Darcy Burdock Book 3

by Laura Dockrill

  ‘OK, girls . . . and boys!’ I start.

  ‘It’s OK, you can call me a girl, I practically am one.’ Timothy smiles so wide and his teeth are sooo shiny you could hear the ‘clink’ of their sparkle.

  ‘I want to share something with you . . .’

  ‘One of your stories?’ Poppy gets excited.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What? Why not? Read the poem you wrote for me.’

  ‘No, no, I want to show you something.’

  ‘What’s all that paper for?’ the allergic-to-cats-girl asks.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Twenty minutes later Mum calls everybody to the kitchen for pizza. The savoury delicious smell of the cheese and bread is soooo delicious.

  I am the last of the stampede to make it through to the kitchen. ‘Look at Hector,’ Mum says admiringly. ‘He’s so happy to have all these girls here, he is such a big boy now, I can’t believe it.’ I keep the alien-with-his-bum-out I just had the pleasure of meeting to myself.

  Watching them eat the pizza is like watching lions attack a zebra. Will would usually be here now. He would always come over for pizza, or if not I’d always wrap him up a piece in some foil and give it to him when I saw him next. Not any more. Poppy’s mates are all so sleepy now and join Pork and Lamb-Beth on the couch whilst Mum and I tidy up the kitchen together.

  ‘I’m going to get a phone call off that poor girl’s mum! She wasn’t supposed to go near the cat.’

  ‘Huh?’ I pretend I don’t know what she means.

  ‘Come on, Darcy, she looks like she’s slept with a sieve over her face.’

  ‘They were all playing with Pork. We forgot about her allergy. They wanted him to wear pyjamas!’

  ‘Her mum left me some tablets, just in case.’ Mum shuffles about for them. ‘Imagine how much the mice would have loved THIS lot!’ she says, tidying away the crumbs of pizza from the floor; almost impossible as there is so much it’s like sand grains on a beach.

  ‘Lucky we got Pork before the sleepover,’ I add, ‘or we’d have an infestation.’

  ‘Aw, bless Lamb-Beth, though, she was so terrified for Pork. Kevin is a big dog.’

  ‘Pork shouldn’t have been in his garden!’ I defend Kevin because I love Henrietta, the kindest, most wonderful next-door neighbour.

  ‘Yes . . . that’s a point . . .’ Mum pauses with her hand on her hip. ‘Why was Pork outside in the garden anyway? He’s not allowed outside.’

  Uh-oh.

  Poppy runs in. I could kiss her. Phew.

  ‘Mum, Darcy, can we show you something?’

  ‘Can I just finish cleaning up?’

  ‘Please?’ Poppy pulls her baby rabbit eyes out deliberately for Mum to see.

  ‘Fine, come on then.’

  But then . . . there’s a knock at the door. ‘Is this a joke? I’m about to lose my marbles here!’ Mum says, looking at me worriedly. ‘What if it’s Cat Allergy’s mum come to tear my hair out before I get her daughter to take her tablets?’ she whispers before she goes to open the door.

  ‘It won’t be – how would she even know yet?’ Secretly I am BATHING IN THIS DRAMA.

  ‘MUM, DARCY! COME ON!’ Poppy squeals from the living room. We both ignore her.

  ‘COMING!’ Mum shouts to the stranger on the other side of the door, as I turn to the living room, only to be quite blown away. Just like Will and I had done the day before in maths, Poppy and all of her friends have designed their ideal houses. Complete with jacuzzis, flowers, jungles, trampolines, ballrooms, dance studios, Japanese gardens, bandstands, circular beds and disco balls – and all of them are so proud, pointing out their favourite bits and describing the exact fabrics and colours and décor. Their faces blush, allergy girl more than most, when they explain how their plans will go, and their voices are excited and so happy.

  I can a bit hear Mum at the door being friendly and I think I hear Annie’s voice. Mum enters. Annie’s perfume hits me before I see her – she smells like how you would want a pop star to smell. Mum walks her in and I feel small and stupid on the couch in my cheeseburger pyjamas.

  ‘Hi, Darcy.’

  ‘Hi, Annie.’ I put on an I don’t care you’re here voice but I think it’s awfully unconvincing. I suddenly feel really aware of myself, and I don’t want to look like I’m playing with little kids in front of Annie. Poppy waves at Annie and gets a bit shy, and Timothy lets his eyes dissect Annie and her outfit like she’s on a catwalk.

