We Are the Beaker Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Ah, don’t tease the kiddie. She’s a little gem,’ said Flo.

  ‘Yes, she’s basically a good kid,’ said Mum. ‘She just gets a bit carried away at times.’

  I felt awful – I was stealing their food and bedding, even though it wasn’t for me. Still, it couldn’t be helped. At least I wasn’t stealing from other people.

  After breakfast I washed the dishes, and then Flo settled down on her sofa with her newspaper. She called it her Daily Rubbish, but said she liked to read all the scandal. Mum was deep in her library books, busily taking notes, as if she was swotting for an exam. Every so often she prowled around the shop, seizing on some toy or piece of china, comparing them with the pictures in her books. Cam and Mary would have been amazed to see her studying so seriously.

  ‘I think I’ll take Alfie for a really long walk this morning,’ I announced.

  ‘OK,’ said Mum, her head in her book. ‘But make sure you cross the road at the zebra crossing – and don’t talk to any strange men.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ I said. She hadn’t said anything about talking to any strange girls dressed up as boys. And maybe I wouldn’t find Jordan anyway. Still, I had to try.

  It was a nightmare trying to slip out of the shop with the bin bag in one hand and the canvas bag slung over my shoulder. I hovered on the stairs until Flo was thoroughly absorbed in some scandal about an actress and Mum was kneeling by the bookshelf. Then, double-quick, I charged out of the shop with Alfie on his lead.

  It was still raining, but it was just a light drizzle now. It was so grey and cloudy it didn’t seem like summer at all. There weren’t many people on the promenade and no one was waiting for an ice cream, or for a coffee at the kiosk. No one was setting up deckchairs and windbreaks for the day. There were still dog walkers, so Alfie trotted along happily, sniffing every canine friend, pulling hard on his lead when he wanted to go and see a favourite spaniel or terrier.

  ‘Careful, Alfie! You’ll topple me over!’ I said, trying to hang onto the bin bag and the canvas bag as well as his lead. ‘Look for Jordan! Where’s Jordan? Go get Jordan!’

  He woofed excitedly and set off, but it was just to say hello to a girly white poodle.

  ‘Jordan!’ I reminded him. ‘Go on, be a tracker dog!’

  Alfie obviously had no idea what I was talking about, so I had to do the hunting myself. I went along to the beach huts, sure she’d be tucked up inside one of them. They were all closed up. I peered at the locks, trying to see which one was broken. There was one that looked rusty, with ugly brown stains leaking down the yellowed paint. I juggled my bags and cautiously tried to open the door.

  A man a little further up the promenade turned to see why his sons were dawdling – and saw me.

  ‘Hey, you! What are you doing?’ he asked.

  Oh no! It was the man who had chased me up the beach after I’d snatched Jordan’s ice cream! Alfie recognized him too and struggled to get at him. I had to hang onto his lead tightly, which wasn’t easy with the two bags.

  ‘Keep that wretched dog under control!’ the man shouted. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Aren’t you the girl who stole the ice cream?’

  ‘What? I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, acting total innocence.

  ‘Yes, you are! What are you up to now, trying to get into that beach hut?’

  ‘I’m not!’ I protested.

  ‘I saw you!’

  ‘It’s my beach hut,’ I said, blurting the words out in a panic.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘It is,’ I insisted, though I knew perfectly well that a ten-year-old girl couldn’t own a beach hut. ‘It’s my granny’s,’ I added, more rationally. ‘She sent me to check she’d remembered to lock it up yesterday. And she has – see?’

  It was indeed locked. I’d got myself into this scrape for nothing. This horrid nosy man was never going to let it go. Any minute now he’d be dragging me and Alfie and the bin bag and the canvas one all the way to the police station, and they’d call Mum and she’d die of shame. Well, I knew this was actually unlikely, and I hadn’t even done anything, but I was getting in such a state that I couldn’t think clearly.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ the man demanded, seeing I’d started shivering.

  ‘You’re scaring me,’ I said. ‘My mum said I wasn’t to talk to strange men!’

  He stared at me, looking startled. ‘What? Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ he blustered, but when I backed away from him he didn’t try to stop me.

