And we're having breakfast out, OK?'
She drove us for miles to this big park. It wasn't snowing but it was still early enough for there to be a frost so we could kid ourselves it was a real white Christmas.
'Come on!' said Cam, parking the car. She opened the door. It certainly felt frosty. I hadn't got quite enough woollies.
'It's freezing, Cam! Can't we stay in the car?'
'We're going for a walk, Tracy, to work up an appetite for our breakfast.'
'You go for a walk. I'll stay in the car and watch you,' I said.
She dragged me out,
rammed her own woolly
hat over my head,
wound her scarf round
and round and round me
as if she was wrapping
a mummy, and
then took me
by the hand.
'There! Cosy now?
Off we go!'
'I'm not really into long country walks, Cam.
I'm not built for it. Look at my spindly legs.' I made my knees knock together and walked with a Tiny Tim limp.
'Just come down this path with me,' said Cam, tugging me. 'Through the trees. You'll like what you see when you get to the end.'
I knew what I'd see. Scenery. A lot more trees and a hill or two. I didn't see the point. Still, it was Christmas after all. I didn't want to be too difficult. I sighed and staggered after Cam. I didn't get why she wanted to stay out in the cold, especially before breakfast.
'I don't want to moan, but my tummy's rumbling rather a lot. It's saying, Tracy, Tracy, what's happened to my cornflakes?'
'You'll have breakfast very soon, I promise,'
said Cam, laughing.
'Are we having a picnic then?' I asked.
It seemed a mad time of year to have a picnic and I didn't see any signs of a hamper. Cam wasn't carrying so much as a lunch box. Perhaps she had a sandwich or two crammed in her pockets? It looked like it was going to be a very little picnic, yet I was totally starving.
Cam and I weren't the only ones embarking 157
on this mad early-morning Starve-In. There were lots of other cars in the car park and little bunches of bobble-hatted muffled weirdos trudged along too, all heading in the same direction. It was like we were all in Doctor Who and some alien force was messing with our heads, controlling our minds.
Then we rounded a bend. I saw a big pond in the distance. A lot of people were in the pond.
No, no, they were on it, gliding across.
'They're skating!' I said.
'Yep.'
'Can we skate?'
'We'll have a go.'
'But we haven't got any skates.'
'You can hire them, Tracy, I checked. And they're serving a special Christmas breakfast.'
'Oh, wow! So you planned it all? Oh, Cam, you have some seriously cool ideas.'
I gave her a quick hug and then started running helter-skelter to the ice. There was a big van serving golden croissants and hot chocolate with whipped cream. We had breakfast first, just to fortify ourselves, and then we hired our skates, held
hands and hobbled onto the ice.
I thought I'd glide off like a
swan, swoop-swoop, swirl-
swirl, the epitome of
athletic grace.
Ha! I staggered
like a drunk,
clonk-clunk, whizz,
whoops, bonk on my
bum. Cam pulled me up,
trying not to laugh.
'Look, Tracy, point
your boots out and do
it like this,' she said,
demonstrating.
Some kid hurtled
past her, making her
jump. She wavered,
wobbled – and then
went bonk on her bum.
I did laugh and Cam laughed too.
'I don't know about woolly knickers. I think we both need padded knickers,' she said as I pulled her up.
We held onto each other and tried again. This time we staggered all the way round the pond. I started to get more daring. I tried a little swoop.
159
It worked! I tried another – left, right, truly gliding – only I couldn't seem to stop. I went charging straight into a little cluster of kids in a line and mowed them all down.
'We're going to have to rename you Tracy Bulldozer,' said Cam, hauling us all up.
We skated for over an hour, losing count of the number of times we both fell
over, but we could also both glide properly for a few seconds
at a time, so considered
ourselves champion
skaters.
'I think we deserve
another breakfast after all
that effort,' said Cam,
and we polished off
another croissant and
mug of hot chocolate.
160
Then Cam drove us back to her house.
She had a little Christmas tree in her living room.
'I usually don't bother, but they were selling them half price in the market yesterday so I decided to go mad.'
'It looks a bit naked if you don't mind me saying so. Aren't you meant to have little glass balls and tinsel and fairy lights?' I said.
'Of course you are. I thought it would be fun if we decorated the tree together,' said Cam. 'Look in that big carrier bag. There's all the decorations.'
'Oh, fantastic! We don't have a proper tree at the Dumping Ground because the little kids are so dopey they might mistake the glass balls for apples and the big kids are so rowdy they might knock it all over. I've always wanted to decorate a tree!'
'Then be my guest. I'll go and sort out what we might be having for Christmas dinner. I know you don't go a bundle on turkey and I'm mostly veggie nowadays . . . I could do a sort of tofu and vegetable casserole?'
'That sounds absolutely temptingly delicious
– not!' I said.
161
'I rather thought that would be your response.
I don't fancy faffing around in the kitchen for hours anyway. How about egg and chips?'
'Now you're talking! With lots of tomato sauce?'
