So I started reading it to her.
“ ‘You can see the signs of suffering on little Tracy Beaker's elfin face. This very very intelligent and extremely pretty little girl has been grievously treated when in so-called care. Her lovely talented young mother had to put her in a children's home through no fault of her own, and in fact she might soon be coming for her lovely little daughter, but until then dear little Tracy Beaker needs a foster family. She is deprived and abused in the dump of a children's home’—Why are you laughing, Cam?”
“Abused?” Cam spluttered.
“Look at my hand. My knuckles. That's blood, you know.”
“Yes, and you got it bouncing your fist up and down on poor Justine's nose,” said Cam. “You're the one who deprives and abuses all the others in your Home.”
“Yes, but if I put that no one will want me, will they?”
“I don't know,” said Cam. “If I were choosing, I'd maybe go for a really naughty girl. It might be fun.”
I looked at her. And went on looking at her. And my brain started going tick tick tick.
I was mildly distracted when we got to McDonald's. I ate a Big Mac and a large portion of french fries, and washed it down with a strawberry milk shake. So did Cam. Then she had coffee and I had another milk shake. And then we sat back, stuffed. We both had to undo our belts a bit.
I got out my article again and showed her some more, but she got the giggles all over again.
“I'll give myself hiccups,” she said weakly. “It's no use, Tracy. I think it's great, but they'll never print it. You can't say those sorts of things.”
“What, that Tracy Beaker is brilliant and the best child ever? It's true!”
“Maybe! But you can't say all the other things, about Justine and Louise and the rest.”
“But they're true too.”
“No, they're not true at all. I've met them. I like them. And you certainly can't say those things about Jenny and Mike and your social worker and all the others. You'd get sued for libel.”
“Well, you do better then,” I said huffily. “What would you put?”
“I don't know. Maybe I don't want to do the article now anyway. I think I'd sooner stick to my stories and forget about the money.”
“That's not a very professional approach,” I said sternly. “Maybe you ought to give up writing. Maybe you ought to do some job that gives you a big fat allowance. Looking after someone. You get an allowance for that.”
Cam raised her eyebrows.
“I can barely look after myself,” she said.
“Well, then. You need someone to look after you for a bit,” I said. “Someone like me.”
“Tracy.” Cam looked me straight in the eye. “No. Sorry. I can't foster you.”
“Yes you can.”
“Stop it. We can't start this. I'm not in any position to foster you.”
“Yes you are. You don't need to be married, you know. Single women can foster kids easy-peasy.”
“I'm single and I want to stay single. No husband. And no kids.”
“Good. I hate other kids. Especially boring little babies. You won't ever want to have a baby, will you, Cam?”
“No fear. Holding that little Wayne was enough to douse any maternal urges for all time,” said Cam.
“So it could be just you and me.”
“No!”
“Think about it.”
Cam laughed. “You are so persistent, girl! Okay, okay, I'll think about it. That's all. Right?”
“Right,” I say, and I tap her hand triumphantly. “Can I phone home now? I sound like E.T., don't I? We've gone through two videos of that already. So, can T.B. phone home? Only she doesn't have any change.”
Cam gave me ten pence and I went to the phone by the rest room and gave Jenny a buzz. My heart did thump a bit when I was waiting for her to answer. I felt a little bit sad when she told me that Mom hadn't come. Even though that was the answer I was really expecting.
But I had other things to fuss about now. I whizzed back to Cam.
“Well? Have you thought about it? Is it okay? Will you take me on?” I asked eagerly.
“Hey, hey! I've got to think about this for ages and ages. And then I'm almost certain it's still going to be no.”
“Almost certain. But not absolutely one hundred percent.”
“Mmm. What about you? Are you absolutely one hundred percent sure you'd like me to foster you?”
“Well, I'd sooner you were rich. And posh and all that, so that I could get on in the world.”
“I think you'll get on in the world without my help, Tracy.”
