Little Darlings (17 page)

She stays limp in my palm and my voice sounds silly and self-conscious. It's no use. I hide her back under her bedcovers and slam the doll's house shut.

I feel like crying.
Why
can't I believe it any more? I know I'm too old, but I don't want to be. I want to be little and cute like Sweetie, and free to play imaginary games all day long. Though the only game she really likes playing is pretending to be grown up, laughing and pouting and standing
with her hands on her hips, as if she's permanently strutting down a red carpet.

I hear Ace roaring in the playroom. At least he's happy being Tigerman. Dad is still doing his own roaring downstairs. Whatever can they have written about him?

My heart starts banging. Could Destiny and her mum have gone to the papers and told them that Dad is her father?

I've got to find out. Dad and Mum and Rose-May are all shouting in the big living room. I know better than to go in there.

I put my head round the kitchen door. Margaret is making coffee and arranging a plate of her home-made shortbread.

‘Oh, Margaret, I
love
your shortbread,' I say, staring wistfully at the plate.

‘Your mum says I mustn't give you any more snacks. She doesn't want you turning out tubby,' says Margaret – but she winks and pops a big wedge of shortbread into my open mouth.

I munch happily, unable to speak for several seconds.

‘There! I hope my shortbread will shut them up too when I serve it. Going at it hammer and tongs, they are. What a fuss about a silly newspaper article. I didn't think it was anything to get het up about.'

‘Have you got a copy of the paper, Margaret?'

‘I
did
– but His Lordship came and ripped it to shreds, would you believe! As if that's going to help! And even if he rips up every copy he can find, it's still posted on the Internet, as any fool knows. And I hadn't even read half of the paper – and John always likes to do the crossword. Ha! There's been enough cross words just recently to last us a lifetime. I've had about enough of it.'

‘Oh, don't leave, Margaret, please,' I beg – though all the staff leave sooner or later.

She gives me a wry little smile. ‘It's you kids I feel sorry for,' she says.

That makes me shiver. Margaret sees, and looks anxious.

‘Here, have another shortbread, pet,' she says. ‘Now, you run along. Steer well clear of your mum and dad. I wish
I
could steer clear of them – and that Rose-May.'

I go out of the kitchen, mouth full of shortbread. I go back to my bedroom and switch on my computer. I type in Dad's name and the newspaper – and Margaret's right, there's the article! There's a headline in big letters: L
AST
D
INOSAUR OF
R
OCK
'
N
' R
OLL
. I see a cartoon drawing of Dad as a dinosaur with a long wrinkled neck and a bandanna round a tiny reptilian head.

I start to read the article but it's quite difficult and boring, analysing the music scene, and going on about Dad way back at the start of his career, when the journalist was a big fan. But then it talks about him being a parody of himself nowadays, unwise enough to collude with the
Milky Star
film-makers. The journalist wonders if it was overwhelming vanity or simple stupidity that made Kilman make such a fool of himself. He talks about Dad's looks: his many wrinkles, his puny arms, his pot belly, his ridiculous bandanna failing to hide his receding hairline – on and on, relentlessly.

Then it talks about Dad's love life – his first family and his string of girlfriends. I pore over this part, looking for the name Kate Williams, but she's not mentioned. So many other women are though. Then, after many paragraphs, he starts writing about Mum, calling her the Page Three Popsie, not scared to show her claws if any other deluded girls start fawning over Danny.

So now the senile rock star has ceased his strutting. It's many years since we've heard that once-great gravel voice. Now he plays Happy Families in
Hi! Magazine
with his kitten wife and three unfortunate kids with the standard outlandish names of celebrity offspring – Danny Kilman, the last dinosaur of Rock 'n' Roll.

I shut the page quickly and sit rocking in my chair, trying to make sense of it all. Why does the journalist hate Dad so much? Is he really a laughing stock? I always thought everyone adored my dad, but now everything's turned upside down. And why does he call Sweetie and Ace and me
unfortunate
?

The row goes on for most of the day. I creep downstairs every now and then to listen. Rose-May can usually calm Dad down but he's mad at her this time, shouting that it's all her fault.

