‘Run again!’ I gasped.
We ran for our flats this time. There was nowhere else to go. The woman was much slower now, clutching her chest, her face still purple-red under her rain-cap, the mud still perched on top even after all that running.
‘Don’t let her follow us back to our flat!’ I gasped. ‘We have to hide.’
‘I know where!’ said Baxter.
He charged past the first block, ducked round the corner, and into the bin sheds. We pressed ourselves back against the huge metal container, ankle-deep in horrible smelly rubbish, clutching each other. We waited. We heard a dog barking far away in the distance – but nothing more.
‘Has she gone?’ Bliss whispered.
‘I think so. Better wait a few minutes more though.’
‘Didn’t she look funny with that mud on her hat!’ said Baxter, sniggering.
‘Shh! It was very, very bad of you, Baxter,’ I whispered, but I started giggling too.
We all shook with laughter. When we finally emerged and there was no sign of scary rain-cap lady and her dog, we whooped and shouted and high-fived each other.
‘Right! Let’s get home,’ I said. ‘We’re all badly in need of a bath.’
‘What if Mum’s come back?’ said Bliss. ‘She’ll go bonkers if she sees our clothes.’
‘She won’t be back, not yet,’ I said. My voice wobbled. Baxter slid his hand into mine, surprising me.
‘We don’t need her back. It’s more fun without her,’ he said.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Bliss. ‘You’re our mum now, Lily.’
Pixie hadn’t even been listening, but she said, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
‘Shut up, you soppy lot,’ I said, dangerously close to tears.
Even so, the kids ran into every room when we got back indoors, obviously looking for Mum everywhere. They all drooped when they found the flat was empty.
‘Bath-time, bath-time, bath-time!’ I shouted into the silence. ‘You three can all have a bath together and we’ll squirt washing-up liquid in so we’ll have bubbles everywhere. Come on, off with those dirty clothes – and stop running about, you’re getting muddy footprints everywhere.’
‘You’re sounding like a real mum now,’ said Baxter.
I got the bath running and swirled washing-up liquid around liberally. I helped Pixie out of her clothes and then dangled her in the bath, letting her bounce in the bubbles. Baxter and Bliss came running into the bathroom naked, their bodies pink, their faces and arms and legs chocolate brown.
‘You get in the bath too, Lily!’ Bliss begged.
‘No, there’s no room. I’ll have my own bath in a minute, after I’ve got you lot clean,’ I said.
I let them play for a bit while I sorted through their clothes. I could wash their T-shirts and jeans easily enough but their jackets were going to be a problem. I tried sponging them with an old rag but it just stirred up the mud and spread the stains around. I left them in a soggy heap, deciding to wait until the morning. At least I could scrub the children clean. I set to while they squirmed and wriggled and shrieked, and soon they were pink all over.
I hoisted them out of the bath one by one and wrapped them in towels. Baxter and Bliss were old enough to dry themselves but I rubbed them down even so, cosseting them, and I swaddled Pixie, picking her up in my arms, pretending she was my baby. I found them all clean T-shirts and clean pants and then sat them down in front of the television while I went to have my bath in peace.
I had to scrub out the tub first because the bottom was all silted with mud, but when it was clean at last I ran myself a fresh bath, with lots more bubbles. I lay back with a sigh, up to my chin in bubbles, the blood throbbing in my head. It felt so good to stretch out. My arms and back were aching after lumping Pixie around all that time. I closed my eyes and played the Lily Alone game: I was lying in my beautiful jade-green marble bath strewn with rose petals, sipping a glass of champagne. When I was sufficiently relaxed I’d step out, grab the twenty snow-white towels from the cupboard and dab myself dry. I’d slip on a silky robe and saunter into my white living room. I’d lounge on my vast white velvet sofa and switch on my enormous television, taking up an entire wall. I’d watch a film in total peace, no one wriggling or kicking beside me, no squabbling over the remote, no complaints that the film was too girlie, too scary, too silly. I was Lily Alone and no one could ever disturb me, and if the doorbell rang I simply ignored it . . .
The doorbell was ringing! I sat up so swiftly the water swooshed over the side of the bath.
