Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays Read online

  ‘Keanu’s choking,’ said Kelly calmly, and she tipped him upside down and thumped him on the back.

  The brick came shooting out like a bullet. Keanu crowed happily, none the worse.

  ‘That’s some party trick, Kelly,’ I said. ‘Does he often swallow things?’

  ‘All the time,’ said Kelly. ‘Hey, I wonder what you were like as a baby, Biscuits! I bet you stuffed everything in your little gob. Bricks, rubber dollies, your own little booties . . .’

  ‘His dummy, yum yum, chew chew, swallow! His baby bottle, yum yum, crunch crunch, swallow! Hey, his pottie, yum yum OUCH!’

  Biscuits was doing his best to turn me upside down, but mercifully the pizzas arrived just at that moment. We all went yum yum, munch munch. We ate outdoors because the caravan was quite a squash with eight and a half people shut inside. Lots of other people were sitting outside their caravans chatting and eating and drinking. Kelly and her family had only arrived yesterday but already everyone knew them. Some kids came over and asked if Kelly was coming over to the swings with them.

  ‘Maybe later. I’ve got my friends here, see,’ said Kelly. ‘Isn’t that right, Tim?’

  ‘Sure, Kelly,’ I said, pleased to be singled out as Kelly’s special friend.

  Biscuits didn’t mind. He was busy with his second pizza. But then Dad went and spoilt it all.

  ‘Why don’t you all play together, eh? How about a game of French cricket? I’ll show you how to play if you like.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I mumbled. ‘Please don’t let’s play, Dad.’

  ‘I shall get hiccups if I have to play,’ said Biscuits, his mouth full.

  ‘I don’t want to play with those kids anyway, they’re boring,’ said Kelly.

  Dad didn’t listen to any of us. He started careering round looking for a bat and ball. He couldn’t find a bat at all and the only ball was a red and yellow stripy one belonging to Keanu. He’d just started the mammoth task of hugging it to his chest and licking it all over and he didn’t appreciate Dad taking it. Not one bit.

  ‘There must be an old cricket bat somewhere,’ said Dad.

  ‘Sorry, mate. Not my cup of tea, cricket,’ said Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave.

  ‘What about using my umbrella?’ said Kelly’s mum, hitching the howling Keanu onto her hip. ‘Oh do put a sock in it, young man! Kelly, find my brolly.’

  Kelly nipped inside the caravan and came out with a very fancy spotty umbrella. She aimed it at a stone with a nifty little swing.

  ‘Watch it, Kelly! Maybe that umbrella’s a bit fragile.’

  ‘Let’s play golf instead of cricket,’ said Kelly, giving another stone a whack. Then she squealed, her pony-tail waving like a flag as she jumped up and down.

  ‘I know! Let’s go and play Crazy Golf. Let’s, let’s, let’s!’

  ‘How can you play Crazy Golf now, dear? It’s nearly dark,’ said Mum, looking at her watch. ‘Oh my goodness, we’d better be getting back to the hotel.’

  ‘No, one of the kids on the site told me, you can play it by floodlight. Oh please!’

  ‘No, I don’t really think—’ Mum started.

  ‘Just one quick round. And it’s on us,’ said Dad.

  There’d been a lot of adult argy-bargy about who was paying for the pizzas. Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave had won. Mum was mega-fussed about it, so she couldn’t really back out of the Crazy Golf idea, seeing as it was now our treat.

  There was just one problem. One huge enormous disastrous drawback.

  ‘I’ve never played Crazy Golf!’ I said.

  ‘Neither have I – but it’s great,’ said Kelly.

  ‘Have you played Crazy Golf, Biscuits?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope. Like the sound of Crazy. Not too nuts about the Golf bit though,’ said Biscuits, easing the waistband on his straining tracksuit trousers.

  ‘We all need a bit of exercise,’ said Dad, patting his own tummy. He seized Kelly’s mum’s umbrella and did a fancy golf swing of his own.

  ‘Oooh, I can see we’ve got an expert here,’ said Kelly’s mum, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  Dad gave a silly laugh and then patted baby Keanu on the head. Keanu howled harder.

  I felt like howling myself when we got to the Crazy Golf. It was brilliantly lit up by floodlight, with heaps of people playing. The course was huge, with little waterfalls trickling here and there, and all sorts of twisty bits and hidey holes and hillocks. There was a wide wall all the way round the course so that people could peer over and gawp at the golfers.

  Dad was a bit taken aback when he saw how much it was, but he said, swallowing hard, that he’d like tickets for seven players, him and Mum, Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave, Kelly herself and Biscuits and me.

  ‘And me!’ Dean said, outraged. ‘Me play too! I can play, can’t I, Mum, can’t I?’

  ‘Of course you can play. Sorry, pal, I just didn’t realize you were big enough,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m ever so big,’ said Dean, standing on tip-toe.

  I was huddling up in horror.

  ‘Dad, just get seven tickets. I won’t play,’ I said.

  ‘What? Of course you’re playing, Tim,’ said Dad.

  ‘But I don’t want to,’ I hissed. ‘I can’t play Crazy Golf. I’ll be useless.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Tim. It’s fun,’ said Dad. Everyone else thought it was fun. We were all given golf clubs, big ones for the grown-ups, middley ones for Biscuits and Kelly and me, and a little one for Dean. He waved it above his head excitedly. It caught me on the chin. It hurt a lot but Dad gave me a warning glance and I couldn’t say anything much.

  Kelly had first go and she hit the ball so hard it whizzed right across the first green, hit the wall at the end, and went socking straight back to where she’d started. I went bright red on her behalf but she just laughed.

  ‘That was just a practice shot!’ she said, and had another go.

  This time her aim was perfect. She hit the ball so that it whizzed up the little slope but slowed down in time so that it stopped almost on the edge of the hole.

  ‘Wow! I’m good at this!’ Kelly yelled immodestly.

  Her mum was even better. She passed Keanu over to my mum, hardly bothered to take aim, gave the ball a sharp little tap – and got a hole in one!

  ‘Well done, well done!’ said Dad, and patted her on the back.

  Dave gave her a great-big-kiss-on-the-lips – a very different sort of kiss from the kind Dad gives Mum.

  Mum didn’t look in a kissy mood at all. She thrust Keanu at Dad and took aim. She didn’t get a hole in one. Or two or three or four. Dad kept telling her to hold her club at a different angle and Mum’s lips got tighter and her knuckles whiter as she gripped the club and whacked. Her score was six.

  Dean scored six too. He did much better than I’d expect of a little kid his age.

  Then Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave had a go and he scored another hole in one. There was another great-big-kiss-on-the-lips. They even made noises. Biscuits imitated them delightedly. Mum nudged him and frowned. I’d have died of embarrassment if I was Kelly but she just laughed and said if they went on like that she’d have to tip them in the waterfall to cool them off.

  Then it was Dad’s turn. He still had Keanu. He tried to pass him over to Biscuits and me, but we backed away. Kelly rescued us and took him herself. Dad took a long time, bending his knees and peering at the hole and swinging his club around.

  ‘Come on, mate, get on with it,’ Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave said, wiping Kelly’s mum’s lipstick off his chin.

  Dad looked a little irritated and hit the ball. He didn’t get a hole in one. Or two. He scored three.

  ‘Here, I thought you were meant to be an ace golfer!’ said Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave, looking amused.

  ‘Yes, but no one can play properly on these little Mickey Mouse greens,’ Dad said quickly. ‘Come on, boys, get a move on. We’re holding up the next players.’

  I