Candyfloss

  He’d mastered the ironing now, but our laundering system was a bit of a problem. We didn’t have a tumble dryer so Dad hung all my clothes on a rail in the kitchen.

  ‘Yuck! Chip fat!’ said Margot, pretending to sniff me and then holding her nose.

  Judy held her nose too. Rhiannon didn’t, but she smirked and spluttered.

  I knew my clothes did smell of café cooking. I didn’t know what to do about it. I tried sprinkling my school blouses with a little leftover bottle of Mum’s special perfume, but that made them hold their noses even more. They wafted their hands in the air and went ‘Pooh’ and ‘Phew’.

  I felt like twisting their noses right off their faces.

  I also wanted to cry because the perfume made me miss Mum so much. I ran away, and this time Rhiannon came after me.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t be such a baby, Floss. They’re just teasing,’ she said.

  ‘I’m tired of being teased. I can’t stick Margot and Judy,’ I said.

  ‘Oh don’t be daft. They’re good fun, so long as you don’t take them seriously. Margot’s soooo cool. Do you know, she’s got a diamond stud in her belly button! I wish my mum would let me get my tummy pierced.’

  ‘I bet she’s just stuck it on,’ I said. ‘And it won’t be a real diamond.’

  ‘Well, so what? It still looks great. And she’s got, like, such a flat tummy too. I wish my tummy didn’t stick out so. Still, I’m going to stay on this special diet and get super slim, you wait and see.’

  ‘You’re super slim now, you know you are. Anyway, dieting’s stupid at our age.’

  ‘You’re just saying that because you’re still so skinny. But you carry on eating all those chips and fry-ups at your dad’s café and you’ll be, like, ginormous.’ Rhiannon waved her arms in the air to demonstrate.

  ‘No I won’t,’ I said – though I knew my dad was a little bit ginormous.

  ‘Still, my mum’s got this special Healthy Eating recipe book. She’ll give it to your dad when he comes round to collect you on Saturday,’ said Rhiannon.

  I blinked at her. ‘Collect me from where?’ I said.

  Rhiannon sighed impatiently. ‘From my place, stupid.’

  ‘But you haven’t asked me round to your house on Saturday,’ I said, my heart thumping.

  ‘Well, I’m asking you now,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Mum says you’ve to come for lunch and tea and bring a bag of all your clothes and she’ll put them in the washing machine and iron them for you. Don’t look like that, Floss. There’s no need to feel embarrassed. Mum doesn’t mind, really.’

  ‘I – I can’t come, not this Saturday,’ I stammered.

  ‘Why can’t you come? It’s all fixed,’ said Rhiannon.

  ‘I’ve got to help my dad in the café,’ I fibbed.

  ‘You’re not supposed to work in the café. That’s child labour. He can’t make you.’

  ‘He doesn’t make me do anything. I want to help.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to help some other time, because my mum’s specially cancelled her new highlights appointment at the hairdresser’s just so she can be at home to look after you. Like I said, it’s all fixed.’

  I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t possibly tell Rhiannon the truth. She’d never forgive me if she knew I’d invited Susan home.

  I mulled it over miserably during the next lesson. I couldn’t concentrate during history, and when Mrs Horsefield suddenly asked me a question I didn’t have a clue what she was on about. She called me up to her desk when the bell went.

  ‘You’re a little Dolly Daydream today, Floss. What’s the matter, dear?’ She was smiling at me sympathetically, not a bit cross.

  I hung my head and made one foot do a tiny little pointy dance on the floor.

  ‘Missing your mum?’ Mrs Horsefield said softly.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, because I was missing her dreadfully. Sometimes when Dad wasn’t around I went and looked at the ticket in the kitchen drawer. I was determined not to use it – but it was good to know it was there.

  ‘But you’re getting on well together, you and your dad?’ said Mrs Horsefield.

  ‘Oh yes. Dad’s being lovely. He always is,’ I said.

  ‘That’s good. Well, you certainly look a lot smarter today,’ said Mrs Horsefield, looking at my newly washed hair, my clean blouse, my pressed skirt, my very small white socks and my spotless shoes.

  I made the other shoe do a little dance, trying to pluck up the courage to ask Mrs Horsefield what I should do about seeing Rhiannon on Saturday.

