‘Can we have a word, Floss?’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Rhiannon.
‘Wait for me?’ I said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Rhiannon, but she was drifting off as she spoke.
I stood at Mrs Horsefield’s desk. She waited until the last child had left the classroom. Then she put her head on one side, looking at me.
‘So why are you in such a sorry state? Dear oh dear! Did your mum sleep in this morning?’
‘Mum’s not here any more,’ I said, and I burst into tears.
‘Oh Floss!’ said Mrs Horsefield. She put her arm round me. ‘Come on, sweetheart, tell me all about it.’
‘Mum’s gone to Australia for six months. She hasn’t walked out on me, she’s coming back, she badly wanted me to go with her but I said I wanted to stay with my dad and I do, but I want Mum too!’ I sobbed like a silly baby.
Mrs Horsefield didn’t seem to mind. She reached into her handbag and found me a couple of tissues, one to wipe my eyes and one to blow my nose.
‘We could do with a whole handful of tissues for your shoes too,’ said Mrs Horsefield. ‘So you and Dad are finding it a bit difficult just now?’
‘Dad’s going to get an iron. We didn’t have time to clean my shoes. And I’ve lost all my white school socks,’ I wailed.
‘I’m sure you’ll get into a routine soon enough. Try to get your school things ready and waiting the night before. Don’t just rely on Dad. You’re a sensible girl, you can sort yourself out. It’s really quite simple – like the maths sum! You worked it out eventually, didn’t you? Well, with a little help from Susan.’
I blinked.
‘Susan’s such a nice girl,’ said Mrs Horsefield. ‘She could do with a friend right now.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I want to be her friend.’ I lowered my voice in case anyone was hanging round the classroom door. ‘We are friends in secret. She’s coming round to my place this weekend. It’s just we can’t be friends at school because . . .’
Mrs Horsefield raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. ‘Oh well, I’m sure you girls will sort yourselves out, given time. Do come and have a little chat with me whenever you’re feeling upset or there’s some little problem at home. I’m not just here to teach you lessons, you know. I’m here to help you in any way I can.’
She paused, and then opened her desk drawer. There was a big paper bag inside. She opened it up and offered it to me. I saw one of her special pink iced buns with a big cherry on the top.
‘Go on, take it,’ she said.
‘But it’s not my birthday.’
‘It’s an unbirthday bun for a little mid-morning snack.’
‘Isn’t it your mid-morning snack, Mrs Horsefield?’
‘I think I’ve been having far too many snacks, mid-morning or otherwise,’ said Mrs Horsefield, patting her tummy. ‘Go on, off you go.’
I took the bun and went out into the corridor. Rhiannon had said she’d wait but there was no sign of her. So I took my pink bun out of the paper bag and ate it all up myself. I especially savoured the cherry.
10
DAD WAS WAITING for me when we got out of school. Rhiannon’s mum was standing next to him, obviously giving him advice. He was nodding politely, but when he saw me running across the playground he rolled his eyes, pulling a secret funny face at me.
‘Thank goodness,’ he said, giving me a big hug. ‘That woman’s been bending my ear for the last ten minutes. The stuff she was saying! Blooming cheek! She even suggested I try Internet dating to get myself a girlfriend!’
‘Oh Dad, you’re not going to, are you?’ I asked anxiously.
‘There’s only one girl in my life, sweetheart. She’s very little and she’s got masses of curly hair and big blue eyes and she goes under the name of Princess,’ said Dad, whirling me around. ‘Come on, let’s get home. I’ve been shopping!’
‘I thought we were short of money, Dad.’
‘We are. Desperately. But we might as well spend what little we’ve got.’
‘Who’s looking after the café?’
‘Billy the Chip is meant to be keeping an eye on things.’ Dad paused. ‘Though I doubt he’ll be run off his feet.’
There wasn’t a single customer in the café. Billy the Chip was glued to his radio, listening to the races at Newmarket.
‘Is Birthday Girl running again, Mr Chip?’ I asked.
‘Don’t talk to me about that silly filly! She went all flighty and finished second to last,’ said Billy the Chip. ‘Still, let’s see if you can bring me luck on the last race, sweetheart. Here are the runners. What do you fancy?’
