I drew great splashes of water in the third picture, with poor Nicholas thrashing wildly through the waves, mouth wide open, screaming for help. Then I drew the poor drowned Nicholas lying in an open coffin, paws crossed on his chest, with wreaths of daisies and dandelion crosses arranged all around him.
It was hard getting all four pictures properly balanced. I had to rub out quite a lot but at last it seemed OK. I coloured it in very carefully, not going over a single line and keeping my pencil strokes as smooth as I could.
Mum came up to see how I was getting on and acted like I was an artistic genius.
‘You have to send it in to Sam, Beauty,’ she said.
‘No, Mum, I’m too old – and my picture’s too weird,’ I said, closing my drawing book.
‘You’re so artistic, Beauty.’ Mum hesitated. ‘Shall we show it to Dad when he comes in?’
‘No!’
‘He’d be ever so proud.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He’d go off on a rant.’ I puffed myself up and put on a deep Dad voice. ‘Why don’t you do a proper drawing of a teddy rather than this damn daft cartoon rubbish.’
Mum burst out laughing. ‘Oh, stop it! Yes, that’s exactly what he’d say. OK, we won’t show him.’
Nine
I wanted to keep out of Dad’s way when he came home from golf but he started bellowing for me the moment he got in the front door. I didn’t dare lurk in my room. I didn’t want him thudding up the stairs and bursting into my bedroom. If he saw my broken mirror he’d explode.
I went downstairs, ducking my head, fiddling with my hair, so scared of what Dad might say to me this time. But he was in one of his determinedly jolly moods.
‘Hello hello hello, here’s my lovely little Beauty!’ he boomed. His face was very red and he smelled of drink. ‘Who’s my pretty girl, eh? You look lovely, darling.’
I felt my face going red too. He was trying to make up for yesterday. It didn’t make me feel better, it just made me go all squirmy inside. Dad patted the top of my head and then chucked me under the chin.
‘My little girl,’ he repeated.
‘I’m not that little, Dad,’ I said.
‘I know, I know, you’re growing up fast. Your birthday’s just around the corner.’
I held my breath. Mum came out into the hall.
‘I’ve fixed it all up,’ said Dad, and he planted a wet kiss on my cheek.
‘Fixed what, Gerry?’ said Mum. She’d seen the expression on my face.
‘Beauty’s party, Silly Dilly!’
‘Are you sure about this, Gerry?’ said Mum. ‘Think of all those children running riot, sticky hands all over the furniture—’
‘We’re not going to have a party here. We’re going to go out,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve been talking to a couple of chaps at golf. One of them is part of some theatrical management company. He reckons he can get a whole block of front stalls seats for that Birthday Bonanza musical. Isn’t that great? It’s solidly booked up for the next six months. It’s always a matter of who you know, eh? And to make the day extra-special I’ve done a deal with another chap who has his own fleet of limos. You can ask all your friends, Beauty, and we’ll fit them into a super-stretch white limo, how about that?’
I opened my mouth but no sound came out.
‘Look at her, she’s speechless!’ Dad chortled. ‘There, trust your old dad to turn up trumps. Gerry the Fixer, that’s me!’ He turned to Mum. ‘I’ll fix the Water Meadows deal too, just you wait and see.’
‘I know you will,’ Mum said mechanically. ‘So, Gerry, what about Beauty’s birthday tea?’
‘I’ve thought of that. They’ll have a birthday buffet when they get here. None of that cheese cubes on sticks and jelly and trifle rubbish. This is going to be a dead sophisticated buffet with canapés.’ He ticked each one off on his fingers. ‘Little tartlets and tiny vol au vents, chicken satay, sausages in honey sauce, crispy prawns, the works – and then instead of a birthday cake we’re going to have a profiterole tower.’ He smiled at me. ‘Don’t look so stunned, baby. You’ll love it. Profiteroles are them little chocolate creamy balls – they taste just like éclairs.’
‘But, Gerry, who’s going to make all this stuff ?’ said Mum.
