Diamond Girls (4 page)

‘How come Mum can't see they're going to let her down when she looks into her crystal ball and reads the tarot and works out all her star charts?'

‘Mum and her stupid crazes! Don't take it so seriously, Dixie. It's just a bit of glass and some old cards and some silly figures about stars. How can Mum possibly tell the future with that silly old rubbish?'

‘Because she's psychic?'

‘She's no more psychic than I am,' said Jude. She grabbed my hand. It was the one clutching Bluebell. She gave him a little stroke and then acted like he'd pecked her finger.

‘Ouch! Keep your stunted little eagle under control, our Dixie! OK, let's see if I can read your palm. Ah! I see change on the horizon. Change of scenery – it says so in the stars. Or is it the planets? Here's your Mount of Mercury' – she tickled my palm – ‘look how pronounced it is. It definitely features in the future. Ooh, what's this I see? Look at this wiggly line here. How significant is that!'

‘What? What does it mean?' I knew Jude was only fooling around but she said it all in exactly Mum's tone of voice, making it sound so special, as if she really could read my palm.

‘It means you're going to have fun on your new planet. See, the line squiggles around, just like a smile.' She traced the line for me.

I twisted my hand. ‘But if you look
this
way it's a frown,' I said anxiously.

‘Well, you'll have to keep your hand the right way up,' said Jude, tickling me. ‘Now, what about this young budgie here? Hold out your wing, if you please.' Jude pretended to examine Bluebell's feather tips. ‘Aha! Someone will be spreading their wings and flying off into the great blue yonder.'

‘But then flying back to me?' I said.

‘God, you're such a worryguts,' said Jude.

We heard Martine coming in. Mum said something, then Martine.

‘I'm not bogging well going and that's that!' she yelled.

‘Hm,' said Jude. ‘It's easy predicting there's trouble ahead for
someone
!'

3

MARTINE STILL WASN'T
packed on Saturday, when we were moving. She stayed out all Friday night with Tony.

‘She's simply making her point,' said Mum, wearily making us all tea and toast. She was still in her black silky nightie. It used to look slinky but now it was strained to the utmost, one of the seams starting to split.

‘How come you're so cool about Martine staying out when you went absolutely bonkers when I came in at midnight that time?' said Jude, chewing toast.

‘I knew Martine was safe next door, silly. You were skyrocketing around fighting with a lot of wild boys,' said Mum.

‘What if Martine doesn't come back?' said Rochelle, licking honey off her toast with her pink pointy tongue.

‘Quit messing around with your food like a toddler,' said Mum irritably. ‘
Eat
that toast. It's going to be a long day and we've got a hell of a lot to do.'

‘If Martine stays with Tony's folks then I'll have our bedroom all to myself,' said Rochelle. She sounded hopeful.

Mum glared at her. ‘Quit talking rubbish. Of course Martine's not staying at Tony's. Now come on, eat up, all of you. We've got to be all set and this tip cleared up by ten o'clock when the guy with the van comes for us.'

‘My dad's pal,' I said proudly.

‘I hope he's not another undertaker,' said Rochelle. ‘He'll turn up wearing black and he'll carry our table on his shoulders very slowly, like it's a coffin.'

‘My dad's not an undertaker, he's an embalmer,' I said.

‘And he's not going to do all the humping around, apparently. He's got a bad back. It's our job to get the van loaded,' said Mum.

We stared at Mum in her tight black nightie. She looked like she'd explode if she lifted so much as a tray of teacups. Mum rubbed her stomach anxiously, pressing her lips together.

‘Don't worry, Mum, we'll get it sorted,' said Jude.

‘Yeah, Jude and I will carry all the furniture,' I said.

‘You, pet!' said Mum, grabbing hold of me by the wrist.

I'm horribly small and scrawny for my age and I've got particularly stupid matchstick arms and legs. Jude's tried to teach me how to fight but I'm rubbish at it. I just duck if anyone attacks me. I've done a lot of ducking in the playground, especially after Jude went to secondary school. It didn't seem to make much difference when Rochelle left. She was sometimes the one doing the attacking.

