Cookie Read online

  ‘Well, I thought we could offer all the guests a cookie and a cup of tea when they come back from the beach or wherever. I thought they might like it,’ said Mum.

  They all loved Mum’s cookies – and not just the children. The two very old ladies were particularly appreciative and asked Mike where he’d bought such lovely novelty biscuits.

  ‘I didn’t buy them. Dilly here made them with her own fair hands,’ he said.

  ‘My goodness! Well, they’re excellent, my dear. We used to run a little teashop and we’d have been so proud to serve your cookies, Dilly,’ they said earnestly.

  Mum went bright pink with pride and I wanted to hug her. She practically danced up to our little attic bedroom.

  ‘I’m good at cookies now, really good at them!’ she said, lying back on our bed and bicycling her legs in the air. ‘I’ve never been good at anything in my life, Beauty, but now I can say I’m an ace cookie-maker! I’m so happy!’

  ‘So am I, Mum, so am I,’ I said, leaning my arms on the windowsill and gazing out across the rooftops at the glistening sea.

  Then I glanced down at our road, and saw a silver Mercedes draw up at the end. I stared, telling myself it couldn’t possibly be Dad. There were hundreds and hundreds of silver Mercedes all over England. But then the door opened and a man stamped out, a small square balding man with a salmon-pink face. It was Dad.

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I watched him marching up the path and hammering on the door of number one Primrose Terrace. Someone answered the door, Dad said something, waited, then stormed back up the path and tried number two. He was systematically searching for us.

  ‘Mum!’ I croaked.

  ‘What, darling?’

  ‘It’s Dad! He’s here and he’s going to every guest house and he’ll be knocking at our door in a minute or two! Oh quick, Mum, we’ve got to get out of here!’

  Mum jumped up and ran to the window.

  ‘Oh, God! Look at his face, he’s flaming!’ Mum took a deep breath. ‘But we’re not running, sweetheart. We’re going to stay here. We’ll see him and . . . we’ll talk quietly and sensibly and maybe Dad will understand.’

  ‘Are you mad, Mum? Dad never understands. Come on, please!’ I said, shaking her, but she wouldn’t be budged.

  ‘We’re not going to skulk in our room. We’ll go and meet him,’ she said, taking hold of my hand.

  We went downstairs hand in hand, up the hallway, and opened the green front door. We stood in the porchway of Lily Cottage, waiting. We heard Dad’s footsteps, his abrupt knocking, his demands. Have you got a Mrs Cookson staying here – Mrs Cookson and her daughter Beauty? Then he pounded back up next door’s path and burst through our gate. He was so intent on finding us that he wasn’t quite focusing. He stamped halfway up the path staring at us but somehow not seeing us. Then he stopped still, mouth open.

  ‘Hello, Gerry,’ said Mum calmly – although I could feel she was trembling.

  He stared at us, his face flooding purple.

  ‘Right. Come on. Get yourselves out of this dump now. You’re coming back home with me.’

  I hung on tight to Mum’s hand. Dad looked so crazy I was scared he’d pick us both up bodily and stuff us head first into the boot of the Mercedes.

  ‘We’re not coming. This is our home now,’ said Mum.

  ‘This isn’t a home, it’s a tacky little B and B – and a right dump it looks too,’ said Dad. ‘Why didn’t you stay in the hotel up in the village?’

  ‘It’s a lovely home, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘You shut your face, Beauty. I’m sick of you. If you hadn’t started begging for that bloody rabbit then none of this would have happened,’ Dad shouted.

  The two teashop ladies came into the hall behind us, coughing discreetly to let us know they were there.

  ‘Come on, I haven’t got time to mess around discussing the pros and cons of guest houses,’ said Dad. ‘Get your stuff and get cracking – now!’

  The two old ladies gasped.

  ‘Are you all right, dear? Shall we go and get Mike?’ one enquired timidly.

  ‘Mike? Who the hell’s Mike?’ Dad asked.

  ‘I’m Mike,’ said Mike, coming into the hallway. He put his arms round the elderly ladies.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dears. I’ll look after things here. I should go up to your room,’ he said. Then he walked forward and stood beside Mum and me.

  ‘I gather you’re Dilly’s husband? Would you like to come in?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m not bloody coming in! I’ll thank you not to interfere, you nosy git. Just who the hell do you think you are?’ Dad shouted.

  ‘I’m Dilly and Beauty’s friend,’ said Mike.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid? Friend! Don’t take the mickey out of me,’ said Dad, and he punched Mike right on the nose.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ said Mike thickly, blood dribbling. He felt his nose gingerly. ‘Have you gone mad?’

  ‘Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. Here, have a tissue,’ said Mum frantically.

  ‘Do you think I was born yesterday? How long have you known her? So this was all a put-up job! I knew you didn’t have the bottle to leave me and strike out on your own, Dilly! But is he the best you can do? He’s a pensioner, for pity’s sake – and he doesn’t look like he has a bean to his name.’

  ‘You’re right on both those counts,’ said Mike. ‘But totally wrong when it comes to any kind of relationship between Dilly and me. We are simply friends, plus I’m technically her employer.’

  ‘You what?’ said Dad. ‘What do you employ her as, might I ask?’

  ‘She’s my breakfast chef,’ said Mike.

  Dad stared – and then he started spluttering with laughter.

  ‘Well, if you want to kill off all your guests then set our Dilly free in your kitchen! She can’t cook to save her life. All she can make is bloody biscuits.’

  ‘Very very good biscuits,’ said Mike. ‘Would you like to come in and calm down and have a cup of tea and one of Dilly’s cookies?’

  ‘Don’t take that patronizing tone with me! This is a private conversation between me and my wife.’ Dad took a step nearer Mum. Mike did too, protectively.

  ‘Now pin back your ears, Dilly. You obviously cleared off because you thought the whole business was going down the pan, and me with it. But I’ve got a lot of pals in the right places. They’re dropping the bribery nonsense, and now this guy’s tipped me the wink about a riverside council site that’s going to be pulled down. It could be even bigger than the Water Meadows deal and I’m pretty damn sure I’m going to get it. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably going to make a lot more money,’ said Mum.

  ‘So I’m giving you one last chance, girl. Come back now and make the most of it – or I’ll cut you off without a penny, you and the kid.’

  ‘Gerry, I don’t want your money,’ said Mum. ‘That wasn’t the reason I married you. I wanted you to look after me. But I’m not that stupid little girl any more. It’s time I learned to look after myself, and Beauty too, of course.’

  ‘Well, to hell with you,’ said Dad. ‘I can do a lot better than you. You’re already losing your looks.’ Then he looked at me. ‘And you’ve never had any looks to speak of. You’re just a waste of space, both of you. I wasted my time driving all this way to find you. You can stew here in this little seaside dump for ever for all I care.’

  Dad spat on the doorstep and then stamped off. Mum and I stood watching, still holding hands tightly.

  ‘Phew,’ said Mike. ‘Well, come inside my little seaside dump, my dears. We’ll have that cup of tea and another cookie – and I need to bury my poor nose in a bag of frozen peas!’

  ‘I’m so so sorry, Mike. I feel so terrible. Do you think you need to go to hospital? It could be broken!’ said Mum.

  ‘I very much doubt it. It’s been broken twice before in rugby accidents so it’s no big deal even if it is. It’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine, o