Candyfloss Read online

‘OK then, if you really don’t mind.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for,’ said Susan.

  ‘Did you have a best friend at your old school?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Susan. ‘It’s always horrible starting at a new school because you stick out so, and I seem to be the sort of person that gets picked on. Rhiannon thinks she’s so original, but they used to call me Swotty Potty at my old school too. Maybe I ought to change my name by deed poll!’

  ‘My mum wanted me to change my name when she split up with Dad. She wanted me to add Steve’s name on with a hyphen but I wouldn’t. He’s not my dad, he’s not anything to do with me, he’s just my mum’s new partner.’

  ‘All these partners!’ said Susan. ‘I tried to do a family tree on this big wallchart but it got so complicated. I did it all in my best italic handwriting, in red ink, but then I had to keep crossing bits out because people kept splitting up. Then my mum’s ex-partner kept having new babies with each new lady, so that side of the family tree got much too crowded. It ended up looking such a mess I crumpled it all up and threw it away. That’s why I like maths so. The numbers don’t wriggle about and change; you can just add them up or subtract them or multiply or divide them, whatever, but you always get the answer you want.’

  ‘Only if you’re you. My numbers wriggle all over the place and I never get the right answer unless I copy off you,’ I said. ‘OK then, Susan, you come as early as you like on Saturday.’

  17

  MY ‘EARLY’ WASN’T quite the same as Susan’s. Dad and I weren’t even up when the doorbell rang. We stumbled downstairs, me in my nightie, Dad in his old pyjama bottoms with a T-shirt on his top. We opened the door. There was Susan and her dad.

  We peered at them, mortified. Dad frantically combed his sticking-up hair with his fingers. I rubbed my eyes and pulled the hem of my nightie down as far as it would go, hoping it might just look like a dress.

  We didn’t convince Susan’s dad.

  ‘I’m so sorry. We’ve obviously got you out of bed. How awful!’ he said.

  He was much older than my dad, more like a grandad, but he was dressed sort of young, in a black T-shirt and jeans and a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up to try to look casual. His own hair looked as if it needed a good brush. He seemed what Mum would call dead scruffy, but try as he might he couldn’t make his voice sound anything but ultra posh and plummy.

  ‘Yes, I agree, it is awful of us. I think I must have slept through the alarm. I’ve been at sixes and sevens recently. You know what it’s like, mate,’ Dad blurted.

  ‘No, no, I meant we’re awful, arriving so horrendously early . . . mate,’ said Mr Potts. ‘It’s so good of you to say you’ll have Susan for the day. I gather she rather invited herself. But I can see it’s the worst possible time for you.’ He waved vaguely at the cardboard boxes scattered all over the hall, like a giant toddler’s building blocks.

  ‘Susan’s very welcome,’ said Dad, smiling at her. ‘Just so long as she doesn’t mind a bit of chaos.’

  ‘Oh, she’s used to that in her own home,’ said Mr Potts, and he gave Susan’s shoulder a little squeeze. ‘You know my mobile number and Mum’s, don’t you? Ring if there’s any problem. Otherwise we’ll come and pick you up about sevenish. Is that really OK?’

  He was looking at Dad. He nodded and smiled. Susan nodded and smiled. I nodded and smiled too.

  ‘Thanks again. We owe you big time. Maybe your Floss might like to come to us next Saturday.’

  ‘Oh yes please!’ Susan and I said in unison, while the dads laughed.

  Then Mr Potts waved and walked to his car, neatly kicking two Coke cans into the gutter. I could see Mrs Potts sitting in the front of their car. She had grey hair piled up in an untidy bun and little round glasses just like Susan’s. She was wearing a dark red peasant blouse and a big yellow bead necklace. She waved too. I waved back shyly.

  ‘Right!’ said Dad. ‘I’d better get myself washed and dressed pronto, and then see about breakfast. Have you had breakfast, Susan? I’m sure you can manage another, anyway.’

