We Are the Beaker Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘You cheeky little madam! You might only be knee-high to a grasshopper, but you can’t go round nicking other kids’ ice creams like that!’ he shouted. He was charging along like a bulldozer, ready to send me flying.

  I swerved desperately, and the ice cream wobbled and landed splat on the pebbles, leaving me clutching an empty cone. I threw it down and rushed on, but the angry man was gaining on me.

  ‘You’re a wretched litter lout into the bargain!’ He lunged forward and caught hold of my wrist. ‘Got you! What are you playing at, you naughty little girl? Where are your parents? Take me to them at once!’ He gave me a little shake.

  The whole beach seemed to be watching. I blushed so deeply that my glasses steamed up. It was so dreadful. And Alfie was making it worse because he thought I was being attacked. His hackles rose, and he started barking furiously at the man, looking all set to bite him.

  ‘Down! Down, I say!’ the guy screamed, gesturing with his free arm while hanging onto me with the other. ‘Get down!’

  Alfie chose not to understand. He jumped up, baring his teeth.

  ‘No, Alfie!’ I screamed. The hateful man might whack him – and if Alfie bit him, he’d probably frogmarch us both to the police station. I didn’t think taking an ice cream was a criminal offence, but I knew the police had the power to take your dog away if he bit anyone.

  ‘Hey, Alfie! Here, boy! Down now!’ The boy in the baseball cap came running up too. He’d picked up the empty ice-cream cone. ‘Look, yum yum!’

  Alfie was allowed his own cone only once in a while. It was one of his favourite treats. He didn’t leave my side but he wavered, thinking about it. The boy grabbed his collar, taking the lead from me and snapping it on.

  ‘There! He’s calming down now,’ he told the man. ‘Don’t be hard on her. She’s my friend. She was only messing about.’

  ‘What? You stupid kids! Just learn to play nicely. What sort of an example are you to the others? Now push off!’ the guy shouted.

  So we walked away, the boy, Alfie and me, past all the staring faces. I glanced across anxiously. Maybe the boy would turn on me when we were out of sight? Why had I tried to get my own back? I pulled Alfie’s lead, ready to run all the way home with him.

  ‘Keep on walking for a bit. He’s still watching us,’ the boy muttered out of the side of his mouth. It was as if he was playing a gangster in an old movie.

  ‘You’re not going to beat me up, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’m gonna bash your brains out,’ he said – but I could tell he was joking.

  We kept on walking, and I said meekly, ‘Thanks for rescuing me anyway.’

  ‘Big interfering bully!’ he said.

  ‘My mum used to have a boyfriend a bit like that,’ I said, which wasn’t completely true.

  ‘So did mine! Well, you know what it’s like then.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, trying to sound tough too. I paused. ‘Sorry I snatched your ice cream.’

  ‘Well, I snatched yours. Though you did have three!’

  ‘They weren’t all for me. One was for my mum and the other was for Flo, our friend,’ I said. ‘The one with rainbow sprinkles was going to be for me.’

  ‘The rainbow sprinkle ones are the best.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. Then I got scared the boy would think I was taking the mick.

  Alfie stopped at a bench to have a sniff. I was worried he might decide to do a poo, which would be so embarrassing with the boy watching. Alfie had already been this morning, but excitement sometimes affected his tummy. He seemed calmer now, trotting along on his lead, glancing at the boy every now and then just like me.

  ‘Great dog you’ve got,’ said the boy. ‘I like his name. It suits him. Hey, Alfie! Alfie boy! Good dog!’

  Alfie nudged nearer, wanting to be petted. It was clear he’d taken a fancy to him. The boy squatted down and made a fuss of him, gently scratching his back, while Alfie nuzzled into his jeans. I couldn’t help noticing they were in need of a wash. And his baggy sweatshirt. He must be boiling, I thought. I wondered why he didn’t simply take it off and tie it round his waist.

  ‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ he said.

  ‘I always wanted one too. We weren’t allowed one in the flat where we used to live,’ I said.

  ‘It’s the perfect place for a dog. Perfect place for people too. It’s my favourite place in all the world.’

