Fizzypop (5 page)

Chapter Five

“It's like a sort of pilgrimage,” I said.

It was Saturday afternoon and I was waiting for Jem and Skye. Mum was in the front room putting the finishing touches to something green and glittery. Getting a bit sidetracked, I said, “That's pretty!”

“It is, isn't it?” said Mum. She shook it out and held it up for me to see. All the spangles twinkled and shone.

“What is it?” I said.

“It's for Emilia… Mrs Duffy's little girl. For her Book Week. She's going as a dewdrop.”

I said, “Blimey!”

An expression of annoyance crossed Mum's face. “What do you mean,
blimey
? What is that supposed to mean?”

I backed off, hastily. “It's what Dad says.”

“Well, there's no call for you to say it.”

“It's not rude,” I said.

Mum tightened her lips.

“It's not! Honestly! I asked Dad. It just means, God blind me if I tell a lie… or something. It got shortened. But that's all it means!”

“What it means,” said Mum, “is that you're being snotty about poor little Emilia dressing up as a dewdrop.”

“Mum, she's
thirteen.
She has
learning difficulties.
”

“Yes, and this is what she's set her heart on. Just let her have her moment.”

“But people will laugh at her!”

“Nobody is going to laugh at her.”

“B—”

“Frankie, I do know what I'm doing! I've been at this a long time. Just let it be.”

Honestly! She didn't have to get all offended. I was only trying to help.

“What's this pilgrimage you're going on?”

“We're going to the Arcade.” I tugged at a bit of twig that was tangled in Rags's fur. “Down Old Town.”

“Good heavens,” said Mum. “That's a trip down memory lane. I wonder if the children's playground is still there?”

“Dunno,” I said. “We're not going for that. We're going to look at a church… St
Peter's.
We're going to look at the steps.” I yanked at another bit of twig. Rags seemed to have brought half the park home with him.

“Why would you want to look at steps?” said Mum.

I'd been hoping she'd ask me that.

“Cos Jem's just discovered,” I said, “that that's where she was found… wrapped in a shawl, on the steps of the church.
Abandoned
. All those years ago!”

“Really?” said Mum. “Who told her that?”

“She read it in this old newspaper cutting. She was looking through some papers in her mum and dad's desk and she came across it.”

Mum paused. “It was you,” she said, “wasn't it? You put her up to it!”

I was indignant. “I so didn't!”

“Then why was she looking through her mum and dad's papers?”

“Well, cos she was hoping to find out about her birth mum. It was her idea!” I said. “Sort of.”

“
Sort
of.” Mum snipped off a bit of thread between her teeth. “You just couldn't resist it, could you? You had to go and meddle!”

“She's very unhappy,” I said. “She reckons her life has been blighted.”

“All because she's not allowed to join a modelling agency?”

“It means a lot to her.”

“So now she's trying to trace her birth mother?” Mum shook her head. “I just hope it doesn't all end in disaster.”

Honestly! Mum was as bad as Skye. Why did they always have to look on the black side? Why couldn't they imagine
nice
things happening?

“Her mum doesn't have to have been someone bad,” I said. “She could turn out to be rich and famous!”

“And Jem could end up feeling resentful and dissatisfied.”

I said, “She already does.”

“She'd get over it. Really, Frankie, I don't know why you just can't leave well alone. Why must you keep interfering all the time?”

I felt really hurt when she said that. “I wasn't interfering,” I said. “Jem's my friend! I was trying to help.”

“But we had all this out,” said Mum. “You promised you wouldn't go putting ideas into her head. And stop plucking and picking at that dog! We don't want hairs all over the place.”

“I'm cleaning him up,” I said. Only five minutes earlier Mum had been complaining that he was all matted and covered in bits of park. “I'm only trying t—”

“I know, I know,” said Mum. “You're only trying to help! It's good that you're cleaning him, but why not do the job properly while you're about it? With his brush – in the garden. Not in here when I have someone coming!”

