I feel very fond of all my Diamond girls and think

they're a fantastic family, though maybe I'm glad

they don't live next door to me! I was prodded into
action to write their story by a Christmas newspaper
feature. Various celebrities were asked to name the
worst book they'd ever read. I was idly leafing
through this over my breakfast when I suddenly
spotted the title of one of my books, The Illustrated
Mum. A well-known politician chose this as her
worst book ever, partly because she said the two
sisters in the book had different fathers. I thought
this was so bizarre I laughed out loud. Why on earth
would anyone think this a reason for disliking a
children's book? How can children help it, anyway,
if they've got different fathers? I wanted to show by
the end of the story that their family is warm and
caring and loving in spite of their chaotic lifestyle,
while Dixie's little friend Mary in her neat mock-
Tudor villa comes from a very cold and troubled
background.
 Dixie's the youngest sister, the gentle dreamy girl
who tells the story. She's my favourite Diamond
girl, though I also have a very soft spot for Jude. My
best friend gave me the idea for Dixie's toy budgie
Bluebell. We were talking about the pets we'd
longed for when we were children, and she said
she'd longed for a budgerigar but her mum wouldn't
let her have one. She'd therefore bought a plastic
budgie from a pet shop and walked round with
it perched on her finger, pretending it was real. I
liked this story so much I had to let my Dixie do
exactly that.
I made much of the horrors of moving house in
The Diamond Girls – and almost as soon as it was
published I moved house too. I had more friends to
help me than poor Sue Diamond, but it was still
pretty traumatic – especially as I have around
15,000 books! But now I'm happily settled in my
lovely new house, with all my books in specially
built beautiful bookcases. My Diamond girls might
decide to move away from the Planet Estate but I
intend to stay exactly where I am for ever!
Illustrated by Nick Sharratt
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied,
reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly
performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in
writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and
conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by
applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of
this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and
publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law
accordingly.

Adobe ISBN: 9781407045207

Version 1.0

www.randomhouse.co.uk
 T H E D I A M O N D GIRLS
A CORGI BOOK 978 0552 55612 5

First published in Great Britain by Doubleday

an imprint of Random House Children's Books

Doubleday edition published 2004

First Corgi edition published 2005
This Corgi edition published 2007

3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2004

Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2004

The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been
asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.

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T H E R A N D O M HOUSE G R O U P Limited Reg. No. 954009

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd,

Reading, Berkshire
For Nick and Jon
 1

'I've got a surprise for you girls,' said Mum. 'We're moving.'
We all stared at her. She was flopping back in her
chair, slippered feet propped right up on the kitchen
table amongst the cornflake bowls, tummy jutting over
her skirt like a giant balloon. She didn't look capable of
moving herself as far as the front door. Her scuffed fluffy
mules could barely support her weight. Maybe she
needed hot air underneath her and then she'd rise gently
upwards and float out of the open window.
'Quit staring at my stomach, Dixie,' Mum snapped.
'How can she help staring?' said Jude. 'It's so gross.'
'Oh yuck, it's moving!' Rochelle squealed.
Mum cradled her tummy, patting the little bulgy bit
wiggling about beneath her navel. I hoped it wouldn't
wiggle too much. Mum's navel looked ready to pop out
like a cork.
I used to think that's how babies were born. That was
weird enough. The real explanation seems worse. I'm
sure I don't want any babies myself, ever.

1
 'He's giving me a real old kicking today,' Mum said
proudly. 'Going to be a right little footballer. Aren't you,
baby David Beckham?'
She hung her head over her swollen tummy as if she
was waiting for an answer. 'Yes, Mummy!' she said, in
a tiny baby voice.
'You're nuts, Mum,' said Jude. 'You've been a bit
bonkers ever since you knew the baby was a boy. What's
so special about boys?' Jude threw her arms out wildly,
as if she'd like to whack every boy about the head just
for being male.
'Watch it,' said Martine, snatching her cup of tea out
of Jude's way. 'What are you on about anyway, Mum?
We don't want to move again. We've played musical
chairs all round the blooming Bletchworth Estate.'
We started off in South Block. We moved there when
a three-bedroom flat became vacant, but then Mum had
a row with the people on our landing. We swapped to
the ground floor of North Block, but it was so damp we
had rotten colds and coughs all winter, so then we moved
up to the top floor. It wasn't a good idea to be right under
the roof. Whenever it rained Jude and I had to squeeze
into Mum's room because we had too many leaks coming
through our ceiling. The council never came to get it
fixed no matter how many times we phoned.
We liked living there even so.
Martine liked living on the top floor because her
boyfriend Tony lived right next door in number 113.
Martine's the oldest of us Diamond girls. She's just
sixteen. She says that makes her an adult and she can
do whatever she likes. She looks exactly like Mum but
she tries very hard not to. She's got Mum's lovely thick

2
black hair but Martine dyes hers blonde. Mum likes to
wear short skirts so Martine wears jeans, low slung so
you can see the top of her thong when she bends
forwards.
Jude liked living on the top floor because she knew
how to get through a secret trapdoor onto the roof. She
claimed it as her own private territory. Lots of the boys
in our block wanted to climb up there too but Jude
wouldn't let them. She can get the better of all the boys,
even though she's smallish and only fourteen. She might
be small but she's squat and very very tough. Jude looks
out for me and squashes people flat if they start teasing
me. We're not supposed to have favourites in our family
but if I did have a favourite sister then it's definitely
Jude.
Rochelle liked living on the top floor because Martine
was round at Tony's so often she generally had the
bedroom to herself. She could prance around pretending
to be a pop singer, hairbrush for a mike, watching her-
self in the wardrobe mirror. She's always watching
herself. I suppose I'd want to watch myself if I looked
like Rochelle. She's only twelve but she tries to look
much older. She's very pretty with long curly blonde hair
and a heart-shaped face and pink pouty lips like one of
those loveheart sweets. There is absolutely nothing else
sweet about her. A lot of the time I simply can't stick
my sister Rochelle.
I liked living on the top floor because I could stare out
the window and pretend Bluebell and I were flying over
the rooftops, high above the tower blocks, over the ocean,
all the way across the world to Bluebell's birthplace in
Australia. I knew that was where real budgerigars came

3
from. When I made Bluebell talk she always started off
saying, 'G'day, Dixie.' However, if you were rude enough
to look up Bluebell's bottom she had this little white
label saying 'MADE IN CHINA'. She didn't talk Chinese but
I sometimes fished out left-over cartons of chow mein
and chop suey from the dustbins and Bluebell dug her
beak in very happily.
I felt for Bluebell up my cardie sleeve. I didn't often
walk round with her perched on my finger now, even at
home, because everyone acted as if I was a total nutcase.
I stuffed her up my sleeve instead like a little paper
hankie. I gave her feathers a secret stroke every now
and then. I needed to stroke her now because Martine
and Jude and Rochelle were all shouting and I knew it
bothered her.
'We want to stay here, Mum, OK?' said Jude, sticking
out her chin. 'North Block's much the best. South Block
sucks. And Middle Block. North Block's my territory.'
'I've got my bedroom just the way I like it,' said
Rochelle. 'It's not fair, Mum – you never think about us.'
'We can't leave this flat, not now Tony helped do it up
so swish,' said Martine. He just helped her paint her and
Rochelle's bedroom but she acted like he did a complete
Changing Rooms. 'We'll never get as good a flat, not on
this estate.'
'You're right,' said Mum. She eased her legs down onto
the floor, rubbing at her big blue veins. Then she sat up
as straight as she could and folded her arms across her
big bosom. She gave us such a look that we all shut up,
even Jude.
'We're not getting a better flat on this estate, OK?
We're moving, like I said. It's all planned, in all my star

4
charts. Every time I read the tarot cards the wheel of
fortune comes up, symbolizing a new beginning. We have
to act on it. It's like our destiny.'
'You and your stupid fortune-telling, Mum. You're like
a blooming gypsy. My fortune's right here,' said Martine.
'There are too many bad vibes here,' said Mum, shifting
on her chair and patting her tummy protectively.
'Yeah, and whose fault is that?' said Jude. 'Why did
you ever have to get pregnant again?'
'I can't help fate, darling. It's all in the stars.' Mum
looked up, as if the Milky Way was shining across our
kitchen ceiling.
'We did a project on the stars at school. And the planets
and all their little moons. We had to draw them but my
compass didn't work so mine went all wobbly,' I said.
'I did that project when I was back in primary school.
I got an A,' said Rochelle.
'Why do you always have to show off, Rochelle?' I said.
'Who cares about your stupid A grades?'
I cared. It was horribly unfair that Rochelle got to be
very pretty and very clever. Jude wasn't pretty but she
was very clever, even though she didn't try much at
school. Martine was pretty but she wasn't any good at
lessons and couldn't wait to leave.
I was plain and most people thought I was stupid.
'Pipe down, girls. Now listen. We're going to have a
fresh start. We're leaving this old dump altogether.'
'No we're not,' said Jude, folding her arms too. 'You
can't make us.'
'Oh yes, we are moving,' said Mum, and she nodded
at the letter in front of her.
We'd all thought it was just another bill or some silly

5
letter from the social. We hadn't taken any notice when
Mum was reading it, though I had wondered why she
hadn't scrumpled it up and thrown it in the rubbish bin.
Martine snatched the letter. 'The Planet Estate?' she
read.
'Isn't it just perfect?' said Mum. 'See, Jude, it's fate.'
'Oh my God, it's not even in London! We can't go there.
How can I see Tony?'
'I think you've been seeing way too much of that Tony,
if you must know,' said Mum. 'You're too young to get
serious.'
'Oh, that's great, coming from you! You had me when
you were – what, sixteen?'
'That's my point, I know what I'm talking about.'
'You're moving us all to some weird estate in the middle
of nowhere just to split Tony and me up?' Martine wailed,
starting to cry.
'Oh for God's sake, stop being such a drama queen!
The whole world doesn't revolve around you and your
boyfriend. I'm doing this for all of us. We need a bigger
place, now you're all having a little brother.' Mum patted
her stomach.
She said it as if we'd all begged for a brother. We'd all
been appalled and embarrassed when she told us she
was going to have another baby.
'You can't get bigger than three-bedroom flats, not
council,' said Jude.
'I've got my whole bedroom wall like this big pop collage.
It'll ruin it if I have to tear it all down,' said Rochelle.
'You can make another one. You'll have more space.
We're moving to a house,' said Mum. 'A proper family
house with our own garden.'

6
 We all missed a beat, taking it in. I clutched Bluebell.
'Will we be allowed pets?' I asked.
'Yes, Dixie.'
'Real ones? Birds?' I saw a green garden of trees with
red and purple parrots and yellow canaries and blue
budgerigars flying freely, cheeping and calling. Bluebell
quivered, trying to stretch her faded feathers.
'OK, if you're having a bird I'll have a big fluffy cat,'
said Rochelle. 'I'll have lots of those Persian cats with
white fur. I'll call them Snowy and Sugar Lump and Ice
Cream and Ivory.'
Phantom cats, as big and white as polar bears, were
stalking through my garden, climbing the trees,
pouncing on all my helpless rainbow birds.
Jude saw me clutching my sleeve. 'And I'll get a big
Rottweiler and he'll swat those pesky cats with one blow
of his big paws. Then I'll put him on a lead and he'll be
our guard dog and he'll always look out for you, Dixie,'
said Jude.
'What are you on about?' said Martine, still crying.
'This is just crazy talk – dogs and cats and bogging
budgies. It isn't a game. We can't move. I won't!'
'Yes you will,' said Mum. 'Stop shouting at me! I don't
want my blood pressure going up, it's bad for the baby.'
'That badword baby,' said Martine. She said so many
badwords we all blinked.
'Stop that!' said Mum. 'I won't have it, do you hear? I
know you're just upset because of Tony. You can't really
think that about your poor little baby brother.'
'Yes I do!' Martine shrieked. 'You're so selfish, Mum.
You act like none of us girls matter. You're just so
obsessed with wanting a stupid boy you're mucking up

7
all our lives. You should hear what they say about us on
the estate – what they say about you.'
'Well, I won't have to hear, because we're moving. You
can swear at me all you like but it's settled and signed
for, totally official,' said Mum, rolling up the letter and
smacking it on the table. She hit her wrist by mistake
and rubbed it furiously. 'Ouch! Now look what you made
me do.'
'Good!' Martine shouted and she marched out, slam-
ming the front door.
'As if I care what those boring old bags have been
saying about me,' said Mum, having a sip of her tea.
'Anyway, what have they been saying?'
I looked at Jude and Rochelle. Rochelle opened her big
mouth but Jude gave her a quick nudge.
'So, this Planet Estate . . .' Jude said to distract Mum.
'How did you hear about it?'
People are always saying things about her, but we
don't tell Mum, even when we're mad at her.
'I went down the council telling them all about the
baby, wanting a swap, and this girl diddled away at her
computer and the moment she mentioned the Planet
Estate I had this weird tight feeling in my chest—'
'Indigestion,' said Jude.
'Intuition! I just knew it was the place for us, especially
when she said that all six blocks also had streets of houses
with gardens, for big families.'
Rochelle was counting on her fingers. 'Six blocks?
There are nine planets – I remember from when we did
them at school.'
'Yeah, you'd better get off to school, you're all late,'
said Mum.

8
 'No point going though, is there? Not if we're moving,'
said Jude.
'You bunk off half the time anyway, you bad girl,' said
Mum. 'Well, you can make yourself useful going down
to Tesco and bringing back as many cardboard boxes as
you can manage. We'll need them for packing.'
'I'm going to school,' said Rochelle. 'I'm telling all my
friends we're moving. We're really going to be living in
a proper house with a garden, Mum? Can I have my
very own bedroom? It's not fair I always have to share.'
We all share. We started off Martine and Jude, and
Rochelle and me, but it didn't work. It's better with
Martine and Rochelle, and Jude and me. But it would
be best if we all had our own bedrooms.
'Can I have my own bedroom too, Mum? Can all of
us?' I asked.
'We'll have to see, darling. Maybe. I don't know exactly
how many rooms there are, or how big they are.'
'I bags the biggest bedroom,' said Rochelle.
'No, no, I've got to have that for me and the baby. I've
been thinking about taking out another loan. I hate all
that cheap second-hand crap. Who wants gungy old stuff
for their little baby son, eh? I saw this cot with a cute
little blue bear motif—'
Mum was off on one of her baby-boy rants. She'd be
talking Mothercare catalogue for the next ten minutes.
Jude yawned, poured herself another bowl of cornflakes
and went to watch one of her Buffy videos on the telly.
She pulled her school tie off, rolled up her shirt sleeves
and kicked off her shoes.
Rochelle packed her school bag ostentatiously, playing
at being the good little girl.

9
 I was still trying to think of nine planets. I hadn't really
been concentrating when we'd studied them at school. I'd
been too busy dreaming up my own planet. Bluebell and
I lived there all alone in perfect peace. There'd be hardly
any gravity on Planet Dixie so I could fly just like Bluebell.
We shared a special mossy nest at the top of the tallest
tree. It bore multi-fruit all the year round, apples on one
branch, pears on another. Raspberries and blackberries
and strawberries grew in leafy clumps around the trunk
and grape vines dangled downwards, so that we didn't
have to leave our nest to peck at breakfast.
'Dixie! Close your mouth! Stop that daydreaming, you
look gormless,' Mum snapped.
'I was just trying to think of all the planets, Mum.'
'We're going to live in Mercury. Then there's Venus,
Mars, Jupiter, Neptune and Saturn.'
'They've left out Pluto and Uranus,' said Rochelle.
'Yeah, well, who'd want to live in Mickey Mouse's dog
or something that sounds very rude,' I said. I was still
counting. 'So what's the last planet?'
'Earth, stupid. Where we live. Though you're gener-
ally on a different planet altogether, Dixie. Planet Loony.'
Rochelle stuck out her tongue and made for the door.
'Hang on, Rochelle, take Dixie with you.'
'Oh Mum. I haven't got time to do a blooming school
run. I'm late,' Rochelle said, on her way to the bathroom.
'I don't want to go to school today, Mum. Like Jude
said, there's no point, not if we really are moving to this
Planet place.'
'You'll get me into trouble,' said Mum, but she reached
out for me and cuddled me into her. I leaned against
her, though I was careful not to touch her tummy.

10
 'OK, OK, little Dix, you can stay off school today.'
'Hurray!'
'Why don't you like school, eh?'
I shrugged. There was no point getting started.
'Who's your teacher? Is she giving you a hard time?
You tell her it's not your fault you're a bit of a dilly-
dream, it's just the way you were born.'
'Mmm,' I said, playing with Mum's hair.
It wasn't the teacher, it was the other kids. This girl
had spotted me whispering into my cardie cuff and she'd
pounced on Bluebell. She told all the others and they
all did budgie squawks and screwed their fingers into
their foreheads and called me Birdbrain.
'Well, you'll be at a new school soon when we're living
in Mercury. It's the smallest planet, always associated
with children – and here I'll be, having my baby boy in
Mercury. Come to that, I've always liked Freddie
Mercury too,' said Mum, chuckling. She sighed when I
looked blank. 'You know, the singer with all the teeth in
Queen. Freddie . . . How about that for the baby's name?
Or what about Mercury?'
'If you call the poor kid Mercury he'll be teased rotten,'
Jude called.
'Call him Justin,' said Rochelle, coming out the bath-
room. 'Or Craig. Or Robbie.'
'I want something really special. Unusual,' said Mum.
'What other singers do I like?' said Rochelle. 'I know,
Baby Busted!' She cackled with laughter and rushed off
to school.
I relaxed and started plaiting Mum's long black hair.
'Help me think up a good name, Dixie. I tried hard
with you girls. You're all so lucky – dead individual.

11
There aren't any other Martines or Judes or Rochelles
or Dixies round here. I'm stuck with stupid old Sue.
There are heaps of Sues.'
'There's only one of you, though, Mum,' I said. I
finished one plait and tied it with a piece of string from
the kitchen drawer, adding a few paperclips too as silver
decoration.
'What are you doing? Turning me into whatshername
– Pocahontas?' Mum said.
'Hey, you could spell your name differently. S-i-o-u-x,
like the native American tribe. That's individual,' I said.
'Oh well, I'll give it a thought. Hey, leave off now, it's
making me go all itchy. What about cowboy names for
the baby?' Mum thought. 'Butch Cassidy?'
'Yeah, but what if he's a bit little and wimpy, Mum?
You can't call him Butch.'
'The Sundance Kid? Hey, Sundance, that's a glorious
name! And the sun is a perfect symbol of male energy,
right? Little baby, are you Sundance?'
Mum put her hands on her tummy, peering at it
intently, as if she could see the baby inside dancing in
the sun.
 2

I got packed in a jiffy. I crammed my clothes into one

big carrier bag. They got a bit squashed but I didn't care.
I don't like my clothes much. They've mostly been
Rochelle's before me and she likes pink and glitter, tight
skimpy stuff that shows off her figure. I haven't got a
figure. I'm so small that even miniskirts come way past
my knees, I'm so skinny that everything looks baggy on
me, and I'm so pale that pink makes me look sickly
white. I got born too early. I was smaller than a bag of
sugar and I had to stay in hospital for weeks and weeks.
I never really caught up with everyone else my age.
Rochelle says I'm the runt of the litter.
The only garment I really like is my blue cardigan.
It's magic because it stretches every time it's washed so
it's grown with me the last two years.
My dad bought it for me. He took me out for the day,
just him and me, and he saw I had goose pimples up
and down my arms so he bought me my big blue cardie.
I've worn it every day ever since. I've even worn it to

13
school, though we're supposed to wear navy sweatshirts
or jumpers. I got told off, but I insisted that blue's just
like pale navy, so what was the problem? The teachers
didn't bother to send a note home. They'd had enough
arguments with my mum in the past when Martine and
Jude and Rochelle were at our school.
I packed all my possessions into one of the cardboard
boxes Jude had brought home from Tesco. There was
my big book of fairy tales at the bottom. I didn't bother
with the words, I just looked at lovely pictures of
princesses with hair waving down to their knees, and
made up my own stories. Then there were my notepads
and fibre-tip colouring pens and my red gel pen that
smelled of strawberries and my yellow gel pen
that smelled of bananas. I had a Miss Kitty writing
set too but I didn't really have anyone to write to. I
had Martine's old one-eyed panda and Jude's monkey
with the missing paw and Rochelle's old Barbies. I
didn't play with them any more but I'd have felt mean
if I'd chucked them out.
Rochelle had done heaps of chucking, but she still had
two suitcases and three cardboard boxes brimming over
with her bits.
Jude had even less clothes than me, and just one box
containing her baseball bat and her biker boots and her
videos and all her fantasy novels.
Martine was still refusing to pack. She wasn't speaking
to Mum. She wasn't speaking to any of us, because we
were all getting excited at the idea of a house with a
garden now. Martine spent almost every second next
door with Tony and his family. Mum got so mad at her
she went and banged on Tony's mum's front door and

14
 they had an argy-bargy right on the landing, Martine
joining in too.
'Slagging off her own mother in front of everyone!'
Mum wept afterwards. 'And me in my condition too.'
Jude and Rochelle and I had to do most of Mum's
packing but we divided it up easily enough. Jude got all
the heavy house stuff organized, Rochelle did Mum's
clothes and make-up, and I did Mum's mystic paintings
and her crystal ball and her tarot cards and astrology
charts and Every Woman's Easy Guide to Fortune Telling.
I had to pack for little Sundance too. Mum had started
buying enough little blue dungarees and sleeping suits
and weeny fleeces for an entire nursery of baby boys.
All brand new. Someone from the social had given her
a black plastic rubbish bag full of old baby clothes but
Mum wasn't grateful.
'It's a blooming insult, giving me this washed-out
rubbish,' she said, tipping them out all over the carpet
and stirring them disdainfully with her long pointed
fingernails. 'For God's sake, look – sick stains!' she
declared, stabbing at a faint white shadow on a little
jacket. 'Right, this is all going in the bin where it
belongs.'
She still hadn't decided on Sundance's nursery furni-
ture. She'd gone off the Mothercare selection, and now
wanted something more special.
'What, like Harrods?' said Jude.
She was being sarcastic but Mum took her seriously.
'I could check out their nursery stuff, certainly, but I
think it might be a bit too traditional, you know? It
would be great to get something specially designed, but
that might be a bit too pricey.'

15
 'Just a bit,' said Jude. She paused. 'Don't forget you've
got to pay for the removal van.'
'Well, I was thinking of asking one of your dads for a
bit of help.'
I sat up proudly. The only one of our dads Mum was
still in touch with was my dad.
'I'll see if he can help us hire a van,' said Mum.
'Or loan us his hearse,' said Rochelle, cracking up
laughing. Jude joined in. I stared at them, stony-faced.
'You shut up!' I said, so fiercely that they all took a
step backwards, even Jude. 'Don't you dare laugh at my
dad! I don't know why everyone thinks his job's so funny.'
'It's not funny, it's downright creepy,' said Rochelle,
shuddering. 'It's a good thing you're not a little kid any
more. Imagine holding his hand after he's been doing
his day's embalming!'
'Yeah, actually, I had a bit of trouble with that aspect
myself,' said Mum. 'I made him have a very long bath
every time he came near me, but I still seemed to smell
something weird on him.'
'He doesn't smell a bit!' I shouted, nearly crying.
'Of course he doesn't smell. Mum's the one that smells,'
said Jude.
'Oi, you! I don't blooming well smell.'
'Yes, you do, of all those weird little oils,' said Jude.
'They're lovely, and they're doing me good too. I need
neroli and lavender to calm me. No blooming wonder when
I have to deal with you lot! Here, Dixie, take that scowl
off your face. I didn't really mean it about your dad,
darling, you know that. Come here.' Mum held her arms
out and pulled me to sit on her lap, though her huge
tummy meant I had to perch right at the end of her knees.

16
 'Your dad's a very sweet guy,' Mum said softly. She
divided my long hair until she found my ear. 'I think
he's the best out of all my special guys,' she whispered.
Rochelle's got sharp ears. 'You always said my dad was
your all-time favourite, Mum,' she said.
'All your dads were lovely guys,' Mum said. She sighed
and settled back in her seat, patting her bump. She
started chanting the dad story.
We all knew it backwards. She had soothed us to sleep
telling us the tale when we were little. It was like our
special bedtime story.
'First there was my lovely Dave, Martine's dad. We were
childhood sweethearts. We first went out in Year Ten –
imagine! We were so in love. Thought we knew it all too,
as you do. I couldn't help being thrilled when I knew
Martine was on the way, though I knew my mum would
create. She always had a down on me, my mum, said I'd
go to the bad. Dave did his best to stand by me, bless
him. But how could he cope with a baby when he was
still a kid himself?
'Then Jude's dad came along,' said Mum.
Jude blew a raspberry, but she listened all the same.
'Dean knew where he was going all right, and for a
while he took care of me. He did his best to be a dad to
Martine too. He could be so sweet and tender with us,
he made my heart melt. But he could be a tricky guy
too, especially if he was crossed. I loved him with all my
heart but I knew I had to leave him when he started
slapping me around.'
'Good riddance to him,' said Jude.
'Then there was my dad, Jordan,' said Rochelle. 'He
was the best looking, wasn't he, Mum? I bet you'd have

17
stayed with him for ever if he hadn't died.' She looked
at me. 'Then you wouldn't be here today, Dixie. You
wouldn't even exist.'
I knew she was just trying to wind me up, but I
suddenly felt panicky. I looked down at myself, scared
my arms and legs would start fading away as I turned
into a ghost girl.
'Of course there was always going to be a Dixie,' said
Mum. She waved her fingers in the air, squinting at
five little lines on her palm. 'Read my hand! Four
gorgeous girls – and one beautiful bouncing boy! It was
always my destiny, darling. Maybe it's just as well I
didn't sort out how it was all going to happen. It was
so sad, losing my Jordan. You're right, Rochelle, he was
so handsome my heart started hammering just at the
sight of him. He was so talented too. He'd have been a
real star in the music world if he'd only had the right
breaks. It wasn't really his fault he got into the drug
scene. It goes with the territory, right? Oh God, it was
so awful awful awful when the police called me.' A tear
slid down Mum's cheek. She always cried when she
talked about Jordan.
Rochelle snuffled and puckered up like she was crying
too. She always acts like losing her dad was the big
tragedy of her life, but as he took his overdose when she
was two years old I don't think she can even remember
him.
Mum ran her hands through Rochelle's lovely long
blonde hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek as if they
were both still grieving.
I perched Bluebell on my finger and started grooming
her feathers. Mum turned to me. I elbowed Rochelle out

18
the way. She pouted and pinged her fingers at Bluebell,
making her fall off and land on her head.
'You pig,' I said, hitting out at her.
Rochelle dodged, laughing.
I cradled Bluebell, stroking her poor beak. "You've bent
it, Rochelle, look!'
'Oh dear, how will the poor little soul pick up all her
birdseed now?' said Rochelle. 'Though I forgot, she
doesn't actually eat, does she? And she clearly can't fly
to save her life. Pretty duff sort of budgie, if you ask
me.'
'And you're a pretty duff sort of girl to tease your poor
sister so,' said Mum. 'Don't let her get to you, Dixie
darling.'
'Tell me about my dad, Mum,' I said.
'That's just what I'm going to do, sweetheart. Dear
Terry. I was so out of it, crying over Jordan, and Terry
was so kind and talked to me for hours and hours,
helping me sort everything out—'
'The oak coffin or the ash coffin or the deluxe
mahogany lined with purple satin,' said Rochelle.
'Bog off, bad girlie,' said Mum. 'You can mock, but if
it wasn't for Terry's sweetness I think I'd have gone right
out of my mind. I was heading that way anyway, going
a little bit bonkers every lonely evening—'
'And so you had a little bitty bonk with creepy old
Terry,' said Rochelle.
'You're getting way too lippy, madam. Just you watch
it. I might be eight months pregnant and the size of a
flipping elephant but I can still sort you out, no problem,'
said Mum. 'Terry is a lovely lovely guy and if only he
didn't already have a family I'm sure we'd be together

19
now. Though maybe I'm not destined to shack up with
any of my guys for long. I figure it's us Diamond girls
together – and we'll have to look to Junior here to look
after us when we're all old ladies.'
'What about Junior's dad?' Jude said.
Mum sighed. 'I knew it was just going to be a brief
encounter. He was so lovely and so artistic. Imagine, a
painter! I wish he'd got to know you girls. I'd have loved
him to do a portrait of all us Diamonds.'
'Why won't you tell us his name, Mum?' I said.
'Maybe she doesn't even know it,' Rochelle muttered.
'Honestly, Mum, why do you always have to get
involved with all these guys?' said Jude.
'I'm not involved with anyone right now, Miss Priss. I
must admit, I haven't been very lucky with my guys.'
'That's putting it mildly,' said Jude.
Mum pulled a face but refused to react. She rang my
dad at his work to see if he could help us. It didn't sound
as if he was pleased to hear from her. Mum kept sighing
and pulling faces and going 'Yeah, yeah,' and 'Look, I
don't ever bother you at home, darling, so quit nagging
me. We do share a daughter. Do you want to have a little
word with our Dixie?'
My throat went tight. I kept swallowing, trying to get
enough spit into my mouth so I could speak. But I didn't
have to. Mum nodded more.
'Sorry, Dixie, Dad sends his love and he'll be in touch
very soon but he's up to his eyes in work right now,' said
Mum.
'Up to his eyes in corpses?' said Rochelle.
Jude shoved her. Rochelle shoved back, squealing.
'Shut up, girls!' said Mum. 'No, no, listen, Terry, it'll

20
just take half a second – we're moving, we need a van.
Please, darling, be a mate and help us.'
I waited, clutching Bluebell, just in case he changed
his mind about having time to talk to me.
Mum put the phone down. She smiled reassuringly.
'There! All fixed!'
'Is Dad coming with a van?' I asked.
'No, he can't make it at the weekend, sweetie. It's diffi-
cult for him. I can understand. But he's got this mate,
he'll get him to come. He might charge a bit, but it should
just be peanuts. Dixie? Dad says he misses you a lot,
sweetheart, and he told me to give you a big hug from
him.'
I sloped off to my bedroom after Mum gave me the
hug. My bed had all my stuff stacked on it so I curled
up under Jude's duvet. She came in a few minutes after
me.
'What are you doing in my bed? Hey, I sound like the
three blooming bears!'
I kept my head in her pillow.
'Are you crying, Goldilocks?'
'No.'
'Fibber! Don't get my pillow all wet and snotty'
'I've stopped now,' I said, sitting up and wiping my
eyes on my cardigan sleeve.
'Were you crying just because you wanted to see your
dad?' said Jude. 'You're daft, you. I don't ever see my dad
and do I care?'
'Yeah, but your dad was nasty and hit Mum. And
Martine. I expect he hit you too, even though you were
just a baby.'
'I'd like to see him try now,' said Jude, punching the

21
air violently and making the bed bounce. 'I'd soon sort
him out. Mum's much better off without him. She's much
better off without any of them.'
'How come Mum can't see they're going to let her down
when she looks into her crystal ball and reads the tarot
and works out all her star charts?'
'Mum and her stupid crazes! Don't take it so seriously,
Dixie. It's just a bit of glass and some old cards and some
silly figures about stars. How can Mum possibly tell the
future with that silly old rubbish?'
'Because she's psychic?'
'She's no more psychic than I am,' said Jude. She
grabbed my hand. It was the one clutching Bluebell. She
gave him a little stroke and then acted like he'd pecked
her finger.
'Ouch! Keep your stunted little eagle under control,
our Dixie! OK, let's see if I can read your palm. Ah! I
see change on the horizon. Change of scenery – it says
so in the stars. Or is it the planets? Here's your Mount
of Mercury' – she tickled my palm – 'look how pronounced
it is. It definitely features in the future. Ooh, what's this
I see? Look at this wiggly line here. How significant is
that!'
'What? What does it mean?' I knew Jude was only
fooling around but she said it all in exactly Mum's tone
of voice, making it sound so special, as if she really could
read my palm.
'It means you're going to have fun on your new planet.
See, the line squiggles around, just like a smile.' She
traced the line for me.
I twisted my hand. 'But if you look this way it's a
frown,' I said anxiously.

22
 'Well, you'll have to keep your hand the right way up,'
said Jude, tickling me. 'Now, what about this young
budgie here? Hold out your wing, if you please.' Jude
pretended to examine Bluebell's feather tips. 'Aha!
Someone will be spreading their wings and flying off
into the great blue yonder.'
'But then flying back to me?' I said.
'God, you're such a worryguts,' said Jude.
We heard Martine coming in. Mum said something,
then Martine.
'I'm not bogging well going and that's that!' she yelled.
'Hm,' said Jude. 'It's easy predicting there's trouble
ahead for someone!'
 3

Martine still wasn't packed on Saturday, when we were

moving. She stayed out all Friday night with Tony.
'She's simply making her point,' said Mum, wearily
making us all tea and toast. She was still in her black
silky nightie. It used to look slinky but now it was
strained to the utmost, one of the seams starting to split.
'How come you're so cool about Martine staying out
when you went absolutely bonkers when I came in at
midnight that time?' said Jude, chewing toast.
'I knew Martine was safe next door, silly. You were
skyrocketing around fighting with a lot of wild boys,'
said Mum.
'What if Martine doesn't come back?' said Rochelle,
licking honey off her toast with her pink pointy tongue.
'Quit messing around with your food like a toddler,'
said Mum irritably. 'Eat that toast. It's going to be a long
day and we've got a hell of a lot to do.'
'If Martine stays with Tony's folks then I'll have our
bedroom all to myself,' said Rochelle. She sounded hopeful.

24
 Mum glared at her. 'Quit talking rubbish. Of course
Martine's not staying at Tony's. Now come on, eat up,
all of you. We've got to be all set and this tip cleared up
by ten o'clock when the guy with the van comes for us.'
'My dad's pal,' I said proudly.
'I hope he's not another undertaker,' said Rochelle.
'He'll turn up wearing black and he'll carry our table on
his shoulders very slowly, like it's a coffin.'
'My dad's not an undertaker, he's an embalmer,' I said.
'And he's not going to do all the humping around,
apparently. He's got a bad back. It's our job to get the
van loaded,' said Mum.
We stared at Mum in her tight black nightie. She
looked like she'd explode if she lifted so much as a tray
of teacups. Mum rubbed her stomach anxiously, pressing
her lips together.
'Don't worry, Mum, we'll get it sorted,' said Jude.
'Yeah, Jude and I will carry all the furniture,' I said.
'You, pet!' said Mum, grabbing hold of me by the wrist.
I'm horribly small and scrawny for my age and I've
got particularly stupid matchstick arms and legs. Jude's
tried to teach me how to fight but I'm rubbish at it. I
just duck if anyone attacks me. I've done a lot of ducking
in the playground, especially after Jude went to
secondary school. It didn't seem to make much differ-
ence when Rochelle left. She was sometimes the one
doing the attacking.
'I'm not loading any stupid van. I'll break my nails
and I've just got them perfect,' said Rochelle, waving her
beautiful long pink nails, the thumbs decorated with
little glass hearts.
"You're not loading the van, you're going to be doing

25
the scrubbing. Wear my Marigold gloves if you're fussed
about your nails,' said Mum. 'No arguing, now! Let's all
get cracking.'
Jude went out and rounded up some of her gang. She
didn't like any of the boys but they all looked up to her.
She soon had half the lads from North Block getting our
furniture along the balcony, into the lift and out onto
the courtyard.
I tucked Bluebell down the neck of my T-shirt, rolled
up my cardie sleeves, and started heaving and shoving
the cardboard boxes out the door. I tried lifting a couple,
gasping and panting, but Mum made me stop.
'You're too little, Dixie. You'll do yourself an injury.
Your womb will drop and you won't be able to have any
babies.'
'Good!' I said. 'Look, I'll shove the boxes along the
balcony, OK, Mum?'
'OK, pet, have a go. We're a bit strapped for time. I'll
pack up all our Martine's gear seeing as her ladyship
has failed to do it herself.'
'Shall we knock at Tony's door, Mum? Maybe she's
overslept?'
'I'm not talking to his rubbish mother, not after the
mouthful she gave me. I wouldn't graze my knuckles on
her front door. No, Martine will just have to put in her
appearance when she's good and ready.'
'But what if she doesn't?'
'I don't think she will,' Rochelle said, still hoping. 'Oh
bum, I've got my jeans all gungy kneeling on the kitchen
floor. My best jeans!'
'Why wear your best jeans when we're moving? What
are you like, Rochelle?' Mum fussed, spilling Martine's

26
clothes on her bed and then rolling them up in her duvet.
'I didn't know I was going to be doing the bogging
scrubbing. It's not fair, you always give me the worst
jobs, Mum. How come Martine gets out of doing her fair
share? She made just as much a mess so she should be
scrubbing too, even though she's maybe not coming with
us.'
'There's no blooming maybe, I keep telling you!' Mum
said fiercely, emptying Martine's drawers into a big
laundry bag. She shook the drawer vigorously, so that
little rolled-up socks and wispy thongs and snaky tights
bounced all over the carpet. 'Of course she's coming. She
lives with us. She's family.'
We heard footsteps along the balcony and then a tap
at the front door.
'There she is!' said Mum triumphantly.
It wasn't Martine. It was a small skinny guy with a
bad haircut and round glasses. They didn't sit comfort-
ably so he had to wrinkle his nose and hitch them up
every few seconds.
'Hi,' he said, glancing at Mum's stomach anxiously.
'I'm Terry's mate.'
'Oh yeah, great. You're the guy with the van,' said
Mum.
'I'm Dixie,' I said, pushing past her. 'You're my dad's
best pal, aren't you?'
'Well, I know Terry, yes, through work.'
'I said he'd be an undertaker,' Rochelle whispered,
giggling behind me.
'No, no, I've got this florist's business. Hence the van.'
He pointed over the balcony way down to a white van
with FREDA'S FLOWERS in fancy gold lettering.

