We Are the Beaker Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Jordan was breathing deeply. I squinted at her in the shadowy shelter. It looked as if she’d gone to sleep. She had her thumb in her mouth, one finger stroking her nose. I smiled at her – big tough Jordan sucking her thumb like a baby.

  I wondered what the time was. Mum would be wondering what had happened to me. I knew I should be getting home but I didn’t like to disturb Jordan, not when she was looking so peaceful. I decided to give her ten more minutes and then I’d have to get going.

  I didn’t have a watch so I started counting the seconds. I got to sixty – one minute – and then the numbers started jumbling up in my head, and I fell asleep too.

  Then I heard someone calling.

  ‘Jess! Jess! Where are you, Jess?’

  It was Mum! Alfie woke with a start too, and barked at the sound of her voice. I heard the padding sound of Mum running in her high-tops. Alfie barked again, and she came dashing right into the shelter – and then stared at us, her mouth hanging open.

  ‘Jess?’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ I said in a tiny voice.

  ‘What in God’s name are you up to?’ she said. ‘Who’s this?’ She shook Jordan’s shoulder roughly.

  ‘Leave off,’ Jordan mumbled, not properly awake.

  ‘No, I won’t leave off, matey!’ Mum said furiously. ‘I know you, don’t I? You’re the boy who was scavenging for fish and chips! What the hell are you doing with my little girl? How dare you! She’s ten years old and you’re a great big lout nearly twice her age! Cuddling under a blanket together!’

  She seized a corner of the blanket and pulled it right off – then gave a great shriek when she saw that Jordan was in her underwear. And then another shriek when she realized: ‘You’re a girl?’

  Jordan jumped up, grabbed her wet sweatshirt and jeans, and started running, but Mum was hot on her heels. Jordan was bigger than Mum and much broader – but my mum’s Tracy Beaker. She can get the better of anyone in a scrap. She launched herself at Jordan and had her on the ground in a second. Then she grabbed hold of her, twisting her arms behind her back.

  ‘Don’t, Mum! Don’t hurt her!’ I said, jumping up. I tried to pull her off. ‘We were just trying to get warm, that’s all. She’s my friend!’

  ‘Some friend!’ she said, jerking Jordan’s arms.

  Jordan swore at her and tried to get away, but she was weak and tired and still very wet. ‘Get off, you’re hurting me!’ she mumbled.

  ‘Stop struggling or I’ll really hurt you!’ Mum threatened. ‘Now, tell me who you are and exactly why you’re huddling up with my daughter in your underwear!’

  ‘I told you, Mum! She was soaking wet. I made her take off her clothes because she was shivering so. She was out all night in the pouring rain,’ I said.

  ‘Why’s that? Haven’t you got a home to go to?’ Mum said, shaking Jordan.

  ‘No, she hasn’t!’ I shouted. ‘That’s the whole point! She ran away. Surely you can understand, Mum. She’s in care near London and they want to send her to a home hundreds of miles away because no one wants her here. Oh!’ I suddenly realized I’d told Mum all about Jordan, even though I’d sworn on her life that I wouldn’t. ‘Oh, Mum, don’t die! Please don’t die! It’ll be all my fault if you do!’ And I burst into tears.

  ‘What? I’m not going to die!’ Mum peered at Jordan. ‘What have you been saying to her? Are you really in care?’

  ‘No! Not any more. I can look after myself,’ said Jordan. ‘Leave go of me, will you?’

  ‘Well, stop struggling. And if you try and do a runner, I’ll flatten you. So how old are you then?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  Mum peered closely at her. ‘No you’re not! What are you, fifteen?’

  Jordan nodded sulkily.

  ‘And how long have you been hanging around here?’

  Jordan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A few weeks. This is my place. I’m not going anywhere else.’

  ‘Did you use to live here then?’

  ‘No, I just like it here. I came camping here once,’ Jordan muttered.

  ‘You didn’t! So did I!’ said Mum. ‘It was the best holiday ever. That’s why we came here, isn’t it, Jess?’

  ‘Yes! And we’re going to stay here for ever, aren’t we, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Well, so am I,’ said Jordan.

