Candyfloss

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘So OK, where’s all your stuff? The cherry curtains and the red velvet cushions and your special dressing table with the velvet stool?’

  ‘I’ve got all my clothes and books and art stuff here. The curtains are still at Mum’s and the other things have been put into storage. They wouldn’t fit in my bedroom here.’

  I scarcely fitted in my bedroom at Dad’s. It was not much bigger than a cupboard. There was just room for the bed and an old chest of drawers. Dad had started to paint it with some special silver paint, but it was a very small tin and it ran out before he could cover the last drawer. He’d propped a mirror on top of the chest and I’d laid out my brush-and-comb set and my china ballet dancer and my little cherry-red glass vase from my dressing table at home. They didn’t make the chest look much prettier.

  ‘Dad’s going to finish painting the chest when he can find some more silver paint,’ I said. ‘And he’s going to put up bookshelves and we’re going to get a new duvet – midnight-blue with silver stars – and I’m going to have those luminous stars stuck on the ceiling and one of those glitter balls like you get at dances – and fairy lights – and – and—’ I was running out of ideas.

  Rhiannon looked at me pityingly. ‘What sort of house is your mum going to have in Australia?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re just renting. It’s just some little flat,’ I said.

  I was lying. Mum had shown me a brochure showing beautiful modern flats with balconies and a sea view. They’d deliberately chosen a flat with three big bedrooms so that I could have the room of my dreams.

  ‘It couldn’t be littler than this flat,’ said Rhiannon. ‘You must be a bit nuts to want to stay here rather than go to Australia.’

  ‘I want to be with my dad,’ I said.

  ‘Do you love your dad much more than your mum then?’

  ‘No, I love them both the same. But Dad needs me more,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it still seems crazy, if you ask me,’ said Rhiannon, sitting down on the bed beside me. It creaked in protest. She peered down at it, shaking her head in disgust.

  ‘Well I’m not asking you,’ I said. ‘And anyway, you were the one who said I didn’t have to go. I thought you wanted me to stay so we could be best friends for ever. Don’t you want to be my best friend now, Rhiannon?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘We’re best friends for ever?’

  ‘Yes, like for ever and ever, dummy,’ said Rhiannon, sighing and shaking her long hair over her shoulders.

  She was saying all the right words but she was saying them in this silly American accent.

  9

  I HAD MORE bad dreams that night. I wished I’d kept my great big Kanga to cuddle in bed. I couldn’t believe I’d actually thrown away all my old teddies. All I had was the limp lopsided elephant and dog that Grandma had knitted me. I reached out of bed and tucked one on either side of my head. They didn’t look very fetching but they felt warm and soft, like a special scarf.

  I lay awake worrying that the bad dreams would come back the minute I closed my eyes. It helped that every time I wriggled round on my pillow a soft little knitted paw patted me.

  I fell asleep just as it was starting to get light – and then woke with a start. Something was ringing and ringing and ringing. The telephone! I stumbled out of bed and ran to answer it. Dad lumbered behind me in his pyjamas, huffing and puffing.

  ‘Hello?’ I said into the phone.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Floss! I’ve been ringing for ages!’ said Mum. ‘I thought you and Dad must have left for school already. What are you doing, having breakfast?’

  ‘Um – yes,’ I said, not wanting to tell Mum we’d slept in. She sounded so close, as if she was back in our house across town. ‘Oh Mum, have you come back?’ I said breathlessly.

  ‘What? Don’t be silly, darling, we’ve only just got here. My Lord, what a journey! Do you know, Tiger didn’t sleep a wink the entire flight. Steve and I were just about going demented.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said.

  ‘But never mind, we’re here now, and you should just see the apartment, Floss. I feel like a film star! We’ve got a fantastic sea view and even though it’s winter here it’s so bright and sunny. I just can’t believe how beautiful it all is. It would all be so perfect if only you were here too. Oh Floss, I miss you so!’

  ‘I miss you too, Mum. So so much,’ I whispered. I didn’t want to be tactless to Dad, but he patted my shoulder reassuringly to show me he understood.

