Lily Alone (19 page)

‘What about Mum?' I said.

Bliss fidgeted, scraping her trainer in the sand. ‘Maybe she could live here too,' she said at last.

‘Oh, get real! Mum couldn't walk all round the park in her huge heels – and she couldn't manage without a mirror and all her make-up and stuff. And she wouldn't give up her comfy bed. You know Mum, she's hopeless, she can't manage without most things.'

‘She can manage without us,' said Bliss.

We walked on hand in hand, thinking about Mum.

‘I wonder if she's having a really great time?' I said. ‘She was so different those last two days, after she met this Gordon. Really happy and funny and lovely.'

‘I think you're her favourite,' said Bliss.

‘No I'm not,' I said, though I couldn't help being pleased.

‘Yes, you are, because you're the eldest. Or Pixie's her favourite because she's the littlest. Or Baxter because he's the only boy. I'm not her favourite because I'm not anything.'

‘You're Bliss and you're blissful and you're
my
favourite,' I said. ‘You're so much my favourite you can have all my ice cream.'

I was beginning to wonder if the only ice-cream place was right back at the entrance of the park after all, when we saw a mum with her two little boys and they all had big whippy ice creams.

‘Ice cream,' said Pixie, looking like she was going to snatch a cone right out of a little boy's hand.

The mum smiled, but her boys looked nervous. It was too late to hide so I decided to be bold.

‘Excuse me, could you tell me where you got your ice creams from?' I asked.

‘We got them from the Lodge right over there,' said the mum, pointing up through the trees.

‘Oh, brilliant,' I said.

‘Are you kids OK? You have got a grown-up with you, haven't you?'

‘Oh yes, we've got our mum, but – she's – she's over there.' I nodded at some bushes.

The mum stared in that direction too.

‘Oh, don't look, please. She's doing a quick wee,' I said, inspired. ‘She'll be ever so embarrassed if she sees you're looking.'

‘Oh dear! I understand,' said the mum, giggling. ‘Don't worry, we'll go off this way. Bye bye then.'

Pixie made a sudden lunge at the smallest boy but I managed to grab her by the wrist before she could touch his ice cream. He started snivelling all the same, which encouraged the mum to hurry off.

‘Pixie, you're so naughty! You frightened him,' I said.

‘I wanted the ice cream!' she wailed, her own lip quivering.

‘It was
his
ice cream, not yours. We'll get you your own cone in two minutes. Now come on.'

‘You were dead brilliant, Lily,' said Baxter, chuckling. ‘Saying that about our mum having a wee! What made you think of that?'

‘It just came into my head,' I said proudly.

‘Can
I
say that next time? No, can I say my dad's having a wee? No, even better, can I say my dad's having—'

‘Stop it! No, we're not going to talk to anyone else if we can help it,' I said firmly.

‘Ice cream for
Pixie
!' Pixie said imperiously.

We went up the hill towards a long fence enclosing an enormous garden.

‘Is it the magic garden with all the rosy flowers?' said Bliss.

‘I think this is a different garden,' I said. ‘Look, here's the gate in.'

The grassy bank was overgrown with weeds, but when we started going up a long trail of stone steps we saw shrubs and heather planted out like a proper garden. There were white tables and chairs with people sitting at them eating meals – but no ice cream. We walked into the big café, peering in awe at all the food on display, such
different
things – hot meals bubbling in metal containers, salads and sandwiches in glass cabinets, cakes set out on plates so you could just grab a slice. I had to hold Pixie and Baxter's hands. We'd eaten out heaps of times, but just in McDonald's, where you always knew what you were getting.

‘I'll have some pie and chips and that big fat sandwich and the cake, all of it, and a bottle of beer,' said Baxter.

‘We're having ice creams, silly, not a proper meal,' I said. ‘Come on, maybe you get ice cream outside.'

We went through the café and out the other side, raced across the neat green lawn, out of the gates – and
there
was the ice-cream hut!

‘Ice cream, ice cream!' Pixie squealed, and Baxter and Bliss danced up and down.

