The Bad Karma Diaries (6 page)

Well, a mini-supermodel. She was only a kid, but she had a supermodel body (long skinny legs and arms), and supermodel hair (poker straight with a half-fringe over the eyes), supermodel clothes (leggings and ballet pumps and short smock dress), and supermodel eyes – enormous in a very small face.
Flick
, she tossed her head to the left so her fringe lifted up and came back down over her eyes.

‘Let’s see my cake!’

I looked at Anna, then back at the supermodel, ‘You’re
Chloe
?’

‘Uh-huh … let’s see my cake.’

Mum began to laugh and said, ‘Let’s bring everything in.’

So we all went through to the kitchen.

I muttered to Anna, ‘It’s a baby supermodel.’

She hissed back, ‘No. A proper supermodel. They’re signing them up young.’

Then we began to giggle. I thought it was in fact very possible that they were signing up six-year-old supermodels, seeing as a) six-year-olds are very skinny, b) they have perfect skin and c) they are good at smiling naturally for the camera.

Chloe looked at the cake. We had iced it that morning and put cream and smarties on it. But nothing could hide the dip in the middle, and the cream just made it look …
messier
, because cream is not very
neat
looking.

When Renata saw it iced and creamed, she said, ‘That is the kind of cake that causes food fights. You just wanna pick it up and push it –
splotch!
– into someone’s face …’

And she’d looked longingly at the cake and at my face, so I’d taken firm hold of the plate, because she would have, she absolutely would have – and
‘
Oh, Renata!’
is all she’d have got for doing it.

But the thing is that the cake looked even
worse
under Chloe’s gaze than it did in Anna’s kitchen. It looked like it was hanging its head in shame. I got ready for Chloe’s sneer. But it never came. Instead her eyes filled with tears. Very slowly. Nothing else in her face changed – her skin didn’t go blotchy, her mouth didn’t tremble, none of the usual signs of crying. Just her big eyes welled up. Supermodel tears.

Anna said impatiently, ‘Look, if you wanted a designer cake, your mum should have ordered one, not got us to
make
it.’

The tears began to slowly slide down the face, quiver on the chin, then drop to the ballet pumps. I watched fascinated. But I felt sorry for Chloe. Anna didn’t, I knew. She hates girlie girls. Also I was worried Chloe’s mum was about to come in and we’d have a disaster on our hands, so I gave Chloe a hug.

‘It’s cool. Wait until we put the candles on. It’ll look great. Anyway it’s
home-made
. That means it tastes great. Taste is more important than looks.’

‘It is?’

‘Of course!’

Chloe was only six after all, even if she did look like a supermodel, so she was ready to be persuaded. We got out the candles and put them round and then we put the fat Number 6 in the centre. The cake now looked like a big, messy child’s painting covered in stickers. Or like a teddy left out in the rain with its white stuffing coming through torn stitches. I made sure not to look at Anna. We would have had hysterics.

‘See?’ I said brightly. Chloe looked very unsure.

‘And wait until the candles are lit,’ said Anna, ‘And wait until you taste it.’

The birthday girl began to smile, very uncertainly. It was just a little supermodel upturn of the lips. I quickly grabbed the cake and put it on top of a cupboard.

‘Keep it a surprise till later,’ I said. Just in time because Mrs Mahony came into the kitchen with a little boy. I didn’t want to have to go through the cake fiasco with her yet. Guess she’s harder to persuade than a six-year-old.

Anna said importantly that we wouldn’t put any food out till after the games otherwise the kids would just eat it. She sounded like a pro. I was very impressed at this clever method of postponing the Cake Fiasco.

Then Chloe said, ‘Did you bring me a present?’

The little boy turned his eyes on us too.

‘And me?’

He was about four. He looked like a squashed football, not like a supermodel, bad luck for him!

Mrs Mahony said, ‘Oh Chloe, they’re here to organise your party. I
told
you! Not to bring you presents. And Jake, it’s Chloe’s birthday, not yours –
she’s
getting the presents.’ 

So I took a look at Chloe and sure enough the big eyes which had just emptied were beginning to fill up with tears all over again. Then I heard a nasty squawk like a cat makes if you tread on its paw, and it was Jake. He was screeching. The
exact
opposite to his sister’s silent tears. Maybe he was adopted? Maybe Mrs Mahony changed husbands in between children? Where was Mr Mahony anyway?

Anna said quickly, ‘Let’s go hide sweets in the garden before everyone comes!’

In the garden – as we directed Chloe to put the sweets in the flower beds and Mrs Mahony totally contradicted us by directing Chloe not to go
near
the flower beds – I sidled up to Anna, ‘The Birthday Girl is a bit weepy …’

‘That’s why her eyes are so big. She bulks them out with water …’

‘Take a bet on how many times she weeps today?’

‘Twenty,’ said Anna, ‘Twenty euro on twenty times.’

Well, this was a good estimate! Because Chloe’s eyes filled up when:

1) 3pm. None of her friends have arrived: ‘They’re not coming …’

2) 3.17pm. She opens a present of a book: ‘I’ve already got a book.’ (‘It’s okay,’ says Anna soothingly, ‘books are like dresses,
you can have more than one.’ – ‘You can?’ – ‘Yes, look, they all have different covers …’)

3) 3.33pm. Chloe is rushing round grabbing all the sweets in the garden. She knows where they are because she helped hide them. I suggest, very
very
gently: ‘Maybe you should let your guests find some sweets …’

4) 3.36pm. Not Chloe’s tears this time. Her mother’s: ‘They’re
ruining
the flower beds.’ Her eyes, though not big and supermodelly like Chloe’s, definitely look a bit weepy. Anna calls off the sweet-hunt.

5) 3.45pm. Pass the Parcel. The parcel doesn’t land on Chloe …

6) 3.55pm. Musical Statues. Chloe moves. Everyone sees her move …

7) 4.10pm. Musical Chairs. Chloe misses the chair …

8) 4.18pm. Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Chloe pins it on his ear …