  ‘I understand the way you feel, kid, but you can’t manage by yourself, not when you’re too young to get a job or a room to live in. If you stay on the streets you’ll get in with the wrong crowd,’ said Mum.

  ‘I am the wrong crowd,’ said Jordan. ‘I’m the one who’s the worst kid ever. No one can cope with me.’

  ‘No, that was me,’ said Mum. ‘I was considered legendary in the care system, I’ll have you know. You’re a rank amateur compared to me.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Jordan. She looked at me. ‘A bit full of herself, your mum, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘But she’s OK. Mum, do let go of her. You won’t run off, will you, Jordan?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t look as if she could run anywhere actually. She was still shivering and her face was ghostly white.

  Mum pulled her up and led her back to the bench. She stared at her, nibbling her lip. ‘You don’t look too clever,’ she said. She put one hand on Jordan’s forehead, under the peak of her cap. ‘I wonder if you’ve got a temperature. Come on, back to my place. You need a hot bath and some aspirin and a warm bed, no matter who you are or what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘I’m not coming! Do you think I’m daft? You’ll call social services,’ Jordan protested.

  ‘No I won’t. We’ll get you sorted first. You’ll go down with pneumonia if you stay out here, soaking wet. You’d better put your soggy clothes on again just till we get you home.’ Mum started helping her into her jeans.

  ‘Home?’ said Jordan.

  ‘Our home. Up you get then. Keep the blanket round you.’ Mum peered at it. ‘Hey, that’s our blanket, isn’t it, Jess? And the cushion! You little devil! How on earth did you smuggle them out?’

  ‘She brought me food too. She’s been great to me,’ said Jordan.

  ‘Well, why didn’t you tell me, Jess?’ asked Mum.

  ‘I wanted to tell, but I promised I wouldn’t. On your life,’ I said as we set off, Mum holding Jordan’s arm – though it was more to support her than anything else.

  ‘Oh, I see! That’s why you were scared I was going to die,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, Jess, you’ve no more sense than a Pot Noodle at times. Swearing on someone’s life can’t possibly have any effect on them. It’s just a load of superstitious nonsense.’

  Yet two minutes later, as we turned into our road, we saw a window cleaner’s ladder leaning right across the pavement. There was heaps of room for us to go underneath, but Mum led us out into the road to avoid it.

  ‘Mum! You’re the one who’s superstitious, thinking that going under a ladder is bad luck!’ I pointed out.

  ‘Nonsense, I just didn’t want him to drop his damp rag on us,’ she said. She gestured to our shop. ‘Here we are, Jordan.’

  ‘What, the junk shop?’

  ‘There’s no junk here, girly. Only the finest antiques and bric-a-brac.’

  ‘Then why is it called The Dumping Ground?’ Jordan asked.

  ‘It’s just a fun title, that’s all. Though it just happens to be the name we all called the children’s home where I grew up,’ said Mum.

  ‘The Dumping Ground. I get it!’ said Jordan, and she actually smiled.

  WE WENT INTO the shop, Mum keeping a firm hold on Jordan just in case. Flo was on her feet, staggering backwards and forwards on her sticks, pacing up and down.

  ‘Thank the Lord!’ she said. ‘Your mum and I have been going nuts, Jess! You’ve been gone such ages! Are you all right, pet? And Alfie? And, my goodness, who have we here?’ She peered over her glasses at Jordan. ‘Cor blimey, it’s the ghost of the Ancient Mariner!’ she said in her cockney accent.

  Jorda
n was staring back at her. ‘I know you!’ she said. ‘You’re the old bat off the telly! I’ve watched you on Gold. Life with the Lilliputs.’

  Flo looked utterly delighted and came out with her catchline again: ‘Allo, dearies, let me slosh a bit of disinfectant in all your murky corners!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Jordan seemed delighted too. ‘You didn’t tell me your nan was famous, Jess!’

  ‘Well, bless you, dearie!’ said Flo. ‘A little fan! How marvellous! But what’s happened to you? Did you take a dip in the sea, you poor boy?’

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Mum, fetching a towel from the kitchen. She flicked up the peak of Jordan’s baseball cap, tipping it onto the floor. Jordan’s wet hair fell to her shoulders, but Mum quickly wrapped the towel round her head like a turban. ‘I found her cuddled up with Jess under a blanket, would you believe.’

