Little Darlings Read online

They shout and cry,

  I wonder why

  They moan and scream

  While I dream.

  I dream of peace

  Where no one shouts,

  No one tells lies

  And no one cries.

  I’m all alone

  Where no one can moan,

  No one can scream

  In my land of dream.

  Then I go right inside Wardrobe City, shut the doors so no one can hear me, and sing it. My voice is still a frog-croak so it doesn’t sound right – but inside my head I can hear just how it should be. I clasp my arms round myself, thrilled. Claudia is shouting for me but I don’t feel like answering her just yet. Then she starts hammering on the door, trying to wrench the city walls open.

  ‘Go away, Claudia,’ I say furiously.

  ‘Well, come out. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought you were lost. You’re too old to play ridiculous tricks like this.’

  ‘First I’m too young, then I’m too old,’ I say, emerging sulkily.

  ‘Whatever have you got in there?’ Claudia asks, flinging the doors wide.

  ‘Stop it, it’s private.’

  ‘Why have you got your doll’s house inside your wardrobe with all the rest of that junk?’ Claudia asks.

  ‘It’s not junk – how dare you! Look, it’s my wardrobe. I can put what I like inside it,’ I say.

  ‘I give up. You’re the three weirdest children I’ve ever come across. I’m at the end of my tether!’ Claudia says. ‘Now get into bed, Sunset.’

  ‘But it’s nowhere near my bed time yet!’

  ‘I don’t care. Get undressed, clean your teeth and go to bed this instant. I’m sick of the lot of you.’

  ‘Are you going to hand in your notice?’

  ‘Yes I am!’

  I don’t know whether to beg her to stay or not. I don’t really like her – but some of the nannies we’ve had have been much worse.

  ‘Do you hate us, Claudia?’ I ask.

  ‘What? No, of course I don’t hate you, Sunset! Don’t look like that!’

  I jump and put my hand up quickly. ‘Was I showing my teeth?’

  ‘No! There’s nothing wrong with your teeth. Or you. Or Sweetie or Ace. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Is it Mum and Dad’s fault?’

  Claudia hesitates. ‘I shouldn’t discuss your parents with you.’

  ‘Oh, go on. I won’t tell. And if you’re leaving, what does it matter anyway?’

  ‘Well – they’re pretty impossible to work for. They don’t act like normal human beings at all. All this arguing! They don’t even try to lower their voices. They seem to think they can do anything they want, just because they’re so-called celebrities. They throw tantrums just like little children.’

  ‘Well, you’re the nanny. Maybe you should put them on the naughty step and not let them have any supper.’

  Claudia stares at me, and then bursts out laughing. ‘You’re a funny girl, Sunset. I shall miss you.’

  ‘So you really really really are leaving?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. Now, I’d better go and check on the other two. You don’t have to go to bed just yet, Sunset. Go back in your wardrobe if you want to!’ She squeezes my shoulder and goes to the door.

  ‘Claudia?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Claudia, if – if Mum and Dad split up—’

  ‘Oh, darling, I don’t think they’ll do that. I know they quarrel dreadfully but I’m sure that’s just their way.’

  Claudia doesn’t know about the girl texting Dad.

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

  ‘I don’t really know. Your mum, I suppose – though of course you’d still see your dad.’

  ‘But where would we live? This is Dad’s house, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well . . . you mustn’t worry about it, Sunset. You’ll be fine. And your mum and dad will be fine too. And if by chance they do break up, they’ll both still be your parents. They both love you very much indeed and will see you’re properly looked after, I’m sure of it,’ says Claudia, and she goes out.

  She doesn’t sound very sure. I worry about it half the night. I listen out for Mum, I listen out for Dad. What if neither of them come back? I start to wonder if that might actually work. Sweetie and Ace and I could still live in our house. I could take over and be their mother. We wouldn’t need a real mother. We wouldn’t need a nanny. If Margaret and John left too, I could do all the cooking. I know how to do baked beans on toast and baked potatoes and egg and bacon and fairy cakes already, and I’m sure I could learn lots of other recipes. I can’t drive, of course, but we could walk to places, and maybe get the bus – that would be ever such fun, I’ve always longed to take a bus ride. And I wouldn’t go to school – I so hate Ridgemount House. I’d study by myself at home and I wouldn’t go to the dentist and I wouldn’t get my teeth fixed, I’d just let them be all crooked and I wouldn’t care . . .

  But then I start to feel guilty. I don’t really want to get rid of Mum and Dad, do I? What if they don’t come back because I’ve been so wicked? What if they’ve both died and it’s all my fault? I picture two separate car smashes, Mum with scarlet blood all over her white dress, Dad slumped lifeless with his bandanna slipping sideways, and it’s so real I start shaking. I see Sweetie and Ace and me in black velvet, weeping by their twin graves, holding bunches of white roses, scattering petals . . .

  But then I hear the front door, and that’s one of them back safely, and two hours later I hear the door again, and I have two living parents once more. They don’t appear till lunch time on Sunday. I don’t think they’re speaking to each other, but they’re speaking to us, both of them fussing over us like crazy. Sweetie and Ace play up to this. Sweetie sits on Dad’s knee as she toys with her roast potatoes, so Ace climbs up on Mum’s lap and demands to be spoonfed.

  ‘You’re such a baby, Ace,’ says Sweetie scornfully.

  ‘I’m not a baby, I’m Tigerman, and I’m being fed my lumps of meat by my keeper lady,’ says Ace, chewing. ‘Mum, can we go to the zoo and see the real tigers?’

  ‘Of course we can, poppet,’ says Mum.

  She’s barely eating anything herself, and looks very pale.

  ‘Oh, that’s not fair, I hate the zoo. All the animals smell of poo,’ Sweetie whines.

  ‘Hey, that’s a song, Sweetie. I hate the zoo, the animals smell of poo!’ Dad sings it in a silly voice.

  ‘Dad, I made up a song yesterday,’ I say.

  ‘Did you, Sunset? Don’t fret, Sweetie, we’re not going to the zoo.’

  ‘Where are we going, Daddy?’

  ‘We’re going shopping because my best little girl needs a party dress.’

  Sweetie squeals excitedly, and starts burbling away about the sort of outfit she’s after.

  Dad isn’t the slightest bit interested in my song. Neither is Mum.

  ‘You can’t take Sweetie shopping for the dress, Danny. You haven’t got a clue when it comes to the kids’ clothes. I’ll take Sweetie tomorrow.’

  ‘She’s got school tomorrow. I’m taking her now. You want to go shopping, don’t you, little darling?’

  ‘I love shopping,’ says Sweetie, clapping her hands.

  ‘I don’t want to go shopping, I hate it!’ says Ace.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to go shopping, little Tigerman,’ says Mum, cuddling him. ‘We’re going to the zoo and we’ll see lots of tigers, and the lions too, and all the funny little monkeys and the great fat elephant . . .’

  I don’t want to go to the zoo with Ace or shopping with Sweetie. I want to stay at home but I can’t do that. Mum and Dad have given Claudia Sunday off instead of Saturday evening, and Margaret’s gone off to her own home now she’s served lunch. There’s no one to look after me. I argue that I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, but they won’t listen.

  ‘You go to the zoo, Sunset. You like animals,’ says Dad