‘Are you?’ said Alexander, as if I’d said ‘I’m going to help myself to another Jaffa Cake’.
‘What do you mean “are you”? That’s a bit of a limpy wimpy response. Why aren’t you, like, “Wow, Tracy, you lucky thing, how fantastic, super-duper mega-whizzo brilliant”?’
Alexander stood to attention. ‘Wow, Tracy. You lucky thing,’ he said obediently. Then he paused. ‘What else was it?’ He was acting like he didn’t think I was the luckiest kid in the whole world.
‘Look, you haven’t seen my mum.’ I wished I had a photo to show him. ‘She looks totally fantastic. She’s really really beautiful, and she wears these wonderful clothes, and her hair and her make-up are perfect. She made me up too and styled my hair and I looked incredible.’
There was a very rude snort from the living room where Football was obviously flapping his ears, listening to every word.
I marched in to confront him, Alexander shuffling after me. Football dodged back and shielded his face, pretending to be dazzled. ‘Here’s Tracy the Incredible Beauty!’ he said, fooling about.
I gave him an extra withering look. ‘You can scoff all you like, but maybe I’ll take after my mum and end up looking just like her,’ I said.
‘And maybe that’s a little fat piggy flying through the air,’ said Football.
Alexander’s head turned, mouth open, looking for the flying pig.
‘My mum’s given me all these presents too,’ I said. ‘Heaps and heaps.’
‘Whoops! There’s a whole herd of piggies flying past,’ said Football.
Alexander blinked and then got it at last and chortled loudly.
‘It’s true! She’s spent a fortune on me. She’s given me everything I could ever want.’
‘What, the computer? And the rollerblades and the mountain bike?’ said Football, starting to look impressed at long last.
I hesitated. ‘She’s giving me all those later, when I’m living with her.’
‘Aha!’ said Football.
‘But she’s already given me this new T-shirt. Look, it’s designer, none of your market copy rubbish either, look at the label.’
‘Cool,’ said Football.
‘And she gave me this enormous box of chocolates, so many I couldn’t possibly eat them all.’
‘Well, maybe you could pop them in our fridge,’ said Alexander, still giggling weakly. ‘We’re a bit short on provisions at the moment.’
‘Yeah, well, they’re fresh cream, and when I got them back to Cam’s they’d gone a bit funny-tasting so we had to throw them out. But I’ve still got the box. I’ll show you it if you don’t believe me, Football. And my mum gave me heaps of other stuff too, the most fantastic cuddly toys and a special collector’s doll, an actual modern antique that costs hundreds of pounds.’
‘A doll?’ said Football.
‘Well, it’s more like a giant ornament. I tell you, it’s simply beautiful. My mum’s the greatest mum in all the world.’
Alexander was looking serious again, his eyes beady.
‘What?’ I said.
‘She can’t really be the best mum, not if she left you,’ he said. ‘I think if you leave your little girl it makes you a bad mum.’
‘She couldn’t help it,’ I said quickly. ‘It was just the way things were. She had things to do. And she had this really gross boyfriend. She didn’t have any option. She thought I’d be fine in the Children’s Home.’
‘I thought you hated it,’ said Alexander. He was really starting to get on my nerves.
‘I got along OK,’ I said fiercely.
‘Not till Cam came along,’ Alexander persisted. ‘What about Cam, Tracy?’
‘What about her?’ I said, sticking my face into his and baring my teeth. I was very nearly tempted to bite. ‘My mum says she can’t really care about me. She’s just fostering me for the money.’
‘You can’t be easy to foster, Tracy,’ said Alexander, backing away from me. But he still wouldn’t shut up. ‘I think she’s fostering you because she likes you. Don’t you like her?’
‘She’s all right,’ I said awkwardly. ‘Anyway she can’t like me all that much or she’d fight harder to keep me, wouldn’t she?’
Alexander deliberated. ‘Maybe she’s just trying to fit in with what you want because she likes you lots and lots.’
‘Maybe you should just shut up and mind your own business,’ I said. ‘What do you know anyway, Alexander-the-totally-teeny-tiny-gherkin.’
