Cookie

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Oh well, Mum, all the more for us,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Dad. ‘Are you being cheeky, Beauty?’

  ‘Oh, Gerry, she’s just being sweet, that’s all,’ said Mum. ‘How are things at work? What’s happening with the Water Meadows situation?’

  Dad’s face cheered.

  ‘Well, we seem to be making progress at last. One of the chaps at the council, one of my golfing mates, got back in touch and I feel we might be able to get planning permission after all. I just need to put a few things in place and we’re there. Gerry the Fixer, eh?’ He looked at me. ‘So, little Beauty, what did your little pals say about your birthday celebration? I bet they’re thrilled, eh?’

  ‘Yes, they are. Ever so,’ I said.

  ‘And how about my birthday girl? You’re thrilled too, aren’t you?’

  Mum looked at me.

  ‘Yes, Dad. Ever so, ever so, ever so,’ I said. I whirled round and jumped up and down in a little pantomime of excitement.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Dad. ‘I spoil you rotten, don’t I? I’ve got a little idea up my sleeve for your birthday present too. You’re going to be so surprised, totally bowled over.’

  My tummy churned, wondering what Dad had in store for me.

  ‘What’s Dad giving me?’ I asked Mum later, when she was kissing me goodnight.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve asked and asked, but he just taps the side of his nose and won’t tell. I’ve suggested we get you a new outfit for your birthday. I know just how much you hate that pink dress.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, he won’t choose it for me again, will he?’

  ‘I said he’d maybe get the size wrong and I’d need to supervise as dresses are girly things – but he didn’t seem to take any notice,’ said Mum, sighing.

  I curled up with PJ, hugging her tight. It took me a long time to get to sleep.

  Skye wasn’t at school the next morning. Rhona said she had a dental appointment and wouldn’t be back until the afternoon. Rhona played with me at lunch time. She gave me half her crisps from her packed lunch and I gave her half my chocolate from mine. I gave her half my tangerine too and she shared her apple. We took careful alternate bites until we got down to the core.

  Then we went and sat on the wall together. Rhona found a piece of string and showed me how to play cat’s cradle. It was so special. I hoped Skye would stay at the dentist getting every single tooth filled and filled for ever.

  ‘I don’t know what to get you for your birthday present, Beauty,’ Rhona said. ‘You gave me lovely presents. I especially like my T-shirt. And I wear my bangles all the time. I love the way they clink clink clink.’

  ‘Have you started A Little Princess yet?’

  ‘Well, I’m not really a great reader, not like you. I looked at the first chapter but it seems a bit . . . old-fashioned.’

  ‘It’s a truly lovely story when you get into it,’ I said earnestly. ‘Maybe I could read you a bit?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Rhona. ‘Anyway, what can I get you? Do you want some books? You’ll have to tell me the titles because I don’t know all these weird old classics. I know what I really wanted to get you – another little teddy like Reginald Redted and poor Nicholas Navybear. I told Mum and she went looking for one yesterday, but the shop hasn’t got any more.’

  ‘It was ever so nice of you to think of it though,’ I said, giving her arm a little squeeze. She squeezed me back and we smiled at each other.

  ‘Isn’t there anything else you really really want for your birthday?’ said Rhona. ‘I know you like books but they are a bit boring.’

  ‘No they’re not!’

  ‘Is that what your mum and dad are getting you too?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m getting,’ I said gloomily. I felt so close to Rhona I wondered if I dared confide in her. ‘My dad’s a bit . . . funny.’

  ‘So’s mine,’ said Rhona, not understanding. ‘I was so embarrassed when he told all those silly jokes at my party.’

  ‘No, I mean my dad likes to be the boss. He likes to decide stuff, like what he’s giving me for my birthday present. He went bananas when I asked him for a rabbit.’

  ‘A rabbit?’ said Rhona. ‘I used to have a rabbit. A little grey one with blue eyes. He was so sweet.’

  ‘A real rabbit? Oh, you lucky thing. What did you call him?’

  ‘Bunny.’

  ‘Oh, Rhona, didn’t he have a proper name?’

  ‘He liked being called Bunny. Mum let me have him in the house sometimes, though I had to promise to clear up after him if he did a poo. You’re supposed to be able to house-train rabbits but Bunny did heaps of poos.’