  ‘Yes?’ Mrs Horsefield prompted.

  I swallowed. I couldn’t. I asked her something else instead.

  ‘Mrs Horsefield, do I smell?’

  Mrs Horsefield looked startled. ‘Oh Floss! You’re as clean as clean. You look as if you’ve just jumped out of a bath today.’

  ‘Yes, but do I smell?’

  ‘Not of anything unpleasant,’ she said evasively.

  I sighed deeply.

  ‘Has someone been saying nasty things?’ said Mrs Horsefield, sounding angry.

  ‘No. Well. They were just teasing,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Teasing can be horribly cruel. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who it was?’

  I shook my head, gazing at my feet.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me. I’m sure I can guess. Don’t you take any notice of them.’ She paused. ‘Oh well. You’d better run out into the sunshine. I love sunny days like this. I put my washing out on a line and it dries beautifully and smells of fresh air.’

  I nodded gratefully and walked to the door.

  ‘Will you watch out for Susan for me, Floss? I think she’s still a bit lonely. She could really do with a kind girl like you to be her friend.’

  ‘Yes Mrs Horsefield,’ I said.

  I so so so wanted to be Susan’s friend. But I was too scared to be a kind girl.

  I ran to the girls’ cloakroom. Susan was standing in a corner, counting the tiles up and the tiles down, muttering each number. Then she saw me and her mouth stretched into a smile.

  ‘Hi, Floss!’ she said happily. ‘I can’t wait till Saturday.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Oh Susan, I’m ever so sorry, but I can’t make Saturday after all.’

  Susan stared at me. It was as if I’d taken the smelly floor mop in the corner and shoved it in her face, smearing the smile away.

  ‘Did Rhiannon find out?’ she said, her voice wobbling a little.

  ‘No! No, it’s nothing to do with Rhiannon,’ I lied. ‘No, it’s just I’ve got to do stuff with my dad, that’s all. But you can come the Saturday after. That will be OK, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ said Susan, but her voice still sounded funny.

  ‘We’ll still have chip butties,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Great,’ said Susan flatly.

  It was as if she knew. I told myself she couldn’t possibly know. I pretended that everything was still perfectly fine. I would go to Rhiannon’s on Saturday. She was my best friend after all. I’d wear my rose-quartz bracelet and play in Rhiannon’s beautiful blue bedroom and maybe I’d teach her how to make a friendship bracelet. Then the next Saturday I’d see Susan at my house and we’d play on my swing and eat chip butties and maybe she’d do all the things Rhiannon thought babyish or boring, like playing pretend imaginary games or drawing pictures or making tiny doll’s houses in cardboard boxes.

  Rhiannon was busy planning Saturday too. This Saturday.

  ‘My mum’s going to take us shopping at Green Glades when you come this Saturday, Floss,’ she said loudly.

  ‘Ssh!’ I hissed.

  Susan sat right in front of us. She was writing her comprehension – but her pen paused in midair.

  ‘It’s OK. Mrs Horsefield’s over there helping Dumbo Diana,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Anyway, she won’t pick on us. You’re total teacher’s pet now. Anyway, Mum’s going to get you some new socks and stuff, seeing as yours are, like, so weeny and weird.’
>
  ‘Please ssh!’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s OK. We all know it’s not your fault. Mum’s going to do it very tactfully. She’s going to pretend I need new stuff and then she’s going to say, “Oh look, why don’t I get a jumbo pack or whatever, and then they’ll do for both of you.” She’s got it all sussed. We’re probably going to do shoe shopping too. I told her you just have those crazy silver high heels to wear at home and she says you’ll ruin your feet.’

  Susan hadn’t restarted her comprehension. She was too busy comprehending the situation.

  ‘We’re going to this fabulous new restaurant for lunch. I’m going to have a mango smoothie, yum, and then you get to choose all these different salads – it’s, like, soooo delicious. Mum says she owes it to your mum to help you eat healthily, seeing as you have to live on those chip butties most of the time.’

  Susan’s head bent low when Rhiannon said chip butties. Her hair fell forward. The nape of her neck looked white and forlorn.

  I wanted to reach right forward and pat her on the shoulder, maybe put my arm round her. I stayed stuck beside Rhiannon. She went on and on and on about seeing me on Saturday.