  ‘Oh good! Can we have chip butties?’ Susan asked eagerly.

  Dad laughed. ‘You can have a chip butty for your lunch. You might even have another for your tea. But I think we’ll draw the line at butties for breakfast. How about cornflakes?’

  Lucky came sidling down the stairs, not sure who this new visitor was.

  ‘Oooh, she’s so lovely,’ said Susan, crouching down and holding out her hand. Lucky hesitated and then took two steps forward on her dainty paws, prepared to make friends.

  ‘You are so lucky to have a cat,’ said Susan. ‘My dad is allergic to cat’s fur. Well, he says he is. And Mum fusses about their claws. We’ve got all these leather-bound books and she says they’d use them like a scratching post.’

  ‘Well, we like Lucky’s fur. I might well wrap her round my neck in the winter instead of a scarf; she’ll keep me nice and cosy. And all our stuff is scratched to bits anyway,’ said Dad. ‘I’m a bit of a scratcher myself, come to think of it.’ He bowed his legs in a chimp stance and scratched his chest.

  ‘Dad!’ I said.

  ‘Oops! Sorry. I’d better go and have my shower now. Wash the fleas off.’

  ‘Dad!’ I said.

  Dad ran up the stairs making monkey noises. I rolled my eyes and Susan giggled.

  ‘Let’s give Lucky her breakfast,’ I said.

  Lucky’s cat food looked pretty disgusting – lumpy brown slurp – but she seemed enthusiastic. She ate it up, she had a crunch of her dry biscuits and she sipped from her water bowl while we hovered over her admiringly. Then she used her new litter tray while we turned our backs discreetly.

  I showed Susan how to deal with it.

  ‘It’s a little bit disgusting, but nowhere near as bad as changing Tiger’s nappies,’ I said. ‘Oh dear, it’s weird, I even miss Tiger, though I don’t miss changing him. Maybe he’ll be potty trained when he comes back from Australia!’

  We washed our hands and Lucky licked her paws, and then I set out breakfast on the table when Dad joined us, his hair all wet and sticking up from his shower. He was wearing his silliest smiley-face T-shirt and his jogging bottoms. I’d have died if he wore them in front of Rhiannon, but I felt safe with Susan.

  We both had a big bowl of cornflakes for our breakfast. Susan tipped hers into her bowl and then started touching each one with the tip of her spoon.

  ‘What are you up to?’ said Dad.

  Susan went pink. ‘I’m just seeing how many I’ve got,’ she mumbled.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of cornflakes, sweetheart. There’s another packet in the cupboard,’ said Dad.

  ‘No, Dad, Susan just likes to count things.’ I smiled at Susan. ‘I bet you’re looking to see if you’ve got an exact hundred.’

  ‘I bet you have,’ said Susan.

  ‘Well, why don’t you two daft girls tip your cornflakes onto a plate? They’ll be much easier to count then. Do you want a cup of tea, Susan? Do you take sugar? I hope you’re not going to count the grains of sugar – you’ll go cross-eyed.’ Dad crossed his own eyes, pulling a funny face. Susan laughed and pulled a funny face back.

  ‘I do like your dad,’ she whispered when we went upstairs.

  ‘I like your dad,’ I said politely.

  ‘Yours is much more fun. And he doesn’t mind my numbers thing. It drives my dad nuts. He says it’s obsessive-compulsive behaviour and I should have therapy.’ Susan paused. ‘Do you think I’m a bit nuts, Floss?’

  ‘Not at all. Your dad might be ever so clever but he doesn’t know everything. You just like numbers. Same as I like making lists. Right, let’s make a list of all the things we’ve got to do today,’ I said, going into my bedroom.

  I made a big thing of looking for my notebook and a pen. I didn’t want Susan to be floundering for something nice to say about my bedroom. It looked smaller and shabbier than ever with cardboard boxes everywhere. Susan curled up on the duvet in th