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  said Football, but this time he dribbled the ball carefully round the furniture, keeping up a running commentary all the time:

  'Yeah, our boy's got the ball again, ready to save the day . . . yes, he intercepts the ball brilliantly, heading it s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t' (he took aim as he gabbled and suddenly kicked it hard against the wall) 'into the net! Yes!' (He punched the air.) 'I've never seen such a brilliant goal.'

  'Sad,' I said to Alexander, shaking my head.

  'You wait till I'm famous,' said Football, kicking the ball in my direction. Aiming at me, rather than to me.

  But I'm no weedy Alexander. I stood my ground and kicked it straight back. 'Wow!

  Tracy's a gutsy little player!' I commentated.

  'I bet I'm heaps more famous than you anyway.'

  'Women footballers are rubbish,' said Football.

  'I'm not going to be a footballer, you nutcase. I'm going to be a famous actress like my mum.'

  114

  'Now who's sad?' Football said to Alexander. He bounced the ball near him.

  Alexander blinked nervously. 'You going to be a famous actress too?' Football asked him unkindly.

  'He could easily get to be famous,' I said.

  'He's dead brainy. Top of everything at school. He could go on all the quiz shows on the telly and know every single answer. Only you'd better have a special telly name.

  Alexander isn't exactly catchy. How a b o u t . . .

  Brainbox?'

  I was trying to be nice to him but I didn't seem to have the knack. Alexander winced at the word.

  'They call me that at school,' he said mourn-fully. 'And other stuff. And my dad calls me Mr Clever Dick.'

  'He sounds a right charmer, your dad,' I said.

  'My dad's the best ever,' said Football, kicking his ball from one foot to the other.

  'I haven't got a dad so I don't know whether he's the best or the worst,' I said. I've never really fussed about it. I never needed a dad, not when I had a mum. I needed her.

  'My mum's going to take me to live at her 115

  place,' I told them. 'It's

  dead luxurious, all gilt and

  mirrors and chandeliers

  and rich ruby red upholstery.

  And she's going to buy me

  new clothes, designer stuff,

  and new trainers and

  a brand new computer and

  my own telly and a video and

  a bike and pets and we're going on heaps of trips to Disneyland and I bet we won't even have to queue because my mum's such a famous actress.'

  'What's her name then?' Football demanded.

  'Carly. Carly Beaker,' I said proudly.

  'Never heard of her,' said Football.

  I thought quickly. I had to shut him up somehow. 'That's not her acting name.'

  'Which is?'

  'Sharon Stone.'

  'If your mum's Sharon Stone then my dad's Alan Shearer,' said Football.

  Alexander's head jerked. 'Your dad's Alan Shearer?' he piped up. 'No wonder he's good at football.'

  Football shook his head pityingly. 'I 116

  thought he was supposed to be bright?' he said. 'Anyway, my dad's better than Alan Shearer. We're like that, my dad and me.' He linked his stubby fingers to show us. 'We do all sorts together. Well. We did.'

  Significant past tense.

  'He's got this girlfriend,' said Football. 'My mum found out and now my dad's gone off with this girlfriend. I don't blame him. My mum just nags and moans and gives him a hard time. No wonder he cleared off. But he says it doesn't mean we're not still mates.'

  'So your dad doesn't live with you any more?' said Alexander, sighing enviously.

  'But we still do all sorts of stuff together,'

  said Football, kicking the ball about again.

  'We always go to the match on Saturdays.

  Well, Dad couldn't make it this time. And last time. But that's because he's still, like, sorting out his new life – he's taking me next time, he's promised.' He stepped on the ball and patted his pockets, bringing out a cigarette-lighter. 'Look!'

  I looked. He didn't produce the packet of fags to go with it.

  'Let's have a smoke then,' I said. I like the way my mum holds her hand when she's got a 117

  fag lit – and the way her lips purse as she takes a long drag.

  'I don't smoke, it's bad for my football, right?' said Football. 'No, this is my dad's lighter. See the make?' He held it out so we could admire it. 'It's not one of your tacky throw-away sort. It's gold.''

  'Solid gold!' Alexander whispered.

  'Well. Plated. Still cost a fortune. It's my dad's most precious possession. His mates gave it to him for his twenty-first birthday.

  He's never without it, my dad.'

  'He seems to be without it now,' I chipped in.

  'That's the point,' said Football.

  'He's given it to me.' He flicked it on and off, on and off, on and off. It was like watching those flashing Christmas tree lights.

  'You'll be waving it around at a rock concert next,' I said.

  'You shut your face,' said Football, irritated that I wasn't acting dead impressed. 'You haven't even got a dad.' He kicked the ball hard. It bounced on the television set and ended up inside it.

  'I wish I didn't have a dad,' said Alexander, 118

  standing up and attempting repairs. 'Or I wish my dad would go off with a girlfriend.

  I wish wishes would come true. What would you wish for?' He looked shyly at Football.

  'That you and your dad could be together?'

  'Yeah,' said Football, looking amazed that Alexander could possibly have sussed this out. 'And to play for United,' he added.

  'What about you, Tracy?' asked Alexander.

  'I don't want a dad,' I said quickly.

  'What about your mum?' Alexander persisted. 'Would you wish you and your mum could be together?'

  'That would be a totally wasted wish, wouldn't it, because I'm going to be with her anyway.'

  But I'll still wish it even so. Let me be with my mum. Let me be with my mum. I'm wishing with all my heart. And my lungs and my liver and my bones and my brains. All the strings of my intestines are tied in knots I'm wishing so hard.

  119

  Wishes come true. My fairy godmother has been working overtime! She made it come true.

  I spent the whole

  weekend with my

  mum and it was

  WONDERFUL and

  she says she wants me to

  go and live with her for

  ever and ever and ever, just as soon as Elaine gets it all sorted out officially.

  Elaine didn't think my mum would turn up.

  She didn't say anything, but I'm not daft. I could tell. Cam dumped me off at Elaine's office. She said she would wait with me if I wanted but I didn't want. It's kind of weird being with Cam at the moment. She's still not making a big fuss and begging me not to go.

  Though I heard her crying last night.

  I heard these little muffled under-the-duvet 121

  sobs – and I suddenly couldn't stand it and stumbled out of bed and went running across the hall. I was all set to jump into bed with Cam and give her a big hug and tell her . . .

  Tell her what? That was the trouble. I couldn't tell her I wouldn't go because I've got to go. My mum's my mum. Cam isn't anybody.

  Not really. And I've known my mum all my life while I've only known Cam six months.

  You can't compare it, can you?

  So I didn't go and give her a cuddle. I made out I needed a wee and went to the bathroom.

  When I padded back the sobs had stopped.

  Maybe I'd imagined them anyway.

  I don't know why I'm going on about all this sad stuff when I'm HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY. My mum didn't let me down. She came for me at Elaine's.

  She was a little bit late, so that I had to keep going to the toilet and Elaine's bottom lip started bleeding

  because she'd