Cookie

by Jacqueline Wilson

I tensed up like I had stomach-ache, bending forward so that A Little Princess dug into my chest uncomfortably. So Rhona hadn’t singled me out. She hadn’t invited me to her party because she particularly liked me. She’d invited everyone. Maybe she didn’t like me at all, but she was kind and didn’t want to invite every other girl in the class, leaving me out altogether.

  I waited for Louise and Poppy to stop their silly twitterings in the toilets. When they went I let myself have a two-minute howl. I timed myself by my watch, clamping my hand over my mouth and pinching my nose to make myself stop. I mopped myself dry with toilet paper but it was the shiny scratchy sort and it made my eyes redder than ever.

  ‘Look at Ugly-Wugly! She’s been crying! Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, little baby,’ said Skye, as we went back into the classroom for afternoon school.

  ‘Are you OK, Beauty?’ said Rhona, looking concerned.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you,’ I said. I tried to say it in an airy confident way but my voice was still a bit wobbly and I gave a loud hiccup at the end of my sentence.

  ‘Oh dear, she’s got the burps now,’ said Skye, spluttering. ‘Someone thump Baby Ugly on the back, quick.’

  ‘Watch out or I’ll give you a thump,’ I said fiercely and I gave her a shove right in the chest.

  It wasn’t a particularly hard shove but she wasn’t expecting it. She staggered, arms flailing, shrieking like a siren.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Skye, stop making that dreadful noise!’ said Miss Woodhead.

  ‘I’m in pain, Miss Woodhead. Beauty Cookson punched me here and it hurts,’ said Skye, hands clutching her front dramatically.

  ‘Beauty punched you?’ said Miss Woodhead, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, she did, Miss Woodhead. I was watching,’ said Arabella.

  ‘I saw her too. Beauty just attacked poor Skye for no reason at all,’ said Emily.

  ‘I expect she had reason enough, but that’s still no excuse for fighting, Beauty! I’m not having my girls brawling like guttersnipes. I don’t particularly care for tell-tales either. Now sit down and settle down, all of you, before I get really cross. I was thinking of having a special story-time this afternoon but I’m not sure you’re in the right mood. I think we’d better have a spelling test instead.’

  Everyone groaned and glared at me, as if it was all my fault. They groaned even louder when we marked our spellings at the end of the lesson and I got twenty out of twenty.

  I hurtled out of school when the bell went. Mum was waiting for me. She was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt with a fairy on it. She’d tied her hair into two cute plaits secured with pink bobbles. She looked about fourteen, so much younger and prettier than any of the other mums.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I said happily, linking arms with her.

  Way back in the playground I heard Skye and Arabella and Emily calling after me. I didn’t look round. Mum did though.

  ‘Is that you they’re calling?’ she asked.

  I shrugged.

  ‘What is it they’re saying?’

  ‘Just something stupid. They’re stupid. Come on, Mum, let’s get home quick. I don’t want to miss my programme.’

  ‘OK, OK. Sam is calling to you, is he?’

  ‘You bet he is.’

  We made it home in heaps of time. Mum gave me a glass of milk and a banana sandwich. I was starving as I’d had very little breakfast and I’d bolted my lunch. I sipped and munched as Sam waved at me and Lily nibbled her carrot.

  ‘Who do we want to see?’ sang the children.

  ‘Sam and Lily in the Rabbit Hutch,’ I sang, through a mouthful of milky banana.

  ‘Hello there,’ said Sam, smiling straight at me. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘So so, Sam,’ I said.

  He gave me an understanding nod.

  ‘Lily here is getting very excited,’ he said, cuddling her.

  Lily lolled sleepily against Sam’s chest, her blue eyes dreamy.

  ‘She doesn’t look very excited, Sam,’ I said.

  Sam gave me a little wink. We had to keep up the pretence for all the little kids watching the programme.

  ‘Guess how old Lily is,’ said Sam. ‘Go on, have a little think. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m a bit embarrassed to tell you, Sam. I think I’m heaps older than most of your viewers,’ I said.

  ‘Well, Lily’s a bit younger than you,’ said Sam. ‘She’s very nearly one year old. She’s very mature for a nearly one-year-old, isn’t she?’ He tickled her gently under her chin. ‘You can toddle out into the garden and fix yourself a lovely veggie tea and you can tuck yourself up in bed and get yourself up in the morning and give yourself a good wash. Could you do that when you were nearly one?’

