Fizzypop (11 page)

I cringed, low, in my seat. I didn't dare turn to look at Mrs McClusky. I had promised her she was going to be so pleased and proud! I felt pretty dreadful.

“When you are adopted,” said Jem, “you are told that you are special. And that is true, in some ways. But as this essay is supposed to be about Beginnings, I thought that I should go back as far as I can. Maybe one day I will get to meet my real mum, and then I will be able to go back even further. I really hope so.”

There was a round of applause as Jem finished. I didn't applaud, and neither did Skye. We sat, stiff and silent. Other people in our class were looking around, exchanging puzzled glances.
They
knew that wasn't the essay Miss Rolfe had read out to us. Miss Rolfe herself, sitting at the side of the hall, had a face like a thundercloud. Jem was going to be in trouble.

“I told her not to do it,” said Skye. “I
told
her!”

We watched as Mia handed Jem an envelope containing her book token, which was what people got for being chosen to read out their essays. We could see that Mia was saying something. Was it just congratulations or well done, or was it something else? I wished I could lipread!

When Jem had left the stage Mrs Stanhope made a few closing remarks and Speech Day came to an end. Me and Skye immediately jumped up and rushed way down to the front to grab hold of Jem. Skye said, “
Jem!
” and I squeaked, “Did she say anything?”

Before Jem could reply, her dad had appeared.

“Right.” He took Jem by the arm. “Let's go. Your mum's waiting for you outside. She's very upset. Come on!”

Jem doesn't as a rule take a whole lot of notice of her dad; it's her mum who decides what's what. Mr McClusky is very quiet, he never lays down the law or even raises his voice. But that evening, at Speech Day, Jem knew better than to argue. She sent one last despairing glance at me and Skye, then obediently trailed off with her dad across the hall.

“That went well,” said Skye.

She was being sarcastic. I hate when she's sarcastic!

“See you Monday.” She flapped a hand.

I nodded. Skye went off to find her parents, and I looked round for Mum and Dad. I did
so
not want Mum to start going on at me! I even had this faint glimmer of hope that maybe she wouldn't have noticed anything, but of course she had.

“What was all that?” she said. “I thought you told me Jem had written lovely things about her mum and dad?”

“She changed them,” I said. “
I
didn't know she was going to!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Are you telling me you had absolutely nothing to do with it?”

“Not about changing her essay!”

“What about trying to find her birth mum? Are you saying you didn't encourage her? Honestly, Frankie!” Mum shook her head. “When
will
you learn not to interfere?”

All weekend I waited for Jem to call, but she didn't. I texted her, twice.
R U OK?
and
W8ing 2 hear.
Still nothing. In the end I rang Skye to see if she had heard. She hadn't.

“D'you think we should call her?” I said.

“No.” Skye sounded very definite. “She knows where we are.”

“But she might think we're just not bothering!”

“I thought you said you'd texted her?”

“I have, but it's not the same.”

“Look, you asked me,” said Skye, “and I told you… read my lips: I DO NOT THINK WE SHOULD CALL. Wait till we see her.”

It was
such
a long wait. I was out of the house really early on Monday morning, racing down the road to our meeting point. Skye arrived a few minutes later. We both scanned the horizon, anxiously waiting for Jem to appear. I thought, if she's late, it will be a bad sign. If she was bashing things with her bag, that would also be a bad sign. If she was dragging her feet, it would be an even worse sign. And then we saw her, turning the corner, coming towards us. She wasn't dragging her feet; she wasn't bashing her bag. She was
swinging
it. And skipping! Well, walking with a definite bounce.

“What happened, what happened?” I cried. “Did Mia say anything?”

“Nope!” Jem shook her head.

“She didn't admit to being your mum?”

“Nope!”

Me and Skye exchanged puzzled glances.

“She didn't admit it,” said Jem, “cos she's not!”

Not?
Then why was Jem so happy?

“I had this long talk with Mum… she's told me everything.”

“
So?
” I jigged, impatiently. “If it wasn't Mia, who was it?”

