Cookie (23 page)

‘For God’s sake!’ said Mike thickly, blood dribbling. He felt his nose gingerly. ‘Have you gone mad?’

‘Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. Here, have a tissue,’ said Mum frantically.

‘Do you think I was born yesterday? How long have you known her? So this was all a put-up job! I
knew
you didn’t have the bottle to leave me and strike out on your own, Dilly! But is
he
the best you can do? He’s a pensioner, for pity’s sake – and he doesn’t look like he has a bean to his name.’

‘You’re right on both those counts,’ said Mike. ‘But totally wrong when it comes to any kind of relationship between Dilly and me. We are simply friends, plus I’m technically her employer.’

‘You
what
?’ said Dad. ‘What do you employ her
as
, might I ask?’

‘She’s my breakfast chef,’ said Mike.

Dad stared – and then he started spluttering with laughter.

‘Well, if you want to kill off all your guests then set our Dilly free in your kitchen! She can’t cook to save her life. All she can make is bloody
biscuits
.’

‘Very very good biscuits,’ said Mike. ‘Would you like to come in and calm down and have a cup of tea and one of Dilly’s cookies?’

‘Don’t take that patronizing tone with me! This is a private conversation between me and my wife.’ Dad took a step nearer Mum. Mike did too, protectively.

‘Now pin back your ears, Dilly. You obviously cleared off because you thought the whole business was going down the pan, and me with it. But I’ve got a lot of pals in the right places. They’re dropping the bribery nonsense, and now this guy’s tipped me the wink about a riverside council site that’s going to be pulled down. It could be even bigger than the Water Meadows deal and I’m pretty damn sure I’m going to get it. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, you’re probably going to make a lot more money,’ said Mum.

‘So I’m giving you one last chance, girl. Come back now and make the most of it – or I’ll cut you off without a penny, you and the kid.’

‘Gerry, I don’t want your money,’ said Mum. ‘That wasn’t the reason I married you. I wanted you to look after me. But I’m not that stupid little girl any more. It’s time I learned to look after myself, and Beauty too, of course.’

‘Well, to hell with you,’ said Dad. ‘I can do a lot better than you. You’re already losing your looks.’ Then he looked at me. ‘And
you
’ve never had any looks to speak of. You’re just a waste of space, both of you. I wasted my time driving all this way to find you. You can stew here in this little seaside dump for ever for all I care.’

Dad spat on the doorstep and then stamped off. Mum and I stood watching, still holding hands tightly.

‘Phew,’ said Mike. ‘Well, come inside my little seaside dump, my dears.
We’ll
have that cup of tea and another cookie – and I need to bury my poor nose in a bag of frozen peas!’

‘I’m so so sorry, Mike. I feel so terrible. Do you think you need to go to hospital? It could be broken!’ said Mum.

‘I very much doubt it. It’s been broken twice before in rugby accidents so it’s no big deal even if it is. It’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine, once we’ve stopped shaking!’

We stayed chatting to Mike and eating cookies, Mum and Mike talking about anything under the sun – apart from Dad. But when Mum and I went upstairs she pulled a ‘
help’
face at me.

‘It looks like there’s no going back now,’ she said.

‘We’ll stew here for ever, hurray, hurray, hurray!’ I said. ‘So, Mum,
is
this home now?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘Then can I write to Rhona to let her know where I am?’

‘Of course, darling.’

I got out my best card and Auntie Avril’s
felt
tips. I drew a picture of myself on the front, painting with Mike. I did a teeny weeny picture of
my
picture on Mike’s easel, and a picture of Rhona holding poor dear Birthday on my canvas.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to write to Rhona so I spent a long time colouring everything in. I even did the sea in the background all different blues and greens, leaving a little white tip on the top of each wave.

When the page was shiny and stiff with colour I had to turn over and write my letter. I’d been rehearsing what to say inside my head but it was so difficult. In the end I just scribbled:

Dear Rhona
,

Oh dear, I think this card will come as a shock as Mum and I have moved to the seaside. Rabbit Cove is lovely and we are staying at Mike’s guest house and he has been teaching me how to paint (see front). I am happy to be here but so sad I can’t see you any more (though it would be GREAT if you ever came on holiday here!). I do hope you still want me to be best friends even though I’m here and you’re there
.

Give Reginald Redted a kiss and a spoonful of honey from me
.

Love from Beauty xx

P.S. Something very very very sad happened to dear Birthday. It’s so awful that I can’t write it. But he will always be the best birthday present in the world
.

I put Lily Cottage as my new address but I didn’t really expect Rhona to write back. She wasn’t really a girl for writing letters. But in two days’ time I got a little
parcel
from her. It was small and soft and when I slid my little finger under the wrapping paper I felt
fur
.

I thought Rhona was sending me Reginald Redted to keep me company, but when I ripped the paper open I found a tiny droopy bear in a very wrinkled faded navy outfit.

‘Nicholas Navybear!’ I whispered. ‘But you
drowned
!’

I opened Rhona’s note.

Dear Beauty
,

Oh I will miss you so! Guess what, Dad drained our swimming pool yesterday to clean it out and Nicholas Navybear was stuck in the drain!!! My mum washed him and steamed him dry but he still looks a bit weird. I hope you will still like him
.

Love from your best friend, Rhona x x x

P.S. I hope nothing too dreadful happened to Birthday, but never mind
.

‘Hurray!’ I said. ‘Then I can’t go, Mum, can I?’