‘It’s Mum back!’ Baxter yelled, and I heard him running.
‘No, no, don’t go to the door, Baxter!’ I shouted, jumping out of the bath and running too.
Baxter got to the door before me, jumping up and opening the latch, shouting, ‘Mum, Mum, Mum!’
It wasn’t Mum. I heard a man’s voice. No, it wasn’t Mikey, thank goodness. This was a kind, gentle voice, deep – the sort of voice that could tell you all sorts of stories and you’d never get tired of listening . . . It was Mr Abbott! And oh, my goodness, there I was, stark naked, dripping in the hall! I flew back to the bathroom, slammed the door and leaned against it. I gnawed on my thumbnail, trying to think what to do. I hoped against hope that Baxter would somehow get rid of him, even slam the door in his face – but I heard more talking, then footsteps. Oh my God, Mr Abbott was in our flat now!
I stood there, shivering, utterly helpless. Then I heard knocking on the door.
‘Lily?’ It was Bliss. ‘Lily, it’s your teacher, Mr Abbott, come to see you.’
‘Well, I can’t see him. I’m in the bath. Look, tell him I’m ill. Tell him we’re all ill.’
‘Yes, Baxter’s telling him a whole load of stuff, but he says he still wants to see you. And Mum.’
What was I going to do now? I couldn’t let Baxter rabbit on. He’d tell Mr Abbott the whole story if I didn’t shut him up.
‘Tell him I’m coming,’ I hissed. I didn’t have time to go and look for clean clothes. I pulled on my damp T-shirt and jeans, still thick with mud, and rushed out.
Mr Abbott was sitting in the living room with Baxter, Pixie perched on the arm of his chair. She was prattling away to him, saying stuff about a funny lady with a dog, but luckily he didn’t seem to be listening properly. Baxter was strutting around the room in his pants, telling Mr Abbott that he didn’t know where Mum was and he didn’t care because she was bad.
‘Baxter!’ I said sharply. ‘Don’t you dare say that about Mum. Of course you know where she is. She’s gone to the chemist’s to get us some more medicine for our bad tummies.’
‘Bad, bad, bad,’ Pixie echoed. I didn’t know whether she meant bad tummy or bad mummy. I’m not sure she did either.
Mr Abbott was staring at me. I felt myself blushing scarlet. What must he think of me looking such a muddy mess?
‘Hello, Lily,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sorry you and your family aren’t well. You’ve been off school three days now. Have you seen a doctor?’
I hesitated.
‘Well, Mum says she’ll take us if we’re not better tomorrow.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’
‘It’s – it’s very catching. I wouldn’t stay too long. You don’t want to go down with it yourself, Mr Abbott,’ I said.
‘Well, I’ll just stay until your mother gets home,’ he said.
I felt my throat go dry. I tried to swallow.
‘I’ll – I’ll make a cup of tea,’ I said desperately. ‘Baxter, Bliss, stop prancing about in your underwear. Go and put some jeans on, clean ones.’
‘You’re all dirty,’ Baxter pointed out unkindly.
‘Do as I say, Baxter,’ I said fiercely. ‘And Bliss, you find Pixie her dungarees. Pixie, leave Mr Abbott in peace and go with Bliss.’
‘I like mr Abbott,’ said Pixie, patting his cheek.
‘I like you too, Pixie,’ said Mr Abbott. He smiled as she hopped across the room. Then he followed me into the kitchen. ‘She
’s a sweet little poppet. Very friendly. She tried to climb on my knee.’
‘Yes, she just wants attention,’ I said, putting the kettle on.
‘And Pixie’s been poorly too? I must say, she seems full of beans today,’ said Mr Abbott.
‘Oh, she’s been very poorly, we all have,’ I said.
‘You certainly look a bit tired and wan, Lily. Such a shame you had to miss the outing to the gallery today.’
‘Yes,’ I said sadly. ‘It’s a great shame.’
‘That’s partly why I’ve popped round. I’ve bought you a little souvenir,’ said Mr Abbott, and he took a little white paper bag from his pocket.
‘Oh, Mr Abbott!’ I said, so thrilled that I knocked a teacup over.
‘Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing much, just a few postcards.’