  There was still a tiny little bit of me that somehow hoped Susan couldn’t quite hear.

  The bell went for the end of lessons. Susan stood up, starting to pack her bag. Rhiannon jumped up, barging past her, scattering her books on the floor. She didn’t try to pick them up or even say sorry.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Floss,’ she bellowed, right in Susan’s face.

  Susan dodged down, gathered her books and hurried out of the classroom. She clicked her fingers as she went, counting under her breath.

  ‘That Swotty Potty doesn’t half give me the creeps,’ said Rhiannon. ‘She’s totally nuts, isn’t she, Floss?’

  I stared after Susan until my eyes blurred.

  ‘Floss?’ said Rhiannon. ‘What’s up now? Don’t you go all wimpy and weepy on me tomorrow – it’s got to be a fun day, right?’

  It didn’t feel like it was going to be a fun day at all. I told Dad about the change of plan. He raised his eyebrows when I said I was going to Rhiannon’s.

  ‘I’ll deliver you there and I’ll pick you up whenever you want, but please don’t make me come and talk to that wretched woman!’ said Dad. ‘So what about your new little friend Susan? Is she going to Rhiannon’s too?’

  I sighed at the impossibility of ever being able to explain to Dad the complications of the situation. I didn’t really want him to know all the ins and outs anyway. He probably wouldn’t say anything, let alone tell me off, but I’d feel bad anyway. I was feeling very very very bad as it was.

  I hung my pink birthday T-shirt and special jeans over my swing seat as we didn’t have a washing line in the back yard. I hoped the cool night air would make them smell fresh and beautiful the next morning.

  When I woke up I heard pattering on my window. It was raining hard.

  ‘Oh no!’ I threw my mac over my nightie, stuck my feet in my wellies and rushed out to the back yard.

  My clothes were sodden. My jeans had fallen right off the seat and were all muddy on the ground. My T-shirt had curled itself round and round like a Swiss roll, as if some little night creature had used it as a duvet.

  ‘Lucky?’ I called hopefully, momentarily distracted from the Wet Clothes Disaster.

  I had so wanted her to stay with us. When she turned up in the middle of the night I’d fed her a whole tin of tuna and given her a saucer of milk to lap. She’d mewed at me gratefully. She’d even given me a little lick of appreciation. I’d squatted beside her and stroked her from her neat little head to the tip of her tail, and she’d wriggled happily and started purring. I thought she was making it as plain as could be that she wanted to live with me. But when I tried to pick her up gently and carry her indoors she cried and struggled, scratching me. I had to let her go. She flew away from me, back behind the wheelie bins.

  I’d tried to wheel one out of the way so I could get at her, but she mewed at me indignantly and crammed herself into the furthest corner behind the biggest bin.

  ‘Don’t fuss her, Floss.’ said Dad. ‘It looks like she wants to stay outside.’

  ‘But it’s all dark and smelly by the bins. She’d be so much happier indoors. She could share my bedroom. I could make it so safe and cosy for her,’ I said.

  ‘You can’t force her in if she doesn’t want to come,’ said Dad. ‘She’s not our cat.’

  ‘I so want her to be ours, Dad.’

  ‘Well, leave her be for now. She’ll hang around if she feels like it. She’ll decide whether she’s going to be our cat or not.’

  ‘Our Lucky,’ I said.

  I’d checked up on her ten minutes later. I peered behind every wheelie bin. I peeped under every tarpaulin. I scoured the entire back yard. There was no sign of Lucky.

  ‘She’ll have gone for a little prowl around, Floss. That’s what cats do,’ said Dad.

  ‘But she will come back?’

  ‘Well. Probably,’ said Dad. ‘In her own good time.’

  ‘Probably isn’t definite enough!’ I wailed. ‘Oh Lucky, where are you? You will come back, won’t you? You really badly want to be our little lucky black cat, don’t you?’

  I listened hard for a tiny mew. If Lucky could hear me she kept quiet.

  I’d paced the back yard all the following evening, but there was still no sign of her. I got Dad to open a fresh tin of tuna and I poured out another saucer of milk and waited tensely, hour after hour.

