Dare Game (16 page)

Elaine didn’t think my mum would turn up. She didn’t say anything, but I’m not daft. I could tell. Cam dumped me off at Elaine’s office. She said she would wait with me if I wanted but I didn’t want. It’s kind of weird being with Cam at the moment. She’s
still
not making a big fuss and begging me not to go. Though I heard her crying last night.

I heard these little muffled under-the-duvet
sobs
– and I suddenly couldn’t stand it and stumbled out of bed and went running across the hall. I was all set to jump into bed with Cam and give her a big hug and tell her . . .

Tell her
what
? That was the trouble. I couldn’t tell her I wouldn’t go because I’ve
got
to go. My mum’s my
mum
. Cam isn’t anybody. Not really. And I’ve known my mum all my life while I’ve only known Cam six months. You can’t compare it, can you?

So I didn’t go and give her a cuddle. I made out I needed a wee and went to the bathroom. When I padded back the sobs had stopped. Maybe I’d imagined them anyway.

I don’t know why I’m going on about all this sad stuff when I’m
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY
. My mum didn’t let me down. She came for me at Elaine’s.

She was a little bit late, so that I had to keep going to the toilet and Elaine’s bottom lip started bleeding because she’d nibbled it so hard with her big bunny teeth – but then suddenly this taxi drew up outside and my mum got out and she came running in on her high heels, her
lovely
blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders, her chest bouncing too in her tight jumper, and she clutched me tight in her arms so that I breathed her wonderful warm powdery smoky smell and then she said all this stuff about over-sleeping and missed trains and I didn’t take any of it in, I was just so happy she was really there.

Though I didn’t exactly
act
happy.

‘Hey, hey, don’t cry, kid, you’re making my jumper all soggy,’ Mum joked.

‘I’m not crying. I never cry. I just get this hay fever sometimes, I told you,’ I said, helping myself to Elaine’s paper hankies.

Then Mum whisked me off and instead of bothering with boring old buses and trains we got into the taxi and drove all the way home. To Mum’s house. Only it’s going to be
my
house now.

It was miles and miles and miles and it cost a mega-fortune but do you know what my mum said? ‘Never mind, darling, you’re worth it!’

I very nearly had another attack of hay fever. And my mum didn’t just fork out for the
longest
taxi ride in the world. Just wait till I write about all the presents! She’s better than a fairy godmother! And her house is like a fairy palace too, even better than I ever imagined.

OK, it’s not all that wonderful outside. Mum lives in this big block of flats on an estate and it’s all car tyres and rubbish and scraggy kids outside. Mum’s flat is right on the top floor and the lift swoops up faster than your stomach can cope. That’s why I suddenly felt so weird – that and the pee smell in the lift. I got this feeling that the walls of the lift were pressing in on me, squashing me up so small I couldn’t breathe. I wanted someone to come and hoick me out quick and tuck me up tight in my black bat cave. I didn’t give so much as a squeak but Mum saw my face.

‘Whatever’s up with you, Tracy? You’re not scared of a
lift
, are you? A big girl like you!’

She laughed at me and I tried to laugh too but it sounded more like I was crying. Only of course I don’t ever cry. But it was all OK the minute I stepped
out
of the smelly old lift and
into
Mum’s wonderful flat.

It’s deep red – the carpet and the velvet curtains and the cushions, just as I’d hoped.
The
sofa is white leather – s-o-o-o glamorous – and there’s a white fur rug in front of it. The first thing Mum made me do was take my shoes off. I didn’t notice the amazing twirly light fitting and the pictures of pretty ladies on the walls and the musical globe and the china figures at first because my eyes just got fixated on the sofa. Not because of the white leather. Because there was a pile of parcels in one corner, done up in pink paper with gold ribbon.

‘Presents!’ I breathed.

‘That’s right,’ said Mum.

‘Is it your birthday, Mum?’

‘Of course it isn’t, silly. They’re for you!’

‘It’s not
my
birthday.’

‘I know when your birthday is! I’m your
mum
. No, these are special presents for you because you’re my own little girl.’

‘Oh Mum!’ I said – and I gave her this big hug. ‘Oh Mum, oh Mum, oh Mum!’

‘Come on then, don’t you want to open them?’

‘You bet I do!’ I started tearing the paper off.

‘Hey, hey, that cost ninety-nine pence a sheet. Careful!’

I went carefully, my hands trembling. I opened up the first parcel. It was a designer T-shirt, specially for me! I ripped off my own boring old one and squeezed into my
BEAUTIFUL
new status symbol.

‘I could have got you a size or two bigger. I keep forgetting how big you are,’ said Mum. ‘Give it here, I’ll change it for you.’

‘No, no! It’s wonderful! It’s exactly the right size. Look, I can show my belly button and look dead sexy!’ I did a little dance to demonstrate and Mum creased up laughing.

‘You’re a right little card, Tracy! Go on then, open the rest of your pressies.’

She gave me a fluffy pink rabbit. It’s
lovely
if you like cuddly toys. Elaine would die for it. I decided to call it Marshmallow. I made it talk in a shy little lispy voice and Mum laughed again and said I was as good as any kid on the telly.

The next present was a
H-U-G-E
box of white chocolates. I ate two straight off, yum yum, slurp slurp. I wanted Mum to have one too but she said she was watching her figure, and they were all for me and I could eat as many as I liked. So I ate another two, yum yum, slurp slurp, same as before – but I started to feel a bit sickish again. They were
WONDERFUL
chocolates, and I bet they were mega-expensive, but somehow they weren’t quite the same as Smarties. I know they’ll be my favourites when I’m a bit older.

The last present wasn’t for when I’m older. It was the biggest and Mum had left the price on the box so I knew it was most definitely the most expensive, amazingly so.

It was a doll. Not just any old doll, you understand. The most fantastic curly-haired Victorian doll in a flowery silk costume, with her own matching parasol clutched in her china hand.

I looked at her, holding the box.

‘Well?’ said Mum.

‘Well. She’s lovely. The loveliest doll in the whole world,’ I said, trying to make my voice as bouncy as Football’s ball, only it kind of rolled away from me and came out flat.

‘You used to be such a dolly girl, even though you were a fierce little kid,’ said Mum. ‘Remember I bought you that wonderful big dolly with golden ringlets? You totally adored her. Wouldn’t let her go. What did you call her? Rose, was it? Daffodil?’

‘Bluebell.’

‘So here’s a sister for Bluebell.’

‘That’s great, Mum,’ I said, my stomach squeezing.

‘You’ve still got Bluebell, haven’t you?’ said Mum, squinting at me.