The Suitcase Kid (5 page)

THAT'S A HAIKU.
We did Haikus in English. When the teacher said that we were going to learn about Haikus we all got excited because we thought it was going to be like Kung Fu.
But Haikus are little Japanese poems. She read us some and there was one about a garden in the moonlight with a willow and wild berries. I started listening properly. I decided I liked Haikus a lot.

That's another Haiku.

And another.

I ALWAYS SEEM
to be getting ill nowadays. I get these headaches or sometimes they're tummy-aches or other times it's an ache all over and I'm either much too hot or so cold I'm shivering. It's always worse on Fridays. That's changeover day.

A few Fridays ago I had a bit of a sniffle on Friday morning. I burrowed right under the bedclothes till I got boiling hot and sweaty and
then I called Mum, sounding all sad and sore and pathetic.

Mum felt my forehead and gave me a worried cuddle. I knew Katie would tease me later about being a baby but I didn't care. Mum always makes far more fuss of me on Fridays. I clung to her and said I felt really lousy.

‘I think you've got flu,' said Mum. ‘Oh dear. Well, you certainly can't do that awful journey to school, not in this state. You'd better stay in bed.'

‘All by myself?' I said, hunching up as small as I could.

Mum hesitated. ‘Maybe I'd better stay off work.'

‘Oh Mum, would you?' I said.

‘They won't like it. But it can't be helped. You're really not at all well, pet. You'd better stay in bed all weekend.'

‘What, at Dad's?'

‘No, you'll have to stay put here. You're not up to travelling,' said Mum firmly.

I started to feel really sick then. I wanted to stay with Mum and have her making a big fuss of me – but I still wanted to go to Dad's too.

But I made the most of that Friday all the same. Katie flounced off, forbidding me in a
whisper to touch any of her videos or records – ‘Or I'll get you later.'

I can beat her in a straight fight but she's got all sorts of devious hateful ways of hurting me. She hides my stuff. She scribbles inside my schoolbooks. Once I found poor Radish floating miserably down the loo and I just know Katie threw her there. She had to spend the night in a bowl of disinfectant and she didn't lose the smell for days and days, so that whenever I cuddled her close my eyes stung.

But I didn't need to play Katie's records or videos or touch any of her boring junk. Mum came and sat on the edge of my bed and she read the paper and I read one of my old baby books and then when I started to act a bit droopy Mum read some more books aloud to me. She fixed me a lovely lunch, tomato soup and a soft white roll and then she made me a special bowl of green jelly. She even let me pretend it was lettuce-flavoured so that Radish could wade through this wonderland and get her paws all sticky.

We all had a nap after lunch and when I woke up Mum lent me her white lace hankie and I played Brides with Radish. I said I was starting to feel a lot better and suggested I
could get up, but Mum wouldn't hear of it. And then the others came home from school and the baboon came back from his work and then about seven o'clock I heard the car toot outside. It was Dad come to pick me up.

I tried jumping out of bed then but Mum hauled me straight back. She went to speak to Dad. Only they didn't do much speaking. They were shouting in less than a minute. Then Dad stormed right into the house and up the stairs to see me. Un-Uncle Bill said he had no right to come barging in and Dad said he had every right if his daughter was ill. Dad gave me a great big hug but then he held me at arm's length and looked at me.

‘You seem fine to me. Maybe you've got a cold, but everyone's got the sniffles just now. Come on, Andy, get dressed and we'll get cracking,' said Dad.

I started to do as I was told, but Mum started shouting that it would be madness taking me out into the cold air when I had flu and that I was to get back into bed this instant.

I stood in my pyjamas shivering in the middle of Katie's bedroom, not knowing what to do. Mum won that battle in the end. Dad stormed out and I was so scared he was blaming me that
I started crying. Mum bundled me back to bed, insisting that it was wicked for Dad to get me in such a state.

I had to stay in bed most of that weekend and it stopped being a treat and started to get really boring. I didn't have Mum to myself because all the others were around. And then on Sunday Katie insisted she'd caught my ‘flu' and she stayed in bed too. She didn't want my mum nursing her. She just wanted her dad.

So the baboon sat her on his lap and called her his poor little princess and other sickening stuff. He nipped out to the off-licence at lunchtime and bought her a huge box of chocolates. Katie wouldn't eat any of Mum's chicken and roast potatoes and peas but she hogged almost that whole box of chocolates to herself.

I hated seeing her all cuddled up with the baboon. It made me miss my dad even more. I couldn't wait till the next Friday so I could see him again. But then he was all huffy with me for ages, acting like it was my fault I'd stayed on at Mum's.

‘You can't kid me, Andy. You were play-acting,' he said crossly, and when I tried to get on his lap he tipped me off and said I was behaving like a big baby.

He was a bit nicer on Saturday and by Sunday he was OK and he played Snap with me and one evening that week he came home early from work and took me out and bought me an icecream soda . . . but it still wasn't such a good visit as usual.

Maybe I'd better not get ill again for a while.

I WAS ILL
the very next time I went to Dad's. Not just a little sniffle. I felt a bit shivery and strange on Thursday, but then I generally do at Carrie's house. She has the basement flat and it's always got this sour damp smell even though she burns joss sticks all day long. She's got storage heaters. I don't know what they store but it's certainly not heat. I wear a thick cardi even in the summer and by the
Autumn I wear two of everything, even two pairs of knickers.

