Cookie Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Also available by Jacqueline Wilson

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781407048802

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  COOKIE

  A CORGI BOOK 978 0 552 55831 0

  First published in Great Britain by Doubleday, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  Doubleday edition published in 2008 Corgi edition published in 2009

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 2008

  Illustrations copyright © Nick Sharratt, 2008

  The right of Jacqueline Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

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  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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  CPI Bookmarque, Croydon,CR0 4TD

  About the Author

  JACQUELINE WILSON is one of Britain’s most outstanding writers for young readers. She has sold over 25 million books in this country. As a child, she always wanted to be a writer and wrote her first ‘novel’ when she was nine, filling countless exercise books as she grew up. She started work at a publishing company and then went on to work as a journalist on Jackie magazine (which was named after her) before turning to writing fiction full-time.

  Jacqueline has been honoured with many of the UK’s top awards for children’s books, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award, the Smarties Prize and the Children’s Book of the Year. She was the Children’s Laureate for 2005-2007, was awarded an OBE in 2002 and made a Dame in 2008.

  To Martha Courtauld – I love all your ideas

  One

  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,