I gave him a push and waved at Football. ‘Come on, let’s play footie then. I’ll give you a real game.’
Football stopped staring and sprang into action. He passed the ball to me and I kicked it so hard it bounced back off the opposite wall, hit the sofa, and then ricocheted straight into the television set.
‘That’s the second television gone for a burton – and it takes ages to make,’ Alexander wailed.
‘You and your stupid cardboard rubbish. Let’s clear it all out the way,’ I said, giving the crumpled cardboard another kick for good measure.
Alexander looked as if he was about to cry. I don’t know why. I wasn’t kicking him. But when Football caught on and got ready for a major WRECK-THE-JOINT I diverted him upstairs where it wouldn’t matter so much. Alexander hadn’t attempted any Interior Design – but there were old boxes to kick to bits and a filthy old mattress to jump on.
Alexander came trailing upstairs after us and stood anxiously in the doorway, not daring to join in. I felt mean, but I still couldn’t forgive him for being so obstinate about my mum.
Football went into Major Demolition Mode for a minute or two and then decided to take a rest.
‘You think it’s great I’m going to live with my mum, don’t you, Football?’ I said. ‘Hey, don’t lie on the mattress, you’ll get fleas.’
‘Yuck!’ said Football, leaping up again. ‘Yeah, I think it’s good about your mum, seeing as she’s going to be giving you all them presents. You’ve got to look out for number one, Tracy. Go for what you can get and the one who’ll give you the most.’ He kicked his ball against the wall and then jumped up and headed it expertly back again. ‘Wow! Did you see that?’ He waved his arms in the air, showing off like mad.
‘It’s not just the presents and stuff,’ I said. ‘It’s because she’s my mum.’
‘Mums are rubbish,’ said Football.
‘You wouldn’t say that about dads!’
‘Yes I would,’ said Football, and this time he kicked the ball so dementedly it veered off the wall and smashed the opposite window. It disappeared out of sight.
‘Whoops!’ said Football.
‘I think maybe that’s enough wrecking,’ I said.
‘Watch that broken glass, Football,’ said Alexander. ‘You’ll cut yourself.’
‘What are you doing, you nutter?’ I said, as Football opened the window, spraying more glass all over the place.
‘We need a dustpan and brush,’ said Alexander. ‘Maybe I can devise something out of cardboard?’
‘You and your daft bits of cardboard,’ I said. ‘Hey, Football, what are you doing now?’
Football was climbing out of the window!
‘I’m getting my ball back,’ said Football, peering out. ‘It hasn’t come down. It’s stuck up on the guttering, look!’
‘Football, get back!’
‘It’s terribly dangerous, Football!’
‘Not the drainpipe!’
‘You’re far too big. Don’t!’
Football did. He reached for the drainpipe. It wobbled and then started to buckle. Football let go sharpish.
‘Get back in, Football,’ I said, clawing at his ankles.
He kicked my hands hard – and then leapt.
I screamed and shut my eyes. I waited for the crash and thump. But there wasn’t one.
Alexander was making little gaspy noises beside me. ‘Look at him!’ he whispered.
I opened my eyes and stared in disbelief. Football had leapt across a si
ckening gap into the fir tree that grew up against the wall. He made loud triumphant Tarzan noises.
‘You’re crazy!’
‘No, I’m not! Haven’t you ever climbed a tree? And this one’s a piece of cake, just like going up a ladder.’
Football climbed up steadily while we craned our necks, watching. Alexander gripped my hand tight, his sharp little nails digging into my palm.
Football very nearly reached the top, reached out – and clawed his ball back from the guttering. ‘Yuck, it’s got gunge all over it,’ he said, wiping it on the tree branches.
‘Just come back down, you nutter!’ I yelled.
‘I’ll wash it for you, Football,’ Alexander offered. ‘Please, just come back!’
So Football climbed down again, threw the ball back in the broken window, leant over the dizzying drop, leapt for it, teetered on the window ledge, and then came crashing into the bedroom on top of us.
For a moment we were all too stunned to say anything. Football got up first. Alexander and I didn’t have any option, seeing as he was on top of us.
