Diamond Girls (5 page)

Martine suddenly started crying too. ‘Oh Mum,' she said. She threw her arms round Mum's neck. ‘All right, I'll come.'

‘I knew you would,' said Mum, hugging her tight.

‘Just till the baby's born.'

‘Well, give me a week or two after to recover. I'm not getting any younger, you know. I can't snap straight back into action the way I did when I had you, darling. Still, they say boys are easier. I hope the little whatsit sleeps soundly. I don't fancy all that two-o' clock-in-the-morning feeding caper.'

‘Well
I'm
not doing it!' said Martine, but she clung onto Mum, nuzzling her head against her neck as if she was still a baby herself.

‘My big girlie,' Mum said softly, running her fingers through Martine's tufty hair.

‘Typical!' said Rochelle, pushing past to wave her grubby mop over the balcony. ‘I do all the hard work, scrubbing away like stupid Cinderella, ruining my only decent jeans in the process, and
she
gets all this fussing. How come manky old Martine's your favourite, Mum?'

‘You're
all
my favourite Diamond girls,' said Mum. ‘
Little
sparkling gems, the lot of you – especially the pretty one with the Marigold gloves.'

Rochelle peeled off her pink rubber gloves and flapped their flabby fingers at Mum. Mum grabbed one for herself and they had a silly Marigold glove slap-and-flap fight.

Bruce came back empty-armed and stepped warily round them, shaking his head. ‘I'm not sure I like all those young lads getting in and out my van,' he said. ‘I know some are helping load your stuff but there's others just generally mucking about. One of them was fiddling with the steering wheel and when I ticked him off he gave me a mouthful you'd never believe.'

‘Oh, I'd believe it all right,' said Mum. ‘Don't you worry, Bruce, mate, just tell our Jude and she'll soon sort them out for you. We're nearly done anyway. I can't wait to get out of this dump and start out in our lovely new house, eh, girls?'

Martine didn't look like she agreed one little bit. She went to tell Tony she was coming with us after all. He came down to see us off when the van was fully packed. He didn't say a word to any of us, but he took Martine in his arms and gave her a really passionate twirly-tongue kiss.

Mum tutted but didn't try to stop them. All Jude's gang hooted and catcalled, while Jude herself mimed being sick. Rochelle looked envious. I wasn't sure what I felt. I rather wanted someone to love me lots, but I thought it would feel very wet and squirmy kissing like that. I decided I preferred budgies to boyfriends as they just gave you neat dry pecks of affection.

The biggest boy in Jude's gang suddenly caught hold of her by the wrist and started kissing
her
. Jude wasn't
having
any of it. She gave him such a shove he staggered backwards onto his bottom. Jude rubbed her lips with the back of her hand, shuddering, like she was removing slug-slime. All the other boys howled.

Rochelle sidled up to them, tossing her fair curls over her shoulder. She sucked her mouth into a little pink pout to show that
she
wouldn't mind a kiss. The boys jostled around her, some of them making kissy-kissy noises, but they were just teasing her. Rochelle flounced into the van.

‘Honestly, what creeps,' she said. ‘I don't know why you hang round with that crowd, Jude.'

‘I don't hang round them. They hang round me,' said Jude.

‘Yeah, well, say goodbye to your little gang,' said Mum. ‘We're off now. Put Tony down, Martine, and get in the van. Let's get going.'

Bruce steered the van very slowly round all the blocks while we did our best to steady all the stuff in the back. Mum wound down a window.

‘Bye, boring old Bletchworth!' she shouted at the top of her voice.

People turned and stared. Some of the women shook their heads and tutted. Mum blew raspberries at them all. Lots of the men wolf-whistled. Even the decorator guys painting the windowsills on South Block bent down from their cradles and waved. Their little gang had been painting the whole Bletchworth Estate for months. All the girls were crazy about the youngest guy, who was dark with a cheeky grin. He went out with a different girl every night and he was already a dad, even though he was only seventeen.

