot when she got shot, that poor pretty young girl called Rhiannon. There! Maybe I’m not such pants at ballads after all. Even though I don’t show off in a swotty way like some people.’ Rhiannon put her foot up and kicked Susan’s chair.

  Susan jumped and her pen squiggled right across her page. She sighed and tore it out of her exercise book. Then she turned round. ‘If you were a little bit swottier you’d realize that you’ve written a limerick, not a ballad.’

  ‘Who cares what you think, Swotty Potty? You think you’re it just because you like writing this poetry rubbish. What have you put anyway?’ Rhiannon reached out and snatched Susan’s spoiled page.

  ‘Oh yuck, what kind of daft drivel is that? What’s she on about? Listen, Floss.

  ‘She walked along the corridors,

  Pacing each floorboard with care.

  She didn’t step on a single crack

  But no one knew she was there.

  She edged around the wooden fence,

  Tapping each post in turn,

  She counted each one attentively

  But she had a lot to learn.

  She tried to do maths magic,

  Adding all the sums in her head,

  But all the figures multiplied

  Her loneliness and dread . . .

  ‘What kind of weirdo nonsense is that? And it’s not a ballad either because it doesn’t tell a story, it’s just a lot of rubbish about nothing, so ya boo sucks to you, Swotty.’

  Rhiannon crumpled the page up and threw it at Susan’s head.

  Susan turned round and chopped her hand quick on Rhiannon’s shins.

  ‘Get off! That hurt,’ said Rhiannon.

  ‘Good,’ Susan muttered. ‘Now get your feet off my chair.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. She leaned right forward on the edge of her seat, ready to kick Susan hard in the back. But Susan grabbed her by the ankles and pulled. Rhiannon lost her balance. She shot straight off her chair and landed with a thump on the floor. She shrieked.

  ‘Rhiannon! Whatever are you doing! Get up and stop clowning around,’ said Mrs Horsefield.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Rhiannon. ‘I think I’ve broken my elbow. And my wri
st. And my bum hurts horribly.’

  ‘I think you’ll live,’ said Mrs Horsefield. ‘It serves you right for messing about.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mrs Horsefield,’ said Rhiannon. She paused. We had a strict code about telling tales. ‘Someone pulled me right off my chair.’

  Susan kept very still.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mrs Horsefield. She came over and felt Rhiannon’s arm carefully. Rhiannon moaned and whimpered.

  ‘I think you’re making a fuss about nothing, Rhiannon,’ said Mrs Horsefield briskly. Then she paused. She was looking at Susan now. ‘However, it’s very silly and very dangerous to pull anyone off their chair – even if they’re being incredibly provoking. I’m surprised at you, Susan.’

  Susan said nothing but her face went very red.

  I felt terrible. We’d got poor Susan into trouble.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my ballad any more. I kept thinking about Susan’s. I wondered if she really went round counting things in her head to make everything turn out all right. Only they didn’t ever turn out right. We were all horrible to her. Especially Rhiannon.

  I edged closer to Rhiannon. ‘Do you think we should maybe tell Mrs Horsefield it was our fault, because we snatched Susan’s ballad and made fun of her?’ I said. I delicately said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – but Rhiannon was still outraged.

  ‘Are you joking?’ she hissed. ‘She really hurt me! My arm aches awfully. I bet it is broken, or at the very least badly sprained. Swotty Potty deserves to get into trouble. She’s turned into mad Psycho Girl, out to get me.’

  ‘Oh Rhiannon, you know that’s not true,’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ said Rhiannon. She sat up properly and looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Whose side are you on, Floss? Do you want to break friends and go off with Swotty Potty and write soppy poems together?’

  ‘No! No, of course not. You’re my best friend, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, and I gave you the bracelet with real rose-quartz stones even though I really wanted it for myself. But I gave it to you because that’s what best friends are for. Even though you’re not even going to be here soon, as you’ll be flying off to Australia.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go! You know I don’t. I’d give anything to stay,’ I said.

  ‘Well, why don’t you then?’ said Rhiannon.

  ‘Why don’t I what?’ I said, muddled.

  ‘Stay here. Kick up such a big fuss that they have to change their minds.’

  I thought about it. ‘I’m not really very good at making a big fuss,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I know, you’re hopeless.’ Rhiannon sighed irritably. ‘You’re so gutless, Floss. You just try to be nice to everyone.’

  I felt wounded but I reached out and hooked my little finger round Rhiannon’s.

  ‘Ouch, watch out, that’s my sore arm! What are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to make friends properly. Because you’re my best friend in all the world and I love my beautiful bracelet and I really will try not to go to Australia. Anyway, we probably won’t be going until the summer holidays and that’s ages away, so don’t let’s even think about it now.’ I hung onto Rhiannon’s finger and she grinned at last and hooked her own little finger properly round mine and we vowed to make friends, make friends, never ever break friends.

  Susan had her head bent over her exercise book, writing her ballad out all over again. Her soft brown hair fell forward, showing the white nape of her neck. She sniffed once or twice, as if she might be trying not to cry.

  I still felt very bad about her, but there was no way I could comfort her, not in front of Rhiannon.

  I showed off my rose-quartz bracelet to Mum when I got home from school. She was clearing out the kitchen cupboards, while Tiger bashed saucepans at her feet.

  ‘Oh, trust Rhiannon and her mother. They always have to show off how much money they’ve got,’ said Mum. ‘Hey, did you tell Rhiannon about Australia? I bet she was envious.’

  ‘Yes, she was. Ever so. Oh Mum, I’m going to miss her so much.’

  ‘You soppy old thing,’ said Mum, giving me a hug. ‘I think it’ll do you good to make some new friends. You let Rhiannon boss you around too much.’