“Nobody knows. It's a total mystery!”

Jem's face was bright pink with triumph, though I couldn't think what she had to be triumphant about. It all sounded a bit of a let down, if you asked me.

Skye looked at her, sternly. “You mean nobody knows
anything
?”

“Not very much. Just that I was abandoned.”

Well, that was something. At least we'd been right about
that.

“Just not in the churchyard,” said Jem.

“So where?”

“In the hospital!”

There was a pause. Then Skye said, “In the
hospital
?”

Jem beamed, and nodded.

“What were you doing in the hospital?”

“Being born!”

“In
hospital
?”

“Yes. But only just! See, my mum – my birth mum, that is – she got there just in time. Another minute, it'd have been too late… I'd have come whooshing out in the car park! Cool, or what?” said Jem.

We gazed at her, solemnly.

“So what happened?” I said. “You got born and she abandoned you?”

“She ran off,” said Jem. “Just, like, totally disappeared.”

“But hang on,” said Skye, “surely they'd have got her name and address? They always get people's names and addresses!”

Jem's eyes sparkled, like she was about to let us into a big secret.

“They did,” she said, “but they were
false
.” Jem paused, dramatically, to let it sink in. “She made them up! When they tried to trace her they found the address didn't even exist. Neither did she! Not under the name she'd given them.”

There was another pause, longer this time, while me and Skye thought about it.

“So is that all your mum knows?” I said.

“It's all anybody knows.” Not just a bit of a let down. A
total
let down. Although, on the other hand… “It still
could
have been Mia!”

“No.” Jem shook her head. “She was Irish. Oh, and she had red hair and freckles, so I obviously don't take after her. Mum thinks maybe my dad might have been Italian, or something. But probably,” said Jem, “I'll never know.” She sighed, though she didn't sound too upset. “Mum says she'd have told me earlier if I'd asked… she wasn't deliberately keeping it from me.”

“I did
say
,” said Skye.

“I know, but I couldn't have asked her! You know I couldn't. I was too cross with her.”

She plainly wasn't cross any more, so that was one good thing. But all that hard work! All for nothing.

“Well, at least now you know,” said Skye.

I felt like saying, know what? But I didn't, cos I wouldn't have wanted to upset Jem. She was just so happy now that she and her mum were friends again, she didn't seem to mind about Mia.

“I s'pose there isn't anything much more you can do,” I said.

“Well, I could,” said Jem. “Mum says if I wanted I could write a letter and send it to the social services people, then if my birth mum ever gets in touch they could give it to her and she'd know where to find me.”

I brightened up. “That's a good idea! Why don't we do that? Me and Skye could help. We could do it this weekend, round your place!”

“I dunno.” Jem scrunched her face up. “Not sure I want to.”

“But you've got to! You can't just give up.”

“Maybe one day… when I'm older. I don't feel like it right now cos it really hurt Mum, me saying all those things. I don't want her to think I don't love her! I do love her.
Lots
. I know she won't let me be a model, and Liliana's got this TV commercial that will probably make her famous, but I don't care any more! I'm happy just being with Mum and Dad… my
real
mum and dad. I don't want anyone else.”

Jem swished her bag, as we walked through the school gates.

“Well, I suppose, as it happens,” said Skye, “things actually worked out OK.
In the end.
”

I had to agree. We might not have solved the mystery, but Jem and her mum were friends again, and that was what mattered. And in some ways, as I had to keep reminding myself, it was all down to me. After all, I was the one that had discovered the bit about Mia in the local paper. I was the one that had set it all off. If it hadn't been for me, Jem and her mum might still not be talking!

There was just one tiny thing that kept niggling at me.

“If it wasn't you that was left in the churchyard,” I said, as we made our way home at the end of school, “then who was it?”

“Ah.
Well.
Yes!” Jem gave a snort, which turned into a giggle. She seemed a bit embarrassed. “It wasn't really anyone.”

“You mean, it was all just made up?”

“N-no. Not exactly.”

