Candyfloss

  There was a main bedroom that had once been Billy’s mum and dad’s, and then Billy and Marian’s, and now it was just Billy’s. There was something about that sad big empty bed that reminded me of Dad’s bedroom back at the café.

  Dad looked relieved when Billy suggested he sleep in the second bedroom, which had always been a spare room with a single bed. It had fraying pink ribbons on the net curtains, and the mats all over the dressing table were pale pink to match. There was a firescreen with an embroidered thatched cottage and a faded pink ruffly bedspread. It looked like a room for an old old lady. My dad looked too big and too fat and too rough for such a room, but he told Billy it was lovely and he was very grateful.

  ‘Now I thought we’d put little Flossie in young Billy’s room,’ said Old Billy.

  It was the only room in the house that wasn’t stuck in a 1930s timewarp. It was a strange boy mixture. There were old footballer posters on the walls and rock music tapes piled up like building blocks, and an elderly Paddington Bear stood in a corner in his duffel coat and wellingtons. Oddly, right in the middle of the carpet, there was a doll’s house. It was a 1930s doll’s house – two houses: two semi-detached homes making one whole house with a sloping red-tiled roof, black and white panelling and two front doors.

  I squatted down beside it, still hanging onto Lucky, but I was so distracted that she squeezed herself out of one end of the duvet and stood alert, her back arched, her tail outstretched, not sure where she was off to now she was free at last.

  ‘Look at the doll’s house, Dad!’ I said.

  There was a hook at one end so I edged it open and the front of the house swung forward. It was fully furnished inside, with little carved wooden replicas of sofas and chairs, tables, baths and beds. One half house had small green cushions on the chairs and little crochet mats as small as a penny piece.

  ‘It’s your house, Mr Chip! Yours and the matching one next door!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I made it myself, love,’ said Billy. ‘It was rather a daft notion. I’d always whittled away at the potatoes in odd moments, carving out a face here, a monkey there, a clown – whatever took my fancy. I’d fry them for the customers just for a laugh, but then when our Billy was on the way I fancied making something more permanent. I took it into my head that he’d be a girl, so I started in on a doll’s house. Daft idea, really. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing modern kiddies want to play with anyway.’

  ‘I would, Mr Chip,’ I said.

  ‘Then you play with it all you want while you’re here, sweetheart,’ said Billy.

  ‘Are you sure, Billy? It’s a totally awesome work of art,’ said Dad, kneeling in front of it. ‘Floss is a very careful girl but I’m not sure she should be allowed to touch it.’

  ‘No, no, it’s meant to be played with. I’d always hoped for a little girl but we only had our Billy—Will. I wondered if he’d have a daughter, but Will’s not what you’d call the marrying kind, so if little Floss here would like it, then the house is hers.’

  ‘Oh Mr Chip! I couldn’t possibly keep it,’ I said – though I wanted it desperately.

  ‘Yes, you have it, darling. I promised you a birthday present and here it is. You can carry on furnishing it if you fancy doing so. I made a few bits and bobs and my Marian did the mats, but we felt a bit daft, like, when there was no one to play with them. It’s yours, Floss.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ I said, and I reached up and gave him a big hug round his wrinkled tortoise neck.

  ‘You’ve got to stop doing us all these favours, Billy,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve been so good to us.’

  ‘You’re the ones being good to me, watching over the house and cats while I gallivant off.’ Billy paused. ‘I’m not really sure I know what I’m doing, going all the way to Australia. Maybe my lad doesn’t want me visiting. We didn’t always see eye to eye when he lived here. We didn’t part on the best of terms.’

  ‘He’ll be thrilled to see you, Billy. Lads row with their dads and leave home to make their own way in life. It’s only human nature. But he’s a man now and he’ll be thrilled at this chance of seeing you.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ said Billy, still sounding doubtful.

  ‘Mr Chip, if I hadn’t seen my dad for years and years I’d be jumping right over the moon,’ I said.

  ‘If you could jump that far you could propel yourself and save on the air fare,’ said Billy, ruffling my curls.