27
 'Oh, I see. You're Freda, are you?' said Mum.
We all sniggered. He sighed. It was obviously a joke
he'd got sick and tired of long ago.
'Freda was my mum. It was her business. Now she's
gone, I run it. I'm . . .' He hesitated for a second. 'I'm
Bruce.'
'Hello, Bruce. I'm Sue Diamond and these are all my
girls. Well, shall we get cracking?'
Bruce looked anxious. 'Terry did tell you I can't lift
anything, didn't he? I mean, I'd like to help, seeing as
you're . . .' He gestured tactfully.
'Yeah, no worries, mate, we've got everything under
control,' said Mum. She tucked her hand through his
arm like they were great pals already. 'You're a sweet-
heart to help us out.'
'Well, it's just a business deal,' Bruce said nervously.
'I drive you there with all your stuff for fifty quid, right?
I need to be back at the shop this afternoon though. I'm
short-staffed, and there might be deliveries – bouquets
and that.'
'Sure, sure, we'll be all moved into our dream house
by then,' said Mum. 'So let's get cracking, girls, and get
the last of the stuff downstairs.' She gave Bruce's arm a
squeeze. 'How about you carrying these clothes, darling?'
'But I've done my back in, Mrs Diamond, like I said.'
'Call me Sue, silly. I've never been a Mrs in my life,
I'm my own woman. I know you've got a bad back, mate.
So have I, as a matter of fact. You try having a big bruiser
of a baby boy leaning up close and personal against your
spine! I'm not asking you to shift a blooming wardrobe,
just a few little flimsy clothes that hang inside it. You
can do that, can't you, Bruce?'

28
 Bruce saw he didn't have any choice. He let Mum
thrust the duvet containing all Martine's clothes into his
arms.
'I'll help you carry some,' I said, seeing as he was still
sort of my dad's friend.
'No, Dixie, you start rolling up the rugs. Look at that
fluff! Rochelle, you were meant to sweep under them,
you dodo. Jude, you get all your boy pals loading our
stuff into the van, OK?' Mum said, giving us all little
pokes as she organized us.
She prodded Bruce too and so he started plodding
along the balcony, Martine's clothes flapping over his
arms.
Then there was a bang of a door, and a lot of shouting.
Bruce shuffled back again, looking bewildered. Martine
was yelling at him.
'Mum? What's going on? What's this creep doing with
all my clothes?' she shouted.
'He's not a creep, he's my dad's friend!' I said indignantly.
'Yes, don't you dare come marching in here, yelling
and screaming and showing us all up, madam,' said
Mum, folding her arms above her stomach.
'I'm yelling because you're getting rid of all my clothes!'
said Martine. She had dark circles under her eyes and
her hair was sticking up all over the place, like she'd
tossed and turned all night. 'I know you're mad at me,
Mum, but I never thought you'd throw all my clothes
out!' She was breathing heavily as if she might start
crying any minute.
Mum was working herself up too, her face blotchy with
rage. 'What do you think I'm doing, sending them all off
to Oxfam?' she shouted.

29
 'Well, that's what it looks like, doesn't it?' said Martine.
'Look, even my leather jacket!' She plucked it from
Bruce's arms, starting an avalanche of clothes all over
the hall. Bruce shrank back against the wall, bracing
himself for another onslaught.
'What do you want me to do?' he asked helplessly.
'You pick up all those clothes and take them down
to the van,' Mum snapped, as if he'd dropped them
deliberately.
Bruce gathered up the clothes and sloped off, side-
stepping Martine as she made a half-hearted grab at
them.
'Stop it, Martine!' said Mum.
'You stop it, Mum. There's no point putting all my stuff
in the van. I'm not coming. Can't you get that into your
head? I'm staying with Tony, no matter what. I love him.'
Mum raised her hand. I was sure she was going to
slap her. Martine thought so too and tried to dodge. But
Mum's hand curved gently round Martine's flushed
cheek, cupping her chin.
'Martine, pet, can't you learn by my mistakes? I know
you love Tony – but it won't last.'
'It will, it will! We're going to love each other for ever.'
Martine brushed Mum's hand away. Mum's arm swung
sadly, her fingers still outstretched. She took a deep
breath.
'If you're going to love each other for ever then can't
you give me a month or two? I need you to help settle
us into the new place. I can't manage just now, not with
the baby making me so bulky. I can't lift or carry or
stretch. See what I'm like,' said Mum, acting it out.
'We'll help you, Mum,' I said.

30
 'Oh, Dixie! You're too little, like I said.' Mum lowered
her voice. 'And Jude's not girly enough and Rochelle's
too scatty.' She looked deep into Martine's eyes. 'I need
you, darling. You're my girl, my eldest. You and me
together, Martine, making it work. You don't have to stay
once your baby brother's born and I can run around all
over the shop. Help me. Please. I can't make it work,
not without you.' Tears started dripping down Mum's
cheeks. She didn't blink or try to wipe them away. She
stared steadily at Martine.
Martine suddenly started crying too. 'Oh Mum,' she
said. She threw her arms round Mum's neck. 'All right,
I'll come.'
'I knew you would,' said Mum, hugging her tight.
'Just till the baby's born.'
'Well, give me a week or two after to recover. I'm not
getting any younger, you know. I can't snap straight back
into action the way I did when I had you, darling. Still,
they say boys are easier. I hope the little whatsit sleeps
soundly. I don't fancy all that two-o' clock-in-the-morning
feeding caper.'
'Well I'm not doing it!' said Martine, but she clung
onto Mum, nuzzling her head against her neck as if she
was still a baby herself.
'My big girlie,' Mum said softly, running her fingers
through Martine's tufty hair.
'Typical!' said Rochelle, pushing past to wave her
grubby mop over the balcony. 'I do all the hard work,
scrubbing away like stupid Cinderella, ruining my only
decent jeans in the process, and she gets all this fussing.
How come manky old Martine's your favourite, Mum?'
'You're all my favourite Diamond girls,' said Mum.

31
'Little sparkling gems, the lot of you – especially the
pretty one with the Marigold gloves.'
Rochelle peeled off her pink rubber gloves and flapped
their flabby fingers at Mum. Mum grabbed one for herself
and they had a silly Marigold glove slap-and-flap fight.
Bruce came back empty-armed and stepped warily
round them, shaking his head. 'I'm not sure I like all
those young lads getting in and out my van,' he said. 'I
know some are helping load your stuff but there's others
just generally mucking about. One of them was fiddling
with the steering wheel and when I ticked him off he
gave me a mouthful you'd never believe.'
'Oh, I'd believe it all right,' said Mum. 'Don't you worry,
Bruce, mate, just tell our Jude and she'll soon sort them
out for you. We're nearly done anyway. I can't wait to
get out of this dump and start out in our lovely new
house, eh, girls?'
Martine didn't look like she agreed one little bit. She
went to tell Tony she was coming with us after all. He
came down to see us off when the van was fully packed.
He didn't say a word to any of us, but he took Martine
in his arms and gave her a really passionate twirly-tongue
kiss.
Mum tutted but didn't try to stop them. All Jude's
gang hooted and catcalled, while Jude herself mimed
being sick. Rochelle looked envious. I wasn't sure what
I felt. I rather wanted someone to love me lots, but I
thought it would feel very wet and squirmy kissing like
that. I decided I preferred budgies to boyfriends as they
just gave you neat dry pecks of affection.
The biggest boy in Jude's gang suddenly caught hold
of her by the wrist and started kissing her. Jude wasn't

32
having any of it. She gave him such a shove he stag-
gered backwards onto his bottom. Jude rubbed her lips
with the back of her hand, shuddering, like she was
removing slug-slime. All the other boys howled.
Rochelle sidled up to them, tossing her fair curls over
her shoulder. She sucked her mouth into a little pink
pout to show that she wouldn't mind a kiss. The boys
jostled around her, some of them making kissy-kissy
noises, but they were just teasing her. Rochelle flounced
into the van.
'Honestly, what creeps,' she said. 'I don't know why
you hang round with that crowd, Jude.'
'I don't hang round them. They hang round me,' said
Jude.
'Yeah, well, say goodbye to your little gang,' said Mum.
'We're off now. Put Tony down, Martine, and get in the
van. Let's get going.'
Bruce steered the van very slowly round all the blocks
while we did our best to steady all the stuff in the back.
Mum wound down a window.
'Bye, boring old Bletchworth!' she shouted at the top
of her voice.
People turned and stared. Some of the women shook
their heads and tutted. Mum blew raspberries at them
all. Lots of the men wolf-whistled. Even the decorator
guys painting the windowsills on South Block bent down
from their cradles and waved. Their little gang had been
painting the whole Bletchworth Estate for months. All
the girls were crazy about the youngest guy, who was
dark with a cheeky grin. He went out with a different
girl every night and he was already a dad, even though
he was only seventeen.

33
 He seemed to have taken a shine to our Martine
because he called out, 'Bye, gorgeous, nice knowing you!'
He waved so wildly he dropped his paintbrush and it
landed with a thump on the top of Bruce's van.
'Blooming heck! What an idiot! I hope he hasn't made
a dent in my van,' said Bruce. 'Let's get out of here before
he starts hurling his paint pots too.'
Mum was laughing but she was crying too.
'Are you sad, Mum? Don't you want to go now?'
'I'm fine, Dixie. Of course I want to go. This is the
start of our brand-new life. Let's get that wheel of fortune
whirling!'
 4

'Are we nearly there yet?' I said.

'For God's sake, Dixie, we've only been driving ten
minutes!' said Mum.
'I think I'm starting to feel sick,' I said.
'Breathe deeply and look straight ahead,' said Bruce.
'I'll buy you some barley sugar at the next service station.'
'Thank you, Uncle Bruce.'
'I'm not your uncle, dear.'
Still, he acted like an uncle, buying us all sweets
when he stopped for petrol. I still felt sick. It didn't
help that I was squashed up the wrong way, but I was
so wedged in with boxes I couldn't turn round. Martine
was practically sitting on top of me, texting Tony non-
stop on her mobile. Jude and Rochelle were fighting
over who had more room, fiercely shoving each other.
I sometimes got in the way of their shoves. I clutched
Bluebell and pretended we were flying right out of the
window, soaring straight into the sky, up to our own
silent, sisterless planet.

35
 It seemed a very long way to the Planet Estate. Mum
started to get as bored as us girls.
'I'm starving,' she said.
'Have a barley sugar,' said Bruce, offering her the
packet.
'I'm eating for two, mate. I need more than a blooming
barley sugar. Come on, let's stop for a snack. We could
have an early lunch, give us a bit of energy for all the
unpacking.'
She made Bruce stop at the next service station. We
wandered round and round the food court in a daze.
There was so much to choose from, not just the same
old stuff you get down the chippy or the Chinese.
Martine said first of all that she was too miserable to
eat. Then she said she'd just have a salad. And maybe
a piece of cold chicken. And a packet of crisps. And some
fruit. And maybe a KitKat and a coffee.
Jude had a large plateful of spaghetti bolognese.
Rochelle had a Cornetto and a cream doughnut and a
Mars bar.
I had prawn sandwiches. I didn't like the sandwich
part but I enjoyed picking out the little pink prawns and
making them swim across my plate. Then I had a bowl
of strawberries and whipped cream. I spent ages
spooning on the cream so that each red strawberry moun-
tain had its own cap of creamy snow.
Mum had macaroni cheese for the baby's benefit and
a big bowl of chips for herself. She tried to get Bruce to
have chips too and a big mixed grill. 'I like to see a man
eat a proper plateful,' she said. Bruce said he could only
stomach tea and toast mid morning. He paid for it
hurriedly, counting it out in coins.

36
 Mum nudged up close with her tray, calling for us all
to come over quick. It looked like she was hoping Bruce
might pay for our lunch too. Bruce looked terrified and
made for a table so quickly he bumped his tray and
spilled half his tea over his buttered toast. Mum had to
pay. The bill came to £36.99.
'Rubbish!' said Mum. She said a worse word, actually.
The lady at the till blinked at her. 'Language!' she said.
'Yeah, well, the Queen herself would start effing and
blinding at this sort of rip-off,' said Mum. 'You add that
up again. You must have added at least a tenner.'
'Mum!' Martine hissed. 'You're showing us up!'
'We could put some stuff back,' I suggested, though I'd
already winkled a couple of prawns out of my sandwich
and eaten the biggest strawberry.
'I've only got a snack – unlike some people,' said
Rochelle, nudging Jude.
'I bet my spag bol cost less than all your rubbish,' said
Jude, nudging her back.
'Shut up, girls. No, you're not putting anything back.
OK OK, we'll pay for our food, but let's hope you've got
gold knives and forks to eat it with,' said Mum, fishing
two twenties out of her purse.
She didn't have much money left, yet she still had to
pay Bruce for driving us. I hoped the Planet Estate would
have a good chippy because that's what we'd be eating
all week.
Bruce hunched up small when we all sat down with
him, holding his plate of soggy toast as if we were about
to snatch it away from him. Mum tried to chat to him
to show she had no hard feelings over him not forking
out for our meal, but he kept shrugging and shaking his

37
head. He kept peering round to see if people were looking
at us. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen out with
us in case people thought he was our dad.
'How's your toast, Uncle Bruce?' I asked, squeezing up
beside him.
'It's OK. It's just toast. I'm not your uncle, I said.'
'Do you know any of my real uncles? Or aunties? Or
maybe my gran and grandad?' I asked, leaning up so
close I could whisper in his ear. I didn't want Mum to
hear me. She always said we didn't need any other
family. She said we were a fine family all by ourselves,
the Diamond girls.
So how come she was so desperate for this baby boy?
'I don't know your dad's folks, Trixie. I don't even know
your dad that well. We're just work mates, really. I
deliver the wreaths.'
'So you've never been to his house?'
'Well, a couple of times. Socializing. He's always having
people round, your dad.'
'He's never had me round,' I said. 'Tell me what his
place is like, Uncle Bruce, please!'
'Well, it's j u s t . . . just a house. It's modern, quite comfy.
Maybe a bit too full of satin cushions and ruffled
curtains, but then I'm a bloke, so I wouldn't really go
for anything too frilly and feminine.'
'Why does my dad want frilly stuff then?'
'It's Stella's taste, dear.'
'Who?'
'You know. His wife,' said Bruce, buttering his second
slice of toast. 'She's very girly, like. And his girls are all
fluffy curls and lipstick too. Even the baby's a curlyknob,
all dainty and dimples.'

38
 I felt as if he'd stabbed me straight in the ribs with
his knife. I put my prawn sandwich down. I tore at the
crusts, turning them into breadcrumbs. I remembered
the fairy story of Hansel and Gretel and how they were
abandoned in a forest because their mum and dad didn't
want them. They left a trail of breadcrumbs so they could
find their way back. I didn't get that. Why would they
want to go back to such horrible parents? I decided I'd
stay in the forest. I wouldn't go near that gingerbread
cottage and get caught by the wicked witch. I wouldn't
even have a lick of her candy-cane door knocker. I'd clear
off and make my own cottage. Bluebell would live with
me. I'd have a trapeze in my garden and she'd have her
perch and we'd swing in unison and turn somersaults
just like a circus act.
'Dixie! Stop daydreaming. You look so gormless with
your mouth hanging open. Do you have to mangle your
food like that? Especially when that sandwich cost me
a fortune! Pull yourself together! Bruce is talking to you.'
I knew Bruce was talking. I'd been trying to get him
to tell me stuff about my dad all morning but now he'd
started I didn't want to hear. I knew my dad had a wife
and two other daughters but I didn't want to think about
them. I hadn't known he had a new baby. I didn't want
to think about her. It was the one thing I'd always
counted on. I was his baby.
I'd been a dreadful baby. Mum and Martine and Jude
and Rochelle had told me often enough. I'd been prema-
ture, like a little skinned rabbit, all purple and
shrieking my head off. I went on shrieking for months
and months, wanting to be fed every three hours, night
and day.

39
 "Tiny little thing, but you had the lungs of a bull-moose,'
said Mum. 'God, you didn't half bellow! And then you
were forever ill – jaundice and eczema and croup. I'd
walk you up and down, up and down, and you'd yell and
wheeze and scratch and scream until I very nearly
chucked you out the window.'
It was no wonder my dad never wanted to see much
of me.
I muttered something about going to the toilet and
mooched off while Bruce was in mid-sentence. I was sick
of hearing about babies.
I sat in the toilets a long time, reading all the rude
rhymes on the door. I stroked Bluebell on my lap and
pretended she was flying up above every cubicle, peeking
at everyone peeing. I heard Mum and the girls come in,
calling for me. I kept quiet and clutched Bluebell by the
beak.
I waited until Mum's voice got high and panicky and
then I pulled the chain and sauntered out. I tried to look
surprised when Mum rushed at me.
'There you are! Oh dear lord, we've been calling till
we're hoarse. I was about to phone the police. I thought
someone must have whipped you away with them.' Mum
hugged me hard. 'Didn't you hear me calling, Dixie?'
'Course she heard. She was just winding us all up,'
said Rochelle, tossing her hair.
'I didn't hear,' I said. Well, I'd tried hard not to.
'So what were you doing all this time?'
'I had a funny tummy,' I said. This wasn't exactly a
lie. My tummy had screwed itself up into a knot the
moment Bruce mentioned my dad's baby.
'There! I bet it was that prawn sandwich,' said Mum.

40
 'It wouldn't affect her immediately,' said Martine,
putting blusher on her pale cheeks. 'God, I look such a
sight. I'm scared Tony's going to go off me. What if he
clicks with some other girl while I'm away?'
'Oh shut it, Martine,' said Jude. 'What if you click with
some other guy?'
'Tony's my one and only,' said Martine. She said it
seriously but it sounded so silly we all laughed, and even
Martine sniggered a little.
'Ton-eee's my one and oh-oh-onleee,' Rochelle sang,
camping it up.
'You are so wet, Martine,' said Jude.
'So are you – now!' said Martine. She flipped her hand
under the running tap and squirted Jude in the face.
They started having a grand water fight until Mum
bashed them with her handbag.
'For God's sake, girls, stop acting like little kids. Look
at you, you're soaked! Come on, let's get going. Bruce
will be wondering what the hell has happened to us.'
He was prowling nervously up and down outside the
Ladies. He looked astonished to see Martine and Jude
dripping wet but didn't bother to pass comment. He did
edge up to me, though.
'You all right, Trix— Dixie?' He fidgeted. Tour mum
pointed out I wasn't being tactful, going on about your
dad's family. I didn't mean any harm. I thought you
wanted me to tell you stuff about him. I didn't mean for
you to get upset.'
'I'm fine, I'm fine,' I said. I fiddled around up my
cardigan sleeve, feeling for Bluebell.
'You looking for a hankie?' asked Bruce.
I shook my head. I remembered I'd stuffed Bluebell

41
down my T-shirt. I felt for her, pretending I had an itch.
She slipped through my fingers and swallow-dived to the
floor. I picked her up quickly, blushing.
'Is that a budgie?' said Bruce. 'I had a budgie when I
was a little boy.'
'A real one?'
'Yes, our Sammy. We used to let him out of his cage
and he'd perch right on the top of my head, singing away.
He could do all sorts of tricks.'
'I'm going to have a real budgie but I won't keep it in
a cage because I think that's cruel. I'm going to train it
like a hawk so it flies around wherever it wants but
comes when I whistle to it.'
'Oh yes? I think you might have to do quite a lot of
whistling,' said Bruce. He ruffled my hair. 'I'll tell your
dad you're a really cute kid when I see him.'
'Did he ask how I was then?'
I saw his eyes flickering behind his glasses.
'Yes, he did. That's right, and he also asked me to tell
him exactly what you look like now.'
'Oh!' I fiddled with my hair, and turned over the grubby
cuffs of my cardigan. 'I look a mess.'
'No you don't. I'll tell him you look little, but very
pretty.'
I stared up at Bruce. 'I think maybe you need new
glasses!' I said.
Bruce smiled at me. He had rather goofy teeth and
they showed a lot when he smiled. He remembered
and put his hand over his mouth to hide them.
'I'm glad you and my dad are mates,' I said.
He didn't point out they weren't mates this time. He
nodded at me and gave me a little pat on the shoulder.

42
 Mum was busy rounding up the girls. Martine was on
the phone again, Jude was looking at action videos in
the shop and Rochelle was flicking through magazines.
'Put that back, Rochelle, I'm not buying it. I don't
care whose pin-up they've got inside. I've just spent a
small fortune on a meal. We've got a whole house to
fix up now.'
'How do you mean, fix up?' said Jude.
'Well, they said it might need a coat of paint, a little
bit of work here and there. Nothing major. We could give
a painting party, all hands on deck, eh?'
Mum was looking at Bruce's hands in particular. His
fingers became fists.
'It's council, isn't it? They'll get it painted for you,' he
said.
'Oh bless! Yeah, if you're prepared to wait ten years.
I'm having a baby, sweetheart, and my little boy needs
a nice new blue nursery. And all my girls want lovely
bright bedrooms too, don't you, darlings?'
'Count me out, Mum. You know I'm just here till the
baby's born,' Martine said.
'You sound like a stuck CD. I've got the message,' said
Mum. 'But wait till you see the house, Martine, you
might just be tempted to stay. It's going to be lovely,
you'll see. I can just picture it. The Planet Estate's prac-
tically out in the country. We can get a buggy with really
big bouncy wheels and take the baby for long country
walks, get some roses in his little cheeks—'
'And there's a garden, isn't there, Mum?' I said.
'We'll make it a lovely garden. Maybe grow roses.
And what's t h a t creeper stuff t h a t smells good?
Honeysuckle! We'll drape it all round the front door.

43
Maybe we could have a water feature like Charlie with
the chest, though that might be a bit dodgy when the
baby starts to walk.'
We talked houses and gardens for ages in the van. We
didn't seem to be getting near any countryside. We stayed
stuck on grim motorways for a long time and then we
branched off into a bleak grey town of ugly square build-
ings and torn-down posters and scribbled-over walls.
There were six enormous concrete tower blocks on the
horizon.
'God, what a dump!' Mum muttered.
Bruce glanced at her. I didn't like his expression.
We drove on down smaller streets of terraced houses
and corner shops with iron shutters. Black plastic
rubbish bags were strewn all over the pavements, many
of them leaking.
I hunched down to see the six tower blocks. They were
getting nearer. I knew what their names were: Mercury,
Mars, Venus, Neptune, Jupiter and Saturn.
Jude was sitting very still too, craning her neck, a look
of horror on her face. Martine stopped texting Tony and
stared too, her finger blindly stabbing the air. Rochelle
stopped singing, though her mouth stayed open. We
didn't say a word, hoping we were wrong.
Mum prattled on, chatting to us, chatting to Bruce,
even chatting to the baby. 'Who's my gorgeous boy, then?
Stop that kicking now and listen to Mummy. Who's going
to be brought up in a lovely new house then, with his
own blue bedroom and his own beautiful big garden? You
can run about all you please, my little darling, play footie
to your heart's content. You're going to live happily ever
after, my little Diamond boy.'

44
 Bruce turned down a street of sad falling-down houses,
half of them boarded up. Brambles rioted in the gardens.
We all saw the street sign. Mercury Street.
 5

Thirty Mercury Street had rude words spray-painted all

over the front door and the brickwork. Two of the upstairs
windows were broken and boarded up with cardboard.
Water dripped forlornly from the toilet overflow, staining
the grey-pebbledash underneath. The front garden was
a rubbish tip of McDonald's boxes, Kentucky Fried
Chicken cartons and empty beercans. There were no
flowers, no grass, just knee-high dandelions.
Bruce switched off the ignition. We sat motionless inside
the van. No one said a word. Then Mum shook her head.
'This can't be it,' she said. She opened the van door
and heaved herself out. She blinked at the house,
shaking her head. 'It isn't our house,' she said, her hands
clasped protectively round the baby.
'Yes it is, Mum. Number thirty. And this is Mercury –
it said so back there,' said Jude, jumping out and
standing beside Mum. She looked round warily. There
didn't seem to be anyone about but it wasn't the sort of
place where you left things to chance.

46
 I wriggled out beside them and held onto Jude's hand.
She didn't try to swat me away.
'I'm not getting out. It's way too scary,' said Rochelle.
'I can't believe it, Mum,' said Martine. 'You've messed
up my entire life and got rid of our lovely flat for this
dump?'
'It's not our house! I saw it. The girl down the council
showed me photos on her computer, I swear she did. It
was lovely, all prettily painted with flowers in the
garden. The houses weren't wrecks, they all looked brand
new,' Mum said wildly, whirling round and round as if
she might suddenly spot the real Mercury houses on the
horizon.
'It was brand new – once,' Martine said. 'She obviously
showed you photos from years and years ago, when the
estate was newly built. Why didn't you realize that? If
the houses were really that special there'd be a waiting
list, wouldn't there? But no one else would ever be mad
enough in a million years to put their names down for
this dump.'
'Let's all get back in the van and go home,' said
Rochelle.
'We can't,' said Mum. 'It's allocated already. This is
our home.' She stared at it and started crying. 'Oh my
God, what have I done?'
'You're so stupid, Mum. You don't ever think,' said
Martine.
'Shut up,' said Jude. She put her arm round Mum.
'Don't cry. It's not good for the baby. It's OK. It's maybe
not so bad inside. Let's go and look.'
Mum had the keys in an envelope, but you didn't really
need them. It wasn't worth locking 30 Mercury Street.

47
All self-respecting thieves would give it a wide berth. It
smelled damp and stale and musty. I nuzzled my nose
into my cardigan sleeve.
The stained carpet had been half ripped up and lay
curled over on itself in the middle of the living room.
Someone had used it as a picnic bench. There were
screwed-up fish and chip papers and empty lager cans
littered all round it. The walls were all scribbled over.
Some giant graffiti artists had even left their tag marks
right across the ceiling.
We went into the kitchen. Someone had been sick in
the sink.
'Yuck!' Rochelle squealed. 'Quick, let's get out of here.
We can't stay here, we simply can't.'
'Let's see the bedrooms,' Martine said grimly.
We trooped up the stairs, Jude taking Mum by the
arm and leading her, like she'd suddenly become an old
lady. There was one big bedroom, two smaller rooms and
a tiny cupboard room.
'Which do you want, Rochelle?' Jude asked.
'I don't care,' said Rochelle tearfully. 'They're all
rubbish. I'm not stopping here.'
'Well, I'm only here till the baby comes. I did say so,
all along,' said Martine.
Mum looked dazed. 'How can I have a baby here?' she
said. 'How can I look after you girls in a place like this?
How can I? How?'
No one knew how to answer her. We trailed down-
stairs again, where Bruce was waiting in the living room,
glancing anxiously out of the window at his van.
'I'd better keep an eye on it,' he said. 'Shall we start
unloading now?'

48
 'I can't put our stuff in this house. It's filthy!' said
Mum.
'Well, I can't keep it in the van, Sue,' said Bruce. 'I'm
sorry, but I've got to get back sharpish. I thought this
was going to be a simple moving job, cash in hand, not
all day with lots of humping furniture around.'
He was hinting to Mum he wanted his money now,
plus a tip for his trouble, but she wasn't connecting with
him. She was looking at the letter in the key envelope
and then trying to make a call on her mobile.
'Oh Gawd, I haven't topped it up. Martine, here, lend
us yours.'
'But I want to phone Tony'
'Just hand me the blessed phone for two minutes, will
you? I'm sick of you moaning on that mobile, telling tales
on me to your wretched Tony. You're acting like I've done
this on purpose. I wasn't to know.'
'You should have found out first. You're the mother.
Though a fat lot of use you are as a mother,' said Martine,
shoving her mobile in Mum's hand.
'Shut it, Martine, I'm telling you,' said Jude.
'I'm trying my best,' said Mum, sniffing. She dialled
the number and then breathed out in an angry hiss.
'Typical! They've put me on hold and they're playing "We
All Live in a Yellow Submarine". It has to be. some sick
joke, right? We want to know where we're going to live.
Because it ain't here. Don't worry, kids. We'll get this
sorted soon.'
Mum had her head up, her chin jutting, her chest
thrust out, her huge belly heaving. For a moment she
looked like a comic book super-hero, able to snap her
fingers and make our beautiful house appear as if by

49
magic. But then I blinked and she was just my mum
again, starting to bite her nails, her face screwed up
with worry. It wasn't going to happen.
Mum did her best. When she finally got through to
the Housing Department she ranted, she raved, she
wept, she pleaded. She said she had four children and
was about to give birth to her fifth any minute. It didn't
make any difference.
Mum stabbed the off button on Martine's mobile so
hard she hurt her finger and had to nurse it in her armpit.
'Pigs! Rotten useless unfeeling pigs!' she said, rocking
with the pain. 'They say they sent a team to clear up the
house once I'd signed for it and they can't help it if
someone's broken in and mucked it up meanwhile.'
'Can't they give us another house, Mum?' said Rochelle.
'They say they've hardly got any now, they've all been
sold off. It's this stinking dump or one of them huge
hostels full of refugees,' said Mum. 'They won't offer me
anything decent because I signed for this tenancy.'
'Yes, well, you were mad to sign, weren't you?' said
Martine relentlessly.
'I know. OK? You're right. Do you think I feel good
about it?' said Mum. 'I feel bloody terrible.' She collapsed
onto the rolled-up carpet and started crying, her head
in her hands. We stood round her in a ring, watching
helplessly. Bruce stood in the doorway, holding his van
keys.
'Don't upset yourself,' he mumbled.
Mum cried harder.
'You'll make yourself ill,' Bruce said, trying to sound
firmer. 'And you've got to get organized.'
It was clear Mum was past organization now.

50
 'Well, someone's got to sort things out,' said Bruce. He
looked at Martine, because she's the eldest.
'Don't look at me,' she said furiously.
Bruce's eyes swivelled to Jude. She glared at him and
went to sit beside Mum on the carpet. She put her arm
round her.
Bruce looked at Rochelle. She was in tears too.
'This is a horrible horrible horrible house and I hate
it. I want to go home,' she wept.
I was the only one left. Bruce looked at me. He shook
his head and sighed. He took a deep breath. 'OK. Here's
what we'll do,' he said. 'You two little girls, Rosanne and
Dixie, try to get the house cleared up a bit. You two big
girls help me unload the van. I can't do too much. If I
do my back in again there'll be hell to pay.'
'I'm not a little girl! I'm Rochelle, not Rosanne! I'm
not cleaning! I did all the rotten cleaning back home.
And this is disgusting. I'm not touching sick!'
'OK, OK, I'll do the sick in the sink,' said Bruce,
starting to roll his sleeves up. 'Then we'll have to get
the van unloaded. I've got to get back. I'm very very late
as it is. If you lot don't co-operate I'll just have to drive
off with all your stuff still on board. I don't want to, but
you're leaving me no option. You're not being fair.'
'No, we're not,' I said. 'I'll help, Uncle Bruce.'
'I don't think a little titch like you can hump furniture,
sweetheart,' said Bruce, but he nodded at me gratefully.
'Little squirt' said Rochelle rudely. She felt in her
shoulder bag, found her pink Marigolds and threw them
at me. 'Here you are then if you're so eager to get
cleaning. I'm not having some weirdo guy telling me
what to do.'

51
 Her aim wasn't good. One of the gloves landed on
Mum's head, sticking to her long black hair like a giant
water lily. Mum swatted it away wearily. She wiped her
eyes with the back of her hand and smeared mascara
across her cheeks.
'Oh bum. I must look a right sight. Quit showing off,
Rochelle. Take no notice, Bruce, she's always been a
stroppy little cow. Now come on, girls, chop-chop, do like
Bruce says.' She smiled up at him, all tears and smudges.
'Thank you, sweetheart, you're a star. I knew you'd help
us.'
Bruce sighed. He threw his van keys to Jude. 'You
make a start with the furniture then. You look like you're
the strong girl of the family.'
It was exactly the right thing to say to Jude. She
jumped to it. Bruce thrust his fingers into the rubber
gloves and strode resolutely to the kitchen.
We watched Jude opening the van doors and reaching
in for the first of the boxes. She staggered a little as she
hauled it to the pavement.
'She'll hurt herself. I'll help her,' said Mum, trying to
get up.
'Oh for God's sake, you can't shift huge boxes in your
condition. I'll have to do it,' Martine said, and she
stomped out to help Jude.
'Well, I'm not doing anything,' said Rochelle.
'Yes, you are, darling. You're going to ferret in the van
for the carrier with the cleaning stuff because all them
sinks and toilets are going to need a lot of bleach. I'm
going to do that. You're going to be chief clothes girl, getting
all our gear unpacked out of all the boxes and bags.'
Rochelle huffed and puffed but did as she was told.

52
 'What can I do, Mum?' I asked.
'You can help me up for a start, Dixie. I'm stuck here
like Little Miss Muffet on her blooming tuffet,' said Mum.
I held her hands and pulled hard. Mum staggered to
her feet. She straightened up slowly, rubbing her tummy.
'Phew! I'll be glad when he's born. Three weeks to go!
Still, I'm glad it's all plain sailing this time. Not like
when I had you, little darling. You came two months
early and scared me silly.'
'Does it hurt horribly when you have a baby?'
'Well, it's no picnic,' said Mum.
'Worse than being punched?'
'It's different.' Mum reached out with her fingers and
gently poked the corners of my mouth. 'Hey! Where's my
smiley babe? Don't worry so, I'll be fine. Your little
brother will pop out no problem. Boys are meant to be
much easier than girls.' Mum rubbed her face. 'Am I still
all mascara smudges?'
'A bit. Here.' I licked my finger and rubbed hard. 'It
was scary when you cried like that, Mum.'
'Oh tosh. I wasn't really crying. I was just putting it
on so old Bruce would stop fussing and fretting and make
himself useful,' said Mum, giving me a hug.
'Oh yeah. I knew that really,' I fibbed.
'No, you didn't! You'll believe anything, my baby girl.'
Mum held onto me, rocking me. 'I know I'm having my
baby boy but you're still my baby girl, Dixie.'
'Come off it, Mum. I'm not a baby any more.'
'Yes you are! You'll be my baby when you're a little
old lady of eighty and I'm an ancient old bag of a hundred
and goodness knows what. OK! Let's get cracking. Maybe
I can't hump furniture but I can clean.'

53
 'I'll clean too, Mum. Not the sick though.'
'Well, old Bruce seems to be tackling that,' said Mum,
cocking her head and listening to running water in the
kitchen. 'I knew he'd turn up trumps.'
'He's got to get back though. Urgent.'
'I bet I can twist him round my little finger. You wait
and see, little Dix.' Mum rubbed her tummy as if she was
Aladdin and it was her magic lamp. 'He's a gentleman,
our Bruce. He's not going to abandon a pregnant lady.'
She suddenly doubled up, her face contorted.
'Mum?' I said. 'Mum!'
Mum looked up and burst out laughing. 'Fooled you!
And I'll fool Bruce too.'
'Oh Mum, you are bad!' I pretended to smack her.
Mum caught hold of me and gave me a big hug. 'Bless
your dad for finding him. He never lets me down.'
I gave Mum a big hug back.
'You're always there for me too, babe. You and all my
girls. Diamond girls stick together through thick and
thin. Even Martine!' Mum got closer, so she was whis-
pering in my ear. 'She won't go back, you'll see. She'll
go off that dull boy Tony soon enough. She'll meet some
nice new boy. It's plain as day in her charts.' Mum
glanced out of the window uncertainly. 'Maybe not from
round here. At her new school! She'll settle down and
sit her exams and surprise herself by doing really well.
I'm sure she's bright enough to go to college and make
something of herself. I want all you girls to have proper
careers. I don't want you just being a mum like me and
doing rubbish jobs like cleaning and bar work. I reckon
Martine could get a job in the City – one of these busi-
ness women in Armani suits earning pots of money'

54
 'And Jude?'
We both had a giggle at the idea of Jude in a designer
suit.
'Something outdoorsy and adventurous for our Jude.
She could maybe be a skiing instructress or run her own
stables.'
Jude had never strapped on skis or sat on a horse in
her life, but we could both see her doing just that.
'And it's obvious Rochelle has to be an actress. She's
got the looks and she's certainly enough of a drama
queen,' said Mum.
'What about me, Mum? What am I going to do?'
'You're my little dreamer. Maybe you'll make up
stories. Yeah, write books like those Harry Potters. You
can keep us all in the lap of luxury, eh?' Mum looked all
the way round the room, and then shook her head. 'We'll
get this place fixed up, Dixie. I know it's a dump but
we've always got our home sorted and looking lovely,
and we'll do it here too. It could be a lovely house, once
it's all clean and painted. It's got nice big rooms so we'll
have more space. And we've got the garden! You wanted
a garden, didn't you, Dixie? Run out into the back garden,
see what it's like. Quick, before Rochelle sees you.'
I ran through to the kitchen. Bruce was labouring at
the sink, his face screwed up.
'Poor Uncle Bruce,' I said.
'Yeah, poor silly old fool Bruce,' he said, but he didn't
stop scrubbing.
'Mum says I'm to check out the back garden,' I said.
I scrabbled with the key in the back door.
'Hang on, I'll do it,' said Bruce.
'No, I can do it,' I said, wrenching the key and scraping

55
the skin off my fingers. I still couldn't get the door open
though I pulled and pulled.
'There's a bolt at the top, little 'un,' said Bruce, peeling
off one of his rubber gloves. He reached over me and
tried to budge it. It was a struggle even for him.
'Doesn't look like the garden's used much,' he said,
shoving the door hard. It opened. We saw outside. Bruce
whistled. 'Understatement of the century,' he said.
It wasn't a garden at all. It was a jungle. The grass
came right up to my waist. Brambles grew everywhere
like crazy hedges, turning the whole garden into a maze.
I gazed at purple and blue and yellow plants.
'Flowers!' I said.
'Weeds, darling,' said Bruce.
'J think they're flowers,' I said, wading through them.
'Careful! Steer clear of them nettles. You'll be in over
your head if you don't watch out. Come back indoors,
Dixie,' Bruce called.
'Not yet! It's lovely here,' I said, thrusting my way
through shrubs and ferns. There were great white
flowers that really were way above my head, shading
me like umbrellas.
'You watch where you're stepping,' Bruce muttered,
but he went back indoors.
I fumbled for Bluebell and helped her soar up into
the air, flying round the umbrella flowers, sweeping
round the brambles, skimming the long tangled grasses.
I imagined a flock of parrots to keep her company.
Monkeys climbed the trees, swinging from branch to
branch. Lions stalked through the undergrowth but I
snapped my fingers at them carelessly. They bowed their
great heads and let me stroke their beautiful golden

56
backs. The largest lion raised his nose, opened his
mouth and roared right in my face, his hot breath
scorching me. I didn't flinch, though Bluebell fluttered
away as fast as she could.
I trekked on fearlessly through entire continents until
I came up against the Great Wall of China. It was a real
brick wall, marking the end of our garden. I tried several
running leaps at it to hitch myself up on top. I scraped
all up and down my arms and dropped Bluebell in the
grass. I tucked her down my T-shirt, and leaped at the
wall again, getting the knack of it now. I hung on tight,
heaving one leg up, then the other.
I was up there, sitting on the Great Wall of China itself.
I peered up and down the gravelled alleyway, looking for
Chinese people and rickshaws and chop suey restaurants.
'This is your birthplace, Bluebell,' I whispered down
my neck.
The alleyway looked disappointingly ordinary and
English. There was black creosote fencing the other side,
and if I craned my neck like a meerkat I could see over
a big gate into another back garden. It was very very
different from my jungle garden. The grass was bright
green and mowed into stripes. They looked as if they'd
been drawn with a ruler. The beds of flowers were impos-
sibly neat too, planted in a pattern, each plant so perfect
I wondered if they might be plastic.
Down at the end of the garden there was a swing. It
looked very fancy, with a white canopy and a padded
seat. I wondered how high you could swing on it. I loved
swinging. Jude used to take me to the rec back at
Bletchworth, but then all the junkies started hanging
out there and so we had to stop going.

