Fruit and Nutcase (6 page)

I could be the Queen!

I could be anyone!

Dad has heard me doing my voices. He’d really love to know what I’m talking about! He said, “You’re not talking about us, are you, Mandy? Me and your mum? You’re not giving our secrets away?”

Mum told him to let me alone. She said that I was doing it for Cat (only she calls her Miss Daley) and if Cat thought it was a good thing, “We oughtn’t to interfere.”

Dad said, “I’m not interfering, I just want to know what she’s telling her.”

He’s tried wheedling and coaxing me, he’s even tried bribing. He said, “Give you half a dollar if you’ll let me have a listen!”

But I don’t know what half a dollar is, and in any case what I’m talking about is strictly private.

Well, almost strictly private. Just between me and Cat. And Cat’s mum, of course, but I don’t count her. She’s only typing it out. It’s not as if she knows us. She doesn’t even live near us. She lives in Northwood, which is a dead posh area. We’re nowhere near her. So I don’t mind if she gets to hear what I’m saying, but no way do I want Dad to!

I was hoping, when I’d filled one tape, that Cat would say I could stop now, but she said, “Oh, no! You don’t get let off that easily. I want a whole book out of you, young woman.”

I said, “A whole
book
?” thinking that I would still be filling up tapes when I am old and ancient.

Cat said, “Well, several chapters at any rate.”

I said, “How many is several?” and she said, “Mm … seven or eight?”

Seven or eight! I said, “I haven’t lived long
enough to do seven or eight!” But Cat only laughed and said, “Get on with it, you’re doing fine,” and handed me another tape.

I suppose I don’t mind, really.

Just so long as Dad doesn’t get to eavesdrop!!!!

But I don’t think he would.

*
Note from Cat’s mum: I think you mean “dyslexic”

Here I am, starting over again. Testing, testing. One, two, three. This is Mandy Small telling her life story.

Now I’m going to play it back and see if it’s come out OK.

Hearing your own voice is really strange! I don’t sound a bit like what I thought I did. I thought I’d sound like someone on the television, maybe.

Talking posh.

Like Tracey Bigg.

Cat asked me once how I felt about Tracey Bigg. She said, “I get the feeling she upsets you.”

She doesn’t upset me! I’d just like to jump up and down on her a few times and squash her
flat.

Then when I’d done it, I’d roll her up like an old carpet and stuff her in the bin.

I’m not supposed to be talking about Tracey Bigg. This book isn’t about Tracey Bigg, it’s about me! I don’t know how she got into it again. She keeps getting into things. From now on I am going to
keep her out.
That’ll settle her.

Now I’m back to telling my life story, only I don’t quite know what to tell. When I asked Cat, she said, “Just tell it like it is! Why not pick up where you left off?” Where I left off was the night Mum burnt Dad’s tea and we all ate toasted teacher and baked beans.

The next day was Saturday. I like Saturdays! They’re one of my favourite days.
No school,
for one thing. For another, Mum doesn’t have to work and neither does Dad.

Dad and I always go down the shops of a Saturday morning. Mum stops behind to catch up on stuff like the washing and the ironing. She has her treat on Sunday when she stays in bed. Sometimes she stays there until twelve o’clock! Sunday is Mum’s day. But Saturday is mine and Dad’s.