Fizzypop (4 page)

Jem said, “Mm… maybe.”

“Anything could have happened! They could have come and torn you away from her, and she'd be like all screaming and crying…
don't take my baby! Don't let them take my baby!
”

I clutched, dramatically, at an imaginary bundle. A woman passing by gave me a very odd stare.

“They do these things,” I said. Jem's eyes had gone like saucers. “They're always snatching people's babies!”

“What she means,” said Skye, “is they might have thought she couldn't cope.”

“My mum couldn't cope?”

“Yes, like if she was a dr—” Skye stopped.

“Like if she was
what
?” said Jem.

“Oh!” Skye waved a hand. “You know… like if she was still at school, or something.”

Jem looked at her, uncertainly. I went rushing in to the rescue. “She wouldn't have
wanted
to give you up. She probably loved you to bits! She could be wondering even now where you are and what you're doing… praying that you're all right. Weeping on your birthday… ”

Jem put a finger in her mouth and chewed, hesitantly, at a fingernail. Even Skye seemed moved by the tragic picture I was painting. I was moved myself. I could see it all so clearly! A pale young woman, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled desperately to hold on to her baby. Omigod, it was heart-rending!

Jem took her finger out of her mouth. “Stop it,” she said. “I can't bear it!”

“It's only a scenario,” said Skye. She tends to use these sort of words. “We don't know that it's actually what happened.”

“But it could be,” choked Jem. “My mum, she could be out there, worrying about me!” And she stuffed her finger back in her mouth and began nibbling, furiously, like a rabbit.

“If it bothers you that much,” I said, “maybe—”

“What, what?” spluttered Jem.

“Maybe you should see if you can find her?”

Chapter Four

I didn't mean to say it. I didn't do it on purpose! The words just slipped out, as words do; you can't always control them. I find this happens quite a lot. Mum says it is what comes of being over-eager and not stopping to think before I speak. But I think and speak at the same time! It is just the way I am made, I have these very quick reactions.

Jem had taken her finger back out of her mouth and come to a full stop in the middle of the street. She was looking at me, searchingly.

“You really think that's what I ought to do? Try and trace my real mum?”

“Your
birth
mum.” Mrs McClusky was her real mum.

“You really think I should?” said Jem.

“Well… only if it's what you feel.” I wasn't going to push her, cos that would be wrong.

“I don't know!” wailed Jem.

We were nearly at the school gates.

“Think about it,” said Skye. “We'll discuss it later.”

“I've decided.” Jem hissed it at us as we went into the playground at break. “I'm going to do it!”

“Are you sure?” said Skye. She sounded a bit anxious, though I couldn't think why. It seemed to me anyone that had been adopted would want to find their birth mother. It wasn't anything to do with not loving their
real
mum, it was just ordinary, natural, human curiosity. Well, that's what I would have thought. But Skye is a very cautious sort of person; she doesn't believe in rushing headlong into things. She likes to weigh them up and make mental lists like For and Against. Me and Jem can't be bothered with all that; we tend to go more on impulse.

“It's a big decision,” said Skye.

“I know.” Jem said it very solemnly. “I've been thinking about it all morning.” All through French, all through history… she'd been told off twice for not paying attention. “The only thing is…” She hesitated. “Where do I start?”

“Ask your mum?” said Skye.

“I can't ask Mum! I know I'm like totally
furious
with her, but she might think I was doing it to pay her back, kind of thing. I wouldn't want her thinking that! Cos honestly, I'm not.”

Jem said it earnestly. I agreed. “You're doing it cos you want to
know.
It's your right.”

“How about asking your dad?” said Skye.

Jem made a scoffing sound. “No use asking
him.
He'd just say, ask your mum. Then he'd go and tell her, and she'd get all hurt and stuff.”

I was glad Jem didn't want her mum to be hurt. But all the same, it
was
her right. There had to be some way she could find out.

“There's got to be records,” I said.

“But where?”

We both turned, instinctively, to Skye. She is a mine of information about all sorts of things, like if you want to know the capital of Peru or how far away the sun is from the earth. But Skye shrugged her shoulders and said she didn't know.

“In some government office, maybe?”