‘You'd better watch it, Danny,' Rose-May says. ‘You can only push me so far.'

‘Oh yeah?
You're
the one who'd better watch it. I could just get myself a new manager,' Dad yells.

‘What makes you think anyone else would take you on?' Rose-May shouts, and she slams out of the room.

Then the row gets worse because it's just Mum and Dad. It rumbles on and off throughout the evening. Then there's a shouting match in the hall because Dad's going out again.

‘
Where
are you going, Danny? You're going to see
her
, aren't you?' Mum shrieks.

‘Shut up, you jealous cow,' Dad says.

‘Why should I be jealous of you?
You're
the sad old fart that's past it,' Mum yells.

There's a horrible slapping sound. I don't know if it's Dad hitting Mum or Mum hitting Dad. Maybe they're fighting each other. I'm sitting with Claudia and Sweetie and Ace now, and she's trying to make us play a silly old game called Snakes and Ladders, but none of us can concentrate. We hear the shouting, we hear the slap, and we sit frozen, as if the snakes have wriggled right off the board and are writhing towards us, their forked tongues flickering.

‘You needn't think I'll wait in for you, sobbing my heart out,' Mum cries. ‘I don't give a stuff any more.
I'm
going out and having fun.'

We hear her rushing up to her bedroom and then clopping back downstairs in high heels.

They both slam out and drive off in separate cars.

‘This is the absolute pits!' says Claudia, shaking her head.

‘I want Mummy,' says Sweetie.

‘She's obviously gone out,' says Claudia.

‘But she didn't say goodbye. I want to go with Mummy! I want her to buy me my party dress! I want to go to the
shops
!' Sweetie cries, distraught.

She tries to run into the hall but Claudia takes hold of her.

‘Don't be silly, Sweetie. The shops will all be closed now,' she says, struggling with her. ‘Come on, let's carry on playing Snakes and Ladders. Whose go is it to throw the dice?'

‘I don't like Snakes and Ladders,' says Ace. ‘The snakes are all staring at me. I'm Tigerman and I'm going to bite them into bits.'

He snatches up the board, spilling counters everywhere, and crams the edge into his mouth, biting hard – and then bursts into tears, because of course it hurts. Claudia tries to calm him. I try cuddling him, but he wriggles and screams. Sweetie is wailing for Mummy, so Ace yells that he wants
Daddy
Tigerman.

‘Oh Lordy,' says Claudia. ‘Look, it's no use going on at
me
.
I
want your mummy and daddy to come back. This happens to be my night off and I had plans to go out. I get a Saturday night off once in a blue moon, but they didn't even think of that when they both stormed out. They could have just
asked
me. It's so unfair.' She looks as if she's about to burst into tears herself.

‘Never mind, Claudia. You go out. Sweetie and Ace will be just fine with me,' I say, patting her shoulder. ‘I'll be the babysitter.'

‘Oh, Sunset, don't be silly. You're much too young.'

‘I'm
not
silly.' I was only trying to
help
– and I can control Sweetie and Ace better than she can.

But she's intent on being a martyr so I let her get on with the long tedious job of getting each child quiet, bathed, and into their own beds. I retire wounded to my room. I don't try to go to Wardrobe City. I sit on the end of my bed muttering, ‘Why do they have to shout and cry all the time?
Why
do they, all of them – Dad, Mum, Sweetie, Ace, Claudia. Why can't they all shut up and leave me in
peace
?'

The mutter turns into a rhythm. I start whispering it over and over. Then I fetch a piece of my teddy-bear notepaper and try to write it down. I work out the words in a flash and sing them to myself until they make the right tune. I don't know how to write music but I put little arrows under the words, showing where the tune goes up and where it goes down, so that I'll remember it.

They shout and cry,
I wonder why
They moan and scream
While I dream.
I dream of peace
Where no one shouts,
No one tells lies
And
no one cries.
I'm all alone
Where no one can moan,
No one can scream
In my land of dream.