  ‘I just know you’d love it here. If you could just see for yourself how lovely everything is you’d jump on a plane tomorrow, I know you would. Oh darling, are you all right? Is Dad looking after you OK?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I’m fine, really.’

  ‘He’s giving you proper food, not endless fry-ups and cakes and chip butties?’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ I said.

  I was still feeling queasy from last night’s chip butties. Rhiannon had been a little bit rude about them when Dad served them up for our tea. Very rude, actually. I’d felt so sorry for Dad I’d said quickly, ‘Well goody-goody, if you don’t like them that means there’s all the more for me.’ I’d ended up eating all my chip butties and Rhiannon’s.

  Dad boiled eggs and ran down to the corner shop and bought tomatoes and cucumber and lettuce to make Rhiannon her own special salad, but she only ate two mouthfuls, and she didn’t appreciate him turning them into a funny face for her.

  ‘Does your dad think I’m, like, a baby?’ she said.

  ‘Dad’s bought special salad stuff,’ I told Mum truthfully. ‘And he’s fixed up a new swing in the garden and I’ve had Rhiannon round to play.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Mum. ‘Well, I don’t want to make you late for school, sweetheart. You take care now. I’m going to send you lots of photos of our flat and the beaches and the parks and the opera house. Once you see them I just know you’ll be dying to come and join us.’

  I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. Most of me ached to be in Australia with Mum. But not without Dad.

  ‘Do you want to speak to Dad, Mum?’

  ‘Well, I’ll have a little word, yes please. Goodbye then, Floss. I love you so much.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mum. I love you too,’ I said.

  I leaned against Dad while Mum questioned him. She sounded like a nurse taking a full medical history.

  She asked:

  Is Floss looking mopey?

  Has she cried much?

  Is she sucking her thumb a lot?

  Is she as chatty as usual?

  Is she really eating properly?

  Is she having trouble getting to sleep?

  Did she wake up at all in the night?

  Is she having bad dreams?

  I started to expect her to ask how many times I’d been to the toilet.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Dad kept saying. ‘For pity’s sake, you’ve only been gone five minutes. She’s not likely to have gone into a nervous decline already. Now, we’d better be leaving for school. What? Of course she’s had breakfast,’ said Dad, crossing his fingers in front of my face. He said goodbye and then put the phone down.

  ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Oh dear, Floss, let’s shove some breakfast down you quick. I’m not sure there’s time for egg and bacon—’

  ‘I don’t want breakfast, Dad, there’s not time. I’m going to be late.’

  ‘No, no, you’ve got to have something inside you. Cornflakes? I’ll shove my jeans on and sort something out while you run and get washed and dressed.’

  I hadn’t properly unpacked my pink pull-along case or my cardboard boxes of clothes. My school blouses were horribly screwed up and my skirt was creased so much it looked as if it was pleated.

  ‘Dad, can you iron these?’ I said.

  ‘What? Oh God, I’m not sure my old iron works any more. I don’t really bother with my stuff, I just drip them dry.’

  I had to go to school all crumpled. I couldn’t find my good white socks so I
had to wear an old pair of navy woolly winter ones, and my trainers were all muddy from the garden. I couldn’t even get my hair to go right. I’d been tossing and turning all through the night and now all my curls stuck straight up in the air as if I was plugged into an electric socket.

  Dad didn’t seem to notice as he drove me to school. We arrived at the exact time Rhiannon was jumping out of her mum’s Range Rover. They noticed.

  ‘Floss! Oh dear!’ said Rhiannon’s mum. ‘You look a bit bedraggled, darling.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘Why have you got those funny socks on? Like, navy?’ said Rhiannon. ‘And yuck, what’s that on your shoes? It’s not dog poo, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s just a bit of mud,’ I said, blushing.

  Dad was peering out of the van anxiously, biting his lip. He frowned as Rhiannon’s mum leaped out of her Range Rover and went over to him.

  ‘Look, Mr Barnes, I know it’s difficult for you now you’re a one-parent family—’

  ‘Flossie’s got two parents,’ said Dad. ‘I’m simply the one currently in charge.’