I peered at the list in his newspaper and then stabbed my finger at a name. ‘Iced Bun! That’s the one. I had a lovely iced bun today, with a cherry on the top. Bet on Iced Bun, Mr Chip.’
‘It’s a complete outsider, but I suppose I could risk a fiver if you’re feeling lucky.’
‘Put a fiver on for me too,’ said Dad.
‘All right, I’ll nip down to the betting shop right this minute.’
Billy the Chip was so old and skinny and frail he couldn’t really nip. He crept in slow motion, having a rest and mopping his brow every few seconds.
Dad shook his head. ‘Poor old Billy. I don’t know how he keeps going. I worry about him still running that chip van. There are so many yobs in town now, especially late at night. He needs someone there if any of them cut up rough. He’s got a son but he’s in Australia.’
We looked at each other.
‘It’s obviously the in place, Floss,’ Dad said, sighing.
‘Who wants to be one of the in crowd?’ I said, taking his hand. ‘I’d sooner be us.’
Dad squeezed my hand back. ‘You mean all the world to me, little Floss. Now listen here, lovey, I’ve bought a brand-new iron from Argos and five pairs of white socks from the market and a shoebrush and some j-cloths too, so tomorrow we’ll send you off to school super spick and span, I promise. And I’ve got a salad for your tea, and oranges and apples. You’ll be absolutely vibrating with vitamins, the picture of health and beauty! I don’t need that Rhiannon’s mum muscling in. I’m going to be a brilliant dad from now on.’
‘You’ve always been a brilliant dad, silly,’ I said.
‘No, darling, I’ve been a rubbish dad, in all sorts of ways.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m in a bit of a pickle with the café, Floss.’
‘I know, Dad. Don’t worry. I’m sure business will pick up soon. And you’ve got me to help you now. I can be the waitress at the weekend. I promise you can keep all my tips.’
‘Oh Floss, you’re such a sweet kid. If only it was that simple. No, darling, I’m afraid I’m down and almost done for. I didn’t spell it out before because I needed to sort out what I was going to do. Only I still haven’t got a clue and time’s running out.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. Maybe Iced Bun will win its race and we’ll make a fortune!’
‘The odds would have to be ten thousand to one to sort things out for me, pet,’ said Dad.
I tried to work out in my head how much we’d win at those odds. I needed Susan to help me with the maths.
It was a waste of effort anyway. Iced Bun came in last. Billy the Chip trailed back from the betting shop looking defeated.
‘Well, that was a waste of time and money,’ he said.
‘I’m ever so sorry, Mr Chip,’ I said, feeling responsible. ‘Let me get you another cup of tea.’
Billy the Chip smiled at me, patting me on the head with his shaky old fingers. ‘Little Miss Curlymop. You’re a dear girl. No wonder your dad’s so fond of you. Here, I still owe you a birthday present.’
‘No you don’t. Birthday Girl came second to last. I’m rubbish at choosing horses, Mr Chip. Take absolutely no notice of me in the future!’
Dad fixed me my special salad for my tea and then spent hours ironing all my clothes with the brand-new iron. He wasn’t very good at it. The collars kept rumpling up and he pressed odd sideways li
nes in the sleeves.
‘Maybe I could have a go, Dad?’ I suggested, but he wouldn’t let me in case I burned myself.
He sent me to bed early so I wouldn’t oversleep in the morning. He sat beside me, one arm round me, while he read me a chapter of a story about a girl and a magic toad. The girl didn’t have a mum; she just lived with her dad.
‘Maybe we need a magic toad,’ said Dad. ‘And a magic iron that does the ironing all by itself. And a magic money box that’s always stuffed full of fifty-pound notes.’
‘Dad, what is going to happen about the café? Will we have to sell it?’
Dad swallowed. He closed his eyes. His lips puckered up. I thought for one terrible moment he was going to start crying.
‘The café isn’t really mine to sell now, Floss. I had to borrow money on it. Lots of money, just to keep things going. And try as I might I haven’t been able to keep up with the payments. So – so it looks as if they might close us down.’
‘Will someone else come and run our café?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure, pet. Maybe.’
‘But – but will they come and live upstairs in the flat with us?’