‘You are, of course,’ said Dad, and then he roared with laughter, redder than ever, wheezing and spluttering. ‘Your face, Dilly! Dear lord, you’re practically wetting your pants. Calm down, darling, I’m only kidding you. We’re going to get caterers in. They come along and lay it all out, even provide the fancy plates, and then they serve it all too. Won’t that be grand, Beauty? Fancy having a proper waiter and waitress serving all your little friends, treating you all like grown-up ladies. Won’t they be impressed!’
I felt faint. I could just imagine what Skye and Emily and Arabella would say.
‘It’s ever so kind of you, Dad, but won’t it all cost an awful lot of money? You said we’d maybe be poor if your Water Meadows deal doesn’t go through,’ I stammered.
‘It will go through, one way or another. Just you leave it to your old dad. Who am I? Gerry the . . . ?’ He put his hand to his ear, waiting for me to say it.
‘Fixer,’ I whispered.
‘That’s right, little Beauty. There! I bet there’s not another girl in your whole school who will have such a special birthday treat. Aren’t you a lucky girl?’
‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ I said.
I made myself smile and bounce about though inside I was dying. I didn’t want a party. I didn’t want a posh buffet with profiteroles instead of a birthday cake. I didn’t want a fancy stretch limo and front stalls seat at Birthday Bonanza. I especially didn’t want all my class at school to come to my party.
I took a deep breath.
‘Dad, it all sounds as if it’s going to be wonderful but I think I’d like it just as much – maybe even more – if I just had one friend, say, and you and me and Mum.’
I thought of Rhona and me partying together.
We could feast on our buffet and then swan off to the show in a posh limo, playing we were celebrities. It would be such fun, just Rhona and me . . .
‘Don’t be daft, Beauty,’ said Dad. He was still smiling but there was an edge to his voice. ‘We don’t want people to think you haven’t got any proper friends.’
‘But I haven’t, Dad, not really,’ I mumbled.
‘I saw you just the other day with two lovely little girls – hanging on your arms, they were. And then there’s that other gorgeous kid, the one with all the hair and the big blue eyes.’
Skye.
‘But Dad—’
‘Stop all this butting! You’re not a little goat! How many girls are in your class?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Well, you’d better get busy, little Beauty. You need to write out eighteen invitations. You can do it on my laptop or maybe hand-print them yourself, seeing as you’re artistic.’
I hand-printed the first one. I used special purple card and my silver italic pen. I didn’t address it to Skye or Emily or Arabella. I didn’t even address it to Rhona.
I wrote:
I drew a border of little silver rabbits chasing each other all round the edge of the card, and then I put it in a purple envelope and shook little silver hearts inside.
I didn’t post it. I put it in the folder where I kept all my Sam and Lily drawings. Then I sighed deeply and started on the real invitations. Eighteen of them. I used ordinary white cards and envelopes and a blue pen. I drew a birthday cake on each one, even though I wasn’t going to have one. I saved Rhona’s card till last. I used red card for her and a gold pen. I drew four little teddy bears in each corner. I added, Reginald Redted is of course invited. He can feast on his very own pot of honey.
Then I thought of everyone opening their invitations at school. They would see that Rhona’s was more elaborate. If they looked at what I’d written they’d laugh at me and think I was weird. I sighed again and wrote a new invitation for Rhona on whit
e card with a birthday cake, identical to all the others.
I gave her the invitation first, when I got to school on Monday morning. I made Reginald Redted hold it.
‘He’s had a good weekend but he wants to live back with you now,’ I said.
‘Is he giving me a letter?’ said Rhona, laughing.
‘It’s an invitation to my party,’ I said shyly.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ said Rhona, opening up the card.
‘What’s that you’ve got, Rhona?’ said Skye, running over to her.
‘Beauty’s asked me to her birthday party,’ said Rhona.
‘Oh, gross. Ugly’s having a party. Well, that will be total freaky funtime,’ said Skye. ‘So who else have you invited to your party, Ugly? You’ve got a whole wad of invitations there. Just as well, because I bet very few girls will want to go to your party.’
‘I want to go,’ said Rhona, as I handed out invitations. ‘What sort of birthday cake will you be having, Beauty?’