‘Dads are rubbish,’ Football said, dusting himself down and wiping the gungy ball on Alexander’s jersey. ‘Smelly mouldering putrid rubbish.’
It was like there’d been no break in the conversation whatsoever.
‘But you’re nuts about your dad,’ I said, getting up gingerly and waggling my arms and legs to make sure they weren’t broken.
‘That’s what I was. Nuts,’ said Football. ‘That’s your new nickname for me, isn’t it? Nutter?’
Alexander sat up and looked at his stained jumper. ‘It’s my school one,’ he said, in a very little voice. Then he swallowed hard. ‘Still, it doesn’t really matter, seeing as I hardly ever go to school now.’
‘Oh dear, have I spoilt your school jersey?’ said Football. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Alexander, old chum.’
Alexander chose to take him seriously. ‘That’s quite all right, Football,’ he said. He got up cautiously as if there was every chance he might be knocked down again. ‘What happened with your dad, Football?’
I held my breath.
‘You shut up, useless,’ said Football, but he simply bounced his ball on Alexander’s head.
‘Didn’t your dad take you to the match on Saturday?’ I asked.
Football suddenly sat back down himself, his back against the wall. He looked down at the bare floorboards. He didn’t even bounce his ball. ‘I waited. And waited. And waited,’ he mumbled. ‘But he never turned up.’
Football thought there was something wrong, like his dad was ill or in trouble, so he went round to his place, only there was no-one there. He sat on the steps outside his flat and waited for ages. Then when his dad eventually turned up he had his girlfriend with him, and he was slobbering all over her like she was an ice lolly. Football looked like he was going to be sick when he told us. And it got worse.
It turned out his dad had taken the girlfriend to the match instead of Football because she’d got this thing about the goalie’s legs. They both laughed like it was really cute and funny and had no idea what they were doing to Football. He made out he didn’t care. He said he was getting a bit sick of their football Saturdays anyway. And his dad got shirty then and said, Right, if that’s your attitude . . .
So Football pushed off and then when he got back home his mum saw he was upset but it just made her mad and she slagged off his dad all over again.
‘So I called her all these names and said it was no wonder Dad left home because she’s such a whining misery. Then she clumped me and cried and now she’s not talking to me. So they both hate me, my mum and my dad. So they’re rubbish, right? All mums and dads are rubbish.’
He stopped. We seemed to have stopped too. The house was very quiet. It was chilly with the window broken. I shivered.
‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that all mums and dads are rubbish,’ said Alexander.
There are some silences that shouldn’t be broken. Football bounced his ball at Alexander’s head again. Hard.
‘I don’t really like it when you do that, Football,’ Alexander said, blinking.
‘Good,’ said Football. He bounced his ball again. It was unfortunate for Alexander that Football has deadly accurate aim.
‘Tracy?’ Alexander said, a tear rolling down his cheek.
I felt like there were two Tracys. One wanted to put her arm round him and wipe his eyes and yell at Football to go and pick on someone his own size. And the other wanted to bounce a ball on his brainy little bonce too.
The Tracy twins argued it out. Guess which one won.
‘You’re such a wimp, Alexander. Why can’t you stick up for yourself? You daren’t do anything.’
Alexander drooped. ‘I did do that dare,’ he said. ‘Even though it meant the whole school called me names.’
‘What dare?’ said Football, still bouncing.
‘I’m Tracy Beaker, the Great Inventor of Extremely Outrageous Dares,’ I said proudly.
‘Like?’ said Football, catching the ball.
‘Like anything,’ I said.
‘So dare me,’ said Football, swaggering.
I let half a dozen ideas flicker in my head. None of them seemed quite suitable for Football. I squeezed my brain hard. I needed something suitably scary, rude and revolting.
Alexander seemed to think I needed help. ‘Tracy dared wave her knickers in the air!’ he announced.
‘Shut up, Alexander!’ I hissed.
Football grinned. ‘OK, Tracy, I dare you wave your knickers. Go on!’
‘Get lost,’ I said. ‘And anyway, you can’t copy my dare.’
