Cookie (13 page)

‘She’s still half asleep, Gerry. Give her a chance!’ said Mum. She wriggled round the dreadful giant rabbit and gave me a kiss. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’

I hugged her close. Then I sat up properly and hugged Dad. And then I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms round the rabbit. Its fur was coarse and tickly and it had an overpowering smell of wool and carpet.

‘Don’t you just love your birthday bunny?’ said Dad.

I hated hated hated the monster rabbit but I pretended to be thrilled with him.

‘So what are you going to call him, eh?’ Dad demanded.

I didn’t want to personalize the rabbit with a proper name.

‘He’s called … Pinky,’ I said.

‘Pinky!’ said Dad. ‘All right, so be it.’

He lumbered round the room with Pinky, singing:

‘
My name’s Pinky
,

I’m not dinky
,

I’ll give you a winky

’Cos my eyes are blinky!
’

Dad gave the rabbit a vigorous shake. His eyes revolved alarmingly.

‘Come and join in the dance, Beauty!’ said Dad.

I had to get up and caper in a circle with my mad dad and the worst toy rabbit in the world.

‘I
told
you she’d love the rabbit,’ Dad said to Mum.

‘Yes, of course she loves it, Gerry. Now, Beauty, you’d better whiz along to the bathroom and then you can open the rest of your presents at breakfast.’

‘Special birthday breakfast! Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. I’d better go and do it. Your mother still can’t scramble an egg to save her life. Can’t even
boil
a blooming egg for that matter, can you, Silly Dilly?’

‘Mum
can
cook. She makes wonderful cookies,’ I mumbled, but Mum put her finger to her lips, shushing me.

Dad marched downstairs. The pink rabbit lounged on my bed, giant limbs sprawled, paws clenched like boxing gloves. Mum and I stared at it. Then I suddenly spluttered. Mum giggled too. We became helpless with laughter, our hands clamped over our mouths in case Dad heard us.

‘Oh, Beauty, I’m sorry,’ Mum whispered. ‘I couldn’t
believe
it when I saw it. You hate it, don’t you?’

‘Yes!’

‘It completely fills up your bedroom. Dear God, it’s going to give you nightmares.’

‘Maybe I can stuff it in my wardrobe every night?’

I tried lifting it but I could barely drag it off the bed.

‘Watch those massive arms! We don’t want to break another mirror!’ Mum hissed.

‘It so spoils my bedroom,’ I said despairingly, suddenly near tears.

‘Yes, I know. Maybe we’ll sit him in a corner and drape a huge wrap over him when your dad’s not around. But cheer up, there’s a trade-off! As your dad bought you the pink rabbit I begged him to let me buy your birthday outfit as
my
present to you. He was fed up with shopping by this time, so he said OK. He even gave me a hundred quid towards it. You go and get washed and it’ll be waiting in your wardrobe when you get back.’

‘Is it pink or frilly?’ I asked anxiously.

‘Not a single frill and it’s not pink, OK?’ said Mum. ‘Scoot.’

I scooted – and when I got back I saw my new outfit hanging outside my wardrobe. The dress was pearly-grey with long sleeves and a full skirt with a white broderie anglaise pinafore over the top. There were grey silky tights and amazing grey laced boots with little heels.

‘I know you’d much sooner wear a T-shirt and jeans but your dad would never allow it, especially when he’s turned your birthday into such a big do. He said you had to wear a proper party frock. I was going bananas trying to find something you’d like. Then I saw this. I know it’s very old-fashioned but I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s like something Sara would wear in
A Little Princess
.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, stroking the soft dress. ‘It’s beautiful – but will I look funny in it? Will it fit me? I’m getting
sooo
fat.’

‘No, you’re not, sweetheart. I think it’ll look great. Try it on and see.’

Mum had bought me new underwear too, white pants with lace and a wonderful whirly petticoat a bit like a ballet dress.

‘Maybe I’ll just wear this as a party dress,’ I said, doing wobbly arabesques all around my bedroom.

‘Come and put your dress on, Sugar Plum Fairy,’ said Mum, unbuttoning it for me.

She acted like a Victorian maid, buttoning me into my dress, tying the sash of the pinafore and kneeling in front of me lacing my boots.

‘There!’ she said. ‘Look at yourself in the mirror!’

I went and stood in front of the Venetian glass. I looked so different. I really looked like a girl in a Victorian story book. I still didn’t look
pretty
– but I didn’t look hideously ugly either.

‘Oh, Mum!’ I said, my eyes shining.