I made a face. That wasn't any good. Government offices wouldn't tell you anything; specially not if you were only eleven years old. There'd be bound to be some kind of law against it.

“P'raps when you were adopted,” I said, “there'd have been papers or something?” I was a bit vague about what kind of papers, but it seems to me there are papers for pretty well everything. Dad always complains that he is drowning in them. He says, “Papers for this, papers for that… it's a wonder there are any trees left standing.”

“You could always try looking,” I said.

“I could.” Jem brightened. “I know where they'd be… in Mum and Dad's desk. They keep everything in there, all locked away. The key's in their dressing-table drawer. I can easily get it. It's just a question of waiting for the right moment.”

“You mean like when your mum and dad aren't there.” Skye had that look she sometimes gets, with her mouth all pursed, like she's sucking on lemons. “This is starting to sound a bit off, if you ask me. It's like you're spying on them.”

I said, “She's not spying on them! She's just trying to find out something she's got every right to know, only she doesn't want to hurt her mum.”

“I wouldn't read anything that's private,” said Jem. “I'm only looking for stuff that's about me.”

Skye's lips were still pursed. She can be
so
exasperating!

“If you won't even let her look,” I said, “how is she supposed to find out?”

“I'm not sure finding out is such a good idea,” said Skye.

“But it's her right!”

“It's my right,” said Jem.

“It's all very well keeping on saying that, but suppose when you find out you wish you hadn't?”

Jem scrunched her face into a frown. “Why would I wish that?”

“You might find something you don't like! People do,” said Skye. “They have these fantasies their mums are going to be celebs, or royalty, or something, and then they turn out to be… I don't know! Something not very nice.”

I said, “
Some
people find their mums are celebs. Or their dads,” I added.

In wondering tones, Jem said, “I never thought about my dad.”

“You can think about him later,” I told her. “The important thing is to find your mum.”

“You're right!” She nodded. “I'll find her first, then I can ask her about my dad.”

I said, “Yes, cos she'll be able to tell you who he was.”

“Maybe,” said Skye.

“Maybe not.”

We both rounded on her. “Don't be so negative!” I said.

“It's not going to stop me,” said Jem. “I'm still going to do it, I don't care what you say. I want to find out!”

Jem and Skye were waiting for me on the corner next morning. Eagerly, I went racing up to them.

“What happened? Did you find anything?”

“Haven't been able to look yet,” said Jem.

“Give her a chance!” Skye biffed me with her school bag. “It's not easy, being a spy. You can't just go blundering into things.”

“Mum and Dad are always there,” explained Jem.

My mum and dad are always there, but I felt sure I could creep into their bedroom without them knowing. Well, I had done! On lots of occasions. Searching for Christmas presents on top of the wardrobe…

“It's all right for you,” said Jem. “You don't live in a flat.”

That was true. I could see that being all on one floor might make things a bit difficult. In a house you can disappear upstairs and nobody knows which room you're in, but Jem's place is quite small and her mum and dad's bedroom is right next door to the sitting room.

“I'll do it as soon as I can,” said Jem.

I said, “That's OK. I won't ask you again until… this time next week!”

“Like we believe
that
?” said Skye. “Come on, you two! Get a move on.”

Skye went power-walking off, leaving me and Jem to trail behind.

“I'll do it before next week,” said Jem. “I promise!”

I pointed out that she wasn't doing it for
me
. “It's
your
birth mum. You're the one that needs to know!”

Every morning after that I looked at her, hopefully, but didn't actually say anything. It took a
lot
of self-control. I couldn't help this sneaking feeling that if a person really, seriously wanted to do something, they would find a way of doing it. I would! But maybe that is just me.

The weekend came and went. So did Monday. On Tuesday when I gave my hopeful look Jem said, “I nearly went and blew it! Dad was having a bath and Mum was in the kitchen so I took a chance and guess what? Mum came into the bedroom and found me there!”

I said, “Wow.”

“You can say wow,” said Skye. “You weren't the one being caught red-handed!”

I looked anxiously at Jem. “Were you really?”

“Not quite,” said Jem, “but it was a nasty moment.”

“What did you say?”

“I told Mum I was looking for Titch.”

Titch is her hamster. I nodded. “That was quick thinking.”