  ‘Maybe I had a stab at it,’ I said, giggling.

  ‘I thought I’d throw a little birthday party for our Lily. Do you think she’d like that?’

  ‘I think she might like a party,’ I said. ‘But not with heaps and heaps of people.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I don’t think Lily wants a big party with lots and lots of friends. She’s a bit shy sometimes. I think we’ll give her a little party. Just Lily and me – and you too, of course. You can come, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course I can come! Oh, Sam, I wish you could come to my birthday party. Just you and me and Lily. And Mum. And maybe Rhona. She’s asked me to her birthday party but I’m not sure I want to go. Skye will be there. She’s Rhona’s best friend and my worst-ever enemy. She’s so horrible. I don’t know why Rhona wants to be her friend.’

  ‘Maybe Rhona will get fed up with Skye and make friends with you?’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, I wish! But it’s never going to happen,’ I said, sighing.

  ‘You never know,’ said Sam. ‘But remember, Lily and I are still your best friends.’

  ‘I’ll always remember that,’ I said.

  Same gave me a special secret smile, and then he raised his voice, talking to everyone else.

  ‘What do you think I should get Lily for a birthday present? Have you got any good ideas? How about painting me a picture of an ideal present for our birthday bunny? Send it to Sam at the Rabbit Hutch, OK? Bye then.’

  I waved goodbye and then I went upstairs and drew a very special picture of Lily with a little paper crown perched on her head and a badge tied round one floppy ear. I drew her a birthday carrot cake with real baby carrots deco- rating the icing on top. I drew one big candle in the middle.

  Then I got a new piece of paper and drew my own birthday cake. I’d seen exactly the one I wanted, with white icing and pink rosebuds. I loved proper birthday cake. I loved the soft sponge and the jam and the buttercream and I especially loved the sweet icing.

  I looked at my paper birthday cake and then pretended to blow out my candles and make a wish.

  Five

  I went to Lily’s birthday party of course – along with a million other little kids, all of us singing Happy Birthday to You into our television sets. Lily looked up and blinked her big blue eyes especially at me. Sam was wearing a fantastic new T-shirt in her honour, dark green with little white Lily-type rabbits running across his chest. Lily seemed very appreciative, cheekily poking out her little pink tongue at Sam.

  ‘She likes my green T-shirt, doesn’t she? Maybe she thinks it’s a great big cabbage!’

  Sam gave Lily real cabbage leaves for her tea and, guess what, a carrot cake with a candle, almost exactly the same as the one I’d drawn!

  ‘You gave me the idea, Beauty,’ Sam whispered. ‘Lily loves her cake, though I’m not sure she’s up to blowing out her candle. Will you help her? One, two, three – blow!’

  I blew, Sam blew, children all over Britain blew – and Lily’s candle went out.

  ‘There! Now Lily has to make her special birthday wish. She’d like to share her birthday wish with you, Beauty. Close your eyes and wish hard.’

  I closed my eyes and wished: I wish I could really meet you and Lily, Sam!

  Sam gave Lily a cosy new bed for her
birthday present, with a special green duvet and a straw pillow. She tried it out, looking very cute, though she lay in it the wrong way round, her head under the duvet and her big fluffy-tailed bottom on the pillow.

  ‘Silly old Lily,’ Sam said fondly. ‘Out you come, sweetie. It’s not bedtime yet. It’s time for all your party games. We’re going to play Blind Bunny Buff and Pass the Parsnip and Hunt the Carrot.’

  Lily took no notice.

  ‘Do you know something? I think she’s really gone to sleep!’ Sam said. ‘Oh well! Maybe you’d like to invent a special party game for Lily? Would you like to paint it for me? Send your paintings to me at the Rabbit Hutch. I’m looking forward to seeing them. Bye for now – oh, just a minute!’ he said, as the music started up to show it was the end of the programme. ‘Beauty? I do hope you enjoy Rhona’s party!’

  ‘Thank you, Sam,’ I said.

  I went upstairs and drew a picture of me with Lily on my lap. I’m quite small and Lily’s very big so it looked as if I was giving a polar bear a cuddle. I had my arms outstretched to cope with Lily’s breadth, one hand clamped round her haunch to keep her safely wedged on my lap, the other hand stroking her head.