57
 I looked longingly at the swing. I could jump down off
the wall, run across the alley, nip through the gate and
jump on the swing. I pretended I was perched on that
padded seat, rocking backwards and forwards.
Then a little girl walked down the garden, straight to
the swing. I blinked, wondering if I was making her up.
No, she was real, a very clean, tidy little girl of about
six. She had the neatest plaits tied with pink polka-dot
hair ribbons, and a pink dress to match. I saw her
knickers when she climbed on the swing. They were
snowy white with pink lace round the legs. She had
white socks too and white sandals. I saw the rubber soles
as she started swinging. Even they were spotless. It was
like she lived on another planet altogether where dirt
had been banished.
I jumped down off my wall and ran across the alley.
I went to the gate and stuck my chin over the top.
'Hiya!' I said.
She was so startled she nearly fell straight off the
swing. She looked back towards her house anxiously. It
didn't look real either. It was a big black and white house
with a red pointy roof and flowers growing up a trellis
in a regular pattern, like wallpaper.
'It's all right! I'm not going to hurt you. What's your
name?'
She stopped swinging, her chin on her chest. 'Mary,'
she said, in this tiny little voice.
'I'm Dixie,' I said. 'And this is Bluebell.'
She raised her head a little.
'Here she is,' I said, holding Bluebell out on one finger
over the gate.
She sucked in her breath. 'A little bird!' she whispered.

58
 'Yes, she's my budgie. Want to stroke her?'
Mary nodded. She slid off the swing and came over to
the gate. I could see she'd been crying. Her blue eyes
were very watery and her little lashes were spiky with
tears. She sniffed, wiped her eyes carefully and then
held up her hand. She had remarkably clean hands with
pearly fingernails, as if she was fresh out of the bath. I
wished my own fingernails weren't so grimy. I noticed
my cardie cuffs were grey too. I turned them over to
hide the worst of the dirt.
I dangled Bluebell over the fence. Mary could just
about reach. She tickled the back of Bluebell's head
with one delicate little finger. Then she stopped, looking
worried.
'Is it . . . dead?'
'What? No!'
'It's cold like it's dead. My kitten's dead now.'
'Oh, how sad. Is that why you're crying?'
'No, it died weeks ago. It got run over. It was my fault.
I was very bad.'
'Why was it your fault?'
'Mummy said I left the front door open.'
'But you didn't mean to.'
'No, I loved my kitten.'
'Did you have a funeral? I love funerals. I had this
mouse once. It wasn't really a pet mouse, but I caught
it and kept it in a box. I tried to make it a special little
mouse house and I fed it lots of cheese but it kept trying
to eat the cardboard box instead. I should have let it go
free but I really wanted a pet and so I kept it and then
it died. I turned the house into a coffin and painted it
black with a tiny portrait of the mouse on the top in a

59
little oval with REST IN PEACE underneath. I put the mouse
in one of my socks and then lined the coffin with Mum's
old silky petticoat and I had a proper funeral. My sister
Jude came to it, though she said I was weird. She helped
me dig a hole down the rec and we buried the mouse. I
made a little cross out of lolly sticks. My other sisters
teased me and said I was taking after my dad. He's an
embalmer, you see. They always tease me. You know
what sisters are like.'
She was staring at me as if I was talking a foreign
language.
'Do you have a sister?'
She shook her head.
'I'll lend you one of mine if you like! I've got three.'
She took me seriously and shook her head, her little
plaits bobbing on her shoulders. They were pulled so
tight they looked like they might give her a headache.
I could see a little blue vein throbbing on her forehead.
'Here,' I said, reaching right over the gate to untie a
plait for her.
She stepped backwards, fending me off. 'No! Don't! You
mustn't!'
'I'm only going to loosen your plaits and make them
comfier for you.'
'No! Please don't. I'm not allowed to untie them,' she
said.
'OK. Sorry. You've got very pretty hair. I wish mine
was really blonde, not mouse. Rochelle's got blonde hair
too. She's the sister next to me. I'm the youngest so far.
Until my brother gets born. Have you got any brothers?'
'There's only me.'
'That must be so peaceful! And you get brand-new toys

60
and clothes and never have to take turns. You can have
a go on your swing whenever you want.'
I waited hopefully, wishing she'd invite me to have a
swing. She didn't take the hint.
I sighed, leaning further over the gate, though it was
starting to cut into my chest. 'We're always arguing, us
four. Soon we'll be five. Like I said, my mum's having a
baby. She says he's going to be called Sundance but
maybe she'll change her mind.'
'Is Sundance a real name?'
'Well, it's weird, isn't it? We've all got funny names.
Not like Mary. That's a nice sensible name.'
'It's a holy name. Jesus' mother was called Mary. She
was very very holy and good. But I'm not.' Mary hugged
her chest. There were goose pimples on her little white
stick arms.
'You're cold. Here, put my cardie on.'
I fiddled with the latch on the gate, and suddenly it
swung open. 'There!' I said, marching in.
Mary looked very worried.
'It's OK. I'm not going to do anything. I won't even
have a swing, not if you don't want me to. I just want
to warm you up with my cardie.'
Mary hunched her elbows against her sides so I
couldn't get her arms in the sleeves.
'Go on, I'm ever so warm.'
'I'm not allowed,' said Mary.
'Yes you are. I'm not giving you my cardie, it's just to
warm you up a bit.'
Mary let her arms grow limp. I draped the cardigan
round her.
'There! It's a lovely blue, isn't it? It's gone a bit bobbly

61
now but it's still beautiful. My dad bought it for me. Do
you have a dad, Mary?'
'Yes, but he drives a coach so he's not home much,'
said Mary. 'I wish he was home all the time.'
'Never mind. I don't get to see my dad much at all.
He doesn't live with us, see. But it's OK, not having a
dad around, just so long as you've got your mum.'
Mary stayed very still. She shivered, even though she
was smothered in my cardigan.
I looked over at the swing. I took a step towards it.
Mary looked more and more worried.
'It's OK, Mary. I just want to play.'
'I'm not really allowed to have someone in to play,' she
said. 'Mummy might be cross.'
'Ah. Is she in a bit of a mood, then?'
Mary nodded.
'Well, look, can I just have one teeny swing? Is that
all right? You don't mind?'
Mary looked as if she minded very much but she didn't
try to stop me. I sat on the white padded seat and kicked
my legs. I soared upwards. It was just as good as I'd
imagined.
'Wheeee!' I sang.
'Shh! She'll hear,' said Mary.
'OK, OK. Just one little swing more, then I'll go, I
promise,' I whispered.
I held the ropes and thrust my feet forwards, flinging
back my head until I felt wonderfully dizzy. I felt as if
I was flying right over the garden and the red pointy
roof. Bluebell flew with me, high into the sky.
Then I saw Mary hunched under my blue cardie. 'OK,
it's all right, you can have a go now,' I said, jumping off.

62
I staggered. 'Hey, look at me, I'm drunk!' I reeled around,
putting it on now.
Mary stared but then started giggling.
'You play at being drunk too, Mary. Pretend to fall
over!'
She squatted down obediently but was careful not to
crumple her clothes. 'Daddy got drunk once,' she said.
'My mum sometimes gets drunk. She gets ever so
funny and giggly. But she doesn't drink now, because of
the baby. I suppose I'd better go now. I'm helping her
get the house sorted. She can't do much because she's
so big. Thank you for letting me have a swing.'
'That's OK.'
'I'll have to take my cardie back now. Did it warm you
up?'
'Yes.'
'There, I knew it would! Can I can come and play
again?'
'Well. I suppose. If Mummy doesn't find out.'
'What's up with your mum then? Is she often in a bad
mood?'
Mary blinked. Then she took a deep breath. 'No, she's
a lovely mummy. She's the loveliest kindest nicest
mummy in the whole world.'
'That's good,' I said. 'Well, bye, Mary.' I made Bluebell
give Mary's nose a very gentle peck. 'That's the way
budgies say goodbye,' I said.
Mary giggled. 'You are funny, Dixie.'
I pulled a silly face at her and staggered out of her
garden, pretending to be drunk again. Then I dashed
back across the alleyway, leaped up and over the wall
at the very first go, and went back through the jungle.

63
 'My mum's the loveliest, kindest and nicest,' I said to
Bluebell. 'And my dad.'
I pretended that Martine and Rochelle and even Jude
didn't exist. I lived in a beautiful black and white house
with a garden and a swing with my mum and my dad
and my real budgie Bluebell. I had my very own bedroom
with a sky-blue ceiling and a rainbow round each wall.
The carpet was green as grass with an indoor swing so
I could soar backwards and forwards across my room.
Mum and Dad loved each other for ever and they loved
me too. They said they didn't want to risk having any
more children, girls or boys, because they could never
never never love them as much as me. Dad still worked
in a funeral home, and maybe Mum worked there too,
carefully dressing all the dead people and powdering
their faces and combing their hair. Each night, if there
were any lilies left over from Uncle Bruce's wreaths Mum
would plait them into her long black hair and look like
a flowery princess.
 6

Mum didn't look like a princess when I went back

indoors. She was scrubbing away at the toilet upstairs,
sitting on the floor with her legs stuck out comically
either side of the loo.
'Hey, babe,' she said. 'What have you been up to, eh?'
'I've been in the garden. And I've made friends with
a little girl over the way.'
'That's nice, darling. OK, are you going to help your
old mum?'
'Yep.' I rolled up my cardie sleeves and started trying
to clean the basin. The taps were stiff with black grime
that wouldn't come off.
'Try using an old toothbrush,' said Mum. 'There's some
bathroom stuff in that cardboard box.'
I couldn't find any really old toothbrushes. Rochelle's
pink toothbrush was a bit bristly.
'Rochelle will kill you,' said Mum, when I started scrub-
bing. 'So what's your new friend called?'

65
 'Mary. She's very shy. But we played a bit. I think she
likes me.'
'Is she about your age? You could go to school with her.'
'I don't want to go to school, Mum. I want to stay home
and help you. I could look after the baby when he comes.'
'You need your education, pet.'
We heard Jude shouting outside. Boys were shouting
too. There was a lot of swearing, mostly from Jude.
Mum sighed. 'It looks like living here is going to be
an education in itself. Help me up, Dixie. I don't know
what's up with Jude but she's effing and blinding fit to
show us all up.'
I ran down the stairs in front of Mum. Martine had
to catch hold of me as I ran for the door.
'Hang on, Dixie, there's a whole gang out there. It's
not safe.'
'Jude's there,' I said, dodging past Martine.
There were six boys out in the street by the van. Pour
had hoodie jackets, the hoods pulled over their baseball
caps so they looked like fierce birds with beaks. There
was one big fat guy with a very rude phrase scribbled
across his enormous sweatshirt. The last boy had dark
curly hair and a black scarf and an earring, a bit like a
pirate. He was standing with his hands on his hips,
shaking his head at Jude, looking pitying. Jude was
swearing away at him, not seeming to notice she was
outnumbered. These weren't boys like the kids at
Bletchworth. They were older, and much scarier.
Rochelle was standing beside Jude. She looked angry
too, her cheeks bright pink, her eyes glittering. 'Will you
just bog off!' she yelled. She wasn't yelling at the boys.
She was yelling at Jude.

66
 'Yeah, push off, big sister,' said Pirate Boy.
'OK, when you've stopped hitting on my little sister.
Do you know how old she is? Twelve!'
'Shut up, Jude! I'm very nearly thirteen.'
'And very well developed too, darling,' said Big Fat Guy.
'You talk to her like that and I'll punch you straight
in your fat chops,' said Jude.
He said worse. Some very rude things about Rochelle
and Jude. Her fist clenched and she punched him right
on the chin. He shook his head, looking dazed.
'Right, she's asked for it,' said one of the Hoodies. 'Let's
teach the stroppy little cow a lesson.'
Two of his mates seized Jude by the shoulders and
slammed her up against Bruce's van. Jude lifted her leg
and tried to kick them, but the others caught her. The
first Hoodie stepped forward, grinning.
'Leave her be, she's only a silly little kid,' said Pirate
Boy.
J u d e unwisely said something very rude and
insulting back. Then she spat in the Hoodie's face. He
clenched his fists. I screamed and started running, but
someone pushed me out the way. This person elbowed
his way through the boys. The biggest Hoodie lunged
at him but he blocked the punch with an arm that
seemed made of wood. Then he used this bionic arm to
strike sideways at his ribs. The Hoodie fell to his knees,
gasping.
'Now clear off!' he shouted. 'Leave these girls alone!'
They went running for it.
I stared at this amazing Superman. It was Bruce!
'Wow, Uncle Bruce, you were simply brilliant] That
was just like a cartoon fight, wham-bam-bash! And it

67
was you doing all the bashing! You saved Jude from
getting beaten up.'
'I didn't need saving,' said Jude sourly, sucking her
fist. Her knuckles were bright red from punching the
Big Fat Guy.
'Let's see that hand,' said Bruce.
'It's fine,' said Jude. 'Just keep your nose out of things,
right?'
'You keep your bogging nose out of things, you stupid
interfering pig!' Rochelle yelled. 'How dare you come
charging up acting like a total idiot! You can't tell me
who I can talk to!'
'He obviously wants to do a lot more than talk, idiot.
He's way too old for you. And he looks a complete plonker
too. What does he think he is, an extra in Pirates of the
Caribbean?
'I think he's really cool,' said Rochelle. 'And I think he
liked me, until you mucked it up telling him how old I
am.'
'Yeah, twelve – but you've got the brains of a six-year-
old,' said Jude, poking Rochelle.
'Don't you dare start hitting me!' said Rochelle,
pushing Jude.
'Someone needs to slap some sense into you! Can't you
see what those boys are like?'
'You're just jealous because they were chatting to me,
not you,' said Rochelle. 'You can't stick it if someone
fancies me, Jude Diamond.'
'Oh for God's sake, stop being so idiotic? said Jude,
shoving her in exasperation.
Rochelle was wearing her best red suede high heels.
She found it hard to balance on them at the best of times.

68
She tottered backwards and ended up on her bottom
with her legs in the air.
Pirate Boy was still lurking at the end of Mercury
Street. He was looking back over his shoulder. Rochelle
went as red as her shoes. She swore furiously, staggered
upright and flew at Jude, trying to scratch her face with
her long fingernails.
'Hey, hey, cut it out, girls!' Bruce cried.
They both told him to mind his own bogging business
and carried on fighting. Jude could normally floor
Rochelle in seconds but now Rochelle was so angry she
was almost a match for her. I screamed, begging them
to stop. Martine pocketed her phone and tried to wade
between them. Jude accidentally punched her on the
shoulder. Martine whipped off her shoe and started
trying to whack them both about the head.
'Stop it! Please stop it, you crazy girls!' Bruce shouted
hoarsely.
'This will put a stop to it,' Mum gasped, waddling up
to us with a brimming bucket.
Suddenly we were all drenched in soapy water,
screaming, sobbing, soaking wet.
'My cardie's all wet! And Bluebell!' I wailed.
'How dare you, Mum!' Martine said furiously.
'If you're all going to act like little wildcats you'll get
treated like them,' Mum retorted.
'I wasn't fighting, I was trying to stop them. Look, my
mobile's soaked! I'll kill you if you've ruined it!'
'My best suede shoes! They're sodden! You've spoiled
them. You've all utterly humiliated me. I hate you all!'
Rochelle screamed.
'Shut up, you stupid little show-off, you're the one that

69
started all this,' said Jude. Her wet hair stuck flat to
her head so she looked like a seal. She felt her face and
looked at the smear of blood on her fingers. 'You've
clawed me, you little cat!'
She gave Rochelle another push. Rochelle retaliated
by trying to scratch her again.
'Mum, Mum, stop them!' I shrieked, shaking my wet
hair out of my eyes.
Mum didn't seem to be listening to any of us. She
let the empty bucket fall to the ground with a clank.
She put her hands on her stomach. Her face screwed
up.
'Oh no!' said Bruce. 'Are you all right?'
'No I'm not bloody all right,' Mum muttered. She made
little whimpering noises, her eyes screwed up.
'Oh Gawd, it's not the baby, is it?' Bruce asked.
Mum nodded, bending right over. Water trickled down
her legs, as if she'd wet herself.
Bruce took two steps backwards, greasy-white with
shock. Martine stopped wiping her mobile and stared at
Mum. Jude started biting her thumb, one cheek still
bleeding. Rochelle stopped shrieking and stood still,
patting her damp hair into place.
'It's not due yet, Mum,' said Martine.
'Can't help that,' Mum said, breathing out weirdly,
blowing whoo-whoo-whoo.
'Stop it, Mum, you can't be actually having it!' said
Rochelle. 'It must be indigestion or something.'
'Indigestion, my bottom,' Mum gasped, though she
used another ruder word. 'My waters have broken. I'm
having the baby now!'
'Oh God, oh God, what are we going to do?' Rochelle

70
said, staggering around on her silly suede heels. 'How
can you have a baby here?'
'We'll need the bedding out of the van. And we've got
the kettle. We need lots of hot water,' said Bruce.
'What for?' said Jude.
'I don't know. That's what they always do in movies –
get clean linen and hot water,' said Bruce.
'I'm not in some stupid old cowboy film, you berk.
I'm having my son in hospital. I'm not booked in
anywhere yet but they can hardly turn me away when
I'm about to give birth any minute,' said Mum. She
straightened up, breathing more slowly. 'God! I'd
forgotten what it's like. Right, I'd better dig out a
nightie and my washing stuff. And make-up. And the
little blue sleeping suit, the one with the tiny teddies,
for his little lordship. And the big blue shawl. Go on,
jump to it, girls, I haven't got much time, judging by
the strength of these contractions.'
Bruce was shifting from one leg to the other, still horri-
fied. 'You're going to hospital, you said?'
'Yes, of course I am. You'll drive me there, won't you?
Because I'm not up to tottering off down the bus stop,
matey'
'Yes, of course I'll take you. But then I'll have to get
cracking. You'll have to find someone else to look after
the girls. I'm no use. They don't do a thing I say.'
'I do what you say, Uncle Bruce,' I said.
'One out of four isn't that promising, Dixie,' said Bruce,
but he smiled at me. 'Anyway, let's get the rest of the
furniture out the back of the van, girls, so your mum
can stretch out properly. Or should we leave one of the
beds so she can lie on that?'

71
 'Not my bed! I don't want it getting all icky with blood
and baby stuff,' said Rochelle.
My three sisters went to sort out the back of the van
with Bruce. I let out my own breath like I was having
a baby myself.
'It's OK, Mum,' I whispered. 'I think he might be
staying. You can stop pretending now.'
'Mm?' said Mum, clutching her stomach again. 'Oh
Gawd, here it comes already. Tell them to get a move
on, Dixie. My boy's going to pop out here on the pave-
ment at this rate.'
'You mean you're really having the baby now?' I said,
my heart starting to thump.
'Oh lord, Dixie, don't be so daft. I'm not that great an
actress,' said Mum, running her hands through her hair.
I saw the beads of sweat on her forehead. She screwed
up her eyes against the pain and started whoo-whoo-
whooing again.
'Mum?' I said, getting really scared.
She clutched me tight, struggling to keep upright. 'Oh,
Dixie. It hurts so. It's too quick. Everything's going
wrong. It is going to be all right, isn't it? My boy's going
to be all right?' She sounded just as scared as me.
I took a deep breath and put my arm round her. 'Don't
you worry, Mum, everything's going to be fine,' I said.
'You know it is. It says so in the stars.'
 7

'All right, all right, the van's ready,' said Bruce, wiping
his forehead and looking at Mum anxiously.
'Any minute now!' said Mum.
Bruce gave a little moan.
'Don't worry, I'll keep my legs crossed,' said Mum.
'You'll have to have one of the girls with you just in
case the baby starts coming when I'm driving,' said
Bruce.
'I was joking,' said Mum.
'I'm not,' said Bruce.
'I'll come, Mum,' I said, holding her hand.
'Don't be so silly, sweetheart. They wouldn't let you
in,' said Mum.
'I'll come,' said Jude, but she looked a bit queasy.
'You wouldn't even know which end it came out of,'
said Mum, laughing, even though she was doubled up
in pain. 'I know babies aren't your thing, Jude, don't
worry.'
'They're not my thing either!' Rochelle said hastily.

73
 'No, no, you three must stay at home.' Mum looked at
Martine, pleadingly.
'OK,' said Martine, sighing. She took Mum's arm and
helped her into the van.
'Now, darlings, you behave yourselves, right? You'll be
OK, won't you? Jude, here's two tenners, you nip out to
the nearest chippy for your tea. Then I want you to lock
yourselves in until Martine gets back. No more chatting
up the local lads, Rochelle. No fighting, Jude. No treks
over the garden wall, Dixie chick. And no more quarrelling,
do you hear me? Rochelle, I'm talking to you!'
'She hit me. Mum!'
'Yeah, and who did this? said Jude, tapping her cheek.
But then she nodded. 'I promise we won't fight, Mum.'
Rochelle pulled a face, but muttered 'Promise' too.
'You promise you'll be all right, Mum?' I said, trying
not to cry.
I couldn't stand seeing her with her face all crumpled
up with pain. I'd never been in a hospital but I'd seen
Casualty and ER. I imagined Mum on a trolley, her vast
belly under one of those flimsy white gowns like a giant
bib, while scary masked people cut her open.
'Will they cut you, Mum?' I asked.
'No, no, not if I can help it! I still want to wear a bikini
when I get my figure back. Don't look so worried, Dixie,
I'll be fine. I promise. I'll probably be back here this time
tomorrow with your little brother all tucked up in my
arms, OK?'
'So who's going to look after the girls while you're in
hospital?' said Bruce.
Mum looked at him as if he was simple. 'You are,
Bruce, babe.'

74
 'Oh no. No, look, I made it clear right from the start.
I've got to get back. I should have been back at the shop
hours and hours ago. I can't hang around babysitting
your girls.'
'We're not babies,' said Jude. 'You push off. We don't
need you.'
'Yes, they do need you,' said Mum. She doubled up
again. 'I haven't got time to argue. You take me to the
hospital, Bruce. I haven't got a clue where it is but you'll
have to get me there sharpish, mate.'
She started her whoo-whoo-whooing, so loudly she
sounded like a steam train. Rochelle sniggered. I dug
my elbow in her and she punched me hard.
'Cut it out,' Mum gasped, and then she lay back in the
van. 'Oh God, I think it's coming.'
'Hang on,' Bruce said grimly, slamming the van door
shut behind Martine and starting up the engine.
We could hear Mum moaning inside as the van hurtled
away. Jude and Rochelle and I stood on the pavement,
staring after her. An old lady in a headscarf and matted
fleece and bedroom slippers came out of a house three
doors away. She looked us up and down like we were
monkeys at the zoo.
'Did they kick you out your old place then?' she said.
'No they didn't!' said Rochelle, flouncing.
'Don't kid me. I've never seen the like. Fighting and
brawling in the street the minute you get here! You girls
acting like alley cats and your mum practically giving
birth in the gutter!'
'You mind your own business, you old bag,' said Jude.
'I'm complaining about you to the council. This used
to be a decent estate. When me and my late husband

75
moved in we were proud to live here. Now look at this
dump. And it's used as a dumping bin too, for all you
problem families.'
'We're not a problem family!' I said.
'Come indoors, Dixie, Rochelle,' said Jude, grabbing us
and pulling.
When we'd shut the front door I looked at Jude. 'We're
not a problem family, are we?' I said.
'Of course not.'
'That's what they called us at school,' I said.
'It was a crap school.'
'I liked it,' said Rochelle. 'I liked Bletchworth High
too. It's not fair. I really liked it. Mr Mitchell was my
best ever teacher and he said if I really put my mind
to it I could pass all my exams and go to university,
but with my looks maybe modelling school could be an
option.'
'Yeah, yeah, Mr Mitchell was just a pervy old creep,'
said Jude. 'You are so thick, Rochelle. You act like you
know it all and yet you haven't a clue. Why do you think
those boys were chatting you up, eh?'
'They liked me. And if you hadn't poked your nose in
I'd have copped off with that dark guy with the earring,'
said Rochelle, poking Jude.
'Don't you poke me with those poxy pointy nails! Look
at my face! That old bag was right, you're just like an
alley cat.'
'Don't you call me a cat, you cow!'
'Stop it!' I shouted. 'Please please please don't start
fighting again.'
Jude and Rochelle stared at me. I don't usually go in
for shouting.

76
 'Who pulled your chain?' Rochelle said rudely, but she
stopped poking Jude and let her arms dangle limply.
'Are you feeling left out, Dixie?' said Jude. 'You can
join in the fight too.' She punched me very lightly in the
chest.
I knew she was joking. I acted out staggering and sank
down onto the dirty carpet, pretending she'd floored me.
Jude waved her fists in the air in mock victory. Rochelle
sniffed at us. Then I stood up and we all stood staring
at each other, wondering what to do next.
'Mum'll be all right, won't she?' I said.
'Of course she will. She's used to having babies. She's
had enough practice, after all,' said Jude.
'But she said it was coming too quickly'
'That's good, isn't it?' said Rochelle. She started snig-
gering again. 'Imagine if it comes before she gets to
hospital! How will old Bruce cope?'
'I hope she doesn't hook up with him, he's such a creep,'
said Jude.
'I like him,' I said.
'He looks like a frog,' said Rochelle. She pulled a stupid
froggy face that was nothing like my Uncle Bruce. 'He
talks like a frog too, all croaky.'
'And he puffs up like a toad when he's trying to boss
us about,' said Jude.
'No he doesn't] Look, he protected you from those
horrible boys.'
'They weren't horrible,' Rochelle huffed.
'Don't start again,' I begged her. I looked up and down
the dark hall. I tried the light switch. I clicked it up and
I clicked it down. It didn't work.
'Oh no,' I said. 'The light bulb isn't working.'

77
 Jude edged her way into the living room, where most
of our furniture had been dumped in everyone's haste to
empty the van. She switched on the living-room light
switch. It wasn't working either.
'Uh-oh,' she said.
'There's no light' said Rochelle. 'What are we going to
do? We can't stay in the dark. Jude?'
'What do you expect me to do? Turn into a torch?' said
Jude, biting the skin of her thumb.
'Maybe the light works upstairs?' I suggested.
'It's not working anywhere, stupid,' said Rochelle, but
she still went clattering upstairs to check.
'We can't go to bed in the dark,' she said, running back
downstairs.
'We haven't got the beds up there yet,' said Jude.
'Maybe we'd better all stay downstairs tonight. She put
her arm round me, seeing I was shivering. 'It's OK, Dixie,
it'll be like camping. Look, you two start hunting around
for all the duvets and start sorting them out and I'll go
out for some fish and chips. Put the kettle on, Rochelle.'
She paused. She bit her thumb again.
Rochelle was having the same thought. She ran into
the kitchen and tried fiddling with the switches on the
filthy cooker. 'Oh God, nothing electric will work! We
can't even have a cup of tea. Or a hot bath. Or watch
the telly.'
'Maybe Uncle Bruce will fix the electrics when he
comes back?' I said.
'Not if it's all switched off. Anyway, I don't think he's
going to come back. I bet you he'll just dump Mum and
Martine at the hospital and then do a runner,' said
Rochelle.

78
 'Well, good riddance. We'll find someone else to fix it.
The council,' said Jude. 'If only Martine had left us her
mobile I could ring them now. Tell you what, I'll find a
phone box and give them a bell while I'm out for the
fish and chips.'
'You don't know the number,' said Rochelle. 'Oh God,
what are we going to do?'
'Stop panicking, Rochelle, you're frightening Dixie,'
said Jude.
'Oh, poor little poppet,' Rochelle mocked. 'Why do we
all treat her like a blooming baby? She's nearly as old
as me. She just looks so stupidly immature.'
'And you act so stupidly immature,' I said.
'That's great, coming from a girl with a stuffed toy
birdy friend perched on her finger,' said Rochelle, flicking
at Bluebell.
'Cut it out,' said Jude. 'Now get cracking with the bed
stuff, both of you.'
'I want to come with you, Jude,' I said.
'No, you're better off here. Especially if those lads
Rochelle's so crazy on are lurking close by.'
'Yes, that's why I want to come too,' I said.
'Oh bless! You're going to protect me, Dixie?' said Jude.
'I'll be back soon. Don't look so worried.'
She waved at us jauntily, but her face was pinched
and she took a very deep breath as she went out the
door, like she was about to dive off a cliff.
Rochelle and I looked at each other when she'd gone.
'So now there are just the two of us,' I said. 'It's like
one of those creepy detective stories where people keep
disappearing.'
'Horror story, more like. How could Mum dump us

79
here? She's so stupid,' said Rochelle. She squeezed in
and out the furniture, kicking it with her spoiled suede
shoes. 'I can't stand her sometimes.'
'Shut up, Rochelle. She's in the middle of having a
baby and it looks like it's going all wrong.'
'What is she doing having another baby when she's
got all of us? Serves her right if she has a bad time. It
might make her more careful,' said Rochelle, fumbling
her way through cardboard boxes.
'Don't! Look, all sorts of stuff could be happening to
her,' I said. I remembered all the childbirth scenes I'd
seen on the television. I saw Mum panting, purple in the
face, screaming out. I saw a hospital bed and blankets
spattered with bright-red blood. I saw Mum lying very
white and still, and then the sheets being pulled over her
head.
'Don't cry,' said Rochelle. 'Look, help me, birdbrain!
Shove that silly budgie up your jumper and get searching
for the duvets. They must have got jumbled up with the
clothes.'
'What if she dies?' I sniffed, mopping my eyes on
someone's T-shirt.
'Stop it, that's my T-shirt. Don't wipe your snotty face
with it. And stop that silly boohooing, she's not going to
die. She's not ill, she's just having a baby.'
'Some women do die having babies.'
'Trust you to be so morbid. You obviously take after
your stupid dad. Aha!' Rochelle found one of the duvets
at the bottom of a box, under Mum's clothes. She pulled
it out, but got distracted by Mum's silky black kimono.
'She went without her night things,' said Rochelle,
stroking the soft black material. She bent her head and

80
sniffed Mum's scent. 'I didn't mean that about hoping
Mum has a bad time,' She whispered. 'I was just saying
that because I was mad at her.'
'I know,' I said.
I wiped my eyes with my own cardie sleeve. Bluebell
gave me a little nudge with her beak as I did so. I clam-
bered over the beds. They were mostly in bits so they
could fit easily in the van. 'Shall we just fix Mum's bed
and then we could share it tonight, you, me and Jude?'
I said.
'Yuck, I don't want to sleep with you two,' said Rochelle,
but she helped me fiddle with Mum's bed all the same.
We couldn't get the headboard to stay slotted in prop-
erly and the mattress was too heavy for us to lift onto
the base without Jude.
'We could just use the mattress tonight,' I said.
'I don't want to be down on the floor. Something might
crawl over me. This place is so filthy. There could be
cockroaches. Or rats.'
I wished Rochelle hadn't said that. She seemed to be
regretting it too.
'What will we do if there are rats?' she said, standing
up on Mum's armchair.
'We could . . . hit them with your high heels?' I
suggested.
'I'm not having my best shoes made all manky with bits
of dead rat!' said Rochelle, stepping down again gingerly.
'OK, OK. Well. We'll have to get all your cats – you
know, the white ones: Snowdrop and Sugar Lump and
Ice Cream, and they'll see the rats and they'll go, "Ooh,
yum yum, tasty rat nuggets for our tea," and gobble
them all up.'

81
 Rochelle giggled. 'You're so weird, Dixie. I never know
if you're funny or just plain bonkers.'
'Definitely bonkers,' I said, and pulled mad faces,
miming being a crazy person as we wrapped a sheet
round Mum's mattress and smoothed out the duvet and
puffed up all the pillows.
Rochelle needed to go to the loo and made me come
up the stairs with her and wait outside the door. We'd
been running all over the house earlier on but now it
was much more scary by ourselves.
I used the loo myself. While I was sitting on it there
was a sudden thump at the door.
'Dixie! Quick, come to the door with me,' Rochelle
hissed.
'I can't, I'm still going! You answer it. It'll just be Jude,
with our chips.'
'What if it isn't? What if it's those boys? Dixie, do
you really think they'd hurt me? The really good-looking
guy with the earring? Don't you think Jude was just
jealous?'
'Jude isn't the least bit jealous of you, you know that,'
I said, bouncing up off the loo.
There was another thump at the door.
'Dixie, please, come with me.'
'OK, OK.' I rushed out of the loo, pulling my knickers
up. 'Listen, we won't open the door, we'll shout first to
see who it is. Only don't get too near the letter box or
they could reach through and grab you.'
'Oh help help help, I hate this. Why can't we have an
ordinary mum who looks after us and a proper dad and
a nice house?' said Rochelle.
'I'd sooner be us Diamonds,' I said.

82
 Rochelle and I edged towards the front door. We found
we were holding hands.
There was another thump-thump-thump, loud and
angry.
'Oh God,' said Rochelle. 'It is those boys. They've come
to get me.'
'You boys can just bog off or my Uncle Bruce is going
to get you,' I yelled.
The letter box opened. 'It's me, Jude! Why won't you
open the door?'
We struggled to open it, our hands slippery with sweat.
'You two bananas,' said Jude, scoffing at us.
'It's not our fault. Why did you knock like that? Why
couldn't you just let yourself in like a normal person?
You just wanted to frighten us,' Rochelle sniffed.
'I couldn't let myself in, idiot, I don't have a key. Mum's
got them all,' said Jude.
We stood still, thinking. We didn't even know where
she was. Perhaps this town didn't even have a hospital.
Maybe Bruce was driving round and round with Mum
screaming in the back of his van . . .
'What if she doesn't come back tomorrow?' I said.
'Shut up, both of you,' said Jude. 'Let's eat. I got Coke
too. And look, matches!' She held them up proudly.
'Have you got cigarettes then?' said Rochelle.
'No, you dumbo, it's so we can see when it gets dark.'
'Quit calling me names. You're the dumbo, you'll set
the whole house on fire if you start playing around with
matches. Why didn't you get a torch?'
'They don't sell bogging torches down the chip shop or
the off-licence. I'm sure we've got candles somewhere in
the kitchen box.'

83
 We looked for them, without any luck.
'Maybe we can go and ask a neighbour for some?' Jude
suggested.
'Oh yeah, like that old lady,' said Rochelle.
'Anyway, let's eat, for God's sake. The fish and chips
are getting stone cold,' said Jude.
We ate them straight out of the paper because we
didn't know where the plates were. We took turns swig-
ging Coke out of the bottle. We used the rolled-up carpet
as a table and chair.
'These chips aren't anywhere near as nice as the ones
from our chippy at home,' Rochelle complained.
'Well, I'm sorry, Lady Muck. I should have trudged
sixty miles all the way home to get chips more to
your taste,' said Jude. 'Give us yours, then, I'm still
starving.'
Jude finished up eating most of mine too. 'Doesn't
Bluebell want any chips?' she asked.
'Oh, don't start her off. She doesn't half get on my
nerves with that stupid toy bird,' said Rochelle.
'You get on my nerves,' I said. 'You just whinge and
whine and moan moan moan but you don't help get
things organized.'
'Oh yeah? So what's your major contribution, Ms
Brain-dead Queen?' said Rochelle.
'I know a neighbour we can ask for candles,' I said
proudly.
Jude and Rochelle stared at me.
'No you don't, stupid,' said Rochelle.
'I do. My friend Mary lives at the back of our garden.
We can ask her mum. She says she's ever so kind,' I said.
Rochelle snorted. 'Oh God, she's really gone crackers

84
now. There are little friendies at the bottom of our
garden! You'll end up in a loony bin if you don't watch
out, Dixie.'
'She's real. I played with her in the garden. I did!'
Rochelle raised her eyebrows and sighed. 'My sister,
the nutcase,' she said.
'You come and see,' I said, crumpling up my chip paper
and throwing it at her.
'Yuck! Stop it, you'll get my top all greasy;' said
Rochelle. 'I'm not going out into that jungle out the back.
There'll be all sorts hiding in the grass – mice, toads,
snakes.'
'I'll come with you, Dixie,' said Jude.
'No, don't! Don't leave me by myself!' said Rochelle.
'Now who's the baby?' said Jude. 'You'll have to stay,
Rochelle, as we haven't got a door key. Besides, Martine
will be coming back sometime.'
'I bet she doesn't. I bet she hitches a lift back to
Bletchworth. She's not daft. I wish I could go with her.'
I wished she would too. I thought how peaceful it would
be, just Jude and me. And Mum, of course. Though now
there would be the baby too.
'It's all the baby's fault,' I said, as Jude and I went
out the front door. 'If Mum hadn't got pregnant she
wouldn't have wanted the extra room and we wouldn't
have moved. I hope little Sundance is extra sweet or I
shall seriously dislike him.'
'Sundance! I hope Mum's joking,' said Jude. 'No, it's
not his fault. He didn't ask to be born, did he? I don't
know why Mum wants to keep on having all these
boyfriends and babies. I just don't get her.'
'Yeah, I know. But Mum says she's finished with

85
blokes now,' I said, skipping along beside Jude.
'As if!' said Jude.
'Well, if you get your Rottweiler – you know, to chase
away Rochelle's white cats – then he'll maybe chase all
the boyfriends away too.'
'That was just a game, Dix.' Jude turned round and
looked at me. 'So this Mary, is she a game too?'
'No, she's real, I said. Look, see over the wall? That's
her house. Doesn't it look clean and tidy? Mary's so clean
and tidy too.'
I checked the grey cuffs on my cardie, the stain on my
T-shirt, the hems of my jeans, black and fraying where
they trailed on the ground. 'Jude, are we dirty?'
'What? Well, you're a bit grubby, certainly. I'm clean.
Cleanish. And Rochelle's never out the blooming bathroom.
Ditto Martine.' Jude climbed onto the wall. She stood right
up on it, legs braced. 'So that's your Mary's house then?
Wow!'
'The one opposite, with the black wooden fence. Jude,
be careful.''
She'd started to tightrope-walk along the top of the
wall, showing off.
'Whoops, whoops, I'm falling to my death,' Jude said,
waving her arms around, winding me up.
'Stop it!'
What if something really happened to Jude? I imagined
her pitching off the wall and breaking her neck. All my
family was disappearing. I only had Rochelle left, and I
didn't even like her . . .
'Dixie?' Jude held out her hand. 'Come on, don't look
so worried. I'm only messing about, you know I am.'
'What about Mum?' I said.

