Cookie (26 page)

Mum rang off and then gave me a huge hug. I stayed stony still, not responding.

‘
You
can be ready and waiting.
I’m
not going,’ I said.

‘Oh, Beauty, don’t be so silly!’

‘I don’t want to
look
silly on television.’

‘But you
won’t
. You were fine on the local news, completely natural.’

‘Yes, because I didn’t know what they were doing. But I’m
not
going on
Watchbox
. I’d
hate
it.’

‘You’ll
love
it, especially when you know what they’ve got lined up for you. I’d give anything to tell you but they want it to be a total surprise,’ said Mum.

‘I know what they want me to do: show Simon and Miranda how to make cookies. Simon is this big fat jolly guy who shouts all the time and Miranda is little and very bouncy and beautiful. I couldn’t possibly make cookies with
them
. I’m not going on
Watchbox
, Mum, no matter what you say.’

‘But—’

‘Look, you’re getting just like
Dad
,’ I said, starting to shout. ‘He was always always always making me do stuff I didn’t want to do.
Please
don’t you start, Mum. I’m sorry, but I’m not the sort of pretty show-off girl who’d be great on television. I’d be awful. You don’t understand me one little bit, do you? You’re a totally useless mum.’

Mum stared at me. Her eyes filled with tears and she rushed upstairs. I glared after her.

I was still glaring when Mike found me, kicking the skirting board in his living room.

‘Are you looking for those rats again?’ he said. ‘Steady on, you’ll scuff the paintwork – and it won’t exactly enhance your new baseball boots either.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling bad.

‘That’s OK, kiddo. Fancy saying sorry to your mum too? I think you were shouting at her – and when I listened on the stairs just now it sounded as if she might be crying,’ said Mike.

‘Well, it’s not my fault,’ I said. ‘Just because I don’t want to go on
Watchbox
.’

‘What
is
this programme anyway? I’ve heard of it but I don’t think I’ve ever watched it.’

‘Oh, they have these two presenters on every day, and all these kids come on and do stuff, dance and sing and play around. All the girls at my old school were desperate to be on
Watchbox
, Skye especially.’

‘Is she the one who was particularly mean to you? There, don’t you want to be on the wretched programme, just to be one up on her?’

‘Yes, but I’d make such a
total
fool of myself. Everyone would laugh.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I just can’t
do
stuff in front of people. They’d
say
my silly name and every child watching would give a double take and go, “
Beauty
” as if!”’

‘Like they did at Seahaven Primary?’ said Mike, with a little edge to his voice. ‘You were so certain they were all going to laugh at you and tease you and make your life a misery, remember? And did that happen?’

He waited. I fidgeted. He cupped his ear, wanting a response.

‘All right, they’re all lovely at my new school,’ I said. ‘Well, except for Toby and Ben. And actually they gave me some of their perfectly disgusting home-made toffee that sticks your teeth together the other day, hoping I’d give them bunny cookies in exchange.’

‘So you were
wrong
about Seahaven school and its pupils?’ Mike persisted.

‘Yes, OK, I’ve admitted that.’

‘So don’t you think you might just be wrong about this television show? You could go on it and actually be a little superstar.’

‘No I wouldn’t!’

‘Yes, you
would
. But even if you come over all shy and can’t say a word, does it really matter? At least you’ll have had a go! And you’ll have given your mum’s cookies an enormous plug too. Do you know how much it costs to have an advert on television, Beauty? Thousands and thousands and thousands
of
pounds. Yet you can advertise Bunny Cookies for nothing on the most popular programme on kids television. Don’t you see what this could mean for you and Dilly? She could expand properly, take on some staff – there are heaps of mums in Rabbit Cove who’d love to do a bit of baking part-time. It’s her chance to turn Bunny Cookies into a quality product sold nationwide, Bunny Cookies in every up-market food emporium – Fortnum and Mason, Harrods, Selfridges …’

I stared at Mike open-mouthed. ‘Do you really think that could happen?’ I asked.

‘Well, I’m maybe going a bit over the top to prove my point. I’m not sure Dilly would want to develop the business to such an extent. But she’s taking it very seriously, Beauty. She’s getting some confidence in herself at last. You should feel so proud of her.’

‘I am,’ I said.

‘So you know how much this means to her. Though
you
mean much more to her than her precious cookies. In a way she’s doing all this for you – and yet what did I hear you shouting at her just now?’

