‘Never mind,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll wait.’
So we waited, and at long last the roundabout slowed down again and this time Dad ran too, and he got to Pearl and saved her for me.
‘You ride with me, Dad,’ I said.
I hitched up my skirts and sat in front of the golden barley-sugar rail coming out of Pearl’s back, and Dad sat behind me, his arms round my waist. We paid our money and the lovely old music started up and we rode round and round until the whole fairground was just a mosaic of coloured lights. I wished Pearl would kick her silver hooves and rear up off her stand and gallop away with us for ever.
‘Would you like another ride on Pearl, Princess?’ Dad asked.
‘Oh please!’
So we went round and round and round again, and when we at last got off Dad let me pat Pearl’s nose and stroke her long mane.
‘She’s so pretty,’ I said. ‘I just love her pink mane. It matches my dress, Dad, look.’
‘We’d better make sure our refreshments match your dress too,’ said Dad. ‘Candy for my Floss!’
He led me to a candyfloss stall. It was decorated with roses, and a great pink teddy bear in a frilly dress dangled from the awning.
‘Mum never ever lets me have candyfloss because it’s so bad for my teeth,’ I said.
‘You can give your teeth an extra thorough brush tonight,’ said Dad, and he nodded at the big blonde lady in the candyfloss van. ‘We’ll have one each please. My teeth are pretty duff already.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’ve got a lovely smile, sir.’
Dad gave her a big grin then. I grinned too. I love it when people like my dad.
‘You take after your dad, darling,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’re looking very gorgeous in that pretty pink frock. Have you been a bridesmaid?’
‘No, it’s her birthday. She’s my birthday princess,’ said Dad.
‘Dad!’ I said, feeling daft.
‘Aah, isn’t that lovely. Well, we’d better make you an extra big birthday special.’
I watched, fascinated, as she poured sugar into the middle of her metal cauldron and then set it spinning. Wisps of candyfloss formed as if by magic. She took a stick and twirled it round and round until it bore an enormous pink fluffy cloud of candyfloss.
‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ she said, handing it over.
‘Oh yum!’ I said.
I held it in awe, approaching it gingerly, not quite sure how to bite into it. Then someone behind jostled me and my nose went deep into the pink fluffy cloud and stuck there.
‘Watch out, mate! Mind my little girl,’ said Dad, turning round.
It wasn’t just one mate. There were six or seven big lads, all of them holding cans of beer. They were strutting around, saying stupid things. Very very rude things. They didn’t take any notice of Dad at all.
‘Give us one of them big scoops of peanuts,’ the biggest guy said to the candyfloss lady.
‘Yeah, one for me too, I’ve got the munchies.’
‘I’ll have popcorn – the big carton,’ said another.
‘You wait your turn, boys. I’m serving this gentleman,’ said the candyfloss lady.
‘Here, we don’t wait turns. We tell you, you serve us – get it?’ said the biggest.
‘This is my stall, and I don’t have to serve anyone, so you can all push off sharpish – get it?’ said the candyfloss lady.
They paused, taking it in.
‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ said the big guy. Then he called her a terribly rude word.
‘Don’t you dare badmouth the lady,’ said Dad. ‘You need your mouth washing out with soap, lad.’
‘You need your mouth shutting, you fat berk,’ said the boy, and he punched Dad straight in the face.
Dad hit him back, but then all his mates got stuck in. I screamed and someone shoved me and I ended up flat on my face in the mud. I lay there, stunned. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of struggling.
I lifted my head. ‘Help! They’re hurting my dad!’ I yelled.
‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Your dad’s OK now. Here, let me help you up, you poor little darling.’ It was the candyfloss lady herself, sitting me up gently and wiping my sticky face. My silver crown fell off, all torn and crumpled.
I peered round desperately for my dad. I saw a lot of figures in the distance – big burly guys dragging the horrible drunk lads away from the fair.
‘They’re not taking my dad away too, are they?’ I said.
‘No, no, of course not. He’s over there, by my stall, see?’
