Dare Game (24 page)

‘It’s karaoke night tonight, actually,’ she said.

‘Oh great! Can we go? I’d love to see you being the star singer.’

‘You can’t go to the pub, Tracy, you’re just a little kid.’

‘I went with Cam and Jane and Liz once. We sat in the garden and I had a cocktail called a St Clement’s and three packets of salt and vinegar crisps.’

‘Yes, well, my pub hasn’t got a garden and you can’t sit out in the evening anyway. No, I was wondering about
me
going.’

‘But . . . what about me?’

‘Well, you can go to bed. I’ll make you up a bed on the sofa and then you can watch telly for a bit as a treat.’

‘You’re going to leave me on my own?’ I said, my heart thumping.

‘Oh come on, Tracy, you’re not a baby,’ said Mum.

‘I don’t really like being left on my own,’ I said. ‘Mum, can’t you stay and play with me?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Tracy. I’ve been playing daft games with you for hours! You can’t begrudge me an hour or two with my friends down the pub. A couple of drinks, that’s all. I’ll be home long before closing time, I swear. Anyway, you’ll be asleep by then.’

‘What if I can’t get to sleep?’

‘Then watch the telly, like I said.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything good on tonight.’

‘Well, watch a video! Honestly – kids! You can tell you’ve been spoilt. You’re going to have to learn to do as you’re told if we’re going to get along.’

‘You’re not supposed to leave me.’

‘I’ll do what I like, young lady. Don’t take that tone with me! Do you want me to send you back to the Children’s Home?’

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.

‘Well then. Don’t you get stroppy with me. Out of my clothes and into your jim-jams, right?’

She started treating me like I was a sulky little toddler. She even washed all the make-up off my face herself and then she played silly games with the flannel, pretending it was a bird pecking off my nose. I laughed a lot and went along with the whole charade because I hoped if I was really really good and sweet and cute she’d change her mind and stay home.

But she didn’t.

She left me.

She gave me a kiss and tucked me up on the sofa and waved her fingers at me and then she put on her coat and walked off in her black suede high heels.

I called after her. I said she didn’t have to play with me, I’d lie watching telly as quiet as
a
mouse, I’d do anything she wanted, just so long as she stayed with me.

I don’t know whether she heard or not. She still went anyway. So I was left. All on my own.

I got angry at first. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. If I phoned Elaine and told tales Mum would be in serious trouble. But I didn’t want to phone Elaine. I knew who I wanted to phone – but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let on to Cam that it had all gone wrong so quickly.

Then I got angry with myself. Had it really gone wrong? I didn’t know why I was getting in such a state. So what if my mum had slipped out for a drink or two? Lots and lots and lots of mums went down the pub, for goodness’ sake. And my mum had been wonderful to me. She’d bought me fantastic new trousers and she’d played games with me for ages. She was the best mum in the world and so why couldn’t I just lie back on her lovely comfy sofa and watch telly and have a good time till she came back?

I knew why. I was scared. It reminded me of all those other times when I was little and she left me then. I couldn’t remember them properly. I just remembered crying in the dark and no-one coming. The dark seemed to stretch out for ever into space and I was all by myself
and
Mum was never ever coming back for me.

I felt that way now, even though I knew it was stupid. I scrunched up in a tiny ball on the sofa and I thought about Cam and I wanted her so badly. No, I wanted my mum so badly. I was all muddled. I just felt so lonely, and after a long while I slept but when I woke up Mum still wasn’t back even though the pubs had been shut for ages. I switched on the telly but it jabbered away too loudly in the silent flat so I shut it off quick and lay on the sofa, listening and listening, wondering what I would do if Mum never came back. And then when I’d very nearly given up altogether I heard footsteps and giggling and the key turning in the front door.

The light went on in the living room. I kept hunched down, my eyes squeezed shut.

‘Whoops! I’d forgotten I’d tucked her up on the sofa!’ Mum hissed. ‘Funny little thing. Doesn’t look a bit like me, does she? Oh dear. Come on, out we go. You’d better go home, sweetie. Yes, I know, but it can’t be helped.’

There was a horrible male mumbling, a slurping sound, and more giggles from Mum.

‘You naughty thing! No! Shh now, we’ll wake the kid.’

I breathed as slowly and evenly as I could. The man was mumbling again.

‘Oooh!’ said Mum. ‘Yes, I’d love to go to the races on Saturday. Great idea! Though . . . well, my little Tracy will still be here. She can come too, can’t she? She won’t be any trouble, I swear.’

Mumble mumble, fumble fumble.

‘I know it wouldn’t be so much fun. What? I
see
. So we’d be staying the whole weekend? It does sound tempting. Go on, then, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll fix it.’

My eyes were still tight shut but I couldn’t stop them leaking. It was OK. They didn’t see. They weren’t looking at me.

I was awake long before Mum in the morning. I had my bag all packed, ready. I wondered how she was going to break it to me, whether she’d tell me it straight or spin me some story.

It was the story. With a lot of spin on it. She came out with it at breakfast. I was amazed. It was the sort of stuff I made up when I was about six, the most pathetic never-ever tale about bumping into a film producer down the pub and how he was bowled over by her and he was giving her this big acting chance and he
needed
her to meet up with all his big-film-guy cronies at the weekend,
this
weekend, and she knew this weekend was the most special ever because we were supposed to be together but on the other hand we could spend every other weekend of our lives together but this weekend was her one chance of finding fame and fortune and I did understand, didn’t I, sweetie?

I understood. I looked at my mum – really really looked at her – and I understood everything. I didn’t have it out with her. I just made my lips turn up and said that of course I understood and I wished her luck. She went a bit watery-eyed then, so that her last-night’s mascara smudged, and she reached across the table so that her black nylon nightie dripped in my cornflakes and she gave me a big hug. I breathed in her warm powdery smell one last time. Then she gave me a little pat, ran her fingers through her rumpled hair, plucked at her soggy nightie, and said she’d better go and have a bath and get herself all prettied up and what did I want to do today, darling?

I knew what I was going to do. As soon as Mum was in the bath I went to her handbag,
nicked
some money, picked up my bag and scarpered.

I left her a note.

The note got a bit smeared and blotchy but there wasn’t time to write it out again. I needed to leave her a message so she’d know I wasn’t a thief.

Then I walked out, closing her front door ever so slowly so she wouldn’t hear. Then I ran. And ran and ran and ran.

I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t really have any place to go.

I could go back to Cam but she probably wouldn’t want me back now. Not after all the things I said. I came out with all sorts of stuff. Things that I didn’t want to write in this book. Things to hurt her. It was so hard choosing between Cam and my mum so I made it easy by doing such dreadful things to Cam that she’d never ever want me back.

Only I made the wrong choice. Now I haven’t got anywhere to go.

Yes I have.

I know where I’m going.

The Smashed Home

I FOUND MY
way, easy-peasy. I got a train and then a bus and I had lunch in McDonald’s. It was great.

I don’t need
ANYONE
to look after me. I don’t need my mum. I don’t need Cam. I can look after myself, no bother at all. And it isn’t as if I haven’t got a roof over my head. I’ve got a whole house. All to myself.

Well. Sometimes I share it. Someone had been doing some serious housekeeping. There were cans of Coke and Kit-kats in the ‘fridge’ in the kitchen, and a cardboard dustpan and brush that really worked – sort of. But the living room was the real picture. A brand new television, with a video recorder too. A table with a permanent embroidered tablecloth and place settings. Three chairs, all different sizes, like the Three Bears story – a big one for
Football
, a medium size for me and the littlest for Alexander. Alexander himself, sitting on a special rug, was making yet more Ideal Home delights.