  ‘So what happened to him?’

  ‘Oh, he died last winter. It was so sad. Mum and Dad said I could have another rabbit but I didn’t want a new one, I just wanted Bunny back. I cried and cried whenever I saw a picture of a rabbit. I even cried when I watched some goofy baby programme on television about a rabbit.’

  ‘Rabbit Hutch?’ I said casually, though my heart was beating fast.

  ‘That’s the one. There’s this big white rabbit with funny droopy ears.’

  ‘That’s Lily.’

  Rhona grinned. ‘Yeah! And then there’s this smiley man—’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘Do you watch Rabbit Hutch?’ asked Rhona.

  ‘Occasionally,’ I said.

  Rhona giggled. ‘We’re a pair of babies, aren’t we?’

  ‘Rhona! Rhona!’

  It was Skye, running up the playground towards us.

  ‘Don’t tell Skye,’ I said quickly.

  ‘As if !’ said Rhona.

  Then she jumped down off the wall and left me.

  When I got home after school I switched on the television straight away.

  ‘Who do we want to see?’ said the voice.

  ‘Sam and Lily in the Rabbit Hutch!’

  ‘Hey there!’ said Sam, and Lily twitched her nose to say hello too.

  ‘Lily’s got a little friend who’s come to tea,’ said Sam. He squatted down and pointed to a little fat furry black-and-tan creature.

  ‘It’s Oliver the guinea pig. Hello, Oliver, how lovely to see you. Say hello to Oliver, Lily!’

  Sam tried to put Lily down on the ground beside Oliver but she scrabbled her paws, trying to cling on. Sam smiled and stroked her. ‘Lily’s a bit shy,’ he whispered to me.

  ‘I know what she feels like. I feel ever so shy sometimes,’ I whispered back.

  ‘There now, Lily,’ said Sam, easing her gently until she was nose to nose with Oliver. ‘It’s dear old Oliver, Lily – you like him. He’s your special friend. That’s right, twitch your noses at each other. Shall we twitch noses too?’

  Sam twitched his nose, looking wonderfully silly. I twitched mine back, giggling.

  ‘Do you have a special friend?’ Sam asked.

  This was my opportunity.

  ‘Yes I do! It’s Rhona! You might know her, she watches Rabbit Hutch too.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Sam, nodding.

  ‘She’s my special friend but I’m not sure she’d say I was her special friend. Her absolute best friend is this girl called Skye. She is a truly revolting person. Why on earth Rhona stays friends with her I simply can’t understand. But I think Rhona might like me second best. She sat with me at lunch time and it was so lovely and we chatted about all sorts of stuff and that’s when she said she sometimes watches you too.’

  I burbled on to Sam while he nodded and played with Lily and Oliver. He had to interrupt every now and then to talk to all the other children but I didn’t mind. I knew he was still listening to every word I was saying. I wasn’t through when he said goodbye. I went to talk to Mum instead.

  There was a wonderful warm baking smell in the kitchen. Mum smiled at me, flour sprinkled down her front like fairy dust.

  ‘More cookies?’ I said.

  ‘I’m having another go. I’m making oatmeal-and-raisin cookies this time. I alr
eady made two batches this morning but they didn’t come out quite right. The first lot looked weird, though they didn’t taste too bad. The second lot looked fine but they weren’t quite munchy enough.’ Mum patted her tiny waist ruefully. ‘I’m going to put on pounds and pounds doing all this baking lark. I went to the gym at lunch time but if I keep on stuffing cookies I’ll need to go to the gym twice a day. And I hate that blooming gym, it’s so boring.’

  ‘Maybe you could have your own personal trainer, Mum? That might make it more fun.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Mum. ‘A young hunky guy putting me through my paces, eh? I wonder what your dad would have to say about that! You know what he’s like.’

  I knew all too well. ‘Doesn’t he trust you, Mum?’

  Mum shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He just doesn’t want me getting close to anyone else but him. He’d go bananas if I got matey with any man even if it was entirely innocent. He doesn’t really like me having women friends either.’

  ‘Did you have lots of friends when you were at school, Mum?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Did you have a best friend?’

  Mum nibbled her lip. ‘No, they didn’t really like me much, the girls in my class.’

  ‘But you must have been the prettiest one!’