“No, I need you, Cam.”
I looked straight at her. And she looked straight at me.
“We still hardly know each other,” she said.
“Well, if we lived together we would get to know each other, wouldn't we, Cam? Camilla. That sounds classier. I want my foster mom to sound absolutely classy.”
“Oh, Tracy, give it a rest. Me, classy? And I told you, I can't abide Camilla. I used to get teased. And that's what my mom always called me.” She made a face.
I was shocked by her tone and her expression.
“Don't you … don't you like your mom?” I said.
“Not much.”
“Why? Did she beat you up or something?”
“No! No, she just bossed me around. And my father too. They tried to make me just like them, and when I wanted to be different they couldn't accept it.”
“So don't you see them anymore?”
“Not really. Just at Christmas.”
“Good, so they'll give me Christmas presents, won't they, if I'm their foster grandchild?”
“Tracy! Look, it really wouldn't work. It wouldn't work for heaps of practical reasons, let alone anything else. I haven't got room for you. I live in this tiny apartment.”
“I'm quite small. I don't take up much space.”
“But my apartment's really minute, you should see it.”
“Oh, great! Can we go there now?”
“I didn't mean—” Cam began, but she laughed again. “Okay, we'll go to my apartment. Only I told Jenny I'd take you back to the Home after lunch.”
“T.B. can phone home again, can't she?”
“I suppose so. Tell Jenny I'll get you back by dinnertime.”
“Can't I come to dinner with you too? Please?”
“Tell you what. We could pretend to be posh ladies just to please you and have afternoon tea. About four. Although I don't know how either of us could possibly eat another thing. And then I'll take you back to the Home by five. Right?”
“What about dinner? And look, I could stay the night, we're allowed to do that, and I don't need pajamas, I could sleep in my underwear, and I needn't bother about washing things, I often don't wash back at the Home—”
“Great! Well, if you ever lived with me—and I said if, Tracy—then you'd wash all right. Now don't carry on. Five. Back at the Home. That'll be quite enough for today.”
I decided to give in. I sometimes sense I can only push so far.
I phoned, and Cam spoke to Jenny for a bit too.
“T.B.'s phoned home twice now. Like E.T. Do you know what E.T. got?” I said hopefully. “Smarties.”
“You'll be in the Sunday papers tomorrow, Tracy.
THE GIRL WHOSE STOMACH EXPLODED,” said Cam.
But she bought me Smarties all the same. Not a little tube, a great big packet.
“Wow! Thanks,” I said, diving in.
“They're not just for you. Take them back and share them with all the others.”
“Oh! I don't want to waste them.”
“You're to share them, greedyguts.”
“I don't mind sharing them with Peter. Or Maxy. Or the babies.”
“Share them with everybody. Including Justine.”
“Hmm!”
She stopped off at another shop too. A bakery. She made me wait outside. She came out carrying a cardboard box.
 
; “Is that cakes for our tea?”
“Maybe.”
“Yum yum. I'm going to like living with you, Cam.”
“Stop it, now. Look, Tracy, I seem to have got a bit carried away. I like seeing you and I hope we can go out some other Saturdays—”
“Great! To McDonald's? Is that a promise?”
“That really is a promise. But about fostering … I'd hate you to build your hopes up, Tracy. Let's drop the subject now and just be friends, okay?”
“You could be my friend and my foster mom.”
“You're like a little dog with a bone. You just won't let go, will you?”
“Woof woof!”
I'm getting good at making her laugh. I like her. Quite a lot. Not as much as my mom, of course. But she'll do, until my mom comes to get me.
Her apartment came as a bit of a shock, mind you. It really is weeny. And ever so shabby. It's in a far worse state than the Home. And you should see her bedroom. She leaves her pajamas on the floor too!
Still, once I get to live there I'll get her organized. Help her make a few improvements.
“Show me your books then,” I said, going over to the shelves. “Did you write all this?”