  ‘It’s my favourite place too!’ I agreed.

  It was weird finding I had so much in common with this scary boy – though he didn’t seem scary any more. We probably couldn’t be seen by the fierce dad now, unless he had telescope eyes, but we kept on walking together.

  ‘I’d buy you another ice cream only I don’t have any money on me,’ I said, digging into my jeans pockets just in case I found some change.

  ‘It’s OK. I’d buy you one, but I’m a bit skint too,’ the boy said. ‘Like, permanently.’

  I looked at him carefully. He was still quite bulky but his cheekbones looked sharper. I remembered Mum’s comments about the way he’d got the fish and chips out of the rubbish bin.

  ‘You’re not starving, are you?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said, but I noticed he kept an eye out each time we passed a bin. Someone had dumped a big cardboard doughnut box in one, and he yanked it out and peered inside. There was just one half-eaten doughnut left.

  ‘Here. You can have it,’ he said, offering it to me. ‘Go on, I don’t want it.’

  I loved that kind of doughnut, though I wasn’t allowed to have them too often – Mum said they were too sugary. It would be a treat, but I didn’t fancy eating someone else’s nibbled leftovers.

  ‘No thanks. I don’t really like doughnuts,’ I fibbed.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said the boy, and gobbled it down in a flash. He really did seem hungry.

  I started to wonder where we were walking to. I didn’t want to go up on the cliffs in case he started messing about like Tyrone. I’d had enough danger for one day. I pulled Alfie in the direction of Seacliff Fields.

  ‘I saw you at the boot fair,’ I said to the boy when we got there.

  ‘It’s a good place for picking up a bit of cash,’ he said. ‘People are always wanting a hand with things.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I give my mum and Flo a hand but they don’t pay me. Still, I’m family.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, a little bleakly.

  The fields weren’t as busy as the beach, so I let Alfie off his lead again. He ran around like crazy, and then spotted a small spaniel with a sparkly collar delicately picking her way through the grass. He circled her excitedly, had a polite sniff, and then ran off, looking over his shoulder. She stared at him and then took two tentative steps forward. Alfie tried again, dashing towards her this time. She joined in, getting the idea, and then they both rushed around, playing chase.

  The boy and I laughed at them.

  ‘You ever seen that old cartoon film Lady and the Tramp?’ he asked. ‘I used to watch it when … when I was little.’

  ‘Yes, they’re just like those dogs. I love that scene where they’re eating opposite ends of a really long piece of spaghetti and end up nearly kissing!’ I said.

  ‘I love that bit too. It always made me laugh and laugh.’ The boy sighed, a ghost of a smile on his shadowy face. It didn’t look like he did much laughing nowadays.

  Alfie and his Lady were circling an abandoned picnic now. There were crumpled bags and drink cans all over the place.

  ‘That man on the beach would go nuts at these litter louts,’ I said.

  Alfie started sniffing the bags.

  ‘No, Alfie!’ I said, running over, scared he might eat something that was bad for him.

  The boy came too, and squatted down, delving in and out of each bag. He found a sandwich already curling at the edges, a half-full packet of crisps and a can of Coke. He offered Alfie a crust.

  ‘Don’t give him any more. He’s
not supposed to have snacks between meals,’ I said. ‘And I’m not either.’

  So the boy sat down and ate, drinking the Coke in two great gulps. I sat down beside him while Alfie played with Lady.

  The boy burped. ‘Sorry!’ he said awkwardly.

  ‘You don’t get enough to eat or drink, do you?’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘I do all right. And I’m fat, aren’t I? Do me good to lose a bit of weight.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to say f-a-t any more. Hey, there’s a café up near the library called The Fat Tummy. It’s nice there.’ I hesitated. ‘Maybe another day, when I’ve got some cash, I could take you there.’

  It was hard to see the boy’s face because of the long peak of his baseball cap, but he grunted in a pleased sort of way. He lay back on the grass, stretching out. ‘Let’s do a bit of sunbathing, eh?’