  ‘Sorry about the . . . everything.’ Mum looks embarrassed at the house. ‘It’s been one of those weeks!’

  ‘Yeah, us too.’ She smiles. She looks like Will when she smiles.

  Mum says, ‘Can I get you something? A glass of wine perhaps?’ Mum is always looking for an excuse to crack open a bottle. ‘Come through to the kitchen, it’s less mad there.’

  ‘I’m driving, but I could murder a cup of tea.’ Annie smiles.

  ‘Tea, of course.’ Mum’s sad, but hides it well – she loves holding a glass of wine in her hand and talking.

  ‘Thanks, Mollie.’ Annie tilts her head at me and her eyes go all softy soft on me. I think about why anybody would want to murder a cup of tea. How would you go about murdering boiling hot liquid? Surely every time you went to grasp it, it would leak out through your fingers?

  She sits down next to me at the table and I surprise myself but I automatically cuddle her. I don’t think we’ve ever had an emotional actual moment like this, but I can’t face Will moving away and leaving me. I cry really hard a bit, and breathe in her hair and her jealousy-creating turtle-neck jumper and the smell of her growed-up moisturizer and hairspray and pop-star perfume. I think she might have also recently had some chewing gum.

  ‘Is that your injury from having a jacket potato thrown at your face?’ she asks.

  I nod. ‘It was nature’s grenade,’ I grumble, and relive the sting and I begin to cry.

  ‘Stop it, don’t cry.’ She strokes my back and hugs me. ‘Oi, no crying, OK?’

  ‘Sorry, Annie . . . I just . . . will really miss you and Will so much and I hate crying because it’s what babies and stupid girly girls do . . . sorry.’ I feel the scab around my nose, it burns and tingles. Mum sniffles a bit. ‘I don’t think . . . I really don’t think I can do this school thing without him.’

  ‘This is what I wanted to talk to you about, so please stop. Stop.’ Annie wipes my tears away with her sweet-smelling sleeve.

  I sniffle. ‘I am just really sad,’ I open up, ‘but I couldn’t say to Will about how sad I was, because I was afraid he would be weird with me and think I a bit loved him and then I wasn’t allowed to call and we were in trouble and I HATE Olly and Clementine and then I started to just feel totally cross at him, like so annoyed at him for leaving me. I am MORE annoyed that he didn’t tell me in private to warn me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the shock at school and feel weird. Then we might have enjoyed our day and prepared and maybe even had a little party? And now there’s no time for a party or even a goodbye – it’s just over and I know I won’t cope well because I didn’t cope even one bit when he wasn’t at school for a couple of days so how can I cope for an ever? I’ll have to be friends with Mavis the receptionist and Will . . . well, he’ll just be a werewolf.’

  ‘DARCY!’ Annie finally shouts, and her voice reminds me that I’d been ignoring her the whole time during my stupid speech. I do that a lot.

  ‘Sorry.’ I dribble and snot a bit leaks out of my nose mixed a bit with blood.

  ‘Darcy, Will isn’t leaving, he isn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘WHAT? He’s not leaving? He’s not going?’ My tears dry quick, and a shoot of dribble snots down my top lip. I wipe it away with my sleeve.

  ‘No. Dad came back and tried to make us move in with him, but neither of us wanted to and so we won’t be. He has basically got a really good job now, more money, and he feels guilty. As if money could buy us back when we’ve managed all these years without receiving a penny from him
! Anyway, he arrived at school that day, which I didn’t know was going to happen, then he picked me up from work. I wouldn’t have even got in the car if Will hadn’t already been inside it. I couldn’t bear the idea of him kidnapping Will and dragging him back to the countryside with all of his brainwashing! Anyway, he took us for lunch, a proper posh one, and said he was going to stay and wouldn’t leave until we agreed to go back with him. Obviously he didn’t stick around for long! Will and I are more stubborn than he thinks – we have our mum to thank for that.’

  I smile, I would like to have met her. ‘So why did Will tell me he was moving away?’

  Annie looks ashamed of herself and folds her hair behind her ears. ‘Well . . . Dad coming and taking us to a posh restaurant for lunch, buying Will loads of presents and treats . . . it annoyed me . . . it was pathetic! As if he could make up for lost time in a few hours of shopping! Of course Will was excited. We don’t have the money to do things like that normally. Suddenly here comes DAD the superhero out of the woodwork to save the day – he might as well have worn a Superman costume! It seemed like he had undone all the hard work Will and I had done to boot him out of our lives and suddenly living with Dad seemed glamorous, fun and promising and I seemed . . . rubbish.’