‘How much are the smallest cones, please?' I asked the ice-cream man.

‘A pound each – one twenty with a chocolate flake,' he said.

‘Can I have three small cones then – no chocolate,' I said regretfully, digging in my pocket for the money.

The ice-cream man was peering at us.

‘Don't you mean four? Or isn't the little kiddie big enough for ice cream?'

‘I'm big! I'm very big, and I want a big ice cream!' said Pixie indignantly.

‘We've only got three pounds between us,' I explained, handing the coins to him.

‘Oh dear, so who's going without?' said the ice-cream man.

‘Her!' said Baxter and Pixie, pointing to poor Bliss.

‘No, she's not! We'll all share,' I said.

‘There's a nice big sister,' he said. He made one, two, three,
four
white swirly ice creams and squirted chocolate sauce all over them.

‘There you are,' he said. He nodded at Pixie. ‘Watch you don't make too much of a mess, very big girl.'

‘But – it was
three
!'

‘Yes, but I'm not very good at counting today,' he said, smiling.

‘You're so lovely. Thank you very very much,' I said. ‘Say thank you, all of you lot.'

‘Thank you,' they said in chorus.

Pixie said, ‘
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
'

Then we carried our ice creams very carefully back to the grass and sat down away from everybody else. We licked and sucked and nibbled very happily indeed. When I was finished I lay down on my back. I relished the cool milky taste in my mouth as I stared up at the blue sky and felt the sun on my face. Maybe I'd get a better suntan than Mum. I felt a little surge of pride. I was coping splendidly. I'd kept all three kids safe and fed and happy, and here we were in this glorious park. Everyone was being kind to us and we had the rest of today and all of Friday to hide out in our tree-house and go exploring.

When I was grown up I'd maybe live further up the hill in the posh houses and look out at this park from my back bedroom window and remember the time I hid here with my brother and sisters . . . and I felt so fond of them now. I even wondered about inviting them to live with me. I imagined Baxter grown up, strong and bold and capable, able to fix the boiler and frighten away any burglars. Bliss would be sweet and gentle, and she'd like to keep house for us, maybe do all the cooking. Pixie would be beautiful, out every night with a different boyfriend, but she'd always come home to us, because we were her family . . .

‘Lily, Lily! I need to do a wee-wee. I need to do a wee-wee right now. Oh dear, oh dear, I'm doing my wee-wee now!'

‘Wake
up
, Lily, Pixie's wetting herself and it's boring here, there's no one to kill.'

‘Lily, there's a big bug on my leg, get it off, it's so scary!'

No, I'd be much better off living all alone. I sat up with a sigh and flicked the tiny beetle off Bliss's skinny leg. I took Pixie by the hand and led her off towards the toilets in the café.

‘You two come too,' I said to Bliss and Baxter.

‘I'm not going in the ladies' toilets,' said Baxter, but I held him with my other hand and wouldn't let him go.

‘You're not to be trusted, matey. You ran off last time, right across that dangerous road to the playground. I'm not risking you running off again and getting lost. You're coming with us!'

‘Stop it, you're twisting my arm!' Baxter moaned.

‘I'll twist your arm right off if you don't shut up,' I said, so fiercely that he knew I meant business and stopped struggling.

I hauled all three of them into the toilets and mopped Pixie while I made Bliss and Baxter use the loo.

While they were distracted washing their hands, vying with each other to see who could make the biggest soap bubble, I dashed into a cubicle myself.

When I came out two old grannies were fussing over the kids, helping them wash their hands. Pixie dimpled at them, and Baxter chatted away, telling them he was a big boy and didn't really need anyone's help, but Bliss went rigid with fear when they tried to get her to stick her wet hands in the drying machine. She had this silly idea that it would suck her up completely.

‘It's OK, Bliss, just flap your hands to dry them,' I said.

‘
Bliss?
is that the little girl's name?' said one old granny, smiling. ‘What a delightful name!'