  ‘OK.’ I knew I should have gone back home a while ago. Mum and Flo would be wondering where I’d got to. They were probably starting to get worried. But I didn’t want to leave the boy just yet. He seemed so lonely.

  I lay back too. The boy was very quiet. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Then I heard a little bark as Alfie leaped on the boy’s tummy, startling him.

  ‘Hey! What you playing at, Alfie?’ he said, tickling him. ‘Want a wrestle, eh?’

  He rolled onto his side, and Alfie’s paw caught his cap. It fell off – and a long fair ponytail emerged from underneath.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got long hair!’ I said. ‘Oh wow, you lucky thing! I’ve always wanted hair like yours. You look so different! Almost like …’ And then I realized. ‘You’re a girl!’

  ‘No I’m not. Boys can have long hair,’ she said, sticking her baseball cap back on, making sure her hair was out of sight again.

  I looked at her carefully. I realized that, under that baggy T-shirt, she had a proper chest. I looked at her hands and saw streaks of old varnish on her nails.

  ‘You are a girl!’ I said.

  ‘I’m not,’ she said furiously. ‘I’m a boy.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘OK, OK, I’m a girl, but I’m in disguise, see? You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘No, I promise. But why are you in disguise?’ I asked.

  ‘Because I’m on the run,’ she said, talking out of the side of her mouth again.

  ‘You’re making that up!’

  ‘No, I am. Really. I’m Jordan Whitely.’

  I must have looked blank.

  ‘Haven’t you heard about me? I must have been on the telly by now. And I expect there are posters up all over the place,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Why? What have you done?’ I asked, wondering if she really was a gangster.

  ‘I’m a runaway,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve run away from home?’

  ‘Haven’t got a home. My mum couldn’t manage and then she got ill. I’ve been in and out of care, see. Residential. And I’ve been fostered heaps of times. You’ve no idea what it’s like.’

  ‘Yes I have!’ I said. ‘My mum was in a home she called the Dumping Ground. And she was fostered. Twice, maybe more.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jordan. ‘I bet she didn’t have such mean, strict foster parents as me.’

  ‘Well, she ended up with Cam, and she’s the loveliest person in the whole world,’ I admitted.

  ‘And she kept her? Her placement didn’t break down?’

  ‘She’s family!’ I said. ‘More like a mum to my mum than her real mum. Hey, that sounds weird, doesn’t it, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Anyway, my foster families have all been rubbish. I thought this last lot were OK at first, but they turned out to be even worse than the others. They kicked up a stink if I stayed out late, and they didn’t like it when I hung out with the lads – they said I couldn’t see them, but they were my friends. And then, at school, I lost it: a teacher was winding me up, telling me I’d never amount to anything, so I punched her,’ said Jordan, jabbing her fist in the air.

  ‘You punched your teacher!’ I gasped. I knew Mum had been pretty bad at times, and she had often come to blows with her deadly enemy, Justine Littlewood, but she’d never, ever hit a teacher, not even Mrs Vomit Bagley, who she really hated. I loved hearing Mum’s stories about when she was a little girl – but at least they had a happy ending.

  ‘So they excluded me from school without even listening to my side, and my foster mum burst into tears and my foster dad told me off, and they wouldn’t hear my side either. So I acted up a bit and they said they couldn’t cope. They called my social worker and told these downright lies, saying it was clear I wasn’t happy with them – when they were the ones who weren’t happy with me.’

  ‘So has someone else fostered you now?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope. That’s the whole point. No one wants me now, even though they’d get more cash because I’m “hard to place”. My old children’s home has closed down, so now they want to send me all the way up to Manchester where I don’t know anyone. And I’m not having it. So I walked out. And I didn’t go back.’

  ‘You walked out just like that?’

  ‘Yeah – I was so stupid, really, because I didn’t grab any of my stuff, not even my phone, and I was wearing my oldest clothes because I was just mooching around the house, and I didn’t take any cash. I wish I’d snatched my foster mum’s purse – that would have paid her back for not wanting me,’ said Jordan.