‘The thing is, Floss, the flat is all part of the café. And if I’m pushed out of the café I’ll be pushed out of the flat too.’
I saw us both being shoved into the street by a giant bulldozer. ‘Oh Dad!’ I said, clutching him.
‘Oh Lordy, I shouldn’t have told you, especially now, when you’re just going to sleep. I am so stupid. I’ve kept quiet for months, mostly because I couldn’t face up to it myself. I’ve just kept hoping something will turn up, that they’ll give me another loan – anything. I just can’t believe they’ll make us homeless.’
‘But what will we do, Dad?’ I thought about the homeless people I’d seen on a trip to London. ‘Will we . . . will we live in a cardboard box?’
‘Oh Floss!’ Dad spluttered. I didn’t know whether he was laughing or crying. Maybe he didn’t know either. ‘Of course we won’t be living in cardboard boxes. No, love, you’ll be fine. I’ll get in touch with your mum and pop you on the plane to Australia. I should have made you go in the first place. It was so bad of me, but it meant so much to me that you wanted to stay with your old dad. I kept desperately hoping that business would somehow pick up – but no such luck.’
‘I’m not going to Australia, Dad! I’m staying with you, no matter what. Even in a cardboard box.’ I put my arms tight round his neck. ‘Anyway, I like cardboard-box houses. Remember, I used to sit in one when I was little, with all my dolls and teddies squashed in beside me, playing Mothers and Fathers.’
‘You were such a sweet little kid,’ said Dad, kissing the top of my curls. ‘Now, you’d better settle down. Night-night, darling. You’re not to worry, promise me?’
Of course I worried. I didn’t sleep for ages and ages, and when I did I dreamed that our café and flat had turned into cardboard. It started to rain and all the walls sagged and the floor split and I barged through the cardboard door yelling for Dad. When I found him he looked so old and frail, and when I hugged him he bent in half and crumpled in my arms as if he was cardboard too.
I woke up crying and ran to Dad. But he wasn’t in his bedroom even though it was now the middle of the night. I peered under his duvet, I lifted his pillow, I even looked under his bed. Then I heard little creaking sounds coming from the kitchen.
I found Dad ironing away, my school blouses all round the room, hanging off doors and pegs and racks as if a flock of weird white birds were roosting in our kitchen.
‘Dad?’
‘Hello, little sweetheart,’ said Dad, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be up ironing at three in the morning.
‘What are you doing? You’ve already ironed all my school blouses.’
‘Yes, and I made a right muck-up of them, so I’ve damped them all down and I’m doing them again. And again. This is my third time and they’re still a bit sad and crumpled.’
‘They’re fine, Dad. Leave it. Come back to bed, please!’
‘I can’t seem to sleep when I do, yet I’m knackered in the day time. I’m keeping Australian time. Maybe I should go and live there too!’
I thought about it, my heart thumping. ‘Well, if we have to leave the café why can’t we both go to Australia? Maybe Steve would lend you the money for the fare? You could pay him back once you’d started working. And I could still live with you but I could see Mum too. Maybe we could all stay there!’
‘You’re being so brave, Floss, about missing your mum,’ said Dad. ‘There’s no chance of me going to Australia though, pet. I’d never take a penny off old Steve for starters. And I’d not be allowed into the country to work because I’ve no money and no skills.’
‘Yes you have, Dad! You’re great at running the café.’
‘Come off it, pet! I doubt I’d even get a job as a washing-up guy. I’d certainly not get a job in a laundry. Look, I’ve scorched your blouse!’ He held it up despairingly and showed me the brown mark.
‘Never mind, Dad. Please. Stop ironing.’
‘Maybe the mark will come out if I wash it again,’ said Dad. Then he saw my face. ‘Sorry, pet! Your old dad’s gone a bit nuts, that’s all. Right. I’ll stop ironing.’ He switched the iron off and stood in the middle of the kitchen in his old stripy pyjamas. ‘Shall I tuck you up in bed, Floss?’
‘I’m not sleepy now either.’
‘So . . . what shall we do?’ said Dad. He shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, considering. ‘I know!’ he said suddenly. ‘Let’s go and have a swing!’