He seemed to have taken a shine to our Martine because he called out, ‘Bye, gorgeous, nice knowing you!' He waved so wildly he dropped his paintbrush and it landed with a thump on the top of Bruce's van.

‘Blooming heck! What an idiot! I hope he hasn't made a dent in my van,' said Bruce. ‘Let's get out of here before he starts hurling his paint pots too.'

Mum was laughing but she was crying too.

‘Are you sad, Mum? Don't you want to go now?'

‘I'm fine, Dixie. Of course I want to go. This is the start of our brand-new life. Let's get that wheel of fortune whirling!'

4

‘
ARE WE NEARLY
there yet?' I said.

‘For God's sake, Dixie, we've only been driving ten minutes!' said Mum.

‘I think I'm starting to feel sick,' I said.

‘Breathe deeply and look straight ahead,' said Bruce. ‘I'll buy you some barley sugar at the next service station.'

‘Thank you, Uncle Bruce.'

‘I'm not your uncle, dear.'

Still, he acted like an uncle, buying us all sweets when he stopped for petrol. I still felt sick. It didn't help that I was squashed up the wrong way, but I was so wedged in with boxes I couldn't turn round. Martine was practically sitting on top of me, texting Tony nonstop on her mobile. Jude and Rochelle were fighting over who had more room, fiercely shoving each other. I sometimes got in the way of their shoves. I clutched Bluebell and pretended we were flying right out of the window, soaring straight into the sky, up to our own silent, sisterless planet.

It seemed a very long way to the Planet Estate. Mum started to get as bored as us girls.

‘I'm starving,' she said.

‘Have a barley sugar,' said Bruce, offering her the packet.

‘I'm eating for two, mate. I need more than a blooming barley sugar. Come on, let's stop for a snack. We could have an early lunch, give us a bit of energy for all the unpacking.'

She made Bruce stop at the next service station. We wandered round and round the food court in a daze. There was so much to choose from, not just the same old stuff you get down the chippy or the Chinese.

Martine said first of all that she was too miserable to eat. Then she said she'd just have a salad. And maybe a piece of cold chicken. And a packet of crisps. And some fruit. And maybe a KitKat and a coffee.

Jude had a large plateful of spaghetti bolognese.

Rochelle had a Cornetto and a cream doughnut and a Mars bar.

I had prawn sandwiches. I didn't like the sandwich part but I enjoyed picking out the little pink prawns and making them swim across my plate. Then I had a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. I spent ages spooning on the cream so that each red strawberry mountain had its own cap of creamy snow.

Mum had macaroni cheese for the baby's benefit and a big bowl of chips for herself. She tried to get Bruce to have chips too and a big mixed grill. ‘I like to see a man eat a proper plateful,' she said. Bruce said he could only stomach tea and toast mid morning. He paid for it hurriedly, counting it out in coins.

Mum nudged up close with her tray, calling for us all to come over quick. It looked like she was hoping Bruce might pay for our lunch too. Bruce looked terrified and made for a table so quickly he bumped his tray and spilled half his tea over his buttered toast. Mum had to pay. The bill came to £36.99.

‘Rubbish!' said Mum. She said a worse word, actually.

The lady at the till blinked at her. ‘Language!' she said.

‘Yeah, well, the Queen herself would start effing and blinding at this sort of rip-off,' said Mum. ‘You add that up again. You must have added at least a tenner.'

‘Mum!' Martine hissed. ‘You're showing us up!'

‘We could put some stuff back,' I suggested, though I'd already winkled a couple of prawns out of my sandwich and eaten the biggest strawberry.

‘I've only got a snack – unlike
some
people,' said Rochelle, nudging Jude.

‘I bet my spag bol cost less than all your rubbish,' said Jude, nudging her back.

‘Shut up, girls. No, you're not putting anything back. OK OK, we'll pay for our food, but let's hope you've got gold knives and forks to eat it with,' said Mum, fishing two twenties out of her purse.