‘I said she was a useless mum,’ I said, my voice going all wobbly.

‘And do you really think that?’

‘No, of course I don’t. I just said it because I was
cross
and wanted to hurt her. Because I truly still
don’t
want to go on
Watchbox
– but I will if you really make me.’

‘I’m not going to make you do anything, sweetheart,’ said Mike, putting his arm round me. ‘But I’m hoping like anything you’ll say you will! I’ll be so proud of you, Beauty.’

I gave him a big hug.

‘You’re very clever, you know. You don’t shout and yell, you don’t even really tell me off. You just say stuff that makes me do exactly what you want. You must have been a great dad, Mike.’

‘I think I was rather a rubbish dad, actually. Not much cop as a husband either. I just wanted to do my own thing and expected everyone else to fit in. I try not to think about the past too much. I’m not very proud of the way I behaved. Maybe I’ve learned my lesson now. That’s the only thing I’ve really learned about life. You don’t have to go on making the same old mistakes over and over again. You can’t change other people but you
can
change yourself. There! Wise old Mike has done enough mumbling in his beard. Scoot upstairs and make it up with your mum, poppet.’

I ran up to our room. Mum was lying on our bed, sobbing into her pillow.

‘Oh, Mum, don’t! I’m sorry,’ I said, lying down beside her.

‘I’m sorry too, Beauty. I just got so excited I forgot you’d find it a terrible ordeal. It’s OK, you don’t have to go on the silly old programme.’

‘But I will,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it, Mum – for us. To advertise Bunny Cookies. I’ll probably be absolute rubbish on the telly and you’ll die of embarrassment, but I’ll give it a go, OK?’

‘Oh, you darling!’ said Mum. ‘You’re the best daughter in the whole world.’

‘And you’re the best mum,’ I said.

I was glad I’d changed my mind and made Mum happy and Mike proud – but in the middle of the night, wide awake, I wished wished wished I didn’t have to. I kept imagining what it would be like. I’d be in a studio with a lot of cool, confident, talented, beautiful girls like Skye. They’d all dance and sing and I’d make a muck-up of my cookies and they’d all goggle at me and chortle – and children from John o’Groats to Land’s End would goggle and chortle too.

I didn’t get to sleep until about five o’clock. Mum bounced out of bed very early. I huddled under the duvet while she got ready. She seemed to be making a big performance of it, swishing clothes along the rail, opening drawers, snapping her suitcase …

She woke me up with a cup of tea at eight o’clock.

‘Rise and shine, my little television star,’ she said, giving me a kiss.

I sat up in bed, looking Mum up and down. She looked lovely, wearing her cream dress, her hair newly washed and fluffy round her shoulders. I took a sip of tea and made my voice gruff.

‘Your neck looks a bit bare, Dilly. Why don’t you wear your diamond collar?’ I said.

‘Oh
don’t
!’ said Mum, and we both laughed shakily.

‘Do you think I should tell your dad you’re going to be on the telly?’ said Mum.

‘No, because I know I’ll muck it all up,’ I said. ‘I wish
you
were doing it. You look fabulous, Mum, really.’

‘Do you really think so, babes?’ Mum glanced at her suitcase. ‘I’ve got another outfit in case they all look dead casual. I don’t want to let you down, darling. Now, I’ve ironed your grey dress and your white pinafore and polished your grey boots. We don’t want them to get all creased in the car so we’ll pop them on a hanger and you can wear your comfy jeans and stuff for the journey, OK?’

I nodded, touched that she’d gone to so much trouble. I still wasn’t sure I’d actually be able to stand there in front of the cameras. My tummy flipped over at the thought and I could barely swallow my tea.

Mike insisted on doing breakfast by himself. He made Mum and me sit down as if we were ordinary guests on holiday at Lily Cottage. All the other guests made a great fuss of me and when the big black car drew up outside they all crowded on the doorstep and patted me and kissed me and wished me luck.

Mike gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear, ‘Good luck, kiddo.’

He gave Mum a hug too and whispered in
her
ear. She blushed and giggled. I wondered if they
might
just get together, in spite of what Mum said.

Then Mum and I got in the back of the car. The chauffeur was a nice fat man called Harry who hung my dress and pinafore on a special little hook inside the car and stowed Mum’s suitcase in the boot.

‘Are you comfy now, ladies? You just sit back and relax,’ he said.