  I hurried along the row of beach huts, my arms aching, and when I looked back the man and the boys had disappeared from view. I waited a while and then doubled back, going behind the beach huts this time. As I passed each one I called out in a low voice, ‘Jordan? Are you there? It’s me, Jess.’

  I didn’t get any reply.

  ‘Oh, Alfie, what am I going to do? Where is she?’ I wailed.

  Alfie didn’t seem to be listening. He edged towards the pebbles, his nose twitching.

  ‘What? No, it’s not a beach day, silly,’ I said. Then I saw someone paddling right by the water’s edge.

  I stared. The tide was out so I couldn’t see properly, but the someone was wearing a baseball cap and jeans.

  ‘Is it Jordan?’ I asked Alfie.

  He seemed to think so, hurtling forward now. He never seemed to mind the hard stones under his paws but I found it a struggle, the pebbles crunching underfoot. It took me a while to reach the water’s edge.

  ‘Jordan?’ I called.

  The person turned round – and it was her.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ I said. ‘I’ve been looking and looking for you! You weren’t anywhere yesterday afternoon, and today you weren’t anywhere either and I thought I’d never find you again.’

  She turned to look at me but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t see her face properly because her cap was pulled down low, shading her eyes. She just stood there, her shoes in her hand, her feet in the water. She hadn’t rolled up the legs of her jeans and they were soaked. Then I saw that all of her was soaked. Her grey sweatshirt was clinging to her. Her hands were clenched, the knuckles white. She was shivering.

  ‘You haven’t been swimming in your clothes, have you?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think I am, out of my mind?’ Jordan muttered.

  ‘You’re so wet!’

  ‘Well, duh! It’s been raining cats and dogs all night, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Why didn’t you take shelter in your beach hut?’

  ‘This nosy old guy came along and said no one was allowed to sleep there and I had to push off. He said he’d phone the police so I had to get away quick,’ said Jordan. She was shivering so much that her words sounded wobbly.

  ‘So where did you sleep then?’ I asked.

  ‘In one of them shelters on the promenade. Only the wind was blowing so the rain came in,’ she said. ‘Call it a shelter! It was flipping useless.’ She sniffed and I looked at her carefully. I couldn’t see her eyes but I wondered if those were tears on her cheeks.

  ‘Well, you’re getting even wetter now,’ I said. ‘Look at your jeans. Why are you paddling?’

  ‘Just felt like it,’ she said. ‘To cool down.’

  I stared at Jordan. She couldn’t be hot, not when she was shivering. But actually she did smell a bit sweaty. I wondered if she had a temperature. She looked quite ill.

  I put the bin bag down carefully out of reach of the waves and took her hand. I thought she’d probably snatch it away but she held onto mine.

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You flounced off yesterday,’ Jordan muttered.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m back now. And I’ve brought you some food and a blanket. I wish I’d thought to bring a towel! I’ll go back for one if you like,’ I offered.

  ‘No, don’t go,’ she said. She squeezed my hand. ‘You really got all this stuff for me?’

  ‘Yes! Come on, let’s go back to one of the shelters. It’ll be better than nothing. Maybe you
can dry yourself a bit with the blanket. And I’ll give you my jacket if you like,’ I said, shrugging it off.

  ‘Don’t be daft! You’re a little shrimp. It wouldn’t fit a great lump like me,’ said Jordan.

  ‘Just put it round your shoulders,’ I said. ‘Come on. Look, you hold Alfie’s lead while I carry this stuff.’

  We started walking up the beach, the pebbles scrunching. Jordan winced and had to sit down to put her trainers on. She didn’t seem to have any socks. I saw the raw red marks where the shoes had rubbed.

  ‘Your feet look sore!’ I said.

  ‘They’re OK,’ she muttered.

  ‘You’re ever so brave,’ I told her.

  ‘No I’m not. I get really scared sometimes.’ Jordan’s head was bent so I could hardly hear her. ‘I went up on them cliffs yesterday and stood right on the edge.’

  ‘Well, that’s brave, isn’t it? Very stupid, but brave,’ I said.

  She ducked her head and didn’t answer. My heart started banging in my chest.

  ‘You weren’t going to jump, were you?’ I whispered.

