Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Our Free Day Out
Day Out in the Country
Odd One Out
Marty’s Big Day Out
About the Author
Jacqueline Wilson Official Website
Also by Jacqueline Wilson
Copyright
About the Book
Enjoy four very special days out in this collection of fun short stories from Jacqueline Wilson. From a trip to the country to a seaside outing and a funfair adventure, Big Day Out is a wonderful treat for dedicated fans of Jacqueline Wilson, and for readers who are discovering her for the very first time.
WHERE DO YOU go for your summer holidays? Girls in my class camp in the Lake District or stay on farms in Devon or rent holiday cottages in Cornwall. Some of them go to Spain and come back celebrity brown, with their hair in little beaded braids. Several fly all the way to Florida and boast about braving Space Mountain and have autograph books with Mickey Mouse and Pluto signatures.
We don’t ever go on summer holidays. We haven’t got any money. There’s just Mum and me and the three little ones. Bliss and Baxter are five and little Pixie is two. Pixie has big blue eyes and golden curls and everyone goes ‘Aaaah!’ when they catch sight of her. Bliss is quite pretty too, though she’s so shy she always hangs her head so you can’t see her face properly. Baxter looks fierce because of his crew cut but he is kind of cute. People always fuss over them because they’re twins. No one ever fusses over me or goes ‘Aaaah!’ I’m ten, and I’m pale and skinny and I’ve got a frowny face because I worry a lot.
I was getting especially worried about Mum during the summer holidays because she was so fed up. She just lay on our battered sofa watching the television, not bothering to go out, even when it was sunny. Every time the kids yelled she’d wince and say they were doing her head in. I tried to keep them quiet. I read them stories and we all did drawing together with my felt tips. That wasn’t such a good idea, because Baxter drew a frieze of green monster men all round the kitchen wall, and Pixie decided to scribble with Mum’s lipstick instead of a felt pen.
We played pretending games too. Don’t laugh – I know I’m way too old for that sort of thing, but it was just to keep the kids happy. We played we were going to the seaside. I let the kids strip down to their pants and splash about in the bath for ages. They really liked that, but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea either, because they splashed a bit too much, and the water seeped through the floorboards and dripped through the ceiling of the flat downstairs, and the woman from number six came up and had a shouting match with Mum.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said miserably. ‘We were just pretending we were at the seaside.’
‘Oh, never mind, Lily. She’s a right moany old bag, that one. I know you didn’t mean any harm. I wish I could take you all to the seaside. I’m going crazy stuck here day after day. It’s not doing you lot any good either, cooped up in this little flat.’
We all went out to the launderette together. I helped out doing the washing, Baxter ran around with a plastic basket on his head being a Washing Monster, Bliss looked anxiously at her newly washed teddy spinning round and round in the dryer, and Pixie perched on an old lady’s lap and chatted away to her.
‘What a little darling!’ said the old lady, whose name was Joan. ‘But she’s so pale. She needs to get some roses in her cheeks.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Mum. ‘But I can’t afford to take them anywhere.’
‘My church is organizing some free day trips to the seaside – one for mums and kiddies, and the other for all us pensioners. The coaches are leaving from the bus station next Saturday. I think the kiddie special goes at eight o’clock, and I’m sure they’ve got a few seats left. Your kids could paddle in the sea, build a few sandcastles, and have fish and chips and ice cream.’
‘Oh, wow, Mum!’ I said. ‘Please say yes. I’d love to paddle in the sea.’
‘Fish and chips,’ said Baxter, rubbing his tummy.
‘Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!’ said Pixie.
‘But we don’t go to your church, Joan,’ said Mum.
‘Never mind. I’m on the committee, so I get to say who goes. And I say you lot go, OK?’
‘Brilliant,’ said Mum.
But it wasn’t brilliant at all on Saturday morning. We’re not very good at getting up early, especially in the school holidays. Mum set her alarm for seven, but then she slept right through it. I woke up at half past and shot out of bed.
‘Oh no, we’ve slept in. We’ll miss the eight o’clock coach!’ I said.