I had to pour the boiling water into the teacups with two hands because they were shaking so much. Mr Abbott had bought me a present! I went to the fridge to get the milk, and then remembered we didn’t have any. I stood, agonized, trying to think what to do. I could hardly offer him ice cream with his cup of tea.
Mr Abbott was watching.
‘I take my tea black,’ he said quickly.
‘Oh! Yes, so do I, it tastes much better that way,’ I said gratefully. I rubbed round the saucers with a teatowel where I’d spilled a little tea. ‘There! Do you take sugar?’
I knew we had a whole bag of sugar but he didn’t want that either. I sat beside him, terribly conscious of my wet hair and filthy clothes.
‘Here,’ he said, pressing the paper bag into my hands.
I opened it up. There were six postcards inside, with pictures of paintings, all blue and pink and scarlet and gold.
‘I thought if you couldn’t come to the gallery I’d bring a little bit of it to you,’ said Mr Abbott. ‘I picked out all the angels I could find. I remember we had a very interesting conversation about wings once. These angels have wonderful multicoloured wings – and look how they vary in size. This one has tiny little flimsy things that fold up like a fan, whereas this one has wings far bigger than himself. If he came to visit you here he’d have to be very careful getting in the lift or he’d get them trapped.’
‘Oh, Mr Abbott!’ I said again, thrilled. He was an angel, flying here to see me and give me my special present.
I wanted us to sit together for ever, sipping tea and discussing angels, but Baxter and Pixie came running in, sniggering. They were wearing each other’s clothes: Baxter was squeezed into one of Pixie’s tiny T-shirts and she was wearing his jeans, shuffling because the empty ends trailed across the carpet. Bliss crept in anxiously behind them, clearly worried she would be blamed.
‘Oh, ha ha, very funny,’ I said, sighing. ‘Watch out, Pixie, you’ll fall over. And Baxter, take that T-shirt off, you’ll rip it.’
Baxter tried to pull it over his head and got stuck.
‘Can’t!’ he said, charging up and down like a bull.
I caught him with one hand and whipped the T-shirt off with the other. Then I grabbed Pixie.
‘Come on, Bliss, help me pull her jeans off.’
Mr Abbott watched me, smiling, as I sorted them out.
‘You make a marvellous little mother, Lily,’ he said.
I smiled back at him shyly.
Mr Abbott looked at his watch.
‘When did your mum go out?’ he asked.
Bliss and Baxter looked at me.
‘Oh, not long ago,’ I said quickly. ‘She might be quite a while, especially if she decides to do a big shop. I wouldn’t wait if I were you, Mr Abbott.’
‘Your mum has a mobile, doesn’t she? Perhaps we could phone her and tell her I’m here? I’d really like to talk to her.’
Bliss gave a little gasp of dismay. I went on looking steadily at Mr Abbott.
‘I think I’d better be truthful, Mr Abbott,’ I said.
The three kids stared at me.
‘I think Mum might be a bit – a bit embarrassed if she knew that you knew she’d left us on our own,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘She knows she’s not supposed to leave us, but it’s difficult, see. She’s got to do the shopping and she can’t cart all of us with her, especially with this bug and us needing the toilet all the time.’
‘Does your mum often leave you in charge of the children, Lily?’
‘Oh no, hardly ever. She gets our neighbour to look after us, doesn’t she, Bliss? Old Kath along the balcony.’
Bliss nodded vigorously, doing her best to be helpful.
‘And my dad Mikey comes too,’ said Baxter.
‘Yes, he does, but just this once they were all out, you see, so Mum took a chance. We don’t mind. You said how good I was with the kids, Mr Abbott.’
‘Yes, you are. It’s just – well, you’re still quite young to be in charge. Lily, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to get you or your mum into trouble. I just want to see if I can help in any way. I know how hard it must be for your mum bringing you up single-handed. Maybe if we spoke to social services—’
‘No! Oh please, don’t. That would get Mum really upset. You won’t say anything, will you? Oh please, Mr Abbott, promise?’
‘Well, I don’t know what to do for the best,’ he said.
