The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘Right. But what if rabbits come too, or something bigger. A stoat or a fox or something? They’ll just knock it flying, won’t they?’

  ‘We’ll put a hex around it,’ said Marigold. ‘Stones!’

  We gathered lots of little stones and arranged them in a ring around the cake cottage, leaving just a little mouse-size gap in front of the door.

  ‘Perfect,’ I said.

  ‘Perfectissimo,’ said Marigold.

  We walked off hand in hand. After ten or twelve paces Marigold looked over her shoulder.

  ‘I saw them! The dormice. They just whisked inside, little paws all scrabbly with excitement,’ Marigold said, nudging me.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ said Marigold firmly.

  We walked on, swinging Marigold’s shoes in the empty cake bag. After a while the brook got a bit wider, and when we rounded a bend it got wider still, and the wild vegetation was tamed into parkland.

  ‘Ducks!’ said Marigold, nudging me.

  ‘They look very fat overweight ducks, like they need to go on a diet. They don’t need cakes,’ I said.

  ‘And our little dormice needed their home,’ said Marigold.

  ‘Are they sisters?’

  ‘Sure. Dora and Daphne. Dora’s the eldest.’ Marigold glanced at me. ‘But Daphne’s the prettiest. Her eyes are extra big and beady and her ears are particularly exquisite, very soft and downy on the outside and the most beautiful delicate shell pink inside.’

  ‘Daphne sounds lovely. Can she be the cleverest too, even though she’s the youngest?’

  ‘You bet. She’s the cleverest in the whole class at Mouse School. She’s very artistic too. She can nibble at a hazel nut, chew chew chew with her sharp teeth and sculpt it into a little statue. She’s famous for her wooden cats. She makes them with a roly-poly round base so they tip over with one flick of a paw or tail. All the little mouse babies love to play Tip the Cat.’

  Marigold went on and on, talking faster and faster, making it all so real I could see the mice scampering in front of me. She could be so magic at making things up, much better than Star. Star would rarely play pretend games nowadays. She said she couldn’t do it properly any more. She’d try to pretend but she’d just feel a fool. She couldn’t believe it any more.

  I was glad this new mouse game was just for Marigold and me. I realized how rarely we’d been on our own together. It felt wonderful. Marigold wasn’t sad or scary at all, she was the best fun ever. Star was so critical nowadays she made Marigold nervous and twitchy. Marigold was just fine with me.

  ‘I love you, Marigold,’ I said, putting my arm round her slim waist.

  ‘I love you too, Dolly Dolphin,’ she said, and she hugged me close.

  I could feel all the delicate bones of her ribcage through her smooth skin. I carefully patted her long thin arm with the new tattoo etched into her sharply pointed elbow. She seemed too lightly linked together, almost as fragile as the daisy chain round her ankle. Though that wasn’t real. It was dyed into her skin for ever. I liked the idea of it lasting.

  We walked on until the brook became a park stream and we were picking our way through formal gardens. We were miles away from home. Marigold was still engrossed in telling her mouse saga. I didn’t want to spoil things by reminding her of the time. Marigold always lived in the moment. She wasn’t thinking about Star.

  She would have wondered why I hadn’t met her after school. She’d have hung around a while, then gone home. She’d be there now, wondering what had happened to Marigold and me, waiting and worrying. I knew how awful that was.

  I tried hard to think about Dora and Daphne, laughing as Marigold became more outrageous, acting being a mouse herself, her nose twitching, teeth tucked over her lip, her hands curled into mouse paws – but the thought of Star wouldn’t go away.

  ‘Star will be wondering where we are,’ I said at last.

  Marigold looked surprised. ‘I thought she had netball practice.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s nearly half past five now.’

  ‘It’s not!’

  ‘And it’ll take us hours to walk home.’

  ‘We’ll get a bus,’ said Marigold, feeling in her pocket for change. She brought out the tissue containing the four-leaf clover and smiled.

  The bus shelter was covered in posters for rock bands. Marigold was in the middle of describing Daphne’s summer and winter outfits but she stopped short, distracted.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Emerald City are doing a reunion gig! Oh God. Emerald City! I went to two of their concerts back in the Eighties. They were Micky’s favourite band.’

  My tummy tightened. It was usually a danger sign if Marigold started talking about Micky. But she stared at the poster, dazzled. She had the clover in her hand, twirling it round and round in her fingers.

  Star didn’t speak to either of us when we got back. I knew she’d been frightened. Her eyes looked pink as if she might have been crying. I felt bad but I’d done my best to keep Marigold away so that Star wouldn’t be embarrassed in front of her friends.

  I whispered this plaintively in bed at night, but Star simply turned over with a contemptuous sniff. I couldn’t stand it when she wouldn’t speak to me. It made me feel as if I wasn’t there. I felt my cold skinny body under the grubby sheet, reassuring myself. I smoothed my silk scarf over my face, snuffling in its soft smell, blowing it gently up and down with each breath. But no matter how I tried to lull myself, I couldn’t sleep. I told myself I’d had a lovely time with Marigold and she was fine, but I still felt jangled and tense. I could hear her in the kitchen, wandering restlessly, humming old rock songs, clinking her glass.

  I huddled further under the covers and eventually I must have slept because I dreamt I was in the cake cottage with my mouse sister. We sat at our fairy cake table and nibbled the thick icing with our sharp teeth but it tasted sickly sweet. We washed our paws and whiskers at the cupcake kitchen sink but golden syrup poured out of the taps and we were coated in sweet yellow slime. We crawled stickily up the sponge stairs and curled up in our jam roll beds but the fruit cake walls all around us started crumbling and the marzipan ceiling suddenly caved in. A huge red vixen was up above us, eyes glinting. She opened her jaws wide and I screamed and screamed.

  ‘Stop it, Dol! You’re dreaming,’ said Star, shaking me.

  ‘Oh I had such a horrible nightmare! It was so awful.’ I clutched Star for comfort.

  ‘Don’t! You’re digging your fingernails right in. They need cutting.’

  ‘Can I come into bed with you?’

  ‘No. I’m not talking to you.’

  ‘But you are! Oh Star, please.’

  ‘No! Now shut up and go back to sleep.’

  ‘I’m going to Marigold,’ I said, climbing out of bed. ‘We had such a great time today. You just wind her up and make her worse. She’s fine with me.’

  Star said nothing. I was forced to pad on out of the bedroom. I went very slowly along the hall, putting the heel of my foot in front of my toes so that I only moved one footlength at a time.

  The kitchen light was still on so I went very slowly towards it. Marigold was sitting at the table in her T-shirt and jeans but she was fast asleep, her head slumped, her mouth slightly open. She still had her hand cupped round her glass but it was empty. So was the bottle.

  ‘Marigold?’ I whispered. ‘Marigold, I’ve had a bad dream.’

  I took hold of her by the arm. She was very cold.

  ‘Marigold, come to bed. Please.’

  Marigold groaned but didn’t answer. Her eyes were half open and not focusing. I knew there was no point persisting. I went and got her quilt and wrapped it round her. Then I patted her icy hand.

  ‘Night night, sleep tight, make sure the bugs don’t bite,’ I whispered, and went back to my own bed.

  Star still said nothing, but as I felt my way in the dark she reached out and pulled me in with her. She cuddled me close, her lap warm, her arms soft.