Cookie (14 page)

‘But I thought this chap was going to fix it all for you?’ said Mum.

‘That’s what
I
thought. But he’s gone and got cold feet. And not only that, he’s blabbed to someone else about a little gift I gave him.’ Dad lowered his voice to a hiss so the caterers wouldn’t hear. ‘And now there’s ridiculous talk of
bribery
.’

‘Oh no!’ said Mum, her hand to her mouth. ‘But … isn’t that a criminal offence?’

‘Sh! Don’t act as if I’m about to be frogmarched off to jail. It won’t come to that, but it might mean hiring lawyers and it’s all going to be horrendously expensive one way or another – and the Water Meadows deal is off now, whatever happens.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ Mum said.

‘I should think you jolly well are, because we’re going to have to pull our horns in
very
smartly. No more fancy frocks and finery for either of you!’
Dad
turned to me. ‘Make the most of this birthday, Beauty. It looks like it’ll be the last proper party you’ll have in a long time.’

I knew it wasn’t the moment to remind Dad I’d never asked for a proper party. I looked at his red face and his twitchy eyelid and his clenched fists, all the warning signs. He was primed like a hand grenade. He was just about keeping it together because the caterers were here but all it needed was one tiny trigger – and then he’d explode.

The girls were due to arrive in twenty minutes. I thought of Dad screaming and shouting in front of Skye and Emily and Arabella and I wanted to die.

‘Don’t look so tragic, Beauty!’ said Dad. He forced a smile to his face, teeth bared as if ready to bite. ‘Don’t you worry about Daddy’s little troubles. You’re still going to have a grand time with your little pals. Look at this lovely spread, yum yum!’ Then he frowned. ‘What’s the big green plate doing bang in the middle?’

Dad marched up to the table and banged the cookie plate. They all bounced out of their elaborate pattern and the freesias fell off.

‘What are you doing, fobbing me off with all these arty-farty fancy biscuits? I didn’t order them!’

‘I know, sir. Your wife made them,’ said the chief caterer. ‘She asked us to put the plate there.’

‘My wife? Is
she
paying your company then?
I
think you’ll find
I
’m the poor Joe Soap writing the cheque, and if that’s the case you’ll take your orders from me. Move that home-made rubbish off the table, pronto. Look at it, half the biscuits are broken anyway!’

They were broken because Dad had thumped them around. Mum picked up the plate and carried it into the kitchen. She kept her head held high but I saw the tears in her eyes. I followed her and gave her a big hug.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum. They looked so lovely too,’ I said.

‘Never mind,’ said Mum, swallowing hard. ‘We can still give the girls their own special bags.’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ said Dad, following us into the kitchen. ‘Beauty, stop looking at me like that! Dilly, shove all that biscuit muck in the bin where it belongs. I don’t want you to start all these damn daft cooking experiments, you’re useless at it. Your job is to look beautiful, so brighten up and put a smile on your face, for pity’s sake. You need a bit more sparkle. Put some jewellery on. That neckline’s a bit bare. I know, wear your diamond collar.’

I froze.

‘Yes, good idea,’ Mum said calmly. ‘Or even better, my string of pearls. They’ll look beautifully creamy with this dress. I’ll go and put them on.’

‘No, pearls are a bit mumsy and understated. I want you looking flash, girl. Go for the diamonds,’ said Dad.

Mum walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. I followed her, feeling frantic.

‘Stop trotting after your mother, Beauty. You’re acting like you’re her little shadow. Come here, let’s look at you. You’re a bit
pale
. What’s up with you?’

Dad didn’t wait for an answer. He went to pour himself a drink and order the caterers around. Mum stayed upstairs. Then there was a ring at the door. It was only quarter to but one of the girls was here already!

‘Go on then, Beauty, answer the door to your first guest,’ said Dad, prodding me out into the hall. ‘Dilly, what the hell are you doing? Get yourself down here!’ he hissed up the stairs.

I went to the door. It was Arabella and her mother, both of them long and thin and jittery, like thoroughbred ponies.

‘Happy birthday, Beauty,’ Arabella neighed.

It was the first time I’d ever heard her use my real name.

‘Happy birthday, Beauty,’ Arabella’s mother said in her high posh voice. She said my name as if it was in quotation marks, her eyebrows raised. ‘Where’s Mummy, dear? I’d just like to check on all the arrangements. Is it right that all
the
girls will be delivered back to their own homes?’

‘Please come in. Oh yes, they’ll be delivered in a super-stretch limo,’ I said.

Mum came flying down the stairs. She was wearing a big gold heart locket. Dad joined her in the hall.

‘Ah, Mrs Cookson – and Mr Cookson,’ said Arabella’s mum. ‘This is Arabella.’

‘Hey, hey, Gerry and Dilly, please,’ said Dad, shaking hands. ‘Welcome to our Happy Home.’

My throat dried. I thought Dad was going to start his Happy Homes song and dance routine. Mum obviously thought so too because she started talking hurriedly about car times and the theatre seats and when we’d get back home.

‘Dilly, Dilly, quit burbling,’ said Dad.

Mum flushed. Arabella’s mum blinked. She smiled pityingly at Mum.

‘Bless you, dear, you’re just putting my mind at rest. We can’t help worrying. It’s a female thing, Mr Cookson,’ she said.

Dad stared at her, not liking it that she’d called him Mr Cookson again – but he managed a wintry smile. He held his glass of whisky up.

‘Oh no, nothing for me, thank you,’ said Arabella’s mother, as if he’d offered her rat poison. She turned to Mum. ‘Who’s going to be driving this limousine?’ she asked.

‘Oh, don’t worry, there’s a special chauffeur,’
said
Mum quickly. ‘And of course Gerry and I will be there with the girls, keeping an eye on things.’

‘Mmm,’ said Arabella’s mum. She pressed her hand on Arabella’s shoulder. ‘Well, I’ll be off, darling. Remember, you’ve got the mobile if you need me at all. Have a lovely time.’

‘Bye, Ma,’ said Arabella. She thrust a pink parcel at me. ‘This is your birthday present.’

I opened it. It was one of the
Princess
paper-backs. I’d read it last year.

‘Oh, Beauty, how thoughtful. Araminta’s given you one of them books you like so much,’ said Dad. ‘Say thank you, darling.’

‘Ara
bella
,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Dilly, can I have a word?’ said Dad.

‘In a minute, Gerry,’ said Mum. ‘Would you like some juice, Arabella?’

‘That’s what we’ve got the caterers for, Dilly. I need you.’ Dad took hold of Mum by the wrist.

She had to go with him. They went into the kitchen and shut the door but I could still hear Dad clearly.

‘
Why the hell aren’t you wearing your diamond collar?
’

‘Thank you very much for my
Princess
book,’ I said loudly. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Arabella. ‘Someone gave it to me at Christmas and I’ve never been bothered to read it.’

‘
You’re to put it on now!
’

‘I love reading, I read all the time, I even read in the bath,’ I burbled.

‘What’s your dad getting so het up about?’ asked Arabella.

‘Nothing. He just shouts sometimes, it doesn’t mean he’s really cross,’ I said.

‘
You’ve LOST it? What the hell do you mean, you dozy cow?
’

Arabella blinked. ‘Your dad just called your mum a
cow
!’

‘No he didn’t. Shall we eat something? Or we could go out in the garden if you like?’

There was a sudden unmistakable sound from the kitchen, harsh and horrible.

‘Was that a slap? Does your dad
hit
your mum?’ Arabella asked, her eyes wide.

‘No. No, of course not. I expect he just bumped into something. Look, do you see my profiterole tower? I wonder how they’re going to cut it?’

Arabella shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It
was
a slap. This is kind of weird.’ She fingered the mobile phone in her pocket. ‘Maybe I’m going to phone my mum to come back.’

‘No, don’t! You’ve only just got here.’

‘I wish Emily and the others were here,’ said Arabella.

Then the doorbell rang and there was a whole
gang
of girls on the doorstep. They all crowded into the hall. Dad came out to greet them, getting their names wrong, welcoming everyone to his Happy Home.

Mum stayed in the kitchen. She didn’t come out for another ten minutes, when nearly everyone had arrived. One side of her face was still much pinker than the other and her eyes were red, but she smiled heroically at everyone and helped serve the food, even though Dad told her not to. He made himself another drink.

Arabella was huddled in a corner whispering to Emily and Skye. They kept looking round at my dad and rolling their eyes.

Emily gave me the very same
Princess
book as Arabella. Her eyes gleamed as she gave me her parcel. I knew they’d done it deliberately but I thanked her all the same.

I expected the exact same copy from Skye but her present was a different shape. It was a little child’s brush-and-comb set, painted with rosebuds. There were two words in swirly writing round the edge of the mirror and across the back of the brush.
Little Beauty
.

Skye and Emily and Arabella all grinned.

‘There you are, Ugly,’ Skye said. ‘Your very own brush to get the tangles out of your corkscrews, and a mirror specially for you.’

‘I bet it cracks the minute she looks in it,’ said Emily.

‘She looks
especially
weird today. What
is
that you’re wearing, Ugly? Some kind of historical costume?’ said Arabella.

‘She’s got her apron on, so maybe she’s the maid,’ said Skye, sniggering. ‘Go on, give us a curtsy, Ugly-Wugly.’

‘What did you just say, Skye?’ said Mum, pushing forward to stand beside us. Her voice was steely.

‘Nothing,’ Skye mumbled.

‘You just mind that mouth of yours,’ said Mum, and walked on.

Skye flushed scarlet.

‘What a cheek!’ Emily hissed. ‘You’re not allowed to tell someone else’s child off!’

‘Especially a s-l-a-g like her,’ said Skye.

I stood still. I clenched my fists. ‘You say another word about my mum and I’ll drag you by your hair over to that table and shove you head first into that profiterole tower and I’ll stuff profiteroles up your snobby nose and down your foul mouth until you’re sick,’ I said.

Skye stared at me, shocked. She took a step backward, then another. Then she recovered a little and shook her head at Emily and Arabella, rotating her finger into the side of her head.

‘Watch out, she’s got a screw loose,’ she said shakily.

‘I think I’m going to phone my mum,’ said Arabella.

‘Maybe I’ll phone mine,’ said Emily. ‘Where’s Rhona, Skye? Isn’t she coming?’

‘She
said
she was,’ said Skye. ‘But she’s obviously thought better of it. Clever her. I
knew
she didn’t really like Ugly.’

My heart started thumping. I thought she was simply trying to wind me up – but where
was
Rhona? She was half an hour late. Everyone had eaten the vol au vents and sausages and all the other buffet bits.

‘Time to cut your birthday cake, Beauty,’ said Dad.

‘But Rhona isn’t here yet,’ I said.

‘Which one’s Rhona? I don’t think she’ll be coming now,’ said Dad.

‘Yes she will. Rhona’s my friend,’ I said desperately.

‘Did you hear that!’ said Skye. ‘As if!’

‘Everyone knows Rhona’s
your
friend, Skye.’

‘You and Rhona have been best friends for ever,’ said Arabella.

‘Rhona’s still my friend too – and she said she was coming,’ I said.

Mum put her arm round me. ‘Maybe she’s not
very
well,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t worry, Beauty. We’ll save her some of the profiterole tower, and you can give her a bag of cookies at school on Monday.’

‘I wish she’d come
now
,’ I said.

There was a ring at the door.

‘Rhona!’ I said, and went flying.

It
was
Rhona, standing on the doorstep clutching a large box, her cheeks bright pink with excitement. Mr Marshall stood beside her, hauling what looked like a wooden crate.

‘Happy birthday, Beauty! Hey, what a lovely dress! And
wonderful
boots!’ said Rhona. ‘I’m so sorry we’re so late. We were all set to leave an hour ago but then your birthday present escaped!’

‘It … escaped?’ I said.

‘It took ages and ages to catch him. Be very careful when you take the lid off! We don’t want him to get away again.’

She set the box on the front doorstep. I knelt down and cautiously lifted the box lid a few inches. I peered into the darkness inside. There was a lot of soft straw. Huddled right in the middle, ears twitching anxiously, was a little grey rabbit.