Starring Tracy Beaker Read online

  No no no, I'm thinking about my mum.'

  'Ah. Yes. She's quite posh, isn't she, your mum?'

  'Insufferably so. Very very much a pearl sort of person. But real pearls. These are fake so I expect she'd turn her nose up at them.'

  'Well, get her real ones then.'

  'Don't be a banana, Tracy. I couldn't possibly afford them. I can't actually afford the fake ones, even half price. You know, I'm like a fake 40

  daughter to my mum. She's so disappointed that I'm not all smart and glossy with a posh partner and a brilliant career.'

  'Well, you could still try to get them,' I said doubtfully.

  'I don't want to. I want to be me. It's so hard not to get wound up by my mum. I'm absolutely dreading going home for Christmas.'

  'You're dreading going home for Christmas?'

  I said slowly.

  Cam stopped gazing at the fake pearls and looked at me.

  'Oh Tracy, I'm sorry. That was such a stupid tactless thing to say to you. I know just how much you want to see your mum this Christmas.'

  'And I'm going to,' I said, very firmly and fiercely.

  'Well, that would be truly great, but remember, your mum might just be busy or tied up or . . .

  or . . . abroad,' Cam said.

  'No, she's going to be here. She's going to come and see me in my starring role in A Christmas Carol. And then she'll stay over. I dare say she'll take us to this top hotel and we'll have Christmas there. Yeah, it will be so great. We'll sleep in this big big queen-size bed and then we'll splash in 41

  our power shower and then we'll have the most immense breakfast. I'll be allowed to eat whatever I want. I can put six spoonfuls of sugar on my cereal and eat twenty sausages in one go and I'll have those puffy things with maple syrup—'

  'Waffles?'

  'Yeah, I'll scoffle a waffle,' I said as we walked out of the department store towards the 42

  bookshop. 'I'll scoffle six waffles and I'll have hot chocolate with whipped cream, and then I'll open my presents and my mum will give me heaps and heaps and heaps of stuff – a whole wardrobe of designer clothes, enough new shoes and trainers and boots to shod a giant centipede—'

  'And a motorized go-cart? Sorry, a whole fleet of them.'

  'Yep, and bikes and scooters and my own trampoline, and I'll be able to

  bounce soooo high I'll

  swoop straight up to

  the sky and everyone will

  look up at me and go,

  7s it a bird? Is it a plane?

  Is it Superman? Is it

  Santa ? Noooo,

  it's the Truly

  Tremendous

  Tracy Beaker!'

  I bounced up and

  down to demonstrate. I accidentally landed on Cam's foot and she gave a little scream, but she was very nice about it.

  We carried on playing the Christmas game until we got to the bookshop. Well, it wasn't 43

  exactly a game. I knew it was all going to come true, though perhaps I was embellishing things a little. I am occasionally prone to exaggeration.

  That means I can get carried away and tell socking great lies. They start to seem so real that I believe them too.

  Cam was very happy to be in the bookshop.

  She ran her finger lovingly along the long lines of paperbacks.

  'I'll have a little browse,' she said. 'The children's section is over in that corner, Tracy.'

  'I don't want the children's books. I want the classics section,' I said loftily.

  'Oh yes?' said Cam. 'You fancy a quick flick through War and Peace?'

  'That's quite a good title. If I write my true life story about my Dumping Ground experiences I'll call my book War and More War and Yet More War. No, I'm going to peruse the collected works of Mr Charles Dickens.'

  That showed her. I wasn't kidding either.

  I wanted to find a copy of A Christmas Carol.

  I found a very nice paperback for £4.99. I had just one penny left. I didn't put it back in my purse. I decided to throw it in the dinky wishing well by the shopping centre Christmas tree.

  44

  I could do with a good wishing session.

  Cam was still browsing in the fiction, her nose in a book, her whole expression one of yearning. I knew she couldn't afford all the books she wanted. She said she often spent ten or twenty minutes in the shop reading a book before putting it back reluctantly.

  Once she'd even marked her place with a bus ticket so she could sidle back the next day – and the next and the next and the next – until she'd finished the whole story.

  I suddenly wished I'd saved just a little bit of my Christmas money to buy Cam a paperback. I fidgeted uncomfortably with my wishing penny.

  I threw it up and caught it again and again, practising my wishing. Then I dropped it and it rolled off, right round the shelves. I ran after it and practically bumped my nose on the MIND BODY SPIRIT sign.

  I picked up my penny, my eyes

  glazing over at all these dippy books about star signs and spiritual

  auras – and then I saw a title in

  sparkly silver lettering: Make Your Wishes Come True.

  45

  I reached for the book, my hand shaking. It was a slim little book, written by someone called Grizelda Moonbeam, White Witch. I considered calling myself Tracy Moonbeam, Very Black Witch. I'd learn magic spells and make frogs and toads spew out of Justine Get-Everyone-On-Her-Side Littlewood.

  I opened the book and started flipping through the pages. It really was full of spells! I couldn't find a frog-and-toad curse for your worst enemy, but there were plenty of love potions and magic charms. I turned another page and then my heart started thumping.

  'CHARM TO BE WITH YOUR LOVED ONE ON A FESTIVE OCCASION'.

  46

  My mum was my Very Much Loved One and you couldn't get a more Festive Occasion than Christmas. I so badly wanted her to come this Christmas and watch me act Scrooge on stage I was about ready to pop.

  I read the charm carefully.

  Grizelda advised mixing

  one part mead to two

  parts dandelion wine,

  adding cinnamon for

  spice and ginger for

  warmth and sugar for

  sweetness. She suggested stirring the mixture well while chanting the Loved One's name, then drinking from the wrong side of the glass without drawing breath.

  I blinked. Easy-peasy! I gabbled the ingredients over and over again. I'd got so used to learning my Scrooge lines that the recipe tucked itself neatly inside my head without too much fussing. Then I reverently replaced Grizelda Moonbeam, danced seven times around the bookshelf because it seemed a magic thing to do, and then staggered giddily off to find Cam.

  'Are you feeling OK, Tracy?' she asked, as I bumped right into her.

  47

  'I'm fine,' I said, carefully sorting out my carrier bags and my penny. 'Come on, Cam, let's get cracking. I've got all my Christmas presents now.'

  'And I haven't got a sausage,' said Cam, sighing. 'Oh well, maybe I can make some of my presents this year.'

  I shook my head at her. 'Look, Cam, making presents is for little kids. I can barely get away with it. You're way too old, believe me. And forget all about it on my behalf. I want a proper present!'

  'You don't really work hard to get people to like you, Tracy,' said Cam, shutting her book with a snap.

  'I don't have to. I'm bubbling over with natural charm,' I said.

  However, I pondered her point as we left the bookshop. What was all this gubbins about getting people to like you? I didn't fancy sucking up to people all the time and saying they looked lovely when they looked rubbish and all that sick-making nonsense. Louise was a past master at that

  - and a present mistress too. She could flutter her long eyelashes, fix you with a 48

  soulful glance with her big blue eyes and say softly that you were the funniest girl in all the world and she wanted to be your best friend for ever a