She didn't have much money left, yet she still had to pay Bruce for driving us. I hoped the Planet Estate would have a good chippy because that's what we'd be eating all week.

Bruce hunched up small when we all sat down with him, holding his plate of soggy toast as if we were about to snatch it away from him. Mum tried to chat to him to show she had no hard feelings over him not forking out for our meal, but he kept shrugging and shaking his
head
. He kept peering round to see if people were looking at us. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen out with us in case people thought he was our dad.

‘How's your toast, Uncle Bruce?' I asked, squeezing up beside him.

‘It's OK. It's just toast. I'm not your uncle, I said.'

‘Do you know any of my real uncles? Or aunties? Or maybe my gran and grandad?' I asked, leaning up so close I could whisper in his ear. I didn't want Mum to hear me. She always said we didn't need any other family. She said we were a fine family all by ourselves, the Diamond girls.

So how come she was so desperate for this baby
boy
?

‘I don't know your dad's folks, Trixie. I don't even know your dad that well. We're just work mates, really. I deliver the wreaths.'

‘So you've never been to his house?'

‘Well, a couple of times. Socializing. He's always having people round, your dad.'

‘He's never had
me
round,' I said. ‘Tell me what his place is like, Uncle Bruce, please!'

‘Well, it's just … just a house. It's modern, quite comfy. Maybe a bit too full of satin cushions and ruffled curtains, but then I'm a bloke, so I wouldn't really go for anything too frilly and feminine.'

‘Why does my dad want frilly stuff then?'

‘It's Stella's taste, dear.'

‘Who?'

‘You know. His wife,' said Bruce, buttering his second slice of toast. ‘She's very girly, like. And his girls are all fluffy curls and lipstick too. Even the baby's a curlyknob, all dainty and dimples.'

I felt as if he'd stabbed me straight in the ribs with his knife. I put my prawn sandwich down. I tore at the crusts, turning them into breadcrumbs. I remembered the fairy story of Hansel and Gretel and how they were abandoned in a forest because their mum and dad didn't want them. They left a trail of breadcrumbs so they could find their way back. I didn't get that. Why would they want to go back to such horrible parents? I decided I'd stay in the forest. I wouldn't go near that gingerbread cottage and get caught by the wicked witch. I wouldn't even have a lick of her candy-cane door knocker. I'd clear off and make my own cottage. Bluebell would live with me. I'd have a trapeze in my garden and she'd have her perch and we'd swing in unison and turn somersaults just like a circus act.

‘Dixie! Stop daydreaming. You look so gormless with your mouth hanging open. Do you have to mangle your food like that? Especially when that sandwich cost me a fortune! Pull yourself together! Bruce is talking to you.'

I knew Bruce was talking. I'd been trying to get him to tell me stuff about my dad all morning but now he'd started I didn't want to hear. I knew my dad had a wife and two other daughters but I didn't want to think about them. I hadn't known he had a new baby. I didn't want to think about her. It was the one thing I'd always counted on.
I
was his baby.

I'd been a dreadful baby. Mum and Martine and Jude and Rochelle had told me often enough. I'd been premature, like a little skinned rabbit, all purple and shrieking my head off. I went on shrieking for months and months, wanting to be fed every three hours, night and day.

‘Tiny little thing, but you had the lungs of a bull-moose,' said Mum. ‘God, you didn't half bellow! And then you were forever
ill
– jaundice and eczema and croup. I'd walk you up and down, up and down, and you'd yell and wheeze and scratch and scream until I very nearly chucked you out the window.'

It was no wonder my dad never wanted to see much of me.

I muttered something about going to the toilet and mooched off while Bruce was in mid-sentence. I was sick of hearing about babies.

I sat in the toilets a long time, reading all the rude rhymes on the door. I stroked Bluebell on my lap and pretended she was flying up above every cubicle, peeking at everyone peeing. I heard Mum and the girls come in, calling for me. I kept quiet and clutched Bluebell by the beak.