  Mum shrugged. ‘They all teased me because I was a bit slow and dreamy. I was hopeless, I just let them walk all over me. I’ve never been able to stand up for myself.’

  She opened the oven door and had a peep at the cookies.

  ‘Hey, I think they’re done. They look pretty good, don’t they?’

  She took the baking tray out of the oven and showed me twenty-four raisin-and-oatmeal cookies, pale gold and perfect.

  I reached out eagerly.

  ‘Hey hey, let them cool down a bit, you’ll burn your mouth.’

  ‘OK, but they smell so delicious! I can’t wait!’

  ‘We’ll give all your friends cookies on your birthday and that’ll be your new nickname, little Cookie Cookson.’

  Mum picked up an oatmeal-and-raisin cookie and popped it into my mouth. I chewed appreciatively. They were softer than the plain cookies, much chewier, with a spicy, nutty tang.

  ‘Well done, Mum!’ I said through my mouthful. ‘They’re really really gorgeous. How did you do it?’

  ‘Just call me the Cookie Fairy,’ said Mum. ‘I wave my magic wand’ – she mimed it – ‘and hey presto, cookie heaven. No, actually it’s this recipe book. It told me to use cinnamon and cloves and chopped nuts as well as the oatmeal and the raisins, and then there’s eggs and brown sugar and all sorts. You sift and sprinkle and stir like crazy. I think I’m getting the knack of it, Beauty!’

  ‘You are, you are.’

  ‘Funny if I turn out to be a good cook after all these years of being such rubbish at it,’ Mum said, nibbling one of her own cookies appreciatively.

  ‘Maybe Dad doesn’t need these fancy buffet people. Maybe you could do it all, Mum?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘I think I’d better stick to cookies.’

  Eleven

  ‘Surprise!’ Dad shouted, bursting into my bedroom on Saturday morning.

  I opened my eyes and screamed. An enormous shocking-pink hairy monster loomed above me, its horrible bug-eyed buck-tooth face inches from my own.

  ‘Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday, dear Beauty,

  Happy birthday to yoooooou!’ Dad sang.

  Every time he said the word ‘birthday’ he made the monster nuzzle my face grotesquely.

  ‘Careful, Gerry darling, you’ll smother her,’ said Mum.

  ‘She’s fine, she’s fine! She’s just having a happy romp with her birthday rabbit,’ said Dad. ‘Do you like him, Beauty? You said you wanted a rabbit, didn’t you! I bet you never thought you’d get one this size. Biggest in the whole of Hamleys! I had to get a taxi all the way home. I couldn’t possibly struggle on a tube with him in my arms. Isn’t he the loveliest bunny you’ve ever seen, Beauty? Why don’t you give him a big hug? What’s up with you?’

  ‘She’s still half asleep, Gerry. Give her a chance!’ said Mum. She wriggled round the dreadful giant rabbit and gave me a kiss. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’

  I hugged her close. Then I sat up properly and hugged Dad. And then I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms round the rabbit. Its fur was coarse and tickly and it had an overpowering smell of wool and carpet.

  ‘Don’t you just love your birthday bunny?’ said Dad.

  I hated hated hated the monster rabbit but I pretended to be thrilled with him.

  ‘So what are you going to call him, eh?’ Dad demanded.

  I didn’t want to personalize the rabbit with a proper name.

  ‘He’s called . . . Pinky,’ I said.

  ‘Pinky!’ said Dad. ‘All right, so be it.’

  He lumbered round the room with Pinky, singing:

  ‘My name’s Pinky,

  I’m not dinky,

  I’ll give you a winky

  ‘Cos my eyes are blinky!

  Dad gave the rabbit a vigorous shake. His eyes revolved alarmingly.

  ‘Come and join in the dance, Beauty!’ said Dad.

  I had to get up and caper in a circle with my mad dad and the worst toy rabbit in the world.

  ‘I told you she’d love the rabbit,’ Dad said to Mum.

  ‘Yes, of course she loves it, Gerry. Now, Beauty, you’d better whiz along to the bathroom and then you can open the rest of your presents at breakfast.’

  ‘Special birthday breakfast! Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. I’d better go and do it. Your mother still can’t scramble an egg to save her life. Can’t even boil a blooming egg for that matter, can you, Silly Dilly?’