“No, no! Just the ones on the bottom shelf. I don't think you'll find them very exciting, Tracy.”
She was absolutely right about that. I flicked through one, but I couldn't find any pictures, or any funny bits, or even any rude bits. I'll have to get her to write some better books or she'll never make enough money to keep me in the style to which I want to become accustomed.
Maybe I'll have to hurry up and get my own writing published. I got Cam to give me a good long turn on her typewriter.
It took me a while to get the hang of it. But eventually I managed to tap out a proper letter. I left it tucked away on Cam's desk for her to find later.
It nearly did, though. Guess what she bought for tea! A birthday cake, quite a big one, with jam and cream inside. The top was just plain white, but she took some of my Smarties and spelled out T.B. on the top.
“So that it's all my cake,” I said happily.
“Aren't I going to get a slice?” asked Cam.
“Oh, yes. Of course. But I don't have to share it with anyone else. I had to share my proper birthday cake with Peter, wasn't that mean!”
“I thought Peter was your friend.”
“Well. He is. But still. You don't want to share your birthday cake, even with your bestest friend ever,” I said.
Only I started thinking about it all the time I was chomping my way through my first great big slice. And my second slice with extra jam and cream. And my third weeny slice. And my nibbles at a bit of icing.
“This is much better than that birthday cake at the Home, you know,” I said.
“Good.”
“Peter's gone out with this dumb-sounding old auntie and uncle today,” I said.
“Has he?”
“But I bet they won't take him to McDonald's. Or buy him his own special cake.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well, seeing as we are friends, Peter and me, and we share a birthday, and we shared that other birthday cake—maybe we ought to share this one too,” I said. “Shall I take a slice back for my friend Peter?”
“I think that would be a good idea,” said Cam. “I'll wrap up a slice for Peter. And another slice for you. Just so long as you promise me you won't throw up all night.”
“Of course I won't. Here, can I do the cutting this time? Because if this is like a birthday cake I get a wish, don't I?”
So Cam gave me the knife and I closed my eyes and wished really really hard.
“I bet you can't guess what I wished,” I said to Cam.
“I bet I can,” said Cam.
“I'll tell you if you like.”
“Oh no. You're supposed to keep birthday cake wishes secret,” said Cam.
I made a little face at her. Then I thought.
“Here, if this is a sort of birthday, then it's a pity there aren't any presents too.” I paused. “Hint hint hint.”
“Do you know what you are, Tracy Beaker? Absolutely shameless.”
But it worked!
Cam looked all around her room and stared for a while at her bookshelves. I thought I was going to end up with a boring old book. But it was much much better. She went to her desk and picked up her Mickey Mouse pen.
“Here we are, Tracy. Happy Unbirthday,” she said, and she pressed the pen into my hand.
Just for a moment I was lost for words. And that doesn't happen very often to me. I was scared I might even get another attack of my hay fever. But I managed to grin and give her the thumbs-up sign and show her that I was ever so pleased.
We got back to the Home at five. On the dot. Trust her to be punctual at the wrong time. I made a bit of a fuss on the doorstep. I sort of clung a bit. It was just that I was enjoying myself so much that I wanted to go on enjoying myself. That's not being difficult, is it?
But it's still okay. She's coming next Saturday. She's promised. Twelve o'clock. We have a date, me
and my future foster mom. I'm going to make that wish come true.
It took me a bit of time to calm down after we'd said goodbye. I missed out on dinner, but it didn't really matter, seeing as I'd had more than half my cake and the McDonald's lunch and the Smarties. There were still quite a few Smarties left. Just no red ones. Or pink or mauve or blue. They're my favorite colors. But there were plenty of the boring ones to share with the others.
When I came out of the Quiet Room I collected my Smarties and the two slices of cake. They'd got a bit squashed as I was saying goodbye to Cam, but Jenny helped me spruce them up a bit and put them on a plate.
