Candyfloss (5 page)

I blinked at them, bewildered. I blew again. They flickered, they faded – and then flamed.

‘Blow a bit harder, Floss,’ said Dad.

‘I
am
,’ I said, struggling, nearly in tears. I so wanted my wish to come true.

‘Hey, hey, don’t get upset, pet. It’s only silly old Dad having a bit of fun. They’re just joke candles, look.’ Dad blew them out too, and they instantly relit themselves.

‘It’s so you can have
lots
of birthday wishes,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a wish too.’ He shut his eyes and muttered under his breath.

‘What are you wishing for, Dad?’

‘I can’t tell you or it won’t come true,’ said Dad, giving my nose a tiny flick. ‘Come on, here’s the cake knife. Let’s have a huge chunk each, eh?’

We chomped our cake. Whenever one of Dad’s customers drifted in we gave them a slice too. There was still a semicircle of cake left when Dad locked up the shop.

We usually cuddled up on the sofa and watched an old video on the telly. Dad hadn’t got round to buying a DVD player yet. In fact the television itself was on the blink. You often had to hit it before it would work. It didn’t really matter if it went into a terminal sulk. Dad read to me and I read to him or we played funny paper games like Noughts and Crosses and Hangman and Battleships.

‘We’ll sofa-slouch tomorrow,’ said Dad. ‘We’ve got a hot date tonight, birthday girl. Get your jacket.’

‘Where are we going, Dad?’

He winked at me. ‘There’s a travelling funfair up on the common this week.’

‘Oh wow!’

Mum never let me go to fairs. She said they were horrible noisy rough places. She said she couldn’t stand all the fried-onion food smells, they were a horrible reminder of the café. Mum and Steve took me to Chessington World of Adventures and Thorpe Park and Alton Towers. They all cost a lot of money so Mum said you didn’t get riffraff. But I wasn’t with Mum, I was with Dad. We both
loved
fairs.

‘Better change out of your fancy silver shoes, sweetheart. Fairs can be muddy places,’ said Dad.

I knew it would be sensible to change out of my princess dress too, but Dad said quickly, ‘No, no, you can still stay a birthday princess in your frock, sweetie.’

I knew perfectly well I looked an idiot in my second-hand bridesmaid gown, my denim jacket and my new trainers. Still, I knew Dad wanted me to act like I couldn’t bear to take my dress off because it was so special. So I wore the entire bizarre outfit, silver paper crown and all.

I prayed I wouldn’t meet anyone from school at the fair. Especially Margot and Judy!

4

THE FAIR WAS
crowded. There were quite a lot of big boys milling about, the sort Mum would call riffraff. Dad put his arm round me.

‘You stick close to your old dad, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Now, what shall we go on first?’

‘The roundabout!’ I said.

‘Good choice!’ said Dad. ‘Come along then, Princess, select your steed.’

Dad let me take my time, circling the roundabout so that I could see every single horse and work out which one I liked the best. I spotted a snow-white horse with a pink mane and tail and a big pink smiley mouth. Her name was written in magenta around her neck. She was called Pearl.

I ran for her the minute the roundabout slowed down, but it was difficult in my long bridesmaid dress. Another girl elbowed me out of the way and clambered on first.

‘Never mind,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll wait.’

So we waited, and at long last the roundabout slowed down again and this time
Dad
ran too, and he got to Pearl and saved her for me.

‘You ride with me, Dad,’ I said.

I hitched up my skirts and sat in front of the golden barley-sugar rail coming out of Pearl’s back, and Dad sat behind me, his arms round my waist. We paid our money and the lovely old music started up and we rode round and round until the whole fairground was just a mosaic of coloured lights. I wished Pearl would kick her silver hooves and rear up off her stand and gallop away with us for ever.

‘Would you like another ride on Pearl, Princess?’ Dad asked.

‘Oh please!’

So we went round and round and round again, and when we at last got off Dad let me pat Pearl’s nose and stroke her long mane.