‘Oh, Lily, shut it. We’ll get there in time, you’ll see,’ said Mum, staggering out of bed.
She got herself and Pixie dressed, while I chivvied Baxter and Bliss into T-shirts and shorts and got dressed myself. There wasn’t time for breakfast. Mum gave us a piece of bread and jam to eat on the way, and Pixie sucked at her bottle in the buggy. We ran nearly all the way to the bus station – but it was nearly ten past eight now. We saw the coach disappearing in the distance without us!
‘Just my rotten luck!’ said Mum, and she looked like she was going to burst into tears.
‘Where were you lot then?’ said Joan, coming up to us. She was wearing a pink sunhat and a pink flowery dress to match. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t look so downhearted.’
‘But we’ve missed our chance of a free day at the seaside,’ I wailed.
‘No you haven’t, dearie!’ said Joan. ‘You lot will simply have to tag along with us old dears instead. Our coach leaves at half past eight. I’m sure there’ll be room for you. I can always have little Pixie on my lap.’
So we had our free day out after all! Everybody else on the coach was over seventy. There was one little old man who was ninety-two and in a wheelchair, but Mum and the coach driver, Darren, helped haul him up into the coach. Darren wasn’t over seventy – he was about Mum’s age, very smiley and jokey, and he got all the old folks singing songs on the journey.
There were plenty of spare seats but Pixie sat on Joan’s lap anyway, though she started fidgeting ominously when we were halfway there.
‘I think Pixie needs to do a wee!’ I said to Mum. ‘Can you ask Darren to stop the coach?’
It was absolutely fine, because half the pensioners needed a bathroom break too, so we stopped at this roadside café. Then we were off again, and it wasn’t long before we had our first glimpse of the sea. I’d seen it before, of course, but Baxter and Bliss were really thrilled, and Pixie kept yelling, ‘Big bath! Big big big bath!’ which made everyone laugh.
Darren parked the coach on the promenade and helped everyone down onto the sands. He took off his shirt because it was really warm and sunny. All the old ladies gave him funny wolf-whistles. Darren went as pink as Joan’s hat and Mum giggled at him.
I helped Bliss make a great big sandcastle. We decorated it with seaweed and pebbles, and one of the old ladies gave us coloured toffee papers to make stained-glass windows. Baxter kept threatening to jump on it so I made him a separate big castle to demolish. Then he chummed up with an old man and they played football on the beach together. Pixie ran around all the old ladies wearing Joan’s sunhat, and they all chuckled and called her a proper caution.
We all went into the sea together for a paddle. Even Darren rolled up his jeans and joined in. The dear old ninety-two-year-old couldn’t go in the sea, so Baxter filled two buckets with seawater and he splashed his feet in them instead.
We had fish and chips for lunch, with ice cream for pudding. Pixie’s cone fell in the sand, but nearly all the old ladies offered her theirs instead, so she ended up with an enormous amount of ice cream for one very small girl. I was in charge of Pixie while Mum went f
or a stroll on the pier with Darren. I kept a careful eye on her in case she was sick, but she didn’t disgrace us.
Joan took lots of photos of us on our free day out and she sent us some copies as a souvenir. There’s one of Mum, arm in arm with Darren, both of them laughing their heads off. There are heaps of photos of Pixie looking adorable in the pink hat with ice cream all round her face. Baxter and Bliss look great too, playing with their sandcastles. I usually hate having my photo taken, but there’s one of me grinning right into the camera, my hair blowing back, my forehead not the slightest bit frowny because I’m having such a great time.
We never bumped into the other coach of mums and kids, but it didn’t matter a bit. We had a much better time with Joan’s friends. I’d still like to have camped in the Lake District or stayed on a farm in Devon or rented a holiday cottage in Cornwall. I’d have absolutely loved to have gone to Spain or Florida. But never mind – I bet I’ve had the best free day out ever!
If you want to find out more about Lily and Bliss and Baxter and Pixie, then read Jacqueline Wilson’s book
Have you seen Jacky’s official magazine yet? Find out more about the latest issue at www.jw-mag.com
‘MICK’S COMING ROUND on Saturday,’ said Mum.
