Candyfloss (3 page)

Susan jumped and her pen squiggled right across her page. She sighed and tore it out of her exercise book. Then she turned round. ‘If you were a little bit swottier you’d realize that you’ve written a limerick,
not
a ballad.’

‘Who cares what you think, Swotty Potty? You think you’re it just because you like writing this poetry rubbish. What have you put anyway?’ Rhiannon reached out and snatched Susan’s spoiled page.

‘Oh yuck, what kind of daft drivel is that? What’s she on about? Listen, Floss.

‘
She walked along the corridors
,

Pacing each floorboard with care
.

She didn’t step on a single crack

But no one knew she was there
.

She edged around the wooden fence
,

Tapping each post in turn
,

She counted each one attentively

But she had a lot to learn
.

She tried to do maths magic
,

Adding all the sums in her head
,

But all the figures multiplied

Her loneliness and dread
 . . .

‘What kind of weirdo nonsense is that? And it’s not a ballad either because it doesn’t tell a story, it’s just a lot of rubbish about nothing, so ya boo sucks to you, Swotty.’

Rhiannon crumpled the page up and threw it at Susan’s head.

Susan turned round and chopped her hand quick on Rhiannon’s shins.

‘Get off! That
hurt
,’ said Rhiannon.

‘Good,’ Susan muttered. ‘Now get your feet off my chair.’

‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Swotty Potty,’ said Rhiannon. She leaned right forward on the edge of her seat, ready to kick Susan hard in the back. But Susan grabbed her by the ankles and pulled. Rhiannon lost her balance. She shot straight off her chair and landed with a thump on the floor. She shrieked.

‘Rhiannon! Whatever are you doing! Get up and stop clowning around,’ said Mrs Horsefield.

‘Ouch!’ said Rhiannon. ‘I think I’ve broken my elbow.
And
my wrist. And my bum hurts horribly.’

‘I think you’ll live,’ said Mrs Horsefield. ‘It serves you right for messing about.’

‘It wasn’t
my
fault, Mrs Horsefield,’ said Rhiannon. She paused. We had a strict code about telling tales. ‘
Someone
pulled me right off my chair.’

Susan kept very still.

‘Hmm,’ said Mrs Horsefield. She came over and felt Rhiannon’s arm carefully. Rhiannon moaned and whimpered.

‘I think you’re making a fuss about nothing, Rhiannon,’ said Mrs Horsefield briskly. Then she paused. She was looking at Susan now. ‘However, it’s very silly and very dangerous to pull anyone off their chair – even if they’re being incredibly provoking. I’m surprised at you, Susan.’

Susan said nothing but her face went very red.

I felt terrible. We’d got poor Susan into trouble.

I couldn’t concentrate on my ballad any more. I kept thinking about Susan’s. I wondered if she really went round counting things in her head to make everything turn out all right. Only they didn’t ever turn out right. We were all horrible to her. Especially Rhiannon.

I edged closer to Rhiannon. ‘Do you think we should maybe tell Mrs Horsefield it was our fault, because we snatched Susan’s ballad and made fun of her?’ I said. I delicately said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – but Rhiannon was still outraged.

‘Are you
joking
?’ she hissed. ‘She really hurt me! My arm aches awfully. I bet it
is
broken, or at the very least badly sprained. Swotty Potty deserves to get into trouble. She’s turned into mad Psycho Girl, out to get me.’

‘Oh Rhiannon, you know that’s not true,’ I said anxiously.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ said Rhiannon. She sat up properly and looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Whose side are you on, Floss? Do you want to break friends and go off with Swotty Potty and write soppy poems together?’

‘No! No, of course not. You’re my best friend, you know that.’

‘Yes, and I gave you the bracelet with real rose-quartz stones even though I really wanted it for myself. But I gave it to you because that’s what best friends are for. Even though you’re not even going to
be
here soon, as you’ll be flying off to Australia.’

‘But I don’t want to go! You know I don’t. I’d give anything to stay,’ I said.

‘Well, why don’t you then?’ said Rhiannon.

‘Why don’t I what?’ I said, muddled.