“Spies have to be quick,” said Skye.

“Shut up about spies! She's not spying.”

“I'm beginning to feel like I am,” said Jem. “But I'm not giving up!”

That was the day Miss Rolfe announced that Jem's essay on Beginnings had been chosen for Speech Day. I could tell from the way Jem's cheeks fired up that she was pleased and proud, but also a bit embarrassed.

“All that yucky stuff,” she wailed later, to me and Skye.

“People like yucky stuff,” said Skye.

“I know, but it doesn't feel right… not when I'm planning to go through Mum and Dad's private papers behind their back!”

“In that case maybe you shouldn't be doing it.” Skye looked hard at Jem.

“What? You mean…” Jem paused, uncertain. “Reading out my essay?”

“No! Going through your mum and dad's stuff.”

“But I need to know!”

“It's her right,” I said.

“It may be her right, but if it's going to make her feel bad… why don't you just
talk
to them?”

“I can't!” Jem shook her head. “You know I can't!”

“You're still cross with your mum,” I said. She wasn't in quite such a sulk as she had been, though every now and again she would remember that she had a grievance and start going on about being misunderstood and her life being blighted, so I could see it probably wasn't a good time for her to start asking questions.

“I think, personally,” said Skye, “you should just wait.”

I said, “Wait for what?”

“Wait till she's back to normal with her mum, then she can sit down and have a talk.”

“How can I ever be back to normal,” shrilled Jem, “when every minute that ticks past is another minute of my life
wasted
? Liliana's just done a photo shoot for the Teen Scene catalogue and she's threatening to bring it round and
show
it to me!”

In spite of being so maddeningly sensible, Skye does seem to have the knack of always saying the wrong thing.

“Now look what you've done,” I hissed. “Just as she was starting to get over it!”

I knew straight away, the next morning, that Jem had something to report. She was jigging up and down with impatience.

“I did it, I did it! I found something!”

“What, what?”

“Tell!”

Even Skye could hardly contain herself.

“You found her?” I yelled. “You found your birth mum?”

“No, but I've found something… I've found that I was
discovered
,” said Jem.

“Discovered how?” I said.

“Discovered where?” said Skye.

“On the steps of a church…” Jem announced it in a ghostly whisper. “Left in the churchyard, wrapped in a shawl… ”

I was about to say “Wow” but stopped myself just in time.

“How did you find out?” said Skye.

“I waited till Mum and Dad had gone upstairs to this residents' meeting, then I crept into the bedroom and got the key and went back to the sitting room and—”

“Yes, yes, we know all that,” said Skye.

“Just get on with it!” I said.

Jem looked hurt. “I'm setting the scene.”

“But what did you
find
?”

“I found this cutting from a newspaper… all old and yellow. All about this tiny baby that had been abandoned.”

“And that was you?”

“It has to be,” said Jem, “or why would they have kept it?”

“What was the date?” said Skye.

“Dunno.” Jem crinkled her nose. “That bit was torn off. But it did say it was lucky I was discovered in time cos it was one of the coldest February days for decades!”

Jem's birthday is in February. We stared at her, in a kind of awe. She had been in the paper!

“You should have brought it with you,” I said. “We might have been able to find things out.”

“Like what?”

“Well … like which paper it was?”

“That wouldn't help her find her birth mum,” said Skye.

“No, but at least she'd know if it was local.”

“It was,” said Jem. Her cheeks glowed, pinkly. “It said St Peter's. You know where that is? Down Old Town, near the Arcade!”

This time I did say wow. The Arcade! We all knew where that was. We used to beg our mums to take us there when we were little so we could go on the roundabout and ride on the toy train. To think we'd been only minutes away from where Jem had been abandoned…

“Know what?” I said. “We ought to go down there and have a look!”

Jem's face lit up. “Shall we?” She turned to Skye. “Shall we do that?”

I waited for Skye to read us one of her lectures and tell us why it was a bad idea and we shouldn't go, but for once she seemed quite enthusiastic.

“OK,” she said. “Why not? We could meet up Saturday afternoon and take the tram to Old Town. It'll be like a kind of pilgrimage.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Jem clasped her hands to her chest; her eyes were glowing. “It's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me!”