‘The best would be for you to go away now, before Mum gets back. Please. We’ll all get into trouble if she finds out we let you in the house. We’re not supposed to even answer the door. Mum will go nuts if she knows.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Mr Abbott uncomfortably. ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to get you into trouble. All right, I’ll go away now, but I’ll leave you my phone number. If Mum hasn’t come back in an hour or so, will you give me a ring? Do you promise?’
‘Oh yes, I promise,’ I lied.
‘And I hope to see you in school tomorrow. If not I’ll come round again. Now don’t look so worried, I just want to make sure you’re all right.’
‘Yes. Thank you. And thank you very much for my lovely angel postcards. I think they’re really lovely, Mr Abbott,’ I said, and then I blushed because it sounded so silly.
‘I think you’re really lovely too, Lily,’ said Mr Abbott. I think he was just teasing me. I hoped he might have meant it just a little bit, but when I looked in Mum’s mirror after he’d gone, I groaned. I looked even worse than I’d imagined, my hair all stringy, a smear of mud still on my nose, and my T-shirt and jeans looked awful, as if I’d been rolling around in a pigsty.
Bliss followed me into the bedroom.
‘Are you going to phone Mr Abbott?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Are we going to school tomorrow?’
‘Nope. We can’t leave Pixie.’
‘Then Mr Abbott will come round again and want to see Mum.’
‘Yes. Just stop saying the bleeding obvious, will you, Bliss. You’re doing my head in,’ I snapped.
‘But what are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know. Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t cry. Trust me, I’ll think of something, OK?’
I lay awake half the night trying to think what to do. Then I got up really early and sat on the living-room floor with my angel postcards spread all around me. I stroked their wings with the tips of my fingers. I imagined white feathers sprouting from my back, great strong wings so I could soar into the sky, right up over the park . . .
And then I knew what we had to do. It was simple. I sat up and started writing a letter in my best handwriting.
Dear Mr Abbott,
Mum has decided to take us all on a little holiday to see if some sea air will make us better. We will be back soon. Thank you very much for my postcards.
Love from Lily
I decorated the corners of the letter with flying angels to make it look pretty, colouring them in carefully, and I drew a lily flower beside my name.
Then I sat with my head on my knees, planning. I heard Pixie starting to mutter to herself, bouncing about in her cot. I went into our bedroom. Bliss
and Baxter were still asleep, curled up together like two little dormice. Pixie smiled at me and put her arms up to be lifted out of her cot.
I hauled her out and gave her a big cuddle and then took her to the toilet. When she was sitting there I played ‘This little piggy’ with her toes and she giggled delightedly, as if it was a brand-new exciting game.
‘There now, Pixie. Let’s wash our hands and then make breakfast. What would you like for a special treat? Let’s see: gravy powder, salt and pepper, cooking fat – or ice cream?’
‘Ice cream!’ said Pixie. ‘Ice cream, ice cream!’
Baxter woke up and heard the magic word too. He hurtled after us into the kitchen.
‘Hey, sleepy boy,’ I said, catching hold of him and swinging him round.
He clung to me like a little monkey and rubbed his bristly head against my cheek.
‘Why don’t you stay cuddly like this all day long, eh?’ I said. ‘Come on, you get the ice cream out of the freezer.’
I bustled about, setting the table, the children helping me. Bliss hadn’t yet appeared when the others were already tucking in, so I went to fetch her. She was still curled up in bed clutching Headless, but her eyes were open.
‘Bliss, baby, what’s up? Don’t you want to come and have some ice cream for breakfast?’ I said.
‘Are you still cross with me?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, darling, I’m not the slightest bit cross. I’m sorry I was mean to you last night.’
I gave my sister a great big hug. ‘I do love you, Bliss. Come and have some breakfast quick, or Baxter and Pixie will have eaten up all the ice cream.’
I let them finish up the whole carton, together with a can of peaches.
‘There now! Good breakfast, eh?’
‘Can we have cornflakes now?’ said Baxter.
‘No, greedy-guts, we’re saving the cornflakes. I’m going to pack up lots of food. Go and get me Mum’s big shopper.’
‘Are we having a picnic?’ said Bliss.
‘Yes, we’re going to have lots of special picnics.’