Lottie Project (28 page)

Jo took it in to Robin at the hospital. This time I got my own picture back. It was a portrait of me. Well, it had my name on it in very wobbly letters. My hair was an orange scribble right down past my knees. My eyes were crossed. My arms stuck straight out of my neck. My legs were mostly hidden beneath a triangle of green frock, but my feet were vast and stuck out sideways.

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Is this supposed to be flattering?’

‘He tried ever so hard,’ said Jo. ‘This was his third attempt.’

‘What’s this pointy thing sticking in me? A dagger? Did Mark add that?’

‘It’s an arrow, pointing to you, to show you’re Charlie. And Mark doesn’t want to stick any daggers in you, you daft girl. In fact he wants you to come to the hospital tomorrow to see Robin.’

‘Oh, wow, His Lordship has given his orders, eh?’ I said.

‘Charlie?’ said Jo. ‘Oh, don’t be like that.’

‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll go. To see Robin.’

‘Are you going to do him another picture?’

‘How about one he can eat?’

I wanted to make him a proper robin cake in the shape of a bird, but I couldn’t work out how to do it, and the wing tips and little claws would be far too
fiddly
and break off. So in the end I made two ordinary round sponges and sandwiched them together with lots of butter cream and jam and then I made up this super brown butter icing with a bit of cocoa powder and smeared it over most of the cake, doing an extra feathery layer each side for wings, and then I stuck on two brown smarties for eyes and a yellow one for the beak, and I filled in the gap with new bright-red butter icing.

It all took much longer than I’d thought, and the robin cake still didn’t look quite right.

‘It’s wonderful!’ said Jo.

‘No, it looks like the robin’s been severely squashed,’ I said, sighing.

I really wanted to stay up all night and try again, but I’d used up all the eggs and icing sugar and practically half our housekeeping money, so I couldn’t.

I kept worrying about the stupid cake the next day at school. Or maybe I was worrying about going to the hospital. Or something.

I took my time going home from school.

‘Come on, what kept you?’ said Jo. ‘We won’t get there in time for Robin’s tea at this rate.’

‘I don’t feel like trailing all the way over there,’ I said. ‘You go.’

‘After you’ve made Robin the fantastic cake?’

‘It’s a stupid cake. But you can take it if you think he’d really like it.’

‘You’re the one that’s being stupid. Dump your schoolbag, find your jacket, and let’s get cracking,’ said Jo. Firmly.

So I went to the hospital clutching my cake in a tin. Mark didn’t smile at me, but he nodded. Robin put his head on one side shyly, but he had this great big grin on his face.

‘It’s
Charlie
!’ he whispered – as if I were someone important.

I don’t like little kids much. Especially little boys. But somehow I dumped my cake tin and put my arms round Robin and gave him a great big hug. He’d always been a skinny little thing but now he felt like one of those little glass animals that snap off an arm or a leg when you just look at them. I tried not to hug him too hard in case I hurt him. Then I had to hug Birdie too. His general appearance hadn’t been improved by Robin’s recent adventures. I didn’t really enjoy having this filthy piece of cloth rubbed round my face, but I didn’t complain.

My cake had got a bit bashed about inside the tin, but it was still just about recognizable as a robin. The real Robin didn’t want to cut it at first, but I made Birdie pretend to be starving hungry and nibble a corner of the cake, so Robin gave in.

It wasn’t a work of art
ornithologically
(ha!) but it certainly tasted good. Robin had a great big slice. So did Mark and Jo and two nurses and a couple of kids in the main ward that Robin had made friends with. I had a great big slice as well. Two, actually, just to check it tasted good all the way round.

‘It’s a lovely cake,’ said Mark, giving me another
nod
. Then he smiled at Jo. ‘I expect you helped Charlie with it?’

I spluttered. ‘Jo can’t even make
toast
!’

I felt like clouting him with the cake tin. But I didn’t. I sensed our relationship was still dead precarious. I still couldn’t stick him. I didn’t ever want to make friends with him. But I did want to be friends with Robin.

Mark took him to the seaside the next week. Bournemouth. I’d never been there.

‘I have,’ said Jo. ‘Your grandma and grandpa used to take me there on holiday when I was little. In a big white hotel and they played tennis all day and whist in the evening and I just mooched about, too shy and stupid to make friends with any of the other kids.’

‘Aaaaah!’ I said, teasing her. ‘Don’t worry,
I’ll
play with you next time we go to the seaside.’

‘We could go to Bournemouth on Saturday,’ said Jo, trying to sound casual. ‘Meet up with Robin and Mark. Mark phoned and suggested it.’

Jo still had to do her supermarket shift early Saturday morning, but I met her at eight o’clock and we went straight to the station and set off for Bournemouth. Robin and Mark met us off the train. Robin looked a bit bigger and bouncier out of bed, though he was so well wrapped up against the sea breeze that he could barely move. Birdie’s appearance had deteriorated even more because he’d dived into the sea by mistake when Robin was
paddling
in wellie boots – but at least he’d had a good wash.

It was a bit nippy for the beach but we walked right along the sands and I laboured long and hard making a sandcastle for Robin. He twittered beside me and Jo and Mark billed and cooed in the background. I was beginning to think I’d maybe done enough hard labour and that it was time I was let off for good behaviour – but I perked up a little when Mark bought us all ice creams.

It was far too cold to go swimming in the sea, of course, but we went to the Leisure Pool instead. Birdie took a nap in a locker while Robin splashed around happily with me. Robin still looked a bit too thin stripped to his bathing costume but he was very perky. Mark looked a right berk in his trunks. I practically fell about laughing.

We spent ages drying every tiny bit of Robin afterwards and wrapping him back in his one hundred and one layers and then we had hot chocolate to make sure he was well and truly warmed up before going out into the wind.

We went on the pier and Mark spent a small fortune on the cuddly-toy cranes. He’s useless at them . . . but
eventually
he won a lop-sided parrot for
Robin
and a simpering blue bunny for Jo. And then he got this hideous bug-eyed troll with long orange hair – and gave it to me.

I wasn’t particularly charmed with that little seaside souvenir. But I tell you what I
did
get. There’s an amazing museum place in Bournemouth called the Russell-Coates Gallery. It’s this big Victorian house and it’s stuffed full of everything Victorian and I went round and round peering at everything, pretending I’d really stepped back into the past. No nurseries, though – my Lottie wouldn’t have had a job.