86
 'Mum will be fine,' said Jude, though she didn't sound
sure. 'Come on, don't let's think about Mum just now.
She'll be back safe and sound with the baby soon, you
wait and see. Tomorrow. So let's get ourselves sorted
out now, right? We'll go and see if your pal Mary's
mum will give us some candles.'
Jude helped me over the wall into the alleyway. I
stopped her as we got to Mary's back gate.
'Maybe we ought to go to the front?' I said. 'We can't
just barge right into their back garden, can we?'
'Why not?' said Jude. She stood at the gate, looking
across the neat green lawn. There were no toys scat-
tered, no balls or bikes, no one sitting on the beautiful
canopied garden swing.
'If we just wander in then Mary's mum might think
we're burglars,' I said.
'OK, OK, we'll go round to the front and knock, if it
makes you happy,' said Jude.
I don't think she was too keen on marching over that
weirdly perfect lawn either.
We went down the alleyway to the end, turned left,
and then went back down Mary's street. It was as if we'd
walked into a different world altogether. The houses
were all tidy and clean and freshly painted, with shiny
door knockers and little porches and ruffled curtains at
the spotless windows.
'I wish our house looked like these,' I said. 'Do you
think they're one of the other planets?'
'No, silly, these aren't council houses, these are private.
They're posh, can't you tell? Is Mary posh?'
I considered. I started to worry. 'She's not snooty posh,'
I said.

87
 'Which is her house, then?' Jude asked.
I couldn't work it out. I peered at the rows of iden-
tical black and white houses. I didn't know how to match
up the fronts with the backs.
'It's this one,' I said, pointing at the nearest.
Jude clicked open the metal gate. I tugged at her
sweatshirt.
'No! Next door. Or the one after. I don't know,' I said.
Jude sighed. 'What are you like, Dixie?' she said. 'Come
on, which is it?'
I dithered. 'Maybe we should go back and try the back
way after all?'
'Maybe we'll just knock on any old front door and ask,'
said Jude.
She went in the next gate along. The hedge was
growing out across the pavement and the car on the front
drive was red and sporty,
'Not that one, Jude. This might be it,' I said, nodding
at the next house with the metal gates. The hedge was
clipped into a green wall, not a leaf out of place. It
reminded me of Mary's plaits.
Jude swung the gate open and started walking up the
crazy paving path. I hung back.
'What are you waiting for? She's your friend,' said Jude.
I trailed after her, wishing I'd held my tongue about
Mary.
'Come on,' said Jude irritably.
She rapped loudly with the lion door knocker. We
waited. My heart was beating as if I had a little knocker
right inside my chest. Then the door opened, although
the lady looking at us kept one hand on the latch so that
she could slam it shut in a second.

88
 She was very pretty, with lovely golden hair curling
almost to her shoulders and very blue eyes. They were
outlined with grey pencil, very carefully, without a single
smudge. Her skin was peachy with powder, her lips
pearly pink. Mum didn't often bother to do her face if
she was staying in during the day, but she wore lots of
black eye make-up and deep red lipstick when she went
out on the razzle.
Mary's mum didn't look as if she'd do any razzling
down the pub or the club. She was wearing a pink fluffy
sweater and a white pleated skirt. She looked like a
mum in a telly advert, the sort who'd make a meal on
her cooker and then serve it up on a tablecloth.
She looked at Jude, she looked at me. 'Yes?' she said.
I swallowed hard. I tried to say something but only a
mouse squeak came out.
'My sister's friends with your daughter,' said Jude.
'I don't think so,' she said.
'I'm her new friend,' I whispered.
She was shaking her head. Jude glared at me, thinking
I'd made it all up after all.
'You're Mary's friend?' she said.
I took a deep breath, nodding.
'Where did you meet her? At school?'
I hesitated.
'They were playing together in your garden,' said Jude,
not realizing she might be getting Mary into trouble.
'We've just moved in. We're on the Planet Estate.'
Mary's mother nodded, watching me with her corn-
flower-blue eyes. She looked like a princess in my fairy
story book.
'So Mary invited you into our garden?' said her mum.

89
 I knew I had to be very careful. 'Well, no, I was in
that lane at the back of our house and your house. Mary
was in your garden. I talked to her.'
'Ah,' said Mary's mum. 'Well. That's very nice. I'm glad
you've made friends. But I'm afraid she can't come out
to play just now, dear. She's not very well so I've sent
her to bed early.'
'Well, we really came round to ask you a favour,' said
Jude.
'Oh?' said Mary's mother warily.
'I – I wonder if you could loan us—' Jude started.
'No, I'm sorry, dear,' she interrupted. 'I'm afraid I never
give to anyone at the door.'
'We're not begging' said Jude, fiery red. 'We don't ever
beg. We were just wondering if you'd loan us a candle
because the lights aren't working in our house.'
'A candle?' said Mary's mum. She looked surprised.
Then she smiled. 'Yes, of course. Wait here a minute.'
She shut the door on us.
'Why won't she let us in after her? Does she think
we're going to nick her ornaments? Blow this. Blow her.
Come on, Dixie, let's go back,' said Jude.
We started down the pathway again.
The door opened. 'Hey, girls! I thought you wanted a
candle,' said Mary's mum. She was holding a whole
packet of them, with some matches too.
'Thank you very much,' I said, bobbing back. 'We've
already got matches, but thank you for the thought.'
She smiled as I took the candles, looking prettier than
ever.
'Maybe Mary can come and play tomorrow?' I said.
'Maybe,' she said, still smiling.

90
 She closed the door again. I waited, counting the
candles.
I heard her in the hall, calling for Mary. Then I heard
a sharp slap and someone crying.
 8

'You mean pigs! You've been gone such ages!' said

Rochelle. 'I thought you weren't ever coming back. And
it's getting dark and what are we going to do?'
'Candles!' I said, jiggling them at her. 'From my friend
Mary's mum.'
I shivered. I hadn't told Jude about the slap or the
crying. It seemed too private and shameful. I didn't see
how anyone could hit a little girl like Mary. Maybe I'd
made a mistake. I didn't see the slap, I only thought I
heard it. Perhaps Mary tripped over, bumped herself and
started crying. Her mum couldn't have hit her. She was
the kindest sweetest mother in all the world.
I wondered about my own mum. 'Do you think Mum's
had the baby yet?' I asked. 'How long does it take?'
'Don't ask me,' said Jude, with a shudder.
'It can take ages. Days, sometimes,' said Rochelle. 'It's
the worst pain you can ever imagine. Far far far worse
than the worst period pain ever, though of course you
wouldn't know about that, Dixie.'

92
 I thought about my worst pain ever, when some girls
at my old school had punched me in the stomach until
I was sick. I wondered what it would feel like to be
punched in the stomach for days on end.
I cuddled in to Jude.
'Baby,' said Rochelle, but when we all flopped down
on Mum's bed she wanted to cuddle up too. 'It's Pop Idol
tonight,' she whined.
'Go on, we'll pretend like it's on the telly,' I said.
'You and your pretending, Dixie,' said Rochelle, raising
her eyes to the dingy ceiling. Tuck! Look, it's filthy! We're
all going to go down with some terrible disease like rabies.'
'You get rabies from mad dogs, you nutter,' said Jude.
She bared her teeth and started growling and slavering
at her.
'It's scabies. A boy in my class back at Bletchworth
had them. Then I fell over and hit my head and had
scabs and the teacher thought I'd got them,' I said.
I wondered what the school would be like here.
Probably the kids would be even nastier, the teachers
even meaner.
'Sing, Rochelle,' I said.
She started working her way through old Britney and
Beyonce numbers, standing on the bed and wiggling her
bottom. Jude and I cheered her at the end of each song
and gave her glowing reviews. Jude's were way over the
top, saying stuff like Rochelle had the voice of an angel
and the figure of a she-devil, sending her up. Rochelle
took her ultra-seriously and started preening, prancing
all round the room.
Then she started singing one of Mum's old favourites,
that weird Queen song like an opera with lots of strange

93
words like Beelzebub and Galileo. We tensed up when
she got to the 'Mama Mia' part. Rochelle stopped at the
second Mama and rubbed her lips, as if she could wipe
the sound away.
'This is stupid,' she said, flopping down on the bed.
It suddenly seemed very very quiet in the house. It
was starting to get dark. I thought of all the tough boys
on the estate, out on the prowl. I thought of the men
who'd broken into this house and drunk themselves crazy
and puked in the sink.
'Shall we push the cupboard against the door so no
one can get in?' I whispered.
'What about the window?' said Rochelle. 'They could
simply smash it and climb in.'
'No one's going to break in – but if they do I'll fight
them off,' said Jude. 'Let's play the television game again.
I know, I'll be Match of the Day.'
She jumped up and started dodging in and out of the
crowded furniture, kicking a rolled-up sweater and
yelling, 'Here's Jude Diamond with the ball, running with
it – look at the girl go . . . talent on wheels, dodging,
feinting. . . Come on, Diamond – yes, you can do it! She's
diving at the net – yes, smack in the middle! What a goal
– the girl done good, the Diamond sparkles!' Jude jumped
up and down between the boxes, waving her hands in
the air.
'Right, Dixie, your turn,' she said.
'Don't do something wet wet wet on little kids' telly,'
said Rochelle.
'I'm going to do a nature programme. And it is wet
wet wet because it's a tropical jungle,' I said, getting off
the bed and crouching low.

94
 I clutched a hairbrush like a mike and started whisper-
ing into it, like that old man David Attenborough.
'So here we are, in this hot steaming jungle, on the
track of the lost tribe of giant gorillas' I whispered. I
took Bluebell out of my sleeve and made her flutter past
my face. 'Birds of Paradise flash their rainbow wings' I
said. I took Jude's sweater-football and perched it on my
shoulder, one sleeve swinging. 'Mischievous monkeys
leap all around me, wanting to make friends.' I made
the sweater chatter and scratch. 'But remember, we are
on a quest for the lost tribe of giant gorillas – and hist!
I hear growling!'
'Gorillas don't growl,' Rochelle muttered. 'They're shy
and gentle.'
'Pipe down, we're watching Dixie,' said Jude.
I carried on winding my way in and out the furniture,
my hand cupped behind my ear. 'Definite growling' I
whispered. 'Which is distinctly odd, because world gorilla
expert Rochelle Diamond has led us to believe that
gorillas do not growl. She has appeared on my
programme, giving us the benefit of her knowledge,
informing us all again and again and again that gorillas
are sweet, shy creatures that wouldn't say boo to a goose
– but I think the growling sounds very aggressive. It's
coming from over here. Could this be a giant gorilla lair?'
'They don't live in lairs, idiot. They build nests in
trees,' said Rochelle.
'In trees?' said Jude. 'Jeez, I wouldn't want to be
walking underneath in case they turned over too quickly
and fell out of their nests. Imagine being squashed to
death by a furry gorilla.'
I was scrabbling in Mum's clothes bag for her fun-fur

95
winter coat. I shoved it over my head, then jumped up
on top of two boxes and thumped my chest. 'Grr! Grr! I
am the leader of the lost tribe of giant gorillas! I don't
give a toss what Rochelle says about other gorillas. I am
very very very aggressive and I hate know-all girls who
think they're clever and I'm going to get her!' I leaped
right on top of Rochelle on Mum's mattress, growling fit
to bust.
Rochelle squealed and tried to fight me off, the fur
coat slipping so that neither of us could see. There was
a loud banging somewhere. We both struggled up out of
the coat depths, wondering what Jude was up to. But
Jude was sitting up too, listening.
'Jude?'
'Someone's knocking at the door,' she said.
They banged again, fiercely, insistently. Two people
knocking, one using their fists. Then someone opened
the letter box and shouted through it.
'Open the door, you dozy lot!'
Martine! We ran to the door, Rochelle and I stumbling
over Mum's fur coat. Jude got there first and slung the
door open. Martine and Bruce stood there.
'At last!' said Martine.
'You've come back, Uncle Bruce! I knew you would.
But where's Mum?'
'She hasn't had the baby yet,' said Martine wearily.
She'd smudged her eye make-up so that she had great
panda eyes, and her hair was sticking up in clumps.
'But it was practically popping out in the van!' said
Jude.
'Apparently it slowed down once she was in the
hospital. The nurse I spoke to said she wasn't in strong

96
labour yet so we might as well go home,' said Bruce,
rubbing his eyes and yawning. 'Look, I've got to get to
my home now, girls.'
'Not strong labour!' said Martine, her fists clenched.
'It was so strong she was screaming. She was in agony!'
'Now, now, no need to go upsetting your sisters,' said
Bruce. 'I'm sure she'll be fine. She had all of you OK,
didn't she?'
'No she didn't. She nearly died having Dixie,' said
Martine, glaring at me like it was my fault.
'Well, the nurse said she was doing fine – everything
under control and proceeding normally. She wouldn't
have fibbed to me, especially as she thought I was the
father.' Bruce shook his head, sighing.
'I don't know why she even spoke to you. You're nothing
to do with our family,' Martine said furiously.
'Yeah, well, I'm starting to go down on my knees and
count my blessings on that one,' said Bruce. 'I don't know
why you're all turning on me. I've gone out of my way
to be helpful, and given up a whole day's work for you
– for no financial recompense whatsoever, it seems. I've
acted like a blooming saint, and yet you've all taken
advantage of me.'
'I haven't, Uncle Bruce,' I said, taking his hand. 'Do
you want some of my chips? I couldn't eat them all.
They're a bit cold now but maybe you don't mind?'
'Thank you, sweetheart. No, I think I'll give your chips
a miss. One of you big girls could go and make me a nice
cup of tea though. I think we could all do with a cuppa
while we try and sort out who's going to look after you.'
'I'll look after us. And you can't have a cup of tea, so
there,' said Jude.

97
 'She's not being rude,' I said quickly (though she was).
'It's just the electrics don't work in the house and so we
can't plug the kettle in. We've got candles though. I got
them, from my friend's house. Maybe if we lit them all
and held them under the kettle it would start boiling.'
'It's your head that needs boiling, Dixie, you're so
stupid,' said Rochelle.
'The electrics?' said Bruce, sighing. 'Let's see. Where's
the fuse box?'
'Don't look at me. It's not my house,' said Martine. 'As
soon as Mum's back and better, I'm off. This is a total
dump. We got a bit lost and couldn't find Mercury at
first, so we've been all over the bogging Planets, and
they're all awful. There were some little boys peeing in
the street, and some big lads – real thug types – whizzing
all over on skateboards.'
'One damn near went smack into my van. Could have
killed himself, but he just laughed!' said Bruce.
'Some parts are lovely,' I told him. 'Right at the back
of our house there's this lane and some beautiful houses.
What sort of house do you live in, Uncle Bruce?'
He wasn't listening. He was opening up a little
cupboard in the hallway and peering into it. He sucked
his teeth and then walked down the hall and opened the
front door.
'Don't go yet!' I called.
'I'm just getting my tool box from the van, Dixie,' he
said. 'But then I'll have to go, sweetheart. You'd better
all be thinking who you're going to call. Have you got a
nan?'
'She died. She didn't like us much anyway,' said Jude.
'She never even sent us birthday or Christmas presents

98
– imagine!' said Rochelle, tossing her hair and striking a
tragic attitude.
'My heart bleeds for you,' said Bruce.
I loved the way he didn't seem to think much of
Rochelle. I followed him out to his van. He found his
tool box and lugged it out of the van.
'Do you think you can fix the electrics, Uncle Bruce?'
'I'll have a go,' he said. He took his big glasses off and
gave the lenses a wipe on the bottom of his T-shirt. His
face looked younger without them, though they left pink
pinch marks on his nose.
'I used to wear glasses,' I said. 'Mum thought I couldn't
see the board properly at school.'
'So did your eyesight get better?'
'No, some kid tripped me in the playground and my
glasses broke and we didn't ever get them mended,' I
said.
Bruce was frowning. 'Does your dad pay maintenance
for you, Dixie?'
I shrugged. 'I don't know.'
'Maybe your mum could get the social services to pay
for new glasses for you?'
'Oh no, I don't want them. They called me Goggle-Eyes
at school.'
He put his own glasses back on, wincing. 'Snap! That's
what they called me when I was at school,' he said.
'I hate school,' I said.
'Maybe this new school will be better?' he said, going
back into the house.
'Maybe,' I echoed, though it didn't seem likely.
I could look out for my new friend Mary in the play-
ground though.

99
 I thought about that slap behind the closed door. I felt
sad and wanted Mum.
Then I thought properly about Mum.
What was happening to her now?
'Don't look so sad, sweetheart,' said Bruce. He chucked
me awkwardly under the chin. 'I bet school will be a
doddle.'
'I'm not thinking about school now,' I said. 'I'm thinking
about Mum.'
'Well, tell you what,' said Bruce, as I trotted after him.
'How about if I phone your dad? Maybe he could come
and look after you for a few days?'
I so wanted to believe this could be true. 'I don't think
so,' I said mournfully. 'He's got his other family.'
'Yes, well, you're family too.'
'But they don't know about Mum or me, see,' I
mumbled.
'Ah. Well. Yes, I suppose that does make a difference,'
said Bruce. 'It doesn't really let him off the hook though.
He's still responsible. But under the circumstances we'd
better not pester him. So, what about the other girls'
dads?'
He started peering at the fuse box, taking stuff out
and getting things out of his tool box. Jude came to
watch, irritated that he seemed to know what to do.
"You'd be mental if you got in touch with my dad,' said
Jude, peering. 'If you even knew where to track him
down. Where do they put violent nutters? Broadmoor,
maybe?'
'Oh well, it's good you don't take after him,' said Bruce.
'Pass us that screwdriver, Judy.'
'Jude!' said Jude crossly, but she did as he asked. She

100
held his torch for him so he could see into the gloomy
box. He told her what he was doing and why. It was all
gobbledegook to me, but Jude nodded, taking it in. Then
Bruce flicked a switch inside the box, told me to try the
hall light – and it worked!
'Well done, Uncle Bruce! You're brilliant!' I yelled.
'No, I'm not. Any fool could fix it,' said Bruce. 'You can
do it if it ever happens again, Jude.'
'You calling me a fool?' she said, but she was only
joking.
Martine came running from the bathroom, where she'd
been washing her face. 'You've really fixed it!' she said.
'Does that mean the water will be hot now?'
'Well, we'll give it a go. Let's hope the boiler isn't bust.
I doubt if I can fix that,' said Bruce. He stepped nearer
Martine. 'Jude here says it's no use contacting your dad
because he's a bit violent?'
'My dad isn't a bit violent – but the last we heard he's
in Australia,' said Martine.
'We've all got different dads,' I said.
'Oh Gawd, your family isn't half complicated,' said
Bruce, shutting up the fuse box. He nodded at Rochelle,
who was rushing round the house switching on every
single light.
'Don't go too mad, you'll overload the system again,'
he called. 'So, Dixie, what about Princess All-too-pleased-
with-herself? What's her dad like?'
'Dead,' I said. I paused. 'That's how my mum met my
dad.'
Bruce raised his eyebrows. 'She's a one, your mum!'
I looked at him sideways. Rochelle switched the light
on and off, on and off. Jude stood up straight, her chin

101
in the air. Martine ran her fingers through her wild hair,
glaring at him.
'Are you having a go at our mum?' she said, speaking
for all of us.
'No! No, I was – admiring her, like. For – for getting
on with life. I wish I could say the same.' Bruce blinked
anxiously behind his big glasses.
I nodded at him, 'Tell us about your life, Uncle Bruce.'
'Nothing much to tell,' he said.
'Have you got children?'
'No, no.'
'Have you got a partner?'
'Not at the moment, no. No family to speak of.'
I gave him a great big smile. 'You could be part of our
family, Uncle Bruce,' I said very quickly, before the others
could stop me.
'Well, that's very very sweet of you, Dixie. I'm touched.
But no – I mean, you've got your lives to lead, I've got
mine. Such as it is. Anyway, I must get back. I'll just
check the immersion. Gawd, they don't half install some
rubbish in these council gaffs.'
'I suppose you live in a bogging palace,' said Martine.
'Well, it's hardly that, but it's a good solid semi –
Victorian. It was my mum and dad's house, see. I grew
up there. I've tried to keep everything in good nick. It's
got a fair-sized garden, little rockery, vegetable patch at
the end—'
'Yeah, yeah,' Martine interrupted.
'He sounds like an estate agent,' Jude whispered, too
loudly.
Rochelle sniggered and tapped the immersion. 'Have
you got it working? Because I want a bath,' she said.

102
 'I'm not the general servant, you know,' said Bruce,
running the kitchen tap. 'You girls should keep civil
tongues in your heads if you want folk to help you.
There!' He put his hand under the tap and lightly
sprayed Rochelle. 'Warm enough for you?'
Bruce straightened up, unrolling the cuffs of his check
workshirt. He let the sleeves hang down over his pink
hands. 'Well, I'm off, girls. I reckon you'll have to cope
by yourselves until your mum comes back from the
hospital.'
'We can't cope, Uncle Bruce. Don't go!' I said, rushing
to him.
I jumped up and put my arms round his neck. He took
one little step backwards, looking startled, but then his
arms came round me and he gave me a little hug. He
smelled of sandlewood talcum powder and toffees, such
a gentle, reassuring smell that I couldn't help clinging
when he tried to unhook my hands.
'God, stop acting like a baby,' said Rochelle.
'Why are you making such a fuss? You hardly know
him,' said Martine.
'Cut it out, Dixie!' Even Jude was irritated with me.
I couldn't help it. I felt like a baby. I couldn't stop
fussing. I couldn't cut it out.
'You'll be OK, little 'un. Oh, there now, don't cry!' Bruce
reached in his trouser pocket and brought out a very
old-fashioned clean white handkerchief, carefully ironed
into a square. 'Here, dear, blow on this.' He tried to blow
my nose for me, without much success.
'I'll make it all mucky,' I said.
'Never mind, that's what it's for. You keep it,' he said.
He looked at Martine. 'Look, I really have to go.'

103
 'I know. Go on, then,' she said.
'I didn't mean to get into all this. I was just doing a
favour for a pal.'
'My dad,' I sniffled.
'He's a lucky guy having a lovely little kid like you for
his daughter,' said Bruce. He bit his lip, struggling with
something. 'Tell you what. I'll go home now. I've got to
see about the shop and do stuff, but I'll come back
tomorrow. I could come back to your place late morning,
say. Then I'll take you all over to the hospital and your
mum will have had the baby by then and you can all
meet your little brother. OK?'
'You bet it's OK, Uncle Bruce!' I said.
The other three nodded too. Jude even muttered 'Thank
you.' Bruce nodded back, waved his hand awkwardly in
the air, and then practically ran out of the house.
'Isn't he lovely?' I said.
'No!' said Martine.
'He's OK, I suppose,' said Jude.
'He's OK if you don't mind him looking and acting like
a total geek,' said Rochelle. She twitched her nose and
stuck her front teeth over her bottom lip, doing a cruel
Bruce imitation. Martine and Jude giggled.
'Well, I think he's lovely,' I said. 'He's my third favourite
grown-up, after Mum and my dad.'
Martine found the kitchen cardboard box and made a
pot of tea. We ate a packet of biscuits between us. I felt
sad we hadn't got around to making Bruce anything,
especially as he had that long drive back. I decided I'd
keep the kettle boiling all Sunday morning so that he
could have a cup of tea the moment he got here.
Martine tried phoning the hospital on her mobile but

104
it took ages for her to be put through to the right ward
and then they said they could only give information to
Mr Diamond.
'Well, there isn't one,' said Martine furiously, and
zapped the phone off.
'Mum is all right though, isn't she?' I said. 'I mean,
they'd have said if – if—'
'Of course Mum's all right,' said Martine. 'Stop being
such a worryguts. Everything's fine.'
She was scared too though. I heard her get up very
early in the morning and rush to the toilet. She shut
the door, but I heard her being sick. She was shivering
when she got back into bed.
'Are you all right, Martine?' I whispered.
'Ssh! You'll wake the others,' Martine hissed.
I couldn't get back to sleep. I don't think Martine did
either. She tried to cuddle Rochelle to get warm, but
Rochelle kept tossing and turning, digging into me with
her bony elbows, suffocating me with her long curly hair.
I cuddled up as close as I could to Jude, Bluebell clutched
tight against my chest.
I don't think I've ever wanted Mum so much in all my
life.
 9

I heard a car draw up outside at ten o'clock the next

morning.
'It's Uncle Bruce! He's here already!' I cried joyfully,
running to the door. I opened it and stared.
It wasn't Bruce at all.
It was Mum getting out of a taxi. Our mum, back
already, holding a blue blanket bundle in her arms.
I went flying out to her. 'Mum! Mum! Oh, Mum, you're
all right!'
'Hey! Careful, Dixie! Watch out, you'll have me over.
Mind the baby!'
Mum was holding the blanket close to her chest. I
could just see a little tuft of black hair.
'Let's see him, Mum!'
Mum's face tightened, as if she was still in pain.
'Mum? What is it?'
'I'm sore, sweetheart, seeing as I've just had a baby,'
she said.

106
 'That'll be nine pounds eighty pence please,' said the
cab driver.
'Gawd, for that piddly drive? I'd have been better off
waiting for an ambulance,' said Mum. 'Here, Dixie, fish
in my bag for my purse and give the guy a tenner. You
can keep the change.'
'Oh, very generous, I'm sure,' said the cabbie.
I found the money and gave it to him.
'Thanks, darling,' said Mum, still hugging the baby close.
I was starting to worry terribly because she wouldn't
show me his face. 'Is he OK, Mum?' I whispered,
very gently touching the tuft of hair. It felt so soft. I
could feel the baby's warm pink scalp, so small, so deli-
cate.
'Dixie,' said Mum, like she was about to say something
serious.
I looked up at her, my heart pounding. I decided I was
going to love my new little brother no matter what.
'Did he get born too soon, Mum?' I asked, patting the
blue bundle.
'Well, maybe I got my calculations wrong, darling. I
got a lot of things wrong.'
'Mum!' Rochelle came hurtling down the path,
screeching her head off.
'Ssh, Rochelle. He's asleep. Don't wake little Sundance.
Is that his name still, Mum?'
Mum swallowed. Clutching the baby with one hand,
she ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at it. It
was as if she was tugging her face too, lighting up her
eyes, making her mouth curl up into a big smile.
'Of course he's Sundance, darling,' said Mum. She

107
peeled back a corner of the blanket, showing us our little
brother's face.
'Oh Mum!' I said, nearly in tears. 'Oh Mum, he's lovely!'
'He's so sweet!' said Rochelle. 'Look at his little nose
and his tiny mouth! Oh, bless him.'
Mum still looked worried, but she rocked baby
Sundance proudly. "Yeah, bless him,' she said softly, and
she bent and kissed his little tufty head.
Then Jude and Martine came running out the house
too, and everyone circled Mum and kissed little
Sundance. We went indoors and Mum sighed at all the
furniture still crammed willy nilly in the living room.
She collapsed on her mattress, the baby still swaddled
in the blanket, clutched tightly in her arms.
'Was it really awful having him, Mum?' Martine asked.
'Well, it was no picnic, darling, put it that way,' said
Mum.
'What time was he born?'
'One o'clock this morning.'
'Are you going to do his star chart, Mum?' I asked.
Mum had done all of ours, writing our fortunes in fancy
italic writing and putting moons and stars all round the
borders, and a clock at the top with the exact time of our
birth and little pink baby-girl cherubs on either side.
'His star chart?' said Mum, looking dazed.
'Mum, are you all right?' said Jude, sitting down beside
her. 'How come they let you out of hospital already? I
thought you were meant to stay in for twenty-four hours?'
'Well, I discharged myself. I didn't fancy staying in
there any longer than necessary, not when I needed to
get back to you girls. And where's whatshisface? Did he
clear off and leave you all by yourselves?'

108
 'He's coming back this morning, Mum, he promised,'
I said.
'Yeah, to take us to the hospital, but obviously we don't
need him to do that now. Have you got his number, Mum?
We'll put him off,' said Martine.
'No! I want to see him!' I said.
'Oh God, Dixie, you're so sad. Imagine getting fond of
a geeky old twit like that,' said Rochelle, sitting the other
side of Mum. 'Can I give him a cuddle, Mum?'
'No, no, leave him be, lovie. I'm hoping he'll nod off to
sleep,' said Mum. 'We need to sweet-talk old Bruce back
again, Martine. We've got all sorts of baby stuff to get,
and I'm not up to running around much at the moment.
Plus we've got to get all the furniture shifted.'
'He's got a bad back, Mum,' I said.
'Yeah, so's every fellow I've ever met, when they want
to get out of a bit of hard work,' said Mum. 'Pathetic,
the lot of them. They should try having the babies, that'd
teach them. OK, who's going to make me a nice cup of
tea? That hospital cuppa was stewed to death. I need to
keep up my liquids if I'm feeding little Sundance.'
'Oh yuck, Mum! Are you really going to feed him
yourself? That's so, like, animal,' said Rochelle. 'Aren't
you scared it'll spoil your figure?'
'Well, I've done it four times over and everything's
bobbed back into place – or thereabouts,' said Mum,
patting herself.
Her chest was impressively big now but her tummy
was much flatter, nearly back to normal. She looked really
really tired, though. Her face was so pale, and she had
great dark smudges under her eyes. Her hair was all
tangled and greasy, hanging lankly about her shoulders.

109
 'Shall I wash your hair for you, Mum?' I said.
'I could run you a bath. We've got lots of hot water.
We got the electrics working. If there's any trouble I
know how to fix it,' said Jude.
'Can I bath the baby, Mum? Oh please, let me,' said
Rochelle. 'Give him here!'
'No, no, no!' said Mum. She said it so fiercely we all
jumped and baby Sundance got startled, his little fists
flying in the air. He wailed, and Mum rocked him in her
arms.
'Ssh, ssh! There now, baby,' she murmured into his
tiny red ear.
'Mum?' said Rochelle. 'Mum, I promise I'll be ever so
careful with him.'
'I know, I know, but he's not a toy, sweetheart.'
'You let me bath Dixie when she was tiny.'
'I bet you banged my head on the bath!'
'I've bathed all of you,' said Martine on her way out
to make the tea. 'Don't worry, Mum, I'll see to him. While
I'm still here.'
'No, not just yet, Martine,' said Mum. She took a deep
breath. 'Listen, girls, it's hard to explain, like, but we're
still bonding, Sundance and me. I want to take care of
him for the next few days, all right? I don't want any of
you bathing him, dressing him up, changing his
nappies—'
'Like we'd want to change his nappies?' said Jude,
pulling a face. 'Mum, you look done in.' She put her hand
on Mum's forehead. 'You're burning up. I don't think you
should have come out of hospital so soon. When Bruce
comes how's about we get him to run you back to the
maternity ward, just so they can check you out?'

110
 'No way,' Mum snapped. 'Will you girls quit fussing!
All I want is my cup of tea.'
'Here you are, Mum,' said Martine, bringing it in from
the kitchen.
Mum drank it down in three gulps and then lay back
on her pillow, clutching Sundance. He was nodding off
to sleep, his delicate eyelids drooping. Mum nuzzled him
close, and in a minute she was asleep too.
The four of us stood watching, still a little awed, like
shepherds in a Nativity painting. It seemed so weird
that yesterday we'd just been Mum and us four girls.
Now this new baby brother had changed everything.
'That's my little brother Sundance,' I whispered to
Bluebell.
'And that's my brain-dead sister Dixie who still plays
with cuddly toys,' Rochelle said, sighing.
'Ssh! Let's go in the kitchen. We don't want to wake
them,' said Martine. 'Come on, we'll all have some tea.'
'Is she really going to call him Sundance?' J u d e
whispered. 'She's so hot, I'm sure she's got a fever.
What's childbed fever? Do you think she's got it?'
'Of course not. Shut up, Jude. Come on,' said Martine.
We went and huddled in the kitchen. We'd got our own
table and chairs in there but it didn't feel like our kitchen
at all. The sink was clean now but none of us wanted
to go near it. The floor was all stained and dirty, with
half of the floor tiles cracked or missing.
I curled my legs up so my bare feet wouldn't touch it.
I'd lost one of yesterday's socks in the messy sitting room
and I didn't know where my clean ones were. I decided
to go without. My trainers rubbed my feet so I left them
off too.

111
 I flew Bluebell round and round. She ended up perching
on my big toe, gripping it with her wiry little claws.
'Do you have to sit like that, Dixie?' said Rochelle. 'Your
feet are filthy. This whole house is a tip. Mum's mad
bringing us here.'
'I'll say,' said Martine.
'Don't you ever stop moaning?' said Jude. 'We'll just
have to get this house sorted, that's all.'
'Well don't look at me,' said Rochelle. 'I'm the one that
did all the bogging scrubbing. I'm sick of it. I'm next to
the youngest, so it's not fair I have to do all the hard work.'
'Not any more,' I said. 'You're in the middle now. Martine
and Jude, then you – piggy in the middle! – then me, then
Sundance. I'm not the baby any more. He is.'
'Yeah, and I bet he's a lot more clued up than you are
already, Dixie. He's sweet, isn't he? So little.'
'I think he looks big,' said Martine, sipping at her tea.
She pulled a face. 'Think of the size of his head and how
it must hurt coming out.'
'Don't! Still, Mum's all right now,' said Rochelle.
'No she's not,' said Jude.
Yeah, well, she's tired, obviously, but she'll be OK when
she's had a good sleep,' said Rochelle.
'She looks awful. And she's acting weird,' said Martine.
'All that fuss about us not touching the baby, like we're
going to hurt him. What's she on about, all this bonding
lark?'
'She did go a bit funny when Dixie was born,
remember?' said Jude. 'But then Dixie was in hospital
for ages and Mum had to keep trailing backwards and
forwards to visit her.'
'And she was still grieving for my dad. She got dead

112
 depressed, she told me,' said Rochelle, nodding importantly.
'I hope she's not getting depressed now,' said Jude.
'I'm depressed, stuck here when I want to be back
home with Tony,' said Martine.
Jude looked at her. 'Are you really going to walk out
on Mum and all of us?' she said.
'I'm not going right this minute. But soon. I've got my
own life to lead, Jude. I want to be with Tony'
'How come he comes before us?'
'Because I love him,' said Martine.
'More than you love Mum and us?'
'??Yeah, well, it's different. Look, one day you'll under-
stand,' said Martine.
'I understand,' said Rochelle. 'I can't wait – though I
wouldn't ever fancy a boy-next-door type like Tony.
There's no need to shove me, Martine, he literally is the
boy next door. No, I want some guy who's really good
looking and dynamic and dead sexy'
'Like that guy with the earring!' said Jude in disgust.
'Well, why not?' said Rochelle. 'I think he was pretty fit.'
'Yeah, fit to take you round the back of the house and
mess around with you to show off to all his mates,' said
Jude.
'Look, who are you to judge? You don't like boys. I do.'
'He's not a boy, he's a big lout – and you're just a silly
little girl,' said Jude.
Rochelle shook her head pityingly, looking at Martine.
'She doesn't have a clue, does she?'
'I don't know,' said Martine, shifting uneasily. 'Maybe
you should be careful, Rochelle. Jude's right, you're only
a kid. You don't know what you're doing.'
Rochelle flushed. 'Don't you start ganging up on me

113
too, it's not fair.' She scrabbled in the empty biscuit
packet, licking her fingers to get the last of the crumbs.
'I'm still starving. Why can't we have some proper break-
fast? And what are we going to have for lunch?'
'Oh dear me, let's all go and ask cook what she's
conjured up,' said Jude sarcastically.
I pretended in my head that we really did have a cook
– a lovely cheery lady with a red beaming face. She let
me lick her cake bowl and called me fond foodie nick-
names like Pancake and Cherry Bun. I daydreamed we
had lots of servants, a kind chauffeur who whizzed us
to the shops and the seaside and all the amusement
parks in a big white limo long enough for all us Diamond
girls to fit inside.
We were very very rich and we lived in a huge black
and white house and we all had our own bedrooms and
Bluebell had her own aviary with lots of other budgies,
but she always stayed my absolute favourite. I wondered
about Bruce and whether he could come and live with
us too. Maybe he'd just come and visit, seeing he was
my uncle . . .
Then I heard a car door slam outside. It was the real
Bruce come visiting! I rushed to the door, worried that
the others might get there first and tell him to go away.
He was looking anxious, hitching his glasses up and
down, with a bulging carrier bag in one hand and
a big bouquet of roses and lilies and freesias in the
other.
He smiled when he saw me and handed me the bouquet
with a flourish. 'Flowers for you, madam,' he said. 'Well,
they're actually for you to take to your mum. But you
can have a freesia just for you. Here, don't they smell

114
pretty?' He pulled out a little lilac freesia and tucked it
in my hair, behind my ear.
'You're all right then, you and your sisters? I was so
worried about you stuck here all by yourselves. Martina
did stay, didn't she?'
'Yes, we were fine,' I said, patting my flowery hair and
then peering in his carrier bag. 'Wow, you've got those
flaky roll thingies. And orange juice! Is this all your
breakfast, Uncle Bruce?'
'Ha ha, as if I'm going to eat a dozen croissants all by
myself! No, they're for you and your sisters. Then when
you've had your fill we'll see about getting you all to the
hospital to see how your mum's getting on.'
'We don't have to go to the hospital, Uncle Bruce.
Mum's back already! Come and see.'
I tugged his arm and pulled him indoors. He dumped
his bag and the bouquet in the hall and let me pull him
towards the crammed living room.
'She's still asleep, don't go in!' Jude hissed.
'Just let him peep at the baby,' I said.
'The baby's nothing to do with him,' said Martine.
'Too right,' said Bruce.
I went on pulling, wanting to show off to him. I crept
round the door. I expected Mum to be lying back on the
pillow, the duvet up under her chin, but she was sitting
up, cradling the baby in her arms. She was crying.
'Mum! Oh Mum, are you in pain?'
'Ssh! No, no, I'm fine, I'm just – over-emotional,' Mum
sniffed, wiping her eyes with the silky corner of the
baby's blanket.
'You should still be in hospital,' said Bruce.
'Who asked your opinion?' Mum said rudely. 'I had

115
to get back to my girls, didn't I, seeing as you
scarpered?'
'Look, they're not my responsibility – even though I've
come all the way back today and I've got breakfast and
lunch and tea stuff, and even disposable nappies for the
baby. I didn't know what kind to get. Did you have your
little boy?'
Mum clutched Sundance tightly. 'Of course.'
'You look a bit rough, if you don't mind my saying so,'
said Bruce.
'I do mind! Look, you be Mr Good-Guy and fix the kids
something to eat and drink. I want a bit of peace to feed
the baby and get him changed. Dixie, where's the box
with all the baby things?'
I scrabbled at the hundred and one cardboard boxes
all round the living room until I found the right one,
crammed with little blue outfits. I fingered the little
sleeping suits, making them kick their legs up and down
as if they had tiny dancing babies inside them.
'They're all so sweet, Mum. Can Sundance wear
these weeny stretchy dungarees? Look, there's a sun
embroidered on the front – they're perfect.'
'OK, OK – and find me the little yellow and blue stripy
top that goes with it.'
'Let me dress him, Mum, please!'
'No! I told you, I'm doing it. I'm doing everything for
him. Off you go now.'
'Can't I even watch?'
'No you can't. You go and make yourself useful in the
kitchen. He's my little boy.'
'He's my little baby brother,' I said, edging up to the
bed. 'Can I just give him a kiss, Mum?'

