Candyfloss Read online

  ‘Never mind,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll wait.’

  So we waited, and at long last the roundabout slowed down again and this time Dad ran too, and he got to Pearl and saved her for me.

  ‘You ride with me, Dad,’ I said.

  I hitched up my skirts and sat in front of the golden barley-sugar rail coming out of Pearl’s back, and Dad sat behind me, his arms round my waist. We paid our money and the lovely old music started up and we rode round and round until the whole fairground was just a mosaic of coloured lights. I wished Pearl would kick her silver hooves and rear up off her stand and gallop away with us for ever.

  ‘Would you like another ride on Pearl, Princess?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Oh please!’

  So we went round and round and round again, and when we at last got off Dad let me pat Pearl’s nose and stroke her long mane.

  ‘She’s so pretty,’ I said. ‘I just love her pink mane. It matches my dress, Dad, look.’

  ‘We’d better make sure our refreshments match your dress too,’ said Dad. ‘Candy for my Floss!’

  He led me to a candyfloss stall. It was decorated with roses, and a great pink teddy bear in a frilly dress dangled from the awning.

  ‘Mum never ever lets me have candyfloss because it’s so bad for my teeth,’ I said.

  ‘You can give your teeth an extra thorough brush tonight,’ said Dad, and he nodded at the big blonde lady in the candyfloss van. ‘We’ll have one each please. My teeth are pretty duff already.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’ve got a lovely smile, sir.’

  Dad gave her a big grin then. I grinned too. I love it when people like my dad.

  ‘You take after your dad, darling,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘You’re looking very gorgeous in that pretty pink frock. Have you been a bridesmaid?’

  ‘No, it’s her birthday. She’s my birthday princess,’ said Dad.

  ‘Dad!’ I said, feeling daft.

  ‘Aah, isn’t that lovely. Well, we’d better make you an extra big birthday special.’

  I watched, fascinated, as she poured sugar into the middle of her metal cauldron and then set it spinning. Wisps of candyfloss formed as if by magic. She took a stick and twirled it round and round until it bore an enormous pink fluffy cloud of candyfloss.

  ‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ she said, handing it over.

  ‘Oh yum!’ I said.

  I held it in awe, approaching it gingerly, not quite sure how to bite into it. Then someone behind jostled me and my nose went deep into the pink fluffy cloud and stuck there.

  ‘Watch out, mate! Mind my little girl,’ said Dad, turning round.

  It wasn’t just one mate. There were six or seven big lads, all of them holding cans of beer. They were strutting around, saying stupid things. Very very rude things. They didn’t take any notice of Dad at all.

  ‘Give us one of them big scoops of peanuts,’ the biggest guy said to the candyfloss lady.

  ‘Yeah, one for me too, I’ve got the munchies.’

  ‘I’ll have popcorn – the big carton,’ said another.

  ‘You wait your turn, boys. I’m serving this gentleman,’ said the candyfloss lady.

  ‘Here, we don’t wait turns. We tell you, you serve us – get it?’ said the biggest.

  ‘This is my stall, and I don’t have to serve anyone, so you can all push off sharpish – get it?’ said the candyfloss lady.

  They paused, taking it in.

  ‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ said the big guy. Then he called her a terribly rude word.

  ‘Don’t you dare badmouth the lady,’ said Dad. ‘You need your mouth washing out with soap, lad.’

  ‘You need your mouth shutting, you fat berk,’ said the boy, and he punched Dad straight in the face.

  Dad hit him back, but then all his mates got stuck in. I screamed and someone shoved me and I ended up flat on my face in the mud. I lay there, stunned. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of struggling.

  I lifted my head. ‘Help! They’re hurting my dad!’ I yelled.

  ‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Your dad’s OK now. Here, let me help you up, you poor little darling.’ It was the candyfloss lady herself, sitting me up gently and wiping my sticky face. My silver crown fell off, all torn and crumpled.

  I peered round desperately for my dad. I saw a lot of figures in the distance – big burly guys dragging the horrible drunk lads away from the fair.

  ‘They’re not taking my dad away too, are they?’ I said.

  ‘No, no, of course not. He’s over there, by my stall, see?’

  Dad was leaning against the stall, with a big fairground guy offering him a cloth for his bleeding lip.

  ‘Don’t give him that dirty old rag, Saul! Here, mind the stall for ten minutes while I get these two properly cleaned up in my caravan,’ said the candyfloss lady.

  She helped me stand up, tutting sympathetically when she saw the state of my dress.

  ‘Dear oh dear! Still, it’s not ripped – I wish I could say the same for your poor dad’s jeans! I’m sure all that mud will wash off easily enough. Did those idiots hurt you, lovey?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. I still couldn’t understand what had happened. One minute they’d all been hitting my dad, and then the next they were all limping away, escorted by the fairground guys.

  ‘Dad! Dad!’ I said, stumbling over to him. ‘Dad, did you beat them all up, those horrible lads?’

  Dad laughed and then winced, because it stretched his sore lip. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘I was blooming useless, Floss.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. You were wonderful, sticking up for me like that,’ said the candyfloss lady.

  ‘He stuck up for me too,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, he’s very gallant and brave, your dad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘Now, you two come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up properly.’

  ‘So how come they all stopped fighting?’ I asked, as we followed her in and out of the stalls and trailers to the circle of caravans.

  ‘Our guys keep an eye out for hassle,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘One hint of trouble and they all come running. And they’re tough lads too.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Dad. ‘Especially the one with the fair hair and all the skull rings, the one who gave me the rag for my nose. He felled three of the boys with one blow!’

  ‘Ah, Saul. He’s my lad,’ said the candyfloss lady. ‘He’s a right softie, especially with the girls, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’

  ‘I’m certainly glad he was on my side,’ said Dad.

  ‘Right, this is my van,’ said the candyfloss lady.

  It was a beautiful bright pink, with red roses carefully painted above the door.

  ‘I love the roses,’ said Dad.

  ‘That’s my name. Rose. It was my mum’s name and my gran’s. They claimed we were related to the fortune-teller Gypsy Rose. They used to read palms and peer into the crystal ball and all that lark.’

  ‘Can you tell fortunes?’ I asked excitedly.

  ‘Oh, I can read the tea leaves with the best of them,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘Come on, up the steps.’

  We climbed the neat golden ladder and went through the pink door.

  ‘Ooooh!’ I said.

  It was the most wonderful magical strange room ever. The inside walls were bright pink too, with lots of paintings of flowers and country cottages and little children in nighties. Great glittery glass mirrors doubled and tripled all the images, so you weren’t quite sure what was real and what was reflection. There was a big red velvet sofa with needlework cushions, and a polished table with a lace cloth, and a cabinet in one corner containing lots of china crinolined ladies. A gold clock ticked and tocked on a sideboard, with a big china dog on either side.

  ‘It’s so beautiful!’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad you like it, duckie,’ said Rose, going into her tiny kitchen and running water into a red bowl.

  ‘Ho