  I don’t like it when people do that. It even annoys me when Dad does it. But I stood my ground and smiled politely. Mr Chip said I was a sweet kid and Dad was lucky to have me, and he went all watery eyed. Dad said he knew that, and he had to dab his own eyes with a hanky. I fidgeted from foot to foot, feeling foolish.

  Billy insisted on cooking us Sunday dinner.

  ‘I’ve got a roast chicken in the oven, and roast potatoes. I’m not cooking you chips, because you’re the bee’s knees when it comes to chips and there’s no point competing,’ said Billy.

  ‘Chip Master of the Universe,’ said Dad, beating his plump tummy and flexing his muscles.

  Mr Chip’s cats had their own lunch out in the kitchen. I got Lucky’s special bowl and sprinkled a few dried biscuit balls in it. Whisky and Soda looked up from their own mashed fish bits and eyed Lucky’s bowl. Whisky ambled over to it. Soda followed. They licked their lips and mewed greedily.

  Lucky barely came up to their furry shoulders. It looked as if one swot of a Whisky or Soda paw would send her flying.

  I needn’t have worried. Lucky had lived on the streets. She knew how to defend her territory. She gave a ferocious ‘Mew!’, darted forward, wriggling right under their noses, and buried her head in her bowl. She flicked her delicate tail in Whisky and Soda’s surprised faces. They slunk back to their own bowls, trying to look nonchalant.

  When they’d all nibbled lunch, first Whisky, then Soda squeezed out of the cat flap for a saunter round the garden. Lucky experimented, poking her little head after them curiously. She gathered courage, nudged hard and then hurtled out into the garden.

  I ran to the window and watched her peer around in astonishment, like Alice newly arrived in Wonderland. She circled the centre flowerbed, trying to stalk a sparrow, but it flew away mockingly whenever she made a move.

  ‘Is Lucky settling in, Floss?’ said Dad, coming over to the window.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What about you, darling?’

  ‘I think I am too, Dad,’ I said, though I wasn’t really sure.

  I didn’t want to live in Billy’s house, although it was mean even to think it as he was being so generous and hospitable. It was so strange and old-fashioned and it smelled musty, like the clothes in charity shops. I hoped I wouldn’t smell musty as well as chippy. Rhiannon and Margot and Judy went round holding their noses whenever they stood near me as it was.

  It seemed so weird that only a month ago I’d taken it for granted that I just had an ordinary washing powder/clean clothes/shampoo smell just like everyone else. I had a mum and my own special bedroom in our pretty house. Even Rhiannon had remarked on my cherry-patterned duvet and my matching curtains. Now I didn’t have anything ultra-clean or pretty or matching.

  I knew I was being dreadful feeling sorry for myself when Dad was trying so hard and Mr Chip had been so kind giving me the beautiful doll’s house – but I still couldn’t stop two tears spurting down my face.

  I bent my head quickly but I think Dad saw. He squeezed my shoulders tightly.

  ‘We’ll be fine, little Floss.’ He lowered his voice. ‘This is just a temporary measure, sweetheart. We’ll find somewhere lovely just for us soon, you’ll see. You never know your luck. Something will bob up out of the blue.’

  I tried to imagine a beautiful home emerging out of nowhere: a coral palace out of the blue sea; a cloud castle out of the blue sky; a Swiss chalet out of a big blue mountain. I blinked and swallowed hard to stop the rest of my tears.

&n
bsp; They seemed to stay in my throat. I couldn’t swallow Billy’s roast chicken dinner. He’d tried so hard to make it a lovely meal for us, but the chicken was still slimy under its skin and the roast potatoes were speckled with little black bits of grit from the oven and the cabbage looked and smelled like old stewed leaves.

  I chewed and chewed and chewed. I felt myself getting red in the face.

  ‘Is the roast OK?’ Billy asked anxiously.

  ‘It’s just smashing, Billy,’ said Dad.

  I felt him nudging me under the table. He was passing me his big hanky. Then he started chatting to Billy about his chip van and where he stored it and the times he opened and shut of an evening – while I turned my head and discreetly spat most of my meal into the hanky, pretending to wipe round my mouth.

  When Dad got up to clear the table he managed to dump the hanky quickly at the bottom of Billy’s rubbish bin. I looked up at him gratefully and he wriggled his eyebrows at me.

