Little Darlings (16 page)

‘I've got something lovely to tell you, Mum.
Two
things,' I say quickly.

‘What?'

‘No, wait till
she's
gone, then I can tell you properly.'

Mum sighs. I hate the way her face goes when she breathes in sharply. It looks as if her cheekbones are going to burst through her skin. She's so thin now you can work out exactly what she'd look like as a skull.

I get the biscuit tin and start buttering slices of malt loaf too.

‘Are you peckish, babe?' asks Mum.

‘No, this is for
you
. You need to eat more, Mum.'

I take the plates into the living room, one
holding Hobnobs, the other malt bread, but Mum just nibbles one crust. Louella hoovers up both platefuls, big fat fingers reaching out to the plate,
snatch
,
gollop
, again and again.

Mum desperately tries to make conversation. She tells me about the football birthday party Louella's planning for the twins, the bridesmaid's dress she's making for Cherie, her plans to take Jacob to judo classes, praising her as if she's a candidate for the Mother of the Year awards. I remain unimpressed.

Mum changes tack and tells Louella how well I'm doing at school. She says I'm going to sing my own Danny Kilman song at the end-of-term concert. I twitch to tell her that they think my voice is great, but I'm
not
saying it in front of Louella – she would only spoil it.

I sit glowering, willing her to go. At last she heaves herself to her feet, nearly tipping my chair over.

‘Goodbye, Destiny. You be a good girl for your mother now. And if you get lonely you come round and play with my four, do you understand?'

I understand that if I went round to Louella's, the twins would plague me with tricks, Jacob would set all the Speedos against me and Cherie would squash me flat.

‘Goodbye, Louella,' I say firmly, almost pushing her through the door. When she's gone at last I lean on the back of the door, doing a pantomime
Phew!

‘Destiny! Stop that! Why are you being so horrible? Louella's a lovely woman,' Mum says, frowning at me.

‘Mum, she's
awful
. She's so mean and bossy and full of herself. I don't get what you see in her.'

‘She's a good friend. If anything ever happened she'd be a good friend to you too. She'd look after you like one of her own, I'm sure of it,' Mum says.

I stare at her. ‘Mum? What do you mean, if anything happened? I can look after myself! I'd sooner poke my eyes out than stay with Louella. Anyway, let's forget her. Wait till you hear! Sunset's written to me – and you'll never guess what she's given me as a present!'

Mum clutches me. ‘You're not winding me up, are you, darling?'

‘No, it's in my room. Come and see! I've been
dying
to show you, but you would go and lumber us with Louella.'

I tug her into the bedroom, pull the leather jacket out from under my pillow where I'd hidden it and slip it on.

Mum gapes at me. ‘Oh, darling! It's really
Sunset's own jacket. We've seen her wearing it in all the mags!'

‘I know. I told her I liked it when we saw her. She's sent it specially with this letter – look.'

‘This is what I've always dreamed about!' says Mum, her eyes scanning the letter. ‘Oh, Destiny, she's tried to tell Danny, she's going to try again. Oh, bless the child.'

‘There! Isn't it a friendly letter? That stupid Louella was going on about us not having any friends.
She
doesn't have famous celebrities who are friends
and
relations. Only I want you to keep in with her for Friday the eighteenth of July just to cover you if you need to work late at all – and I hope you can get out of your shift at the Dog and Fox too – because you have a very important date, Kate Williams.'

‘Do I? What?'

‘You are coming to
Bilefield's Got Talent
– and guess who is going to be top of the bill? Mr Roberts's new singing sensation –
me
!'

I grab the hairbrush and start singing
Destiny
, putting my heart and soul into it. Mum watches, hands clenched, mouthing the words along with me. When I've finished she bursts into tears.

‘Mum? I wasn't that bad, was I?'

‘You were wonderful, but I shouldn't tell you that, you'll get big-headed.'

‘No, no, tell me
heaps
of stuff. I want to feel great! Do you think I've got a chance of winning then?'

‘If you
don't
win I'll want to know the reason why!' says Mum. ‘Now, I'd better get the supper on. I'll whizz the vacuum round too – Louella pointed out the carpet was all over fluff.'

‘Louella! Look,
I'll
do the vacuuming if we really have to.'

‘No, you get your homework done – and you'll need to write a really nice thank-you letter to Sunset. I can't get over her sending you her jacket.' Mum holds it up admiringly. ‘It's a real beauty, isn't it? Imagine what it would fetch on eBay. Sunset Kilman's very own jacket.'

‘Mum, we're not putting it on eBay, it's
mine
.'

‘Better not wear it on the estate, pet. One of them kids will nick it off you as soon as look at you.'

‘I won't wear it outdoors, I'm not daft. I'll wear it
indoors
. Like right now!'

I slip it on and then write my letter to Sunset.

Dear Sunset,
Thank you very very very much for the leather
jacket. I absolutely LOVE it. I can't believe you
could just parcel it up and send it to me. It fits
me just perfectly too.

It was good of you to try so hard to ask your
dad – our dad! – about me. I expect it's an
awkward embarrassing subject for him. It
obviously is for your mum! I'm sorry she got so
cross. I hope she's OK now.

Hey, Sunset, you'll never guess what. I'm
going to be in this crazy end-of-term talent
contest, Bilefield's Got Talent – you know, like
the TV show – and I'm going to be singing my
very own namesake song, ‘Destiny'. I don't want
to boast but my teacher Mr Roberts thinks I'm
very good at singing. I suppose that IS boasting
a bit – sorry. Do you like singing?