  ‘Oh I say!’ said Flo. ‘You’re a bit young for canoodling under blankets, aren’t you, Jess?’

  ‘We weren’t canoodling,’ I said, but I think they were teasing me.

  ‘Jess, take Jordan upstairs and run a piping-hot bath for her. Then bring her clothes down and I’ll put them in the washing machine,’ said Mum. She steered me to the stairs. ‘Fetch a towel for yourself too, and change into dry clothes – you look a bit soggy round the edges and all. What a pair!’

  Jordan stood her ground. ‘You’ll call social services the minute I go upstairs, won’t you?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t know what we’re going to do with you, but we’ll discuss it later. I won’t do anything behind your back, I promise.’

  ‘Swear on Jess’s life.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake. You and your swearing,’ said Mum. ‘OK, I swear on Jess’s life I won’t. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jordan, and she came upstairs with me.

  I turned on the taps while Jordan peered around the poky bathroom in surprise. ‘It’s dead old-fashioned, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Why doesn’t your nan have it all done up with one of them roll-top baths? And why hasn’t she got matching fluffy towels and posh smelly stuff, seeing as she’s a famous actress?’

  ‘I don’t think she earned that much even when she was on telly – and she hasn’t acted for years. Look, I’ve got some bubble stuff – you can squirt that in if you like,’ I offered.

  ‘But it’s Matey – that’s for little kids,’ Jordan protested.

  ‘Look, stop being so fussy!’ I said, giving her a little push.

  ‘Sorry. Your mum won’t tell, will she?’

  ‘No. She swore on my life!’

  ‘Yeah, but she says that’s all superstitious nonsense,’ said Jordan, struggling out of her soaking jeans.

  ‘Look, I know my mum,’ I said.

  ‘Turn round. I don’t want you gawping at me. She’s ever so fierce, your mum.’

  ‘Only when she’s protecting me,’ I said, not entirely truthfully.

  ‘And she can’t half rugby-tackle! She decked me just like that.’

  ‘Yes, she’s good at fighting. She can do kick-boxing and all.’

  There were splashing sounds and then a little shriek as Jordan got into the bath. ‘It’s boiling!’

  ‘You need it hot,’ I said. ‘Stop moaning.’

  ‘You’re just like your mum,’ said Jordan, giving little gasps as she slid slowly down into the water.

  ‘What, because we’ve both got mad curly hair?’ I asked, turning round to look at her.

  ‘Well, yes – but you’re both pretty fierce too.’

  I was thrilled. Maybe I’d stopped being sad, wussy little Jess for good!

  ‘Do you think your mum would teach me?’ Jordan asked.

  ‘Teach you how to be fierce?’

  ‘How to kick-box!’

  ‘Maybe. You’d better ask her,’ I said. ‘How’s the bath now?’

  ‘I’m getting used to it,’ said Jordan, sinking lower until I could only see her face, her hair floating around her head.

  I took another towel and started drying my own hair. By the time I’d finished, Jordan’s eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply.

  ‘Hey, Jordan!’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘You’re going to sleep! Watch out or you’ll drown. Come on, time to get out now!’

  ‘First you nag me to get in the bath, then you nag me to get out,’ Jordan grumbled sleepily, but she started slowly sitting up.

  I scurried around upstairs, wondering what she could put on. My night things and even Mum’s were out of the question. In the end I had to plump for one of Flo’s nighties, a voluminous full-length white affair that she called the Victorian Nightmare.

  ‘I’m not wearing that!’ Jordan said when I showed it to her.

  ‘Well, it’s that or go stark naked, take your pick,’ I said.

  She picked the nightgown. It actually looked amazing on her. She was like a giant version of a little Victorian girl, all white ruffles and long fair hair, her face pink from the hot bath. She was still shivery, but Mum had already popped upstairs and put a hot-water bottle in our bed, even though it was summer.