‘Yes, you can. You’ll have to go to the nearest school, that’s all,’ said Mum determinedly.

It turned out the nearest primary school was in Seahaven, a good six miles away.

‘Then I can’t go,’ I said.

‘Yes, you can. You have to,’ said Mum. ‘It’s the law.’

‘But how on earth could I get there?’

‘I’ll have to drive you.’

‘You can’t, not if you’re serving breakfasts.’

‘Well, maybe there’s a bus. Although I don’t want you going on a bus on your own. Oh, God, how can I be in two places at once?’ said Mum.

‘Don’t worry, Dilly,’ said Mike. ‘There are kids at number two and number seventeen. They go on the bus. Beauty can go with them.’

‘It’s not
fair
,’ I raged. ‘I won’t go. You can’t
make
me, Mum.’

‘Stop it, Beauty. You’re doing my head in,’ said Mum.

‘Here, Beauty, leave your mum in peace,’ said Mike. ‘Come shopping with me. I need to stock up on heaps of flour and sugar and stuff. Your mum’s cookies are getting incredibly popular. Mrs Brooke next door has got wind of them and wants to buy a batch to offer to
her
guests, if you please!’

Mike kept nattering on as we walked up the hill to the little supermarket. He kept asking for
advice
as we went round all the shelves, getting me stretching and bending and balancing and adding up in my head. He didn’t mention the dreaded ‘S’ word until we were trailing home, with huge carrier bags in both hands.

‘Now then,’ he puffed. ‘About school …’

‘You think I’ve calmed down now and I’ll be reasonable. But I’m still—’ I tried to think of the right word. ‘
Adamant!
’ I finished triumphantly.

‘Does it not occur to you that a girl intelligent enough to use a posh word like
adamant
might be in need of a good school?’

‘There’s no such thing as a good school. I think they’re all bad bad bad.’

‘You didn’t like your last school?’

‘It was awful, the worst ever. It was ever so posh – and I’m not.’

‘But you must do OK at most lessons?’

‘That’s partly the problem. If you come top that’s another reason for everyone to tease you and call you Brainbox and Cleverclogs and Snotty-Swotty,’ I said gloomily. ‘I
did
try to act thick when I first went to Lady Mary Mountbank but the teacher got cross with me and said I wasn’t trying. She got really upset and I hated that and so I worked hard and she was pleased so
then
I got called a teacher’s pet too.’

‘Well, they could call you worse things.’

‘Oh, they did, they did! There was this one girl called Skye – she was ever so pretty and popular but the meanest girl
ever
and she invented a new nasty nickname for me nearly every day. It was just like a game to her. The worst nickname of all was …’ I swallowed, still scarcely able to say it. ‘Ugly,’ I mumbled, my eyes stinging.

‘What was that?’ Mike said apologetically. ‘I didn’t quite catch it.’

‘
Ugly!
’ I said, shivering with the shame of it.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mike, but he didn’t sound shocked. ‘That’s not very nice.’

‘It’s a silly take on my name, Beauty. Skye laughed and laughed at it because I’m the exact opposite of my name. I
am
Ugly,’ I said.

‘Oh
dear
,’ said Mike, more sympathetically. ‘You’re not the
slightest
bit ugly, Beauty. You’re not a pretty-pretty curly-wurly sort of girl, I grant you, but I think you look bright and intelligent and interesting. However, I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you, because I know what you women are like! And this poisonous Skye seems to have done her best to demoralize you. What about the school before this last one? Was that posh too?’

‘It wasn’t posh, it was quite tough, but they didn’t like me there either. They all had a belly laugh at my name too.’

‘And you’re worried that’s what will happen at Seahaven?’

‘Yep. Unless I can make them call me something else, like Cookie.’

‘Cookie’s a cool nickname, but I’d stick with Beauty. It’s great to have a distinctive, unusual name.’

‘Oh, Mike, I do like you ever so much and I don’t mean to be rude but you do talk rubbish sometimes. How would you like to be called Handsome?’

‘I’d love it!’ said Mike, chuckling. ‘And why would that be funny, Miss? I
am
handsome!’ He struck a silly pose as if he was being photographed, big belly much to the fore. I couldn’t help laughing as he intended, though I was still feeling very fussed.

‘I’m sure you’ll like it there once you’ve settled in,’ said Mike.

‘That’s what my dad said about my last school. I didn’t
ever
settle.’

‘Perhaps it’s time to think
positive
, Beauty. I’m sure it’s a great little school.’

‘Did your children go to this school, Mike?’

‘No, no, they were both grown up when I moved here,’ said Mike.

‘So how do you
know
it’s a great school?’

‘Sometimes you just have to take things on trust,’ said Mike. ‘You and your mum didn’t know
anything
about Rabbit Cove, right – but you
knew
you’d like it here.’

I lightened up at last. ‘OK, OK, you’ve got me now,’ I said, laughing.

I didn’t feel like laughing next Monday morning. Mum had phoned Seahaven Primary and they said they’d squeeze me in somehow. Mum asked about uniform and they said they didn’t have one, just a sweatshirt. Mum and I had a long discussion about what I should wear.

I had very few clothes now so I didn’t have much choice. I obviously wasn’t going to wear the grey party dress and pinafore and my grey heeled boots – that outfit was far too grand for school. I wanted to wear my jeans and a T-shirt but Mum said they might look too scruffy. I was left with my denim skirt and the blue stripy top that went with it.