Little Darlings Read online

‘Yes, but if – what will happen to us? Will we live with Mum or will we live with Dad?’

  ‘They’ll both want you, Sweetie,’ I say. ‘Maybe they’ll have to chop you in half.’

  It’s just a silly joke but her face crumples.

  ‘Don’t cry! I didn’t mean it, I was just being silly. Oh, Sweetie, don’t worry, they’re not splitting up, I promise, but if they do, then maybe they’ll take turns looking after us, or we’ll stay with Mum during the week and Dad at weekends – whatever.’

  ‘But will we still live at home, with Margaret and John and Claudia and Ace?’ asks Sweetie.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say, and she relaxes and runs off to join her little friends.

  I trail round to the Juniors. The bell’s already gone so I’m late, but I don’t care. I’m thinking about Mum and Dad and home. I’m especially thinking about Wardrobe City.

  John comes to collect Sweetie and me in the car at the end of school (Ace goes home with Claudia at lunch time). John’s his usual silly self, telling us very bad jokes and making funny snorty pig noises, and Sweetie laughs and laughs, but as we draw up on the drive she quietens and starts sucking her thumb. But Dad’s Jag is there. I blink hard – yes, it really is there. He’s back, so maybe everything’s all right.

  We go into the house and there are flowers in the hall, flowers all over the big living room, the lily smell so heady it makes me feel dizzy. Mum and Dad are sitting together on the big cream sofa, holding hands. Mum’s wearing tight white trousers and a white lace top with a wide apricot belt and strappy gold high heels. Dad is all in black but he’s wearing an apricot-coloured bandanna and three big gold rings. They are a matching pair, smiling smiling smiling, speaking softly in turn – because they are being interviewed.

  The journalist is sitting opposite them, taping every murmur with her little recorder, but she’s scribbling in her notebook too, her long false nails getting in the way.

  I hang back, especially when I see the photographer setting up his gear in the corner, but this is Sweetie’s cue to be cute.

  ‘Daddy! Mummy! I’m home from school,’ she trills, and goes rushing up to them, giving them both a big hug, though she knows to be very careful. Woe betide her if she gets grubby fingers on Mum’s white lace or knocks Dad’s bandanna askew, showing his bald bits. Mum and Dad smile at her fondly and she wriggles between them, quaint in her red and white checked school dress, one sock up and one sock down, her red hair-ribbons trailing. Dad laughs and pulls her plaits; Mum shakes her head and ties her ribbons and pulls up her socks, but oh, so fondly.

  ‘Oh, what a sweetheart!’ says the journalist. ‘She just obviously has to be Sweetie. So where’s your other daughter?’ She looks around the room and her cold blue eyes spot me skulking in the corner.

  ‘Yes, come here, Sunset, darling,’ says Mum, holding out her arms.

  I have to do the hugging bit too, lumbering above them both, too big and awkward to cuddle in between them.

  ‘Oh, let’s have a family shot!’ says the journalist. ‘Haven’t you got a little boy too?’

  ‘Run and find Ace, Sunset, there’s a little darling.’

  So little darling goes off on an Ace-hunt. He’s not in the playroom with Claudia or in the kitchen with Margaret. I look in the office and find Rose-May and Barkie. Rose-May is Dad’s manager. She’s got a soft flowery name and speaks in a soft whisper. She even looks soft and flowery: she’s got fluffy blonde hair and she wears floaty tops and lots of perfume. However, she is so not soft and flowery herself. She’s the only person I know who tells Dad what to do. She never shouts. When she’s cross her voice gets even softer, but it’s like she’s a rose who’s grown very sharp thorns. Dad doesn’t argue with her, he does exactly what she says.

  Barkie’s not really called Barkie – her name’s plain Jane Smith – but Dad always used to call her Barking Mad and now Barkie’s her affectionate nickname. She doesn’t mind. When she comes round she says on the intercom, ‘Woof woof, it’s only me.’

