My Mum Tracy Beaker Read online

  ‘Well, you could have told me! The guy at the kick-boxing class didn’t know where you were either,’ said Mum.

  ‘I thought you’d given up going – weren’t you taking Jess swimming or something?’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘Anyway, I don’t go round gassing to my staff, telling them all my plans. Shame I missed you though. I love seeing you aiming kicks and getting all red in the face.’

  ‘I’ll practise on you if you like,’ said Mum.

  They started play-fighting. Mum was quite fierce at first, but soon they were just larking about. They didn’t have a row. They ended up getting all lovey-dovey. Again.

  I wondered about asking Mum to teach me to kick-box. I could try it out on Tyrone when he started to annoy me. He was still going on and on and on about Sean Godfrey. He even started writing his biography!

  Miss Oliver said we all had to choose a person we admired and then find out all sorts of information about them and write it up in our own words.

  ‘And if they’re famous I don’t want you copying Wikipedia word for word,’ she warned. ‘I want you each to write something really original and interesting.’

  Half the class thought I’d write about Sean Godfrey!

  ‘You’re so lucky, Jess. You can find out all sorts of stuff, easy-peasy, and get photos and old football programmes and newspaper cuttings,’ said Aleysha.

  ‘I’m not doing Sean Godfrey,’ I told her. ‘I’m doing my mum Tracy Beaker.’

  ‘But your mum’s not famous!’

  ‘Miss Oliver said we should write about someone we admire. And I admire my mum,’ I said.

  I spent ages working on my biography.

  I drew lots of pictures of Mum and me – in our Marlborough Tower flat, and going round a boot fair, and walking Alfie, and riding in our pink Cadillac.

  I was one of the first to hand their work in to Miss Oliver. She read it immediately, while I was still standing at her desk.

  ‘Well done, Jess,’ she said when she’d got to the end. ‘It’s a lovely piece of work, and I like all the drawings too.’

  ‘Did you see I mentioned your friend Cam?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Miss Oliver, smiling.

  ‘I admire her too. I’ll do a biography of her if we have to do another one,’ I said. ‘I like writing biographies of people.’

  Tyrone was finding writing a biography of Sean Godfrey hard work. He’d filled one side of paper, but it was just a load of match results he’d copied out. He’d added stars for each goal Sean Godfrey had scored.

  ‘It looks rather like the sky at night,’ said Miss Oliver, glancing at it. ‘I can see you’ve put a lot of effort into this, Tyrone, but I’d like you to do some writing too, at least a couple of pages. Tell me about Sean Godfrey the person. Imagine what it feels like to be Sean Godfrey.’

  Tyrone rolled his eyes. ‘It must feel terrific, Miss!’

  ‘Well, that’s a start.’

  So Tyrone wrote that down. Then he got stuck. ‘I don’t know what else to put,’ he said.

  I remembered what Aleysha had said about using football programmes and newspaper cuttings.

  ‘Shall I see if I can find something at Sean Godfrey’s for you, Tyrone? Newspaper cuttings and stuff? He’s got all sorts in his study. I’ve had a peep.’

  ‘Oh, wow! Would you? That would be magic!’ he said.

  When we got back from school Sean Godfrey was already there.

  ‘How’s my girls?’ he asked. ‘And my boy,’ he added, squatting down and making a big fuss of Alfie.

  ‘You’re in a good mood!’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m always in a good mood when you’re around, Trace,’ said Sean Godfrey. ‘I thought I’d come home early and take us all out for a meal tonight. What do you fancy? Italian, signora? A beeg plate of spagi boli? Or French, mademoiselle? Steak frites and beaucoup de plonk?’ He put on dreadful silly accents to make Mum laugh.

  ‘How about Indian? I fancy a curry,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will whisk you off to the Taj Mahal, memsahib. I’ll nip out for a run first so the calories won’t stick. Coming with me, Trace?’

  ‘As if!’ said Mum. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea with Rosalie before she goes home.’

  I wondered about asking Sean Godfrey for an old football programme and a cutting or two as he was in such a good mood, but he was so weird about all his football stuff. He didn’t just have it framed on the walls in the living room. The study was like a Sean Godfrey shrine. I wasn’t allowed in there. He didn’t even let Rosalie dust – he did it once a week with a special feather duster, and polished all his trophies.

  I thought he’d probably say no, good mood or not. I decided not to risk asking. I’d just borrow some little token and hope he’d never notice. I knew I’d be in serious trouble if he caught me in his precious study, but he wouldn’t be back from his run for ages. It wasn’t just a jog around the garden. He changed into a vest and silly little shorts and set off for a proper run to the local park. He’d be gone for an hour or more.

  So I crept into the study and tiptoed around, keeping a careful eye on Alfie, who had followed me in. He padded softly, as if he knew we had to be stealthy. All around the room there were framed newspaper cuttings and magazine articles, along with football shirts in glass cases and all kinds of silver trophies. I obviously couldn’t sneak them away. But there was heaps more stuff filed away in cabinets and in the drawers of the big desk. Sean Godfrey surely wouldn’t miss a couple of little souvenirs.

  My heart was beating fast even so. Was it a crime if you took something from your own home? I knew it probably was. And it all clearly meant so much to Sean Godfrey. I didn’t like him much, but now that I was in his study I found I didn’t want to steal from him, even just a piece of newspaper.

  Maybe I’d better wait to ask, and risk him saying no, I thought. Perhaps he’d not mind too much. After all, he liked Tyrone. He’d like the idea of being picked for Miss Oliver’s biography project. And Tyrone could return everything afterwards.

  I stood there dithering, wondering what to do. Alfie got a bit bored, and stuck his nose into the open desk drawers, sorting through the papers himself.

  ‘Alfie! Don’t! You’ll crumple them,’ I said, panicking.

  I bent down, pushed him away, and took out all the things he had rumpled, hoping I could smooth them out. Underneath, at the bottom of the drawer, I saw a phone.

  It was like my new one, but a different colour. Was it another present for someone? I wondered. But it was already out of its box – it looked as if it had been used.

  Why did Sean Godfrey have it hidden away in a drawer? He already had a phone, so why did he need this spare one? I picked it up, puzzled. I touched the screen and stared at the screensaver. His other phone had a photo of Mum. This one just had a deep blue sky scene. I touched the screen again, and was asked for a password. I wondered what Sean Godfrey’s was.

  I’d chosen mine carefully. It was 170830. My birthday’s on 17 January, Mum’s is on 8 May, and Cam’s is on 30 October. Birthdays are very important in our family. It makes the number easy for me to remember. I wondered when Sean Godfrey’s birthday was. Or had he chosen some other number combination? What was important to him?

  I looked up at a framed newspaper cutting with the headline PREMIERSHIP SEAN! There was a big photo of him leaping into the air in triumph. Tyrone had told me all about this match. According to him, it was legendary. Sean Godfrey had scored a hat-trick, and the third goal meant that the team won the Premier League.

  I looked at the number 7 on his football shirt. I squinted at the date on the newspaper: 2008. I tapped in 372008 – but it didn’t work. I tried reversing the 3 and the 7 – and the phone opened up! I felt like a genius, though it had taken the simplest deduction.

  I pressed the messages symbol. Then I stopped dead, staring at the latest little box.

  Hi, Big Guy! It’s gr8 doing business with u, lol!

  Ur the best. Better than the best. Luv and more