  ‘Would anyone care if I did?’ said Jordan.

  ‘I’d care!’ I said.

  ‘No you wouldn’t. You ran off. You don’t really want to be my friend,’ said Jordan.

  ‘I do, truly! Come on, get up. You can’t just sit there, all soggy.’

  I tried to pull her up. Alfie thought it was a game and joined in. Jordan tried to push him away, but he licked her hand and then jumped up and licked her face too, liking the saltiness of her tears.

  ‘There, Alfie cares about you too!’ I said.

  He was caring so much that he knocked off her baseball cap. Her elastic band snapped and her fair hair tumbled down round her shoulders. She swore and tried to cram it back.

  ‘Don’t! It looks lovely now it’s loose,’ I said. ‘I wish I had hair like yours.’

  Jordan stared at me. ‘No you don’t,’ she said, but she sounded uncertain. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to keep it up. If I don’t it’ll be obvious I’m a girl and they’ll guess I’m Jordan Whitely.’

  She tucked her hair in again and we staggered back up the steep, pebbly slope to the promenade. The rain was getting heavier now and even the dog walkers seemed to have gone home. There was no sign of Angry Man and his children.

  ‘There! We’ve got the whole beach to ourselves,’ I said, pulling Jordan into the nearest shelter. ‘Is this where you spent the night?’

  ‘Yeah. Dead luxurious, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Total five-star hotel,’ I said, and she actually chuckled. I couldn’t believe how wet she was. She was shivering violently now, though she held onto her elbows tightly, trying to stop it.

  I pulled the blanket out of the bin bag. There was no point in keeping it dry for tonight. She needed it right this minute.

  ‘Look, you ought to get out of those soaking wet clothes,’ I said. ‘Your sweatshirt and your jeans.’

  ‘What? Don’t be daft! I’ll be nicked for indecent exposure,’ she said.

  ‘No, seriously. The blanket will cover you. Keep your underwear on. It’ll just look like you’ve been for a swim in a bikini. You can’t possibly get warm like that. You can wrap my jacket back round your shoulders – that’ll cover you up a bit. And if you’re sitting down no one will see your knickers. Go on!’ I insisted.

  Normally she’d have taken no notice, I was sure, but she was so wet and tired that she did as she was told. She looked very white and vulnerable in her underwear, with her baseball cap still on her head. I gave her my jacket and then put the blanket round her. She sat back on the seat, wrapping herself up tight in the blanket so it came up to her nose.

  ‘Is that a bit better?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, though her teeth were chattering.

  ‘You should take your baseball cap off too,’ I said, but she wouldn’t go that far.

  ‘It’s my disguise, innit,’ she said, talking like a gangster again, making her voice gruffer.

  ‘Oh well, keep it on then.’ I picked up her sweatshirt and jeans in turn, wringing them out. Little waterfalls sprinkled the pavement.

  ‘Here, let me do it. You’re not strong enough,’ said Jordan.

  ‘No, stay under that blanket, you silly girl!’ I said, squeezing harder.

  ‘Who do you think you are, Mary chuffing Poppins?’

  ‘We could do with her umbrella,’ I said, spreading Jordan’s clothes out on the seat to dry, though there was little chance of that.

  Then I delved into the canvas bag. ‘Here, I’ve brought you breakfast – heaps of it.’

  I handed Jordan the carton of orange juice and started spreading cream cheese on the bread, very pleased with myself for remembering a knife. She gulped the juice down eagerly, drinking half the carton before taking a breath. Then she started attacking the first cheese sandwich. It vanished in four bites.

  She gave a great belch and looked at me sideways. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. I was frightened by her desperation. I’d often complained that I was starving hungry, but Jordan wasn’t acting like a greedy child whose tea was ten minutes late. It looked like she really was starving. She was still a big girl but she’d already lost a lot of weight.

  She was holding the orange juice carton out to me. ‘Your turn,’ she offered.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. It’s all for you,’ I said, preparing another sandwich for her. ‘Are you a bit warmer now?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, though she was still shivering. She saw I was as well. ‘You come under the blanket, Jess. You’re cold too.’