116
 'Go on then,' said Mum, sighing. 'But don't go poking
at him with that damn budgie, OK?'
I gave Sundance a kiss on his little wrinkled forehead.
He was very pink in the face.
'He's hot in that blanket. It can't be much fun for him,
all bundled up. Can't he have a little kick without it?'
'You leave him be. I'm the one who knows all about
babies,' said Mum, but she suddenly started crying
again. 'I'm the one who knows beggar all about anything,'
she wailed.
'Don't cry, Mum! Shall I get Jude or Martine?'
'No, just leave me be. Take no notice. You always get
weepy just after having a baby. Nothing to worry about,'
said Mum.
I couldn't help worrying.
I went into the kitchen and ate part of a croissant,
sucking at the end, pretending it was a cigar. Then I
stuck it under my nose like a moustache.
'You're a caution, Dixie,' said Bruce.
'Stop encouraging her. Don't play with your food,
Dixie,' said Martine.
'Yuck, imagine eating that croissant with Dixie's snot
dribbled all over it,' said Rochelle.
'I'm not the slightest bit snotty,' I said, but I went off
the idea of eating it all the same.
Jude wanted to take Mum a croissant but Mum yelled
at her to go away.
'She's got a mouth on her, your mum,' said Bruce.
'Well, she's not feeling too great, is she?' said Martine.
'You try having a baby.'
'I'm never ever having babies,' I said.
'Me neither,' said Jude, eating Mum's croissant herself.

117
 'Nor me. It mucks up your figure, makes you go all
saggy,' said Rochelle, posing to show off her own perfect
figure. 'What about you, Martine? You're Mum's last hope
of being a granny.'
'Don't look at me!' Martine said fiercely.
'Don't you and Tony want to have little Martys and
Tones?' said Jude.
'I wish you'd just shut up about it,' said Martine.
'I'm sick of people telling me to shut up and clear off,'
said Jude. 'OK, I will. I'm going for a mooch around.'
'No, you can't! You've got to help get this dump organ-
ized,' said Martine.
'Watch me,' said Jude. She walked out of the kitchen,
down the hall and out the front door.
'That's just typical of her,' said Martine. 'She's the
strongest. How are we going to get all that furniture
shifted without her?' She was looking at Bruce.
'I can't, Martina,' said Bruce. 'My back's really twingeing
from yesterday. If I put it out I'll be flat on my back for
a week, when I've got to drive up town for my flowers,
keep the shop open, manage the deliveries. I can't risk it.'
'Well, we'll just manage ourselves, you and me,
Rochelle,' said Martine.
'No way! If Jude can skive off, so can I,' said Rochelle,
reaching for her denim jacket. 'I'm going out too.'
'No you're not.'
'If Jude can, I can.'
'Jude's older. She can look after herself. You're staying
here. Rochelle.'
'You can't boss me about. You're not my mother,' Rochelle
said. 'I'm just going down the road, that's all. OK?'
'No, it's not OK.'

118
 'Well, tough,' said Rochelle, and she ran for it.
Martine ran after her, but gave up when Rochelle was
out the door. 'It's not fair' she said, nearly in tears. 'I get
my whole life messed up and come here to help out and
find I get left doing everything, just because I'm the eldest.'
'I hope you're not going to clear off too,' said Bruce. 'I
can't stay too long, you know. You can't leave little Dixie
in charge.'
'I'm not little!' I said.
'Oh yes, look at you growing, practically towering
above me,' said Bruce, peering at an imaginary giraffe-
necked Dixie.
'I know I'm small, but I'm not a baby,' I said firmly.
Maybe this wasn't a wise thing to say.
'OK, you can make yourself useful,' said Martine. She
braved Mum in the living room and humped several
boxes of pots and packets and china into the kitchen.
'You can scrub out all the cupboards and put our stuff
in them. I'll make a start cleaning upstairs.'
Martine swished off with a broom and scrubbing
brush, looking martyred. We heard her phoning Tony as
she went upstairs: 'Yes, Mum's had the baby . . . Sure,
they're both fine . . . Well, Mum's a bit whacked, obvi-
ously, so I'm having to do everything at the moment. The
girls are no help whatsoever.'
'Cheek!' I said.
'Yes, double cheek! She didn't even mention me,' said
Bruce.
'Exactly. We wouldn't have any light or hot water or
breakfast without you, Uncle Bruce. We wouldn't even
be here.'
'Ah. Maybe that's why she's so cross with me. Anyway,

119
I didn't come back here for her. Or your sisters. Or your
mum.' He smiled at me, forgetting to hide his funny
teeth. I smiled back.
'It's because you're my dad's mate, isn't it, Uncle Bruce?'
'I don't know about that. It's more this uncle lark. I'm
getting to like the idea of you as my token niece, little
Dixie.' Bruce sighed and stretched. 'But I'm also here to
help out, so I'd better get on.'
'You mustn't muck up your back, Uncle Bruce.'
'No, I can't do any lifting, darling. I thought I'd busy
myself checking out the whole house, making sure your
washing machine's plumbed in properly, testing the
cooker – boring stuff like that.'
'You are a total star, Uncle Bruce,' I said.
'Twinkle, twinkle,' he said, waggling his eyebrows at
me, his glasses sliding down his nose.
I giggled and then sat down beside the boxes, poking
about amongst the china and cutlery. I didn't know where
to start. I got out all our different cups and lined them
up on the floor, as if they were standing in a queue. Then
I found the teapot and turned it into an elephant. The
cup children took turns riding on its back, rewarding it
with a sugar lump down its spouty trunk.
Bruce decided he needed his tool box and stepped back-
wards. He crushed a child and very nearly killed the
elephant too. We picked up the pieces together.
'Maybe you'd better get the cupboards cleaned up, like
your sister said. Then you can put all this china safely
away,' Bruce said.
He stood me on a chair with a wet J-cloth and a tin
of Vim. I scattered the white powder over the black grime
and mouldy crumbs. I gave the shelf a little rub. Nothing

120
much happened. It was like powdering a very dirty face.
'You need to give it a bit of elbow grease,' said Bruce,
showing me how to scrub vigorously.
I tried to copy him but I couldn't reach comfortably.
It made my arm ache and I rattled around on the chair
so much I nearly skidded right off.
'Careful, Dixie! I don't think you're very safe wobbling
about on that chair. Maybe you've done enough work
now. I should go and have a little play in the garden.'
'But what about the cupboard?'
'I'll give it a going over for you when I'm done here,'
said Bruce. 'Don't worry, we'll get this house shipshape
in no time.'
'Shipshape?'
'Everything running smoothly.'
I thought about it. Things had never run smoothly,
not even in any of our old flats. If we were in a ship it
was always an old leaky one, and we were tossing up
and down in a storm. Still, as long as we were all clinging
together, safe inside the ship, that was all that mattered.
 10

I skipped off out of the door and into the jungle. Bluebell
came fluttering out of my Vim-crusted cuff and swooped
up and down in delight. She sang a wild Australian
song (I cheeped 'Waltzing Matilda') her wings spread
wide.
'Don't fly too far, Bluebell. We're going to go and see
Mary.'
We trekked through the jungle together and then I
hauled myself up onto the Great Wall of China. There
was Mary on the swing, in a blue-check dress, white
ribbons fluttering on her plaits, lacy white socks and
navy patent button shoes. She was peering round. When
she saw my head above the wall she smiled and jumped
off the swing, running towards the gate.
I clambered over the wall and ran across the alley.
'Hi, Mary!' I said.
'Hello, Dixie. I've been looking and looking for you! Do
you want to come in and have a swing?'
'Yes please! But I don't want to get you into trouble.

122
You said your mum won't let you have friends round to
play.'
'Mummy's out at church. Daddy's here, but he's still in
bed. So you can come for a bit, but we have to be quiet.'
'As a mouse!' I said. I twitched my nose and went
'Squeak-squeak.'
Mary giggled. She seemed happy to see me, but her
eyes were red and sore, and her voice was husky, as if
she'd been crying again.
'Are you all right, Mary?' I asked, wriggling onto the
swing.
'I'm fine,' she said, though she didn't look fine at all.
She was as pin-neat as ever, her plaits pulled so tightly
back behind her ears she could barely blink. There was
something the matter with her hands. She had them
curled into tight fists.
'Have you been crying?'
'No,' said Mary nervously.
'It's OK. I cry lots. We all cry in our family. My mum
says it's a wonder we're not sloshing about ankle-deep
in tears. Hey, Mary, guess what! Mum's had her baby.
I've got my baby brother. He's so sweet. Maybe I can
bring him round to see you soon. Do you like babies?'
Mary didn't look sure.
'I've got a baby boy,' she said surprisingly.
'No you haven't!'
'I'll show you.'
She ran off, her feet stiff in her patent shoes. She went
in her back door and came out a minute later pushing
a baby buggy almost as big as a real one. There was a
peachy-skinned plastic baby doll sitting up in it, a fixed
grin on his face.

123
 'Oh wow! He's beautiful,' I said, though that grin looked
a bit scary, and I didn't like the way his rigid pink fingers
were reaching out, ready to grab at me.
Mary didn't seem too relaxed with him either. She
pushed the buggy half-heartedly, and didn't touch the
baby, even when he tipped over to one side.
'What's his name?' I said.
'Baby,' said Mary.
'Baby what?'
'Shall I call him Sundance too?'
'You could call him Butch, then they could maybe be
friends. Do you take Baby Butch to bed with you?'
'Oh no. I'm not allowed. I might mess him up. I take
my teddy to bed with me. I like my teddy best, even
though he's old.'
'Old toys are much nicer.'
'Like Bluebell?'
'I'm not a toy, I'm a bird,' Bluebell chirruped. '7 like
your garden, Mary. I think I might make a little holiday
nest here.'
I flew Bluebell round and round, looking for twigs.
There were none on the velvet-green grass, so I had to
snap some off the hedge. Mary looked tense. She didn't
help me. Her fingers were still curled inside her palms.
I tried to bundle my little twigs together but they kept
collapsing. 'I think birds must have secret gluepots,' I
said. 'Oh, blow this for a game of soldiers. Hey, look, we
could turn all the twigs into little soldiers and play
armies.'
'I don't know how to play armies.'
'We'll just make it up.'
'I don't know how,' said Mary, sounding upset.

124
 'OK, OK. Let's play families. Mother twig, father twig,
lots of little kiddie twigs, yeah?'
'Yeah,' said Mary, but she kept her hands in little
clenched fists, not taking hold of any of the twigs.
'Just watch me then,' I said. I took hold of a twig.
'Hello, hello, hello, I'm little Tilly Twig and I'm going to
dance a jig,' I said, making her dance in front of Mary's
face.
Mary smiled.
'You make little Tommy Twig dance with her,' I said.
'No, you do him too,' said Mary.
So I made Tilly and Tommy twirl for a minute.
'Find new little baby Titchy Twiglet and make him
dance.'
'Babies can't dance,' said Mary.
'OK, he wants to crawl. Yeah, he can be crawling
around and Tilly and Tommy keep falling over him.'
'You make him crawl, Dixie,' said Mary.
'You'll have to help. I haven't got three hands. There!'
I snapped a tiny piece off a twig. 'Look, here he is, tiny
Titchy. Isn't he sweet? Oh, he's crawling away from me.
Catch him, Mary!'
I threw the little piece of twig. Mary obediently cupped
her hands to catch him. The tips of her fingers were
bright pink and sore, each small nail cut right back to
the quick.
'Mary! Your nails!'
She dropped the little twig and curved her hands into
fists again.
'Whatever did you do to them? Did you try and cut
them yourself?'
'Yes,' Mary whispered, head bent.

125
 'But it must have hurt awfully. Why did you do it?
Why didn't you get your mum to cut your nails?'
Mary said nothing.
'Mary? Did your mum cut your nails?'
Mary said nothing. Her chin was on her chest, her
white parting painfully obvious, raked into her head. I
put my arms round her.
'She did, didn't she?' I said.
Mary started crying. 'They were dirty nails and
Mummy said I'm a bad, dirty girl and I can't have nails
like a little animal even though I act like one. So she
cut them off,' Mary sobbed in a rush.
'Why didn't you run away?'
'She had me tight between her legs so I couldn't.'
'But it must be so so so sore.'
'I couldn't stop crying and that made Mummy cross.'
'Did she smack you?'
'You always get a hard smack if you cry.'
'My mum doesn't ever smack me.'
'My mummy smacks me lots. I deserve it because I'm
bad,' said Mary.
'That's rubbish. You're not a bit bad. I don't know how
your mum would cope with Rochelle. Or Jude. Or
Martine. What about your dad – does he smack you too?'
'No, he gives me cuddles. But he says I've got to try
not to be so naughty because it upsets Mummy.'
'But you're not naughty.'
'I am. I do really dirty things,' Mary said hoarsely.
'Like what?'
'I pick my nose. I scratch myself. And sometimes I
don't get to the toilet in time.'
'You and everyone else in the entire world!'

126
 'I get my clothes dirty'
'You're the cleanest little girl I've ever seen. You always
look like you've just jumped out of your bath. Heaps and
heaps and heaps cleaner than me.'
'Mummy says I'm still dirty. Sometimes the dirt doesn't
show but she can see it. Or the dirt's inside me and I
have to take medicine to get it out.'
I stared at her. 'Your mum's nuts,' I said.
Mary looked startled. 'No she's not!'
'She's worse than nuts. She's cruel,' I said, gently
picking up one of Mary's tiny hands. I blew softly on her
poor pink fingers. 'I'm blowing fairy dust on them. That'll
make them get better quickly'
'They're better already,' Mary fibbed politely.
'I'm going to tell my mum what your mum did,' I said.
'No! No, you mustn't! Please please please don't tell,
Dixie,' Mary begged. She seized hold of me, even though
it must have really hurt her fingers. 'Promise you won't
tell. I told a girl in my class at school and her mum said
something to my mummy. She said it was all a mistake
and I was just telling stories. But then when I got home
she got the scissors out of her sewing basket and said
she'd cut off my tongue if I ever told tales again.'
'She wouldn't really cut off your tongue, Mary,' I said.
But what sort of mother could cut her little girl's nails
right back so savagely? How could I be sure?
'Will you promise you won't tell? If you don't keep your
promise I'll drop down dead and die!'
'I promise! But you won't drop down dead and die,
Mary. Don't say that, it's horrible. Your mum's horrible.'
'No, she's not. She's the loveliest nicest kindest
mummy in the whole world,' said Mary.

127
 She'd used these exact words before. She'd obviously
been taught to say it.
I didn't know what to do when I went back to my own
house. I wanted to cry when I thought of Mary being
hurt. I knew I should tell someone, but I'd promised. I
knew it was silly, but I could see myself telling Mum and
then Mary keeling over and dying right in front of me.
'You look a bit doleful, Dixie,' said Uncle Bruce, when
I went into the kitchen. 'What's up? You can tell your
Uncle Bruce, can't you?'
'No, I can't,' I said, sighing.
I heard someone moving around in the living room.
'That's Mum!' I said.
I went running in to see her. Mum was hanging onto
a pile of cardboard boxes, her face grey. Sundance was
clutched tight in her other arm.
'Mum?'
'I'm OK, Dixie,' she mumbled.
'You're not. I think you'd better lie down again.'
'No, no. Look, I've got to go upstairs to the bathroom,
sort myself out. Will you help me, lovie?'
'OK, Mum. Here, lean on me. Why don't you let me
take Sundance?'
'No, I've got him,' said Mum.
He was awake now, his eyes wide open. They were a
beautiful clear blue, though the lashes were black, like
his soft tufty hair. He had lovely little arched eyebrows
too, each tiny hair perfect. It seemed astonishing that
he'd been forming in Mum's tummy all this time, all the
delicate differences – soft skin, shiny eyes, downy hair.
'Don't go all moony on me, Dixie! I'm in a bad way,
bleeding,' Mum said impatiently.

128
 'Oh Mum! You've got to go to the hospital!'
'No, love, it's natural. It happens after you have a baby.
I'll be all right.'
'Uncle Bruce could take you, just to make sure.'
'No! I'm not going back to that hospital. I'll be fine. I
just need a bath. Now, let me lean on you.'
Mum shuffled along, Sundance still clutched tight.
Halfway up the stairs Martine heard us and came
running.
'Come on, Mum. I'll help you,' she said, dropping her
brush and pail. 'I've just cleaned the bathroom.'
'Thanks, darling,' Mum said weakly. She leaned
against the wall. 'Oh God, everything's spinning.'
'Look, I'll help you into the bath, come on,' said
Martine. 'Dixie, take the baby.'
'No! No, I must keep him,' said Mum, swaying.
'Yeah, right, and you're going to drop him on his head
any minute, so how daft is that!' said Martine. 'Dixie,
take him!'
I hooked little Sundance out of Mum's arms. She stag-
gered into the bathroom with Martine. I heard them
murmuring together, the bath running.
I looked down at my little brother. He was surpris-
ingly heavy for such a tiny baby. He was warm and
wriggly . . . and very very wet. He'd wee'd right through
his nappy and his little blue sleeping suit. Even his
shawl had started to get soggy.
He started snuffling, mewing softly like a kitten.
'It's uncomfy, isn't it?' I whispered. 'I'm going to get
you sorted out, little brother.'
I carried him very carefully downstairs, checking every
step as I went. I could feel Sundance tensing inside his

129
shawl. 'Don't worry, darling,' I whispered. 'I'm your big
sister Dixie. I'll look after you.'
I carried him into the crowded living room and put
him down very gently on Mum's mattress. I spread a
towel under him, just in case, and found the pack of
nappies and a box of tissues and some baby cream.
'There!' I said, proud of myself. 'OK, little boy, we'll
soon have you clean and dry and happy.'
I unravelled the shawl carefully, as if I was unwrapping
a very special present. Sundance kicked his damp legs
happily. I caught hold of his dear little feet.
'I think you really are going to be a footballer,' I said.
I unpopped his sleeping suit and peeled his little legs
free.
'There! That's good, isn't it? Oh, you're so cute,' I
crooned. 'Now, we've just got to get your gungy wet nappy
off. Hold still a minute, there's a good boy'
I tugged the plastic ties undone and cautiously pulled
the nappy away from his bottom.
Then I stared.
I looked for Sundance's little willy.
He didn't have one.
He wasn't a baby boy.
He was quite unmistakably a little girl.
 11

I didn't know what to do. I kept blinking at Sundance's

little bare bottom, hoping it would rearrange itself in
front of my eyes.
Sundance was a boy. Mum had known right from the
start. She'd consulted her star charts, read the tarot,
dangled rings above her stomach, gazed into her crystal
ball. Jude had scoffed – but then Mum went to the
hospital for her scan and they confirmed it. She was
definitely having a baby boy.
Mum had bought a pair of little blue booties that very
day. She'd stuck them on the ends of her fingers and
made them dance up and down her tummy. She'd had
a little baby boy. She'd said so. She'd called him her
little son.
Perhaps the hospital had made a terrible mistake and
mixed up the babies. Maybe my little brother Sundance
had been whisked away by the wrong mother, leaving
this dark little changeling girl by mistake.
'Who are you?' I whispered to the baby.

131
 She didn't know. She kicked her tiny legs, her little
feet arching, her toes so weeny, each tipped by the tiniest
slither of nail. Her bottom looked very bare indeed as
she lay there, flat on her back.
I got her a clean nappy and covered her up with it. I
thought about finding her another sleeping suit as the
legs were damp, but then Mum would know for sure that
I'd undressed her.
I bundled her back into the damp leggings and
wrapped the shawl round her. She didn't seem to mind.
I looked at the wet nappy, not knowing what to do with
it. I couldn't let Mum find it.
I gazed around the crowded room desperately.
Rochelle's fancy white dressing table with the little gilt
handles was right in front of me. She'd seen it at a car
boot sale and nagged Mum rotten until she bought it for
her. I opened the top drawer quickly and shoved the
sopping nappy inside. Then I picked the baby up and
held her against my thudding heart.
I didn't know what to do. I wished Jude hadn't sloped
off. I heard Bruce whistling in the kitchen and wondered
about telling him, but it seemed too extraordinary, too
personal, too strange. I was already starting to wonder
if I could possibly have been mistaken. I didn't know
much about babies after all. I'd never seen a baby boy
naked. Maybe they had very tiny willies at that age and
I'd simply not noticed it. I wanted to undress the baby
all over again to have another look but I could hear
Martine murmuring above my head and I wasn't sure
how long they were going to be.
I sat cross-legged on the mattress, holding the baby
in my arms. 'Are you my sister?'

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 She looked at me with her strange blue eyes as if she
understood, but couldn't tell me one way or the other.
Then Mum and Martine came back, Mum a little pinker
now and wearing her rose-red silky nightie and black
embroidered kimono, trying to look pretty. Her hair was
wet and tied back in a ponytail. She usually looked very
young when she tied her hair back – schoolgirly, like our
sister instead of our mum. But today she looked like an
old lady.
She looked at me anxiously. 'Is Sundance asleep?'
'Nearly.'
'I'll feed him in a little while, get him changed, and
then we can both have a nap,' said Mum. 'Give him here,
Dixie. You two girls run along. Thank you, Martine. I
feel a new woman now.'
We settled Mum down on the mattress and then went
out into the hall together. Martine was shaking.
'I had to bath her,' she said. 'She's in such a state. Her
tummy's all saggy and flabby still. I thought they just
snapped back into place. And her boobs are all swollen.
They look awful. She looks awful.'
'No she doesn't,' I said, because it seemed so mean to
agree.
Martine was holding her own flat stomach, shaking
her head. 'It's so stupid. Why does it have to be so messy
and painful? Why can't we be like kangaroos and have
babies the size of baked beans that just crawl up into a
pocket in our stomachs?'
We both thought about it – and shuddered.
'Yuck,' I said.
'Yes, OK, bad idea,' said Martine, giggling, though she
looked as if she might start crying instead.

133
 I swallowed. 'Martine. Martine, I've got to tell you
something,' I said.
'Not now, Dixie. I need to phone Tony.'
'But it's important. It's about the baby.'
'Yeah, well, tell me later, Dixie,' said Martine, running
up the stairs, dialling as she went.
I was about to trail after her when there was a knock
at the door. I went rushing to open it, hoping it was Jude.
It was Rochelle, jumping up and down in her suede
heels, sparkling like a real diamond.
'Guess what, guess what, guess what!' she said.
'You'll never guess,' I said. 'Rochelle, come here.' I
seized her by the arm and marched her past the living
room, making ssh! gestures.
'Ah. Yes. Better not tell Mum. You won't tell, Dixie,
will you?' Rochelle whispered urgently.
'Tell what?'
'I've got a boyfriend!' said Rochelle, and she twirled
around, shaking her head wildly so that her long blonde
curls flew up in a glorious golden halo.
'You what? Yeah, like you've stared at some boy and
he's waved at you,' I said.
'No, really. I've got a date. Tonight. A real date, outside
McDonald's. We'll maybe go for a drink later.'
'In a pub? As if they'd let you in – you're only twelve!'
'I'm nearly thirteen. He thinks I'm a bit older anyway'
'How old is he?'
'Sixteen,' said Rochelle proudly.
'You're mad! You can't go out with a sixteen-year-old.'
I stood still, halfway up the stairs. 'It's not that guy who
had the fight with Jude?'
'Not the big fat one! No, the really cool guy with the

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scarf and the earring. He likes me, Dixie, he really does.
He says I'm much prettier than any of the other girls
on the Planet Estate. He thinks that's why Jude made
such a fool of herself. He says she must be jealous of
me, seeing as I'm the pretty one.'
'Stop showing off!' I said.
'Look, I didn't say I was pretty. Ryan did.'
'That's his name?'
'Yes, isn't it great? Ryan and Rochelle. We sound like
a couple already. And if you count up the letters in our
names and play Love, Like, Hate, Adore, then we both
come out Adore – how about that!'
'You can't adore him, you don't even know him yet.'
'Well, I'm going to get to know him properly tonight,
aren't I?'
'You're not really going on a date with him?'
'I am, I am, I am! Has Brucie Weirdo got the washing
machine working? I need to wash my best jeans.'
'Mum will go mad if she finds out.'
'Well, she won't find out, will she? Unless you tell her.
And you're not going to tell, are you, Dixie?' Rochelle
caught hold of me, her hands digging into my shoulders
like big bird claws. 'You're not to tell Martine either.
You're especially not going to tell Jude. Because if you
do I'm going to take that stupid stuffed budgie and tear
its head off, OK?'
Rochelle gave me a little shake to show she really
meant it. I knew she'd probably tear my head off my
shoulders too.
She went singing into the living room to find her boxes
of clothes. I heard Mum mumbling something crossly,
but Rochelle took no notice. She came out nudging a box

135
across the bare floorboards, holding something wrapped
in newspaper in one hand. Her arm stuck out stiffly, her
face screwed up in disgust.
'Yuck! Dirty nappy alert. What am I going to do with
it? Here, Dixie.' Rochelle tried to pass it on to me. I put
my hands behind my back and dodged, running to Bruce
in the kitchen.
If Mum had changed Sundance then she must have
seen she wasn't a boy. What was she playing at? She
was acting like a crazy person.
'You OK, Dixie?' said Bruce. 'Was that Roxanne having
a go at you? What was she saying?'
'Oh, nothing much.'
'What is it? Are you sure you can't tell your Uncle
Bruce. Spit it out, sweetheart.'
I couldn't spit out all the things that were troubling
me or he'd be dripping from head to foot. I decided on
a minimalist spit.
'Uncle Bruce, what do you do with dirty nappies?' I
remembered there was still one hidden in Rochelle's
dressing-table drawer. I decided it served her right.
'Shall I throw this down the toilet?'
Bruce stopped tapping pipes and stared at me. 'You
must never ever throw them down the toilet, Dixie,' he
said firmly. 'I've got enough to do sorting out this house
without you blocking up the toilets.'
'So what do you do with them?'
'J don't know. It's not a problem I'm used to. Ask your
sisters.'
'They're all busy,' I said.
Then I heard another knock at the door. 'Jude!' I said
joyfully.

136
 I flew to the front door. Then I stopped and stared.
Jude had blood all over her face.
'Jude, what's happened? Mum! Martine! Uncle Bruce!'
'Shut up, Dixie,' said Jude, clapping her hand over my
mouth.
'What have you done? You're bleeding!'
'I'm OK. I've just had a little nosebleed, that's all. Quit
flapping, I'm fine.' She wiped her nose angrily on the
edge of her T-shirt.
'No you're not.' I peered at her furious face. 'It's not
just a nosebleed. Did someone hit you?'
'No! I fell over. Stupid of me. Now shut up about it.'
'I won't shut up! You didn't fall over, someone knocked
you over. Oh Jude, was it that Ryan?'
'Who?'
'The boy Rochelle's nuts about. Oh gosh, I've told! But
if he's beaten you up—'
'No one's beaten me up. Especially not that idiot with
the earring. I could flatten him with one finger.' Jude
sniffed contemptuously. Bubbles of blood came out of her
nose. I gave a little squeal.
'Are you all right, Dixie?' Bruce called from the kitchen.
'What's the matter?'
'Nothing! You mind your own business,' Jude said
fiercely. 'I'm going to wash the blood off.'
'You can't, Rochelle's in the bathroom.'
'Well, she'll have to get out of the bathroom because
I need it,' Jude said thickly.
Bruce came out into the hall. 'Ouch,' he said, looking
at Jude. 'Come into the kitchen. We'll put a wet towel
on your nose – that'll stop it. Come on, Jade.'
'It's bloody Jude,' said Jude.

137
 'Yes, you are bloody, Jude. You're bleeding like a stuck
pig and making a mess of your shirt. Come here,' said
Bruce. He took hold of her by the wrist and pulled.
I thought she'd sock him straight in his sticky-out
teeth. She can't stand anyone pulling her, not even me.
She did struggle for a few seconds, but then she gave in
and let him steer her into the kitchen. She was shiv-
ering now and he patted her gently on the shoulder. He
patted me too.
'Cheer up, chickie,' he said to me. 'We'll soon get your
sister cleaned up.'
He didn't waste time asking how she'd got a bloody
nose. He just fished an old towel out of the kitchen card-
board box, soaked it under the tap and held it firmly
against her nose.
'There we are. Put your head back a bit.' He looked
down at her right hand. The knuckles were bleeding. 'I
think you need something on those knuckles too.'
'Do you think we need to take Jude to hospital, Uncle
Bruce?'
'You Diamonds are turning my van into an ambu-
lance service! No, she'll be fine, nothing to fuss about,
like she said. We'll have a proper squint at that sore
nose once it's stopped bleeding but I don't think she's
broken it. I've got a little first aid kit in the van. I'll
rustle up some arnica to stop the bruising and a spot
of antiseptic for those knuckles. I'm a one-man casualty
department.'
He went off to get them while Jude hid her head in
the towel.
'Isn't Uncle Bruce magic?' I said.
'Bruce is not our blooming uncle,' Jude mumbled from

138
underneath the towel. She sounded as if she might be
crying, though Jude never cries.
'Does it hurt ever so badly?'
'No, I'm fine, I said' Jude insisted.
When Bruce came back she let him mop up the
last of the blood and then gently feel along her nose.
He cleaned her hand too. She winced when he rubbed
antiseptic into the split knuckles but she didn't
complain.
'You're a brave girl,' said Bruce.
'Rubbish,' said Jude. She was still shivering.
'Make us all a cup of tea, Dixie,' said Bruce. 'We'll give
Jude lots of sugar for the shock. And me lots of sugar
because I'm greedy.'
'I'm not in shock,' said Jude.
'You can't help but be in shock when you get beaten
up,' said Bruce.
'I haven't been beaten up,' said Jude. 'No one ever
beats me up. I can look after myself.'
'Yeah?' said Bruce. 'Mmm.'
'Look, all right, these boys had a go at me, but they
took me by surprise. I didn't even see them coming. I
was going up these steps and they kind of ambushed
me. I didn't even know it was happening. They just laid
into me. I did hit one of them. He went sprawling.'
'I should say so,' said Bruce, looking at her knuckles.
'I think he just tripped though. But he looked like he'd
hurt himself.'
'Never mind him. You're the one that's hurt. A gang
of yobs picking on one small girl! I thought I'd made
it clear to that thick bunch to lay off all you Diamond
girls.'

139
 'We don't need you to fight our battles,' Jude said
automatically. She paused. 'But thanks. No, this was a
new gang, a different one.'
'Did they just start hitting you for nothing, Jude?'
'Well, they made out I was on their territory. They call
themselves the Mercury Top Floor Boys – I mean, how
sad is that? I laughed and said they were all plonkers
and they couldn't stop me going wherever I wanted . . .
only they did.'
'Oh Jude, promise you won't ever go there again!' I
begged.
'I'll go where I want. We live on Mercury too,' Jude
said defiantly.
'You'd better learn to defend yourself then,' said Bruce.
Jude jerked away from him. 'I can fight! I can take on
anyone!'
'Jude's famous for fighting,' I said.
'Yes, I can see you could be handy with your fists, girl,
but you need to use your whole body.' Bruce stood up
straight in his baggy T-shirt and saggy trackies. 'OK, I
know I'm not Mr Big Shot Muscleman, but I know what
I'm saying.'
'Which is?'
'When you're in a fight situation and you can't back
down—'
'I never back down.'
'You don't have to meet force with force. You block it.
Go on, try to hit me.'
'I don't think that's a good idea, Uncle Bruce,' I said
quickly.
'Give it a go, Jade,' said Bruce.
'Jude!' said Jude, swinging a punch at him.

140
 Bruce brought his arm up, hand open, and blocked
Jude's punch easily.
'Oh,' said Jude, trying not to look impressed. 'Kung
fu! I suppose you watch all those Bruce Lee films. Your
namesake, eh?'
'I actually took his name,' Bruce said, blushing. 'The
greatest guy with the greatest philosophy on life.'
'Yeah, well, I'm not into all t h a t great-guy stuff,
thanks,' said Jude, jumping up.
'I practise Wing Chun kung fu – and Wing Chun was
a woman,' said Bruce.
'You're kidding!'
'Truly. And because it's the only system devised by a
woman it's especially suited to them. And weedy blokes
like me. It depends on technique, not power. You're like
a coiled spring.'
'Show me,' said Jude, giggling.
'Well, you can't just pick it up in an afternoon, girl.
I've been going to classes for years, and I've read stuff,
seen lots of videos. It's a whole way of life. Still, I can
show you the basic movements.'
Bruce stood in the middle of the kitchen and demon-
strated. He should have looked ridiculous, straddling his
little legs and waving his skinny arms around in his
Simpsons T-shirt, but somehow he looked pretty good. He
didn't hitch his glasses up and down or grin nervously,
hiding his teeth. His face was pure concentration, totally
dignified.
'Wow,' said Jude.
I peered at her anxiously, but she wasn't sending him
up, she was serious. She tried to copy what Bruce was
doing.

141
 'No, no, no. You start like this,' Bruce said. 'OK, the
Horse Stance is the basic position. Stand with your legs
together. Let your arms dangle by your side, nice and
relaxed. Breathe easily. Well, it's meant to be through
the nose but yours is a bit sore and stuffed up right now.
Just do your best. Empty your mind. Let go of all your
thoughts.'
Jude stood obediently, her feet together, arms
dangling. I tried to do it too, but I couldn't empty my
mind. My thoughts buzzed back and forth like bees.
Sundance lay kicking in the middle of my mind, baring
her little girl's bottom.
'I changed Sundance's nappy,' I blurted out.
'Yes, yes, well done, Dixie, but shush now, we're
concentrating.'
'Dixie doesn't know how to concentrate,' said Jude.
She was wrong. I was concentrating so fiercely on
Sundance I couldn't think about anything else, especially
this Horse Stance.
I watched them sliding their heels and standing
pointy-kneed. Bruce told Jude to imagine trapping a goat
between her knees. She didn't giggle. She did her best
to copy him. I saw a big brown billy goat between Bruce's
knees; a little white woolly kid goat trapped between
Jude's. I could smell their strange goaty stink, hear their
indignant bleats. They seemed so real, but I knew they
weren't there, I was just imagining them.
I clutched Bluebell, stroking her beak for comfort. She
fluttered free, fanning her wings to cool my hot face.
No. I was imagining her circling my head in a whirl of
sky-blue. Maybe I was imagining Sundance's lack of
little willy . . .

142
 There was only one way to find out. I left Bruce and
Jude in their weird Horse Stances and tiptoed into the
living room. Mum was lying on the mattress, her dark
hair tousled on the pillow. Her eyes were closed.
Sundance was lying beside her, wrapped in the blue
blanket. I crept nearer, holding my breath. I got right
up to the mattress. Mum still didn't stir. Sundance was
sleeping too. I leaned over, hands outstretched. It would
only take two seconds to unpop the little legs of the
sleeping suit and open up the nappy. I flexed my fingers,
willing them to work nimbly.
I grabbed the blue blanket.
'Leave your little brother alone!'
I nearly fell right on top of Sundance and smothered
him. Mum propped herself up on her elbows, glaring at
me.
'I told you to leave him be, Dixie!' she hissed.
'I'm sorry, Mum.'
'So you should be! Now push off and leave us in peace.'
'Yes, Mum,' I said.
I started crying as I backed out of the room, bumping
into all the furniture.
'Oh for Gawd's sake, stop that,' said Mum. 'I should
be the one who's howling. I'm lying here like a beached
whale, still all fat and flabby. I've ended up in a rubbish
house at the back of beyond with five kids to care for.
What am I going to do, eh? What have you got to cry
about, Dixie Daydream?'
'Nothing,' I said, sobbing harder.
Sundance snuffled and started crying too.
'There! Now you've woken your little brother and he'll
want another flipping feed.'

143
 Mum sighed deeply and started unbuttoning her top.
She picked Sundance up, still wrapped in the blanket
like a swiss roll. She cradled him, his little downy head
against her big white breast.
'Who's my greedy little darling?' Mum whispered.
'That's my boy. My thirsty little lad. You'll be a one for
the beer when you're older.' Mum looked at me. 'Off you
go then, Dixie. I feel all self-conscious with you staring
at me like that. Dry your eyes, darling. There's nothing
to cry about. You've got a lovely little brother, the most
gorgeous boy in all the world.'
'No he's not,' I sobbed.
Mum frowned at me. 'Yes he is! For God's sake, Dixie,
you're ten years old. You're surely not jealous of your
little brother?'
'But he's not my real brother, Mum.'
'Now what are you on about?' Mum was so indignant
her breasts bounced and Sundance came unlatched. 'Of
course he's your real brother. Like Martine and Jude and
Rochelle are your real sisters. Never mind about the
dads. I'm your mum. I'm his mum. Simple.'
'I know, Mum.'
'You're driving me bonkers, Dixie! You know what?'
Mum asked, trying to start Sundance feeding again.
'Come on, little darling, more drinkies. Don't let your
silly sister put you off. We need to build you up, my lad,
you're such a tiny little boy.'
I knelt down beside Mum. 'He's not a little boy, Mum.
He's a little girl.'
'You what?' said Mum.
'You heard me, Mum. I know. I've seen him. I mean
her. Sundance is a girl.'