  ‘An actual bed at last!’ said Jordan, and climbed in straight away without moaning.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world. It was very old and creaky and the mattress was lumpy. Mum was saving up to get a new one – or at least a new mattress – but we were making do for now. Still, Jordan stretched out like a starfish and gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Bliss!’ she said, but then she propped herself up on one elbow. ‘You won’t let your mum phone social services, will you?’

  ‘She won’t – she said. Stop going on about it.’

  ‘Yes, you tell her, Jess,’ said Mum, coming into the bedroom with a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Here, Jordan, drink this down, and have a couple of aspirin. We’ll let you have a kip for a while. Come on, Jess. Your hot chocolate’s downstairs.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jordan. She looked at us both. I wondered if she might cry again. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’

  ‘Goodness knows,’ said Mum, but she gave her shoulder a little pat.

  ‘Night night, Jordan,’ I said. ‘Well, actually it should be day day.’

  ‘You’re a weird kid,’ she told me, but she said it fondly.

  ‘Well!’ said Mum when we were downstairs. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Jessica Bluebell Camilla Beaker.’

  We all had hot chocolate, Mum and Flo and me, and I told them all about Jordan and how we’d met. I had to relate the story in little chunks, because suddenly we had a flurry of customers and I didn’t want them to hear anything while they were poking about.

  ‘Are you sure Jordan’s not telling a few porky pies?’ Flo asked. ‘I mean, she couldn’t really have had all these different homes, could she? And why on earth would they want to send her so far away now?’

  ‘It happens,’ said Mum. ‘You should hear the stories some of the girls at Cam’s tell.’

  ‘That’s what I wondered, Mum. Couldn’t Jordan go and live with Cam?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Well, I don’t think Cam’s taking on anyone else. She’s waiting till all her current girls are independent and then she’s stopping fostering. She’d like more time with Mary, especially in the summer when Mary isn’t teaching,’ said Mum.

  ‘But Jordan’s nearly grown up. She can mostly look after herself. She wouldn’t be much trouble,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, come off it, Jess, that girl has trouble written all over her. I should know!’

  ‘But Cam still took you on,’ I persisted. ‘And you’ve turned out lovely.’

  ‘Oh, Jess!’ said Mum, and she gave me a hug.

  ‘She seems quite a nice kid, all things considered,’ said Flo. ‘She’s got a lot of attitude, but what teenager hasn’t nowadays? And fancy her being a Lilliputs fan! That really tickled me. Shall we watch those old episodes again, Jess?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I tried to sound enthusiastic.

  ‘Perhaps I’m getting a whole new fan base,
’ said Flo.

  ‘You’ll be sloshing disinfectant in many more murky corners!’ said Mum. ‘Oh well, while we think what to do with Jordan I’d better attend to our own corners. Someone’s been rummaging in our Book Nook and left half the stock on the floor!’

  She headed over to the bookshelf and I went to help her. Mum sorted through the paperbacks and I started on the picture books, though I quickly got distracted by The Tiger Who Came to Tea. I had to read it through for old times’ sake.

  ‘I love these old green Penguin paperbacks – the crime series,’ Mum said. ‘Hey, I’ll put a little pile in the window beside those Indian daggers! I’ll make my own little crime scene! What else?’ She wandered around the shop looking for sinister objects, collecting a doll with no eyes and a skull-and-crossbones ring. Then she crawled gingerly into one of the windows to set up her creepy display – and suddenly gave a shriek.

  ‘Mum?’

  Someone was peering through the window at her, his forehead against the glass.

  ‘Peter! Dear goodness, you didn’t half make me jump!’ Mum shouted. She beckoned wildly. ‘Come in! Have a proper look round!’

  ‘Sorry. I was just passing and …’ he said apologetically, putting his head into the doorway. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t hold you up. I can see you’re busy.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ said Mum, backing out of the window. ‘Jess, run and put the kettle on. Flo, this is Peter Ingham, one of my oldest friends from the past. Peter, this is my dear friend and colleague Florence Garland, famous actress and now antiques dealer. Did you ever watch Life with the Lilliputs?’

  ‘Allo, dearies, let me slosh a bit of disinfectant in all your murky corners!’ Flo said hopefully.

  Peter looked at her nervously, clearly not realizing that she was quoting her famous line, and murmured, ‘How do you do?’