  ‘Will loves you, Annie,’ I mumble.

  ‘I know that now.’ She looks embarrassed again. ‘Dad was trying to convince me it was the right decision. I was basically having a custody row with my own dad. Ridiculous. If Mum was still alive she would have been devastated. He bought all these school prospectus things with him from all these new posh schools with big fields and swimming pools. Being all flashy and smug and waving them in our faces, and then he asked to see Will’s grades. Which I know haven’t been great over the last few months.’

  This shocked me, as Will was always a genius in my mind. Annie took a breath.

  ‘It was stupid, but I started to panic. I’ve tried so hard to do the very best I can for Will, but bringing him up on my own isn’t always easy, and with all the drama at home, it just became too much. As you can imagine the school started to worry once they heard about Dad arriving unannounced. They aren’t used to big sisters bringing their younger brothers up, and they don’t like it very much. It made us seem unhinged. Anyway, we . . . Will and I had a massive fight about his grades and school and stuff and that. With the pressure of Dad, I snapped at him and said he was going to live with Dad then, that it was his last day or whatever – which was stupid of me. Then he went to school and I didn’t think he’d take it seriously but he obviously clearly did.’

  ‘So he’s not going? He’s not leaving? He’s staying here, with me?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It was a silly row and I just said it to scare him! Do you really think I’d let Dad turn up after years of not even a birthday card and take my baby brother away from me? I don’t think so!’ I leap up in the air and WAAAAAHHOOOO! a bazillion times, and Annie laughs and giggles and jumps up and down and Mum laughs at me dancing and leaping everywhere and I shout, ‘IT WAS A TRICK! WILL’S NOT GOING ANYWHERE!’ even though she definitely heard that with her own ears and then she reaches for the wine anyway. Any excuse.

  ‘Where’s Will?’ I suddenly ask when I get my breath back – that’s probably the most exercise I’ve done in a LONG time.

  ‘Ah, well, firstly you two are banned from seeing each other until Monday . . . so dramatic! Thought I’d let him sweat for a bit – he’s got homework to catch up on from the days he missed, so he is trying to show me he can improve and work harder in case there’s a chance I won’t send him to Dad’s.’ We laugh, even though it’s a bit mean. ‘I’m going to stop off and get some food on the way home and bring him some treats and come clean . . . I guess . . . He won’t find the joke that funny if I make him stay in the whole weekend! But as you’re on the way, I thought I’d drop round and tell you today too. You’re his best mate. I feel rotten about the whole thing, Darcy. The silly things we say in arguments, eh?’

  Not even a slice of time had gone by after Annie had left before Will rings me up cackling. He is so excited. Excited about all the normal things that we do and excited by nothing changing. He is excited by the fact that things are staying the same. Sometimes we just need to have the things we know and love under threat to be able to truly appreciate them, we hold them closest when we fear we might lose them. When really we should hold them close always.

  I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT I have an ACTUAL REAL-LIFE FAIRY-TALE BATTLE STORY TO SHOW GRANDMA! How amazing is that? I can’t wait to show her. She better not get her hopes up about being pen-pals or anything . . . but you never know . . . I guess the odd letter here and there wouldn’t hurt. I suppose. To show I care.

  Hold on. Santa’s name is WHAT?

  Special Chapter

  See – what a week? I told you it was one of those weeks. I guess you obviously probably must be wondering how excellent it was when Will was told that he wasn’t really having to go and live in the countryside with his dad – you probably must be, if you are a wonderer like me, which you must be if you’re reading this, nosy.

  Will was never good at talking but he came over on his BMX the very next day. (We weren’t going to pass that information on to school. Obviously.) He listened to me tell him about EVERYTHING that had gone on. How I thought I needed glasses and was devastated, but then I found out I didn’t actually need them and then I was devastated about that. How I was a failed vegetarian, about the mice and the kittens, about Koala Nicola and the school magazine (I have decided to give Olly my wolf story for the next edition – Will thought it was FEARSOME and I could tell he THOUGHT it was about him). I told him all about Clementine and Olly, and how I saw them swapping spit and SNOGGING. About the Sleeping Beauty book from my grandma and Pork’s arrival and Poppy and Timothy dressing him up and then Pork getting attacked by Henrietta’s dog Kevin, Poppy’s sleepover and the girl getting the allergic reaction and then how all of her friends made their own mini versions of their future house plans, just like ours.