144
 'Don't be so stupid!' said Mum. 'Look at him. He's a
boy. Of course he's a little boy.'
'I don't know why you're saying all this, Mum. Let's
look at Sundance then. We'll soon see.'
'Get your hands off him!' Mum shouted. She held
Sundance so tight he got frightened, and started crying.
'Are you OK in there? Can I get you anything?' Bruce
called outside the door. 'Dixie, come in the kitchen with
Jude and me and leave your mum alone.'
'In a minute, Uncle Bruce. I'm helping Mum.'
We heard him go back to the kitchen. Mum clutched
Sundance, rocking backwards and forwards.
'You're a beautiful boy, aren't you, darling? Stupid
stupid Dixie! How could you possibly not be a boy, little
Sundance?'
'Take the nappy off, Mum.'
'You leave him be!'
'Look, Mum!' I said, scrabbling at Sundance's legs,
trying to get hold of the nappy.
'Stop that! I don't want to look. I won't!' said Mum.
'Don't be mad, Mum. You can't pretend Sundance is a
boy!'
'I can!'
'But what are you going to do – hide her bum from
everyone for ever? That's just crazy. What about the baby
clinic? Are you going to dress her in boys' clothes all the
time? What about when she starts nursery? They'll take
her to the boys' toilets in her little trousers and then
what's she going to do? She won't be able to wee standing
up.'
'All right, all right, give it a rest, Dixie. I know I can't
keep her a boy for ever. I just want a few days, that's

145
all. That's not too much to ask, is it? I wanted a boy so
much. Every single symbol and sign showed I was having
a boy – it was in all the charts, all the readings. I was
so sure. I wouldn't ever swap you girls, I love you to bits,
but you know how much I've always wanted a boy.'
'What about the scan, Mum? You said they told you
the baby was a boy.'
'They did, they did. Well. I was sure they would have
done. I so needed the baby to be a boy I didn't want
them to cast any doubts. They're all such know-alls at
these hospitals. That's why I came home just now, as
soon as I could nip out without them noticing. I didn't
want them telling me what to do, talking about my little
girl, my baby daughter. I've got my daughters. I want a
son!' She cradled Sundance, her hand cupped round her
small head.
'She's not a son.'
'Let me pretend for a bit, Dixie. Just for a little while,
to make me happy. I can't bear it that I got it all wrong.
You're my daydream pretender girl. You know what it's
like. Not like the others. Don't tell your sisters!'
'But—'
'You can't tell them, Dixie. They'll think I've gone nuts.'
'I think you've gone nuts.'
'Martine's upset enough as it is, going on about her
blooming Tony. Jude's even stroppier than usual.
Rochelle's acting extra flighty. They can't handle this the
way you and I can. Just give me a few days, Dixie. Please.
Don't tell on me.'
'All right then, Mum. I won't tell.'
Mum burst into tears. 'Oh darling. Thank you. Thank
you so much. You promise, now?'

146
 I found Bruce's hankie and mopped Mum's eyes. 'I
promise,' I said. 'But it's just for a little bit. We'll have
to tell quite soon. But you can pretend for now if it makes
you happy.'
'You're such a good girl to me, Dixie,' Mum said, eyes
brimming again. She held Sundance up and made the
baby's soft cheek brush mine.
'He's giving you a kiss. He loves you so much already,'
Mum whispered. 'You're his favourite big sister.'
 12

Mum stayed stuck on her mattress with Sundance, as

if they were marooned on a desert island. Martine and
Jude and Rochelle came visiting but she sent them
away, saying she was tired and wanted to rest. She
didn't notice Martine had been crying. She didn't notice
Jude had a sore nose. She didn't even notice Rochelle
was all dressed up in her best (damp) jeans and silver
sparkly top.
I was the only one Mum wanted. She let me make her
a cup of tea, she let me help her to the loo, she let me
fetch Sundance's clean nappies. She even let me stay
while she changed her, though she kept her back to me,
bending over Sundance, blocking her blatant little-girl
bottom from my view.
'I'll give him a little feed now,' said Mum. 'You go off
and play for a bit, Dixie. You've been such a good girl.'
I felt too grown up and important to play. It was so
lovely to feel I was the chosen one, Mum's favourite.
Sundance liked me too. I was good with babies. Maybe

148
I'd be a nursery nurse when I was grown up. No, I'd
have my own nursery, and all the babies would have
little white rocking cots with red and green and yellow
and purple blankets so no one would know whether they
were boys or girls. They'd have mobiles hanging above
each cot, little birds flying round and round, and the
babies would reach up with their little fat fists to try to
catch them.
I'd feed them and change them and they'd all have a
bath together in a special big shallow baby bath and
then I'd cuddle them all in a huge white towel and tickle
their tummies and play piggies with their tiny toes. I'd
be Nurse Dixie and every single baby would love me and
stop crying the minute I picked them up.
I thought about Mary. I wanted to stop her crying too.
She didn't know how to play properly and have fun. She
seemed worried about spoiling that scary baby doll. I
thought about my old Barbies. They'd nearly all torn
their clothes and they had skinhead haircuts and perma-
nent gel pen tattoos. Maybe Mary could have a good
game with them. It wouldn't matter in the slightest if
they got spoilt.
I rummaged in my box and seized a handful of them.
Rochelle was in the kitchen, trying to brush her red
suede shoes.
'Got fed up playing real babies?' she said. 'Now we're
back to normal and little braindead Dixie's playing
dollies.'
'I'm not going to be playing with them,' I said haugh-
tily. 'I thought my friend Mary might like them. I'm
going to show her how to play'
'Who do you think you are, Mary blooming Poppins?'

149
said Rochelle. 'And actually, they're not your Barbies,
they're mine, and you haven't half ruined them! What's
happened to their hair? Have you cut it all off?'
'You shut up, or I'll cut your hair off,' I said, and then
I rushed out the back door quick before she could get
me.
I hitched myself up on the wall, the Barbies clutched
in one hand like a weird bouquet. Mary wasn't on the
swing. The baby doll wasn't there in its buggy. The
garden was empty.
I sat on the wall, swinging my legs. I waited. Then I
got fed up with waiting. I decided it would be fun to
arrange the Barbies in a little circle just inside Mary's
gate, with their right arms all raised as if they were
waving to her. She'd have a little laugh when she found
them.
I jumped over my wall, crossed the alley, carefully
opened the stiff latch and crept inside. I squatted down
by the gate and propped each Barbie up against it, their
hands up. They looked much dirtier in Mary's garden,
their haircuts more brutal. I'd tipped all their breasts
with red felt pen and now I wished I hadn't. I licked my
finger and tried rubbing their chests hard to get it off.
'What are you up to, eh?'
I was so startled I fell backwards on my bottom. I
looked up, scarlet in the face. A man was staring down
at me. He had huge scary scissors in his hand. I gave a
little squeal.
'Hey, hey, it's all right. Don't be frightened!' He saw
me looking at the awful scissors and dropped them on
the grass. 'It's all right, they're just my pruning shears.
My little girl doesn't like them either.'

150
 'You're Mary's dad?' I said.
'You know my Mary?'
I nodded, but I didn't say she was my friend. I didn't
want to get her into trouble. But he was smiling at me
now. He bent down and helped pull me up. The Barbies
trembled and then fainted simultaneously.
'Are these your dollies? Why were you putting them
in my garden? What are they, Pretty Maids all in a row?'
'I thought Mary might like to play with them,' I
whispered.
'What a nice thought,' he said, though he looked at
the Barbies a bit doubtfully.
'Can I see her?'
'Well, I think she's finishing her tea right now,' he said.
'She's a bit of a picky eater, our Mary. She's in trouble
with her mum for not eating her crusts. Do you eat your
crusts?'
I nodded, though I was fibbing.
He took a deep breath. 'Well, why don't you come in
and show Mary a good example, eh?'
I gathered up the swooning Barbies and trotted along
beside him, up the green striped lawn to the patio. He
paused at their back door.
'Wipe your feet, dear. My wife's a bit particular. Very
very houseproud.' He took his own gardening shoes off
and walked indoors in his fluffy socks. I followed him
on tiptoe.
I couldn't believe their house. Their kitchen looked
like it was still in a showroom, brand new and pin-neat,
every pan in place and shining like a little sun. The
kitchen table was scrubbed clean and totally bare. They
didn't eat in there.

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 They had a special dining room where they had their
tea. It was rose-pink with dark gleaming furniture. The
dining-room table had a fancy white cloth on it, its
scalloped edges stiff with embroidery. It was still set for
tea time, with special rosy plates and cups and saucers.
There was a big plate containing a few sandwiches,
another plate of chocolate biscuits and a third plate with
a big iced sponge cake topped with cherries. There were
a couple of slices missing, so I could see the thick jam
and buttercream. My mouth started watering.
Mary was sitting up very straight, a plate of four crusts
in front of her. They were in a square, like a frame
without a picture. Mary's mother was standing beside
her, arms folded, her mouth in a straight line. They both
looked astonished to see me.
'Not you again!' said Mary's mother.
'I invited her in, love,' said Mary's dad. 'She's brought
a little present for our Mary, isn't that nice of her?'
Mary's mother looked at my Barbies as if they were
cockroaches. 'Yes, very nice, but Mary has her own dolls,
dear,' she said. 'She doesn't want yours.'
There was a cabinet of dolls right behind her. They
were dressed like old-fashioned little girls in pink and
lilac and lemon smocked dresses, with flouncy petti-
coats and white socks and tiny black patent shoes.
They all had pink cheeks and dimples and were smiling
widely, showing off their little pearly teeth. Some had
glossy ringlets and ribbons, some had short curls and
heart-shaped hairslides, some had very neat nylon
plaits.
'Are they Mary's dolls?' I asked, awed.
'Good heavens, no. They're my dolls, my Dimpled

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Darlings special collection. They're collector's items,' said
Mary's mother.
I couldn't help thinking she'd like to keep Mary in a
cabinet too, squeaky clean and dusted, dimples perma-
nently in place. Mary was blinking at me, nibbling her lip.
'I've come to tea!' I said, trying to reassure her.
Mary's mother frowned. 'Not today, dear. Off you run
now. And take your dollies with you.'
'I asked her, love,' said Mary's dad. 'I thought it might
help our Mary learn to eat up her crusts. Sit yourself
down then. What's your name?'
'Dixie.'
'Wait a minute . . . Dixie,' said Mary's mum. She said
my name as if it was a rude word. She thrust a glossy
magazine on the pink and white striped seat of the dining
chair, as if she thought my bottom would sully it. The
magazine felt cold and uncomfy and it crackled whenever
I moved. I fidgeted from buttock to buttock, not sure
whether I should help myself to a sandwich or not. At
home you just grabbed, but everything was so different
in Mary's house.
Mary's mother offered me the plate, making it like a
little ritual. I took two sandwiches, one in each hand,
so she wouldn't have to go through the whole rigmarole
again. She frowned at me, so I guessed this was a
mistake. I ate the sandwiches quickly, taking alternate
bites. One was cream cheese and cucumber, the other
some sort of fishy stuff with green leafy bits. They
weren't very nice.
'Oh, yummy,' I said politely. 'Look, Mary, I'm eating
my crusts all up.'
They were quite hard crusts, with a burnt taste. I

153
could see how they'd stick in your throat and stop you
swallowing. I chewed hard but the crusts took ages to
turn into mush. My teeth were all gummed up with them.
I'd simply spit them out at home but this obviously wasn't
an option.
'The crusts are extra yummy, Mary,' I mumbled
through my mouthful.
Mary looked at me forlornly. I felt like I was betraying
her.
'Don't worry, I never ate crusts when I was your age
though,' I said.
'Are you going to eat your crusts now, Mary?' said her
dad.
Mary nodded, but when she tried poking a crust into
her mouth I saw her shudder and retch. The crust slid
out of her mouth, slippery and revolting.
'Dear, dear, Mary,' said her mother. She said it softly,
but it sounded like a threat.
'Would you like a slice of cake now, Dixie?' said Mary's
dad.
'Oooh yes. Please!' I said. I glanced at Mary. 'Can she
have cake now too?'
'Yes, of course she can have some cake. In a minute.
When she's eaten up those crusts,' said Mary's mum.
I ate a slice of cake. It was lovely, but I couldn't enjoy
it. I wolfed it down to get rid of it, and choked, spraying
crumbs everywhere. I felt myself going red again. 'Can
I have a drink of water?' I gasped.
I didn't really need it. I thought if Mary's mum went
to get it I'd have a chance to grab Mary's crusts off her
plate and gobble them up for her. But Mary's dad went
to get it. Mary's mum stood over Mary like a jailer.

154
 'You'd better run along now, dear. Perhaps you'd like to
take a slice of sponge for your sister?' She smiled graciously.
'Dixie's got three sisters,' Mary whispered.
Four, I thought.
Mary's mother made me up a paper napkin parcel of
cake. 'Four slices,' she said.
'It's home-made,' said Mary's father proudly. 'Not many
women find time to bake their own cakes nowadays.'
Mary's mother simpered and smoothed her blonde
curls. She seemed so pretty and so sweet but she couldn't
fool me.
I stood up to go. I swallowed hard. 'Mary's not going
to get smacked for not eating her crusts, is she?' I said.
Mary's mother frowned. Her dad looked shocked.
'We don't ever smack our Mary,' he said.
'Whatever gave you that idea?' said Mary's mother.
I looked at Mary helplessly but kept my mouth shut.
Mary's dad ushered me out the dining room, back down
the hall, through the spotless kitchen to the back garden.
'Mary can be a bit stubborn at times, I'm told. "Mary
Mary, quite contrary," like the nursery rhyme. Oh, you
forgot your dollies. I think it's best you take them home,
dear.'
I ran back to the dining room where I'd dropped them.
Mary and her mum were still at the table. Mary's mum
was pinching Mary's nose so that her mouth fell open.
She rammed the crusts right down her throat, so hard
that Mary's head jerked backwards.
I gasped in terror. Mary's mum straightened up. She
smiled at me.
'There!' she said. 'Mary's eaten up all her crusts like
a good girl.'

155
 Mary sat still, tears streaming down her face, her
cheeks bulging with crusts. I went to run for Mary's dad.
He was standing behind me.
'Well done, Mary,' he said.
I didn't know if he'd seen or not. I knew there was no
point in telling.
I grabbed my Barbies and then ran back to my own
house. I threw the cake under a bush in the garden. I
kept shaking my head, trying to pretend it hadn't
happened. I didn't know what to do.
I went running to Mum.
'Here's my little helper,' said Mum. 'Are you hungry,
sweetheart? Your best pal Bruce has gone off to get us
all pizzas.'
'Mum . . .'
'What?'
'Why are some mums so horrid?'
'Do what, love? You mean me?'
'No!'
'Some of those nosy interfering cows back at
Bletch worth used to say I wasn't a good mum. One of
them even called in the social workers when you were
little, thinking I wasn't feeding you proper. Blooming
cheek! I didn't half give her an earful.'
Sundance started whimpering in Mum's arms.
'What's up with you, darling? More milky? There's
nothing wrong with your appetite, is there? You'd feed
all the time, wouldn't you, my son? What a little greedy
guts! Still, that's boys for you.'
I backed away from Mum. I hated her going on like
that. Mums weren't supposed to pretend.
'Are you feeling OK, Dixie?' said Bruce, when I only

156
nibbled at the edge of the giant pizza he'd bought for tea.
'I'm fine,' I lied.
Martine wasn't hungry either. She only ate half a slice
of pizza, picking out button mushrooms and slices of
tomato and peppers and arranging them on her plate:
two mushroom eyes, a blobby pepper nose, a grinning
tomato mouth, making a weird baby face. It was the sort
of game I usually played.
'Stop playing with your food and eat the flipping thing,'
I said in Mum's voice.
Martine didn't laugh.
Rochelle didn't eat much either, because she was
hoping Ryan would treat her at McDonald's.
'You girls are so picky,' said Bruce.
'I'm not,' said Jude. She wolfed slice after slice, scarcely
swallowing.
'Well, you've been working hard,' said Bruce.
Jude grinned at him. 'Do you think I'm any good at
Wing Chun?'
'You know you are. You're a natural,' said Bruce.
He thrust his clenched fist towards her chest and she
immediately blocked it. They both laughed.
'You shouldn't encourage her,' said Martine. 'She'll only
get in more fights, and the boys round here are really
scary. They probably carry knives.'
'They're not all scary. Some are pretty cool looking,'
said Rochelle.
Jude frowned at her. 'You're such a fool, Rochelle. Why
are you all tarted up, eh? Where are you going?'
'Just because you like to dress like a scruff doesn't
mean we all have to do the same. I felt like putting on
my decent clothes, OK?'

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 'You look a sight. You've got half a vat of make-up
smeared all over your face.'
'Take a look in the mirror if you want a real fright,'
said Rochelle. 'I'm off.'
'You're not going out, Rochelle. Martine, stop her,' said
Jude.
Martine wasn't paying attention. She was texting Tony,
her finger going stab stab stab at the buttons on her
phone. Jude yelled at her. Martine sighed.
'You stop her, Jude. I've got other stuff to think about.'
'You're the eldest.'
'I'm not going to be here much longer. Then you'll be
the eldest. See how you like it.' Martine marched off
upstairs, still texting.
'OK, I'm in charge now,' said Jude. 'You're not allowed
out the house, Rochelle, do you hear me?'
'I hear you. I can hardly help hearing you, you're
bellowing right in my ear,' said Rochelle. 'But I don't
have to do what you say.'
'She's talking sense, Roxanne,' said Bruce. 'You can't
go off by yourself. You're not old enough.'
Rochelle stood up, tossing back her golden curls.
'Number one – my name is Rochelle. Number two – I'm
a teenager, very nearly, and can do what I please.
Number three – you certainly can't boss me about, Mr
Weirdo Guy.' She flounced out of the room.
'I'll tell Mum,' Jude called.
'And I'll tell Mum you've been fighting,' Rochelle yelled.
She slammed right out of the front door, banging it
hard. There was a second of silence. Then we heard the
baby start wailing.
'Shall we tell Mum?' I asked.

158
 'I think so,' said Jude.
'I know so,' said Bruce. 'I'll tell her, and then I'd better
go after Miss Fancy Pants, though she certainly won't
thank me for it.'
He knocked on the living-room door and then tried to
go in. Mum was starting to change Sundance. She told
Bruce to go away. She used short, sharp words.
Bruce looked very put out when he came back. 'Your
mum was very rude to me,' he said.
'She's not herself,' I said quickly.
'I'm only trying to help,' said Bruce. 'Roxanne –
Rochelle – whatever – shouldn't be strutting round an
estate like this all by herself. Look what happened to
Jude, and she's older and got a lot more sense.'
Jude looked pleased at this. 'Let's go after her in your
van, Bruce.'
I went with them. We drove up and down Mercury
Street. Our end was the worst, with many of the houses
boarded up. Some of the houses at the other end had
curtains at the windows and neat grass at the front.
Several even had flowers and little white picket fences.
'Maybe it's not too bad round here after all,' said Bruce.
Then he drove through the tower-block entrance. We
looked up at the stained concrete and rusted railings,
up and up and up, to the very top.
'I wonder if you can get out on the roof?' said Jude.
'I've just said you were a girl with common sense,' said
Bruce. 'How could you have such a crazy idea?'
'I went up on the roof heaps of times in our old flats,'
said Jude. 'It was my territory.'
Some boys went rattling past on skateboards, bashing
on the van and making rude signs at us.

159
 'It looks like it's their territory, Jude, like it or lump
it. You try going up those stairs again and they'll likely
toss you right over the balcony'
'Wait till I get the hang of this Wing Chun,' Jude
muttered. 'I'll go anywhere I want and no one will dare
lift a finger.'
'Dream on, girl,' said Bruce. 'There's a limit, even with
martial arts. It's fine in the movies – Bruce Lee can take
on any number of opponents and chop-chop-chop-kick
they all go flying. Their weapons hurtle up into the air
and circle back and they get sliced to ribbons with their
own swords. But it's fantasy, Jude. A little game of Let's
Pretend.'
I was playing my own game of Let's Pretend. I played
Bruce was our real uncle and he was taking us out for a
drive in his van and we were going to Disneyland, a brand-
new one conveniently situated down the road and round
the corner. We'd hurtle up Space Mountain and whiz round
the Indiana Jones ride and all the other stuff the kids at
my old school showed off about. I'd maybe get a little bit
scared. Uncle Bruce would sit me on his knee and tell me
he'd look after me, and I didn't have to worry about
anything any more. I didn't have to worry about my new
friend Mary, I didn't have to worry about my mum, I didn't
have to worry about any of my sisters – not even my
brand-new baby sister in her blue boys' outfits.
When we were done with all the rides we'd go and
have tea in McDonald's, and Uncle Bruce wouldn't nag
me about eating meat; he'd buy me a portion of french
fries and I'd share them chip for chip with Bluebell.
I thought of Bluebell without her head. I could see the
stuffing, the sad dead body.

160
 I couldn't tell.
But what if something bad really happened to
Rochelle?
'I don't think Rochelle's round here,' I said. 'I have a
feeling she might just be in McDonald's.'
'You have a feeling?' said Jude. 'Oh, Dixie, you're
impossible. Why didn't you say?'
'You hate telltales.'
'Yeah, but that's only if you tell tales on me,' said Jude.
'You must always always always snitch on Rochelle
because she's so stupid she'll get up to anything. So why
McDonald's? Is she meeting someone there? Dixie, tell!'
'She said she'd tear Bluebell's head off if I did,' I said,
clutching Bluebell tight in both hands. I could feel her
small bird-heart beating under her feathers. She gave
tiny cheeps of terror.
'I won't let her, don't worry, Dixie,' said Bruce.
'She is meeting someone?'
I wriggled my shoulders. 'Maybe.'
'But she doesn't know anyone here.' Then Jude clapped
her hand over her mouth. 'Oh God. Not the guy with
the earring, the one I beat up?'
Jude didn't beat up any of them the way I remem-
bered it, but maybe she liked pretending too. I nodded.
'I can't believe she could be such an idiot! And you're
an idiot too, Dixie, keeping quiet about it.'
'Hey, hey, that's unfair! It's not Dixie's fault,' said Bruce.
He drove out of the Mercury block, passing Neptune
and Mars and Saturn and Venus and Jupiter, all as
towering and terrifying. He headed towards the town.
'It's quite a walk. Rochelle was wearing her wibble-
wobble heels. Maybe she won't have got there yet,' said

161
Jude. She reached over and took hold of my hand. 'Sorry,
Dix. Of course it's not your fault.'
'Do you think he might hit her, like the boys hit you,
Jude?'
'No,' said Jude, though she didn't sound sure.
'Might he do worse things?' I whispered.
'Stop it,' said Bruce. 'You're just frightening yourselves.
He's not going to do anything untoward in McDonald's,
for goodness' sake.'
'But he could take her off anywhere afterwards,' said
Jude. 'Can't we go any quicker?'
'It's not going to help if I get done for speeding,' said
Bruce, but he put his foot down on the accelerator.
We drove round the streets in the town centre, Jude
staring at one side, me the other, straining to see the
familiar golden M.
'There it is!' I cried.
Bruce parked the van on a double yellow line while
Jude and I went running inside. There was no sign of
Rochelle. I chewed on my fingers, panicking. Jude
spotted a sign to the seating upstairs. She went rushing
up and up, past the toilets and into the big room above.
I went charging after her.
We saw Rochelle sitting in the corner, side by side with
Ryan. Their heads were close. They were gazing into
each other's eyes. Rochelle had her favourite McFlurry
ice cream but her spoon was poised in mid-air. She was
obviously so entranced she was forgetting all about
eating. Ryan didn't look at all like he wanted to hit her
or hurt her. He was gazing at her as if she was a princess
with a jewelled crown on top of her long fair hair.
Rochelle and Ryan seemed to shine in their own little

162
spotlight, as if the McDonald's yellow arch was giving
out its own golden glow.
I stopped still. I felt we should tiptoe away. Jude
hesitated too, but then she marched over to them.
'Leave my sister alone!' she yelled, though Ryan wasn't
even touching Rochelle.
'Oh God, it's not you again,' said Ryan. 'What your
problem?
'Take no notice of her. She's just my crazy sister,' said
Rochelle. She spotted me hovering in the background.
'And there's my other crazy sister who's going to be very
very sorry she's told on me.'
'Come home at once, Rochelle,' Jude shouted, a little
too loudly. Everyone upstairs in McDonald's was starting
to stare at us.
'We haven't got a home any more,' said Rochelle. 'I don't
want to go back to that messy dump, thanks very much.'
'You're coming home now,' said Jude, tugging at
Rochelle's arm.
'Leave her be!' said Ryan.
'Don't take any notice of her. I suppose she just can't
help being jealous,' said Rochelle smugly.
'How dare you!' said Jude, tugging harder.
Rochelle tried to pull free. Jude hung on grimly.
Rochelle's arm got a little bit twisted. She started
shrieking loudly.
'Don't you dare try to push me about!' said Jude, letting
go of Rochelle. She squared up to Ryan. She did her best
to position herself feet apart, knock-kneed, all set to trap
her goat. 'So you want a fight, do you? Come on, then!'
'I don't want to fight you. I don't fight girls. Especially
not Rochelle's sisters,' said Ryan.

163
 Rochelle fluttered her eyelashes at him adoringly. Jude
was left hovering above them, at a loss.
'Just go home, Jude. I'm fine. Ryan's going to see me
home. I won't be late. There's no need to get so worked
up. You're just making a complete fool of yourself,' said
Rochelle.
'Jude, please, let's go back to Uncle Bruce,' I begged.
'Yes, both of you bog off back to creepy Uncle Weirdo,'
said Rochelle.
'He's not creepy Uncle Weirdo!' I shouted. 'Don't you
dare call him that!'
Rochelle dared say worse things.
I flew at her, beating her chest and pulling her long
golden hair. Rochelle yelled her head off.
'Oi, that's enough! Out of here!' yelled the McDonald's
security guy.
He seized me in one big hand, Jude in the other, and
dragged us both across the room and down the stairs.
Bruce came rushing in the entrance, looking anxious.
'What are you doing with these girls? Don't drag them
like that!' he said to the McDonald's man.
'You should look after your kids properly. Sisters, are
they? Fancy attacking that pretty little girl upstairs!'
'Oh Jude!' said Bruce, shaking his head at her.
'It's the little one who's the real spitfire,' said the
McDonald's man. 'Going at it hell for leather!'
'Dixie?' said Bruce.
Then he saw a traffic warden coming along the road.
'Uh-oh! Quick, or I'll get a ticket. Are you going to let
the girls go now?'
'Well, I don't know about that. I could call the cops.'
'No, wait!' It was Rochelle, running up to us. 'Look,

164
they're crazy, both of them, and I hate them to bits, but
they're my sisters, so you won't actually arrest them,
will you?'
'Oh for pity's sake – look, just go home with your dad,
all of you.'
'He's not our dad!' said Rochelle.
'I'm jolly glad I'm not!' said Bruce. 'Come on, get in
the van quick. You too, Rochelle.'
She argued bitterly, not wanting to leave Ryan.
Jude slammed into the van too, still furious. 'Fat lot
of use learning Wing Chun defence when stupid guys
won't try to hit you,' she muttered.
'Just as well he didn't take a swing at you. You're a
natural, picking things up a treat, but you've got to train
for months and months, girl, I told you that. Maybe we
can find a proper club round here. Perhaps you'd better
join too, Dixie! Were you really fighting?'
'I only fought a little bit,' I said. 'You know you said
you were glad you're not our dad? Well, what about being
our uncle?'
'I'll always want to be your uncle, Dixie, even if you
get into more fights than Lennox Lewis,' said Bruce,
chuckling. 'Just don't take a swing at me, that's all I ask.'
 13

When we got back to Mercury Street I shut my eyes

tight. I wished so hard I thought my head would burst.
I wished that all the houses were whole and neat and
newly painted with flowery gardens. I wished our house
was the brightest and the best, with fairy lights hanging
in the windows, roses rambling round our door, and a
fountain in the front garden with a little marble mermaid
spouting water into a turquoise pool.
I wished our house was beautiful inside, with satin
curtains and velvet sofas and Persian rugs. I wished
we'd find Mum dancing around in her slinky skirt and
stilettos, all bouncy and bubbly, the way she used to
be. I wished we'd find Sundance kicking his little legs
on his blue changing mat, nappy off to show his little
willy. I wished that my dad was there on a visit. He
had a brand-new beautiful cardigan for me, a black one
that wouldn't show the dirt, embroidered all over with
little red hearts to prove how much he loved me. He'd
put it on me and hug me and promise he was going to

166
come and see me every single day for the rest of my
life.
I wished Bluebell was real and flying freely round and
round the garden. I wished Mary could come and play
in our garden too, and run around roaring with laughter,
her hair tumbling over her shoulders, free of those tight
little plaits. I thought of that little blue vein throbbing
in her forehead. I knew I should do something.
'Are you asleep, Dixie?' Bruce asked, patting me on
the shoulder. 'Come on, lovey, out the van. We're home.'
'Do you believe wishes can ever come true, Uncle
Bruce?'
'I'd give anything to make your wishes come true, little
'un, but I'm not magic'
However, Bruce had worked quite a lot of magic in the
house already. It smelled clean and fresh with all his
lovely white lilies and roses and freesias. Mum had stuck
them here and there in the living room, but she'd not
given any further thought to getting it straight. She was
lying back on the mattress with Sundance, furniture and
cardboard boxes still crammed tightly in a ring around
her.
Rochelle and Jude came crowding in, both of them
complaining at the tops of their voices. Mum shut her
eyes as if she was wishing too.
'Mum! Aren't you even listening? Jude just totally
embarrassed me. She behaved like an idiot with Ryan,
and then Dixie started attacking me.'
'This Ryan is years older than Rochelle. She thinks
she's absolutely it because she's got a boyfriend. She
doesn't have a clue. She'll end up a teenage mum if she's
not careful. Tell her, Mum.'

167
 'Shut up, Jude,' said Martine, coming into the room
too. 'What have you done to your nose? Have you been
fighting again? Mum, look at her!'
'Mum, should you tell on someone even if they beg you
not to and say they'd get into trouble?' I asked.
'You should never ever tell. And you're in big big
trouble, you and your stupid bird,' said Rochelle,
snatching up my sleeve.
'Mum! She's got Bluebell!'
'I'll get her back,' Jude yelled, making a grab at
Rochelle.
'Stop shouting, you two, you'll wake the baby. Here,
Mum, you need to lie down properly. I'll mind the baby
for you,' said Martine.
'No!' Mum opened her eyes, blinking in the sudden
brightness. 'You leave him be. He's fine with me. Look,
will you all please push off. You're doing my head in, all
of you. I just want to be left in peace.'
'Don't worry, Sue, I'll get them sorted,' said Bruce.
'I'll sort them. I'm the oldest,' said Martine. 'I don't
know what's up with you, Mum. You went on and on at
me to come to this dump because you said you couldn't
manage without me and yet now you won't let me do a
blessed thing for the baby.'
'You can get some of this furniture shifted and try to
make the place halfway decent. I can't stand lying with
all this rubbish all around me,' said Mum.
'I'm not lifting all that stuff. It's much too heavy. I'll
hurt myself,' said Martine.
'Ooh, precious,' Jude mocked. 'I'll move it, Mum.'
'Who do you think you are, Jude? Ms Supergirl? You
think you're it, don't you, charging round everywhere,

168
throwing your weight about. You might have been looked
up to back at Bletchworth but everyone just laughs at
you here,' said Rochelle.
'Shut up, Rochelle,' I said, grabbing Bluebell back.
'Take no notice, Jude. I'll help with the furniture.'
'You're not shifting anything, Dixie, you're far too
small. You'll be the one who'll hurt herself,' Bruce said
from the doorway. 'Come on, girls, stop plaguing your
mum. She's still not well. Maybe we can try a bit of
teamwork and get the furniture shifted all together.'
'Can I be on your team, Uncle Bruce?' I begged.
'I'm going to be the boss, little 'un, getting you all
organized. It's about time too. You girls all need taking
in hand.'
'Excuse me?' said Mum. 'You're the boss of my daugh-
ters? They need taking in hand, do they? And whose
h a n d would t h a t be, eh? Yours'? What a badword
cheek!' She struggled up off the mattress and went
striding over to him, hands on her hips, her big bosoms
bouncing.
'Now look, Sue, I didn't mean anything,' Bruce said
nervously. 'It was just a figure of speech. I just meant
we needed to sort it out, moving the furniture, seeing
as I daren't do anything daft with my back.'
'You and your bogging back,' said Mum. 'I reckon you
just say that as an excuse because you're bone idle, like
all men. You're fit enough to play silly beggars with my
girls, teaching them this daft kung fu fiddlesticks. As if
they need any encouragement fighting! You want to teach
our Jude how not to fight, you daft pillock.'
Bruce rocked backwards on his feet, blinking behind
his glasses.

169
 'Don't get upset, Uncle Bruce. Mum doesn't really
mean it, she's just in a strop,' I said, taking his hand.
'I am not in a strop, you lippy little madam!' Mum
shouted. 'Stop snuggling up to him, Dixie. He's not your
uncle, he's practically a stranger.'
Bruce let go my hand. 'I was a stranger – and I'd have
been very happy to keep it that way too. I was just
helping out with the van at first, that was the deal. For
a bit of spare cash, although the only cash that's been
spent so far has been my own. But I kind of got sucked
into all this kerfuffle and so I tried to do the decent thing
and help you and your girls. I didn't start the uncle
thing, it was all little Dixie's idea. I was tickled pink as
she's a great little kid. Still, I can see it's upsetting you,
so we'll stop it now. Blow my bad back, I'll do my best
to get your furniture upstairs and then I'll be off. For
good.'
'No!' I wailed, clinging to him.
'Stop that nonsense, Dixie, you're showing me up,'
Mum snapped. 'You're just being silly now.'
I looked Mum straight in the eyes. 'You're being silly
too, Mum,' I said. I looked over at little Sundance aban-
doned on the mattress.
Mum looked too. She suddenly shut up. 'My baby,' she
whispered, and went back to the mattress. She cradled
Sundance, kissing the tufty hair.
Martine and Jude and Rochelle shook their heads in
disbelief. Mum was usually incapable of shutting up
when she went off on one of her rants. She always yelled
herself hoarse and then she'd burst into noisy tears and
give us all a hug and say she was a bad-tempered old
bag and the worst mum in the world and we'd all be

170
better off in care. Then we'd hug her back and tell her
she was the best mum in the world and we didn't want
to live with anyone else but her even if she was a bad-
tempered old bag.
'Please please please don't go, Uncle Bruce,' I said.
'I have to go back home, Dixie. I've got to be up at
crack of dawn to get to the flower market. But don't
worry, dear, I'll keep in touch, if it's OK with your mum.'
'And you'll still be my uncle?' I asked.
Bruce glanced at Mum. She was rocking the baby, not
bothering with either of us any more.
'If you want,' he whispered.
'I don't want you to be my soppy old uncle, but I need
you to be my Wing Chun instructor,' said Jude.
'You're on,' said Bruce. 'Come on then, let's get some
of this blessed furniture upstairs. It looks like it's just
you and me doing the heaving and hauling.'
'I would help, but I can't,' said Martine. Her hands
were cupped over her tummy.
'You got a stomach ache then?' said Jude.
'Yeah,' Martine said quickly.
'Yeah, me too,' said Rochelle.
'Rubbish!' I said.
'Fat lot you know about it, Dixie,' said Rochelle.
'Well OK, I'll help,' I said. 'I can, I can, I'm much
stronger than I look, Uncle Bruce.' I took off my cardie
and flexed my arms to show him.
'You've got muscles like little peanuts, sweetheart,'
said Bruce. He rolled his own sleeves up in a businesslike
fashion. He couldn't help flexing his own muscles
proudly. It looked like he had an orange inside each
skinny arm.

171
 'Wow, Mr Body Builder!' said Jude. 'That's not from
Wing Chun, is it?'
'I did use to go down the gym a lot too,' said Bruce.
'Get you, Freda Flowershop,' said Rochelle. 'Hey,
Martine, can I borrow your mobile a sec? I want to text
someone.'
'Not that creep in McDonald's!' said Jude.
'No, you can't have my mobile, I need it,' said Martine.
'What creep?'
'Get out of the way, all of you,' said Jude. 'Why can't
you help, Martine? I know it's not your time of the month,
so don't use that as an excuse.'
'Will you just shut up, Jude! I've got a stomach bug,
if you must know. I feel sick.'
'Rubbish!' said Jude.
'It's not rubbish, Jude, I heard her being sick this
morning,' I said. I was trying to be helpful but Martine
looked horrified.
'Shut up, Dixie. Can't you ever keep your mouth shut?'
she hissed.
'Yeah, she's the biggest telltale-tit ever,' said Rochelle.
'I can keep secrets! I can keep the most amazing
secrets, so you two just shut up yourselves. Just you
wait till you find out my secret!'
'Dixie!' Mum was shouting from the living room. 'Come
in here! I need you. Now!'
'I'll help you, Mum,' said Martine, pushing me out the
way.
'No, Martine, I want Dixie.'
'Oh, all right, then, suit yourself,' said Martine huffily,
flouncing off.
'Please lend us your mobile, Martine,' said Rochelle,

172
running after her. 'Hey, Jude, do my stuff first, eh? I
want to get my room sorted. But be careful, don't bash
it all about. Watch my dressing table, won't you?'
'You watch it or we'll bash you all about, Roxanne,'
said Bruce. 'Don't go giving us your orders. We're not
the removal men. We're doing this as a favour, aren't
we, Jude?'
'Spot on, Bruce,' said Jude.
She dragged Rochelle's bed out of Mum's room, tipping
it on its side. She looked as if she'd like to tip Rochelle
right over too.
'Dixie!' Mum said urgently. 'Come in here. Come
nearer!'
I squatted beside her on the mattress.
'Now look, stop hinting stuff! Your sisters aren't idiots
even though they act like it most of the time. You and
me have a pact, kiddo. You swore you wouldn't breathe
a word.'
'Only for a few days, Mum.'
'A few weeks?'
'That's not going to work, Mum. Imagine pushing
Sundance down the shops in a buggy and people stop-
ping you and doing all that coo-coo ga-ga Is-it-a-boy-
or-a-girl? stuff. You can't say he's a little boy and then
a few weeks later start putting her in a little pink
dress.'
'I won't speak to anyone. They're a load of nutters
and no-hopers round here anyway.' Mum paused.
'Maybe that's me. Ms Nutter No-Hope, who can't
provide for her kids or find one single decent guy to be
their dad. I knew we couldn't stay in Bletchworth for
all sorts of reasons but why did I ever think this dump

173
was the answer? I've just landed us in a worse mess.
I got it all wrong – all the charts, the cards, the crystal
ball. I got my baby wrong wrong wrong. I so wanted a
boy, Dixie. I need my little baby boy. Don't take him
away from me, please, darling. Let me keep him for a
bit longer.'
Mum started crying. Sundance started wailing too,
threshing sadly in her blue blanket. She smelled as if
her nappy needed changing, but Jude and Bruce would
be in and out all the time, shifting the furniture
upstairs.
'Let me take Sundance upstairs to the bathroom and
I'll change her— him' I said. 'Don't cry, Mum. I won't
breathe another word about our secret, I promise.
Sundance can stay a boy for a bit if it'll really make
you happy.'
I picked Sundance up and carried her carefully out of
the room. Jude and Bruce were halfway up the stairs
with Rochelle's bed. Bruce was sweating, his glasses
misting up.
'You be careful, Uncle Bruce,' I said anxiously.
'I'll be OK – if I take it – slowly,' he panted.
Jude hauled, Bruce pushed, and they got the bed to
the top of the stairs.
'I want it under the window,' said Rochelle. 'No, hang
on, maybe it would be better against the wall.'
'You shove it wherever you want it, Lady Muck,' said
Jude. 'Come on, Bruce, mate. Are you all right?'
'Sure,' said Bruce, though he was leaning against the
wall, trying to catch his breath.
'Leave Rochelle's stuff. You go and have a sit down,
Uncle Bruce. You look done in,' I said.