‘I'm not loading any stupid van. I'll break my nails and I've just got them perfect,' said Rochelle, waving her beautiful long pink nails, the thumbs decorated with little glass hearts.

‘You're not loading the van, you're going to be doing
the
scrubbing. Wear my Marigold gloves if you're fussed about your nails,' said Mum. ‘No arguing, now! Let's all get cracking.'

Jude went out and rounded up some of her gang. She didn't like any of the boys but they all looked up to her. She soon had half the lads from North Block getting our furniture along the balcony, into the lift and out onto the courtyard.

I tucked Bluebell down the neck of my T-shirt, rolled up my cardie sleeves, and started heaving and shoving the cardboard boxes out the door. I tried lifting a couple, gasping and panting, but Mum made me stop.

‘You're too little, Dixie. You'll do yourself an injury. Your womb will drop and you won't be able to have any babies.'

‘Good!' I said. ‘Look, I'll
shove
the boxes along the balcony, OK, Mum?'

‘OK, pet, have a go. We're a bit strapped for time. I'll pack up all our Martine's gear seeing as her ladyship has failed to do it herself.'

‘Shall we knock at Tony's door, Mum? Maybe she's overslept?'

‘I'm not talking to his rubbish mother, not after the mouthful she gave me. I wouldn't graze my knuckles on her front door. No, Martine will just have to put in her appearance when she's good and ready.'

‘But what if she doesn't?'

‘I don't think she will,' Rochelle said, still hoping. ‘Oh bum, I've got my jeans all gungy kneeling on the kitchen floor. My
best
jeans!'

‘Why wear your best jeans when we're moving? What are you
like
, Rochelle?' Mum fussed, spilling Martine's
clothes
on her bed and then rolling them up in her duvet.

‘I didn't know I was going to be doing the bogging scrubbing. It's not fair, you always give me the worst jobs, Mum. How come Martine gets out of doing her fair share? She made just as much a mess so she should be scrubbing too, even though she's maybe not coming with us.'

‘There's no blooming maybe, I keep telling you!' Mum said fiercely, emptying Martine's drawers into a big laundry bag. She shook the drawer vigorously, so that little rolled-up socks and wispy thongs and snaky tights bounced all over the carpet. ‘Of course she's coming. She lives with us. She's family.'

We heard footsteps along the balcony and then a tap at the front door.

‘There she is!' said Mum triumphantly.

It wasn't Martine. It was a small skinny guy with a bad haircut and round glasses. They didn't sit comfortably so he had to wrinkle his nose and hitch them up every few seconds.

‘Hi,' he said, glancing at Mum's stomach anxiously. ‘I'm Terry's mate.'

‘Oh yeah, great. You're the guy with the van,' said Mum.

‘I'm Dixie,' I said, pushing past her. ‘You're my dad's best pal, aren't you?'

‘Well, I know Terry, yes, through work.'

‘I
said
he'd be an undertaker,' Rochelle whispered, giggling behind me.

‘No, no, I've got this florist's business. Hence the van.' He pointed over the balcony way down to a white van with
FREDA'S FLOWERS
in fancy gold lettering.

‘Oh, I see. You're Freda, are you?' said Mum.

We all sniggered. He sighed. It was obviously a joke he'd got sick and tired of long ago.

‘Freda was my mum. It was her business. Now she's gone, I run it. I'm …' He hesitated for a second. ‘I'm Bruce.'

‘Hello, Bruce. I'm Sue Diamond and these are all my girls. Well, shall we get cracking?'

Bruce looked anxious. ‘Terry did tell you I can't lift anything, didn't he? I mean, I'd like to help, seeing as you're …' He gestured tactfully.

‘Yeah, no worries, mate, we've got everything under control,' said Mum. She tucked her hand through his arm like they were great pals already. ‘You're a sweetheart to help us out.'