‘I’m not having a proper birthday cake,’ I said apologetically. ‘I’m having a profiterole tower.’
‘Oh wow!’ said Rhona. ‘I’ve seen those cakes in a special shop in London. Are you really having one?’
‘Yes. But you can’t put candles on them.’
‘Who needs boring old candles?’ said Rhona.
I wanted candles so I could blow them all out in one go and have a proper birthday wish. But my wishes didn’t ever come true, so maybe I didn’t need candles after all.
‘What else are you having to eat at your party apart from this proffy thingy,’ asked Poppy. ‘My mum says I can have proper pizzas when I have my party, with all different toppings.’
‘I don’t think there’ll be pizzas,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be like a buffet. Finger food. Canapés. Little tarts and sausages and stuff.’
‘Canapés!’ said Rhona. ‘How cool, just like a real grown-up party.’
‘It sounds totally weird if you ask me,’ said Skye. ‘Are you going to have dancing at your party, Ugly, as you’re such a good dancer – not.’
‘No, we’re not having any dancing, Skye,’ I said.
Skye rolled her eyes. ‘So what kind of a dull party is it going to be? Are you all going to sit cross-legged and do spelling tests for fun?’
‘We’re going to the theatre to see Birthday Bonanza,’ I said.
‘Oh wow, wow, wow!’ Rhona shrieked. ‘That group McTavish are in that – and Will Forman. They are so cool. I’ve been dying to see that show for ages but my dad can’t get tickets.’
‘Well, my dad can,’ I said, suddenly proud.
‘So who’s going to Birthday Bonanza?’ said Skye, narrowing her eyes. ‘Just you and Rhona?’
‘Dad’s got tickets for everyone,’ I said.
There was a great whoop from all the girls standing around.
‘Am I going?’
‘Are we really all going?’
‘Are we sitting near to the stage so we can see McTavish and Will really close up?’
‘Dream on,’ said Skye. ‘They’ll be those rubbish seats right at the back where you can’t see a sausage.’
‘We’ve got front-row stalls seats,’ I said. ‘My dad’s fixed it.’
‘So how is everyone going to get there?’ Skye said. ‘I suppose your famous fixer dad has hired a coach?’
‘No, he’s hiring a super-stretch limo,’ I said, with a little nod of my head.
Everyone squealed and clapped their hands, even Arabella and Emily. Skye stood there, arms folded, chin jutting.
‘So, is everyone invited?’ she said.
I still had her invitation in my hand. I so wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and say ‘Everyone but you, Skye.’
She was staring at me, her blue eyes suddenly anxious. I hated her, but I still couldn’t do it to her.
‘Of course everyone’s invited, Skye. Even you,’ I said, and I pressed her invitation into her hand.
She didn’t even thank me. She simply glanced at hers and then said in an off-hand manner, ‘I’m not sure I can make it that Saturday anyway.’ But we both knew wild horses wouldn’t stop her coming.
She was still horrid to me all day long. In a way I respected her for that. Emily and Arabella still called me Ugly but they smiled at me in a new silly way and Arabella offered me some of her crisps at playtime. Louise and Poppy started up a Did-I-like-bears? birthday-present conversation and some of the girls who hadn’t said a single word to me since I joined the class last year started chatting away as if I was their new best friend.
It felt so weird. Dad really was Gerry the Fixer. I’d longed for them to like me and now it looked as if they did. But it wasn’t real. They hadn’t really changed their minds about me, they just wanted to keep in with me so they could come to my party. I smiled and chatted back to all of them but inside I despised them.
I didn’t despise Rhona, of course. She’d been kind to me all along – and she was lovely now.
‘You’re so lucky, Beauty! Imagine your dad fixing all that for your birthday!’
‘Yes, Dad’s like that,’ I said.
‘Can I sit next to you in the super-stretch limo, Beauty?’ Rhona asked.
‘Of course. And will you sit next to me in the theatre?’
‘You bet.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose I’ll have to have Skye on my other side, seeing as she’s my best friend.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Is she always going to be your best friend, Rhona?’