Skippy smiled. She always smiles. If you told her the Bogeyman was coming to take her out to tea she’d clap her hands and smile.
I didn’t smile. I can’t stick Mick. I don’t see why Mum has to have a stupid boyfriend at her age. She says he makes her happy. I can’t see why she can’t just be happy with Skippy and me.
‘Mick’s going to take us on a special day out!’ Mum announced.
Skippy smiled. I very nearly smiled too. We didn’t often get special days out.
I wondered where we might be going. A day trip to Disneyland?! No, maybe not. But perhaps Mick would take us to the Red River Theme Park and we could go on all the really brilliant rides where you swoop up and down and it’s like you’re flying right up in the sky.
‘Will he take us to the Red River Theme Park, Mum?’
‘Don’t be daft, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘It costs a fortune. Mick’s not made of money. No, we’re going to have a lovely day out in the country.’
‘The country?’ I said.
‘What’s the country?’ Skippy asked.
‘It’s boring,’ I said.
I hadn’t actually been to the country much, but of course I knew all about it. We’ve got this old video about kids living on a farm in the country. The main girl in it is called Hayley like me. It’s a good film but the country looks awful. Cold and empty and muddy, with cows that chase you.
I moaned, and Mum said I was a spoiled little whatsit, and I went into our bedroom and sulked. Skippy came and cuddled up beside me.
‘We don’t like the country,’ she said, to show me she was on my side – though Skippy is always on everyone’s side.
‘That’s right, Skip. We don’t like the country. And we don’t like Mick.’
‘We don’t like Mick,’ Skippy echoed obediently, but she didn’t sound so sure.
When Mick knocked at our door at nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Skippy went rushing up to him, going, ‘Mick, Mick, Mick!’
Skippy is useless at not liking people.
I am brilliant at it. And Mick was making it easy-peasy. He looked ridiculous. He always looks a bit wet and weedy, but today he was wearing a big woolly jumper right up to his chin and awful baggy cord trousers and boots. Honestly. I knew Mum could act a bit loopy at times but she had to be barking mad to go round with Mick.
‘Ready, girls?’ he said, swinging Skippy round and round while she squealed and kicked her legs, her shoes falling off. ‘Have you got any welly boots, Skip? I think you’ll need them.’ He put on a silly voice (well, his own voice is silly, but this was sillier). ‘It gets right mucky in the country, lass.’
Skippy put on my old Kermit wellies and her Minnie Mouse mac.
‘It’s a Mouse-Frog!’ said Mick, and Skippy fell about laughing.
I sighed heavily.
‘What about your wellies, Hayley?’ said Mick. ‘And I should put a jumper on too.’
I took no notice. As if I’d be seen dead in wellies! And I was wearing the simply incredible designer T-shirt Mum found for 20p down at the school jumble. I wasn’t going to cover it up with an old sweater even if it snowed.
Mum looked like she wanted to give me a shake, but she got distracted looking for our old thermos flask. We were having a picnic. I’d helped cut the sandwiches. (Skippy sucked the cut-off crusts until they went all slimy like ice lollies.) The sandwiches were egg and banana and ham (not all together, though maybe it would taste good), and there were apples and crisps and a giant bar of chocolate, and orange juice for Skip and me, and tea for Mum and Mick. It seemed a seriously yummy picnic. It looked like I might be going to enjoy this day out in spite of myself.
Skippy and I nagged to nibble the chocolate in the car on the way to the country. Mum said we had to wait till picnic time. Hours and hours and hours! Mick said, ‘Oh, let the girls have a piece now if they’re really hungry.’
He rooted round in the picnic bag and handed the whole bar over.
This was a serious mistake. Skippy and I tucked in determinedly. By the time Mum peered round at us we’d eaten nearly three-quarters.
Mum was very cross. ‘How can you be so greedy? Hayley, you should have stopped Skippy. You know she gets car-sick.’
‘She’s fine, Mum. Stop fussing. You’re OK, aren’t you, Skip? You don’t feel sick, do you?’