I felt a horrible pang as we drove out of Rabbit Cove. I knew it was silly but I was scared I’d somehow made it all up, and once we were back on the main road to London it would vanish into the sea, a never-never land we’d never be able to reach again.

I knelt up on the seat and peered back.

‘It’s OK, babe. We’ll be back this evening,’
said
Mum softly. ‘Rabbit Cove’s our home now. We’re going to live there all summer – and winter too.’

‘And the
next
summer and winter, for ever?’ I said.

‘Yes, yes, if that’s what we both want,’ said Mum.

I turned round and cuddled up to her. ‘You bet it is,’ I said.

Harry let us choose CDs to play in his car and we sang along for a while, but then my head started nodding. When I woke up again we were in London.

‘Oh help!’ I said, suddenly horribly scared. ‘Oh, Harry, are we nearly there?’

‘Five minutes away.’

‘I don’t want to go now!’ I said.

‘It’ll be fine, Beauty,’ said Mum, holding my hand – but
her
hand was cold and clammy too.

‘You’ll
love
being on
Watchbox
, young lady,’ said Harry. ‘That Simon is a right laugh – and as for Miranda –
phwoar
!’

We drove into the studios. I couldn’t help feeling a
little
bit thrilled when Harry told the security man at the gate: ‘Here’s Miss Beauty Cookson and her mum for
Watchbox
.’ We were let through straight away. Harry parked the car, handed over my grey outfit and the suitcase, and promised he’d
be
waiting to take us all the way home after the programme.

‘Wish us luck, Harry,’ said Mum.

‘Oh, yes. I wish you
lots
of luck – but you won’t need it. You’ll be brilliant.’

‘Well, if Beauty makes a batch of bunny cookies we’ll make sure we’ll bring you some,’ said Mum.

We were met by Jules, the researcher. She was much younger than I’d imagined, with a ponytail and a very short skirt. I thought just at first she might be one of the child performers on the show. She took Mum and me to our very own dressing room. It even had our names on the door!

‘Now, we’ll probably have a little rehearsal and you’ll meet Simon and Miranda and all the other kids in the show,’ she said. ‘You’re going to start the show, Beauty, making cookies. You’ll be showing Simon and Miranda what to do. Then while the cookies are baking – we have our own little oven, no expense spared on
Watchbox
! – all our other guests will do their turns. We’ve got a singer, a conjuror, and two different dancers, and then we’ll finish with you, Beauty, taking the cookies out of the oven. We were wondering if you’d maybe draw a little rabbit for us, seeing as you designed the Bunny Cookies logo.’

‘Oh yes, that would be great,’ said Mum. ‘Look,
I
’ve brought lots of Beauty’s drawings. She’s even done some oil paintings.’

She unfastened her suitcase. She didn’t have spare clothes in there at all. She had all my Sam and Lily drawings and paintings.

‘Oh, Mum!’ I said, terribly embarrassed. ‘They don’t want to see all that silly old stuff.’

‘Oh yes we do!’ said Jules, seizing an armful. ‘Do you mind if I take them away to show the producer? They’ll fit in brilliantly with the special finale.’

‘What special finale?’ I asked.

‘Oh, we’ve just thought of a good way of rounding off the programme,’ said Jules. She winked at Mum and Mum winked back.

‘What’s all the winking about?’ I asked Mum, when we were left on our own in the dressing room.

‘What winking?’ said Mum. ‘I just had something in my eye, that’s all.’

I didn’t have time to quiz her further, because we were called to go into the studio for a run-through rehearsal. It was a great room full of cameras with cables snaking all over the floor. There were two big red squashy sofas in our corner, a mini-kitchen in another, and a round stage with a spotlight.

There were four other children standing around with their mums. They all looked comfortingly
anxious
too, apart from a beautiful girl with long fair hair in a very short skirt and a sparkly top. She was wearing very high heels.

‘She is
so
like Skye,’ I whispered to Mum.

‘Maybe she’ll trip in her heels and fall over and show her knickers,’ Mum whispered back.

The fair girl looked positively ordinary compared to Miranda. She was simply dressed in jeans and a little T-shirt and sneakers but she looked stunning, her long ultra-curly black hair flying everywhere, her honey-coloured skin shining, her dark eyes huge and luminous. She smiled at everyone, asking our names, chatting away. Simon was very friendly too, bounding about pulling funny faces and tweaking the nose of the very little boy who was the conjuror.