Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays Read online

  ‘Just down there! Oh, Mama, may we run ahead just a little and show Hetty the sea?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Of course,’ said their mama. The girls both surged forward, skirts flying. I ran along beside them, my case bumping awkwardly against my legs.

  ‘Take care, girls!’ she called.

  I felt truly part of their family – not a nursemaid, more like a sister. I started picturing our life together. We’d have our annual jolly seaside holiday in Bignor, and then we would go back to our home in Arundel. I would go to school with Charlotte and Maisie, and help their mama with the baby when I was at home. We’d all do the cooking and the dusting and the scrubbing and the mending. I’d have my own comfortable little bed in the girls’ room. I would never be stuck all alone in the scullery.

  Charlotte and Maisie raced round a corner. I heard them whooping triumphantly. I followed them, and then stopped short, my heart thudding. I’d seen pictures of the sea in books, each wave carefully crosshatched to give a life-like impression. I’d seen the Thames, which had seemed vast enough after the country stream of my childhood.

  But nothing had prepared me for the immensity of this sea glittering before me in the sunlight.

  I had fancied it would be a dense blue like the wash of colour in my picture-book illustration, but this was a bright silvery grey, an entire sparkling world of water. I turned my head to the left and to the right, and it was still there, as far as I could see.

  I dropped my suitcase and stretched my arms wide, trying to take it all in.

  ‘Isn’t it glorious?’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Yes, it is truly wonderful,’ I breathed.

  The sea blurred to a rainbow shimmer because I was crying now, overcome by the beauty of this vast stretch of water. I scrubbed at my eyes with my handkerchief.

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ said Maisie, putting her hand in mine.

  ‘I’m not sad, I’m happy,’ I said, laughing shakily.

  ‘You do like it here, don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s the most beautiful place in the whole world,’ I said. My heart rejoiced that Mama lived here now and could see the sea every single day.

  QUICK HOLIDAY QUIZ

  1. In Candyfloss, which country does Floss’s mum want the family to move to?

  2. What is the capital city of Italy?

  3. Who invites Biscuits to go on holiday with him in Buried Alive?

  4. Tracy Beaker believes her mum lives abroad. In which famous city?

  5. What is the tallest mountain in the world?

  6. What country is Berlin the capital city of?

  7. If you went to France, what sort of money would you need to take with you?

  8. In Cookie, Beauty and her mum go to Rabbit Cove. What’s the name of the little cottage they stay in?

  9. In Cliffhanger, Tim finds a girlfriend on holiday! What’s her name?

  10. When Gemma goes to visit Alice in Scotland in Best Friends, what present does she take her?

  ANSWERS:

  1. Australia 2. Rome 3. Tim 4. Hollywood 5. Mount Everest 6. Germany 7. Euros 8. Lily Cottage 9. Kelly 10. A cake

  ‘MICK’S COMING ROUND on Saturday,’ said Mum. Skippy smiled. She always smiles. If you told her the Bogeyman was coming to take her out to tea she’d clap her hands and smile.

  I didn’t smile. I can’t stick Mick. I don’t see why Mum has to have a stupid boyfriend at her age. She says he makes her happy. I can’t see why she can’t just be happy with Skippy and me.

  ‘Mick’s going to take us on a special day out!’ Mum announced.

  Skippy smiled. I very nearly smiled too. We didn’t often get special days out.

  I wondered where we might be going. A day trip to Disneyland?!

  No, maybe not. But perhaps Mick would take us to the Red River Theme Park and we could go on all the really brilliant rides where you swoop up and down and it’s like you’re flying right up in the sky.

  ‘Will he take us to the Red River Theme Park, Mum?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘It costs a fortune. Mick’s not made of money. No, we’re going to have a lovely day out in the country.’

  ‘The country?’ I said.

  ‘What’s the country?’ Skippy asked.

  ‘It’s boring,’ I said.

  I hadn’t actually been to the country much, but of course I knew all about it. We’ve got this old video about kids living on a farm in the country.

  The main girl in it is called Hayley like me. It’s a good film but the country looks awful. Cold and empty and muddy, with cows that chase you.

  I moaned, and Mum said I was a spoiled little whatsit, and I went into our bedroom and sulked. Skippy came and cuddled up beside me.

  ‘We don’t like the country,’ she said, to show me she was on my side – though Skippy is always on everyone’s side.

  ‘That’s right, Skip. We don’t like the country. And we don’t like Mick.’

  ‘We don’t like Mick,’ Skippy echoed obediently, but she didn’t sound so sure.

  When Mick knocked at our door at nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Skippy went rushing up to him, going, ‘Mick, Mick, Mick!’

  Skippy is useless at not liking people.

  I am brilliant at it. And Mick was making it easy-peasy. He looked ridiculous. He always looks a bit wet and weedy, but today he was wearing a big woolly jumper right up to his chin and awful baggy cord trousers and boots.

  Honestly. I knew Mum could act a bit loopy at times but she had to be barking mad to go round with Mick.

  ‘Ready, girls?’ he said, swinging Skippy round and round while she squealed and kicked her legs, her shoes falling off. ‘Have you got any welly boots, Skip? I think you’ll need them.’ He put on a silly voice (well, his own voice is silly, but this was sillier). ‘It gets right mucky in the country, lass.’

  Skippy put on my old Kermit wellies and her Minnie Mouse mac.

  ‘It’s a Mouse-Frog!’ said Mick, and Skippy fell about laughing.

  I sighed heavily.

  ‘What about your wellies, Hayley?’ said Mick. ‘And I should put a jumper on too.’

  I took no notice. As if I’d be seen dead in wellies! And I was wearing the simply incredible designer T-shirt Mum found for 20p down at the school jumble. I wasn’t going to cover it up with an old sweater even if it snowed.

  Mum looked like she wanted to give me a shake, but she got distracted looking for our old thermos flask. We were having a picnic. I’d helped cut the sandwiches. (Skippy sucked the cut-off crusts until they went all slimy like ice lollies.) The sandwiches were egg and banana and ham (not all together, though maybe it would taste good), and there were apples and crisps and a giant bar of chocolate, and orange juice for Skip and me, and tea for Mum and Mick. It seemed a seriously yummy picnic. It looked like I might be going to enjoy this day out in spite of myself.

  Skippy and I nagged to nibble the chocolate in the car on the way to the country. Mum said we had to wait till picnic time. Hours and hours and hours! Mick said, ‘Oh, let the girls have a piece now if they’re really hungry.’

  He rooted round in the picnic bag and handed the whole bar over.

  This was a serious mistake. Skippy and I tucked in determinedly. By the time Mum peered round at us we’d eaten nearly three-quarters.

  Mum was very cross. ‘How can you be so greedy? Hayley, you should have stopped Skippy. You know she gets car-sick.’

  ‘She’s fine, Mum. Stop fussing. You’re OK, aren’t you, Skip? You don’t feel sick, do you?’

  Skippy said she didn’t feel sick at all. She tried to smile. She was very pale, though her lips were dark brown with chocolate.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Have you got a spare plastic bag, Mick? We need it kind of urgently.’

  She was just in time. Skippy was very very sick. It was so revolting that it made me feel a little bit sick too. We drove slowly with the window wide open. I shut my eyes and wondered when we were ever going to get