Dad was leaning against the stall, with a big fairground guy offering him a cloth for his bleeding lip.
‘Don’t give him that dirty old rag, Saul! Here, mind the stall for ten minutes while I get these two properly cleaned up in my caravan,’ said the candyfloss lady.
She helped me stand up, tutting sympathetically when she saw the state of my dress.
‘Dear oh dear! Still, it’s not ripped – I wish I could say the same for your poor dad’s jeans! I’m sure all that mud will wash off easily enough. Did those idiots hurt you, lovey?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said. I still couldn’t understand what had happened. One minute they’d all been hitting my dad, and then the next they were all limping away, escorted by the fairground guys.
‘Dad! Dad!’ I said, stumbling over to him. ‘Dad, did you beat them all up, those horrible lads?’
Dad laughed and then winced, because it stretched his sore lip. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘I was blooming useless, Floss.’
‘No, you weren’t. You were wonderful, sticking up for me like that,’ said the candyfloss lady.
‘He stuck up for me too,’ I said.
‘Yes, he’s very gallant and brave, your dad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘Now, you two come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up properly.’
‘So how come they all stopped fighting?’ I asked, as we followed her in and out of the stalls and trailers to the circle of caravans.
‘Our guys keep an eye out for hassle,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘One hint of trouble and they all come running. And they’re tough lads too.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Dad. ‘Especially the one with the fair hair and all the skull rings, the one who gave me the rag for my nose. He felled three of the boys with one blow!’
‘Ah, Saul. He’s my lad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘He’s a right softie, especially with the girls, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’
‘I’m certainly glad he was on my side,’ said Dad.
‘Right, this is my van,’ said the candyfloss lady.
It was a beautiful bright pink, with red roses carefully painted above the door.
‘I love the roses,’ said Dad.
‘That’s my name. Rose. It was my mum’s name and my gran’s. They claimed we were related to the fortune-teller Gypsy Rose. They used to read palms and peer into the crystal ball and all that lark.’
‘Can you tell fortunes?’ I asked excitedly.
‘Oh, I can read the tea leaves with the best of them,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘Come on, up the steps.’
We climbed the neat golden ladder and went through the pink door.
‘Ooooh!’ I said.
It was the most wonderful magical strange room ever. The inside walls were bright pink too, with lots of paintings of flowers and country cottages and little children in nighties. Great glittery glass mirrors doubled and tripled all the images, so you weren’t quite sure what was real and what was reflection. There was a big red velvet sofa with needlework cushions, and a polished table with a lace cloth, and a cabinet in one corner containing lots of china crinolined ladies. A gold clock ticked and tocked on a sideboard, with a big china dog on either side.
‘It’s so beautiful!’ I said.
‘I’m glad you like it, duckie,’ said Rose, going into her tiny kitchen and running water into a red bowl.
‘Ho
w come you’ve got running water?’ said Dad.
‘Oh, we get it piped wherever we pitch up.’
‘So do you travel all over the country?’
‘Well – just the south-east. We fetch up at a new site each week during the summer.’ She got a cloth and started washing my face and hands. She did it very gently, going carefully round my eyes and nose and mouth, not scrubbing splish-splosh the way some grown-ups do. Then she started dabbing at the stains on my dress.
I had another peer around the beautiful red room while she was mopping me.
‘How come all your lovely ornaments and pictures don’t get broken when you move on to the next site?’ I asked.
‘I’m magic. I just go zap!’ – she waved her long silver fingernails – ‘and fix them to the walls with my occult powers.’
I blinked at her. So did Dad.
Rose burst out laughing. ‘No, of course I don’t! I bundle them all up carefully in bubble wrap each time,’ she said.
‘And where do you sleep? I can’t see a bed anywhere,’ I said.
‘Floss, stop being so nosy,’ said Dad. ‘It’s rude to ask so many questions.’
‘I don’t mind a bit,’ said Rose. ‘See that sofa. You lift the seat part – and there’s my bed, all lovely and cosy, neatly stowed out of sight.’