I went to find Peter. He was up in his room, sitting on his bed, looking a bit quiet.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “This older couple. They didn't turn up?”
“Oh yes. They did,” said Peter.
“But they were pretty awful, yes? Never you mind, Pete, see what I've got for us? Look, really yummy cake.”
“Thank you, Tracy,” said Peter, and he took his slice absentmindedly. “No, they aren't awful, Auntie Vi and Uncle Stanley. They're nice, actually.”
“I bet they didn't take you to McDonald's.”
“No, we went and had fish and chips. My granny and I always used to go and have fish and chips. With bread and butter and a cup of tea.”
“Boring! I had a Big Mac and french fries and a strawberry milk shake, two actually, and then Cam bought me these Smarties and then she bought me this really incredible cake and even put my initials on the top. It was my extra special cake and I could have eaten it all up myself but I asked her to save a big slice for you. So I did. And you haven't even started on it yet. Don't you like it? It was meant to be your big treat.”
“Oh, it's lovely, Tracy,” said Peter, munching politely. “It's ever so good of you. I told Auntie Vi and Uncle Stanley all about you and said you were my best friend. They want to meet you very much.”
“Well, it's no use them getting interested in me. I'm going to be fostered by Cam, you wait and see.”
“Really? That's wonderful. You see, I think Auntie Vi and Uncle Stanley want to foster me, Tracy. That's what they said. They want to take me almost right away.”
“So you're zooming off and leaving me in this dump, are you?” I said. “Terrific!”
“Well. I don't want to leave you, Tracy. I told them that. But if you're going to be fostered too …”
“Yeah, yeah, well, Cam's desperate to have me, but you shouldn't always rush into these things, you know, Peter. You should think it over carefully.”
“I know. That's what I've been trying to do,” said Peter. “Tracy. No matter who fosters me, who fosters you, we can still stay best friends, can't we? And visit each other lots? And write letters?”
“I'll write you letters with my very own special Mickey Mouse pen. Want to see it?”
“Oh, Tracy, you didn't steal it from C
am, did you?”
“Hey! What do you take me for? She gave it to me, dumbo. I told you she's crazy about me. Okay, we'll make a pact. We'll stay best friends no matter what. Here, you're leaving all the icing. Don't you like it?”
“Well, I was saving the best bit till last. But you have it, Tracy. I want you to have it, really.”
It's quite good, sharing a cake with your best friend. Then I went around the whole Home with the packet
of Smarties. I gave one each to everyone. I even gave one to Louise and the new girl. They were upstairs together, trying on the new girl's clothes.
Justine was downstairs. At the window. Her dad hadn't turned up. She had a new BandAid on her face. She was sniffling.
I looked at her. My heart started going thump thump thump. I went up to her. She turned around, looking all hopeful. She thought I was Louise. But it looks like Louise might have a new best friend now. Louise is like that.
Justine jumped a bit when she saw it was me.
“What do you want, Tracy Beaker?” she mumbled, wiping her eyes.
“I've got something for you, Justine,” I said.
I thought I was going to give her a Smartie. But you'll never guess what I did. I gave her my Mickey Mouse pen.
I must be stark staring bonkers. I hope Cam can get me another one. Next Saturday. When I see her. When she tells me that she's thought it all over and she wants to be my foster mom.
This started like a fairy tale. And it's going to finish like one too. Happily Ever After.
About the Author
Jacqueline Wilson has written more than sixty books for children of all ages. In England, her Double Act won both the Children's Book of the Year Award and the Smarties Prize, which she has since won again. Jacqueline Wilson also won the Children's Book Award for The Suitcase Kid and has been short-listed five times and runner-up twice for the prestigious Carnegie Medal.
Jacqueline Wilson lives near London in a small house crammed with ten thousand books. Her previous Dell Yearling books are The Suitcase Kid, Double Act, The Lottie Project, and Bad Girls.