174
 He just chuckled at me and walked stiffly downstairs.
I took Sundance into the bathroom and gingerly
unpeeled her. She wasn't just wet. It was far worse than
I'd imagined. I didn't know what to do.
'Please hurry up and get toilet trained,' I said to my
little sister, rolling my cardie sleeves right up.
I tore off a wad of loo roll, seized her by the ankles
and started dabbing at her. I dabbed and dabbed and
dabbed. I wondered if it would be better to give her a
bath. I didn't know how you bathed a baby. She was
so little. I was scared I might drop her if she was all
slippery with soap. Her head was too wobbly and she
wriggled too much.
I managed the best I could, and then squidged the
dirty nappy into a plastic carrier bag.
'There now, little Sundance. All clean and dry. Try to
stay that way, eh? You're a lovely little baby but I wish
you didn't have a bottom.'
It would be so easy if Sundance was like a little doll
with smooth plastic instead of rude bits. Then she'd
never need to be changed and no one would ever find
out she was a little girl. Mum could play she was her
special boy and no one would know any different. If no
one had bottoms we could choose which sex we wanted
to be all the time we were growing up. I could have been
a boy, then I could always be Mum's favourite. Jude
would be a boy too, even though she didn't seem to like
them. Rochelle loved boys but I couldn't imagine her as
anything else but the girliest girl. Martine was very girly
too, even when she dressed up in Tony's big T-shirts or
his black leather jacket.
I heard Jude and Bruce struggling back up the stairs.

175
I picked Sundance up and took her to watch from the
landing. They were hauling Rochelle's unwieldy dressing
table, both of them cursing as the drawers rattled and
slid about.
'We should have taken the drawers out first,' Bruce
gasped. 'I'm not thinking straight. Here, if we prop it
against the wall can you balance it for a moment?
Then I can edge up beside you and deal with the
drawers.'
'What's she got in here? Something stinks!' said Jude.
As if in answer, the bottom drawer shot out.
Sundance's first dirty nappy flew threw the air. It landed
on poor Bruce's head.
He dodged sideways, shaking his head, still trying to
hang onto the dressing table. Then he yelled. It was a
horrible, high-pitched scream.
'Uncle Bruce!' I went hurtling down the stairs,
clutching Sundance to my chest.
'Here, Bruce, I've got the poxy dressing table safe,' said
Jude, heaving it away from him.
Bruce crouched on the stairs, back bent over.
'Uncle Bruce, are you all right?' I called.
'You can straighten up now, Bruce,' said Jude.
Bruce wasn't all right. He couldn't straighten up.
'I've done my back in,' he groaned.
'Was that my dressing table? Watch it, Jude, don't
budge it against the wall like that, it'll get scratched,'
Rochelle shouted.
She shut up when she got to the stairs and saw Bruce.
'Did someone fall?' Martine called, coming to check.
'Oh my God! Sundance? Dixie, have you dropped
him?' Mum yelled. She came rushing out into the hall,

176
her long black hair flying. Her big bosoms were nearly
flopping right out of her nightie as she ran.
'Sundance is fine, Mum. I've got him. It's Uncle Bruce.
He's hurt himself – and it's all my fault!' I said, starting
to cry.
'Not – your fault – Dixie,' Bruce mumbled, still bent
double.
'It was, it was! I stuffed the nappy in Rochelle's
dressing table.'
'You did what?' said Rochelle. 'How could you, Dixie!
How totally disgustingly mean of you!'
'Shut up, Rochelle, and help me get your bogging
dressing table upstairs before I drop it,' said Jude.
'Are you all right, Bruce, mate?' said Mum. 'Maybe
you'd better take it easy now.'
Bruce tried to shake his head totally free of the
horrible nappy. He screamed again. 'Don't think – I've
got – much choice,' he gasped. 'Can't move!'
'What? Of course you can move,' said Mum. 'Here, we'll
get you up again. Martine, squeeze past J u d e and
Rochelle and help haul him up.'
'I can't haul,' said Martine.
'I will, I will! Take my hand, Uncle Bruce.' I flipped
the last bit of nappy from his hair and held both his
hands. 'Try now.'
'OK, little 'un. Give me a second – to get my breath.
Then we'll see – if you can get – silly old uncle – back
on his feet.'
I waited. We all waited. Bruce strained until the sweat
stood out on his forehead but he couldn't stand up. He
could barely move.
Jude and Martine sat on the steps above him. Mum

177
and I paced below him in the hall. Rochelle clattered about
upstairs, dragging her furniture around in her room.
'Can't you come and help me, Jude? I've decided to
have my bed over here.'
'Bog off, Rochelle. If you'd only lent a hand getting
your stuff upstairs poor Bruce wouldn't be crippled up
right this minute,' said Jude.
'Don't say crippled, it sounds too bloody permanent,'
Mum said. She walked over to Bruce. 'What are we going
to do with you, mate? Are you going to stay stuck here
on the stairs for ever like a blooming carpet?'
'It's not – by choice,' Bruce mumbled.
'Come on then, stir yourself,' said Mum. 'Help me pull
him, girls.'
'Don't, Mum, you'll hurt him.'
'Dixie, he can't stay here for ever. Right, Bruce, get a
grip.'
We shoved, Bruce screamed. We hauled, Bruce
hollered. We couldn't get him upright, but we did get
him halfway there, his bottom in the air. Very very
slowly, he managed to clamber down like a toddler.
When he got to the hallway at long last he stayed in
a crouch.
'Straighten up,' said Mum.
'I would if I could. I can't!' said Bruce.
'Oh Gawd, what are we going to do with you now?
said Mum.
'Should we get a doctor?' I said.
'We don't want any doctors snooping round here,' Mum
said quickly. 'Anyway, we haven't got a doctor. I doubt
anyone decent would dare come out to the Planet Estate.
All the druggies would be after them.'

178
 'I don't – need doctor,' said Bruce, teeth gritted. 'They
can't – do anything. Just need – to rest – flat on back
– till it's better.'
'How, long will that take then?' said Mum. 'A couple
of hours?'
'A couple – of days – sometimes longer,' Bruce gasped.
'Oh! Well, looks like we've got an overnight guest,
girls,' said Mum.
'No! No, I can't! Got to get home – sort the shop. If I
can – make it to my van.'
Bruce tried his best but he couldn't even hobble as far
as the front door. He jarred his back so badly that tears
started trickling down his cheeks.
'Oh, poor Uncle Bruce. Look, you need to lie down
now,' I said, steering him into the living room.
'Not in there, Dixie! That's my room now,' said Mum.
'It's the only room,' said Jude. 'He'll have to go in there,
Mum.'
We pulled and prodded him in and out the furniture
and then very gently pushed him down onto the big
mattress.
'No! No, that's my mattress!' Mum protested. 'You can't
settle down there! Get off it, Bruce.'
But Bruce was on it now, lying flat on his back like a
dead man, trying not to move a muscle.
'Oh, thanks very much, mate!' said Mum.
'I did warn you – about my back,' Bruce whispered.
'OK, OK. I'm sorry,' said Mum. 'Well, as you've comman-
deered my mattress I suppose my boy and I will have to
relocate upstairs.'
Mum summoned Jude and Martine and Rochelle and
told them to take her stuff up to the bedroom.

179
 'Look, Mum, I've done my fair share of lifting. My back
hurts too,' said Jude.
'I told you, Mum, I can't lift things, I truly can't,' said
Martine.
'I'm going out anyway,' said Rochelle.
'Oh no you're not,' said Mum. 'Well, thanks a bunch,
girls. You're a dead helpful lot. Well, to hell with you. I
need a bed if Bruce here is going to be stuck on mine.
Rochelle's is upstairs already so I'll take that.'
'You can't, Mum! Where will J sleep?'
'You'll have to share with Martine.'
'That's not fair, Mum. I can't squash up with her. Let
Dixie share, she's the littlest. Look, please please please
let me go out, just for a bit. I want to see Ryan and
explain that my sisters are idiots.'
'You're the idiot, having anything to do with that creep,'
said Jude.
There was a big argument between Mum and Rochelle
and Jude and Martine. I went and sat next to Bruce on
the mattress, Sundance in my arms. Bruce had his eyes
shut.
'Have you gone to sleep, Uncle Bruce?' I whispered.
'Chance would be a fine thing, with my back giving
me merry hell and all that argy-bargy going on in the
hall. Do they go on like this all the time, Dixie?'
'Yep.'
'It's driving me bonkers. Doesn't it get on your nerves?'
'I pretend stuff, like I have my own planet and Bluebell
and I live there all by ourselves. You can come visiting
on Planet Dixie if you like.'
'That's very nice of you,' said Bruce. He tried to look
up at me and whimpered in pain.

180
 Sundance was whimpering too, her little feet tangled
up in her shawl.
'Here, darling, let's set you free,' I said, unwrapping
her. I tickled her tummy and she waved her arms and
legs around in her little blue sleeping suit. 'Hey, look,
Sundance can whiz off to Planet Dixie too – she's already
wearing a little baby spacesuit.'
'She?' said Bruce.
'I mean he,' I said, blushing.
'I'm like a blooming great baby now,' said Bruce,
sighing.
I did wonder what on earth he was going to do about
going to the loo. I thought hard about milk bottles and
vases, though I knew Bruce would find this horribly
embarrassing.
He solved the problem by rolling off the mattress and
creeping, doubled over, to the downstairs toilet. He
couldn't manage to straighten up at all, and he couldn't
bear to sit either. He had to eat lying flat on his back,
taking very tiny mouthfuls so he wouldn't choke. I tucked
tissues all round his neck and found him a straw when
he tried to drink his tea.
'You're a grand little nurse, Dixie,' said Bruce.
'Yeah, I'm good at it, aren't I!' I said, pleased with
myself.
I was still number one nursemaid to Sundance. Mum
got settled into Rochelle's bed upstairs but Sundance
didn't seem to like the change of scenery and yelled.
'I'll see if I can calm him down,' I said grandly, going
upstairs. 'Shall I take him, Mum?'
'Yes, love, walk him round for a bit, see if he'll nod off
then.'

181
 Jude and Rochelle and Martine were all watching.
'It's not fair, Mum – why do you keep choosing Dixie?'
said Rochelle. 'He's my brother too. I want a go at holding
him.'
'You're not taking one step with Sundance, not in those
silly heels,' said Mum.
'I'll hold him for a bit,' said Jude, surprisingly. 'Look,
I've got trainers on, so I'm not going to trip.'
'No way, Jude,' said Mum. 'You were always a shocker
with your toys. You tugged your teddy's ears off and
scalped your poor Barbie.'
'It was my Barbie,' said Rochelle.
'Whatever. We'll let the baby get a bit bigger before
you tote him around. I want him to stay all in one piece.'
'Look, I'm the one who's only here because I'm
supposed to be looking after the blooming baby,' said
Martine bitterly.
'I need you to look after me, darling,' said Mum. 'How
about making me another cup of tea, eh? And you'd better
get the other beds upstairs somehow. Or at least the
mattresses. You girls can't sleep downstairs with old
Brucie Bad Back.' She sighed. 'Pity he's turned out such
a liability'
'That's not fair, Mum,' I said, walking Sundance up
and down. She was settling already, her little warm head
lolling in the crook of my neck. I patted her proudly. 'You
knew Uncle Bruce had a bad back and yet you still made
him shift the stuff.'
'Oh put another record on, Dixie. OK, maybe I'm not
being fair to him. Who says we've got to be fair? Life
isn't fair.' She sighed, then slipped right down under the
duvet, pulling it over her head.

182
 'But Mum—'
'Mum!'
'Mum?'
'Mum!'
'Will you all just go away. I'm sick of the lot of you. I
just want to be left in peace. So push off!'
 14

I ended up having to share a bed with Jude. It was fun

at first, but I kept cuddling up too close and Jude pushed
me away.
'You're like one of those little toy monkeys, Dixie. It's
like you've got sticker pads on your palms and you just
want to cling. I feel like I'm suffocating.'
'Bluebell will peck you if you're mean to me,' I said.
'Then I'll throw her out the bed,' said Jude, turning
over and taking most of the duvet with her.
It was just as well I'm a clingy girl. I had to cling on
grimly to the edge of the bed or I'd have tipped off onto
the floor.
I woke up when dawn was breaking. I hate the dark
because you can't see what might be creeping up on you,
but it's magical when everything starts to turn silvery, as
if it's been sprinkled with fairy dust. You couldn't see the
bare walls and the ugly floorboards properly. Our rickety
bed and the cardboard boxes could be mistaken for ornate
painted chests and the finest fairytale four-poster.

184
 I lay quietly making it up inside my head until I heard
Sundance start crying. She was like a little car engine.
She coughed and spluttered, stopped, started again, and
then suddenly revved up into full-throttle roar.
I slid out of bed and went to find her. She was lying
beside Mum, wailing away. Mum groaned, burrowing
down under the duvet.
'Mum? Mum, Sundance is hungry.'
'I'm getting too old for this lark,' Mum moaned. 'I'm
going to put him on a bottle soon, then you can feed him
for me, Miss Earlybird.'
'I'll feed him now if you like,' I said, stuffing Mum's
pillow up my nightie to make a really big chest.
'Oh Dixie, what are you like?' said Mum, grabbing the
pillow back and putting it behind her head. 'Here, give
me little guzzleguts.'
She took Sundance in her arms and started feeding
her. I giggled at the slurping sound in the quiet house.
'She is a guzzleguts, isn't she, Mum?'
'He,' said Mum. 'Your little brother Sundance.'
'But Mum—'
'Not now, Dixie. Don't make me go all tense or we'll
give Sundance hiccups. You go downstairs and make me
a cup of tea, eh?'
I crept down the bare stairs, imagining rich red carpet
and gilt banisters. I breathed in deeply downstairs.
Bruce's lilies made everywhere smell like a beautiful
garden. I felt my head and found my freesia still tangled
up in my hair. I imagined Bruce coming every day and
giving us all garlands of roses and carnation crowns
and us stringing lilies across each room like great white
paperchains.

185
 I went to the living-room door and knocked politely.
'Uncle Bruce? Uncle Bruce, are you in there?' I whispered.
'I'm in here all right, Dixie,' he mumbled. 'Looks like
I'm stuck here for the foreseeable future. My back's
giving me bloody hell.'
'That's so great! I mean, I'm sorry your back's hurting,
but I'm so glad you can stay. Would you like a cup of
tea?'
'Yes please, little angel.'
I made two cups. I crept into the living room with
Bruce's. He didn't have his glasses on. He looked a bit
lost without them so I found them next to the mattress
and gently edged them back onto his head. He gave his
little nose a twitch and they settled into place.
He grunted whenever he lifted his head for a sip of
tea. When he'd finished half the cup he lay right back
and sighed deeply.
'Is it very painful, Uncle Bruce?'
'I'll live,' he said. 'Just about. Now, you'd better leave
me be for a bit because I shall have to go to the toilet
soon and I haven't got any trousers on. Oh Gawd, what
am I going to do, stuck without pyjamas and toothbrush
and shaving kit and underpants—'
'You've managed without pyjamas, you can borrow my
toothbrush, Mum and Martine have both got razors –
but I don't think we can help you with underpants!'
I went upstairs to give Mum her tea. She'd finished
feeding Sundance and changed her too. We'd got a system
going with plastic bags for used nappies now.
'I suppose I'd better get myself washed up now,' said
Mum, yawning. 'I'll grab the bathroom first before all
you girls go barging in and use up all the hot water.'

186
 But before she could swing her legs out of bed someone
stumbled across the landing and into the bathroom. We
heard her being sick, though she was running the bath
taps to mask the noise.
'Oh God,' said Mum. 'That's Martine.'
'She's got this stomach bug thing, remember? She was
sick yesterday too.'
'I think I know why she's being sick. It's got damn all
to do with stomach bugs!' said Mum.
'Are you cross, Mum?'
'Yes, I'm blooming mad at her, Dixie. I told her and
told her to be careful. Why wouldn't she listen?' Mum
thumped her pillow. Sundance wailed, startled.
'You quieten him, Dixie. I've got a few words to say to
Martine.' Mum went storming into the bathroom.
I head Martine gasp as the door banged. Mum started
shouting. Martine shouted back. It sounded like the start
of an all-out Diamond big barney. Jude and Rochelle
groaned sleepily.
'Dixie? Are you all right?' Bruce called from downstairs.
'What's all the shouting?'
I went down. He was crouched in the hall, duvet
wrapped round him for modesty so he looked like a giant
caterpillar.
'What's going on?' he groaned.
'Mum's mad at Martine.' I paused. I wasn't that thick.
'I think she's going to have a baby.'
Bruce blinked. 'But she's only just this minute had one!'
'Not Mum\ Martine.'
'She's just a kid!' Bruce looked truly shocked. 'She's
still at school! What a terrible waste. Fancy mucking up
her life before she's even got started.'

187
 'I'm not mucking up my life!' Martine shouted, banging
out the bathroom. She stood at the top of the stairs, thin
and shivering in her skimpy nightie, her hair sticking
up all over the place. She didn't look like my bossy big
sister Martine without her fancy hairdo and her make-
up and her tight jeans and pointy boots. She looked
younger than Jude, younger than Rochelle, almost as
young as me.
'How dare you say I'm mucking up my life! You don't
know anything about Tony and me. We're in love. I bet
you've never been in love in your whole life. You're such
a sad-looking old git no one would ever want you anyway.
You're pathetic. You've got so little going for you in your
own life you latch onto us like a leech, sucking up to my
stupid little sister.'
'You shut up, Martine Diamond, or I'll smack you right
in the gob!' I yelled, charging up the stairs. 'It was me
latched onto Uncle Bruce. And I'm not stupid. You're the
stupid one, getting pregnant.'
'Martine's going to have a baby? said Rochelle, rushing
out onto the landing.
'Oh, this is great! That's you and your big mouth, Mum.
Now the whole family knows my business!' Martine said
furiously.
'It's my business now,' said Mum. 'I'm the poor Joe
Soap who's going to have to look after you and your baby,
even though it's hard enough managing my own kids.'
'That's a big laugh,' said Martine. 'You can't manage
yourself, let alone us. Look at us, stuck in this hideous
house on the worst estate in England. The girls are
running wild. Jude's getting into fights, Rochelle's going
round with hoodies, Dixie's filthy dirty and running

188
about barefoot. Oh yeah, well done, Mum. You really
know how to bring up a family.'
'Give it a rest, Martine,' said Jude, coming to join us.
She went to Mum and put her arm round her. 'Take no
notice. She doesn't mean it, she's just upset.'
'I mean every word of it. It's true, and we all know it,'
said Martine. 'How dare you lecture me, Mum. Look at
you and all the guys in your life. Oh, pardon me – all
the guys no longer in your life, like all our dads.'
'Shut your mouth, Martine,' said Jude.
'How can she see my dad when he's dead?' said
Rochelle.
'She still sees my dad. Sometimes,' I said.
'What about the baby's dad? You can't fool me with
that artist fairy tale. What was he, a one-night stand?
I bet you don't even know his name! No wonder everyone
calls you a slag back at Bletchworth,' said Martine.
We all gasped. It was the word we never said, not even
to each other. We all looked at Mum. We expected her
to fly at Martine. But she just stood there, looking
stunned. Tears started falling down her cheeks.
Martine put her hand over her mouth, as if she wished
she hadn't said it. She looked like she was starting to
cry too. If only they'd been left alone they'd have both
sobbed and then said sorry and they'd have a big hug
and the barney would be over.
Bruce didn't understand. 'Don't you dare call your
mother a slag, Martine!' he called from the bottom of
the stairs. 'That's a terrible thing to say. Look, you've
made her cry. Aren't you sorry?'
'No, I'm not bogging sorry!' Martine shouted. 'She is
a slag. And she's made me cry heaps and heaps, but

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she's never said sorry to me. Well, I'm out of here now.'
'Don't go, Martine,' said Mum. 'We'll work things out.
I'll look after you.'
'I don't need looking after. I'm going back to
Bletchworth to live with Tony and his folks. I should
have stayed there, like I planned. You made such a fuss
about needing me to help with the baby but you won't
even let me near him. You're bonkers enough to let daft
little Dixie carry him round and change him but you
won't let me. Every time I come near you tell me to
clear off. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.' She
went off to get dressed, and then started rushing round
grabbing all her things and stuffing them into carrier
bags.
'Mum!' I grabbed hold of her shoulder. Her old kimono
split a little at the seam, but she didn't seem to notice.
'Mum, tell Martine about Sundance. Then she'll under-
stand and she'll stay'
Mum shook her head. She took Sundance in her
arms and looked at her helplessly. 'My little boy,' she
whispered.
'She's not!'
'Did they really all call me a slag back at Bletchworth?'
Mum said.
'No! No, of course not. Martine was just being horrible.
Don't take any notice of her, Mum. I don't care that she
called me daft. Maybe we don't care that she's going.'
'She's not really going, she's just showing off,' said
Mum. 'How could she get all the way back to Bletchworth
by herself?'
There was a sudden bang down in the hall, like the
front door slamming.

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 'She can't have gone yet! She hasn't got all her stuff.
She didn't even say goodbye!' I said.
'She's just trying to scare us. She'll be back in ten
minutes,' said Mum.
We waited.
Martine didn't come back.
'I'm going to go looking for her, Mum,' said Jude,
stepping into her jeans and shoving on her trainers.
She was gone nearly an hour. She came back on her
own.
'I've looked everywhere,' Jude said, almost in tears.
'She could have caught a bus, she could have gone
anywhere – I didn't know where to look first. Then I
thought about a railway station and I couldn't find it for
ages; it's way over the other side of the town. She wasn't
there though. I asked if they'd seen her, I asked heaps
of people, describing her, but everyone just shrugged. I
truly tried, Mum.'
'I know, Jude. Don't fret, darling. Maybe she's just
gone round the shops, calming herself down. She'll be
back soon, you'll see.'
Mum kept trying to phone Martine's mobile, but it
was switched off. Mum left messages. Jude and Rochelle
and I left messages. I decided to send a special secret
text to Martine telling her why I was the only one Mum
let care for Sundance. I was so slow at texting that I'd
only got as far as 'I didn't want to tell tales but' when
Mum said she wanted to try phoning again so I had to
get the text cleared sharpish before she saw it.
We forgot to have breakfast. Bruce lay patiently on
the mattress in the living room, but when I went to visit
him I could hear his stomach rumbling. He made his

191
own phone call to the lady who worked in his shop. She
was called Iris, which seemed a perfect name for a lady
who worked with flowers. I didn't like the sound of her
all the same.
'Is she pretty, Uncle Bruce?'
'Mmm, I don't know. I suppose so. Though she's no
spring chicken.'
'So she's more like a tough old bird?' I said hopefully.
'No, no, she's very genteel.'
'What does that mean? Posh?'
'She's got nice manners. Very ladylike. She's very kind
too – she didn't make a fuss when she had to stay late
on Saturday and she's going to open the shop for me
today. She's being very helpful, my Iris.'
'Is she yours? You said you didn't have a girlfriend!'
'She's not my girlfriend, sweetheart,' said Bruce. 'She
wouldn't look twice at a man like me!' He chuckled at
the idea and then winced in pain. 'I think I'm going to
have to ask Jude to go out to a chemist. Do they let kids
buy painkillers? And we're all going to need a spot of
lunch – and tea, come to that. Do you think your mum's
up to cooking yet?'
'Mum doesn't really cook much. We play parties
sometimes and she fixes us little sandwiches and
cream buns and ice cream but mostly we just go down
the chippy.'
'Then I suppose that's what we'll have to do today. When
I can stand up properly I can maybe fix us something.'
'Can you cook then, Uncle Bruce?'
'Nothing too fancy, like, just good plain roasts and
curries. I do a very tasty macaroni cheese – your mum
might like that.'

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 'You're a very good catch, Uncle Bruce. Iris is mad not
to look at you twice. So, you've never been married?'
'Nope. I don't think I'm the marrying kind, Dixie.'
'Do you think Martine will marry Tony?'
'Maybe,' Bruce said, but he sounded doubtful.
'I'd really love to be a bridesmaid in one of those long
sticky-out frocks – pink or peach or lilac. No, blue, and
then I could carry Bluebell and she'd match. I could have
a proper bridesmaid's posy and she could carry a weeny
raffia basket of flowers in her beak.'
'Very fetching,' said Bruce.
'Martine will be safe, won't she?'
'Of course she will,' said Bruce.
I knew he couldn't really know but I needed him to
tell me even so. Mum had stopped reassuring me. She
was starting to panic, phoning and phoning, while she
paced around the house in her nightie and kimono.
'Shall we sort out the furniture now you're up, Mum?'
said Jude. 'We could get all the boxes unpacked too.'
Mum shook her head distractedly. 'I don't want to
make a home here. I hate it. We all hate it. And it's all
my fault,' she said, tears brimming. 'It's a filthy dump.'
'It might be a dump but it's not filthy any more,' Bruce
muttered. 'I cleaned it up, didn't I?'
'Look at all this scribbling on the walls,' Mum said
despairingly.
'A quick coat of paint would soon sort it out,' said
Bruce. 'You could get on to the council again. Or if you
get no joy you could buy a few cans of paint and get the
girls to help you. I'd do it if my back was up to it. A spot
of white would brighten it up no end.'
'It would still be a dump if you painted it sky-blue pink,'

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Mum said. 'If only I'd stayed put. It seemed so clear in
the charts. I could see great changes, new opportunities;
exciting challenges – but I got it all wrong. I should have
stayed in Bletchworth. Even though they all called me a
slag. Well. Maybe they're right.'
'You're not a slag, Mum,' said Rochelle.
'Definitely not,' said Jude. 'I'll punch anyone who says
you are.'
'Of course you're not,' I said. I paused. 'What exactly
is a slag?'
'Oh Dixie, you kill me, you really do,' said Mum,
shaking her head. 'You girls are just trying to be sweet
to me. I don't know why. I'm a terrible mum.'
'I don't want to be sweet to you,' said Bruce. 'I'm pretty
damn annoyed with you, seeing as I've worked my bottom
off for you and your girls and you've barely said thank
you. Here I am, stuck on my back like a stag beetle,
barely able to move, knowing I've got a flower shop
without any flowers when the business is rapidly going
down the pan as it is. But I'll tell you one thing. You're
not my definition of a slag. A slag is a rude, rough woman,
Dixie, who's got a bad mouth and rushes round drinking
and chatting up all the men, and doesn't give a stuff
about her children. Well, I've heard you sounding off,
Sue, so I know you swear, and maybe you like a drink
and going out clubbing. You've had quite a few boyfriends
in your time. Maybe you don't always act like a little
lady – though how should I know? But I do know one
thing. Slags don't make good mums and you're a lovely
mum to your kids.'
Mum blinked at Bruce, looking astonished. Then she
pulled her kimono straight and tucked her hair behind

194
her ears. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you for saying
that, Bruce. And thank you for all you've done for us.
We couldn't have managed without you.'
I wanted this to be like a movie. I wanted Mum and
Bruce to look at each other and realize their love. Then
they'd fall into each other's arms. Well, Bruce would have
to stay put with his bad back but Mum could fall down
on top of him. They'd have a long romantic film-star kiss
while music played and us girls sang and Bluebell flew
over their heads like a little lovebird.
Mum went off to change Sundance, wiping her runny
nose with the back of her hand. Bruce shifted uncom-
fortably on the mattress, groaning and grunting. They
weren't really acting like movie stars just yet. Maybe I
had to give them time.
Jude went out to get aspirins and fish and chips. I
went with her because I was scared she might get into
a fight. Rochelle came too, on the lookout for Ryan.
We didn't see any boys, or any girls either.
'They're all at school, lucky things,' said Rochelle.
Jude and I looked at her as if she'd gone totally mad.
'Well, it's boring just hanging out at home. I don't want
to get behind. Mum should have sorted stuff out, got us
enrolled at new schools so we could start today,' she said.
'Oh, like she's really had the time, seeing as she had
a baby on Sunday and her eldest daughter ran away
from home today,' said Jude.
'Yeah, well, that's not my fault, is it? Maybe I'll go and
find the school myself. It's in Neptune Street, Ryan said.'
'So that's why you want to go to school! Only remember,
you're one of the silly little twerps in Year Eight. He's
one of the macho retards in Year Eleven. I bet he won't

195
even look at you in school,' said Jude. 'Well, I'm not going
near any school. I don't see why we can't simply stay off
till the summer holidays and start again in September.'
That seemed like the best idea in the world to me.
 15

'You really need me to look after Sundance, don't you,

Mum?' I said.
'That's right, darling,' Mum muttered.
'So I can't go to school now, can I?'
'That's right, darling.' Mum repeated.
I knew she wasn't really listening. She was clutching
her mobile the way I frequently clutched Bluebell. Still,
she'd as good as promised I needn't go to school. I relaxed
a little.
Mum stayed strung up all afternoon, phoning
Martine's mobile every fifteen minutes. Then she tried
a change of tactics. She found out Tony's mum's number
and rang her. Her hand was shaking as she dialled the
number. She took a deep breath when Tony's mum
answered.
'I'm sorry to trouble you, Mrs Wingate,' Mum said very
politely, though she was pulling a hideous face as she
said it. 'It's Sue here, Sue Diamond.'
She paused. Tony's mum was saying stuff. She didn't

197
sound as if she was making an effort to be at all polite
back.
'Yeah, well, OK, I know we don't see eye to eye on a
lot of things,' Mum said, struggling to keep her temper.
'But the thing is, I believe my Martine is coming to see
your Tony today. Is she at your place right now? Can I
speak to her? Please? She's not? You swear that's true?
Oh God. Well, will you get her to ring me on my mobile
the moment you hear from her?' Mum clicked the phone
off and started to cry.
'Where is she? What if she's lost somewhere? I'm not
even sure how much money she had on her. What if
she's mad enough to hitch a lift back home? What
if something's happened to her?'
Bruce heard Mum crying and shouted up to her. 'Look,
Sue, I'll see if I can get my back strapped up in some
way. Then we can go out in the van looking for her.'
He did his best, struggling off the mattress on all fours,
but whenever he tried to straighten up he got stuck,
hissing with the pain.
'Get back on that mattress, you silly beggar. You
couldn't drive for five seconds and you know it,' said
Mum. She paused. 'Thanks for the offer though. You're
a real mate, Bruce.'
She started pacing up and down again, yawning and
sighing and rolling her head around, her fluffy mules
going shuffle-slap on the bare floorboards. Sundance
wailed in my arms, wanting another feed. Mum didn't
seem to hear her, though her nightie top got damp. She
clutched the mobile, checking it again and again for
texts, leaving her own messages.
'Please please phone me, Martine. I'm so scared

198
something's happened to you. Phone me!' Mum begged.
Then the mobile rang and Mum jumped, as if an
electric current had sizzled up her arm. 'Martine?' she
gasped.
Jude and Rochelle came running. Bruce shuffled back
off his mattress to the foot of the stairs. Even Sundance
stopped wailing.
'She's with you, Mrs Wingate? Oh, thank God! She
met your Tony and walked back from school with him?
Right, right, of course. Well, can I speak to her?' Mum
paused. 'What do you mean? Of course I need to talk to
her! Stop telling me how to behave with my own
daughter! I know she's in a state. I wonder if you know
the full story! Now just you let her come to the phone.
Please! Oh for God's sake, you interfering old bag, butt
out of things and let me speak to Martine!'
Mum stopped. She shook her head. 'She's hung up on
me,' she said.
She dialled again. And again and again. 'Now she's
not even answering.'
Mum tried Martine's mobile but it was still switched
off. 'Why won't they let her talk to me?' she wept.
'Maybe Martine just doesn't want to talk right now,'
said Jude.
'At least you know she's safe, Mum,' said Rochelle. She
had her jacket on now and her best suede heels. She
slipped out of the room – and a second later I heard the
front door slam. Jude looked up, but she just sighed and
shook her head.
I hoped Rochelle wasn't going to find this Neptune
school. I busied myself with Sundance, trying to show
Mum she couldn't possibly manage without me. Sundance

199
kept fussing. She didn't want me rocking her or patting
her on the back or whispering into her tiny pink ears.
She wanted to be fed.
'Give him here, Dixie,' Mum said wearily.
'I think you really should put him on a bottle, Mum,
and then I could feed him all by myself. You wouldn't
have to bother,' I suggested.
'Maybe,' said Mum. It was clear she wasn't listening.
'Martine will come back soon, Mum, you'll see,' I said.
'And then when her baby's born I could look after him
too. I could be like a childminder to both of them. I could
feed them and bath them and take them for walks in a
double buggy and—'
'For God's sake, stop nattering, Dixie, you're driving
me daft,' Mum said. 'Go and play and leave me in
peace.'
I marched out of her room. 'I was only trying to help'
I said to Jude.
'I know, babe.' Jude was putting her own hoodie jacket
on.
'Are you going out too?' I asked.
'Oh yeah, I've got a hot date in McDonald's with a guy
with a diamond earring – not!' said Jude.
'You're not going to get in any more fights, are you?'
'Don't worry, I'm fully trained in all the martial arts
by our chum Kung Fu Brucie,' said Jude.
'Less of the cheek, girl,' Bruce called from his mattress.
'I might be an old crock with a dodgy back but I could
take you on any day of the week. You stay here and look
after your little sister, do you hear me?'
'Yes, Bruce, I hear you,' said Jude, but she went
straight out the front door.

200
 'Don't you girls ever do as you're told?' Bruce asked.
I thought about it. 'Jude doesn't. Or Rochelle. Or
Martine. But I do. Sometimes,' I said. 'Can I get you
anything, Uncle Bruce? Cup of tea?'
'No thanks, Dixie. It's such a struggle to get to the
flipping toilet I'd better severely limit my liquid intake,
sweetheart. But you could turn the telly on for me if you
like. I got it working before I did my back in.'
'You've got everything working, Uncle Bruce.'
'Except myself! That's a good little lass.'
'Any special channel?'
'Afternoon telly's all a bit rubbish,' said Bruce, as I
flicked through the channels. 'Hang on, is that woman
doing flower arranging? I'd better watch it. Iris hasn't
got much clue – she just dumps each bunch in a vase,
willy-nilly. I can't say I'm much cop at it either. It was
always Mum's department until she got poorly. She'd got
her Interflora and all sorts.'
'My mum's ace at arranging flowers,' I said.
We both looked at the flowers Bruce had brought us.
The roses were arranged in the rosy china milk jug and
sugar bowl, the freesias were clustered in the coffee pot,
and the tall lilies were in water in the metal wastepaper
bin.
'Well, she's certainly unconventional in her approach,'
said Bruce.
'We haven't got any vases, see. People don't usually
give us flowers.'
'I'll send you flowers when I'm on my feet again, Dixie.
Flowers every week, eh? That'll make your boyfriends
jealous.'
'Boyfriends!' I said, giggling.

201
 'We could maybe start taming that jungle out the back
too, plant your own flowers, eh?'
'But could we keep some of it like a jungle so I can
play there?' I said.
I left Bruce to his flower-arranging programme and
went out into the back garden. I felt for Bluebell. She
was a bit bent over and squashed from staying shoved
up my cardie sleeve for so long. I groomed her carefully,
tickling her under her beak until her head stopped lolling
and she started cheeping cheerily.
It was windy out in the garden. The long grass rippled
like green waves. I played that I was sailing a ship in
a storm, and Bluebell was a seagull flying ahead,
showing me the way across the seven seas. After a year
and a day's long sailing I sighted dry land at last. The
seagull circled my ship three times in farewell and then
flew away back to sea . . . and I stuffed Bluebell back
up my sleeve because I'd got to the Great Wall of China
at the end.
I leaped up and hauled myself up onto the top of the
rough bricks. I sat there, peering over the alleyway into
Mary's back garden. She wasn't on the swing today. She
was just standing still in the garden, head bent, sucking
her thumb.
'Hey, Mary!'
She smiled when she saw me, put her finger to her
lips and peered round cautiously. Then she ran towards
her gate.
I jumped down from the wall and ran to meet her. She
was in her school clothes: a little grey pinafore skirt and
a dazzlingly white shirt. She had matching bright white
socks and big brown shiny sandals.

202
 'Are you all right, Mary? Did you choke on those horrid
crusts?'
'I was a bit sick.'
'No wonder! Your mum's so horrid to you. I hate her.'
'Ssh!' Mary whispered, looking shocked.
'Where's your mum now?'
'She's doing this big spring clean. I've got to play by
myself until tea time.'
'I'll come and play with you.'
'She might hear us! She says you're not to come again.
She says you're . . . dirty and rough.'
'I am dirty, sort of, but I'm not a bit rough,' I said.
'Everyone says I'm much too soft.'
'I'm sorry,' said Mary anxiously.
'No, it's OK. I wouldn't mind being rough. Anyway,
how about you coming to play in my garden?'
'Mummy wouldn't let me.'
'She won't find out! Come on. I'll help you over the wall.'
'But I'll get all dirty.'
'No you won't. Look.' I stuck Bluebell in my teeth and
shrugged off my cardigan. 'I'll drape it over the top and
then you won't even touch the wall. Come on, Mary.'
'What if Mummy comes to see what I'm doing?'
'You can always pretend you were playing Hide and
Seek. And if you're gone a long time your mum will get
really worried and think something's happened to you.
Then she'll be so pleased to see you safe she'll give you
a big hug and forget to be cross.'
Mary looked at me pityingly. 'Mummy doesn't ever
forget to be cross,' she said.
'Well. OK. Maybe you'd better not then. I don't want
to get you into trouble.'

