We Are the Beaker Girls

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Here he is. He’s a friend too,’ said Mum. ‘So surely you can see that we all belong together and we want to be there for Jordan. It’s simple.’

  It wasn’t quite that simple. Megan said she’d have to talk things over with her team, and Mum would have to be properly assessed if she was serious about fostering Jordan herself. However, the local authority had agreed that while all these decisions were being made Jordan could stay with Cam as an emergency placement. She suggested that Mum and I see Jordan regularly to make sure it worked out if she eventually came to us.

  Jordan didn’t have any of her things with her, but Jax said she could borrow a pair of pyjamas and went to fetch them there and then. Jordan’s face was a picture when she saw them. Jax has a surprisingly little-girly taste in nightwear. The pyjamas were bright pink, patterned with teddy bears. I held my breath, willing Jordan not to say what she was clearly thinking.

  She managed a nod and a tiny smile. ‘Thanks, Jax,’ she said.

  I breathed out. Jordan was clearly determined to get on with the other girls. Especially Jax. In fact, they started chatting away together, Jax showing Jordan all her favourite accounts on Instagram. I felt a bit left out.

  However, when Mum said we’d better get going, Jordan suddenly grabbed hold of me and gave me a big hug. ‘Thanks for everything, Jess,’ she said. ‘Hanging out with me and bringing me all that food and everything.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said, hugging her back.

  ‘You really will come and see me if I’m stuck here for a bit?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I won’t need to bring you any food though. Cam’s a great cook. You wait till you try her muffins!’

  ‘And you’ll message me too? I haven’t got a phone now, but I bet Jax will let me use hers sometimes,’ said Jordan.

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ I promised.

  ‘Your mum’s not kidding about fostering me, is she? She’s really going to go through with it?’

  ‘Yes, she is. She said.’

  ‘And you won’t go off me meanwhile? I’ve had friends who’ve promised they’d keep in touch when I got moved away, but somehow they never did,’ said Jordan.

  ‘I know. I’ve had friends like that,’ I said, thinking of Alice. ‘But I’ll be your friend for ever, honest.’

  Mum was listening to us. ‘She means it, Jordan. She’s a Beaker. We’re the Beaker girls. You can trust us.’

  ‘So can I be a Beaker girl too?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep. Definitely. See you soon then, kid. For real,’ said Mum.

  I felt a bit sad on the journey back to Cooksea. I knew just how lovely Cam was, and Mary was really kind too even if she fussed a bit, and Jax and the others wouldn’t be mean – but, even so, they were all strangers. Jordan might feel lonely and left out. She might not remember to be tactful all the time. She might get stressed and lose her temper. She might even have a total meltdown.

  ‘Do you think Jordan will be all right, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jess. She’ll be fine with Cam,’ she said.

  ‘But what if she kicks off?’

  ‘Cam’s used to it. She coped with me!’

  ‘And that requires a lot of strength and tenacity!’ said Peter. ‘When your mum kicked off back at the Dumping Ground, the whole street could hear her. Screaming, shouting, hitting, kicking!’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘Mum!’

  ‘I know,’ she said, laughing. ‘And that was on a good day.’

  ‘Weren’t you afraid of her?’ I asked Peter.

  ‘Sometimes. I think even poor Elaine was frightened of her,’ he said. ‘No, I’m just teasing. I liked her. I really missed her when Cam fostered her. We all did. Even Justine!’

  ‘But you got fostered too.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Peter. ‘And they were lovely parents, like I said.’

  ‘But you’ve never had your own family?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Well, I’ve had partners from time to time,’ said Peter. ‘And lots of good friends. I’m not a total Billy-no-mates.’

  ‘You’ve got us now anyway, Jess and me, whether we’re just friends or something more.’

  ‘Something more would be good.’

  They started nattering on, and I curled up with Alfie on the back seat and we both fell fast asleep when we were still in the outskirts of London. We didn’t wake up until we were home again. Peter came in with us for supper.

  Flo was desperate to hear how we’d got on. She was very perky because her friend Lawrence had phoned.