  Barkie’s known Dad since way back, when he first started his career. She was one of his number-one fans, following him from gig to gig. It was her idea to start up a fan club and she’s been running it ever since. She’s not exactly a fan now, because she’s a middle-aged lady and she knows Dad too well, but she still melts whenever he looks at her. She’s very nice but very, very plain, with goofy teeth even worse than mine, so Mum doesn’t mind her staying close to Dad all these years. He treats her like his pet dog, patting her bony shoulders and ruffling her hair. He calls her his Number-One Girlfriend.

  ‘Hello, Sunset,’ says Rose-May. ‘What’s the matter?’

  I’m not looking at her, I’m looking at Barkie.

  Maybe she used to know Destiny’s mother.

  ‘I’m looking for Ace,’ I say. ‘That journalist wants to see him.’

  ‘No, no, it was meant to be a Danny solo interview. I didn’t even want Suzy in on the act,’ Rose-May whispers, her little pink mouth puckering. ‘It was meant to be about a new album, a new tour—’

  ‘Is Danny doing a new album and tour then?’ Barkie asks eagerly.

  Rose-May sighs. ‘We’re testing the water, Barkie. Calm down. Oh well, it looks as if it’s going to be a family interview now. With photos.’ She looks me up and down. ‘Perhaps you’d better change, Sunset – and maybe get Claudia to fix your hair,’ she murmurs. ‘I think she’s upstairs with Ace. I’ll go and chivy them along.’

  She moves off purposefully, leaving a cloud of her flowery perfume in her wake. I wrinkle my nose and sneeze.

  ‘Bless you,’ Barkie says kindly, tapping away on her computer. ‘Wouldn’t it be exciting if Danny did do a new album, Sunset? Oh my, wouldn’t the fans be overjoyed?’

  ‘Barkie, you know you’ve been a fan for ages yourself, before Dad got together with Mum? Well, do you remember who Dad was going out with then?’

  Barkie smiles at me, showing all her bad teeth. ‘Your daddy’s had lots of girlfriends, dear,’ she says, with a little giggle. ‘He used to be quite a lad in the old days.’

  ‘Do you remember him seeing this very thin dark lady, Kate Williams?’

  ‘Your dad didn’t introduce his girlfriends to me, sweetheart.’

  ‘No, but I think this lady might have been special to him,’ I say. I don’t think I should tell Barkie about her maybe having Dad’s baby. It might upset her terribly, the way it did Mum. ‘She certainly still thinks the world of Dad,’ I add.

  Barkie smiles and taps her screen, where she’s updating the fan club membership details. ‘So many ladies think the world of Danny,’ she says.

  Something clicks inside my head. ‘Barkie, can you see if there’s a Kate Williams on the fanbase?’

  ‘Well, it’s supposed to be confidential.’

  ‘Oh, Barkie, please, I know her. Well, I know her daughter, and I need to get in touch. I don’t know their email address. Please just have a peep for me. Quick, before Rose-May gets back.’

  ‘All right then,’ says Barkie, typing Kate Williams onto the screen.

  ‘Oh no, there are heaps of them!’ I groan, peering at the result.

  ‘We’ve still got nearly a hundred thousand fans all over the world,’ Barkie says proudly. ‘Look, one of these Kate Williamses lives in Malta. And here’s another in the States.’

  ‘It won’t be them. And it probably won’t be this Kate – she only just joined.’ I sigh in frustration. ‘But I suppose she could be any of the others.’

  I think hard about Destiny’s mum. I hear her desperate voice. She has a familiar broad accent. ‘She talks sort of northern, like they do in Coronation Street,’ I say.

  ‘Then this will be her, most likely. This one lives in Wythenlathen,’ says Barkie. ‘That’s part of Manchester, dear. There’s no email address though.’

  I seize Barkie’s biro and scribble down the postal address on the inside of my wrist before she can stop me. Then I rush off to change. I put on the terrible leggings, b