Little Darlings Read online

  I want to rush down into the audience and hug her, but I have to stay up here on the stage while Mr Roberts presents me with a WINNER pin-badge – a gold one this time.

  ‘A gold star for a gold-star performance!’ he says, shaking my hand vigorously.

  His own hands are wringing wet, but what does it matter? He’s a lovely teacher, they’re all lovely teachers, even Mr Juniper. Mr Roberts calls everyone out onstage to line up and take a final bow. Jack comes leaping out and gives me a big hug in front of everyone!

  Then the contest is finished, but it’s not all over: there are refreshments – juice and tea and little bits of cheese on Ritz crackers – and we can go and mingle with our parents.

  Mum’s already got a cup of tea when I get to her, and we hug so hard we nearly spill it all over her best blue top.

  ‘Oh, Destiny, you sang it so wonderfully!’ she says.

  Lots of parents come up and congratulate us both, even Angel’s mum, though Angel herself glares at me and says that silver is ultra-cool and gold is just tacky bling.

  Miss Lewis, our IT coordinator, comes up with her big camera. ‘I’ve been recording the show for the school archives. I can easily burn you a DVD of the show if you’d like it, Mrs Williams,’ she says.

  ‘Yes please, that would be wonderful!’ says Mum.

  I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘We haven’t got a DVD player, Mum!’

  ‘Yes, but I can always borrow someone else’s, can’t I?’ she says. ‘I want to relive every single moment.’

  I don’t need a DVD to remind me of my performance. I’ll remember every split second of it for the rest of my life. It plays inside my head all evening – and long after Mum’s asleep I relive it. It’s wonderful that I’ve won. It’s amazing that all four teachers gave me ten out of ten, even Mr Juniper who never gives full marks to anyone. It’s great that I beat Angel and that Jack gave me a hug. It’s fantastic that Mr Roberts said when I was going home that he was really proud of me. But the best thing of all was standing there onstage, my voice soaring, nailing every note.

  I lie wide awake, not wanting to go to sleep, savouring it all. But I obviously sleep at some stage because I wake with a start in sunlight. Mum’s standing over me with a breakfast tray.

  ‘Hi, sleepyhead,’ she says. ‘I thought I’d better wake you. It’s gone eleven!’

  ‘Oh goodness! I bet you’ve been up for hours, Mum,’ I say sleepily.

  ‘Just done a bit of tidying. You know me, I’m hopeless at lying-in even on my day off. I was thinking, Destiny – shall we have a little day out to celebrate? We could go into Manchester, look round the shops, maybe go on the big wheel? Or we could maybe catch a train to the seaside. It’s a lovely day.’

  ‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it, Mum?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got all day. We can please ourselves, little singing star,’ says Mum, playfully pinning my gold star on my pyjama top.

  I look at it proudly, letting my finger outline its five little points, wondering whether I’d sooner go to the shops or the seaside. Though weren’t we going to do something else on Saturday? I puzzle in my head – and then remember with a start.

  ‘Oh, Mum, we’re going to the doctor’s!’

  ‘What?’ Mum acts like she doesn’t understand for a moment. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Destiny, I don’t want to spoil a lovely free Saturday going to the doctor’s. I’m fit as a fiddle anyway, there’s no point.’

  ‘Mum, you promised!’

  ‘Yes, all right, I will go. I’ll make an appointment for next week – will that make you happy?’

  ‘You’re going this morning!’

  ‘I can’t, I haven’t got an appointment, silly.’

  ‘You should have rung up and made one earlier! I should have woken up and made you. Oh, Mum, how could I have forgotten?’ I take two bites of toast, a big gulp of tea, and then get out of bed.

  ‘What are you doing? You haven’t finished your breakfast!’

  ‘I’m going to get washed and dressed and then I’m going to drag you to the clinic and see if they’ll make room for you somehow.’

  ‘You’re acting daft, Destiny. I told you, I’ll go next week. Don’t let’s waste this lovely day trailing off to the medical centre, especially as I’m one hundred per cent certain they won’t see me anyway.’

  I think Mum’s probably right, but I can’t give in. I look down at my little badge, horrified that I could have been so caught up in my own success that I forgot all about my mum’s health. I can see plain as anything now that she’s ill. She’s not just thin, she’s not just anxious. It’s as if she’s got something inside her and it’s burning her up.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ I say.

  ‘I’m not going to that clinic, not this morning.’

  ‘You’re coming, even if I have to pick you up and carry you there,’ I say. I make a sudden grab at her and lift her right off the ground. There’s so little of her now it’s like picking up a six-year-old.

  ‘Put me down, you mad girl,’ says Mum, struggling. ‘Ouch – you’re hurting!’

  I look down. My pin-badge has scratched her chest. It’s only a little scratch but it looks alarmingly red on her white skin.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry,’ I say, setting her down gently.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m fine,’ she says.

  ‘No you’re not, and you know it. You’re just scared of going to the clinic and seeing a doctor.’

  ‘Well, is it any wonder?’ Mum says. ‘Suppose I am ill, seriously ill – what do we do then? Suppose there’s nothing the doctors can do to make me better?’

  She’s nearly crying now and I put my arm round her.

  ‘You mustn’t be frightened. There’ll be heaps of things they can do. They’ll get you better in no time. They’ll just need to find the right pills,’ I parrot.

  I’m trying to be comforting, but inside I’m terrified. What if they really can’t make Mum better? What if it’s cancer? What if she’s dying? How can I ever live without my mum?

  I get washed and dressed in double-quick time and then we set off for the clinic. We go by the shortest route, through the estate. As if I’m scared of silly boys in gangs now. I’ve got far worse things to worry about.

  The word clinic makes you imagine a gleaming building with nurses bustling around in white uniforms and patients sitting subdued, silently waiting their turn to see the doctor. This clinic is an ugly little prefab, with graffiti sprayed all over the walls. Inside it’s pandemonium: little kids running up and down, people shouting, and one receptionist looking like she’s going to burst into tears.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ says Mum. ‘I can’t be doing with all this. I feel a bit woozy.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why you’re here,’ I say, hanging onto her hand. I tug her up to the receptionist. ‘Can my mum have an appointment for this morning, please?’

  ‘What? No, the clinic’s nearly over, and we’re completely booked up. She’ll have to come back on Monday,’ she says dismissively.

  ‘OK, I’ll come back Monday,’ says Mum. She’s got beads of sweat on her forehead. ‘Come on, Destiny. It’s so hot in here. I need to get some air. It’s all right. I’ll come back on Monday, like she says.’

  But I know she won’t come back, she’s far too afraid. She’ll go to work and I won’t be there to make her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but this is an emergency,’ I say.

  ‘All our emergency appointments are taken. She’ll have to come back on Monday,’ says the receptionist, getting impatient.

  ‘Destiny, I’m going all swimmy,’ Mum gasps, and then she falls to the floor, crumpling up at my feet.

  ‘Mum, Mum – oh, Mum!’ I crouch beside her, slipping my arm round her, putting her head on my lap. ‘Oh, Mum, please wake up. Please be all right. Please don’t die!’

  Mum’s big staring eyes open slowly. ‘What happened?’ she whispers.

  The receptionist has run for the doctor, the families have quie