Bad Girls Read online

  But I couldn’t tell.

  ‘I really truly don’t remember,’ I insisted. ‘It’s making my head hurt just thinking about it. Please can’t I just go to sleep? Please?’

  So they had to give in. I lay there in my bedroom after they’d tiptoed downstairs. It wasn’t anywhere near dark. It wasn’t my proper bedtime yet. I wasn’t the slightest bit sleepy. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kim and Sarah and Melanie. I wished I wasn’t Mandy White. I started pretending. OK, I wasn’t boring, baby, goody-goody Mandy White any more. I was . . . Miranda Rainbow. I was cool. I was colourful. I wore loads of make-up and had this ultra hip hairstyle. I wore the most amazing super sexy clothes. I had pierced ears and a stud in my nose. I didn’t have a mum. I didn’t have a dad. I lived all by myself in this incredible modern flat. Sometimes my friends stayed overnight at my place. I had heaps of friends and they all begged me to be their best friend.

  I fell asleep being Miranda Rainbow but then Mum woke me up tucking the covers over me and I couldn’t get back to sleep for ages. I couldn’t stop myself being Mandy White in the middle of the night. I tossed and turned as the quarter-hours chimed, thinking about going to school tomorrow. Thinking about Melanie and Sarah. And Kim . . .

  Mum brought me breakfast in bed on the poppy tray. She felt my forehead and looked at my face.

  ‘You still look very peaky and you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. I think you’d be better off having a quiet day in bed, just to be on the safe side,’ said Mum.

  For once I was so so glad that my mum was such a worrier and always fussing. I didn’t have to face Kim and Melanie and Sarah. I could stay at home. Safe.

  Mum phoned up her work and pretended she was sick.

  ‘It’s not really a fib, Mandy,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘My teeth are still playing up.’

  ‘But you could have gone to work, Mum. I’d be fine by myself,’ I said.

  ‘I’d much sooner stay home with you, darling,’ said Mum.

  Mum didn’t like her work much now anyway. She was a company director’s secretary, but her company had changed its director and this new one was young and Mum didn’t think much of him. She job-shared with another lady, and Mum didn’t think much of the afternoon secretary either. She was young, too.

  She got in a bit of a state telling me all about them and I got bored, but tried to nod in all the right places. Then Mum tried hard to play with me, but that got a bit boring too. I was glad when she went downstairs to get started on lunch. I tried doing some colouring with my felt-tips but my wrist hurt too much. I got so fed up I tipped the tin up. There were rainbow felt-tips scattered all over the carpet. I got out of bed, sighing, and started picking them all up. Several had rolled right over to the window. I wandered over and stared out, not really focusing through my glued-together glasses. Someone was rocking the pram in the garden over the road.

  There were always babies over there. Mrs Williams was a foster mother. But the person at the pram certainly wasn’t Mrs Williams. She’s big and she wears old Indian clothes. This person was small and startling. I thought she was a grown-up at first. She was wearing very short shorts and a top that showed her tummy, and great clacky high heels. But when I screwed up my eyes to have a proper stare I saw her face wasn’t really that old, though she was wearing lots of make-up. She had short sticky-up hair, bright orange, the exact colour of Olivia Orang-utan’s fur.

  She looked up and saw me staring at her at the window. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, and then she waved at me. As if we knew each other.

  There was a phone call for me at teatime.

  ‘A boy!’ Mum mouthed, handing the phone over.

  I stared at the phone as if it was a wild animal. There was a voice saying something. I held the receiver very gingerly to my ear.

  ‘. . . so they didn’t keep you in hospital long, Mandy? Have you broken anything? Remember when I broke my leg last year and I had that great plaster cast and everyone wrote stuff all over it, even poems, remember that rude one?’

  It was only Arthur King. I wasn’t really nervous of him.

  ‘I’ve hurt my wrist, but it’s not broken, it’s just got a sling. You can’t write on it because it’s only material.’

  ‘Oh, well. Never mind. I mean, I’m ever so glad you’re all right.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re all right? You haven’t got concussion, have you? You’re not saying very much.’

  ‘You’re not giving me a chance,’ I said.

  Arthur King gave his funny daft-dog laugh, yaaa-yaaa-yaaa, but he still sounded anxious.

  ‘Mandy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mmm. Mandy?’ he repeated, suddenly tongue-tied.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I feel bad about yesterday. I just stood there. When they were saying all that stuff.’

  ‘Well, they weren’t saying it about you.’

  ‘Yes, but I should have rescued you.’

  ‘You what?’ I said, snorting with laughter. Arthur King is smaller than me and he’s always left till last when people pick teams for Games.

  ‘It wasn’t very chivalrous,’ said Arthur.

  ‘You what?’ I repeated.

  ‘Mandy, don’t keep using that horrible uncouth expression,’ Mum hissed in the background. ‘Who is this boy?’

  ‘Arthur’s in my class at school,’ I said.

  ‘I know I’m in your class at school,’ said Arthur. ‘Mandy, I think you have got concussion.’

  ‘No, I was just telling my mum who you are, that’s all,’ I said.

  ‘Your tea’s getting cold, Mandy,’ said Mum. ‘Come along, dear. Say bye bye.’

  ‘I’ve got to go in a minute, Arthur,’ I said. ‘Shiver-what?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You said you weren’t shivering or something. Yesterday.’

  ‘Chivalrous! Like a knight. Like my namesake, King Arthur. I didn’t rescue the damsel in distress, did I? I just stood there and I was shivering. Scared. Cowardy custard. Yellow. That was me.’

  ‘It’s OK, Arthur. Really. Anyway I’m cowardly, too.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s all right for you, because you’re a girl.’

  ‘Look, we’re not back in those days of all the knights. Girls aren’t supposed to be rescued now. They’re meant to sort themselves out.’

  ‘But there were three of them and only one of you. I’m a rotten coward. And I’m sorry. Ever so sorry, Mandy.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Arthur,’ I said politely. ‘I have to get on with my tea now. Bye.’

  I felt pleased that Arthur had phoned me. I’d never ever had a boy phone me up before. It felt good. I felt good.

  But the next morning I insisted I felt really bad.

  ‘I don’t feel at all well, Mum,’ I said. ‘And my wrist aches.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Mum looked at me anxiously. Dad had already left for his work. She didn’t have anyone to consult.

  ‘Please can I stay at home?’

  Mum felt my forehead and looked at me carefully.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve got a temperature. But you do still look a bit peaky. And I don’t suppose there’s really much point going to school if you can’t write properly. All right, then. As it’s Friday anyway. But you really will have to go back to school on Monday, Mandy.’

  Monday seemed quite a long way away. I could try to forget about it for the moment.

  I begged Mum to go back to work. I promised her I’d be fine by myself. I said I’d even stay in bed so she’d know I was absolutely safe. But she wouldn’t hear of it. She phoned in sick again.

  ‘Aren’t we bad girls?’ said Mum. ‘Shall we do some baking together, hm? Give Daddy a surprise when he comes home from work. I’ll do an iced sponge – chocolate or coffee? You choose, pet. And some fairy cakes? And then how about some gingerbread men?’

  I couldn’t help much with the sifting and stirring – but my left hand managed the bowl