  This is a very simple but very special party game, I printed at the top of my picture. It can be played at very small parties by one person and one pet. It’s called Stroke the Rabbit.

  Then I sat cross-legged on my bed with my arms out as if I was holding an imaginary Lily. I stroked thin air until my arms ached.

  I heard Dad’s car draw up in the driveway. I listened hard as he came in the front door. He wasn’t singing his silly Happy Homes song. He wasn’t dancing down the hall in his socks. It looked like he was in a bad mood. I decided to stay in my room as long as possible. At least I couldn’t hear any shouting.

  After a long time Mum called up to me that supper was ready. I started down the stairs and went to go into the dining room, where Mum usually set the table.

  ‘No, no, we’re having supper on trays in the living room. Dad’s a bit tired,’ said Mum, taking me gently by the shoulders and turning me round. She gave me a little reassuring pat as she did so.

  Dad was slumped in his chair, his shirt top buttons undone and his belt buckle loosened. He looked as if he needed to ease his head too. There were lines stretched tight across his forehead, pinching the top of his nose.

  My tummy tensed but he gave me a surprisingly warm smile.

  ‘Hello there, little Beauty. What have you been up to, eh?’

  ‘I’ve just been doing my homework, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘That’s my clever girl,’ Dad said, sighing. ‘You come and cheer your old dad up now. I’ve spent the whole day arguing with jobsworths who won’t budge an inch and it’s doing my head in. Tell me about your day, darling. What did you get up to with all your chums?’

  I took a deep breath and launched into an utterly fictitious account of my day with my best friend Rhona. Mum served us Marks and Spencer’s spaghetti bolognese while I nattered on about Rhona and me making up a dance routine together and everyone clapping. I was getting a little carried away as I couldn’t dance to save my life but Dad seemed to believe me.

  ‘That’s my girly!’ he said happily.

  ‘Will Rhona be having dancing at her party tomorrow?’ Mum said.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ I said cautiously. ‘It says wear casual clothes on the invitation. Oh, and we’re supposed to take our swimming costumes too.’

  ‘Have they got their own pool then?’ said Dad. ‘Where does she live, in Groveland Park? Most of the houses there have pools, but they’re all the size of postage stamps. I bet you’ll just sit on the edge and swish your tootsies in the water.’

  ‘I wish they’d say exactly what they mean by “casual”,’ said Mum. ‘Does that mean you wear your jeans?’

  ‘Beauty’s not wearing jeans to a party,’ said Dad. ‘No, she’ll wear her little pink number.’

  I stopped eating. Dad had taken me to one of his golf dinner and dances at Christmas. He’d insisted on buying me an elaborate bridesmaid-type satin dress with gauzy puff sleeves and ruching and frills flouncing everywhere. I looked truly terrible in it, like I was wearing an old lady’s eiderdown.

  I imagined the remarks that Skye and Emily and Arabella would make.

  ‘Not my pink dress!’ I blurted.

  Dad stopped eating too. And Mum.

  ‘What’s the matter with your pink dress?’ said Dad. ‘It cost a small fortune from Harrods. Don’t you like it?’

  I forced a smile.

  ‘Oh I love love love it, Dad,’ I said. My voice went high and squeaky I was trying so hard. ‘That’s precisely the problem. It’s so ultra-gorgeous and glamorous that I’m terrified of getting it spoiled at the party. I could easily spill juice all down it or tear one of the frills.’

  ‘Not if you’re careful,’ said Dad, but he nodded approvingly all the same. ‘I’m glad you want to look after it. Still, no jeans, you don’t want to look like a dirty scruffy tomboy at this party. How about your pretty blue blouse and your little white pleated skirt? You look sweet in that.’

  It was my second-most-hated outfit. They would still sneer and snigger at me – but it was marginally better than the pink eiderdown outfit.

  ‘Yes, good idea, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Mum could maybe tie blue ribbons in your hair?’ said Dad. He ran his fingers through my long limp hair, sighing. ‘Couldn’t you find some rollers, Dilly, and give it a bit of a curl?’

  ‘Beauty would hate having those uncomfy rollers prodding her head,’ said Mum.

  Dad wound spaghetti round and round his fork.