  ‘How about going out to play in the back garden, Floss?’ said Dad. ‘See if you can spot a good tree for your swing.’

  I went out of the kitchen door and walked up and down the stretch of grass at the back. There was going to be a big problem. Billy had a flowerbed on either side – although they looked more like weed beds now – but he didn’t have any trees at all. He had a few shrubs and bushes but they would have barely supported a toy swing, let alone a real one.

  Dad looked up eagerly when I trailed back. Then he saw the expression on my face. His own face sagged.

  ‘It’s OK, Dad. I think I’m maybe too old for swinging now anyway,’ I said quickly.

  We spent the afternoon watching television, although none of us were really concentrating on it. Billy kept checking his passport and his flight ticket and his Australian dollars. Dad kept looking around, yawning and sighing and stretching his arms in the air. He suggested I go and unpack my stuff, but I did that in five minutes.

  I knelt down and looked at the doll’s house. It was difficult to know how to play with it when it didn’t have any people. I tried cramming Ellarina and Dimble into a room, but their heads hit the ceiling and their legs sprawled in every corner, so they looked like a battery elephant and dog in a very small cage.

  I needed to make some proper tiny people. I had a pack of plasticine that Steve’s mum had given me for a birthday present. I took it and started modelling. I made me first, rolling the yellow strip into lots of bobbles for my curls. I put me in the right-hand half of the house. I made Dad, and then a little Lucky. I had to make her purple as they don’t make black plasticine. I made a Susan too, come to visit us, staying overnight in my bed on a special sleepover.

  Then I made a Mum. I tried very hard to make the plasticine Mum very slim and stylish, using the bright pink for her dress. I got a bit sniffly creating her and had to stop to have a good blow of my nose with toilet paper. It hurt, because Billy had the weirdest crackly stuff in his bathroom that totally sandpapered your skin.

  Then I did a Steve with a pink bullet head and huge muscles on his arms and a tiny Tiger crawling on all fours. I put them in the left-hand house. I made a thin plasticine door on either side of both adjoining living rooms so that the me-doll could run between houses whenever she wanted.

  Then I sat back and sighed.

  ‘Are you OK, Flossie?’ Dad called up the stairs.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Dad,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Are you all set to take Billy to the airport?’

  ‘Course I am,’ I said.

  I picked up the pink plasticine Mum and gave her a big kiss, stroking her very carefully because I didn’t want her head or her arms or her legs to fall off.

  ‘I love you, Mum,’ I whispered. I thought about that airline ticket. In just one day and night I could be with her. I’d stay in a lovely apartment and live in a sunny, glamorous city and everyone I knew would envy me like crazy and no one would ever sneer at me or tease me or pity me.

  ‘Floss?’ Dad called.

  I picked up the plasticine Dad and tickled his tummy with my fingernail and made him chuckle and jump about.

  ‘I love you, Dad,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to stay with you, no matter what.’ I paused. ‘You never know your luck. Something might bob up out of the blue.’

  Dad and I took Billy to Heathrow. We packed the van and helped him negotiate his way to the check-in desk, and then we went with him as far as the Departures gate. Billy looked so old and frail that Dad asked if we could possibly walk him through to the other side of the airport, but they wouldn’t let us.

  ‘Oh well, I’m sure you’ll be fine, Billy, my boy. Just find the prettiest young lady hostess, hook your arm in hers and get her to help you on your way,’ said Dad.

  ‘You’re the guy who should be hooking up with someone young and pretty,’ said Billy. ‘Oh dear, my tummy’s all butterflies! Wish me a safe flight, Flossie. You’re the wee girly who brings me luck.’

  ‘You’ll be safe as safe, and have a lovely time, Mr Chip,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm. I don’t know about that. If the good Lord had meant us to fly he’d have given us wings,’ said Billy. ‘I’ve lived well over three quarters of a century without venturing more than six feet in the air, and now I’m embarking on a journey that will take me six miles up in the sky. Keep your fingers crossed for the next twenty-four hours that I don’t suddenly plummet downwards.’

  ‘We’ll keep our fingers and our toes crossed, mate,’ said Dad, and he gave Billy a big hug.

  I had to give him a hug too, and kiss his white whiskery cheek. Then he toddled off, trying to wave jauntily, though he was terribly tottery on his old bowed legs.