'You can dollop it all over your plate, Tracy.
It's Christmas. Ah! What else do you get at Christmas? We've got a Christmas tree. We'll have our Christmas dinner. But there's something else you have at Christmas. Um. What could it be? Oh yes! Presents!'
She opened up a cupboard and
pulled out three parcels
in jolly Santa wrapping
paper tied with red
ribbon.
'Oh, Cam! Are they
for me?'
'Well, they've all got
Tracy Beaker on the labels,
so if that's your
name I'd say it was a safe bet they're all for you.'
I felt really really really great.
Cam had bought me loads of lovely
presents.
162
I felt really really really bad. I hadn't got Cam anything.
'Oh dear, why the saddo face? Did
you hope there might be more?' Cam teased.
'You haven't got any presents, Cam!' I wailed.
'Yes I have. I've opened mine already. I got a silk headscarf from my mum – as if I'd ever wear it! Plus a posh credit-card holder when I'm so overdrawn I can't use my blooming cards anyway.
I got lovely presents from my friends though.
Jane gave me my woolly hat and scarf and mittens and Liz gave me a big box of chocs and a book token.'
'What's a book token?'
'It's a little card for a certain amount of money and when you take it to a shop you can change it for any book you fancy'
'Oh, I get it.' I nodded. 'Good idea!'
'Come on then, open your presents from me.'
I opened the heaviest first. It was ten children's paperbacks. They were all a bit dog-eared and tattered.
'I
'm afraid they're second-hand,' said Cam. 'I searched in all the charity shops. A lot of them were ten-pence bargains!'
163
I eyed them suspiciously.
'They're classics,' I said. 'Aren't they, like, boring?'
'Is A Christmas Carol boring? No!
These were all my favourites when I was your age. Cam Lawson's Top Ten Super Reads for kids your age. If you don't want them I'll have a great time re-reading them. Little Women is about this family of sisters and they like acting too, and reading Charles Dickens. You'll especially like Jo, who's a tomboy and wants to be a writer.
'Then there's Black Beauty. It's a wonderful story, and there's a very sad bit about a horse called Ginger which always makes me cry, but it's lovely all the same. What Katy Did is about a big family – Katy's the eldest, and she's always in heaps of trouble but then she falls off a swing and can't walk for ages. She's got a very saintly cousin who irritates a bit, but it's
a great story, truly.
'The Wind in the
Willows is about a mole
and a rat who are great chums and
they have this pal Toad who's a
terrible show-off, and there are some very funny bits. Five Children and It is also funny – it's about these kids who meet a sand fairy and all their wishes come true, but they always go wrong.'
'Chance would be a fine thing,' I said, sniffing.
'There's also Mary Poppins. The book's much better than the film. I loved Tom Sawyer because he's very badly behaved and always in trouble, and you might give Anne of Green Gables a go. It's all about this little orphan girl who won't ever stop talking. You'll identify big-time with those two.
'I'm sure you'll like The Secret Garden because Mary is wondrously grouchy and rude to everyone and has to live in a house with a hundred rooms on the Yorkshire Moors. And
Ballet Shoes is a perfect
book for you, because these
three sisters go to a stage
school and perform in lots
of plays, and I think that's maybe what you might end up doing, Tracy.'
'OK, OK. I'll give them a go,' I said. 'I can always share them with some of the other kids, eh? Peter might like the Mole and Rat and Toad book.'
I tried the next parcel, the
biggest. It had a big drawing
book, a big pail of felt tips and
a giant tub of modelling clay,
all different colours. These
were all brand new!
'I thought it was about time you
had your own art supplies instead of raiding poor Elaine's art cupboard,' said Cam.
'Oh wow! I'm not going to share these!'
Finally I picked up the tiniest
parcel. I unwrapped it and found
a little black box.
I opened it up – and there was a
silver star pin badge.
'It's for you, Tracy Beaker
Superstar,' said Cam, pinning
it on me.
I gave her a big big big hug.
166
Then I decorated the tree, carefully dangling each glass ball and
chocolate Santa and little bird and twirly glass icicle, while Cam
wound the fairy lights round and
round. When we switched them
on the tree looked totally
magical.
Then I helped Cam
cook the lunch. She
got me peeling potatoes.
I had no idea that was the
real way to make chips.
Ours come in giant packets
at the Dumping Ground,
already peeled and sliced.
I started peeling pounds
of potatoes, whistling
as I whittled.
'Steady on, girl. There's
just the two of us,' said Cam.
'I never get quite enough chips at the Dumping Ground,' I said.
'OK. It's Christmas. Today you can eat until you burst,' said Cam.
She wouldn't let me fry them in the big 167
sizzling chip pan, but she did let me fry our eggs and that was great fun.
We both had enormous piles of golden chips on our
plates, with a fried egg
on top like snow on
a mountain peak.
I squirted mine
liberally with scarlet
sauce and then we
started eating. I ate
and ate and ate. My meal was delicious.