  ‘You girls have to suffer a bit for your looks,’ he said, chomping, his tongue and teeth coated with tomato sauce. ‘I know! Take her to the hairdresser’s Saturday morning, get them to primp and twiddle with her hair, do it up fancy-like.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mum saw my desperate expression. ‘I don’t think we’d be able to get her an appointment at the hairdresser’s at such short notice.’

  ‘Oh, Dilly, why are you always so hopeless? Look, get Beauty along there when they open and insist on an appointment. You could do with getting your hair done yourself, it’s a bit’ – he made wobbly gestures with his hands – ‘sort of tired.’

  All of Mum looked tired nowadays. It was such hard work trying to keep Dad happy. She was very pale, with violet circles under her eyes. She still looked very pretty but like she hadn’t had any sleep for a week.

  She looked at me apologetically. ‘OK, I’ll take Beauty tomorrow morning and we’ll both get our hair done.’

  ‘That’s the ticket,’ said Dad, breaking off a piece of bread and wiping it round his plate. ‘I want my girls to do me proud.’

  ‘We know that, Gerry,’ said Mum, with the tiniest edge to her voice.

  Dad was up very early on Saturday to go to play golf. He crept around getting dressed and going to the bathroom, but tripped at the top of the stairs. His golf clubs made such a clatter that I shot out of bed and ran onto the landing, convinced the house was falling down.

  Dad collected up his clubs, cursing furiously.

  ‘Oops, pardon my French,’ he said, when he saw me. ‘Back to bed, Beauty. I’m just off to my golf. Got to keep in with the right guys. This is the way your dad sorts out all his little problems. Just call me Gerry the Fixer. Ta ta, baby. Enjoy your party.’

  I didn’t go back to bed. I pattered into Mum’s bedroom and slid in beside her. Mum put her arms round me and cuddled me close. Both our hearts were still thudding fast because of the noise. We were just drifting back to sleep when there was another crash from downstairs, and sounds of Dad swearing.

  ‘Oh God, that sounded like a bottle of juice. He’s jerked the fridge open so violently it’ll have fallen out,’ Mum murmured.

  ‘Can’t you even stack the fridge properly, Dilly? I’ve got cranberry juice all over my cream golf trousers!’ Dad yelled up the stairs.

  I couldn’t
help giggling – and Mum started spluttering too. She covered our faces with the duvet so he couldn’t hear.

  ‘Dilly!’ Dad shouted furiously. ‘Get that lazy butt of yours downstairs and sort this fridge out before I get back!’

  He slammed out of the house, banging the front door. We waited, listening for the thud of the car door, the hum of the engine. The gravel crunched as Dad drove off. Mum and I sighed and lay flat on our backs, limp with relief that he’d gone.

  ‘I think he’s woken all the neighbours, not just us,’ said Mum.

  ‘Do you think he’ll still be cross when he gets home?’ I asked.

  ‘Not if he wins at golf,’ said Mum, yawning.

  ‘What time do you think he’ll be back? Will he want to collect me from Rhona’s party?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Mum.

  ‘So I’ve really got to wear my blue blouse and that pleated skirt?’

  ‘You look lovely in it, really. And we’ll get your hair all curly.’

  ‘Mum, they’re all going to laugh at me.’

  ‘No they won’t,’ said Mum. ‘You’ll look wonderful. They’ll be envious.’

  ‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better,’ I said, giving her a little shake.

  ‘Well, OK. I wish I could make everything better for you, Beauty.’ Mum paused, gently stroking my neck and shoulders. ‘Are you unhappy, pet?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘No, I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘Now you’re just saying that to make me feel better. Oh, lovey, I don’t know what to do. Your dad’s getting worse, isn’t he? But if I try to stop him he gets even angrier.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And at school – do they still tease you lots?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Does Rhona?’

  ‘No. She’s always kind to me.’

  ‘Well, that’s great. Can’t you be friends with her?’

  ‘Mum! She’s Skye’s best friend. And Skye is my most deadly enemy. She hates me.’

  ‘Well, we hate her,’ said Mum. ‘And her horrible patronizing mother. When we got you into Lady Mary Mountbank she came up to me in the playground and welcomed me to the school like it was her own family house. And then she goes, “So are you Beauty’s big sister?” and then she gives this great shriek when I said I’m your mum. “You must have had her so young,” like I’m a child bride. Well, OK, maybe I was – but it’s none of her business, eh?’