  ‘I hope to God he makes it OK,’ said Dad. ‘Tell you what, Floss, if you were travelling with him it would be you looking after old Billy, bless him, not him looking after you.’

  ‘But I’m not travelling, Dad.’

  ‘I know you’re not, darling. Remember though, we’ve got your ticket safe and sound.’

  ‘You might as well tear it up, Dad. I’m not going to use it,’ I said, taking his hand.

  On the drive back from Heathrow Dad suddenly yelled out and pointed. There was a big field far off, all lit up. There were big wheels and roundabouts way in the distance.

  ‘It’s the fair!’ said Dad.

  ‘Oh wow! Let’s go! Oh Dad, please can we?’

  ‘Of course, little darling! We’ll find your roundabout and you can have another ride on Pearl.’

  ‘And we’ll find the candyfloss stall and see Rose!’

  ‘Well, that would be great,’ said Dad, turning right off the main road, towards the fair.

  We parked the car and then ran hand in hand, both of us skipping and dancing and whooping – but when we got to the field it suddenly looked all wrong. The vans were lined up strangely, the rides were all different, the roundabout had many brightly painted horses with long manes and tails but none of them were pink, and none of them were called Pearl.

  We looked for the candyfloss stall. We found three different ones, but none of them had a big pink teddy bear tied up outside. None of them were Rose’s. We were at the wrong fair.

  We wandered around a little, but it was no use. It wasn’t the same at all. We’d lost the heart for it. We just wanted to go home . . . though it was the wrong home too.

  19

  ‘WHAT ARE WE going to do with you while I’m working in Billy’s chip van every evening?’ said Dad. ‘I suppose I should get a babysitter.’

  ‘Come off it, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’m not a baby.’

  ‘I could maybe ask Miss Davis . . .’

  ‘Dad! She’d cluck her teeth at me and feed me birdseed sandwiches!’

  ‘There’s Old Ron. He’s a weird old chap but he’s harmless and he thinks the world of you, Floss.’

  ‘I don’t want Old Ron looking after me. He can’t look after himself.’

  ‘I suppose I could ask if you could stay at Susan’s once or twice.’
/>
  ‘I’d like that!’

  ‘But I can’t ask them to have you every night.’ Dad paused. ‘Rhiannon’s mum was on at me the other day outside the school—’

  ‘I am not not not going to Rhiannon’s, Dad.’

  ‘OK.’ Dad sighed. ‘Well, what are we going to do with you, sugarlump?’

  ‘We don’t have to do anything. I’ll stay here at Billy’s.’

  ‘I can’t leave you all on your own, pet.’

  ‘Of course you can. I’ll be fine. I’ll read and I’ll watch Billy’s telly and I’ll sew clothes, and then when I get tired I’ll go to bed. Simple!’

  ‘But what if someone came to the door?’

  ‘I won’t answer it. I’m not daft, Dad.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s against the law leaving a kid your age on her own,’ Dad said anxiously.

  ‘Who’s going to know? Only us,’ I said. ‘Dad, please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine fine fine.’

  I just about had him convinced. I thought I had myself convinced too. But when it was time for Dad to go out on Monday night I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I kept saying.

  ‘Yes, of course you’ll be fine,’ Dad kept repeating, giving me a last kiss, a last cuddle, a last ruffle of the curls.

  Then he went out to work. The front door shut behind him. And I started to feel scared.

  I was watching a film on television and it was meant to be funny but there were two creepy men chasing after this little kid so I had to switch it off quick. I sat in the sudden silence, ears straining, listening out for creepy men breaking into the house, coming to get me.

  Billy’s parents frowned out of their wedding photo at me, not liking a stranger sitting cross-legged on their faded old carpet. The house was still filled with their things. Maybe they were still here too, hiding in a dusty cupboard, whispering to each other. When it got dark they’d drift out into the room, silent on their see-through ghost feet . . .

  I desperately wanted to cuddle Lucky for comfort, but she’d gone upstairs to loll on her duvet and I couldn’t face those creaky stairs by myself. I tried calling her, but the thin sound of my own voice was so strange in the silent house that I clapped my hands over my mouth.