‘What about Saul? Where’s his bed?’
‘He’s got his own trailer now. He’s way too big to share with his old mum.’
‘What about Saul’s dad?’ said my dad.
Rose chuckled. ‘Now who’s being nosy!’ she said. ‘Oh, he cleared off a long time ago. Last spotted with a tassel-twirling circus girl half his age.’
‘Oh. Right. I’m sorry,’ said Dad, going a bit pink.
‘Don’t be sorry, dear. I like my independence. There!’ She held out my pink skirts. They were wet, but nearly all the mud had come out.
‘You’ve done an expert job there,’ said Dad.
‘I’ve had enough practice! My Saul used to come back covered in mud every single time he went out to play,’ said Rose.
She rinsed out the bowl and got a clean cloth. ‘Now, sir, let’s sort you out.’
‘I’m not a sir! I’m Charlie,’ said Dad. ‘And this is my little girl Floss.’
‘How do you do, Charlie. OK, let’s get you cleaned up properly. That little toerag gave you a nasty split lip as well as a bloody nose. No kissing for you for a day or two!’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Dad.
She mopped Dad very gently. Dad can be a bit of a baby when he cuts himself, but he didn’t wince once, not even when she dabbed his cuts with antiseptic.
‘Now, what about your legs? Are they cut too?’ she said, peering at the great rips in the knees of Dad’s jeans.
‘Just skinned. They’re fine,’ said Dad.
‘Oh, you’re such a stoical chap,’ said Rose. ‘Still, it must have been a nasty shock. I think we could both do with a nip of brandy, don’t you?’
She poured two drinks in pretty crimson glasses, and she gave me a lovely lemonade in a green glass goblet.
‘White wine, madam?’ she said, serving it with a flourish.
‘Delicious!’ I said. ‘But I couldn’t possibly have a cup of tea too?’
‘You don’t like tea, Floss!’ said Dad.
‘No – but I want Rose to read the tea leaves.’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, lovey, I’ve only got tea bags in my caddy. But I’ll read your palm, how about that?’
‘Oh yes, please!’
I thrust it at her eagerly. She sat down beside me and took my palm in hers, looking at it intently.
‘Aaah!’ she said.
‘What? Oh please, what is it?’
‘Rose is going to tell you that you bite your nails and you’ve just had a birthday and you’re the apple of your dad’s eye!’ said Dad, laughing.
‘Oh, Dad,’ I said.
‘Yes, shush, Dad,’ said Rose. She delicately traced the lines on my hand. ‘Now, this line is broken – which tells me you’ve had a little heartache, and you’ve felt torn in two – is that right?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘Don’t worry though, darling, I can see very happy times ahead. Yes, there are going to be a few changes in store.’
‘I don’t think I like changes,’ I said. ‘I’ve had too many.’
‘No, no, these are good changes, you wait and see.’
‘What are they?’ I said warily.
‘Ah, that’s for you to find out in the future!’
‘Can’t you give me a hint or two?’
‘They’re changes to do with your home, your family, your friends—’
‘Oh no! Is Rhiannon going to break friends with me and go off with Margot?’
‘You wait and see.’ She gently chucked me under the chin. ‘Don’t look so worried. You wait – there are all sorts of signs and portents. This is your lucky break, Floss.’
‘Is it mine too? I could certainly do with my luck changing,’ said Dad.
‘Do you want me to read your palm too?’
‘Mmm, maybe not! I’m not sure I’d like what I heard,’ said Dad, downing his drink. ‘Well, you’ve been so kind to us, Rose. We’d better not keep you away from your candyfloss stall any longer. Come on, Floss, it’s ages past your bed time.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, come back and find me,’ said Rose, smiling at him. ‘Now, the least we can do is give you both a free ride on something. What do you fancy? The Big Wheel? The Waltzer? The Rotunda?’
Dad looked at me. I looked at him.
‘Another go on Pearl?’ said Dad.
‘Oh please!’