‘But it’s the middle of the night, Dad,’ I said, wondering if he really had gone mad.
‘There’s no law says you can’t have a night-time swing in your own garden,’ said Dad. ‘Put your coat on, sweetheart, and stick your feet in your welly boots.’
Dad put a thick jersey over his pyjamas and pulled on his own boots. Then we went downstairs, through the sad silent café and out into the back yard. I thought it would be dark and scary, but there was a bright full moon making the yard look silvery and magical. We threaded our way through the bits of bike and all the other junk. The rubbish bins had been emptied that day so they hardly smelled at all. A little cat circled them wistfully, mewing for food.
‘Oh Dad, look, isn’t she sweet?’ I said. I bent down, a little clumsy in my boots. ‘Here, puss.’
She looked at me, considered, and then approached me cautiously.
‘Come on then. I won’t hurt you.’
I reached out my hand and she came right up to me. She sniffed my palm hopefully for titbits but seemed happy enough when I stroked her instead.
‘She’s a very thin little cat. Can we feed her, Dad?’ I asked.
Dad was peering at her. ‘She’s black, isn’t she? Black cats are meant to be lucky, aren’t they? Even skinny little stray ones! OK, if she hangs around a while I’ll see if I can find a can of tuna.’
‘There, puss! You’re so clever, coming calling to a café. That’s my dad over there. He’s going to fix you a perfectly lovely meal in a minute. Purr-fectly. Hey, Dad, purrfectly – do you get it?’
‘Oh, ha ha, funny Floss,’ said Dad. He sat himself down on the swing, kicking at the ground with the heel of his boot.
The cat rubbed against me, nuzzling in and purring when I stroked the side of her neck. Her bones felt so tiny and delicate underneath her soft fur.
‘I wonder if you belong to anyone, little cat?’ I said. ‘You haven’t got a collar on, have you? You don’t look as if you’ve been fed for days. Dad, if she’s really a stray can we keep her?’
‘We can’t even keep ourselves, Floss,’ said Dad.
‘Well, we can all three be strays, you, me and the cat,’ I said. ‘We can call her Lucky. You never know, Dad, maybe our luck is changing right this minute.’
‘Yes. Whoops! What was that? A big pink pig just flew past my head, flapping its wings.’
&
nbsp; ‘You wait and see, Dad,’ I said, gently lifting Lucky up in my arms. She nestled in to me as if she’d known me since she was a kitten.
‘We should be so lucky – lucky lucky lucky,’ Dad sang, kicking off and swinging. ‘Hey, this swing’s lopsided! Oh Floss, why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s fine, Dad, really.’
‘No it’s not – but I’ll fix it for you tomorrow. Oh dear, did Rhiannon remark on it when she came round?’
‘Not really,’ I hedged.
‘I’m sorry I let you down with Rhiannon. I know she’s your best friend.’
‘She is, but I’ve got another friend too now. Dad, can my new friend Susan come round on Saturday?’
‘Is she very posh and pernickety like Rhiannon?’ said Dad, swinging wildly, waving his boots.
‘No, she’s very clever but she’s quiet, not a bit fussy or bossy,’ I said.
‘I like her already!’ said Dad.
It was lovely having Susan as my secret friend at school. We smiled and nodded at each other whenever Rhiannon wasn’t looking. Most days we managed to meet up in the girls’ cloakroom for a minute or two. We fixed it that she’d come at three o’clock on Saturday and stay for tea.
‘Chip butties! Promise?’ said Susan.
I promised.
11
I WAS SO looking forward to Susan coming on Saturday. Then on Friday Rhiannon ruined everything.
She’d been hanging around with Margot and Judy a lot of the time. They often looked in my direction and whispered and giggled.
‘What’s the joke?’ I asked.
‘You’re the joke,’ said Margot ‘Like – your socks!’
Dad had tried hard with my new white socks. He was worried my birthday-present dress and shoes were far too big, so he’d bought extra small children’s socks. They were so extra small they were Tiger-size. It took me ages to prise them over my toes, and the heel came uncomfortably under my instep. The top of the sock kept getting sucked under my shoes each time I took a step, so every few seconds I had to bend down to pull them up. I’d have been much better off in my old navy socks but I didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings.