Cookie (21 page)

‘I’m not being mean. Don’t be so childish.’

‘I’m a
child
, how else am I supposed to act? And you
are
being horribly mean. Why are you being so nasty, even saying Sam and Lily are stupid.’

‘Well they are. And you’re stupid being so obsessed with them. You’re a big baby,’ said Mum.

‘I am
not
,’ I said, and I shoved her, hard.

She was still squatting and so she lost her balance. She fell backwards, legs in the air.

‘Don’t you
dare
hit me!’ she said. ‘Do that again and I’ll hit you right back.’

‘I
didn’t
hit you, I just shoved.
This
is a hit,’ I said, and I punched her shoulder.

It was only a token punch, a feeble little tap, but Mum smacked me hard on my leg. I stared at her, shocked. She’d never ever smacked me before.

Mum seemed stunned too. Her face suddenly crumpled and she burst into tears.

‘I don’t know why you’re crying.
I’m
the one who should be crying – that really hurt,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mum sobbed, her head in her hands.

She cried and cried. I edged closer and then put
my
arm round her. She cried even harder, clinging to me.

‘Oh, Beauty, I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘How could I have slapped you like that? You’re right, I was being horribly mean. It’s just I’m so
scared
. I don’t know what to do for the best. I was awake half the night worrying about it. I think I’ve gone crazy, running away with you like this. I haven’t got an idea in my head what we’re going to do. I couldn’t stand Mike looking at me like that, acting so kind and concerned, when he must think I’m the worst mother in the world.’

‘He doesn’t think that at all. He
likes
you. Don’t you like him?’

‘Of course I do. I feel dead embarrassed that I was so snotty to him. I think we’d better be on our way tomorrow.’

‘Oh
no
, Mum. I love it here.’

‘I know, darling, but we can’t stay here for ever.’

‘Why can’t we?’

‘This is just our little holiday, you know that. We’ve got to make proper plans. I’ve been trying so hard, but my head just goes whirling round and round. I’ve got so used to your dad telling me what to do I can’t seem to think for myself any more.’

‘So I’ll think for you. We’ll stay here in Rabbit
Cove
and you’ll get a job, right, and we’ll find our own little place—’

‘Oh, Beauty, we couldn’t even afford a blooming beach hut.’

‘Well then, I’ll build us a blooming sandcastle and we’ll live in that, happily ever after,’ I said.

Mum burst out laughing and hugged me tight. ‘Oh, thank God I’ve got you, babe. We’ll be fine, you and me, just so long as we stick together. I’m sorry I was so crabby.’

‘Are you going to say sorry to Mike too?’

‘Oh, lordy. Yes, I suppose so. He
has
been sweet to us – and it was lovely him showing you how to paint.’

‘I’m quite good at it, aren’t I! We don’t really have to go tomorrow, do we? I so want to paint some more.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Mum.

When we walked back arm in arm we saw Mike still perched on the wall, painting away.

‘I don’t think we’d better disturb him just now,’ said Mum.

‘Oh, Mum, stop being such a coward! Let’s get it over with,’ I said.

I practically had to pull her over to Mike. Her cheeks went very red as we got nearer. He didn’t look up, even when we were standing right next to
him
. He carried on dabbing paint on his canvas in determined fashion.

Mum pulled an agonized face at me. I gave her a nudge. She swallowed hard.

‘Mike, I’m very sorry for being so rude and off-hand with you,’ she said in a tiny voice.

Mike paused, paintbrush in mid-air. He looked up at last.

‘I don’t blame you. I was asking Beauty all sorts of silly questions which were none of my business,’ he said stiffly.

‘Not at all,’ said Mum.

Mike nodded awkwardly. Mum made little shuffling movements, about to stride off again. I couldn’t bear leaving it like that.

‘So to make friends properly we’d like to ask you out to supper tonight,’ I said.

Mum and Mike stared at me, looking equally astonished.

‘
Where?
’ Mum mouthed at me.

We’d discovered that Peggy’s Parlour closed on the dot of six last night so we’d bought cod and chips from the fish shop and eaten them on the beach.