So we had one more magical ride on the roundabout. Pearl galloped round and round on her silver hooves, pink mane and tail flying. We flew with her, and as the hurdy-gurdy music played, I sang in my head, Our luck is changing, our luck is changing, our luck is changing!
5
I DECIDED TO tell Dad that night, but I was too tired to do more than scrub candyfloss off my face, brush my teeth and then collapse into bed.
I decided to tell Dad over breakfast instead, but he made special croissants, putting a funny black beret on his head and hanging a string of plastic onions round his neck, pretending to be French. I couldn’t tell him when he was prancing around singing Frère Jacques and calling me his little cabbage.
I decided I’d tell Dad before lunch, but we went to the park and fed the ducks all the stale bread left over from the café. There was so much, the ducks had a veritable banquet, quacking appreciatively whenever I shook the bags and it started snowing chunks of bread. I didn’t want to spoil their fun – or ours.
I decided to tell Dad during lunch, but he sat me down in the café and pretended I was a very special customer. He served me a funny little salad in the shape of a clown’s face – lettuce hair, boiled egg eyes, and a cherry tomato nose.
‘There! Tell your mum I give you ultra-healthy nosh,’ said Dad. ‘OK, now for pudding.’
It wasn’t quite as healthy. Dad garnished big slices of birthday cake with cream and ice cream and raspberry sauce, making a totally heavenly birthday pudding. I couldn’t possibly spoil it by blurting out my news.
We were so full afterwards we flopped at either end of the sofa and watched our ancient old video of The Railway Children. It jumps around a lot and sometimes gets stuck but we know it so well it’s not a problem. We chanted along with it half the time. At the very end, Bobbie goes to the station and she sees her father and goes running to him, calling, ‘Daddy, oh my daddy.’
My dad is a big silly softie. He always cries at this bit and I tease him rotten. Only this time I thought what it must really have been like to be poor Bobbie, parted from her father all that time – and I was the one who burst out crying.
‘Hey! No blubbing allowed! That’s my job,’ said Dad, giving me a little loving poke. Then he looked at me properly. ‘You’re not really crying, are you, Flossie? What’s the mat
ter, eh? You can tell your old dad, can’t you?’
That was just the trouble. I couldn’t tell my dad, it was just too awful. I wound my arms round his neck and clung to him tightly.
‘I’m going to miss you so, Dad,’ I sobbed into his old grey jersey.
‘I’m going to miss you all week too, sweetheart. I just live for our weekends together, especially now . . . Well, I’ve got in a bit of a muddle with money, and things are a bit dodgy at the café. Still, as long as I’ve got you, that’s all that matters,’ said Dad, rubbing his bristly cheek against the top of my head.
I sobbed harder.
‘Hey, hey, don’t cry so, little Floss. Your curly mop feels so silky. You’re like my own special candyfloss. Watch out I don’t eat you all up.’ He made funny golloping noises, pretending to nibble my curls.
I couldn’t help giggling, even though I was still crying hard.
‘That’s it, start cheering up, my darling. Wonderboy Steve will be calling for you soon in his flash car and I don’t want him telling your mum you’ve been miserable with me. You’ve got to be the all-singing, all-dancing happy little girl who thinks her parents splitting up is a piece of cake. And talking of cakes, better not tell your mum we scoffed a whole birthday cake between us or we’ll really be for it!’
‘Dad? Oh, Dad!’
‘What is it, little pal? Spit it out.’
‘I don’t know how,’ I wailed.
Then I heard a car draw up outside. I reared up off the sofa. It was Steve, far too early. Steve and Mum and Tiger, all come to collect me.
I had to spit it out now. It torrented out like a waterfall.
‘Dad, I can’t bear it, but we’re going to Australia, Steve’s got this new job and we’re moving there next month, they’ve only just told me and I’ve been trying to tell you all weekend and I haven’t been able to and they say it’s not for ever, just six months, but it will feel like for ever and I feel like I’m being cut in half because I love you so, Dad.’
The doorbell rang. Dad shook his head, looking dazed. For one terrible moment his face crumpled up. Then he took a deep breath and tried to smile.