The Suitcase Kid (6 page)

‘I feel sick.'

‘Now don't start.'

But I did feel sick, and it wasn't just to do with the jelly. Mum was due to come and collect me and I knew there was going to be trouble.

I lay waiting. I heard my un-Uncle Bill's van draw up outside. I heard Mum's footsteps and the tap on the steps down to the basement flat. I heard the door-knocker. And then I heard the quarrel.

‘What do you
mean
, Andrea's in bed? My God, I simply can't believe this! I didn't think even you could stoop so low! Just because Andrea was genuinely ill the other weekend . . . Oh, of course she's not ill this time! You're just being deliberately obstructive, trying to get your own back in as nasty and spiteful a way as possible . . . It's just typical! Come on, hand Andrea over this minute.'

‘The child is very ill. She has a sore throat, and a fever—'

‘Well, I'm not surprised, stuck in this damp old flat. It's disgraceful, no place for young children—'

‘Well, if you hadn't bled me dry over the divorce we could afford a better place—'

‘Oh don't give me that rubbish. And you don't even make sure Andy has a proper bed. She's told me about having to sleep on the floor. I can't believe it, you're too mean to buy a proper bed for your own little girl – and yet
her
kids have got bunk-beds, I know. Well, if Andy really
is
ill then I insist she comes home with me where I can nurse her properly. Andrea? Andrea, where are you, darling? It's Mummy. I've come to take you home with me.'

I heard her blundering about the flat for quite a while before she got the right room.

‘You poor little lamb!' she said, rushing to me. ‘Why have they stuck you in here? Ugh, in their bed. Come on, let's put your coat on over your pyjamas. You're coming home with me this instant.'

I jumped out of bed obediently and stepped straight into the plate of jelly. I stood shivering, up to my ankles in brown slime.

‘Oh my God!
What's that?
' Mum screeched.

‘It's jelly. Carrie made it for me.'

‘Jelly!' snorted Mum. ‘That stupid hippy's been feeding you that muck and calling it
jelly
?'

‘Will you quit calling Carrie names?' Dad roared.

‘I'll call her anything I like, the dirty slut! She's not looking after my daughter again, do you hear me? I'll send the social services round. You're daft enough to take on her hippy twins and she looks as if she's about to have your baby any minute, but I'm telling you one thing – she's not looking after
my
daughter, not any more.'

MUM TOOK ME
home with her and said I wasn't ever going to go back to Dad's. Dad phoned up and came round and sent furious letters. I stayed in bed with my sore throat and tried to forget about them both. I played lots of Under-the-Bedcovers games with Radish. She had a sore throat too and we knew the only possible cure would be a sip of magical mulberry juice so we searched high and low across
the dark and barren land (you try crawling around under your bedcovers) but our throats remained sorely parched.

‘What are you doing under there, you daft berk?'

It was Katie, back from school.

‘How's the poor lickle invalid then?' she said nastily. ‘When are you going to shove off back to your boring old dad, eh? I'm getting sick of you cluttering up my bedroom. Your mum's not
serious
, is she? You're not going to be here always?'

I emerged red-faced from under the covers.

‘I don't know,' I mumbled.

Katie slotted a video into place and pressed the button. A horribly familiar little puppet wobbled into view.

‘Oh ha ha, very funny,' I said.

Katie played the fast forward so Andy Pandy and Teddy jerked about like crazies and then stopped the tape the moment she spotted the basket.

‘Time to get into your basket, Andy,' Katie said, in the lady's silly high-pitched tone. ‘Did you get that, Andy Pandy? Fold up your great huge horrible arms and legs and stuff your fat head into your basket, right? I'll post you off to
your dad. Only once the new baby's born they won't have room for you there either so you'll just have to stay stuffed up in your basket for ever, OK, because nobody wants you.'

I clutched Radish tightly. I knew Katie was just winding me up deliberately. But it was working. I
felt
wound up. Tied up so tight I could hardly breathe.

‘They do so want me,' I croaked. ‘My mum wants me. My dad wants me. That's what all the fuss is about now. They both want me so much.'

‘Oh no they don't,' said Katie. ‘They only go on about you because they want to get at each other. If they really truly wanted you then they'd have stayed in that boring old cottage you keep going on about. But your dad left and your mum left. Your dad wants his new lady. Your mum wants my dad. They want them, not you.'

‘Shut
up
!' I said, and I reached out of bed and tried to hit her.

It was just a flabby punch, it couldn't have hurt her at all, but she immediately started squealing and Mum came running.

‘Whatever's the matter now?' Mum shouted above the racket, taking hold of Katie.

‘Andy's poked my eye out and it
hurts
!' Katie roared.

‘Andrea! I thought I'd put a stop to this nonsense! I won't have you bullying poor little Katie. Come here, Katie, let's see. Of course your eye's all right. Although, oh dear, yes, it is a bit red. Andrea, how
could
you?'

‘I didn't touch her silly old eye,' I protested truthfully. But then I looked at my fist. Radish's ears were sticking out of it. It looked as if Radish had done the poking for me.