  ‘Whatever. I was wondering . . . You could always pop a bag of laundry into my house once a week. My cleaning lady often irons for me, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but we’ll do our own washing and ironing,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, if you think you can cope!’ said Rhiannon’s mum, making it plain by her tone that she didn’t feel Dad could cope at all.

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ I said, waving, so he had an excuse to escape.

  He waved back worriedly, obviously seeing now how scruffy I looked. I gave him a big beaming smile to show him I didn’t care, stretching my mouth unnaturally wide, as if I was at the dentist’s.

  ‘You look like you’re going to take a bite out of someone, Floss,’ said Rhiannon.

  Margot and Judy were sitting on the wall. They heard what Rhiannon said and started snorting with laughter. Then they took in my appearance and laughed all over again.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ said Margot. ‘What do you look like, Floss? Has there been some major disaster so you’ve been, like, buried alive? Even your hair’s exploded! Look at it, all fluffed out and standing on end.’

  ‘And what’s that funny smell?’ said Judy, wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s like . . . chip fat!’

  ‘Well, that figures,’ said Margot. ‘Her dad runs this greasy spoon caff.’

  ‘It’s not greasy,’ I said fiercely. ‘It’s very special. My dad’s chip butties are famous.’

  Margot and Judy cackled so much they very nearly fell off the wall. Rhiannon got the giggles too. She put her hands over her mouth but I could still see she was sniggering.

  ‘Don’t laugh at me!’ I said.

  ‘Well, you do look funny. But I know it’s not your fault,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Mum said I’ve got to make special allowances for you.’

  ‘Why have you got to make special allowances for old Smelly Chip?’ asked Margot.

  ‘Because her mum’s walked out on her.’

  ‘No she hasn’t! Don’t say that!’ I protested.

  ‘OK, OK, don’t get all touchy. I’m trying to be extra nice to you.’

  She might say she was being extra nice but she certainly wasn’t acting it. I was scared I was going to start crying in front of them so I ran into school.

  I hoped Rhiannon would run after me. I wanted her to put her arms round me and tell me I didn’t really look funny and she didn’t care what I looked like anyway because she was my best friend.

  She didn’t run after me. She stayed smirking in the playground with Margot and Judy.

  I locked myself in a lavatory and had a little private cry. Then I heard someone else come in. I clamped my hand over my nose and mouth to stop all the little snorty-snuffly sounds leaking out. I sat very still. Someone seemed to be standing there, waiting. Waiting for me?

  ‘Rhiannon?’ I called hopefully.

  ‘It’s Susan.’

  ‘Oh!’ I blew my nose as best I could on school toilet paper, flushed the loo and emerged, feeling foolish.

  Susan looked at me. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the wash-hand basins. I looked even worse than I imagined – and now I had red eyes and a runny nose too.

  ‘I’ve got a cold,’ I said, splashing water on my face.

  ‘Yes,’ said Susan solemnly, although we both knew I was fibbing.

  I tried wetting my hair while I was at it, to smooth it down. It went obstinately fluffier, springing up all over the place.

  I sighed.

  ‘What?’ said Susan.

  ‘I hate my hair,’ I mumbled.

  ‘I think you’ve got lovely hair. I’d give anything to have fair curls.’

  ‘It’s not pretty yellow fair. It’s practically snow-white and much too curly. I can’t grow it. It grows up instead of down.’

  ‘I’m trying to grow mine, but it’s taking for ever,’ said Susan, tugging at her soft brown hair. ‘I’d love it to grow down past my shoulders but I’m going to have to wait two whole years, because hair grows only a quarter of an inch each month. Vitamin E is meant to be good for healthy growth so I’m eating lots of eggs and wholemeal bread and apricots and spinach, but it doesn’t seem to be having any noticeable effect so far.’

  ‘You know such a lot of stuff, Susan.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘You do – you know about the rate hair grows and vitamin E and all that.’

  ‘I don’t know how to make friends,’ said Susan.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘I want to be your friend, Susan,’ I said. ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘I know,’ said Susan. ‘Rhiannon.’

  ‘I’m sorry she’s so mean to you. Susan, your ballad – I thought it was so good.’

  ‘Oh no. Rhiannon was right about that. It was rubbish.’