Skippy said she didn’t feel sick at all. She tried to smile. She was very pale, though her lips were dark brown with chocolate.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Have you got a spare plastic bag, Mick? We need it kind of urgently.’
She was just in time. Skippy was very very sick. It was so revolting that it made me feel a little bit sick too. We drove slowly with the window wide open. I shut my eyes and wondered when we were ever going to get to this boring old countryside. I’d lost interest in the picnic. I just wanted it to be time to go home.
‘Here we are,’ Mick said cheerily at long long long last.
I opened my eyes and looked round. I hadn’t realized the country was going to be so green. That old film with the other Hayley was in black and white.
‘We used to come here on days out when I was a boy,’ Mick said excitedly. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’
There was nothing much there. No shops. No cafés. Not even an ice-cream van. Just lots and lots and lots of trees. And fields. More trees. More fields. And a big big hill in the distance, so tall there were grey clouds all round the top like fuzzy hair.
‘That’s Lookout Hill,’ said Mick. ‘Right, girls! Let’s climb it!’
I stared at him as if he was mad. Even Mum looked taken aback. He said it as if climbing miles up into the clouds was a big treat! We don’t reckon climbing three flights of stairs up to our flat when the lift breaks down.
‘Isn’t it a bit too far?’ said Mum.
‘No, no. We’ll be up it in a matter of minutes, you’ll see,’ said Mick.
Mick is a liar. Those few minutes went on for hours. First we trudged through the woods. It was freezing cold and dark and miserable, and I hated it. Mick saw me shivering and offered me his big woolly but I wouldn’t wear it. He put it on Skip instead, right over her mac. She staggered along looking loopy, the hem right down round her ankles. Mum said she looked like a little sheep, so Skip went ‘Baa-baa-baa.’
Then we were out of the wood and walking across a field. Skip went skipping about until she stepped in something disgusting. I laughed at her. Then I stepped in something too. I squealed and moaned and wiped my shoes in the grass five hundred times. We seemed to be wading through a vast animal toilet.
‘Stop making such a fuss, Hayley. We’ll clean your shoes properly when we get home,’ said Mum.
She didn’t look as if she was enjoying the country that much either. Her ha
ir was blowing all over the place and her eye make-up was running.
‘Now for the final stretch,’ said Mick, taking Mum’s hand. She held onto Skippy with the other.
I hung back. I climbed up after them. Up and up and up and up. And up and up and up. And up some more.
My head hurt and my chest was tight and a stitch stabbed my side and my legs ached so much I couldn’t keep up.
‘This sucks,’ I gasped, and I sat down hard on the damp mucky grass.
‘Come on, Hayley!’ Mick called, holding out his other hand.
‘No thanks. I’ll wait here. I don’t want to go up the stupid hill,’ I said.
‘You’ve got to come too, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘We can’t leave you here by yourself.’
So they forced me up and I had to stagger onwards. Up and up and up and up. I wasn’t cold any more. I was boiling hot. My designer T-shirt was sticking to me. My shoes were not only all mucky and spoiled, but they were giving me blisters. If I was as little as Skippy I might have started crying.
‘It’ll be worth it when we get right to the top and you see the view,’ said Mick.
What view? He was crazy. We were right up in the clouds and it was grey and gloomy and drizzling.
‘Nearly there!’ Mad Mick yelled above me. ‘See!’
Then Mum gasped. Skippy squeaked. And I staggered up after them out of the clouds – and there I was on the top of the hill and the sun was suddenly out, shining just for us, right above the clouds in this private secret world in the air. There were real sheep munching grass and a Skippy-sheep capering round like crazy. I stood still, my heart thumping, the breeze cool on my hot cheeks, looking up at the vast sky. I saw a bird flying way up even higher. I felt as if I could fly too. Just one more step and I’d be soaring.
The clouds below were drifting and parting, and suddenly I could see the view. I could see for miles and miles and miles – the green slopes and the dark woods and the silver river glittering in the sunlight. I was on top of the whole world!