Cookie
Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
About the Book
Beauty Cookson is plain and timid, and all the super-confident and snooty girls at school think her name is ridiculous and tease her horribly.
Worse than the taunting in the playground, though, is her father’s constant, hurtful criticism. Beauty and her mum live in fear of Dad’s fierce rages – sparked off when they break one of his fussy house rules or suggest something ‘silly’ like getting a pet. But Beauty’s mum adores her, and does her best to keep Beauty happy despite all the tension and shouting.
After Beauty’s disastrous birthday party, Dad’s temper seems to be out of control. Are Mum and Beauty brave enough to leave and start a sweeter new life?
A charming, page-turning story of family life, friendship and cookies, from bestselling Jacqueline Wilson.
To Martha Courtauld – I love all your ideas
I TURNED ON
the television. I timed it perfectly. The music was just starting. I saw the cartoon picture of Sam and Lily spinning round, Sam waving, Lily delicately nibbling a carrot. They whirled faster and faster while a voice sang, ‘
Who do you want to see
?’
Little children piped up: ‘
Sam and Lily in the Rabbit Hutch
!’
I sang it too, but very quietly, just mouthing the words. There was only Mum at home and she was out in the kitchen. She wouldn’t mind a bit if I wanted to watch a baby programme like
Rabbit Hutch
but I still felt embarrassed about it. Imagine if some of the really mean snooty girls at school, Skye Wortley or Emily Barrington or Arabella Clyde-Smith, came barging through our front door and caught me watching a programme for five-year-olds. They teased me enough anyway. I could hear them screaming with laughter over Beauty and her lickle bunny-wunny friend in the Rabbit Hutch.
I shut my eyes tight.
‘Hey there!’ said a soft gentle voice from the television.
I opened my eyes. There was Sam smiling at me, the real man, not the funny cartoon picture of him. I smiled back at him. I couldn’t help it. He had such a lovely funny grin. His brown eyes shone and he ducked his head a little so his soft shiny brown hair flopped across his forehead.
‘How are you doing?’ Sam asked.
‘I’m fine,’ I whispered.
He nodded and then looked down at Lily. He was holding her close against his chest. He needed both hands because there was a lot of Lily. Her lop ears brushed the collar of Sam’s checked shirt, while her back paws dangled past the belt of his jeans. Sam held her firmly so she felt safe. She relaxed against him, slowly blinking her blue eyes. She knew he would never ever drop her.
‘I wonder what you’ve been doing today?’ said Sam, looking at me.
‘School,’ I muttered.
‘Which one?’ Sam asked.
‘Lady Mary Mountbank. I started there last year,’ I said, sighing.
‘Is it that bad?’ said Sam sympathetically.
I considered. It wasn’t
all
bad. Rhona Marshall had asked me to her birthday party. She’d given my arm a special squeeze as she gave me the pink invitation card and said, ‘I do hope you can come.’
I liked Rhona a lot, even though she was best friends with Skye. Rhona never ever joined in the horrible Beauty routine. She just looked embarrassed and raised her eyebrows at me and once she whispered, ‘Take no notice.’ This was sweet of her, but how could I
help
noticing when they were chanting stuff right in my face.
Miss Woodhead had been kind to me too. She specially liked my Roman project. I know this sounds as if I’m showing off, but she said I was a joy to teach. She said it quietly just to me and I went bright pink I was so pleased. But one of the others heard her and by break time half the class were muttering it and then making vomit noises. Skye made such loud vomit noises she nearly made herself really sick all down her school skirt. That would have been great.
I didn’t have time to gabble all this to Sam so I just shrugged my shoulders. He’d understand.
‘Lily likes
her
school,’ he said. ‘But her lessons are easy-peasy. One lettuce plus one carrot plus one cabbage equals one big bunny snack! Just so she doesn’t get
too
fat I’ve made her a new rabbit run in the garden. Do you want to go and do your exercises, Lily?’
She nodded.
‘Shall we go and watch her?’ Sam asked.
I nodded.
Sam carried Lily outside into the garden and gently lowered her into her new run. He’d put carrots and cabbages and lettuces at the very end of the run. Lily spotted them straight away and gambolled off like a greyhound, her ears flapping.
‘Would you run like that if your mum put your tea at the end of the garden?’ Sam joked.
