My Mum Tracy Beaker Read online

  ‘It certainly can,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘A total whatsit!’

  They didn’t actually say the word whatsit, they said something much ruder. Mum caught my eye. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you saying that, Jess!’ she said.

  We went on looking.

  ‘Have you seen anything you want, Mum?’ I whispered. ‘You should pick yourself a birthday present. We’ve still got heaps of Cam’s money left.’

  ‘You must pick something too. Everything’s very reasonably priced,’ Mum whispered back.

  I spent ages rummaging, and eventually decided on a blue china bunny with big ears, just like the one Alice had in her bedroom. One of his paws was a bit broken, but I didn’t mind. Mum dithered over an old leather suitcase and a silky kimono and a baseball jacket, but eventually chose an old doll with blue eyes and thinning yellow hair and a torn dress.

  ‘But you don’t even like dolls, Mum!’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Yes, I know, but this one’s a bit like the one I had when I was a little girl, my Bluebell. I loved her,’ said Mum. Then she hissed, ‘And she’s only ten pounds, a total bargain! She’s worth heaps more, even though she’s so shabby.’

  The shop lady seemed delighted when we showed her our choices. She peered at the price tags. ‘I’ll knock a bit off, seeing as we’re like old friends already,’ she said. ‘You can have the doll for eight, and the little SylvaC bunny for two, seeing as he’s got a chip on his paw. That’s a tenner, if you please.’

  Mum looked at me. I looked at her. We hesitated. They were almost too much of a bargain.

  ‘Is it too much, dears?’ the lady asked. ‘Are we going to haggle?’

  Mum nibbled her lip. ‘It’s not enough,’ she said. ‘Not nearly enough.’

  ‘You mean you want to pay more?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘Your prices are far too generous.’

  The shop lady shrieked with laughter. ‘Oh my, this is interesting haggling! Don’t be so silly. Give me the tenner, and take your doll and your bunny and no more nonsense. Tell you what – if you feel really badly you can make me a cup of tea, because I’m gasping.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Mum.

  ‘There’s a little room out the back. You’ll see the kettle. Excuse all my washing things. I camp down here nowadays. Can’t manage the stairs. Make a cup for yourself too – and the kiddie. Do you drink tea, dear?’ she asked me.

  ‘Yes please,’ I said.

  ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Jess.’

  ‘Pretty. I used to know a lady called Jessamine Heart. I don’t suppose the name rings any bells with you girls, but she was reasonably well known in her day. An actress, though she didn’t have much talent, poor dear – just an impressive figure and a way with men. Do you know the type?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mum called from the little kitchen.

  ‘I wonder if you’ve heard of Florence Garland?’ the shop lady asked. ‘Now she was an actress. You might have seen her most famous film on the telly – Death of a Lady? She was the lady and she died beautifully, even though I say so myself. She was on the stage too – mostly drawing-room comedies, but she did some Shakespeare too. She once toured as Rosalind and got rave reviews in all the papers. I’ve got them stuck in a scrapbook somewhere. When she was a little older she did sitcom – she was the comical cleaning lady for seven series of Life with the Lilliputs.’ She put her head on one side and started talking in a funny Cockney accent. ‘’Allo, dearies, let me slosh a bit of disinfectant in all your murky corners! That was my catch line. People used to shout it after me in the street.’

  ‘So you’re Florence Garland?’ said Mum, coming to peer at her.

  ‘I used to be. Now I’m simply poor old Flo who hasn’t had a part in years. I had a tough time – had to do some waitressing, which played havoc with my feet. Ever done waitressing, dear?’ she asked Mum.

  ‘Yes – it’s a killer. I’m working in a coffee shop now, and that’s even worse.’

  Flo clucked sympathetically. ‘And what’s your name, darling?’

  ‘Tracy Beaker.’

  ‘Now there’s a name with a familiar ring. You haven’t been on the telly, have you?’

  ‘Oh, there was some documentary about me when I was a kid,’ said Mum, going back to make the tea.

  ‘Oooh!’ said Flo. ‘So why did they feature your mum, pet? She wasn’t one of those sickening child phenomenons who speak twenty languages and do advanced algebra when they’re five?’

  No! I think it was because she was in a children’s home,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, and you’ll never guess what we used to call it,’ said Mum, coming in with a tray and three different china cups with odd saucers, though they all had pretty floral patterns and fancy gold rims. ‘The Dumping Ground!’

  ‘Oh, my! Would you believe it! I didn’t give the shop the name, mind you. It’s a bit too basic for my taste. I’d have called it something like Florence’s Antique Emporium, only it wasn’t mine when it started up. It was run by a dear soul called Arty Williams – Arthur, actually, but he always hated the name. He was in the theatre too. I’d known him for years. He retired and bought himself this little antique shop by the sea, and when I was on my beam ends he helped me out, bless him. I moved in, and we got on like a house on fire, but then poor Arty had a heart attack – and I discovered he’d left me the shop in his will. I went to all the big antique fairs – even bought a van and did house clearances – but a couple of years ago I had my stroke, and now it’s a devil of a struggle to keep going.’ Flo sighed. ‘If only I had someone to help me out, but no one seems interested in working in a junk shop any more.’

  Mum looked at me. I looked at her. Alfie looked up at both of us.

  ‘What is it, dears?’ Flo asked, sipping. ‘Ah, this is the ticket. You make a lovely cup of tea, Tracy Beaker.’

  ‘Look, this is probably a ridiculous suggestion, and you must say no if you’re not one hundred per cent keen on the idea, but how about me working here with you? I could go around looking for stock and tidy up the shop a bit, and I could help out with the chores. What do you think?’ Mum asked.

  ‘What do I think? I think it’s a tremendous idea!’ said Flo, spilling her tea down her large front. She dabbed at herself with the shawl. ‘I couldn’t pay you that much, of course – but you could have free accommodation upstairs, if it’s just for you and little Jess, though I dare say it’s all in a bit of a mess. Hop upstairs and have a look at it, see what you think.’

  There was a bedroom and a little box room and a bathroom, all a bit tired and musty.

  ‘But we could scrub all the rooms and paint them and make them look great in no time,’ said Mum. ‘And just think what we could do with the shop! We could display everything cleverly and make it look great, like a giant version of our flat! It’s the job of my dreams, and I think I’d actually be good at it! What do you think, Jess? I know it’s completely mad, but shall we give it a go?’

  ‘But how will I get to school, Mum?’

  ‘You could go to a new school. Would you mind?’

  ‘Well … I won’t like leaving Miss Oliver.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll still see her now she’s Cam’s friend. And after this term you wouldn’t be in her class anyway. This is our chance, Jess! A new start! And Flo likes Alfie, so we could have him here with us all the time,’ said Mum.

  ‘Then yes, yes, yes, let’s!’ I cried.

  When we went back downstairs there was a lot more discussion. Alfie started to get a bit fidgety, so I took him for a walk up and down the street, promising not to cross any roads or talk to strangers.

  ‘Will you like living here, Alfie?’ I asked him.

  Alfie sniffed happily, zigzagging backwards and forwards. It was clear that he thought Cooksea was dog heaven, especially if he could go for a run on the beach every day. It was my idea of heaven too, so long as we could still see Cam lots. We could visit her in the car – and maybe at the weekends she co