Carrie doesn't seem to feel the cold herself and floats around in her filmy smocks without a shiver. Zen and Crystal are the same. They wander around stark naked after a bath or play for hours in their pyjamas while I hop about in the Japanese bag absolutely perished.

I told Dad I felt funny but he didn't take much notice. Carrie tried to put her arm round me to give me a hug.

‘It's Friday tomorrow, isn't it. Poor old Andy.'

I wriggled away from her. I don't like her holding me at the best of times. I especially can't stand it now, when she's got this big tummy full of the baby sticking out in front. Zen and Crystal put their hands on her tummy and giggle when they feel the baby moving. It gives me the creeps.

I kept dreaming about the new baby that night. Carrie's tummy swelled and swelled until she got as big as a whale and couldn't even waddle around any more. And then the baby was born and it was huge too, even taller than me, with a great big lolling head and beady blue eyes that glared balefully at me. It bawled whenever I got near it so Dad said I'd
better keep out of the way. It went on yelling even when I was in the bathroom so Dad said I had to go right out in the freezing cold garden.

I started yelling too then, and Dad got really cross and said I wasn't setting my little sister Andrea a good example.

‘What do you mean, Andrea?
I'm
Andrea. The new baby can't be called Andrea too. I've got to give her a name, you said I could. She's Ethel. I'm calling her Ethel.'

The baby roared and Dad pushed me right out into the road.

‘Don't be so silly. You're not Andrea. My baby's my little girl and she's called Andrea,' Dad shouted from the house, struggling with the giant baby.

‘I'm
your little girl! I'm Andy!' I screamed as I dodged in and out of the traffic.

Then a car hit me hard in the chest and I opened my eyes and there was Zen sitting on top of me.

‘Wake up, Andy!' he said, jiggling up and down.

‘You were shouting, Andy,' Crystal said, bending over me, her long hair tickling my face. ‘Were you having a bad dream?'

‘Mm. Get off me, Zen,' I said. My voice came
out in a queer croak. It hurt a lot. I wasn't shivery any more. I was boiling hot.

‘Get
off
her, Zen,' said Crystal, pushing him. ‘I don't think you're very well, Andy.'

‘I don't think I am either,' I said, and I started to cry.

‘I'll get Mum,' said Crystal.

‘No, get my dad,' I croaked.

They both came. Carrie sat cross-legged beside me, her tummy huge under her nightie. She sighed sympathetically.

‘Poor little fruitcake, Friday always makes you feel bad, doesn't it,' she said. ‘Would you like me to show you the relaxation exercise I do at my childbirth class? It really helps stop you feeling tense.'

‘She's not feeling tense, she really is ill,' said Dad, his hand on my forehead. ‘She's got a fever, feel, Carrie.'

I squirmed away from Carrie's cool fingers and clutched at Dad.

‘My throat hurts. And my head. And my neck and my arms and my legs. Everywhere hurts. Oh Dad, will you stay off work and look after me?' I begged.

‘My poor old tuppenny. Yes, you've got a
nasty sore throat. All right, no school. But Carrie will look after you.'

‘I want you, Dad.'

‘Now you're being silly,' said Dad, but he didn't sound cross. He ruffled my hair and hugged me close. And to my amazement he phoned his office after breakfast and told them he was taking a day's leave.

‘I can't help it if it's not convenient,' he said. ‘My little girl needs me.'

I was really glad I had a sore throat then, even though it hurt so much. Dad tucked me up in his and Carrie's bed, making a special nest for me, and then we played paper games all morning, noughts and crosses and Hangman and Battleships. We haven't been able to play paper games properly for ages because Zen and Crystal are always around and they're too little to play and just scribble and waste the paper.

Carrie made this bean casserole thing for lunch but the only sort of beans I like are baked beans out of a tin so I wouldn't eat any.

‘My throat's too sore,' I said, making it croak a little more.

‘Oh dear,' said Carrie, looking sad. ‘Isn't
there anything I can get you, Andy? What would you really fancy?'

‘Jelly.'

‘Jelly. Right. I'll make you a lovely fruit jelly for tea,' said Carrie.

She went out and bought some oranges specially, and spent ages in the kitchen.

‘I've never made a jelly before but I
think
it's going to turn out all right,' she said.

‘It's easy peasy to make jelly, you just pour on boiling water and stir,' I said.

‘Oh, that's jelly out of a packet,' said Carrie, looking shocked. ‘I'd never give you junk food, Andy. You need natural fresh food with lots of nourishment.'

Carrie's jelly didn't look very nourishing when she brought me a plate at teatime. It was supposed to be orange jelly but it wasn't orange-coloured. It was a weird sickly brown. It wasn't jelly either. It didn't stick. It sort of slid about the plate. Radish was quivering in my hand, ready for another glorious jelly glut, but when she saw it for herself she jumped back into my pyjama pocket, her ears drooping.

‘Come on, Andy, eat up your nice jelly,' said Dad. ‘Isn't Carrie kind to make it for you specially?'

‘I'm not really hungry now.'

‘Don't be silly, Andy. You've got to eat something.'