  ‘I’d quite like to be friends with Susan, this new girl, but Rhiannon hates her. What do you think I should do, Mum? Shall I try to be nice to Susan even if it makes Rhiannon mad at me?’

  ‘I don’t know, lovey. It’s all a bit pointless, isn’t it, seeing as we’ll be in Sydney in two weeks’ time.’

  I stared at Mum. ‘In two weeks?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me we were going that quick?’

  ‘Quickly, Flora – do speak properly. There didn’t seem any point in telling you earlier, you’d have just got all worked up and excited and rushed round telling everyone.’

  I thought hard. ‘Telling Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, well, it’s not really anything to do with him.’

  ‘He’s my dad!’

  ‘Yes, I know. Calm down. Don’t shout like that. Honestly! If you must know, I was trying to be tactful to your dad. Steve’s done so brilliantly to be given the chance to get the Australian branch up and running. He’ll be earning twice the money – I just can’t believe it! It felt like rubbing your dad’s face in it because he’s such a failure.’

  ‘Dad’s not a failure,’ I said fiercely.

  Mum cupped my face with her hands. ‘Oh come on, Floss. I know you love your dad and he’s a good dad in lots of ways. He’s a very sweet kind man, and I’d never deliberately badmouth him to anyone – but he’s useless when it comes to business, even you must admit that. He’s in debt up to his eyeballs and that awful café is fast running out of customers. I don’t know why he doesn’t call it a day and sell up altogether.’

  ‘Dad wouldn’t ever sell the café!’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Well. Goodness knows what else he could do! Anyway, I just thank God I don’t have to slave there any more,’ said Mum. ‘Oh Floss, isn’t it wonderful!’ She kissed me on the tip of my nose. ‘Aren’t we lucky girls! In two weeks’ time we’ll be stepping out of that plane into glorious sunshine.’ She threw old rice packets and sauce bottles and jam jars with a thump thump thump into the rubbish bin as she spoke. Tiger accompanied her on saucepan percussion.

  ‘You’ve got some serious sorting out to do yourself, Floss,’ said Mum. ‘We’re going to put most of our stuff in storage. There’s no point keeping any old rubbish though. It’s time you chucked a lot of your old toys out.’

  ‘I suppose I could throw away my Barbies,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the spirit! And some of those old teddies. We’ll make a start on your room tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be at Dad’s.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do it for you. Now, you’d better get dressed up for our meal out. You can wear your new birthday clothes if you like. You get in the bathroom while I change Tiger.’

  ‘He’s not coming too, is he?’ I said.

  Mum looked at me. ‘What do you think we’re going to do with him, Floss? Leave him here and tell him to heat up his own milk and tuck himself up in bed?’

  ‘Oh ha ha, Mum. Why can’t he have a babysitter like when you and Steve go out?’

  ‘Because this is a family outing, silly. Now go and get shifted, Birthday Girl.’

  I thought about Mum’s words as I wriggled out of my school uniform and put on my new jeans and T-shirt. I couldn’t ever have a real family outing any more. It was all so easy-peasy when we were just our family, Mum and Dad and me. But now when I went out with Dad, Mum was missing – and when I went out with Mum, Dad was missing and I was stuck with Steve and Tiger instead.

  I stared out of my bedroom window down into the garden. Steve had landscaped it himself and made all these pretty flowerbeds and a pergola and a pond with goldfish, but now Tiger was old enough to climb out of his pram it was more like his own personal adventure park. OK, I had my lovely swing in one corner, but Tiger had his own s
mall swing and his slide and his pedal car and his sandpit and his baby bouncer and his toddler gym climbing frame.

  It was more like Tiger’s birthday celebration than mine at TGI Friday’s. He sat in lordly fashion in his highchair, giggling and kicking his legs whenever any of the waitresses went by. They all ruffled his silly sticking-up hair and tickled him under his chin, cooing and clucking. No one told him off when he ate his chips with his fingers or spilled his drink.

  Mum ordered a special birthday pudding for me with sparklers. Tiger screamed and squirmed so desperately to see them that they held them in front of him for ages. The sparklers had stopped sparkling by the time they put the plate on the table. I felt as if all my sparkles had gone out too.

  I knew I shouldn’t be jealous of my little baby brother. He didn’t commandeer all the attention deliberately. It was very annoying all the same.

  That was what was so great about my weekends with Dad. It was just Dad and me. He treated me like his very special little princess.

  3

  MY SECOND BIRTHDAY was on Saturday.

  I went to my dad’s. Mum always took me. She usually stayed a little while and had a cup of coffee in the café. Dad often put a whole plate of cakes in front of her – jam doughnuts, apple turnovers, apricot Danish pastries, all her old favourites.

  Mum could never be tempted to have so much as a mouthful. She’d just shake her head and pat her flat tummy. Sometimes she couldn’t help looking at Dad’s tummy and shaking her head. She often gave Dad lectures about my food, saying she didn’t want me eating any greasy café fry-ups, especially not chip butties, and I had to have lots of fresh fruit and vegetables and only one small cake at tea time. Dad and I would nod solemnly – and then wink at each other when she was gone.

  Mum didn’t drive me over to Dad’s this Saturday. Steve did.

  ‘Why can’t you take me, Mum?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got too much to do, Floss. I’m busy busy busy,’ said Mum.

  She was rushing around in her jeans and an old check shirt of Steve’s, sorting our things into three big piles: TAKE, STORE and CHUCK. Tiger was crawling around on his hands and knees, playing with the piles, draping old tights round his shoulders like a feather boa and waving a saucepan as a hat.