203
 Mary thought about it. 'I'm already in trouble,' she
said. 'I'll come, Dixie. I so want to see your house and
what your bedroom's like.'
'I haven't really got a proper bedroom yet,' I warned
her. 'Maybe we can pretend one?'
Mary looked baffled, but nodded happily. She carefully
unlatched her gate. The spring was stiff and she scraped
her hand, but she didn't flinch. Her little fingers were
still red-raw at the tips.
'Why are you in trouble, Mary?'
'Mummy checked my bedroom when I was at school
and she said it was an untidy disgrace. She said I didn't
deserve to have such lovely toys if I couldn't look after
them. She found my teddy under my bed and now she's
thrown him away because she says he's all dirty and I'd
catch germs off him.'
'She won't have really thrown him away.'
'She did! She put him in the dustbin and she tipped
tea bags and milk and potato peel all over him so he's
all spoilt now,' said Mary, sniffling.
'I think your mum should be shoved in the dustbin,
she's so mean to you,' I said. 'Why didn't you tell your
dad?'
'He's not home till I'm in bed. And when I've tried to
tell him stuff Mummy says I'm telling silly stories to get
attention. Mummy always twists things round. She'll say
I threw my teddy away myself.'
'Still, maybe your dad will get you a new teddy?' I said,
helping Mary up onto the wall. 'That's it, sit on my cardie.
It's easy-peasy. Hang on, I'll climb up too. Let me get
down the other side first, then you can jump into my
arms.'

204
 I swung myself up and over quickly. Mary clung fear-
fully to my cardigan on top of the wall.
'It looks a long way down,' she said.
'That's just because you're so little. It's all right, I
promise you. You just have to give a little jump and I'll
catch you.'
'I can't! I'll fall. Oh Dixie, I'm stuck.'
'No, you're not. Don't cry. Just jump. Look, Bluebell
will help you.'
I stood on tiptoe and held her out to Mary. She grabbed
her and clutched her against her chest.
'There! That's it, hold her tight. Now, all you have to
do is jump into the air and Bluebell will flap her wings
and you'll both fly straight into my arms. Just try it!'
Mary tried. She jumped into the air, clutching
Bluebell, and I caught them both. They knocked me over
onto my bottom but the grass was so thick it was like
a cushion and we rolled around in a giggly heap until
Mary started fussing about her clothes getting dirty.
She stood up, carefully brushing herself down. I helped
her pull little bits of grass out of her hair. She smiled
up at me.
'You're so kind to me, Dixie. I wish you were my sister.'
'I wish you were my sister too, Mary. I'd swap you
with Rochelle any day of the week! Yes, you come and
be a Diamond girl with us.'
'I wish I could,' said Mary. 'But I can't, can I?'
'Don't you worry, Mary,' I made Bluebell say. 'Any time
you want to come and play with Dixie just hold me tight
and I'll fly you there quick as a wink.'
She flew round and round her head while Mary
laughed and tried to catch her. When Mary started to

205
grab a little desperately I made Bluebell slow right down
and give her an affectionate peck on her nose.
'She's tickling!' said Mary. 'The grass is tickling too!'
'Well, we're in the jungle, aren't we, so what do you
expect? Let's look for animals, eh?'
Mary looked nervous, but nodded.
'Look over there, behind that bush!' I whispered. 'See
the lions? What about that big fierce one with the mane?
Let's hope he stays asleep! Watch out if he wakes up, he
might be hungry.'
Mary peered at the old doormat I was pointing at. 'You
can't have a real lion in your garden,' she said, but she
gripped my hand tightly.
'I've got a whole pride of lions! There's a mother lion,
see – she's with her little cubs. Look, they're having a
pretend fight. Aren't they cute?' I pointed at an upended
shopping trolley.
Mary blinked several times, waiting for the lions to
materialize.
'What's that trumpeting sound? Oh, elephants! See
their great flappy ears? Shall we give them a bun?' I
showed her a broken umbrella caught in a tree. I reached
up to feed the 'elephants' and Mary copied me, though
she looked baffled.
'Is this a jungle, Dixie, or is it a garden?'
'Well, it's a jungle now. But maybe when his back gets
better my Uncle Bruce will turn it into a real garden.
Do you want to come and meet him?'
'I've got an uncle. And an auntie. They took me to
Alton Towers and we went on scary rides and I screamed
and screamed. It was my best day ever but I ate too
much ice cream and I was sick in my bed,' said Mary.

206
 'I bet that annoyed your mum,' I said.
I led Mary through the back door. She stared all round
the kitchen, looking astonished.
'Where are all your units?' she asked.
'We haven't got any. Come on through.' I knocked at
the living-room door politely. 'Hey, Uncle Bruce, can we
come in? I've brought my friend Mary to meet you.'
'That's nice, dear. Of course you can come in. It's your
house, sweetheart, not mine.'
I led Mary in and out the furniture towards the
mattress. She peered around, looking dazed. She jumped
when she saw Bruce flat out on the mattress.
'How do you do, Mary?' said Bruce. 'Please excuse my
looking such a sight. I'm a bit of an old crock at the
moment as I've done my back in.'
I squatted at the edge of Bruce's mattress. Mary
huddled up beside me. Bruce tried hard but she wouldn't
say a word to him.
'You're not very chatty, are you, Mary?' said Bruce.
'Never mind. I chat enough for both of us, Uncle Bruce,'
I said. 'Do you want me to change channels on the tele-
vision for you? We're going to play now.'
'Yes, I think I'll watch a spot of Richard and Judy,'
said Uncle Bruce. 'I feel terrible hogging your mum's
mattress and your mum's telly. Ask her if she'd like the
television upstairs. I'm sure Jude could carry it up for
her.'
I took Mary out into the hall. 'He's lovely, isn't he, my
Uncle Bruce?'
'Is that a living room or a bedroom?' Mary asked.
'Well, it's kind of an everything room at the moment.
We're not sorted out yet because Mum's just had the

207
baby. I'll show you Sundance. I'm allowed to look after
her.' I clapped my hand over my mouth, hoping Mum
hadn't heard.
'I thought Sundance was a baby boy,' said Mary.
'He is. Well. For the moment.' I put my mouth very
close to Mary's ear. 'But he might turn into a girl soon.'
Mary nodded. She seemed to be getting used to
extraordinary things.
'We'll take a peep,' I said.
But as we went upstairs I could hear Mum talking in
her bedroom. She was leaving another phone message
for Martine. It sounded as if she was crying.
'She's a bit upset just now,' I whispered to Mary. 'We'll
leave her in peace, eh? Come on, we'll go in my bedroom.'
Mary looked at the bare floorboards and the cardboard
boxes. She walked round them warily as if she thought
they might be jungle animals too. She sat on the very
edge of the bed, dangling her legs. 'This is your bedroom,
Dixie?'
'I know it's not very clean and tidy. I bet your bedroom's
ever so pretty. But my Uncle Bruce is going to paint it
for me when his back is better. And perhaps we'll get
some new furniture. Jude and I want bunk beds. This
bed's all rickety because we used to play trampolines.'
'Trampolines?'
'Yeah, haven't you ever played it?'
I jumped up on the bed and bounced up and down.
Mary stared at me, shocked.
'Won't your mum mind you jumping on the furniture?'
'Well, the springs are mostly bust now, so it doesn't
really matter,' I said. 'Come on, you have a bounce too.'
I pulled Mary up, holding her by her wrists because

208
I didn't want to rub her sore fingers. I gave a big bounce.
Mary squealed, nearly wobbling over, but then she
steadied herself.
'Shouldn't I take my shoes off?'
'Never mind! Come on, bounce!'
I leaped up and down wildly. Mary gave teeny little
bobs, still squealing.
'Are you OK? We'll stop if you like.'
'No, it's lovely!' Mary gasped.
We bounced until we were both bright red in the face.
One of Mary's plaits started unravelling.
'Oh, my hair!' she said, stopping still, nearly toppling
both of us. She grabbed at her trailing ribbon, looking
terrified.
'I'll do it up for you. I'm good at hairdressing,' I said.
I did my best. I couldn't get the plait exactly even and
the ribbon didn't look quite right either, but I hoped it
would do. Mary seemed worried about it so I showed her
all the things in my cardboard box to distract her. She
fingered my old animals politely, but their missing limbs
obviously alarmed her. She stroked the cover of my fairy
story book but didn't open it. She liked my fibre-tip pen
set though, unbuttoning the plastic wallet and rearranging
them into rainbow order.
'I used to have a big set of pens but I kept going over
the lines in my colouring books and spoilt them.'
'You can colour in my fairy story book if you like,' I
said.
'You can't colour in story books!'
'Of course you can. Look, here's the little mermaid
story. You can colour the mermaid if you like. I'll do all
the fish.'

209
 We rested the fairy story book on the bed and knelt
in front of it. Mary took the yellow pen and started
colouring the mermaid's hair very carefully, curl by curl.
She was concentrating so fiercely her tongue stuck out.
I leaned over and coloured one fish purple with red lips
and a bright pink tail, another one jade-green with
royal-blue stripes and a third ruby-red with emerald
eyes and golden fins.
'Fish aren't really that colour. They're grey,' said Mary.
'Yes, but grey's boring. And these are fairy fish so they
can be any colour they want. "Bubble bubble, we want
to be bright, please, Dixie," they're saying. And your
mermaid's asking, "What colour tail am I getting, Mary?
Orange? Purple? Navy blue?'"
'You're getting a green tail, little mermaid,' said Mary.
'And if you don't behave I shall smack it very very hard
and lock you up in your bedroom, young lady'
I looked at Mary. 'Your little mermaid lives in an
underwater palace. If she gets locked up she just swims
straight out the window, see?'
Mary finished her mermaid, I finished my fish, and
we used both blue fibre tips to colour in the sea, Mary
one side of the page, me the other. Mary's hand relaxed
a little and she scribbled freely, her arm moving up and
down. Then she stopped and saw her sleeve. She gave
a little moan.
'Look!' she whispered.
There was a faint blue smudge on her white cuff.
'That's nothing. Don't worry, it'll come out in the wash.'
Mary kept looking at her sleeve. She tried licking the
blue but it just spread a little.
'Your mum won't notice,' I said.

210
 'She will,' said Mary. 'She'll smack me and put me to
bed. And I haven't got my teddy any more. I can't sleep
without him.'
I thought hard about it as I took Mary back through
the jungle garden and helped her up and over the wall.
'Can I hold Bluebell to make me fly?'
'Yep! Tell you what, you can take her with you and
cuddle up with her tonight. She'll sing you to sleep, you'll
see.'
'You're giving me Bluebell?'
'I'm not giving her to you, I'm just lending her for
tonight, OK? But hide her from your mum! I don't want
Bluebell chucked in the dustbin too.'
Mary clutched Bluebell tightly. We slipped across the
alleyway. I helped Mary struggle with the gate latch. I
was scared her mother would suddenly come running
and pounce on her, but the garden stayed empty.
Mary sat on her swing. She made Bluebell wave her
wing at me. Then she quickly stuffed her right down the
neck of her school blouse, out of sight.
 16

My cardie sleeve felt horribly empty without Bluebell

inside, pecking companionably at my wrist. I wasn't sure
Mary would be able to hide her. I kept thinking of her
mother hurling her into the dustbin. I saw her buried
under smelly rubbish, unable to flap her wings and fly
away. I saw the dustbin men arriving in the morning
and emptying her into their terrible stinking lorry. I
thought of her being driven away to the rotting wilder-
ness of the tip. I knew I'd never find her again.
I wanted to tell Mum. She was huddled up with
Sundance and didn't want to be bothered.
'But Mum, I'm miserable,' I whined.
'So am I, Dixie, so that makes two of us,' said Mum,
pulling away from me.
'Can you just tell me what time dustmen come in the
mornings?'
'Can I what?
'Mum, I've done something silly,' I said.
'Well, go and tell Jude, Dixie. Or your blooming Uncle

212
Bruce. Leave me in peace now, for pity's sake.'
I trailed away, holding my fist in a bird shape, trying
to make my fingernail feel like a beak. Mum started
whispering to Sundance when I was out the room. I
hovered outside the door, listening.
'We won't take any notice, will we, darling? We just
need to be together, you and me, my beautiful boy. Yes,
you're a smashing little chap. Look at your big blue eyes!
My, you're going to turn all the girls' heads, but you'll
still have time for your old mum, won't you, sweetheart?
You won't run away, you won't get into trouble. You'll
stay my special blue-eyed boy, my Sundance.'
'You're mad, Mum,' I said loudly, and stomped down-
stairs.
I said it because I felt lonely and left out. Then I
started to worry that it was true. Mum wasn't just
pretending. She was trying to make it real. What if she
never admitted to anyone that Sundance was a girl?
Would Sundance have to have short hair and clump
around in trousers and Timberlands for the rest of her
life?
I went looking for Jude, but she was still out. So was
Rochelle.
'Where have those girls got to?' said Bruce. 'I want to
send one of them out for our supper. What do you fancy,
Dixie?'
'I'm not really hungry, Uncle Bruce,' I said. 'Maybe
some chips?'
'Chips! You need feeding up with some proper nosh.'
'I like chips. Mum always lets me have chips.' I paused.
'Uncle Bruce . . . do you think my mum is a little bit
nuts?'

213
 "Yes,' said Bruce. 'You're all nuts. I've never met a family
like you Diamonds. You're all barmy, the lot of you.'
'Are you joking, Uncle Bruce?'
'Maybe,' he said.
There was a knock at the door.
'Let's hope it's Jude,' said Bruce. 'I'm not sure Princess
Roxy-Poxy will deign to go down to the chip shop for us.
Call out before opening the door, Dixie.'
'Who's there?' I called.
'It's your loveliest sister,' Rochelle trilled back.
'Not!' I said.
Rochelle was actually acting like a lovely sister. She'd
bought a big bag of chips out of her own pocket money.
She thrust them at me. 'Share them round, Dixie. Don't
worry about me, I've already eaten.'
'With Ryan?'
'Yep! I met him from school.' Rochelle clasped her
hands and twirled round theatrically. 'I was a bit worried
about it. I didn't want him to think I was being too pushy.
I thought I'd just saunter past. I decided if he was with
all his mates I'd just give a little wave and walk on. He
was with a great big bunch of them, those hoodie guys,
though they look so different in their school uniform.
Even the huge fat guy just looked like Mr Blobby in his
school blazer. Anyway, Ryan came right over the moment
he saw me. The other guys hung around for a bit, saying
stuff. Some of the other boys from their school went by
and wolf-whistled. It was dead embarrassing!' Rochelle
boasted, dancing round the hall. 'I told Ryan I thought
I'd be going to his school so he took me inside and I met
the headteacher. He seems OK, and so I got our names
down to go to the school, Jude and me. There didn't seem

214
much point mentioning Martine as she's not going to be
here.'
'You didn't mention me, did you?' I said.
'Well, I did say I had this younger sister still at primary
and they said you'll have to be registered separately.
Mum will have to take you.'
'Don't tell her,' I said quickly, starting to tuck into the
chips.
Rochelle wasn't even listening. She was too busy
telling about Ryan.
'He understands totally what it's like for me, Dixie.
He's part of this big family too, nearly all boys, and his
mum can't really cope. Two of his big brothers have got
kids already, one's inside and another is a junkie, but
he isn't getting into any of that. He's clever, Dixie. He's
got it all sorted; he's going to keep his nose clean. He's
going to work hard and get good grades in all his exams.
He doesn't seem to mind that I'm clever too – he doesn't
see it as a threat. He likes it that I can't seem to help
getting a lot of attention.'
Rochelle was showing off so much I felt like throwing
her chips at her. She whirled round and round, swinging
her hips.
'No wonder you get lots of attention from those boys.
It's because that skirt's so short your knickers show,' I
said.
'Ryan says he really likes the way I dress. He loves it
that I wear girly clothes. He says I've got a figure to be
proud of. Ryan says he's never been that interested in
having a girlfriend before, he says nearly all the girls
on the estate act like slags, but I'm different. Ryan says
he's getting a bit fed up trailing round with that gang

215
of right losers. He's growing out of that stage. Ryan says
. . . Ryan says . . . Ryan says . . .'
My head was buzzing with Ryan this, Ryan that. I
went to offer Bruce some chips. Rochelle carried on
telling the empty hall what Ryan said.
Bruce raised his eyebrows at me. 'I wish her Ryan
would keep his mouth shut,' he whispered. 'Do you think
we could press her mute button, Dixie?'
We both chuckled, though poor Bruce jarred his back
and groaned.
We heard other voices as well as Rochelle's. Boys'
voices, out in the street. Lots of shouting. Then we heard
Jude shouting too.
'Oh no,' I said, hurtling out the room.
'No, Dixie! Don't you get involved! Look, I'll come – if
I can just roll off the blooming mattress.'
I couldn't wait for him. I flung open the front door. I
stopped dead, my mouth open.
It was the same gang, Ryan's mates, the Hoodies and
Big Fat Guy, but Ryan wasn't with them. Jude was in
the middle of them, holding up her fists, looking like she
was about to swing a punch at Big Fat Guy, but she
seemed to be stuck in slow motion. Then Big Fat Guy
brought his arm up – s-1-o-w-l-y – and blocked Jude's
punch.
'Yeah!' said Jude.
'Cool!' said Big Fat Guy.
They both laughed. The Hoodies laughed too and Jude
slapped all their hands in high-five acknowledgement.
She did an elaborate high-ten with the Big Fat Guy.
'See you around, cool dude Jude,' he said.
Jude came bounding into the house, grinning all over

216
her face. 'Shut your mouth, Dixie, or you'll catch a fly,'
she said.
'I – am – gobsmacked!' I gasped. 'You haven't gone and
got yourself a boyfriend too, have you, Jude?'
'No way!' said Jude. 'Are you totally off your trolley,
little Dixie?'
'You're the girl slapping palms with that great big berk
and all his gang. I thought you all hated each other.'
'Yeah, but their Neptune gang hate the Top Floor guys
in Mercury even more. They heard I'd been in a fight
with them, and that I'd punched their leader so hard he
was knocked unconscious.'
'You didn't say you'd done that!' I stared at Jude. She
grew upwards and outwards before my eyes, muscles
bulging, fists encased in boxing gloves.
Jude put her head close. 'Don't tell, Dixie, but they've
got it all wrong! I did swing a punch at the Top Floor
guy but I don't think it hurt him one bit. He lunged
forward to get me, I dodged and ran like hell, he ran
after me down the stairs and tripped. That's how he hurt
himself. But the Neptune guys all think I took on the
hardest kid on the whole of the Planet Estate, so they
kind of look up to me now. They wanted to know my
fighting secrets so I waffled on a bit about Wing Chun.
They think I'm an expert now, so I'll have to get old
Bruce to teach me loads more.'
'Then you'll have to be very kind and considerate to
old Bruce,' he called from the living room. 'And right
this minute you can come and take supper orders. Maybe
we'd better eat Chinese, seeing as you're so interested
in oriental martial arts.'
'Your wish is my command, Wise Master,' said Jude.

217
 She was in such a good mood that she didn't moan
when I cuddled up really close that night.
'What's up, Dixie? You're a bit mopey. And how come
I'm not being pecked to death tonight? Where's the bird?'
'I've lent Bluebell to Mary, to help her get to sleep.'
'That's very sweet of you, but duff move. Now you're
lying wide awake – and so am I!' said Jude. 'You need
old Bluebell more than Mary. She's probably got heaps
more toys than you have.'
'Yes, but her mum takes them away. She's so mean to
her. I'm not supposed to tell – Mary begged me not to,
but I can't help it, I feel I'll burst if I don't. Her mum's
so cruel and horrible.'
'Are you sure? I thought she seemed quite nice. She's
too posh but she can't help that. So what does she do
that's so horrible?'
'She threw Mary's teddy away. She said it was dirty.'
'Dixie, lots of mums do that. Most mums would have
made you chuck Bluebell out years ago – and that awful
old cardigan.'
'It's not awful! It's beautiful. And it still fits perfectly.'
'Yeah, yeah, whatever!'
'Mary's mum has done other stuff too. She forced her
to eat her crusts and she cut her nails right back so they
hurt.'
'Lots of kids have to eat up all their food and have
their nails cut. It's no big deal.'
'Mary's mum says she's dirty when she's clean as
clean.'
'That's not really being cruel, though. It's not like she's
beating her or starving her or locking her up in a
cupboard.'

218
 'She does smack her.'
'Mum used to smack me when I was little, when I got
into fights. It didn't stop me though. She doesn't smack
me now because she knows I could smack her back,
harder!'
'You wouldn't though, would you? Jude . . . I'm worried
about Mum too.'
'You're a right old worrypot, Dixie. Look, there's only
one thing you've got to worry about right this minute.
If you don't curl up and go straight to sleep and let me
have a decent kip too I'm going to tip you right out of
this bed, OK? So night-night.'
I curled up and kept very still, pretending to be asleep.
J u d e started breathing heavily, her arms and legs
twitching as if she was fighting in her dreams. I didn't
go to sleep for a long long time. Then I woke early,
listening anxiously for the sound of dustcarts.
Sundance woke early too and kept fussing, not feeding
properly.
'Please try, little darling,' Mum kept whispering.
'Maybe he's not hungry, Mum?' I suggested.
'No, he's starving, poor little mite. It's all my fault.
I'm all tense with worrying about Martine. I've lost her,
Dixie.'
'No you haven't, Mum.'
'She's not coming back. She obviously hates me. I don't
blame her. I'm a useless mum. I can't look after any of
you. I can't even feed my own baby.'
I didn't know what to do. Mum wouldn't stop crying.
Sundance cried too, and I couldn't quieten her.
'God, what a racket!' said Rochelle. 'I'm out of here.
I'm going to the school over on Neptune to see if they'll

219
let me sit in on some lessons.' She was all dressed up in
her shortest skirt and highest heels.
'What kind of lessons?' said Jude. 'How to be a mini-
hooker? You can't wear that to school! Put your
Bletchworth uniform on.'
'But I'm seeing Ryan. I can't let him see me in that
old uniform, I look like a silly little kid.'
'Rochelle, guess what: you are a silly little kid,' I said.
'Shut up, you silly little squirt. It's a waste of time you
going to school, you're so braindead you just get to sit
by yourself and do colouring. But you'll come with me,
won't you, Jude?'
'What? I've got better things to do than try to blag my
way into a new school!' she said. 'You're crazy, Rochelle.'
Jude wanted to spend the day with Bruce, having
intensive Wing Chun instruction. Bruce's back was a
little better, so he could just about hobble around down-
stairs, though he was still happiest flat out on the
mattress. Jude stood by his head, barely able to move
for furniture, adopting the front fighting stance and
practising an arrow punch.
I joined in for a bit but it was so boring doing it over
and over fifty times that I wandered off by myself.
I trekked through the jungle, heaved myself up onto
the wall and stared at Mary's empty garden. I couldn't
see a sign of any dustbins. They must be kept round the
front of the house.
I jumped down off the wall and walked along the
alleyway to the end, wishing I had Jude with me. I made
it along Mary's street and stood outside her house for
several minutes, wondering if I dared creep up the crazy
paving and search for their dustbin.

220
 I had my hand on the front gate when I saw Mary's
mother spraying the living-room window and then
wiping away at it vigorously, even though the glass was
already sparkling. I ducked down and ran bent over until
I was sure I was out of sight. I didn't feel safe until I
was in my own back garden. I didn't know why I felt so
frightened. Jude had made me wonder if she was really
as scary as Mary made out. Even if she was, she couldn't
smack me or make me eat crusts or cut my nails or throw
out anything of mine. She wouldn't really throw Bluebell
into the bin too, would she? It seemed so awful she could
do all these things to Mary, just because she was her
daughter.
I decided I should get Bruce to teach little Mary Wing
Chun too. Then every time her mum made a move Mary
could block it. If her mum got really mad Mary could
spring into action and whirl her way over her head. Then
Mary and Bluebell and I could whiz off to Planet Dixie
where no one could pick on us.
I so so so hoped Bluebell was safe and sound. I kept
automatically reaching for her up my sleeve. I did a lot
of colouring in my fairy story book to keep my hands
busy but it still seemed endless hours until lunch time,
and then the whole afternoon stretched out for ever.
I was waiting on the wall, watching out for Mary, from
three o'clock onwards. I knew I was much too early to
see Mary but I couldn't help it. I fidgeted so much on
the rough bricks that I rubbed my legs raw. I heard a
clock chime quarter past, half past, quarter to four, then
four.
Mary must be home from school by now. Why didn't she
come out in the garden to see me? She knew I'd be wanting

221
to see her. Couldn't she get away from her mother? Had
she taken Bluebell to school with her, hidden in her school
bag? Or had she tried to hide her in her bedroom? I
thought of her mum shaking the duvet, pounding the
pillows, opening every drawer and cupboard.
I was starting to think I'd never ever see Bluebell
again.
'Fly home to me!' I whispered, and I looked up. There
was Mary at the upstairs window, her palms on the glass.
She was standing right up on the windowsill in her bare
feet. I saw a flash of dusty blue in one of her hands.
I jumped down off the wall, rushed across the alleyway
and climbed right over her gate. I crept across the velvety
grass, nearer and nearer.
Mary stayed spread-eagled against the glass, wearing
a long white gown. She was mouthing something. I
couldn't see her lips clearly enough to work out what
she was saying. I shook my head. She tried again and
again.
I got as near as I dared, almost up to the house, craning
my neck up at Mary. It looked as if she was crying. I
realized the long white gown was her nightie. She was
obviously in trouble again and had been sent to bed.
She waved Bluebell to show me she was safe. She held
her to the glass, as if willing her to fly straight through.
'It's OK!' I mouthed. 'You keep her for a bit.'
Mary tried to reply. I still didn't understand, but I
nodded my head to encourage her. Mary still looked very
anxious but she smiled bravely. She started fiddling with
the catch on her window. I stared up at her, wondering
if she was going to try to throw Bluebell down to me.
'Don't, Mary! Careful! No, it's too dangerous!' I called.

222
 Mary jerked the window right open. She leaned
forward and put one foot out of the window, right onto
the ledge. She was still clutching Bluebell in one hand.
Then I remembered my own words.
All you have to do is jump into the air and Bluebell
will flap her wings and you'll both fly into my arms.
'No! No, Mary, don't!' I screamed.
It was too late.
Mary leaped into the air, her white nightie billowing.
For a split second I thought she might really fly. Then
she tumbled downwards.
I ran to catch her, my arms out.
Then she fell on me with hammer-blow force and the
ground opened up and swallowed both of us.
 17

I could smell lilies, lots and lots of lilies, so overwhelming

they were sickly sweet. I felt their soft velvety petals
stroking my cheeks. My head throbbed, my legs felt
weirdly heavy and my whole body ached. I tried to roll
over but I couldn't move. I was held rigidly in some sort
of container, trapped.
I opened my eyes and there was Dad leaning over me.
My dad, who never came to see me. My dad, the
embalmer.
I was lying in a bed of flowers and I couldn't move, as
if I was in a coffin.
My whole family were gathered all around me. Mum,
Martine holding little Sundance, Jude, Rochelle and
Uncle Bruce. They were all gazing down at me, and
everyone was crying.
'Am I dead?' I whispered.
'Oh Dixie, what are you like?' Mum said. She was
laughing shakily but tears were pouring down her
cheeks.

224
 'What's happened?' I said.
'You've been in an accident, lovey. Don't you
remember?' said Mum. 'You're in hospital now.'
'What did I do?'
'You went round to Mary's house,' said Jude.
Then I remembered. I saw Mary flying through the
air like a little white angel. 'Mary!' I said, and I started
sobbing.
'Hush now, darling, it's all right. Don't cry so. You've
been such a good brave little girl,' Mum said, rubbing
her face against mine.
'I'm bad, I'm terrible, it's all my fault,' I wept. 'I told
Mary to jump off the wall and then she tried to jump
right out the window and I couldn't stop her. Where is
she? Is Mary all right? Oh please, tell me, is Mary dead?'
'Ssh, ssh, Mary's fine. There's barely a scratch on her,
I promise you,' said Mum. 'Look, my darling, here's
Bluebell. Mary said you had to have her back.' Mum
tucked Bluebell in beside me, her beak nuzzling my neck.
'Where is Mary? Is she really really all right? Can I
see her?'
'Well, her dad's taken her home now, pet,' said Mum.
'Her mum will be so cross with her!'
'No, no. I had a long talk with her dad. Don't you
worry about Mary now. She's going to be staying with
her auntie and uncle while her mum's in hospital.'
'Did her mum get hurt too?'
'No, but she's . . . she's not very well.'
'She's gone off her head and now she's in the loony
ward. I think they should lock her up and throw away
the key,' said Rochelle.
'Now, we shouldn't judge. Mary's dad said she's always

225
been bothered with her nerves, right from when Mary
was born. It started off as post-natal depression.'
'That's just a fancy excuse. As if!'
'That's enough, Rochelle. It can make you do all sorts,'
said Mum. 'You don't know the half of it.'
'I know she was being horrible to Mary. Why didn't
you tell, Dixie?' said Rochelle.
'She did tell. She told me. And I just told her to shut
up and go to sleep,' said Jude. 'It's my fault.'
'It's not anybody's fault. Don't be so silly, girls,' said
Mum. 'And Dixie, you must feel very very proud. You
saved little Mary's life running forward like that.'
'I caught her?'
'Yes, you did, you mad little darling. You took the full
force of her weight. You were knocked unconscious.'
'Yeah, you've been in a coma, Dixie, and we were all
starting to think you'd never come round and you'd stay
a total vegetable,' said Rochelle. 'I felt so bad because
I've always made out you were braindead anyway—'
'Rochelle!' said Martine.
'Yeah, but I vowed I'd look after you and nurse you
and do everything for you if you really were braindead,'
said Rochelle.
'I'm glad I'm not,' I said.
I tried to wriggle up on my pillows to look at everyone
properly but my legs wouldn't budge. 'I can't move!' I
said. I suddenly panicked. 'Can't I walk? Will I have to
have a wheelchair?'
'No, darling, you're not paralysed – feel,' said Mum.
'Wiggle your toes! That's my girl. You can't move your
legs because they're strung up in plaster, see?'
Mum slid her arm behind my head and helped me

226
peer at my new weird white legs, my pink toes sticking
out of each end.
'They feel so heavy,' I said.
'Still, think how hard you'll be able to stamp on
Rochelle if she gets on your nerves,' said Jude.
'How long have I got to keep the plaster on?'
'We're not quite sure yet, darling. Both your legs are
quite badly broken. But you'll mend, sweetheart, and
you'll be running around all over the place before long,
you'll see. I'm going to stay with you while you're in
hospital, with little Sundance. I'm going to have a
mattress in a side ward – it's all arranged. I'm getting
used to camping on blooming mattresses! But by the time
you come home, Dixie, we're going to have your own bed
all sorted, and we'll paint up your bedroom and make it
as pretty as a picture. You'll help me, won't you, guys?'
'Of course we will,' said Bruce.
'If I can manage it,' said my dad.
'And I'm going to come visiting, Dixie. I'm going to be
able to feed you little treats and help you drink out of
a straw now,' said Bruce.
'Is your back better now, Uncle Bruce?'
'Yes, little 'un, it's on the mend now.'
'So are you going back to your own house now?'
'Well, I'm dashing backwards and forwards in the van.
I'll have to see to the shop some of the time, but I'll come
every weekend and I'll bring you lots more flowers. The
nurses thought you were a little film star with all my
lilies.'
'I'll come and see you too, little Dixie,' said my dad.
'But maybe not every weekend. I could bring my other
daughters too. Would you like to meet your sisters?'

227
 'I think she's got more than enough sisters as it is,'
said Mum.
'How come you're here, Martine?' I asked.
'I came the minute I heard about you, Dixie – don't
be daft,' said Martine.
'Is Tony here too?'
'No. We've had a row, him and me – and his mum. I
got sick of them saying stuff, badmouthing us Diamonds.
Bogging cheek! I'm not going back to Bletchworth. I'm
staying with you lot.'
'My Ryan's here,' said Rochelle proudly. 'He's outside
because hospitals give him the heebie-jeebies, but I could
call him if you like. He wants to say hello.'
'No more visitors, please!' said a big friendly nurse,
bustling up beside my bed. She put a thermometer in my
mouth. 'Hello, my lovely. So you've woken up, have you!
I think you might get a bit over-excited with all this
crowd round your bed. How about just the immediate
family staying?'
'We're all immediate family,' said Mum. 'I'm her mum.'
'I'm her dad.'
'I'm her uncle.'
'Her favourite uncle,' said Jude. 'And I'm her sister.'
'I'm her big sister,' said Martine.
'Well, I'm her sister too,' said Rochelle.
'Goodness, what a lot of sisters,' said the nurse. She
looked at Sundance's blue sleeping suit and shawl. She
winked at Mum. 'I bet you were glad when you had their
little baby brother!'
Mum took a deep breath. 'Not a bit of it,' she said.
'Girls are just as good as boys. Better. And the little
one isn't a boy at all. I just fancied dressing her in

228
blue because I got a bit bored with all that pink.'
'Mum?' said Jude.
'Oh God, now Mum's gone nuts,' said Rochelle.
'Mum, Sundance is a boy,' said Martine.
'Well, I think my little babe's nappy needs changing,
so have a quick peep and see if I'm right,' said Mum.
Poor Sundance had everyone peering at her little pink
bottom.
'Why did you pretend she was a boy, then?' said Jude.
'I told you, she's gone loopy,' Rochelle hissed. 'And
Sundance is an even weirder name for a girl.'
'Shut up, Rochelle,' said Martine. 'Mum, you said all
along you were having a boy. It was all in the stars about
your boy.'
'Maybe it's Sundance's dad who's the boy,' Bruce
muttered.
'You're a much cannier bloke than you look, Bruce,'
said Mum. 'I hadn't thought of that! Maybe I have got
psychic powers after all.'
'I don't get it, Mum,' said Jude.
'I don't get it either, do you, mate?' said my dad to Bruce.
'Sue's a woman who's full of surprises,' said Bruce.
'If that's a nice way of saying I'm off my trolley then
I'd have to agree with you,' said Mum. 'I did go a bit
loopy, Rochelle. I couldn't even tell you, Martine. I
suppose I didn't dare, because I knew you wouldn't keep
it quiet like our Dixie.'
'Dixie knew?' said Martine and Jude and Rochelle.
I spat out the thermometer triumphantly. 'I knew right
from the start, didn't I, Mum?' I said. 'Mum isn't bonkers.
She just pretended a bit, that's all. Because she wanted
Sundance to be a boy so much.'

229
 'That's right, my darling. I just wanted to stay in my
own private little dream world. But I couldn't. All you
girls needed me. It's a drama every day in our blooming
household – Rochelle getting a boyfriend, Jude getting
into fights, our Martine getting pregnant. Then little
Dixie damn near died and I was shocked back into my
senses. About bogging time and all!'
'Well, Mum, maybe my baby will be a boy. Your first
grandson, eh?' said Martine.
'We'll love it whether it's a boy or a girl,' said Mum.
'But let's hope it's another girl. Then we'll all be Diamond
girls together.'
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACQUELINE WILSON is one of Britain's most
outstanding writers for young readers. She is the
most borrowed author from British libraries and
has sold over 20 million books in this country.
As a child, she always wanted to be a writer and
wrote her first 'novel' when she was nine, filling
countless exercise books as she grew up. She started
work at a publishing company and then went on
to work as a journalist on Jackie magazine (which
was named after her) before turning to writing
fiction full-time.

Jacqueline has been honoured with many

of the UK's top awards for children's books,
including the Guardian Children's Fiction
Award, the Smarties Prize, the Red House Book
Award and the Children's Book of the Year.
She was awarded an OBE in 2002 and is the
Children's Laureate for 2005-2007.
 ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
NICK SHARRATT knew from an early age that
he wanted to use his drawing skills as his career,
so he went to Manchester Polytechnic to do an
Art Foundation course. He followed this up with
a BA (Hons) in Graphic Design at St Martin's
School of Art in London from 1981-1984.

Since graduating, Nick has been working full-time

as an illustrator for children's books, publishers and
a wide range of magazines. His brilliant illustrations
have brought to life many books, most notably
the titles by Jacqueline Wilson.

Nick also writes books as well as illustrating them.

 JACKY DAYDREAM
Jacqueline Wilson
The Story of Her Childhood
Illustrated by Nick Sharratt
Everybody knows Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson's
best-loved character. But what do they know about the
little girl who grew up to become Jacqueline Wilson?
How she played with paper doll like April
in Dustbin Baby.
How she dealt with an unpredictable father
like Prue in Love Lessons.
How she chose new toys in Hamleys like Dolphin
in The Illustrated Mum.
How she sat entrance exams like Ruby in Double Act.
But most of all how she loved reading and writing stories.
Losing herself in a new world was the best possible way
she could think of spending her time. From the very
first story she wrote, Meet the Maggots, it was clear that
this little girl had a very vivid imagination.
Now her fans can discover a little more about Jacky
herself in this utterly captivating, charming and
poignant memoir.
'Literary superstar' I N D E P E N D E N T
'A brilliant writer of wit and subtlety whose stories
are never patronising and are often complex and
multi-layered' T H E T I M E S
DOUBLEDAY
978 0 385 61015 5
 SECRETS
Jacqueline Wilson
Illustrated by Nick Sharratt
1 keep a diary,' Treasure said.
'I keep a diary, too,' said India, and then she blushed.

Treasure and India are two girls with very different

backgrounds. As an unlikely but deep friendship
develops between them, they keep diaries, inspired by
their heroine, Anne Frank. Soon the pages are filled
with the details of their most serious secret ever.

A superbly moving novel for older readers from the

prize-winning author of The Illustrated Mum and
The Story of Tracy Beaker.

' The Diary of Anne Frank is woven into this story ...
this could have been a dangerous device for a lesser
novelist; Wilson carries it off triumphantly.
This brilliant writer still provides her fans with
reality at its most unvarnished' INDEPENDENT

A CORGI YEARLING BOOK

978 0 440 86508 7