Definitely
embarrassed.

“You might as well tell us,” said Skye.

“Yes. Well.” Jem did a little hop off the kerb and back again. “The thing is… that wasn't why Mum kept the cutting! I showed it to her, and she laughed. She told me to look at what was on the other side.”

We waited.

“You know her chocolate cake?” said Jem.

You'd better believe it! We are all gluttons for Mrs McClusky's chocolate cake. It's gooey, and sticky, and totally
yum.

“Well, that's what was on the back of it,” said Jem. “My auntie sent it to her. Ages ago! For the recipe, you know? But Mum doesn't need the recipe any more, she says she could do it blindfolded she knows it off by heart, so it got stuffed in a drawer and forgotten about. She says she never even read the bit about the baby being left.”

“I see.” Skye nodded, gravely. “So when we went on our pilgrimage, it was all just, like, make-believe?”

Jem hung her head.

“Doesn't matter,” I said. “It was fun! And the article did say St Peter's. Not like it was St Oesophagus, or something. I mean, there's loads of St Peter's! They're all over the place.”

“I know.” Jem gave another little hop, not embarrassed, this time. “Mum says it's a mistake anyone could have made. Oh, and she says if you'd both like to come to tea on Friday she'll make an extra-special cake with three layers of icing!”

Things had
definitely
worked out. And all down to me!

I said goodbye to the others and whizzed on my way, impatient to get home and give Mum the good news. The minute I opened the front door Rags came bounding downstairs, all big and goofy, with this great doggy grin on his face. He flung his hairy arms round me and we collapsed in a heap on the floor, with me squeaking and Rags making the silly little yelping noises that he does when he's excited.

“What's going on?” The door of the front room had opened and Mum had appeared. “Oh, it's you! I thought a herd of cattle was stampeding down the stairs. Frankie, come and see Emilia in her dewdrop dress.”

I pulled a face. Did I have to?

“Come!” Mum held the door open. Reluctantly, I followed her through into the front room. I was a bit nervous in case I took one look and did something unforgivable, like giggling. Not that I would giggle on purpose, but sometimes these things come rushing at you without warning.

“There,” said Mum. “What do you think?”

I gazed at Emilia. She stood there, pink and proud, holding out the skirt of her dress.

“Go on, then!” Her mum nudged at her. “Give us a twirl!”

Emilia twirled, and the skirt frothed and foamed. Mum and Mrs Duffy both clapped.

“Well?” said Mum. “Don't you think she makes a lovely little dewdrop?”

It was kind of surprising, but she actually did. I mean, thirteen is
way
too old to be wearing a dewdrop dress, especially if you're a bit on the large side, but Emilia just looked so sweet and so eager that I found I was suddenly clapping too.

“I reckon she ought to win first prize,” I said.

“I reckon she should,” said Mum.

Emilia beamed. A big banana beam that lit up her whole face.

“Off you go then!” Mum gave me a little push towards the door. “Go and put the kettle on, I'll be with you in a few minutes. Oh, and Frankie… thank you,” she whispered; and she nodded at me, and smiled, like for once I had done something good.

I bundled off down the hall with Rags, walloping at him playfully with my school bag. I love it when I have Mum's approval! It doesn't happen all that often.

Angel was in the kitchen, texting someone, her thumbs flying about all over the place. She prides herself on being this champion texter. When me and Rags came bursting in she shouted, “Oh, God!” at the top of her voice and went rushing out, still texting. She is completely mad.

She is also very messy; the whole table was covered in her stuff. Books, and pens, and sticks of make-up. A hairbrush (with
hair
in it). Bits of used tissue. Her purse, her keys, a packet of chewing gum, with a lump of chewed gum stuck on to it. Everything just rolling about. Quite disgusting, really. I mean the gum, and the hair. Yuck! I knew what had happened. Her phone had started ringing, and in her eagerness to get to it she'd simply upended her bag and tipped out the contents on the kitchen table. Well, they could stay there! Wasn't my job to tidy up after her.