'I make the most excellent egg and chips ever,'
I said, licking my lips. 'Maybe I'm going to be a famous chef as well as a brilliant writer and a superstar actress.'
Cam ate her chips valiantly but had to give up halfway through. We had cementines for pudding, then Cam opened up her big box of chocolates from Liz and we snaffled some of those.
Then Cam undid her jeans and lay on the sofa, groaning, while I got my new art stuff and started creating. Cam rubbed her tummy, reached for a book and started reading me the first Christmasy chapter of Little Women. It was quite good in 168
an old-fashioned sort of way. Meg was a bit of a goody-goody and Beth was a bit wet and Amy was too pert and girly but I loved Jo.
Cam's voice tailed away after a while and she dozed off. I carried on and on and on creating.
Then, when she started yawning and stretching and opening her eyes, I went and made her a cup of tea. No one has ever shown me how to do it but I'm not a total moron.
169
'Thank you, Tracy!' said Cam. She
took a sip. 'Delicious!'
(I spotted her fishing several of
the teabags out of her cup and
spooning out a few of the still
melting sugar lumps, but neither of us mentioned this.)
'I've got you some Christmas presents after all,' I said. 'Look on your coffee table.' I pointed proudly.
Cam nearly spilled her tea. 'Oh my lord!
Multiple Tracy Beakers!' she said.
'Aren't they great!' I said. 'I made them with my modelling clay. The pink face was fine, and the red jumper and the blue skirt, but making my black curls all squiggly took ages.'
170
'Are all six for me?' said Cam.
'No, no. You have this one. She's the best, with the biggest smile. And I've got one for Peter and one for Jenny and one for Mike, and I suppose I ought to give one to Elaine and I thought I'd give one to Miss Simpkins when I go back to school.'
'That's a lovely idea. Well, I shall treasure my Tracy Beaker model. I'll put her on my desk. She can keep me company when I'm writing.'
'Don't crumple her up by mistake if you get stuck!' I said. 'Look, you've got another present.'
I handed her a folded piece of paper with a picture of me on the front.
'Oh, a card. How lovely!' said Cam.
'It's not a card. It's a Tracy token,' I said. 'You know, like a book token. But you don't get books with this token, you get me. Look inside.'
I'd written:
To Cam. Happy Christmas!
I, Tracy Beaker, promise to make you a p l a t e of my famous egg and chips whenever I'm round at your place.
I will make you
DOUBLE egg and chips on your birth day.
If I get to be a famous chef with my own swanky restavrant I will create a famous egg and chips dish a n d call it my Cam C h r i s t m a s Secial.
If I get to be a famous w r i t e r I will dedicate my second book to you. I hope that's okay, but i have to dedicate my First book to my mum.
IF I get to be a famous superstar actress I will let you be my drama coach.
And if you finish your classes and go through with Fostering me I will be the best foster daughter ever.
Love From
Cam read it through, sniffling. 'Oh, Tracy,' she said. 'This is the best Christmas present I've ever had.
And of course you'll be the best
foster-daughter ever
. You're Tracy Beaker.'
Yes I am. Tracy Beaker
Superstar.
When I went to
bed that night back at
the Dumping Ground I gave
Mum's photo a kiss.
'I hope you had a
Happy Christmas, Mum,'
I whispered. 'Maybe see
you next year, yeah?'
Then I lay back in bed and
sang a little Christmas carol to
myself.
'Silent night, holy night,
Tracy is calm, Tracy is bright.
Mum didn't come but I had a good time, I love Mum but I'm glad Cam is mine.
Now I'll sleep in heavenly peace, S-l-e-e-p in heav-en-ly peeeace.'
173
Turn the page to read the brilliant first chapter of the next installment in Tracy Beaker's story,
Copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2000
Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2000
No Home
You know that old film they always show on the telly at Christmas, The Wizard of Oz? I love it, especially the Wicked Witch of the West with her cackle and her green face and all her special flying monkeys. I'd give anything to have a wicked winged monkey as an evil little pet. It could whiz through the sky, flapping its wings and sniffing the air for that awful stale instant-coffee-and-talcum-powder teacher smell and then it would s-w-o-o-p straight onto Mrs Vomit Bagley and carry her away screaming.
That'll show her. I've always been absolutely Tip Top at writing stories, but since I've been at this stupid new school Mrs V.B. just puts 'Disgracefully untidy work, Tracy' and 'Check your spellings!' Last week we had to write a story about 'Night-time' and I thought it an unusually cool subject so I wrote eight and a half pages about this girl out late at night and it's seriously spooky and then this crazy guy jumps out at her and almost murders her but she escapes by jumping in the river and then she swims right into this bloated corpse and then when she staggers onto the bank there's this strange flickering light coming from the nearby graveyard and it's an evil occult sect wanting to sacrifice an innocent young girl and she's just what they're looking for . . .
It's a truly GREAT story, better than any that Cam could write. (I'll