‘She’s so pretty,’ I said. ‘I just love her pink mane. It matches my dress, Dad, look.’

‘We’d better make sure our refreshments match your dress too,’ said Dad. ‘Candy for my Floss!’

He led me to a candyfloss stall. It was decorated with roses, and a great pink teddy bear in a frilly dress dangled from the awning.

‘Mum never ever lets me have candyfloss
because
it’s so bad for my teeth,’ I said.

‘You can give your teeth an extra thorough brush tonight,’ said Dad, and he nodded at the big blonde lady in the candyfloss van. ‘We’ll have one each please.
My
teeth are pretty duff already.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’ve got a lovely smile, sir.’

Dad gave her a big grin then. I grinned too. I love it when people like my dad.

‘You take after your dad, darling,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’re looking very gorgeous in that pretty pink frock. Have you been a bridesmaid?’

‘No, it’s her birthday. She’s my birthday princess,’ said Dad.

‘
Dad!
’ I said, feeling daft.

‘Aah, isn’t that lovely. Well, we’d better make you an extra big birthday special.’

I watched, fascinated, as she poured sugar into the middle of her metal cauldron and then set it spinning. Wisps of candyfloss formed as if by magic. She took a stick and twirled it round and round until it bore an enormous pink fluffy cloud of candyfloss.

‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ she said, handing it over.

‘Oh yum!’ I said.

I held it in awe, approaching it gingerly, not
quite
sure how to bite into it. Then someone behind jostled me and my nose went deep into the pink fluffy cloud and stuck there.

‘Watch out, mate! Mind my little girl,’ said Dad, turning round.

It wasn’t just one mate. There were six or seven big lads, all of them holding cans of beer. They were strutting around, saying stupid things. Very very rude things. They didn’t take any notice of Dad at all.

‘Give us one of them big scoops of peanuts,’ the biggest guy said to the candyfloss lady.

‘Yeah, one for me too, I’ve got the munchies.’

‘I’ll have popcorn – the big carton,’ said another.

‘You wait your turn, boys. I’m serving this gentleman,’ said the candyfloss lady.

‘Here, we don’t wait turns. We tell you, you serve us –
get it
?’ said the biggest.

‘This is my stall, and I don’t have to serve anyone, so you can all push off sharpish –
get it
?’ said the candyfloss lady.

They paused, taking it in.

‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ said the big guy. Then he called her a terribly rude word.

‘Don’t you dare badmouth the lady,’ said Dad. ‘You need your mouth washing out with soap, lad.’

‘You need your mouth shutting, you fat berk,’
said
the boy, and he punched Dad straight in the face.

Dad hit him back, but then all his mates got stuck in. I screamed and someone shoved me and I ended up flat on my face in the mud. I lay there, stunned. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of struggling.

I lifted my head. ‘Help! They’re hurting my dad!’ I yelled.

‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Your dad’s OK now. Here, let me help you up, you poor little darling.’ It was the candyfloss lady herself, sitting me up gently and wiping my sticky face. My silver crown fell off, all torn and crumpled.

I peered round desperately for my dad. I saw a lot of figures in the distance – big burly guys dragging the horrible drunk lads away from the fair.

‘They’re not taking my dad away too, are they?’ I said.

‘No, no, of course not. He’s over there, by my stall, see?’

Dad was leaning against the stall, with a big fairground guy offering him a cloth for his bleeding lip.

‘Don’t give him that dirty old rag, Saul! Here, mind the stall for ten minutes while I get these two properly cleaned up in my caravan,’ said the
candyfloss
lady.

She helped me stand up, tutting sympathetically when she saw the state of my dress.

‘Dear oh dear! Still, it’s not ripped – I wish I could say the same for your poor dad’s jeans! I’m sure all that mud will wash off easily enough. Did those idiots hurt you, lovey?’

‘I don’t
think
so,’ I said. I still couldn’t understand what had happened. One minute they’d all been hitting my dad, and then the next they were all limping away, escorted by the fairground guys.