  We laughed and hung out in the living room until the day slipped away, with Lamb-Beth and Pork sleeping next to us. Will told me that he got two new pairs of trainers out of his dad, a computer game, a new hoodie, a skateboard and some money. So it wasn’t all bad news. I told Will that Olly had been raised by both parents and look at what a nasty vulgar bit of terror he turned out to be. It’s not who raises you; it’s HOW you are raised. And Will in my eyes is a perfectly raised bake. Speaking of bakes . . .

  ‘Want a biscuit and a cup of tea?’ I ask him.

  ‘You really did spend a lot of time with Mavis!’ Will giggles, and so do I, and we decide to scrap that and do something completely different.

  ‘You know what I’ve always wanted to invent?’ I say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A cake that when you eat a slice of it all of your pressures and worries float away, and I want to call it the Peace and Quiet Cake.’

  ‘Hahaha! That sounds so good!’ Will giggles. ‘I could have really done with a slice of that last week when I thought I was leaving! I feel quite all right now, to be honest.’

  ‘But maybe there’s no harm in perfecting the recipe so we have it ready for the next one of those weeks,’ I suggest.

  And we frump to the kitchen, leaving Lamb-Beth and Pork snoring away and taking turns to fart.

  Eat. Enjoy with a friend. A friend who you love who loves you for you . . . (not in a married way).

  Special Acknowledgements

  A special acknowledgement goes to Jill Mansell, who kindly supported the Authors for the Philippines campaign with extreme generosity.

  A special acknowledgement goes to John Wraith for donating aid to the Authors for the Philippines campaign by bidding for a story in Darcy Burdock book four dedicated to his daughter Saskia. Look out for Saskia’s story in the next Darcy Burdock book!

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my incredible ‘team Darcy’ over at the Random Towers. My
editor, Lauren Buckland, for encouraging our ‘What would Darcy do?’ attitude to life and being a fantastic and brave editor, who basically lets me do what I want. Lauren Hyett, for all of her hard work and supply of chocolate fingers, you still continue to be ‘siiiiiiiiiiiiiiicccccccckkkkk’ even when you’re training for marathons and moving house. Thank you, lovely Harriet Venn, for wearing Darcy Burdock tights and for taking care of us so well. Thanks to Dom Clements for her wonderful eyes and instinct. Thank you to Andrea MacDonald, Annie Eaton, Alex Taylor, Jasmine Joynson and the rest of the Darcy family; for knowing what to do next and throwing me parties and coming to events and all their support. Thank you to Sue for the Darcy copy-edit; I love it when you leave unnecessary comments in my notes like ‘I really feel like Marmite on toast right now.’

  Thank you to all at WME – Cathryn Summerhayes, Siobhan O’Neill, Laura Bonner, and everybody at their offices in the UK and US.

  Thank you to Jodie Hodges, Julian Dickson, Jane Willis and all at United Agents.

  Thank you to Becky Thomas for your continued support.

  Thank you to Karen Williams.

  Thank you to my readers.

  Thank you to my family and friends.

  Thanks to my beard and husband, Daniel. By the time this book has released we will have a pug dog called Pig. So thanks to Pig too. Unless he has eaten all my books and then I won’t be so thankful.

  About the Author

  Author and illustrator Laura Dockrill is a graduate of the BRIT School of Performing Arts and has appeared at many festival and literary events across the country, including the Edinburgh Fringe, Camp Bestival, Latitude and the Southbank Centre’s Imagine Festival. Named one of the top ten literary talents by The Times and one of the top twenty hot faces to watch by ELLE magazine, she has performed her work on all of the BBC’s radio channels, including Gemma Cairney’s Radio 1 show, plus appearances on Huw Murray, Colin Murray and Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour. Laura was the Booktrust Online Writer in Residence for the second half of 2013 and was named as a Guardian Culture Professionals Network ‘Innovator, Visionary, Pioneer’ in November 2013. Laura has been a roving reporter for the Roald Dahl Funny Prize, and is on the advisory panel at the Ministry of Stories. The first Darcy Burdock book was shortlisted for the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2014. She lives in south London with her bearded husband.