Dustbin Baby (12 page)

I waited until she'd padded round everyone. Then I crept out and went in search of Gina. I climbed into her bed and she gave me a big cuddle and called me her baby. I cried and I think Gina cried a bit too, because her cheek was wet when she gave me a kiss. We stayed cuddled up tight, me on Gina's lap, until morning.

I never saw her again. She did write to me once at the school but she wasn't really much of a letter writer so she just drew me a picture and signed her name very elaborately, swirls all down the page and then added lots of kisses.

I wrote to her every week for the first year even though I gave up hoping for further replies.

Maybe I could write just one more time. The Sunnybank staff might have Gina's address. I open the sun gate and walk up the path. I stare at the door and then give the knocker two quick raps.

A blonde woman in dungarees answers, a tea-towel tied round her waist. Her hair is divided into bunches with little bows. Lulu often had silly stick-out plaits. People who work with children often want to dress like them too.

‘Lulu doesn't still work here, does she?' I ask.

She shakes her head so that her bunches waggle.

‘I think there
was
a Lulu way back, but I never knew her.'

‘What about Billy?'

The bunches waggle again.

‘Did you want to get in touch with them then?'

‘Well, not really. It was more this girl, Gina—'

‘Oh,
Gina
!' she says.

‘Do you know her?'

‘Everyone knows Gina,' she says, smiling.

‘But she can't still live here?'

‘No, but she comes to visit us lots, and she's part of our lecture programme too.'

‘Gina gives
lectures
?'

‘She goes round all the Children's Homes in the South East area and talks to the kids. She's wonderful with them. They can really relate to her because she's been through the system herself. What about you?' She looks at my neat school uniform doubtfully. ‘Did you ever live here?'

‘Just for a bit. I was friends with Gina. But I think it was maybe a different Gina.'

‘There's only one Gina! She lives near here, on the Kempton Estate. See those multi-storey flats? She lives on the top floor of the south block, number 144. Why don't you go and look her up? I'm sure she'd love to see you.'

I walk over to the flats though I'm sure it's pointless. She can't possibly be my Gina. This Gina gives lectures. The only subject my Gina could lecture on is breaking and entering.

This maybe isn't a good idea anyway. I don't know what this Kempton Estate is like. I've had enough of scary encounters. I keep looking round warily and when some little kid clatters up behind me on his skateboard I jump violently. The kid jeers at me and then whizzes on his way.

I try to stop being such a baby. The estate doesn't look too bad. I think some of it has gone private, because there are fancy curtains and potted plants in the windows and the front doors along the balconies are brightly painted in rainbow colours. I'm not so sure about the burnt-out bin area and the rude words all over the walls. I press the button for the lift, waiting an
age
, and then step in cautiously, avoiding a puddle.

I press for the top floor, but the lift stops halfway up and two guys with shaved heads and studs barge in. I swallow and take one step back. Thank goodness they act like I'm not even there. I look slyly at all their piercings, wondering what Marion would say if I came home looking like that. One of them sees I'm staring and sticks his studded tongue out at me. I laugh shakily and rush out of the lift on the fourteenth floor.

I feel as if I've stepped out onto the top of the world. I can see for miles and miles – but I have to grab the railing tight, feeling like I might be sucked straight over. I back along the balcony and find the front door of 144. I tap the knocker once, so softly maybe she won't hear. It won't be
my
Gina anyway.

A young woman comes to the door, barefoot, in jeans and a big blue shirt. A beautiful mop-haired toddler clings to her hip. She stares at us, her head on one side.

She's not Gina.

‘I'm sorry,' I stammer. ‘I was looking for . . .'

Is
it Gina? She's big, she's broad, she's black, but she's so
different
. This Gina's adult and arty and attractive, with lovely long hair elaborately plaited and beaded. She's got a diamond nose stud and crescent moon silver earrings and bangles jingling up and down her plump arms. She doesn't look fierce, she's got a friendly smile on her face. It suddenly stretches wide.

‘April!' she cries. ‘My little April!'

She hugs me tight, her baby squashed between us. I breathe in her familiar warm, powdery, musky smell.

‘It
is
you, Gina!' I say, and I burst into floods of tears.

‘Yep, it's definitely you, April,' says Gina, laughing. ‘You were always such a crybaby – but you were
my
baby, right? Hey, what do you think of my real baby, eh?' She holds her toddler up proudly, giving it a quick kiss and tickle. It snuggles sideways, chuckling.

‘She's lovely.'

‘
He
! He's my baby Benjamin. Don't worry, everyone thinks he's a girl because he's so gorgeous – and I suppose it's the curls too. Everyone keeps on at me to take him to the barber's but it would be a crime to cut off all his curlylocks, wouldn't it, my little babe?'

Benjamin laughs and shakes his head so that his curls bob.

‘Yes, you've got
lovely
curls,' I say, sniffing.

‘You need a tissue, as always! Come on in, April. This is just so great! I can't believe it. How old are you now then? Eleven, twelve?'

‘I'm fourteen. Today, actually.'

‘Wow! Happy birthday, babe!'

She steers me inside with her free arm. The hall is swimming pool turquoise with dolphins diving up and down the walls. The living room is purple, with red curtains and big red velvet cushions and a giant black and white panda
perched
in his own red rocking chair. I follow Gina to her kitchen. It's canary yellow, so bright you need sunglasses. Gina hands me a hunk of kitchen roll, pops Benjamin into his highchair with a rusk and then puts the kettle on.

‘I love your flat,' I say shyly, blowing my nose.

‘Yeah, great, isn't it? I got some of the older kids from Sunnybank to help me paint it,' she says, setting out orange flowery mugs. ‘Have you just been back there?'