  ‘Mum can cook. She makes wonderful cookies,’ I mumbled, but Mum put her finger to her lips, shushing me.

  Dad marched downstairs. The pink rabbit lounged on my bed, giant limbs sprawled, paws clenched like boxing gloves. Mum and I stared at it. Then I suddenly spluttered. Mum giggled too. We became helpless with laughter, our hands clamped over our mouths in case Dad heard us.

  ‘Oh, Beauty, I’m sorry,’ Mum whispered. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. You hate it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘It completely fills up your bedroom. Dear God, it’s going to give you nightmares.’

  ‘Maybe I can stuff it in my wardrobe every night?’

  I tried lifting it but I could barely drag it off the bed.

  ‘Watch those massive arms! We don’t want to break another mirror!’ Mum hissed.

  ‘It so spoils my bedroom,’ I said despairingly, suddenly near tears.

  ‘Yes, I know. Maybe we’ll sit him in a corner and drape a huge wrap over him when your dad’s not around. But cheer up, there’s a trade-off ! As your dad bought you the pink rabbit I begged him to let me buy your birthday outfit as my present to you. He was fed up with shopping by this time, so he said OK. He even gave me a hundred quid towards it. You go and get washed and it’ll be waiting in your wardrobe when you get back.’

  ‘Is it pink or frilly?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Not a single frill and it’s not pink, OK?’ said Mum. ‘Scoot.’

  I scooted – and when I got back I saw my new outfit hanging outside my wardrobe. The dress was pearly-grey with long sleeves and a full skirt with a white broderie anglaise pinafore over the top. There were grey silky tights and amazing grey laced boots with little heels.

  ‘I know you’d much sooner wear a T-shirt and jeans but your dad would never allow it, especially when he’s turned your birthday into such a big do. He said you had to wear a proper party frock. I was going bananas trying to find something you’d like. Then I saw this. I know it’s very old-fashioned but I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s like something Sara would wear in A Little Princess.’

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, stroking the soft dress. ‘It’s beautiful – but will I lo
ok funny in it? Will it fit me? I’m getting sooo fat.’

  ‘No, you’re not, sweetheart. I think it’ll look great. Try it on and see.’

  Mum had bought me new underwear too, white pants with lace and a wonderful whirly petticoat a bit like a ballet dress.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just wear this as a party dress,’ I said, doing wobbly arabesques all around my bedroom.

  ‘Come and put your dress on, Sugar Plum Fairy,’ said Mum, unbuttoning it for me.

  She acted like a Victorian maid, buttoning me into my dress, tying the sash of the pinafore and kneeling in front of me lacing my boots.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘Look at yourself in the mirror!’

  I went and stood in front of the Venetian glass. I looked so different. I really looked like a girl in a Victorian story book. I still didn’t look pretty – but I didn’t look hideously ugly either.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ I said, my eyes shining.

  ‘Oh, Beauty!’ said Mum. ‘You look lovely, sweet-heart. Maybe I ought to get a job as a stylist!’

  Dad shouted impatiently from downstairs. ‘What are you two up to? The eggs are scrambling into sawdust!’ he yelled.

  ‘We’re dressing Beauty in her finery. Come to the bottom of the stairs, Gerry,’ Mum called.

  She took me by the hand and then led me downstairs. I walked down cautiously in my heeled boots, my petticoat and skirt swishing around my calves, making a lovely rustling sound.

  Dad was frowning at first, still fussing about the eggs. Then he saw me – and he looked taken aback.

  ‘Oh goodness! It’s not really a party dress, is it? Still, you don’t look bad in it, Beauty. The colour’s a bit insipid, mind you. A nice bright pink might have been prettier. And I’m not sure about the apron. It’s certainly unusual. What do you think, Beauty?’

  ‘I absolutely love it!’ I said, twirling round.

  I ended up changing out of my beautiful grey dress and pinafore to eat my breakfast just in case I spilled scrambled eggs all down me. I sat in my new petticoat and my Tracy Beaker dressing gown opening up my birthday presents. Dad’s parents were dead, but Nana, my mum’s mum, sent me pink nylon baby-doll pyjamas about a hundred sizes too small.

  ‘How lovely – not,’ said Mum. She bent close to my ear. ‘I wonder if they’d fit your new rabbit?’