Lola Rose Read online

  ‘You can’t tell him!’

  My stomach churned. Mum could be so stupid. I knew that look in her eyes. She was telling herself a little fairy tale. The footballer would clasp her to his six-pack chest and tell her he’d been picked to play for Manchester United and would she be his bride in the million-pound mansion that he’d just bought. Plus he’d take Kenny and me too. Mum drifted into Dreamworld and went shopping with Victoria Beckham every day while Kenny and I asked Brooklyn and Romeo round to play with all our new toys . . .

  ‘Mum!’ I wanted to shake her. I knew her footballer. He had a different girl every week. He’d never stick with Mum. And he wouldn’t want Kenny and me tagging along. Anyway, even if it all came true, even the Man U part, Mum couldn’t possibly live happily ever after. Dad would smash his way through the big picture window and tear the footballer’s head off his shoulders and then he’d beat her until the fluffy white carpets turned red.

  I hated saying this to Mum but I had to make her see sense. Then Dad heard some rumour anyway and came straight back home. You could tell by the way he banged the front door that this was it. Big trouble.

  He didn’t start straight away. He asked Mum questions, his voice very quiet, very soft. ‘Come on, Nikki, don’t look so scared. I just want you to tell me I’ve got it all wrong. If I have, then fine, I’ll drop it straight away. I’m a reasonable guy, aren’t I?’ Then, suddenly yelling, ‘Aren’t I?’

  Mum panicked. She gabbled that he’d got it all wrong, she’d never so much as looked at another man, though of course she couldn’t help being lonely while Dad was away, but even so she’d never dream of talking to any other guy, let alone ask them in for a coffee . . .’ Any minute now she’d be letting it all out, telling him everything.

  I wished I were as little as Kenny. He always hid under his bed, clamping his hands over his ears so he couldn’t hear. I had to listen, even though I couldn’t bear it.

  Dad took much longer than usual. He said he was teaching her a lesson she’d never forget.

  When he’d finished he stormed off out again. I ran to Mum. I wondered if I should call an ambulance. She couldn’t speak because her mouth was all bloody and swollen but she shook her head when she saw me pick up the phone. She’d been up to the hospital several times in the past. She never told on Dad, she always said she’d tripped or walked into a lamppost, but Dad got even madder if he found out.

  I mopped her up as best I could, holding a cold flannel to her poor face. I cried all over her. I felt so bad that I hadn’t been able to protect her.

  She couldn’t go out for a week because of the bruises. Not just on her face. I saw her in the bath. Her breasts and stomach were black.

  I looked at my mum then and knew I hated my dad.

  ‘Don’t tell Dad about the lottery money,’ I begged Mum.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping quiet. Lips zipped, like I said.’

  She asked for it in five-pound notes so it looked as impressive as possible.

  ‘We’re in the money!’ she sang, tossing handfuls of fivers in the air. They fluttered like big blue butterflies, sticking in her hair, catching on her clothes, landing all over the carpet.

  ‘Mum, stop it, you’ll lose some!’ I said, trying to gather them up.

  ‘You win some, you lose some,’ Mum laughed, tossing more.

  Kenny laughed too, kicking his way through a pile of notes as if they were autumn leaves.

  ‘Leave off, Kenny,’ I said.

  But I started to get carried away too, scooping the money up and then scattering it again. These crisp new notes didn’t seem real. I thought of the picture of the denim jacket lined with soft pink fur I’d cut out and stuck in my scrapbook. I knew if I could only own such a garment I might have a chance of looking as little and cute and blonde as the girl model.

  ‘What are you dreaming of buying, Jayni, eh?’ said Mum, putting her arm round me. She rubbed her soft cheek against mine.

  ‘Well, there’s this jacket—’ I started. Then I swallowed. ‘No, it’s your money, Mum. You already treated us in Sid’s.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft. What’s mine is yours. And yours too, Kenny. What do you want, my little pal?’ Mum asked.

  ‘A comic and a red ice lolly,’ said Kenny.

  We groaned at him.

  ‘Something else, Kenny. Something big. Like a denim jacket with fur.’

  ‘I’d like a jacket like Dad’s. Leather!’ said Kenny, his eyes shining. ‘Then I’d look a big boy. Big and tough.’

  ‘You, big and tough, matie?’ I said, picking him up and blowing a raspberry on his tummy.

  ‘What about Dad?’ said Kenny, squealing. ‘What’s he getting?’

  I looked at Mum. She sighed and started gathering up the money. I set Kenny down and started helping her.

  ‘We’re not telling Dad, Kenny,’ I said, smoothing the five-pound notes, assembling them into neat rectangles.

  ‘Why?’

  I looked at Mum.

  ‘Why aren’t we telling him, Jayni?’ she said.

  ‘Because we know what he’s like. He could take it all for himself and waste it on some business deal that goes wrong. Or he could take it down the betting shop, or go away on a bender with his mates – and it’s your money, Mum.’

  ‘Yeah, but maybe it’s not fair, if we’re all having presents,’ said Mum. ‘Here, I could kid on I just won a bit, right, and then hide the rest.’

  ‘He’ll find out and then he’ll be furious. And then he’ll start.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ said Mum flatly. ‘Right. Well, we’ll be sensible. I’ll put the money in a building society and save it for a rainy day. And you won’t get your new jackets, kids, but we can’t make your dad suspicious – isn’t that right, Jayni?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, putting the money in her bag.

  I hated it that I had to be the one to be sensible. And I ached for that denim jacket.

  ‘Can’t I have my leather jacket like Dad’s?’ said Kenny.

  ‘No, love. Jayni says we can’t,’ said Mum.

  It wasn’t fair. I hate the way Mum twists things sometimes. She tries to turn me into the mum. Then she blames me for spoiling things.

  I threw the rest of the money at her and went off to my bedroom to work on my scrapbook. I started cutting up my new magazines, though Kenny had been at my scissors and they were all gummed up with sellotape. I picked all the mucky little sticky bits off the blades, my teeth clenched. Then I carefully cut out a Victorian doll with a purple crinoline. I snipped my way round every little twist and turn of her full frock and steered very slowly around her tiny button boots and cut in and out of her fiddly little fingers. I pretended I was a Victorian girl in a big purple dress and this was my matching doll. I had a little brother who was very obedient and adored his elder sister. We didn’t have a papa.

  Then I cut out a tiny, toffee-brown cocker spaniel puppy with very floppy ears and a Siamese kitten with a delicate heart-shaped face and big blue eyes. These were our pets, Toffee and Bluebell. I cut some flowers from my birthday card box and a blue sky background and then I tried to draw a big Victorian house because I couldn’t find a proper picture of one anywhere. I’m not very good at drawing so I just did a rough outline of a big house. I cut out girls’ faces from Girltalk and stuck them looking out of all the windows, bordered by wax crayon purple velvet curtains. These were all my very best friends, Charlotte, Victoria, Emily, Evangeline and Jemima. It took me ages to think up special Victorian names.

  I was so lost in my scrapbook world that I didn’t hear the front door bang. I didn’t know my dad was home until I heard him call, ‘Where’s my princess then?’

  I shut my scrapbook up quick and shot into the living room. It’s never a good idea to keep my dad waiting. But he’d called me princess, which was a promising sign. He might be in a good mood.

  He smiled as I rushed into the room. ‘There’s my girl!’ he said, beckoning me over to his armchair. Kenny was already on his knee