Mum and I often did have tea in the garden, special picnics. Sometimes we even put our coats and scarves on and wrapped rugs round us and had
winter
picnics.
‘You bet, Sam,’ I said.
Mum always made us magic picnics. She didn’t
cook
anything, she didn’t ever really cook, but she made each picnic special. She sometimes chose a colour theme, so we’d have bananas and pineapple and cheese pasties and custard tarts and lemonade, or tomato quiche and apples and plums and Kit-Kats and raspberry juice. Sometimes she’d choose a letter of the alphabet and we’d have sausages and sandwiches and strawberries and shop-bought sponge cake carefully cut by Mum into an S shape.
When I was little she’d lay places at the picnics for my dolls and teddies, or she’d let me dress up in my Disney princess dress and she’d serve everything on the best china and curtsy every time she spoke to me.
I loved loved loved my mum. Sam understood. He said the word ‘mum’ softly, knowing it was a special word.
‘I wonder if you miss your mum, Lily?’ said Sam, squatting down beside her.
Lily nibbled a lettuce leaf, not really listening.
‘Remember when you were really little, Lily, just a weeny newborn baby rabbit?’ said Sam.
He looked at me. ‘Do you know, she was only
this
big,’ Sam said, cupping his hands and holding them only a little way apart.
I cupped my hands too, imagining a little fluffy baby Lily quivering under my clasp.
‘Do you remember when
you
were just a weeny newborn baby person?’ said Sam. ‘I bet you weren’t much bigger. Do you have a photo of you when you were a little baby?’
I nodded. Mum still had that photo inside her wallet, though it had got creased and crumpled. Dad had the same picture in a silver photo frame on his big desk at work. It was so embarrassing. I was big and bald and I didn’t even have a nappy on. My belly button was all taped up and you could see my bottom.
‘I bet you looked cute then,’ said Sam, chuckling.
I didn’t smile back at him. I nibbled my lip miserably. I didn’t look remotely cute when I was a baby, but at least I was cuddly. Mum said
she
held me all day and half the night too she was so happy to hold me. She said she cried because she was so thrilled she’d got a little girl.
Dad cried too.
Most dads don’t cry, especially very very very fierce dads like mine. My dad actually cries a lot. He cries at films on the television, even children’s cartoon films like
The Lion King
and
Beauty and the Beast
. He cries at the news on television, when a little child is rescued in an earthquake or when a man with artificial legs runs in a race. He cries heaps whenever his favourite wins on
The X-Factor
or
Search for a Star
. He said I was his little star with that special X-factor the day I was born. He scooped the newborn baby me out of Mum’s arms and cradled me close.
‘Just what I wanted! A little girl at last,’ he crooned. ‘And such a beautiful little girl too, with those chubby cheeks and big blue eyes. Just wait till your hair grows, my darling. I bet you’ll be a little blonde like your mum. You’re going to turn into a perfect beauty.’
Then he let out such a yelp I started crying.
‘I’ll take her, Gerry,’ Mum said anxiously.
‘Beauty! Don’t you get it? That’s her name, our little sweetheart’s name! We’ll call her Beauty,’ said Dad. ‘Isn’t that a great name for her, Dilly?’
Mum promised me she thought it an
awful
name
, but you didn’t dare argue with Dad, even in those days.
I was christened Beauty. It’s a ridiculous name. It would be a silly show-off shallow name even if I just magically happened to be beautiful. But I am so
not
beautiful. I don’t take after Mum, I take after Dad. I am small and squat, with a big tummy. My blue eyes turned green as gooseberries when I was still a baby, and you can’t really see them anyway because I have to wear glasses. My hair’s mouse, long and lank. Mum tries to tie it up with slides and ribbons but they always fall out. You can see why Emily and Arabella and Skye tease me so. I am a laughing stock because of my name.
I wasn’t laughing. I had silly baby tears in my eyes now, safe with Sam and Lily.
‘Hey, don’t cry,’ said Sam.
I sniffed, ashamed. ‘Not crying,’ I mumbled.
It seemed to be raining inside my glasses. I poked my finger up and tried to make it work like a windscreen wiper.
‘Why don’t you clean them on the corner of your T-shirt? Your glasses will get all smeary wiping them like that,’ Sam said softly. ‘So what are you
not
crying about?’