Then I go right inside Wardrobe City, shut the doors so no one can hear me, and sing it. My voice is still a frog-croak so it doesn't sound right – but inside my head I can hear just how it should be. I clasp my arms round myself, thrilled. Claudia is shouting for me but I don't feel like answering her just yet. Then she starts hammering on the door, trying to wrench the city walls open.

‘Go away, Claudia,' I say furiously.

‘Well, come
out
. I couldn't find you anywhere. I thought you were lost. You're too old to play ridiculous tricks like this.'

‘First I'm too young, then I'm too old,' I say, emerging sulkily.

‘Whatever have you
got
in there?' Claudia asks, flinging the doors wide.

‘Stop it, it's
private
.'

‘Why have you got your doll's house inside your wardrobe with all the rest of that junk?' Claudia asks.

‘It's not junk – how dare you! Look, it's
my
wardrobe. I can put what I like inside it,' I say.

‘I give up. You're the three weirdest children I've ever come across. I'm at the end of my tether!' Claudia says. ‘Now get into bed, Sunset.'

‘But it's nowhere near my bed time yet!'

‘I don't
care
. Get undressed, clean your teeth and go to bed this instant. I'm sick of the lot of you.'

‘Are you going to hand in your notice?'

‘Yes I am!'

I don't know whether to beg her to stay or not. I don't really like her – but some of the nannies we've had have been much worse.

‘Do you hate us, Claudia?' I ask.

‘What? No, of course I don't
hate
you, Sunset! Don't look like that!'

I jump and put my hand up quickly. ‘Was I showing my teeth?'

‘No! There's nothing
wrong
with your teeth. Or you. Or Sweetie or Ace. It's not your fault.'

‘Is it Mum and Dad's fault?'

Claudia hesitates. ‘I shouldn't discuss your parents with you.'

‘Oh, go on. I won't tell. And if you're leaving, what does it matter anyway?'

‘Well – they're pretty impossible to work for. They don't act like normal human beings at all. All
this arguing! They don't even try to lower their voices. They seem to think they can do anything they want, just because they're so-called celebrities. They throw tantrums just like little children.'

‘Well, you're the nanny. Maybe you should put them on the naughty step and not let them have any supper.'

Claudia stares at me, and then bursts out laughing. ‘You're a funny girl, Sunset. I shall miss you.'

‘So you really really really are leaving?'

‘I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind. Now, I'd better go and check on the other two. You don't have to go to bed just yet, Sunset. Go back in your wardrobe if you want to!' She squeezes my shoulder and goes to the door.

‘Claudia?'

‘Mmm?'

‘Claudia, if – if Mum and Dad split up—'

‘Oh, darling, I don't think they'll do that. I know they quarrel dreadfully but I'm sure that's just their way.'

Claudia doesn't know about the girl texting Dad.

‘Yes, but
if
they do – what will happen to us? Will we live with Mum or Dad?'

‘I don't really know. Your mum, I suppose – though of course you'd still see your dad.'

‘But
where
would we live? This is Dad's house, isn't it?'

‘Well . . . you mustn't worry about it, Sunset. You'll be fine. And your mum and dad will be fine too. And if by chance they do break up, they'll both still be your parents. They both love you very much indeed and will see you're properly looked after, I'm sure of it,' says Claudia, and she goes out.

She doesn't
sound
very sure. I worry about it half the night. I listen out for Mum, I listen out for Dad. What if neither of them come back? I start to wonder if that might actually work. Sweetie and Ace and I could still live in our house. I could take over and be their mother. We wouldn't need a real mother. We wouldn't need a nanny. If Margaret and John left too, I could do all the cooking. I know how to do baked beans on toast and baked potatoes and egg and bacon and fairy cakes already, and I'm sure I could learn lots of other recipes. I can't drive, of course, but we could walk to places, and maybe get the bus – that would be ever such fun, I've always longed to take a bus ride. And I wouldn't go to school – I so hate Ridgemount House. I'd study by myself at home and I wouldn't go to the dentist and I wouldn't get my teeth fixed, I'd just let them be all crooked and I
wouldn't care
. . .