  ‘Maybe . . . maybe you could come round and play some time, over at my dad’s?’ I said. ‘It’s not posh or anything. It’s just a funny café and we live over the top. I haven’t got a very nice bedroom but—’

  ‘I’d love to come,’ said Susan.

  She smiled at me. I smiled back. I thought hard. Rhiannon would see if Susan came home with me after school.

  ‘What about Saturday?’ I said, glancing over my shoulder, scared that Rhiannon had crept up somehow and was standing right behind me, listening.

  ‘Saturday would be wonderful,’ said Susan.

  ‘Great!’ I swallowed. ‘The only thing is . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell Rhiannon,’ said Susan.

  I blushed. ‘This Saturday?’ I said.

  ‘Yep, this Saturday.’

  ‘You could come for tea. Only it might not be very . . . Do you like chip butties?’

  Susan considered. ‘What are they?’ she said.

  I stared at her in surprise. How could she know a million and one facts and figures and yet be so clueless about chip butties?

  ‘I know what a chip is,’ said Susan. ‘Fried potato.’

  ‘Well, you put a whole wodge of chips in a big soft white buttered roll – that’s a chip butty.’

  ‘Chips in a roll?’ said Susan.

  ‘It’s not exactly healthy eating,’ I said humbly. ‘But my dad specializes in unhealthy eating, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It sounds a delicious idea,’ said Susan.

  Then Margot and Judy came barging into the toilets. My heart started thudding. But it was all right: Rhiannon wasn’t with them.

  Margot narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Were you, like, talking to Swotty Potty?’ she asked.

  ‘What are you, the Rhiannon private police force?’ said Susan. ‘No, she wasn’t talking to me. No one talks to me, you know that.’

  She marched out of the toilets, with Margot and Judy making silly whistling noises after her. Then they turned to me. Margot still looked suspicious.

  ‘So what are you, like, doing here? Rhiannon’s looking for you.’
r />   ‘Is she?’

  I ran past them. Susan was halfway down the corridor. I ran past her too. I ran all the way to our classroom and there was Rhiannon, sitting on her desk, swinging her legs impatiently. She had such lovely slender lightly tanned legs. Mine were like spindly white matchsticks.

  ‘There you are! What did you run off for? You are so moody now, Floss.’ Rhiannon sighed. ‘And if you don’t mind my saying so, you really do look awful. I bet Mrs Horsefield tells you off. You know how fussy she is, always going on about the boys not tucking their shirts in and telling all the girls off for rolling up their sleeves. You won’t be her special teacher’s pet today.’

  ‘Don’t be horrid!’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just pointing out the truth. You are, like, so paranoid.’

  And you are, like, so stupid talking like Margot, I thought inside my head, but I didn’t dare say it.

  When Mrs Horsefield came into the classroom I hunched low at my desk, desperately smoothing my blouse and skirt, as if my hands were little irons. I was fine until halfway through maths, when Mrs Horsefield asked me to come up to the front of the class to do a sum on the board.

  I stared at her, agonized, slumping so far down in my seat my chin was almost on the table.

  ‘Come on, Floss, don’t look so bashful,’ she said.

  ‘I – I can’t do the sum, Mrs Horsefield. Can’t you pick someone else?’ I suggested desperately.

  ‘I know maths isn’t your strong point but let’s see what you can do. It’s really quite simple if you work through it logically. Up you get!’

  I had no option. I walked up to the board in my crumpled clothes and navy socks and muddy trainers. Mrs Horsefield looked startled. Margot and Judy giggled. I felt my cheeks flaming. I waited for Mrs Horsefield to start shouting at me. Astonishingly, she simply handed me the chalk and said quietly, ‘OK?’

  I was anything but OK. I tried to do the stupid sum, my hand shaking so that the chalk stuttered on the board. I kept getting stuck. Mrs Horsefield gently prompted me, but I was in such a state I couldn’t think of the simplest answer.

  I looked round helplessly – and there was Susan, mouthing the numbers at me. I wrote them quickly and then rushed back to my seat. Mrs Horsefield let me go, but when the bell went for break she beckoned me.