‘That’s very sweet of you, but I was actually planning a meal in tonight, with friends,’ said Mike.

‘Oh,’ I said, drooping.

‘Yes. I do a great fish pie. Fancy trying it, you two?’

‘Well, we wouldn’t want to intrude, not if you’re having your friends round,’ said Mum.

Mike looked at me. I rolled my eyes.

‘
Mum!
I think
we’re
the friends,’ I said.

So we had supper with Mike. We did wonder if he’d invited any of the other guests, but the two walking couples drove off to some gourmet pub and the family went to try the evening meal at the hotel.

‘So it’s just us,’ I said, smiling. ‘Mum, can I wear my grey dress and pinafore and my new boots?’

‘Oh, Beauty! It’s just supper. Just pop a clean T-shirt on and wear it with your jeans.’

‘No, I want to look lovely. Well, I know I look total rubbish no matter what, but I
feel
lovely in my grey dress.’

‘Oh, sweetheart. You don’t look the slightest bit rubbish. But OK, you wear your grey outfit if you like.
I’m
not going to make a big effort though.’

Mum wore her jeans – but she changed into her little pink clingy top with pearl buttons and she wore her pink strappy high heels. She even bothered to paint new nail varnish on her toes.

We went downstairs at seven as Mike had suggested but the breakfast room was empty, all the tables set ready for the morning.

‘Oh goodness, maybe he’s changed his mind,’ Mum whispered.

But Mike came into the breakfast room, beaming at us.

‘Through here, ladies. I thought we’d be cosier in the kitchen, and it won’t give any of the other guests ideas if they come back early.’

Mike had on his stripy apron, but underneath he was wearing a big blue flowery shirt and clean jeans without a single paint smear, and his big baseball boots shone scarlet. He had obviously made a
big
effort.

‘Oh, Beauty!
Is
it you, Beauty?’ he said. ‘You look so grown up. And you look even younger, Dilly. You’re just like sisters.’

We were used to people saying this but it was still good to hear. We followed him into the kitchen. I’d expected it to be a big formal stainless-steel working kitchen, but it was a glorious colourful old-fashioned room with a great wooden dresser hung with willow-pattern plates. Old toby jugs jostled each other on the windowsill and there were big blue lustre vases on the wooden table, containing red asters, white daisies, yellow lilies and pink rosebuds.
The
cooker itself was a big green Aga that spread a cosy glow throughout the kitchen. There was a red and yellow and blue rag rug on the tiled floor with a black cat stretched out, comfortably dozing.

‘I didn’t know you had a cat, Mike!’ I said, squatting down beside it and stroking its sleek head.

‘I don’t. It’s next door’s, but she’s got a sixth sense whenever I make fish pie. She comes on the scrounge for the scraps,’ said Mike. ‘Right, sit yourself down, girls. What would you like to drink? White wine, Dilly? And I thought you’d like a special
red
wine, Beauty.’ He grinned and poured us each a glass. Mine was the most beautiful deep red. I knew it couldn’t really be wine but I felt wickedly grown up sipping it all the same.

‘It’s wonderful!’ I said. ‘What
kind
of wine is this, Mike?’

‘Oh, the very best. Vintage pomegranate,’ said Mike. ‘Now, you ladies talk among yourselves while I do the finishing touches to the meal.’

He popped some runner beans and asparagus into a pan of boiling water and then had a peer at the fish pie. It was golden brown and smelled wonderful. The cat raised her head from the mat and looked hopeful again.

‘No, you’ve had your share, greedy-guts,’ said Mike. ‘It’s our turn now.’

It truly was delicious – soft creamy mashed potato with a crispy cheese topping and large chunks of haddock and cod and curly pink prawns. I ate my entire plateful and then had a second helping. Mike didn’t frown at me and make comments about my weight. He seemed delighted that I appreciated his pie and congratulated me on my appetite. Mum couldn’t quite clear her plateful because she’s got the appetite of a bird at the best of times, but she told Mike he was a brilliant cook.