‘Stay here. Kick up such a big fuss that they have to change their minds.’

I thought about it. ‘I’m not really very good at making a big fuss,’ I said.

‘Yes, I know, you’re hopeless.’ Rhiannon sighed irritably. ‘You’re so gutless, Floss. You just try to be nice to everyone.’

I felt wounded but I reached out and hooked my little finger round Rhiannon’s.

‘Ouch, watch out, that’s my sore arm! What are you doing?’

‘Trying to make friends properly. Because you’re my best friend in all the world and I love my beautiful bracelet and I really will try not to go to Australia. Anyway, we probably won’t be going until the summer holidays and that’s ages away, so don’t let’s even think about it now.’ I hung onto Rhiannon’s finger and she grinned at last and hooked her own little finger properly round mine and we vowed to make friends, make friends, never ever break friends.

Susan had her head bent over her exercise book, writing her ballad out all over again. Her soft brown hair fell forward, showing the white nape of her neck. She sniffed once or twice, as if she might be trying not to cry.

I still felt very bad about her, but there was no way I could comfort her, not in front of Rhiannon.

I showed off my rose-quartz bracelet to Mum when I got home from school. She was clearing out the kitchen cupboards, while Tiger bashed saucepans at her feet.

‘Oh, trust Rhiannon and her mother. They always have to show off how much money they’ve got,’ said Mum. ‘Hey, did you tell Rhiannon about Australia? I bet she was envious.’

‘Yes, she was. Ever so. Oh Mum, I’m going to miss her so much.’

‘You soppy old thing,’ said Mum, giving me a hug. ‘I think it’ll do you good to make some new friends. You let Rhiannon boss you around too much.’

‘I’d quite like to be friends with Susan, this new girl, but Rhiannon hates her. What do you think I should do, Mum? Shall I try to be nice to Susan even if it makes Rhiannon mad at me?’

‘I don’t know, lovey. It’s all a bit pointless, isn’t it, seeing as we’ll be in Sydney in two weeks’ time.’

I stared at Mum. ‘In two
weeks
?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me we were going that
quick
?’

‘Quick
ly
, Flora – do speak properly. There didn’t seem any point in telling you earlier, you’d have just got all worked up and excited and rushed round telling everyone.’

I thought hard. ‘Telling
Dad
,’ I said.

‘Yes, well, it’s not really anything to do with him.’

‘He’s my
dad
!’

‘Yes, I know. Calm down. Don’t shout like that. Honestly! If you must know, I was trying to be
tactful
to your dad. Steve’s done so brilliantly to be given the chance to get the Australian branch up and running. He’ll be earning twice the money – I just can’t believe it! It felt like rubbing your dad’s face in it because he’s such a failure.’

‘Dad’s not a failure,’ I said fiercely.

Mum cupped my face with her hands. ‘Oh come on, Floss. I know you love your dad and he’s a
good
dad in lots of ways. He’s a very sweet kind man, and I’d never deliberately badmouth him to anyone – but he’s useless when it comes to business, even you must admit that. He’s in debt up to his eyeballs and that awful café is fast running out of customers. I don’t know why he doesn’t call it a day and sell up altogether.’

‘Dad wouldn’t
ever
sell the café!’ I said.

‘Yes. Well. Goodness knows what else he could do! Anyway, I just thank God
I
don’t have to slave there any more,’ said Mum. ‘Oh Floss, isn’t it wonderful!’ She kissed me on the tip of my nose. ‘Aren’t we lucky girls! In two weeks’ time we’ll be stepping out of that plane into glorious sunshine.’ She threw old rice packets and sauce bottles and jam jars with a
thump thump thump
into the rubbish bin as she spoke. Tiger accompanied her on saucepan percussion.

‘You’ve got some serious sorting out to do yourself, Floss,’ said Mum. ‘We’re going to put most
of
our stuff in storage. There’s no point keeping any old rubbish though. It’s time you chucked a lot of your old toys out.’

‘I suppose I could throw away my Barbies,’ I said.

‘That’s the spirit!
And
some of those old teddies. We’ll make a start on your room tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be at Dad’s.’