‘Dad! Dad!’ I said, stumbling over to him. ‘Dad, did you beat them all up, those horrible lads?’

Dad laughed and then winced, because it stretched his sore lip. ‘
Me?
’ he said. ‘I was blooming useless, Floss.’

‘No, you weren’t. You were wonderful, sticking up for me like that,’ said the candyfloss lady.

‘He stuck up for me too,’ I said.

‘Yes, he’s very gallant and brave, your dad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘Now, you two come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up properly.’

‘So how come they all stopped fighting?’ I asked, as we followed her in and out of the stalls and trailers to the circle of caravans.

‘Our guys keep an eye out for hassle,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘One hint of trouble and they all
come
running. And they’re tough lads too.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Dad. ‘Especially the one with the fair hair and all the skull rings, the one who gave me the rag for my nose. He felled three of the boys with one blow!’

‘Ah, Saul. He’s
my
lad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘He’s a right softie, especially with the girls, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’

‘I’m certainly glad he was on
my
side,’ said Dad.

‘Right, this is my van,’ said the candyfloss lady.

It was a beautiful bright pink, with red roses carefully painted above the door.

‘I love the roses,’ said Dad.

‘That’s my name. Rose. It was my mum’s name and my gran’s. They claimed we were related to the fortune-teller Gypsy Rose. They used to read palms and peer into the crystal ball and all that lark.’

‘Can you tell fortunes?’ I asked excitedly.

‘Oh, I can read the tea leaves with the best of them,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘Come on, up the steps.’

We climbed the neat golden ladder and went through the pink door.

‘Ooooh!’ I said.

It was the most wonderful magical strange room ever. The inside walls were bright pink too, with
lots
of paintings of flowers and country cottages and little children in nighties. Great glittery glass mirrors doubled and tripled all the images, so you weren’t quite sure what was real and what was reflection. There was a big red velvet sofa with needlework cushions, and a polished table with a lace cloth, and a cabinet in one corner containing lots of china crinolined ladies. A gold clock ticked and tocked on a sideboard, with a big china dog on either side.

‘It’s so beautiful!’ I said.

‘I’m glad you like it, duckie,’ said Rose, going into her tiny kitchen and running water into a red bowl.

‘How come you’ve got running water?’ said Dad.

‘Oh, we get it piped wherever we pitch up.’

‘So do you travel all over the country?’

‘Well – just the south-east. We fetch up at a new site each week during the summer.’ She got a cloth and started washing my face and hands. She did it very gently, going carefully round my eyes and nose and mouth, not scrubbing splish-splosh the way some grown-ups do. Then she started dabbing at the stains on my dress.

I had another peer around the beautiful red room while she was mopping me.

‘How come all your lovely ornaments and pictures don’t get broken when you move on to the
next
site?’ I asked.

‘I’m magic. I just go
zap!
’ – she waved her long silver fingernails – ‘and fix them to the walls with my occult powers.’

I blinked at her. So did Dad.

Rose burst out laughing. ‘No, of course I don’t! I bundle them all up carefully in bubble wrap each time,’ she said.

‘And where do you sleep? I can’t see a bed anywhere,’ I said.

‘Floss, stop being so nosy,’ said Dad. ‘It’s rude to ask so many questions.’

‘I don’t mind a bit,’ said Rose. ‘See that sofa. You lift the seat part – and there’s my bed, all lovely and cosy, neatly stowed out of sight.’

‘What about Saul? Where’s his bed?’

‘He’s got his own trailer now. He’s way too big to share with his old mum.’

‘What about Saul’s dad?’ said my dad.

Rose chuckled. ‘Now who’s being nosy!’ she said. ‘Oh, he cleared off a long time ago. Last spotted with a tassel-twirling circus girl half his age.’

‘Oh. Right. I’m sorry,’ said Dad, going a bit pink.

‘Don’t be sorry, dear. I like my independence. There!’ She held out my pink skirts. They were wet, but nearly all the mud had come out.

‘You’ve done an expert job there,’ said Dad.