‘I was trying to find you.'

‘Oh April, you're going to make
me
cry,' says Gina, giving me another hug. Then she laughs. ‘Bet you were surprised to hear I'm Ms Goody-Goody-Gina nowadays? Remember all that stuff we used to get up to? You were a right little cat burglar when you were tiny! You'd shin up a drainpipe and wriggle through a window quick as a wink.'

‘Did you find another little kid to help after I left?'

‘No. They were all rubbish compared to you. And I kind of lost heart. I missed you, babe.'

‘You didn't write.'

‘Yes I did!'

‘You sent a picture.'

‘Well, I've never been into writing much – and you could never get near the computer at Sunnybank with all them boys. Anyway, I didn't really want to write. I wasn't very proud of myself. I was an idiot, I got into all sorts of stupid stuff, then I had a baby which was one big mistake.'

‘Benjamin?'

‘No, this was another kid. I was still just a kid myself.'

The kettle is starting to boil. I feel as if my own thoughts are bubbling.

‘So what happened to it?' I say. ‘Did you – did you give it away?'

A tear spills down Gina's cheek. ‘She got taken away. I wasn't a good mother.'

‘But you're wonderful with Benjamin!'

‘I wasn't with my Amy. Oh, I loved her, I loved her to bits, but I was out of my head most of the time, using all sorts of stuff, not knowing whether I was coming or going. They'd given me this flat, tried to set me up, but I couldn't look after myself, let alone a baby. She was sick a lot. I got sick too. I was still thieving a lot of the time. I got caught and they sent me to this rehab place – and took Amy into care.'

‘Oh, Gina.' I put my arm round her.

‘No, don't feel sorry for me. It was my own fault. I was a mess. I screwed everything up.'

‘But how could they take her away if you loved her? She was
yours
. Couldn't she have stayed with you?'

‘Not at this place. Maybe I should have tried harder to keep her. I just felt she'd have a rotten life with me. I didn't think she'd want someone like me for her mum. I didn't want her passed round like a parcel, dumped in different Children's Homes like I was. So I let her be adopted. She's got a lovely new family now.' Gina
smiles
, though tears are still sliding down her cheeks. ‘Don't look at me like that, April. I thought it was for the best. She's happy now, I know she is. And I'm happy too. I went a bit crackers after I gave her up. I was in this special unit for a bit but I got my head together eventually, gave up all my bad habits – and now look at me!

‘I've still got to sit some exams. It takes me ages, you know what I'm like at writing, but I'm getting there. I'm going to be a social worker. I'm not going to be an old softie. I'm going to give those kids hell if they don't toe the line – but at least I'll know what it's like for them. They won't be able to kid me. I've been there, done that, messed up in every kind of way. I do this talk, right, telling the kids all about it. Some of the hard nuts don't want to know but some of the younger ones feel a bit of respect for me.'

‘I feel respect for you, Gina,' I mumble, blushing because it sounds a bit daft.

‘So I should hope!' says Gina. She makes us a both a mug of tea and gives Benjamin a bottle of milk. Then she grins at me. ‘OK, April, what do birthday girls get?'

I blink at her.

‘Cake!' Gina opens a cupboard and takes out a huge tin. She opens it with a flourish. I see half a pink iced sponge studded with Smarties with ‘Happy Birthday' in swirly writing. ‘I knew you'd come today!'

I gape at her. Gina laughs.

‘I'm teasing, nutcase. I made it for one of the kids along the balcony. I run this club, see, a play scheme thing. Benjamin loves it because everyone wants to play with
him
. Whenever it's anyone's birthday I make a cake.'

I think of Marion at home, maybe with a Marks and Spencer's birthday cake set out on her special crystal plate. She'll be wondering why I'm late home from school. She'll be starting to get worried.

If I had a mobile I could ring her. It's her own fault.

That's rubbish. I'm rubbish.

I can't stop thinking about her all the time I'm chatting to Gina and eating birthday cake and feeding Benjamin little slithers of icing.

I could ask Gina if I could use her phone. I want to. But I can't. Marion will want to know where I am. If she finds out I've bunked off school she'll go really mad.

I could tell her I'm at Cathy's or Hannah's. But then she'll want to come round to collect me. It's too complicated.

I won't phone her but I'll go home straight away and I'll tell her how sorry I am and I'll make it up to her somehow.

‘I'd better get going, Gina. My foster mum will be wondering where I've got to.'

‘You're a good girl, April,' says Gina.

I'm bad, I'm bad, I'm bad.

Gina gives me a huge hug when we say
goodbye
. I cling to her, wishing I was as little as Benjamin so she could carry me around all day.

‘You'll keep in touch now, babe,' says Gina. ‘Write to me? I'll write back properly this time, I promise.'

I go down in the smelly little lift, trying not to cry. When I get out into the courtyard and look up I see Gina standing way up on the balcony. She's clutching Benjamin tightly with both hands so she can't wave but she bobs her head at me and he does too. They look like two dark flowers blowing in the wind.

Gina's a wonderful mum.

I wonder if
my
mum ever got a second chance.

14

I'VE GOT TO
go home.

I'm on the tube, on my way to Waterloo. I'll make up some story for Marion. I've made up stories for me enough times.

This story doesn't have a happy ending. I haven't found her.

No that's silly. I've found two great friends, a new one and an old one. I've found my very first foster mother and the grave of my adoptive mother. I've found so many people today – but I still feel lost. Lonelier than ever. There's only one person I want.

How can I ever find her? She could be anywhere at all. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. Tealeaf in a dustbin.