‘No, no – it's – I said
Fliss
, short for Felicity,' I said quickly. ‘Thank you for helping them. We have to go now. Our mum's waiting for us.'

I pushed the kids quickly out of the toilets.

‘Will you quit shoving me, Lily. I'll be a mass of bruises,' Baxter grumbled.

‘Yeah, like you haven't been kicking me all over and giving
me
bruises since you were Pixie's age,' I said. I grabbed hold of Pixie as she tried to run into the café.

‘Hey, hey, it's this way.'

‘No, I want a cake now. And a sandwich. And chippies,' she said.

‘I want, I want, I want! You're such a greedy-guts. You've just had an ice cream,' I said – but I guessed it was about lunchtime, and the smell of food was making my tummy rumble.

‘I want a cake too – and that pie!' said Baxter.

‘We haven't got any money. You all know that, even you, Pixie. So shut up, all of you. Come on, we'll go back to our tree hidey-hole. We've got lots of food there.'

‘It's not proper food though, it's just cornflakes and silly stuff like that,' said Baxter. ‘You're useless, Lily.'

I felt angry tears prickling in my eyes. I'd been trying so hard to look after them all. It was mean of Baxter to call me useless. I wondered if I could somehow have made us better food. There were eggs at home. I could have boiled some and mixed them with salad cream and made lovely egg sandwiches . . . No, we'd run out of bread. What were we going to do if the food we had with us didn't last till Saturday? I hadn't realized we'd feel so hungry here.

It was making it worse, all of us standing staring at the food on display, our mouths watering. Pixie looked particularly wistful, reaching out her hand towards the cake.

‘Ah, look at that little moppet,' said yet another granny. ‘Are you hungry, darling?'

‘Very hungry,' Pixie lisped, blinking her big blue eyes and looking hopeful.

But the granny just laughed at her and limped off to order some soup for herself.

‘Come on, outside. We can't
beg
,' I said.

‘Yes, we can. Let Pixie, she's good at it,' said Baxter.

I wavered because I was so very hungry – but I knew this would be a way of drawing attention to ourselves. One of the serving ladies was already hovering, worried we might touch the food.

‘No, come on,
now
,' I hissed. The kids followed me, grumbling and moaning, back through the café to the outside terrace at the top of the stone steps.

Almost every table was occupied with lucky people eating. There was one spare table right at the end. No one had cleared it yet. It had four big plates, with quite a lot of chips left, and half a pie. Baxter spotted it and his eyes went big.

I looked around. No one seemed to be watching us, they were all too busy talking and eating their meals.

‘OK,' I said softly. ‘We'll sit down at that table and pretend it's our meal. ‘Follow me. Act
casually
.'

Baxter over-acted, tossing his head about and trying to whistle. Bliss started to giggle helplessly, but I quelled her with a look. We sat down at the table, Baxter barging to be first so he could sit in front of the pie plate.

‘No, we're going to
share
it,' I said, leaning over and cutting it into four squares. ‘And we're counting out the chips, OK?'

‘Is it all right to eat other people's food?' Bliss asked.

‘No, it's very germy indeed – in fact I saw a fat man
sneeze
into this pie, and he licked all the chips,' said Baxter.

‘Yuck,' said Bliss, pushing her plate away.

‘Don't be silly, Bliss, Baxter's just tricking you so he can have your share. It
is
bad to eat other people's leftover food but we haven't any choice, have we? It's not stealing because someone else has already paid for it – and they don't want it any more. It would just get chucked in the rubbish bin so we might as well eat it, eh?'

Bliss didn't look convinced, and didn't even try one chip, but Baxter and Pixie tucked in heartily, and so did I. Our small portions were finished in three or four gulps and we were still left hungry. I looked at the people at the tables nearest to us. The two grannies from the toilet were there, eating large slices of coffee-and-walnut cake and sipping frothy coffee. The larger granny wolfed hers down, but the other one nibbled hers in a half-hearted fashion.

‘I think we might be getting a bit of cake for pudding,' I murmured to the others.