  She was trying to sound big and tough, but her voice had gone wobbly and I could see she had tears in her eyes. I wondered about putting my arm round her but I thought she’d probably just push me away. Alfie sensed her sadness and trotted up. He nudged his head against her and licked her hand lavishly.

  ‘Soppy dog,’ said Jordan, but she cuddled him close and hung onto him. ‘I wish I had a dog. It would make everything more fun, and he could keep me warm at night.’

  ‘Where do you sleep?’ I asked. ‘Do you just curl up on the beach somewhere? What if it rains?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got that sorted,’ she said. ‘I’ve got this little house, see. All mod cons. Well, nearly. I’m OK at night.’

  I stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Then I realized. ‘You hide in one of the beach huts!’

  ‘You got it!’

  ‘But they’re all locked up at night.’

  ‘Yeah, but one of the locks is broken. Well, I saw it was coming loose so I bashed it about a bit. It doesn’t seem to belong to anyone. There’s nothing much inside, just an old rug and a cup and a kettle. I hoped the kettle would work but it doesn’t. Still, I don’t really need one. I just hole up there and I’m fine,’ she said, sticking her chin in the air.

  ‘I wanted to live in a beach hut when my mum and I first came here. There’s a toilet nearby, isn’t there, and a tap with running water. I had it all sussed out. But now we live with Flo and we’re fine there,’ I said. ‘So, did you come camping near here from one of the homes?’

  ‘Yes! What are you, a mind reader or something? How did you know that?’

  ‘When my mum was in care, she was brought here. Actually, she’ll be going berserk now, wondering where I am. Look, Jordan, come back with me. Mum will understand. She’ll give you a big meal and let you have a bath if you want one,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Jordan. ‘And then she’ll turn me over to the cops and the care workers.’

  ‘No she won’t. She’ll try and fix things for you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, people have been fixing things for me ever since I was three. And each time they fix things it’s worse than it was before. I don’t want anyone fixing things ever again. I’m the fixer now.’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t stay on the run for ever,’ I said.

  ‘Who says? I’ve managed fine so far. No one’s sussed me out,’ said Jordan.

  ‘Well, they will if you go around snatching ice creams off kids,’ I said. ‘And it’s summer now. What are you going to do in the winter? You haven’t even got a coat.’


  ‘That’s easy-peasy. There’s heaps of coats at the boot fair. You can get one of them quilted ones with a furry hood for a fiver if you search around. All I have to do is mind someone’s stall for an hour or so, or haul stuff in and out of vans and lorries. I earn enough for a coat and heaps of bacon sandwiches,’ she said.

  ‘Our friend Bill has the bacon-roll van. He’s ever so kind. He’d probably let you have a bacon roll for nothing if I explained,’ I said.

  ‘Nah, too risky. I don’t want any adults knowing about me. No one else. Except you. You’re all right. So, what’s your name, kid?’

  ‘Jess Beaker.’

  ‘Well, Jess Beaker, swear you won’t tell no one about me,’ she said, her face so close to mine the peak of her cap was nudging my forehead.

  ‘Not even my mum?’

  ‘Especially not your mum. No one!’ She looked really threatening.

  ‘OK, OK, don’t get in such a state. I won’t tell, I promise,’ I said.

  ‘Swear on your mum’s life!’

  I swallowed. This was getting really scary. ‘I swear,’ I said, adding inside my head, But not on Mum’s life.

  ‘Say the whole thing. I swear on my mum’s life not to tell anyone about Jordan. Go on, repeat it.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ I said, trying not to cry.

  ‘Oh don’t! I didn’t mean to make you cry, kid! Oh please, I want us to be friends. You just have to swear, that’s all. To prove you won’t tell. To prove we’re mates.’ Jordan was nearly crying too.

  I couldn’t bear it. ‘OK, I swear on my mum’s life I won’t tell about you,’ I gabbled, hoping it wouldn’t really count if I said it quickly enough.

  She breathed a great sigh of relief. ‘That means we’re really mates now! You’re a great little kid,’ she said, grinning at me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But I really do have to go home now or my mum will come looking for me. I’ll come and wait near the ice-cream van tomorrow morning around the same time and I’ll bring some cash. OK?’