‘Oh, Beauty!’ said Mum. ‘You look lovely, sweetheart. Maybe I ought to get a job as a stylist!’

Dad shouted impatiently from downstairs. ‘What are you two up to? The eggs are scrambling into sawdust!’ he yelled.

‘We’re dressing Beauty in her finery. Come to
the
bottom of the stairs, Gerry,’ Mum called.

She took me by the hand and then led me downstairs. I walked down cautiously in my heeled boots, my petticoat and skirt swishing around my calves, making a lovely rustling sound.

Dad was frowning at first, still fussing about the eggs. Then he saw me – and he looked taken aback.

‘Oh goodness! It’s not really a
party
dress, is it? Still, you don’t look bad in it, Beauty. The colour’s a bit insipid, mind you. A nice bright pink might have been prettier. And I’m not sure about the apron. It’s certainly unusual. What do you think, Beauty?’

‘I absolutely love it!’ I said, twirling round.

I ended up changing out of my beautiful grey dress and pinafore to eat my breakfast just in case I spilled scrambled eggs all down me. I sat in my new petticoat and my Tracy Beaker dressing gown opening up my birthday presents. Dad’s parents were dead, but Nana, my mum’s mum, sent me pink nylon baby-doll pyjamas about a hundred sizes too small.

‘How lovely –
not
,’ said Mum. She bent close to my ear. ‘I wonder if they’d fit your new rabbit?’

We had a private snigger. There was a present from Auntie Avril, the first Mrs Cookson. She always liked Mum because she thought she’d
taken
Dad away from the
second
Mrs Cookson, Auntie Alysha. Auntie Avril
hated
Auntie Alysha. They couldn’t even be in the same room together without starting a screaming match, but Auntie Avril and Mum were quite matey.

Auntie Avril sent very good birthday presents. This time she’d given me a large tin of fifty felt-tip pens, special Swiss ones with fine points, all the colours of the rainbow. Dad frowned when he saw them.

‘You watch what you’re doing with them crayons,’ he said, but mercifully he didn’t confiscate them.

The present that made me smile the most was one wrapped in blue paper with a white rabbit pattern. The label was carefully printed
TO BEAUTY, LOVE FROM SAM AND LILY
.

‘Oh my goodness!’ said Mum. ‘Fancy Sam and Lily knowing it’s your birthday!’

‘Who on earth are Sam and Lily?’ said Dad.

‘They’re special friends of Beauty’s,’ said Mum.

Mum
was my special friend. I knew her writing, even though she’d tried to disguise it. I ripped off the paper – and there was a DVD compilation of all the best
Rabbit Hutch
shows.

‘Oh how
lovely
,’ I said.

‘Looks very babyish to me,’ said Dad, glancing at it. He stood up, patting me on the head. ‘Glad your
birthday
’s got off to a good start, Beauty. What’s your favourite present, eh?’

I didn’t have any choice.

‘The toy rabbit,’ I said.

Dad chuckled triumphantly, rolling his eyes. He looked alarmingly like the rabbit himself.

‘Now, girls, I’ve just got to dash to the office to meet up with this guy who’s going to sort everything out for me.’

‘But it’s Beauty’s birthday, Gerry! The children are coming at twelve!’

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be back long before then, fusspot. You two girls get the living room in spit-spot shape. The caterers are arriving at eleven. OK, my darlings. Ready to show off our Happy Home?’

Dad went off whistling his silly song. Mum and I rushed round dusting and vacuuming. The house already seemed spotless but Dad winced at the tiniest scuff or smear. When it was all utterly perfect Mum sent me off to sit on her bed and watch Sam and Lily on her DVD player.

‘While you’re watching could you bear to write some labels for me?’ said Mum. ‘You made such a lovely job of the party invitations. It would be great if you’d write this out for me, eighteen times over.’

She put the message in front of me, scribbled on her shopping-list pad:

Hears a little gift!

Cookies from Beauty Cookson!

‘Is that OK?’ she asked anxiously.

I wasn’t going to tell her but she saw my eyes flicker. ‘What is it? Have I got it wrong?’

‘I think “here’s” is maybe spelled differently, Mum,’ I said gently.

‘Oh lordy! Good job you’re my little brainbox. Spell it properly for me then, sweetie, while I go and sort out all the cookies.’

I wrote out the eighteen labels with Auntie Avril’s felt-tip pens while Sam and Lily chatted to me. They kept getting distracted from each little programme to wish me a happy birthday. Sam even sang the birthday song for me, making Lily’s ears sway in time to the music.