  So I sat down beside her. Alfie stood on his hind legs, begging to join us, so we hauled him up between us. He sprawled happily over both our laps. He was damp and smelled of wet fur, but he was warm too, like a wriggly hot-water bottle. I made Jordan another sandwich, and then another and another, and ate one myself to keep her company. Alfie had his own little dog-size sandwich, though I warned him not to tell Mum.

  ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel full,’ said Jordan, patting her stomach under the blanket. ‘Can I have another?’

  ‘You might give yourself a tummy ache,’ I said anxiously. ‘Remember what it’s like to stuff yourself at Christmas so that all you can do is lie on the sofa and groan.’ Then I put my hand over my mouth. ‘Oh, sorry! That was tactless. Perhaps you’ve never had that sort of Christmas, with turkey and roast potatoes and pudding and as many chocolates as you want.’

  Jordan shrugged. ‘’S OK. I’ve had heaps of Christmases like that. With different people. Only they’re all much the same.’

  ‘Did your foster parents give you presents?’

  ‘Yes, of course. One couple gave me a smartphone – can you believe it? And there was a label on the package: To our new daughter Jordan with lots of love. But that was rubbish because by the New Year they were saying they couldn’t keep me any more!’ said Jordan. ‘Just because I drank some of their booze and was a bit sick. I mean, everyone gets drunk on New Year’s Eve, don’t they?’

  ‘Not children.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always been old for my age. I said I was sorry, sort of, but they said they couldn’t handle me. The woman cried when the care worker came to cart me off. She said she’d miss me dreadfully. Well, if she was going to miss me that much, why was she sending me away?’ Jordan sniffed contemptuously.

  ‘That sort of thing happened to my mum. She was in and out of care. But then Cam fostered her and kept her, and now they’re family. Listen, Jordan, you’d love Cam, everyone does. She still fosters – older girls like you – and I’m sure you’d like it at her place,’ I said.

  ‘No I wouldn’t. I’m not having anyone look after me any more. I can look after myself,’ said Jordan.

  ‘You’re soaking wet and starving!’ I pointed out.

  ‘I’m getting dry under the blanket and I’m not starving any more,’ she said. ‘Stop preaching at me. I’m not listening – see
?’ She put her hands over her ears and started humming.

  ‘But, Jordan—’

  ‘I can’t hear a word,’ she said, in between hums.

  ‘Jordan is sitting here in just her bra and pants!’ I sang.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘See, you can hear.’

  Jordan dug me in the ribs.

  ‘Ow! That hurt!’

  ‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re such a skinny little thing. I keep forgetting you’re only a kid.’ Jordan swallowed. ‘Jess, about the other day – when I wanted you to shoplift –’

  ‘I’m not going to,’ I said. ‘I’d only get caught and then you’d scarper.’

  ‘I wouldn’t. I stuck up for you when that guy started ranting at you because you nicked my ice cream,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I’m still not doing it because it’s wrong, and I don’t care if you call me chicken again. There’s nothing wrong with being a chicken anyway. They come in all different colours and their feathers are soft and they make funny little clucking sounds when they lay eggs.’ I flapped my arms and clucked to demonstrate.

  ‘You’re nuts,’ said Jordan, laughing. She tried being a chicken too. We were both clucking like crazy when a woman in a rain cape marched past with two little chihuahuas. They had weeny rain capes on as well. The woman stared at us, astonished, and the dogs gave high-pitched barks. Jordan and I collapsed into giggles and Alfie poked his head out of the blanket and gave the chihuahuas a warning woof not to take the mick.

  We went on giggling for ages after they’d gone. It helped warm us up a bit.

  ‘Anyway,’ Jordan said eventually, ‘you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to make you shoplift, not if you don’t want to. I’m not a bully. When I was little some big girls made me do it, and I know it’s really scary if you get caught.’

  ‘Well, good. Because I wouldn’t do it anyway.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Even though you’re my friend.’

  Jordan didn’t say anything, but she put her arm round me under the blanket. Alfie snuggled closer too. The rain pattered on the top of the shelter but we stayed dry. I could hear the sea sucking at the pebbles on the beach, and a seagull screaming overhead. No more footsteps. It was weirdly peaceful.