‘I’m not much cop when it comes to puds, I’m afraid,’ he said, producing a bowl of red apples, some purple grapes and an orange cheese. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got any sweet nibbles for you, Beauty. There might be a biscuit or two in that tartan tin.’

‘Are they home-made?’ I asked.

‘Beauty!’ said Mum.

‘No, sorry, I don’t do that sort of baking,’ said Mike.

‘Mum does,’ I said proudly. ‘She makes the most fantastic cookies, all different sorts, iced and chocolate chip and cherry and oatmeal-and-raisin.’

‘Mm! So you’re a good cook, are you, Dilly?’

‘No! I’ve just got a very sweet daughter,’ said
Mum
. ‘I can’t cook for toffee, apart from cookies. I
can
make good cookies though.’

‘What about breakfasts?’ said Mike. ‘I’m going to need a hand in the kitchen now the summer season’s starting up, and I usually employ a student to come in and do chambermaiding. It’s a bit of a boring job but you’d be finished and free by lunch time. You don’t fancy trying it for a few weeks?’

Mum looked stunned. She just stared at Mike, not saying a word. So I answered for her.

‘Yes,
please
!’ I said.

‘No, no, hang on, Beauty. Mike’s just being kind, trying to be helpful,’ Mum muttered.

‘No, I
need
help. It’s a bit of a rubbish job and I can’t pay much, but it’ll give you time to think out what you really want to do. The only trouble is I can’t let you keep the first-floor double, not if you’re here as staff. If I have a live-in girl she usually sleeps up in the attic, but it’s a bit basic, I’m afraid.’

‘The attic!’ I said, clapping my hands. ‘Oh, can we see? I’ve always wanted to live in an old house with a proper attic.’

So Mike led us up the three flights of stairs to his attic. It was a dark narrow little room with just one very small window, but it was still beautiful. The small bed had a navy
patchwork
quilt with silver stars and moons appliquéd all over it. There was a squashy ruby velvet armchair with a matching footstool and a red-and-blue tapestry curtain hiding a clothes rail.

‘Oh dear, I don’t think it’s anywhere near big enough for you,’ said Mike worriedly.

‘We can easily scrunch up together. It’s great!’ I said.

I ran to the window, rested my elbows on the sill, and looked out over the red tile rooftops to the sea. ‘I feel just like Sara Crewe in
A Little Princess. She
lived in an attic!’

I knelt down, examining the wainscoting.

‘Whatever are you doing, Beauty? Get up!’ said Mum.

‘I’m just seeing if there are any little rat holes,’ I said.

‘What? There are absolutely no rats in this house, I promise,’ said Mike. You won’t find so much as a mouse’s whisker!’

‘Oh, I’d
love
my own pet rat like Sara’s Melchisedec,’ I said.

‘You might, Beauty, but I definitely wouldn’t,’ said Mum. She smiled at Mike. ‘We’ll be great here, Mike, Beauty and me. I’ll bring our stuff up here and start work in the morning, how about that?’

‘No, no, you must have your little holiday first.’

‘Please. I’d like to get stuck in straight away. Shall we shake on it?’

Mum stuck out her hand and they shook, sealing the deal.

‘I can’t give folk a plate of cookies for their blooming breakfast!’

‘I don’t know, oatmeal-and-raisin cookies might be just the ticket.’

I went down with Mum to the kitchen, though she told me not to.

‘I’m like the kitchen maid. I promise I’ll be useful and not get in the way,’ I said to Mike.

‘You’re child labour and I’ll get sent to jail for
exploiting
you,’ said Mike, but he patted me on the head and told me to stay.

He sent Mum into the dining room to take the breakfast orders. She got in a terrible fluster at first and couldn’t remember which walkers wanted veggie sausages and which black pudding, and whether they wanted tea or coffee, but I’d been lurking in the doorway and knew exactly. Mike asked Mum to keep an eye on the sausages and bacon while he made some porridge for a new pair of old ladies. Mum’s hand shook as she tried to turn the sausages so that three of them shot straight out of the pan and skidded across the floor.