Little Darlings Read online

  ‘This is what I’ve always dreamed about!’ says Mum, her eyes scanning the letter. ‘Oh, Destiny, she’s tried to tell Danny, she’s going to try again. Oh, bless the child.’

  ‘There! Isn’t it a friendly letter? That stupid Louella was going on about us not having any friends. She doesn’t have famous celebrities who are friends and relations. Only I want you to keep in with her for Friday the eighteenth of July just to cover you if you need to work late at all – and I hope you can get out of your shift at the Dog and Fox too – because you have a very important date, Kate Williams.’

  ‘Do I? What?’

  ‘You are coming to Bilefield’s Got Talent – and guess who is going to be top of the bill? Mr Roberts’s new singing sensation – me!’

  I grab the hairbrush and start singing Destiny, putting my heart and soul into it. Mum watches, hands clenched, mouthing the words along with me. When I’ve finished she bursts into tears.

  ‘Mum? I wasn’t that bad, was I?’

  ‘You were wonderful, but I shouldn’t tell you that, you’ll get big-headed.’

  ‘No, no, tell me heaps of stuff. I want to feel great! Do you think I’ve got a chance of winning then?’

  ‘If you don’t win I’ll want to know the reason why!’ says Mum. ‘Now, I’d better get the supper on. I’ll whizz the vacuum round too – Louella pointed out the carpet was all over fluff.’

  ‘Louella! Look, I’ll do the vacuuming if we really have to.’

  ‘No, you get your homework done – and you’ll need to write a really nice thank-you letter to Sunset. I can’t get over her sending you her jacket.’ Mum holds it up admiringly. ‘It’s a real beauty, isn’t it? Imagine what it would fetch on eBay. Sunset Kilman’s very own jacket.’

  ‘Mum, we’re not putting it on eBay, it’s mine.’

  ‘Better not wear it on the estate, pet. One of them kids will nick it off you as soon as look at you.’

  ‘I won’t wear it outdoors, I’m not daft. I’ll wear it indoors. Like right now!’

  I slip it on and then write my letter to Sunset.

  Dear Sunset,

  Thank you very very very much for the leather

  jacket. I absolutely LOVE it. I can’t believe you

  could just parcel it up and send it to me. It fits

  me just perfectly too.

  It was good of you to try so hard to ask your

  dad – our dad! – about me. I expect it’s an

  awkward embarrassing subject for him. It

  obviously is for your mum! I’m sorry she got so

  cross. I hope she’s OK now.

  Hey, Sunset, you’ll never guess what. I’m

  going to be in this crazy end-of-term talent

  contest, Bilefield’s Got Talent – you know, like

  the TV show – and I’m going to be singing my

  very own namesake song, ‘Destiny’. I don’t want

  to boast but my teacher Mr Roberts thinks I’m

  very good at singing. I suppose that IS boasting

  a bit – sorry. Do you like singing?

  I know you said you like art and English best

  at school (me too). What sort of school do you go

  to? I expect it’s a really posh private one with

  lots of famous pupils. What’s it LIKE, being

  famous?

  Love and lots more thank yous,

  Destiny

  P.S. I don’t have an email address as I don’t

  have a computer. I love your notepaper with all

  the teddies. I have two teddies on my duvet and,

  don’t tell anyone, but I used to play silly games

  with them.

  I get my felt tips and doodle all around my name, drawing a little sun on one side and a cloud with raindrops on the other. Then I carefully draw a rainbow arching through my name. I hope she thinks it looks pretty. I wonder if she will write back? I add another P.S.:

  It would be great if you wrote back to me.

  Maybe we could be penfriends?

  8

  SUNSET

  Dear Destiny,

  I’m so pleased you like the jacket. I knew it would look fantastic on you.

  I promise I will try talking to Dad again – but he’s been in a very bad mood recently for several different reasons and I daren’t say anything at all just yet.

  It’s great that you’re going to be in a talent contest. I have never taken part in one, on account of the fact that I have no talent. I am useless at singing. I sound like an old frog croaking.

  I suppose my school IS sort of posh. You have to pay lots of money to go there. I would pay lots of money NOT to go there. I hate my school. It is very progressive. That means there aren’t any rules and you are encouraged to express yourself. I wish I went to a REGRESSIVE school, with heaps of rules, where no one’s allowed to argue back. There are a few famous pupils. Well, they’re famous because their mums or dads are famous, like footballers or film stars – or rock stars, like our dad. So I suppose that makes me a little bit famous, like you said. It’s horrible. I can’t ever be just an ordinary girl, I always have to be with the whole family, and people always notice us and come up and say stuff and take pictures with their mobile phones. The proper photographers are worse, always yelling at you to smile, and you have to make sure you’re dressed up and look cool. Only I am the exact opposite of cool, worse luck. Sometimes I would give anything not to have a famous dad.

  Let’s definitely be penfriends – that would be absolutely fantastic.

  Love from Sunset

  One of the reasons Dad is in such a very, very bad mood is he’s worried he’s not famous any more. Well, he is – there’s this two-page article in one of the big newspapers. Rose-May fixed up the interview, a proper one. Dad’s thrilled and thinks it’s gone really well, and he even gets up early on Saturday to read it – and then he nearly hits the roof.

  We don’t know what’s going on. Dad’s ranting and Mum starts crying, and there are all these telephone calls, and then Rose-May comes rushing round and tries to calm them down.

  ‘What’s wrong now, Sunset?’ Sweetie asks. She’s in a bad mood too, because Mum’s supposed to be taking her out this morning to buy a party dress for her sixth birthday and now it looks as if the shopping trip’s postponed.

  ‘I think someone’s written something really bad about Dad,’ I say.

  ‘What, like they’ve called him bad names?’ Sweetie asks.

  ‘They’ve called him Bum and Poo and Knickers!’ Ace says, naming all the bad words he can think of and giggling hysterically.

  ‘Shut up, silly little peanut,’ I say, picking him up.

  He flings himself about wildly, spluttering the same stupid words over and over again.

  Sweetie looks at him coldly. ‘Isn’t he a baby?’ she says.

  ‘Yes, a tiny baby, and if he doesn’t calm down this instant we shall put him in a nappy and stuff him in a cradle,’ I say.

  ‘I’m not a baby. I’m Tigerman,’ Ace says, struggling. ‘I want my Tigerman outfit!’

  I let him wriggle free and he runs off to plague Claudia to dress him in his stupid costume. Sweetie sighs and raises her eyebrows.

  ‘I lots of times don’t really like Ace,’ she says.

  I don’t always like Sweetie, but I smile at her sympathetically. She’s listening to the row downstairs.

  ‘I can’t hear what Mum’s saying,’ she says. ‘Can’t she take me shopping and let Dad and Rose-May do the shouting? I don’t want Claudia to take me. She likes all those silly little baby dresses – yuck! I want something bee-yoo-tiful and cool.’

  ‘You have a knack of making most things beautiful and cool,’ I say, sighing. ‘Don’t worry, Sweetie. I happen to know Rose-May’s fixed up Hi! Magazine to come and take photos of your party, so they’ll want to make sure your dress is absolutely perfect. I think Mum will take you shopping tomorrow, you wait and see.’

  Sweetie sighs and starts p