There is just no pleasing some people. It wasn't like I'd have left all the bits of twig on the floor; I'd have got the dustpan and brush and swept them up! I didn't want to do him in the garden cos Angel was out there, with some of her friends. They were all shrieking and painting their nails with black nail varnish. Fingers
and
toes. Chances were, if she saw me, she'd only start on about something. She still hadn't forgiven me for crinkling her shirt.

“Can we do it in the kitchen?” I said.

“I'd rather you didn't,” said Mum. “You know what happened last time.”

“That was cos someone had left the lid off the cake tin!”

All Mum's cakes had been covered in dog hair. But it wasn't my fault!
I
hadn't left the lid off. Not as far as I could remember.

“Frankie, just humour me,” said Mum. “Just for once. The garden is the place for brushing dogs, not the kitchen.”

I still wasn't going out there. I didn't see why I should be expected to suffer a mouthful of abuse when all I was doing was just trying to help. Like
Angel
ever does anything. Or Tom, for that matter.

“I'll take him up to my bedroom,” I said.

I opened the door and Rags shot out. There was an immediate bellow from Dad: “Keep that dog away!” I'd forgotten, Dad was painting the skirting board, all up the stairs. He was having to do it, he said, cos of the number of times I'd whacked it with my hockey stick or bounced balls off it, throwing them for Rags. I get blamed for everything in our house.

I led Rags up the stairs
most
carefully, not going anywhere near the skirting board. I couldn't be bothered fetching his brush from the kitchen so I used my own. I am not one of those people that are neurotic about a bit of dog hair.

“Good boy,” I said. “Good
boy
!”

While I was brushing him I heard the front door bell.

“That'll be Jem and Skye,” I said.

I scrambled to my feet and rushed out on to the landing. Rags rushed with me. Oops! I'd completely forgotten about the skirting board…

“FRANKIE FOSTER, I'LL HAVE YOUR GUTS FOR GARTERS!” roared Dad.

Hastily, I crammed myself out of the front door and slammed it behind me.

“Who was that?” Jem giggled. “Was it your dad?” I don't know what she found so funny about it. A father threatening to have his daughter's guts for garters? That's child abuse, that is.

“What did you do?” said Skye.

“Didn't do anything,” I said. “It was Rags, touching his paintwork.”

“So why's he having a go at you?”

“They always have a go at me.”

“
Aaaaah.
” Skye made a crooning noise. She patted my head, consolingly. “It's so not fair!”

“It so isn't,” I said. They never have a go at Tom or Angel.

“Never mind all that. We're on a pilgrimage!” Jem went skipping off ahead of us. “A pilgrimage, we're on a pilgrimage!”

I do like it when she's happy, but it is somewhat embarrassing when she starts dancing and twirling in the middle of the street. I guess it's one reason she would have made a good model; she doesn't care who sees her.

“Stop fizzing and popping,” said Skye. “This is a serious quest.”

Was it? I supposed it was. After all, it's not every day a person gets to gaze upon the very spot they were abandoned as a tiny baby.

“It's like visiting a shrine,” I said.

We caught the tram at the top of the road and went trundling off to Old Town. There's a big supermarket down there, right next to the Arcade, which is where we used to go on the toy train when we were little.

“Oh! Look,” I cried, as we got off. “The train's still there!”

But Jem wasn't interested in the train; she was anxious to get to the shrine. I could understand her impatience. This was a big moment for her.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” said Skye.

“Market Square. The church is just off it. I looked it up on the map, it must be…” Jem pointed, rather wildly. “That way!”

“That's the bus garage,” said Skye.

“All right, then… that way?” “That goes down to the canal. You haven't got the faintest idea,” said Skye, “have you?”

“But I looked it up!”

Skye regarded her, pityingly. “You know you have no sense of direction,” she said. Jem had once famously got lost between our classroom and the toilets at primary school. They were both on the same corridor! “I'd better go and ask or we'll be here all day.”

“I looked it up,” whimpered Jem.

I told her not to worry. “I expect you're in a bit of a state.”