I tried to explain but Mum wouldn't listen. She was very very cross. Then the baboon came home and I eavesdropped anxiously and she told him. And Katie started crying all over again just so that he would make a fuss of her. Then he came into the bedroom to see me and I got really scared.

I decided to poke his eye too if he shouted or smacked me. He had no right to tell me off. He wasn't my dad. I suddenly badly wanted my own dad and burst into tears.

‘Yes, well, I'm glad to see you're feeling sorry, Andrea,' he said. ‘Dear oh dear, you little girls! And I thought it would be smashing for you both, being the same age and that. But listen to me, Andrea. I know you've had a hard time
and you're not very well just now but that still isn't really any excuse. You must stop hitting Katie or you'll really hurt her. She's only small and she's not used to such rough and tumble. Her poor old eye is very sore. It could have been really nasty, you know. I don't want my baby to end up getting badly hurt. She's been a good little girl sharing her bedroom and all her precious bits and bobs with you. So I'd like you to try to be a bit grateful, Andrea. I know you're a nice little girl underneath even though you've got a bit of a quick temper. You've inherited that from your dad, obviously. But you've got to learn to control yourself, dear.'

I had the greatest difficulty controlling myself right that minute. I wanted to scream and kick and hit and rage because it wasn't fair. Katie always hurts me far more than I can hurt her. And I don't want to share her horrid bedroom. I want my
own
bedroom, back in Mulberry Cottage. My own place with my own things where I can be with my own rabbit.

THE GARDEN IN
Larkspur Lane has got a lake! Well, not a
proper
lake. It's really a round brick goldfish pond – but it's a magnificent lake for Radish.

We go there nearly every day after school, even though the mulberries are finished now. We've started to explore the garden properly. Once we thought we saw a face at the window and we had to run like mad. We didn't go back
for several days, walking quickly past the gate without even looking in, but we missed the garden badly.

Radish jumped over the gate by herself so I had to go after her. I wanted to stay close to the mulberry tree, but Radish found a crazy-paving path and followed it round a corner behind a hedge and there were three mossy steps down into another garden. The lawn was long and lush there too, right up past Radish's ears, and if I crouched down at her level I couldn't see the lake until we were right on top of it.

I don't think I've ever seen Radish so excited. She loves her dips and diving sessions in the bathroom at Mum's place (there's no proper lock on the door at Dad's and there's a gap under the bath where the spiders live so Radish doesn't like playing there) but the lake was pure paradise by comparison.

She wanted to wade right in straight away, but I kept her paddling cautiously at the edge in case it got too deep. We both got a shock when an orange whale suddenly rose up out of the water and nibbled Radish's paws. I snatched Radish out of the way. We've done the story of Jonah and the Whale at school and
I didn't fancy the idea of gutting a goldfish to retrieve my Radish. But she didn't seem too bothered by the fish. I looked very carefully at their mouths. They just opened and shut as if they were blowing harmless kisses. They didn't seem to have
teeth
. Still, maybe they could suck at Radish and then swallow her down whole.

I decided Radish had better go boating. I found various big leaves but as soon as I stood her on board the leaves started sinking. I tried collecting twigs but I needed something to stick them all together. I snaffled some Sellotape from the kitchen drawer at Mum's place and stuck the twigs together the next day and made quite a good little raft but Radish didn't seem too happy on it. It tipped about too much. I was scared she'd sail right into the middle of the lake and then slide in under the water, out of her depth.

She needed a proper boat, not a raft.

I sidled up to Graham after tea the next day.

‘Hey Graham,' I said, smiling at him.

He blinked a bit behind his glasses. We've barely spoken to each other ever since my mum's lived at his place. He generally makes himself scarce in his room with his computer.
He's clever and gets a lot of extra homework. The baboon calls him the Boy Wonder. I don't like the way he says it. He doesn't seem to think that much of Graham. He's dotty about Katie and he cares a lot about Paula too though he's always nagging at her for wearing too much make-up and staying out late. But he often makes these snide remarks about Graham. Graham doesn't say anything back. Graham hardly ever says anything very much.

‘Graham, you haven't got a toy boat, have you? I mean, I know you're too old for toys now, but did you use to have one?'

Graham shook his head. ‘I made myself one with a second-hand Meccano set once.'

‘Did you? Did it float OK?'

‘No, it's metal, so it wouldn't float.'

‘Well then it was a pretty stupid boat, wasn't it?' I said, disappointed. ‘What does float, Graham? I've tried wood, but it's not right.'

‘Cork.'

‘Cork. What's that? Oh, I know, like in the top of a bottle. But it wouldn't be big enough. What else floats?'

‘Rubber.'

I shook my head, thinking about the eraser in my pencil case.

‘Still too small. Come on, Graham, what else?'

‘Plastic.'

I thought hard. I went back to the living-room. I borrowed one of the baboon's tapes, making sure no-one was looking. I tried floating the plastic case in the bath. It did OK, but as soon as I tried to launch Radish on it they both sunk. It needed to be bigger. A video case. Aha.

The next day after school Radish sailed the good ship
Video
from one side of the lake to the other. She had the sail up and stood on the sun deck, her black eyes bright with bliss.