‘All right. I’ll think of a better one.’ Football was grinning from ear to ear now. ‘I dare you take your knickers off and hang them on the fir tree like a Christmas decoration!’
I stared at him. It wasn’t fair. It was a BRILLIANT dare. Definitely Tracy Beaker standard. Oh how I wanted to zip his grin up!
‘You can’t ask Tracy to do that!’ said Alexander. ‘It’s far too dangerous.’
‘I climbed out into the tree,’ said Football.
‘Yes, but you’re bigger and stronger than Tracy,’ said Alexander. ‘And madder,’ he added softly.
‘There isn’t anyone madder than me,’ I said. ‘OK, I’ll do your stupid old dare, Football, easy-peasy.’
‘Tracy!’ said Alexander. He looked at me, he looked at Football. ‘Is this just a game?’
‘It’s my game, my Dare Game,’ I said. ‘Only it’s way too daring for you, Little Gherkin.’
‘Gherkin?’ said Football. ‘One of them little wizened pickled things?’
‘Alexander gets called Gherkin because everyone’s seen what he looks like in the showers!’
Football cracked up laughing. ‘Gherkin! That’s a good one! Gherkin!’
Alexander looked at me, his eyes huge in his pinched face. ‘Why are you being so mean to me today, Tracy?’
‘You’re mean to me, trying to stop me living happily ever after with my mum, when it’s what I’ve always wanted more than anything in the whole world,’ I said, and I marched to the window, kicking the broken glass out the way, and hitched myself up onto the window ledge.
‘Tracy! Don’t! What if you fall?’ Alexander shrieked.
I hooked one leg out.
‘Tracy! I wasn’t serious. You’re too little,’ Football shouted.
‘I’m not little! I’m Tracy the Great and I always win every single dare,’ I yelled, getting the other leg out and standing up straight. Straightish. My legs were a bit wobbly.
I looked down – and then wished I hadn’t.
‘Come back, Tracy!’ said Alexander.
But I couldn’t go back. I had to go forward. ‘This is the Dare Game, and I’m going to win it, just you wait and see.’
I looked at the tree – and jumped. One second I was in the air and there were screams – some mine – and then I had twigs up my nose and scratching my face and I was clinging
there, in the tree, hands hanging onto branches, feet curled against the trunk.
I’d made it! I hadn’t fallen! I had managed a thrilling death-defying l-e-a-p! Football gave his Tarzan cry behind me and I joined in too, long and loud.
‘Now come back in, Tracy,’ Alexander pleaded.
‘I haven’t started yet!’ I said. ‘Shut your eyes. And you, Football.’
They both blinked at me like they’d forgotten the whole point of the dare.
‘I’ve got to take my knickers off now, so no peeping,’ I commanded.
They shut their eyes obediently. Well, one of them did.
‘Football! Think I’m daft? Stop squinting at me!’ I yelled.
Football’s eyes shut properly this time. I gingerly let go of the branch and started fidgeting under my skirt. It was a lot more scary only holding on with one hand. It would have been much more sensible to take my knickers off before I was in the tree, but it was too late now. I got them around my knees, and then reached down. The garden wavered way down below me and I felt sick.
‘Don’t, Tracy! You’ll fall!’ Football shouted.
‘Shut your ******* eyes!’ I was so peeved he was peering right up my short skirt I forgot to be frightened, eased my knickers over my foot and then straightened up in a flash.
‘They’re off!’ I yelled, waving them like a flag.
Football cheered. ‘Shove them on a branch for a second and then get back in,’ he shouted. ‘You’ve won the bet, Trace. Good for you.’
‘Yes, come back now, Tracy,’ said Alexander.
I didn’t want to come back right that instant. I was starting to get used to it in the tree. I looked up instead of down. It was a great feeling to be up so high. I reached for the next branch and the next and the next.
The boys yelled at me but I took no notice. I’d turned into Monkey Girl, leaping about the treetops without a worry in the world.
The tree swayed a little more as I got nearer the top, but I didn’t mind a bit. It felt soothing, not scary. If I was Monkey Girl I could swing in my tree all day long and at night I could fashion myself a leafy hammock and rock myself to sleep.
Dare Game Page 8