‘Well, it's just a business deal,' Bruce said nervously. ‘I drive you there with all your stuff for fifty quid, right? I need to be back at the shop this afternoon though. I'm short-staffed, and there might be deliveries – bouquets and that.'

‘Sure, sure, we'll be all moved into our dream house by then,' said Mum. ‘So let's get cracking, girls, and get the last of the stuff downstairs.' She gave Bruce's arm a squeeze. ‘How about you carrying these clothes, darling?'

‘But I've done my back in, Mrs Diamond, like I said.'

‘Call me Sue, silly. I've never been a Mrs in my life, I'm my own woman. I know you've got a bad back, mate. So have I, as a matter of fact. You try having a big bruiser of a baby boy leaning up close and personal against your spine! I'm not asking you to shift a blooming wardrobe, just a few little flimsy clothes that hang inside it. You can do that, can't you, Bruce?'

Bruce saw he didn't have any choice. He let Mum thrust the duvet containing all Martine's clothes into his arms.

‘I'll help you carry some,' I said, seeing as he was still sort of my dad's friend.

‘No, Dixie, you start rolling up the rugs. Look at that fluff! Rochelle, you were meant to sweep under them, you dodo. Jude, you get all your boy pals loading our stuff into the van, OK?' Mum said, giving us all little pokes as she organized us.

She prodded Bruce too and so he started plodding along the balcony, Martine's clothes flapping over his arms.

Then there was a bang of a door, and a lot of shouting. Bruce shuffled back again, looking bewildered. Martine was yelling at him.

‘Mum? What's going on? What's this creep doing with all my clothes?' she shouted.

‘He's not a creep, he's my dad's friend!' I said indignantly.

‘Yes, don't you dare come marching in here, yelling and screaming and showing us all up, madam,' said Mum, folding her arms above her stomach.

‘I'm yelling because you're getting rid of all my clothes!' said Martine. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was sticking up all over the place, like she'd tossed and turned all night. ‘I know you're mad at me, Mum, but I never thought you'd throw all my clothes out!' She was breathing heavily as if she might start crying any minute.

Mum was working herself up too, her face blotchy with rage. ‘What do you think I'm doing, sending them all off to Oxfam?' she shouted.

‘Well, that's what it looks like, doesn't it?' said Martine. ‘Look, even my leather jacket!' She plucked it from Bruce's arms, starting an avalanche of clothes all over the hall. Bruce shrank back against the wall, bracing himself for another onslaught.

‘What do you want me to do?' he asked helplessly.

‘You pick up all those clothes and take them down to the van,' Mum snapped, as if he'd dropped them deliberately.

Bruce gathered up the clothes and sloped off, side-stepping Martine as she made a half-hearted grab at them.

‘Stop it, Martine!' said Mum.

‘You stop it, Mum. There's no point putting all my stuff in the van. I'm not coming. Can't you get that into your head? I'm staying with Tony, no matter what. I love him.'

Mum raised her hand. I was sure she was going to slap her. Martine thought so too and tried to dodge. But Mum's hand curved gently round Martine's flushed cheek, cupping her chin.

‘Martine, pet, can't you learn by my mistakes? I know you love Tony – but it won't last.'

‘It will, it will! We're going to love each other for ever.' Martine brushed Mum's hand away. Mum's arm swung sadly, her fingers still outstretched. She took a deep breath.

‘If you're going to love each other for ever then can't you give me a month or two? I need you to help settle us into the new place. I can't manage just now, not with the baby making me so bulky. I can't lift or carry or stretch. See what I'm like,' said Mum, acting it out.

‘We'll help you, Mum,' I said.

‘Oh, Dixie! You're too little, like I said.' Mum lowered her voice. ‘And Jude's not girly enough and Rochelle's too scatty.' She looked deep into Martine's eyes. ‘I need you, darling. You're my girl, my eldest. You and me together, Martine, making it work. You don't have to stay once your baby brother's born and I can run around all over the shop. Help me. Please. I can't make it work, not without you.' Tears started dripping down Mum's cheeks. She didn't blink or try to wipe them away. She stared steadily at Martine.