Jem admitted that she was. “I've been looking forward to this all week!”

“It is a historic event,” I said.

Market Square turned out to be on the opposite side of the main road leading out of town. It's a three-lane highway, crammed with container lorries and huge great trucks. Quite scary. Skye told Jem to “Wait for the lights and
don't go rushing off
,” like she was a child. But Jem accepted it meekly; I think she was starting to feel a bit anxious.

We reached Market Square at last, and there was the church. Very old and forbidding, with a scrubby patch of graveyard and a few crumbly graves. And there, right ahead of us, were the steps. Jem stopped, transfixed. Like she couldn't tear her eyes away.

“Course, this is daytime,” I said. “It would have been night time, probably, when she left you here. I can just picture it… creeping up, holding you in her arms—” I clutched again at my imaginary bundle. “Looking all round to make sure no one could see her. Giving you one last kiss… mwah!” My lips brushed the air. “Then laying you down ever so gently at the top of the steps.”

“Why not in the porch?” said Skye.

“Cos she wouldn't have been able to get in!” Really, Skye has
no
imagination. “Not at dead of night. The doors would've been locked. She'd probably have laid you just
here
—” Very carefully, I knelt and set down my bundle. “Here, in the corner, so's you'd be sheltered.”

Jem suddenly raced past me, hurled herself on to the top step and curled into a ball.

“What are you doing?” cried Skye.

“I'm being me, as a baby! I'm trying to feel what it must have been like.”

“Cold, I reckon. What time did they discover you? Did it say?”

“Yes.” Jem nodded, proudly. “Someone walking his dog, last thing at night. It was the dog that found me.”

“Dogs do that,” I said. “They're very good at finding things. Rags once found a baby bird in the middle of the road, and know what? He didn't even
try
to eat it. Dad picked it up and put it in someone's garden.”

“This dog barked,” said Jem. “That's what made his owner come and look. If it hadn't been for him – ” her eyes grew large, with wonderment – “if it hadn't been for him I might have
died.
”

Me and Skye sat down next to her, on the top step.

“What kind of person,” said Skye, “leaves a newborn baby outside in the middle of winter?”

“Someone desperate,” I said.

“You mean, someone heartless!”

“Not necessarily. She could have been young, like
really
young, like… fifteen, maybe? And she'd have been scared. In a panic! She wouldn't have known what she was doing. I once read somewhere,” I said, “that having a baby can drive you a bit nuts. Just temporarily. It wears off,” I assured Jem, who was starting to look worried. “I'm not saying your mum was mad, or anything.”

“Just heartless,” muttered Skye.

“Don't keep
saying
that!” Jem shoved at her. “Imagine how you'd feel if you had a baby when you were only fifteen and you couldn't tell your mum and dad cos they'd, like, disown you or something.”

“Pardon me,” said Skye, “but if I had a baby when I was only fifteen I think my mum and dad might notice.”

“They don't always,” I said. “I've heard about girls having babies and nobody even knowing they were pregnant. Sometimes they didn't even know it themselves.”

“Excuse me?” said Skye.

“No, she's right, she's right!” said Jem. “I've heard that too.”

“And it's a Catholic church,” I said, “so that could mean she was Catholic. It's a sin,” I said, “if you're Catholic.”

The more I thought about it, the more I began to feel sorry for this unknown girl, whoever she might have been.

“It's a tragedy,” I said.

“It could have been,” agreed Jem. “If that dog hadn't found me.”

“No, but for
her.
”

Even Skye had to admit, as we crossed back over the main road and wandered for old times' sake along the Arcade, that it wouldn't be easy if you were only fifteen and your mum and dad weren't the sort of people you could talk to.

“On the other hand,” I said, “it is kind of romantic… it's not everyone gets left on the steps of a church.”

“It's not, is it?” said Jem, brightening. “I wish they'd kept the shawl, though.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe if you asked your mum…”

But she wasn't ready for that. For the moment she seemed content just knowing something about her beginnings.