  A big ginger tom came prowling past but I hid Lucky’s gourmet tea from him. Lucky herself didn’t come near. I left her food out overnight and it was nearly all gone in the morning – but I couldn’t tell if Lucky herself had eaten it, or whether the ginger tom had come back.

  On Friday Dad had said gently that maybe we couldn’t count on Lucky returning.

  ‘Maybe she’s gone back home to her real owners. Or maybe she’s happy fending for herself, being a little street cat.’

  ‘She’d be much happier with us,’ I said. ‘She’ll come back, Dad, in her own good time, like you said.’

  If she had come back during the night and had a nap cuddled up in my T-shirt, she hadn’t hung around to say hello this morning.

  I picked up my sodden jeans and T-shirt and squished my way back into the house. Dad was in the kitchen in his dressing gown, yawning and scratching.

  ‘Floss? Have you been out to play in the pouring rain?’ he said. He held up my clothes. ‘For goodness’ sake! We’ll have to put them straight back in the wash. You should have kept them clean for visiting Rhiannon.’

  I leaned against the kitchen table, helping myself to cornflakes straight from the packet. ‘Lucky might just have been in the back yard last night,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm. Well, we could do with some luck right this minute,’ said Dad, looking through his post.

  There was a handful of bills and one scary white envelope with IMPORTANT stamped in big red letters. Dad opened it up, read it quickly, shoved it in his dressing-gown pocket and then slumped beside me. He reached in the cornflakes packet for a snack. His hand was trembling and cornflakes spilled over the kitchen floor.

  ‘What’s the matter, Dad?’ My voice sounded croaky because my throat was so dry. I swallowed hard but the cornflakes in my mouth wouldn’t go away.

  ‘It’s our notice to quit,’ said Dad. He breathed out, so hard that the cornflakes packet wavered and nearly fell over. ‘I wrote to them begging for more time, explaining I’m now looking after my daughter full time. I thought that might just sway them. I mean, what sort of heartless monsters would render an innocent little kid homeless? Well, now I’ve found out. We’ve got two weeks, Floss. Two flipping weeks and then we have to hand over the keys or they’ll send in the heavies.’ Dad bent forward, resting his head on the table.

  ‘Dad?’ I whispered.

  I lowered my own head, staring at him. His eyes were closed.

  ‘Please, Dad!
Sit up. It’ll be all right,’ I said, stroking his head.

  Dad groaned. ‘I’ve let you down, darling.’

  ‘No you haven’t! Here, Dad, let me make you a cup of tea.’

  I bustled around boiling the kettle and fetching a mug and milk and tea bags. I knew Dad would look up when it came to me pouring the boiling water, just in case I wasn’t doing it safely enough. Just as I’d thought, he sat up straight the second the kettle switched off.

  ‘Here, I’ll do it,’ Dad said, sighing.

  He made us both a cup of tea and then sat sipping his, staring all around the kitchen. He looked at the greasy walls and the ancient cooker and the higgledy-piggledy cupboards and the cracked lino tiles on the floor. He stood up and stroked some silly old paintings I’d done at nursery school, each a red blobby figure with a big smiley mouth, all bearing the same title: My Dad. He picked up my plasticine rabbit models on the windowsill and my lopsided plaster ashtray and the plate I’d painted with big purple pansies because Dad said they were his favourite flower.

  ‘All my treasures,’ Dad mumbled, as if the kitchen was crammed with wondrous antiques.

  ‘We’ll pack everything and take it with us, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘To decorate our cardboard box?’ said Dad. He shook his head. ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m getting maudlin. No, I’ll manage. Maybe one of my old biker mates will let me kip in a corner of his living room for a bit, just till I get myself sorted.’

  ‘Will they let me have a corner too, Dad?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘You’re not sleeping on floors, darling. No, I’ll wait till this evening, when it’s morning in Australia, and then I’ll phone your mum. We’ll whizz you over to Sydney.’

  ‘No, Dad!’

  ‘Yes, Floss,’ said Dad firmly. ‘Now, you go and find yourself some decent dry clothes and forget all this bother for the moment. You’re going to have a lovely day with Rhiannon.’

  I wasn’t at all sure about that. I dressed myself in my old jeans and my old stripy T-shirt, after burying my head in them to see if they smelled. It was so difficult to tell at home in the café because it all smelled so cosily of cooking.