  ‘There, he’s clearly sweet on you,’ said Mum, making us cheese on toast with baked beans and bacon – exactly the sort of meal you want when you’ve had a very long and eventful day.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Flo – though she looked as if she did know and was very pleased about it. ‘But he gave me a bit of good news. His agent got in touch to say that he’s been asked to go on one of those afternoon antiques shows – you know, they have celebrities choosing stuff from junk shops all round the country. It’s called Antique Memories. He’s quite tickled by the idea, bless him. Anyway, he says he’s going to tell the producer about our shop and see if she’ll feature it.’

  ‘That would be great!’ said Mum. ‘Fantastic publicity!’

  ‘So will you two be on the telly?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Mum. ‘You’re used to performing in front of the camera, Flo. You’ll have to give me a few tips. It might be the start of a whole new career for me. Good job I’ve been studying so hard. I’m practically an antiques expert. Tracy Beaker, television star! Wow, two new careers in one day! Foster mum and TV celebrity!’

  ‘Just so long as you’re still my mum too,’ I said.

  After supper we got out an old Monopoly board. I loved the little metal playing pieces, Mum liked to be in charge of the bank, Peter proved to be a demon player – but Flo turned out to be the champion. We toasted her in hot chocolate. I wished Jordan had been there to share in the fun.

  Mum helped a triumphant Flo to bed and then sent me upstairs too. I couldn’t get in touch with Jordan yet so I texted Cam instead.

  She called straight back. ‘Jordan’s just fine, Jess, honestly. She’s been having a good laugh with the other girls and a long chat with me. I’m hoping she’ll settle down here for a while. Don’t worry so, sweetheart.’

  ‘Can I speak to her? Just to say goodnight?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure. Hang on.’ There was a pause – and then I heard her calling Jordan, telling her someone wanted to speak to her. I waited, and then I heard Jordan’s husky voice.

  ‘Yeah?’

  I was suddenly struck dumb – I didn’t really know what to say.

  ‘Who is it?’ She sounded very gruff and suspicious.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said in a very small voice.

  ‘Jess!’

  I breathed out. She sounded pleased. Very pleased.

  ‘I just wanted to check you’re all right.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Well, sort of.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She’s OK, your Cam.’

  ‘I know! Well, I just wanted to check, that’s all.’

  ‘Why, did you think I might have kicked off already, my first night?’

  ‘No. I was just kind of missing you,’ I explained.

  Jordan was quiet for a second, and then she started making funny little sounds. I wondered if she was having a laugh at me. Then I realized she was crying.

  ‘Nobody’s ever said they missed me before,’ she said. ‘Miss you too, Jess. We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?’

  ‘You bet. Well, night then.’

  ‘Night, Jess.’

  ‘Say night night to all those little bears on your jimjams too,’ I said.

  ‘Cheeky!’ said Jordan, and this time she was laughing.

  Mum came in to tuck me up as I was switching off my phone.

  ‘Just checking on Jordan,’ I told her.

  ‘Good plan.’

  ‘You do like her, don’t y
ou, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, I do – though, like I said, we don’t really know her properly yet.’

  ‘I know her,’ I said. ‘You will foster her, won’t you, Mum?’

  ‘Well, I’ll give it serious thought,’ she said. ‘Though I don’t suppose Cam gave it serious thought when she fostered me. I just bamboozled her into it.’

  ‘And look how well that turned out,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it did. For me at least! I’m sure Cam’s had a few regrets over the years,’ Mum joked.

  ‘I bet she thought it was the happiest day of her life, meeting you,’ I said loyally.

  ‘I don’t think so. I was bawling my head off! Still, I suppose the day she said she’d foster me was the second happiest of my life.’

  ‘Second happiest?’ I asked, waiting expectantly.

  ‘You know perfectly well that the happiest day of my life was the day you were born. Maybe not the few hours when I was actually having you, but as soon as you were in my arms I just fell in love,’ said Mum.

  ‘Even though I was bawling too?’

  ‘No, you didn’t cry, you just looked up at me with those big eyes, as if you were thinking, That’s my mum.’

  We hugged each other and Mum gave me a goodnight kiss.

  ‘Aren’t you coming to bed too?’ I asked, snuggling down, with Alfie curling up in his usual place at the end of the bed.

  ‘Not just yet. Peter’s still downstairs. We’re going to have a nightcap together and reminisce about old times.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I said.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Mum.

  She was ever so long. I stayed awake for a while as I’d slept in the car on the way back from Cam’s. After half an hour or so I crept out of bed, careful not to disturb Alfie, and tiptoed onto the landing. I could hear Mum and Peter chatting away, laughing fondly. I went down the stairs and peeped at them. They were sitting on Flo’s sofa. Peter had his arm round Mum’s shoulders and she had her head tucked into his neck – her curls must have been tickling him dreadfully, though he didn’t look as if he minded.

  I watched them for a little while, and then I went back to bed. When Mum slipped into our room I was fast asleep.

  ‘Mum?’ I mumbled.

  ‘Shh now. Go back to sleep, sweetheart,’ she whispered.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Late.’

  ‘Has Peter gone home?’

  ‘Yep.’ She paused. ‘He’s probably popping back tomorrow. Are you OK with that?’

  ‘Course I am. I like him,’ I said.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘I like him more than Bill. And a hundred thousand times more than Sean Godfrey,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I do too.’ Mum chuckled as she climbed into bed. ‘I can’t get over it. Me and Peter Ingham! I knew I liked him when we first saw him at the Spade and Bucket. I mean, I always liked him deep down when we were little kids, but he got on my nerves then.’

  ‘He’s always liked you,’ I said.

  ‘I know. I led him a terrible dance. I bossed him around and kept telling him what to do. I never expected him to grow up so … so …’ Mum struggled for the words. ‘I want to say quietly masterful, but it sounds like a phrase from a soppy love story.’

  ‘Well, maybe it is a love story. Just not soppy,’ I said.

  ‘We were such idiots though, him thinking that Sean was my bloke and Tyrone my son, and then me thinking he was gay because he was hugging another guy.’

  ‘But now you’ve fallen for each other,’ I said, yawning. ‘And we’re all going to live happily ever after.’

  ‘I used to get really irritated when fairy tales ended like that – I didn’t think there was any chance of things ending happily ever after for me,’ said Mum. ‘I’d have been astonished if I’d known I’d end up getting all lovey-dovey with Weedy Peter.’

  ‘And making friends with Justine Littlewood!’ I said.

  ‘I certainly didn’t dream I’d have my own lovely daughter – and maybe foster another,’ said Mum.

  ‘No maybes,’ I said, copying Jordan. ‘Definitely.’

  We went back to see Jordan a week later. Mum and I had chosen some new clothes for her. We didn’t know her exact size but we had a good guess. We knew she wouldn’t like girly clothes – short skirts and high heels – so we bought her a bigger version of what we liked: jeans and two T-shirts, one stripy and one with stars. Mum got her a big denim jacket too, and I chose some badges to pin on it. One had a smiley emoji, another had a seashell, and the third said Best Friend in red letters.

  Jordan was thrilled with her new clothes, especially the denim jacket, and liked the Best Friend badge best of all. She dressed up in her new outfit and Mum took a photo of her, and then Cam took a photo of Jordan and Mum and me.

  ‘Big smiles, Beaker girls!’ she commanded.

  ‘I should dye my hair black and make it go all frizzy and then I’d look like a real Beaker girl,’ said Jordan.

  Then Jordan’s social worker, Megan, came round, and she took a photo of the three of us with Cam and Mary and Alfie and Jax and Rosie. It was a job getting us all in, but she managed it. She had put Mum in touch with the fostering service. Mum had had a visit from a lady called Elaine – she was terrified that it might be her old social worker, but it was another Elaine entirely, and she wasn’t a pain at all, she was very relaxed and friendly.

  ‘I’ve made a formal application to be a foster parent,’ Mum told Jordan, ‘but it’ll be ages before they give us the go-ahead.’

  ‘Weeks?’ said Jordan.

  ‘Months! It’s crazy, isn’t it? But I suppose they have to check up on me and get all these references. You’ll vouch for me, won’t you, Cam?’ said Mum, looking anxious.

  ‘Of course I will!’ she said. ‘You’re my big success story, Tracy. I know you’ll be a really great foster mother.’

  Mum looked at Mary, who was hovering. ‘Mary would say I’ll have to deal with a few Anger Issues first.’

  ‘I’d say you’ll always have a problem with bossy authority figures like me,’ said Mary, grinning. ‘But I think you’ll prove to be a star at fostering.’

  NOW IT WAS a waiting game. Mum and I cleared out the little junk room upstairs and painted it, ready for Jordan. We asked her what colour she liked best and she said blue. I chose the lovely sky-blue shade I’d had back at Marlborough Tower. At the paint shop I saw some stick-on seagulls and we bought them too. When the paint was dry I put them all round the walls, with the smallest right above the space for Jordan’s bed. I wondered about inking black curls and little glasses onto the bird’s head to turn her into Gull Girl, but I didn’t want it to look too strange.

  We bought Jordan a new bed from Argos – a small double because she was a bit big to find a single bed really comfortable. We found a blue-and-yellow quilt and some yellow curtains at a bric-a-brac fair, but decided to let her choose her own ornaments and pictures when she came to live with us. It looked very fresh and pretty even so. I often crept in to admire it. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. I wished I had my own room now, though back at Marlborough Tower I’d usually gone to cuddle up with Mum.

  Still, I had my own garden. I’d cleared out the old junk – well, Mum and Peter did that for me, but I dug the earth and mixed in some compost. It was hard work, but fun too, like making mud pies. I wanted to plant bluebells because Bluebell is one of my middle names, but the lady at the garden centre said it was the wrong season for bluebells, so I chose some agapanthus instead, because they’re blue too. Mum treated me to a little fuchsia with red and purple flowers, and Flo bought me a bluey-pink rose bush. Cam and Mary sent me lots of hyacinth and miniature iris bulbs to plant for the spring.

  You’ll never guess what Peter bought me! A little white statue of a girl reading a book. She looked so beautiful sitting beside the rose bush. When I told Jordan, she said Peter was just trying to keep in with me so that I wouldn’t mind him being Mum’s boyfriend. Maybe she was right, because S
ean Godfrey had bought me heaps of things when he first visited me – but I didn’t usually like them. Peter had chosen the statue very carefully, specially for me.

  I often squatted down beside the girl and gently stroked her pale stone curls. She looked several years younger than me, but she was actually much older, maybe nearly a hundred. Peter had found her in an antiques shop in a town further along the coast. Mum and I had been to check it out. It was also going to be featured on Antique Memories, Lawrence had told Flo.

  ‘It’s bigger than The Dumping Ground,’ I said.

  ‘And it’s got some lovely stock.’ Mum sniffed. ‘But we’ve got better displays.’

  The television people had phoned and said they wanted to come on Friday, if that was all right.

  ‘Of course,’ said Flo, but when she got off the phone she panicked. ‘Why didn’t Lawrence tell me it was going to be so soon? I was planning to have my hair cut and set – and, dear Lord, what on earth am I going to wear? And they haven’t sent the script yet! It’ll take me weeks to learn my lines. Oh dear heavens, I can’t let you all down and forget my words on screen!’

  ‘It’s OK, Flo darling,’ said Mum, giving her a hug. ‘I’ll phone and see if your hairdresser can fit you in today – and if not I’ll give your hair a trim. You don’t need to fuss about clothes. Wear what you’ve got on now, it looks perfect. And I don’t think there is a script – we just have to act naturally.’

  ‘I can’t act without any lines!’ said Flo, but she calmed down a little.

  Mum took her to have her hair done and I pretended to be Lawrence coming into the shop so that Flo could practise serving me. I limped a bit and used a walking stick and put on a very fruity voice, but Mum told me off – she worried that Flo might think I was taking the mick.

  Mum was good at calming Flo, but by Thursday she was in a bit of a state herself. She changed the window displays twice, and kept looking around the shop, a book under her arm, her phone in her hand, researching each item so she could sound as knowledgeable as possible. She had found another little Victorian desk on eBay, and had oiled and polished it until it shone, and then written more manuscript pages on tea-stained paper, displaying them with another quill pen.