My Mum Tracy Beaker Read online

  ‘Oh yes! And Alfie?’

  ‘Definitely Alfie. Let’s go and collect him.’

  It was still only eight o’clock when we drove round to Cam’s. All the girls were still fast asleep, but Cam and Alfie were up – and Miss Oliver was already there.

  ‘We’re going on another hike,’ said Cam.

  ‘You’re not taking Alfie again, are you?’ I asked anxiously. He had come back exhausted from his first one.

  ‘Who do you want to spend the day with, Alfie – Mary and me, or Jess and Tracy?’ said Cam.

  Alfie came bounding over to me!

  ‘Oh, Alfie, you clever dog,’ I said, making a huge fuss of him.

  Mum and I took him for a walk in the park first so he could have a wee and stretch his legs, and then we secured him safely in the back of the Cadillac.

  ‘So where are we going, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t really know!’ she said. ‘You choose, Jess.’

  ‘No, it’s your birthday. You have to say where.’

  ‘I can’t think. Not a town. What about the country somewhere? Alfie would like that. Or … I know! The seaside. It’s not very sunny, but it might brighten up later. Do you fancy a trip to the sea?’

  ‘Yes please! Alfie’s never seen the sea. He’ll be so excited.’

  ‘I remember the first time I saw the sea. Mike took all us kids from the Dumping Ground camping for a week. It was magic. I couldn’t believe the sea was so huge. I went charging into the water for a paddle without even bothering to take off my shoes and socks! I was a right nutter when I was little. Still am!’

  ‘Shall we go there then. That same beach?’ I suggested.

  ‘Good idea!’ Mum looked at a map of the coast on her phone. ‘Aha! This is it. Cooksea. It’s only a little place. It hasn’t got a pier or a big amusement arcade or anything like that – is that still OK?’

  ‘Let’s go for it,’ I said.

  So we did.

  MUM PUT ON her shades, and we pretended we were movie stars driving along in our pink Cadillac. Mum drove fast so our hair tangled in mad curls, and our cheeks grew pink. We started singing daft old pop songs. Mum often forgot the words and I didn’t know them anyway, but it didn’t matter – we made up new crazy words or la-la-la’d.

  People stared at us, singing away in our flamingo-pink car. Some of the drivers tooted and people on the pavement waved. We tooted and waved back.

  ‘Watch out, the Beaker Babes are in your area,’ Mum yelled. ‘We’re here to have fun!’

  ‘We are having fun, aren’t we, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘You bet we are,’ she said. ‘Let’s make the most of it. We might have to sell the car to keep us going.’

  ‘But it’s your special car, Mum, the kind you always wanted right from when you were a little girl,’ I reminded her.

  ‘I’m a big girl now, and I have to think of boring things like the rent and new shoes for you and school trips – and I think you need new glasses because you’re always frowning nowadays,’ said Mum.

  ‘My shoes still fit, sort of, but anyway my feet will soon be big enough to wear your shoes – the red sparkly high-tops! I don’t want to go on any stupid school trips because I haven’t got any proper friends now, not even Tyrone, not that I care – and I don’t need new glasses, honest. I’ve been frowning because I was worried, but I’m not worried any more because my unbirthday wish came true. I wished you’d be happy again, and you are!’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said Mum, and she put her foot down and we zoomed along even faster.

  ‘Not too fast, Mum!’

  Alfie started whimpering and fidgeting in the back.

  ‘I think he needs a wee,’ I said, craning round anxiously.

  Mum stopped at the next lay-by, and I walked Alfie along the grass verge, where he did lots of wees. There were several lorries parked there – the drivers were having breakfast at the refreshment hut. They all gathered round to admire the Cadillac as they munched their bacon rolls.

  We’d already had our strawberry hearts, but the bacon rolls smelled so delicious we had a second breakfast while Mum chatted to the lorry drivers. They all wanted to peer inside the bonnet, and stroked the Cadillac’s shiny pink sides the way I stroke Alfie.

  ‘Lovely car you’ve got there,’ said one of the drivers. He had big blue eyes and a big white smile. ‘And a lovely little girl and a lovely dog. And you’re quite lovely too. What’s your name, Mrs?’

  ‘Tracy Beaker,’ said Mum. ‘And it’s Miss, not Mrs. It’s going to stay Miss too. Come on, Jess. Back in the car. See you, guys.’

  ‘That man fancied you,’ I said as we set off again.

  ‘Yep,’ said Mum.

  ‘But you didn’t fancy him?’

  ‘Nope. I’m not going to get involved with any more men. We’re fine just as we are, you and me …’ Mum paused, waiting for me to open my mouth. ‘And Alfie,’ we said in unison.

  There was country all around us now, rolling green hills as far as you could see. The sky seemed much bigger and bluer than it was in London, and the sun made everything look so bright it was as if we had landed in Munchkinland.

  ‘We couldn’t have picked a better day for the seaside,’ said Mum. ‘Not far now. I remember this hilly part from when I was a little kid. Mike took us hiking, and we were all completely knackered by the time we got to the top of that big hill over there. Then, on the way back, we walked across a meadow and Justine stepped in a cowpat and we all fell about laughing.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t push her, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘Me?’ she said, grinning. ‘Maybe I gave her just a little shove. Accidentally on purpose.’

  ‘You’re bad, Mum. When are we going to see the sea then?’

  ‘Soon soon soon!’ said Mum.

  We drove through a little village.

  ‘Oh yes, Mike took us to have cake in a teashop here, and we had to swear we’d be on our best behaviour so as not to show him up!’ said Mum.

  ‘Hey, shall we stop now and have a cake, Mum? A birthday cake?’ I suggested.

  ‘I’m still too full of bacon roll,’ said Mum. ‘And I’m not sure about Alfie’s manners in a teashop. He might play tug with the tablecloths and slobber on the scones. Anyway, we’re nearly there. We’ll see the sea in a minute.’

  We drove up such a steep hill that the car juddered in protest, but when we got to the top there was a wonderful view of fields stretching out to the sky, with the sea glittering silver in front of us.

  ‘Is this Cooksea?’ I cried. ‘Oh, Mum, it looks lovely!’

  ‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside!’ Mum sang, and pretended to be a trumpet for the tiddely-om-pom pom part.

  I sang, ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean, my Bonnie lies over the sea’, and did all the hand gestures too.

  ‘Very good,’ said Mum. ‘Are you making up all those gestures?’

  ‘No, Miss Oliver taught us,’ I said. ‘I do like her, especially now she’s Cam’s friend.’

  ‘I like her too,’ said Mum. ‘How could I ever have called her a bossy old bag?’

  ‘You were awful, Mum!’

  ‘I know. That was a terrible thing to say, even for me.’

  ‘I’m so glad you like her now.’

  ‘She’s different when she’s not being a teacher. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think. It just matters that Cam likes her.’

  ‘So long as she doesn’t like her more than us! She’s our Cam, isn’t she, Mum?’

  ‘Of course she is. Fancy her getting into this rambling lark! They were going on a twelve-mile hike today – imagine!’

  ‘Alfie’s much happier being with us. He doesn’t have walking boots like Cam and Miss Oliver. I’m sure his paws must have ached dreadfully after all that hiking,’ I said.

  When we parked the car on the seafront and let Alfie loose on the beach, he bounded about like a puppy. He gambolled over the pebbles, sniffing ecstatically, ran to meet all the other dogs on the beach, and th