Rhona shrugged awkwardly.
‘Well, we’ve been best friends since that first day of infant school and we live in the same road so we can’t really break up. I hate it when she’s mean to you. I’ve begged her to stop but she won’t. You know what she’s like.’ Rhona edged closer to me and whispered in my ear. ‘I wish we could be best friends, Beauty.’
Ten
When I went to meet Mum after school lots of girls called goodbye to me. They said it nicely enough, but they still called me Ugly.
‘I can’t stand them calling you that,’ Mum muttered. ‘You wait, we’ll get them calling you Cookie.’
She looked unusually red and shiny, with her hair scraped back into a quick ponytail. She had white smudges all down her shirt.
‘Have you been baking more cookies, Mum?’
‘Wait and see,’ she said, grinning.
The whole house smelled like a baker’s shop, though there was an underlying burning smell too. We went into the kitchen. I stared, open-mouthed. There were cookies everywhere, on big plates and little plates and three different baking trays. They covered the kitchen work top and spiralled round and round the table. Some were burned nearly black. Some were pale grey and sludgy. Some were great overblown monster cookies. Some were oval, some were square, some had no determinate shape at all. But the cookies on our best big green-leaf china plate looked perfect: round and smooth and golden.
‘Take one,’ said Mum, proudly proffering the plate.
I picked one up and held it to my face. It smelled delicious.
‘Have a bite, go on!’ said Mum.
I nibbled. ‘Oh, Mum, it tastes so good!’ I said, munching.
‘They’re OK, aren’t they?’ said Mum, whirling about the crazy kitchen. ‘I’ve been making them all day long. I found this old American recipe book for twenty-five p in the Oxfam shop. It’s got heaps of cookie recipes, but I thought I’d stick to the very basic one to start with – and it’s worked, hasn’t it! I’ve actually made proper cookies. Eventually. I had to do three batches before they came right.’
‘You’re the total Cookie Queen,’ I said, savouring each mouthful. ‘Can I have another one?’
‘Of course you can! I’ll have another too – and then we’ll have to get going clearing up all this mess. Your dad will go nuts if he sees the kitchen like this.’
I went upstairs to take off my blazer and dump my school bag – and then I stared at my Venetian glass mirror. It was glittering and gorge
ous, the glass shining. No crack!
‘Mum! You’ve got me a new mirror!’ I shrieked.
‘Yes, it’s been a very hectic day,’ said Mum. ‘I sold that diamond collar thingy your dad gave me for our first anniversary. I only ever wear it for posh dances and I hardly ever go to them now. I didn’t really like it anyway. I didn’t like it being a collar, like I’m a little dog. Anyway, I got heaps of money for it, enough for a roomful of mirrors, only try hard not to break this one, eh, darling?’
‘You are just the best mum ever,’ I said.
I helped her get the kitchen spick and span. We threw away all the experimental cookies, but kept the plate of perfect ones.
Dad got home from work early. He started up his Happy Homes routine the moment he got in the front door:
‘Happy Homes, Happy Homes
Where everybody smiles
And nobody moans.
There’s a mummy—’
He burst into the kitchen and pointed at Mum. Then he got distracted. He sniffed.
‘What’s that smell?’ he said.
‘I’ve just been doing a little baking,’ said Mum.
‘A little burning, more like,’ said Dad, laughing at her.
‘I’ve made cookies,’ said Mum.
‘You’re the cookie one, you daft little Dilly, you know you’re hopeless in the kitchen,’ said Dad.
‘Mum’s made lovely cookies, Dad. Try one,’ I said, offering him a plate.
‘I don’t really like home-madey stuff,’ said Dad, wrinkling his nose. ‘What sort of cookies are these anyway? I can’t see any chocolate chips or sultanas.’
‘They’re plain,’ said Mum.
‘Plain but perfect,’ I said. ‘Do eat one, Dad, they’re utterly delicious.’
He picked one off the plate, mimed taking a bite, smacking his lips together, the way you pretend to a baby.
‘Yum yum yum,’ he said, and he put the biscuit back.
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