‘Are you having a lovely birthday, Beauty?’ Sam asked.

‘I
think
so,’ I said. ‘I’m scared it’ll all go wrong when all the girls come. You know how they all tease me. It would be OK if Skye and Arabella and Emily weren’t coming. Do you think they’ll laugh at my new party dress? It’s not a bit like the sort of stuff they wear.’

‘It’s much much nicer,’ said Sam. ‘We think you look stunning in your dress and pinafore and special boots. Your mum’s chosen a wonderful outfit
for
you. We’re not so sure about your dad’s present though. You’re a bit frightened of that great big pink rabbit, aren’t you, Lily?’

Lily snuffled, nodding her head.

‘
I
was frightened just at first,’ I said. ‘It’s hideous, isn’t it?’

We have a private chuckle together and then Sam and Lily went through their paces for their ten programmes, pottering in the garden, clearing out the rabbit hutch, coping with a cold, smelling the spring flowers, getting wet in the rain. I especially loved that episode because Sam made Lily her own little sou’wester to keep her ears dry.

I finished off the labels and ran down to give them to Mum. She had eighteen special transparent gift bags lined up on the kitchen table. I stuck a label on each one and then Mum brought out four huge tins.

‘These are the oatmeal-and-raisin cookies,’ said Mum, pointing. ‘And these are the plain, but I’ve iced them with lemon frosting and stuck those little silver balls on top so they look quite pretty, don’t they? Then these are cherry cookies and
these
are chocolate chip.’

‘You’re so clever, Mum! They look wonderful.’

‘They do, don’t they!’ Mum agreed happily. ‘We’ll give each girl three of each kind, OK? You get filling and I’ll tie the tops with ribbon.’

Mum had brought beautiful thin satin ribbon, all different colours. When each bag was neatly tied up Mum washed her hands and then tied one lock of my hair into a tiny plait and secured it with the last of the green ribbon.

‘There, it matches your eyes!’ said Mum. ‘You’d better go and get into your party finery now, the caterers will be here any minute.’

I went upstairs and put on my grey dress and pinafore and my lovely boots. I looked at myself in the Venetian glass and then I went to check in the long mirror in Mum’s bedroom. Sam and Lily were still talking on the television. They stopped and looked at me.

‘Oh, Beauty, you look lovely!’ said Sam, and Lily’s eyes shone as she stared at me.

I blew them both a big kiss and then switched them off. I imagined them snuggled up together asleep in the dark of the Rabbit Hutch, waiting until I wanted to wake them up again.

Mum came running in to change into
her
party outfit – a cream dress that showed off a lot of her own creamy skin. Mum squinted sideways at herself in the mirror.

‘Do you think I ought to wear a little camisole under this dress, sweetie?’ she asked.

I lowered my voice, doing my best gruff Dad imitation. ‘If you’ve got it, babe, flaunt it,’ I said.

Mum cracked up laughing. ‘You are a card, Beauty.’ She cupped my face with her hands. ‘You’re going to have the happiest birthday ever, just you wait and see.’

The caterers arrived and started setting up the buffet on the dining-room table. Mum and I hovered, worried about getting in the way, but when they put the extraordinary profiterole tower in pride of place in the middle of the table Mum spoke up.

‘Can we leave room for a plate of my home-made cookies, please?’ she said.

She’d arranged all the left-over cookies from the tins on her best green-leaf plate. She laid them in circles, lemon iced cookies in the middle, then the cherry, then the chocolate chip, with the darker oatmeal round the edge. They looked like a beautiful biscuit flower. To make the plate even prettier Mum had scattered little white and purple freesia heads across the cookies.

‘They look lovely, madam,’ said the head caterer – and Mum flushed with pride.

Then we heard the front door bang and Dad came stomping into the dining room. He didn’t pause to take off his shoes. It was immediately obvious he was furious about something. Mum took my hand and squeezed it.

‘Hello, Gerry, darling,’ she said. ‘Look, doesn’t Beauty’s birthday buffet look wonderful?’

Dad barely glanced at it. He nodded curtly at the caterers, stretching his mouth into a grimace.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mum murmured. ‘Is the super-stretch limo still coming? The theatre has reserved the seats?’

‘Oh, everything’s fine and hunky-dory for Beauty’s birthday,’ said Dad, ruffling my hair and pulling my ribbon out of place. ‘I’ve fixed
that
all right. I’m just stuffed when it comes to the Water Meadows development.’