I know you said you like art and English best
at school (me too). What sort of school do you go
to? I expect it's a really posh private one with
lots of famous pupils. What's it LIKE, being
famous?
Love and lots more thank yous,
Destiny
P.S. I don't have an email address as I don't
have a computer. I love your notepaper with all
the teddies. I have two teddies on my duvet and,
don't tell anyone, but I used to play silly games
with them.

I get my felt tips and doodle all around my name, drawing a little sun on one side and a cloud with raindrops on the other. Then I carefully draw a rainbow arching through my name. I hope she thinks it looks pretty. I wonder if she will write back? I add another P.S.:

It would be great if you wrote back to me.
Maybe we could be penfriends?

Dear Destiny,
I'm so pleased you like the jacket. I knew it would look fantastic on you.

I promise I will try talking to Dad again – but he's been in a very bad mood recently for several different reasons and I daren't say anything at all just yet.

It's great that you're going to be in a talent contest. I have never taken part in one, on account of the fact that I have no talent. I am useless at singing. I sound like an old frog croaking.

I suppose my school IS sort of posh. You have to pay lots of money to go there. I would pay lots of money NOT to go there. I hate my school. It is very progressive. That means there aren't any rules and you are encouraged to express yourself. I wish I went to a REGRESSIVE school, with heaps of rules, where no one's allowed to argue back. There are a few famous pupils. Well, they're famous because their mums or dads are famous, like footballers or film stars – or rock stars, like our dad. So I suppose that makes me a little bit famous, like you said. It's horrible. I can't ever be just an ordinary girl, I always have to be with the whole family, and people always notice us and come up and say stuff and take pictures with their mobile phones. The proper photographers are worse, always yelling at you to smile, and you have to make sure you're dressed up and look cool. Only I am the exact opposite of cool, worse luck. Sometimes I would give anything not to have a famous dad.

Let's definitely be penfriends – that would be absolutely fantastic.
Love from Sunset

One of the reasons Dad is in such a very, very bad mood is he's worried he's not famous any more. Well, he
is
– there's this two-page article in one of the big newspapers. Rose-May fixed up the interview, a proper one. Dad's thrilled and thinks it's gone really well, and he even gets up early on Saturday to read it – and then he nearly hits the roof.

We don't know what's going on. Dad's ranting and Mum starts crying, and there are all these telephone calls, and then Rose-May comes rushing round and tries to calm them down.

‘What's wrong
now
, Sunset?' Sweetie asks. She's in a bad mood too, because Mum's supposed to be taking her out this morning to buy a party dress for her sixth birthday and now it looks as if the shopping trip's postponed.

‘I think someone's written something really bad about Dad,' I say.

‘What, like they've called him bad names?' Sweetie asks.

‘They've called him Bum and Poo and Knickers!' Ace says, naming all the bad words he can think of and giggling hysterically.

‘Shut up, silly little peanut,' I say, picking him up.

He flings himself about wildly, spluttering the same stupid words over and over again.

Sweetie looks at him coldly. ‘Isn't he a
baby
?' she says.

‘Yes, a tiny baby, and if he doesn't calm down this instant we shall put him in a nappy and stuff him in a cradle,' I say.

‘I'm
not
a baby. I'm Tigerman,' Ace says, struggling. ‘I want my Tigerman outfit!'

I let him wriggle free and he runs off to plague Claudia to dress him in his stupid costume. Sweetie sighs and raises her eyebrows.

‘I lots of times don't really
like
Ace,' she says.

I don't always like Sweetie, but I smile at her sympathetically. She's listening to the row downstairs.

‘I can't hear what Mum's saying,' she says. ‘Can't she take me shopping and let Dad and Rose-May do the shouting? I don't want Claudia to take me. She likes all those silly little baby dresses –
yuck!
I want something bee-yoo-tiful and cool.'

‘You have a knack of making most things
beautiful and cool,' I say, sighing. ‘Don't worry, Sweetie. I happen to know Rose-May's fixed up
Hi! Magazine
to come and take photos of your party, so they'll want to make sure your dress is absolutely perfect. I think Mum will take you shopping tomorrow, you wait and see.'

Sweetie sighs and starts picking the varnish off her nails.

‘Don't do that, you're messing it up.'

‘It's messed up already. Will you take it off properly, Sunset, and paint my nails a new colour? And then put little daisies on, like the lady who does Mum's nails?'

I give it a go, raiding Mum's bedroom for her varnish and remover. I try my best, trying to keep Sweetie happy. I think I make quite a good job of it, painting her stubby little nails silver and then putting a dab of red on each one that looks like a rose – sort of. But Sweetie's very hard to please.

‘You're doing it all
wrong
, Sunset. It's all gone blobby and smudgy!' she wails.

‘Well, of course it'll smudge if you won't keep still and wave your hands about like that,' I say.

‘I'm going to get Claudia to do it
properly
,' says Sweetie, though we both know that Claudia thinks any kind of nail varnish on little girls is an awful idea.

I flop on my bed, wishing I had Destiny with me as my real sister. I wonder if I dare tell her about Wardrobe City. I'm sure she'd laugh her head off – though she did say she loved my doll's house.

I get up again and peer in at Wardrobe City. I badly want to join all my people. I imagine them behind the walls, chatting away – but when I open up the doll's house they are suddenly silent, morphing into chipped and grubby toys with unblinking beady eyes.

‘Please come alive. Let me play too,' I whisper, but they don't so much as twitch.

I kneel there, biting my lip. ‘I'll
make
you play,' I say, and I drag little Mrs Furry out of her soft bed. ‘Come on, it's time you were up. We'll give you a quick wash. Hold out your paws. And hang on, we'd better spruce up your whiskers.'