‘Well, I’ll do it for you. Now, you’d better get dressed up for our meal out. You can wear your new birthday clothes if you like. You get in the bathroom while I change Tiger.’

‘He’s not coming too, is he?’ I said.

Mum looked at me. ‘What do you think we’re going to do with him, Floss? Leave him here and tell him to heat up his own milk and tuck himself up in bed?’

‘Oh ha ha, Mum. Why can’t he have a babysitter like when you and Steve go out?’

‘Because this is a family outing, silly. Now go and get shifted, Birthday Girl.’

I thought about Mum’s words as I wriggled out of my school uniform and put on my new jeans and T-shirt. I couldn’t ever have a
real
family outing any more. It was all so easy-peasy when we were just
our
family, Mum and Dad and me. But now when I went out with Dad, Mum was missing – and when I went out with Mum, Dad
was
missing and I was stuck with Steve and Tiger instead.

I stared out of my bedroom window down into the garden. Steve had landscaped it himself and made all these pretty flowerbeds and a pergola and a pond with goldfish, but now Tiger was old enough to climb out of his pram it was more like his own personal adventure park. OK, I had my lovely swing in one corner, but Tiger had his own small swing
and
his slide
and
his pedal car
and
his sandpit
and
his baby bouncer
and
his toddler gym climbing frame.

It was more like Tiger’s birthday celebration than mine at TGI Friday’s. He sat in lordly fashion in his highchair, giggling and kicking his legs whenever any of the waitresses went by. They all ruffled his silly sticking-up hair and tickled him under his chin, cooing and clucking. No one told him off when he ate his chips with his fingers or spilled his drink.

Mum ordered a special birthday pudding for me with sparklers. Tiger screamed and squirmed so desperately to see them that they held them in front of him for ages. The sparklers had stopped sparkling by the time they put the plate on the table. I felt as if all my sparkles had gone out too.

I knew I shouldn’t be jealous of my little baby
brother
. He didn’t commandeer all the attention
deliberately
. It was very annoying all the same.

That was what was so great about my weekends with Dad. It was just Dad and me. He treated me like his very special little princess.

3

MY SECOND BIRTHDAY
was on Saturday.

I went to my dad’s. Mum always took me. She usually stayed a little while and had a cup of coffee in the café. Dad often put a whole plate of cakes in front of her – jam doughnuts, apple turnovers, apricot Danish pastries, all her old favourites.

Mum could never be tempted to have so much as a mouthful. She’d just shake her head and pat her flat tummy. Sometimes she couldn’t help looking at
Dad
’s tummy and shaking her head. She often gave Dad lectures about my food, saying she didn’t want me eating any greasy café fry-ups, especially not chip butties, and I had to have lots of fresh fruit and vegetables and only one small cake at tea time. Dad and I would nod solemnly – and then wink at each other when she was gone.

Mum didn’t drive me over to Dad’s this Saturday. Steve did.

‘Why can’t you take me, Mum?’ I said.

‘I’ve got too much to do, Floss. I’m busy busy busy,’ said Mum.

She was rushing around in her jeans and an old check shirt of Steve’s, sorting our things into three big piles:
TAKE, STORE
and
CHUCK
. Tiger was crawling around on his hands and knees, playing with the piles, draping old tights round his shoulders like a feather boa and waving a saucepan as a hat.

‘Let’s put Tiger on the
CHUCK
pile,’ I said.

‘Oh ha ha, very droll,’ said Mum. ‘Go on then, off you go to your dad’s.’

‘I still don’t see why you can’t take me, same as usual,’ I muttered, trailing after Steve.

But it wasn’t the same as usual. I knew perfectly well why Mum didn’t want to take me. She didn’t want to face my dad when he found out about Australia. It was so mean of her. I sat in the back of Steve’s posh company car and glared at the back of his pink neck. He had a very short haircut. Mum said it was cute and loved running her fingers through it. I thought it looked plain silly. Who wants designer stubble on their
head
? Steve was wearing one of his special weekend sport shirts with very short sleeves, showing off his big muscles. He worked out at the gym most mornings before work.