The Suitcase Kid Read online

  She gave me a little plaster ornament of Andy Pandy for my Christmas present and I was not particularly amused, especially as I’d sewn her a special velvet Alice band to tie back her lovely long hair. But then she cleared half the window-sill of all her stuff and said that it was mine now, and I could keep my Andy Pandy ornament there. So now I own half the window-sill and Mum found the box with some of my old stuff from our Mulberry Cottage and I’ve got my china rabbits and a Father Christmas in a glass snowstorm to keep Andy Pandy company, and all my books and some old photos of Mum and Dad and me back at Mulberry Cottage. Dad took a special flashlight photo of Radish in her Mulberry Cottage and I’ve got that too, and Radish has got her own copy hanging on her wall like a big poster.

  I gave Mr and Mrs Peters one of the fashionmodelly photos of me for a Christmas present. I wasn’t sure they’d like it but they put it in a special silver frame and I’m in the middle of their mantelpiece with their grandchildren either side of me.

  I can never get to be one on my own nowadays.

  MY SECOND BEST Christmas present was from Graham. I bet you can guess what it is. It begins with Y. Not a yak. A yacht. A wonderful, magnificent, correct in every detail Bunny Britannia for Radish.

  Mr Peters helped Graham to make it. Mr Peters saw Radish sailing in the modest Mark One yacht and wondered if I’d made it myself.

  ‘You’ve done quite a professional little job there, Andy. You’ve quite a way with wood,’ he said, turning the boat backwards and forwards admiringly (but making Radish feel terribly seasick in the process).

  ‘Not me. Graham made it for me. He’s my sort-of brother,’ I said proudly.

  ‘I thought you always moaned about all these sisters and brothers of yours,’ said Mr Peters.

  ‘Not Graham. We’re mates, Graham and me.’

  ‘That’s good. Well any time you want to bring him along with you he’d be very welcome. Some Saturday, say?’

  ‘Oh. Well. He’s got lots of homework to do. And he shuts himself up with his computer for hours. I’m not sure he could spare the time,’ I said.

  Mr Peters just nodded. He didn’t seem to mind either way. But I did.

  I wanted to keep Mr and Mrs Peters all to myself. They’d become my sort-of grandparents and I didn’t see why I should have to share them. It was enough bother having to share my mum and my dad.

  And yet I liked Graham a lot. He wasn’t busy all the time on Saturdays. He’d like to see Radish sailing his boat on the pond. He’d like Mrs Peters and her seed cake. He’d especially like Mr Peters and the little lean-to at the back of the house where he did his woodwork.

  But what if it all got spoiled? What if Mr and Mrs Peters fussed round after Graham and I got left out again?

  But what if it was fun? I could show Graham all my secret places in the garden and all the special things Mr and Mrs Peters had made for me and Radish, and maybe they’d fuss over me a bit while he was there so he could see they liked me a lot. And maybe Graham could do some whittling with Mr Peters while I did some sewing with Mrs Peters and then we could all join up for tea and cakes and that way no-one would be left out.

  I stayed awake even longer than Katie trying to sort it all out in my head. (There was no problem about asking Katie. No way. Never.)

  But the next morning I waylaid Graham on the stairs and asked him over to the Peters’ place on Saturday.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure I could make it. I’ve got lots to do. No, thanks Andy, but I’d much rather not,’ he gabbled.

  I was mad. I thought he’d be thrilled to bits. Well, grateful at the very least. But it turned out I had to go down on my knees and beg before he’d agree to go with me. And even then he moaned and groaned all the way.

  ‘This is mad, Andy. They’re your friends, not mine. This old man won’t really want to meet me. And I wish you hadn’t shown him that boat. It was just these bits of old wood nailed together. I made it too quickly, it wasn’t any good at all.’

  ‘Well, Mr Peters thought it was ever so good. He’s dying to meet you, Graham. He wants to show you all his woodwork stuff and you can have a go at making something together.’

  ‘I can’t do things with anyone watching. I go all fingers and thumbs. Dad says I’m useless. Oh Andy, why can’t you mind your own business,’ said Graham, giving me a shove.

  But I didn’t shove back. I understood. No wonder Graham was a bit of a wimp. Anyone would be, with the baboon for their dad. I suppose he loved Graham but he certainly didn’t seem to like him. He was always nagging at him to act like a real boy. If the baboon was an example of a real man then they’re a pretty duff species. My mum is mad wanting a bloke like the baboon. Mad mad mad. Still, I don’t suppose there’s any way I can like it so I’ll just have to lump it. Even though un-Uncle Bill is a blooming big lump.

  ‘It’s OK, Graham,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to feel shy. Mr Peters is ever so nice and he never ever shouts or gets shirty.’

  ‘I don’t feel a bit shy,’ said Graham fiercely, going red.

  He went even redder when he met the Peters. He hung his head and didn’t say anything and when Mr Peters asked if he’d like to see all his woodwork things Graham just shrugged and didn’t look interested. But it was all right after all. Mr Peters nodded and didn’t make a big deal about it and talked to me instead and Mrs Peters talked to me too and Graham just sat and fidgeted in the armchair, but gradually his face went back to its usual pale creamy colour and his hand crept out to touch the smooth wooden fruit bowl by his side.

  ‘Take an apple, dearie,’ said Mrs Peters, but he wasn’t bothered about the apples, he was looking to see how the bowl was made. And then he tiptoed over to the sideboard to have a proper look at the fancy fretwork and Mr Peters went to stand beside him and they started chatting. Graham didn’t say much more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at first but eventually he started asking all sorts of questions and they ambled off to the lean-to together – and that was that. We practically had to drag them away when it was tea-time, even though Mrs Peters had made a treacle tart and iced fairy cakes as well as her famous seed cake.

  Graham came with me to the Peters every second Saturday after that. He sometimes came over the Saturdays I was staying round at my dad’s too. He and Mr Peters worked together on his Christmas present to me. My magnificent yacht. Radish can sail across her lake in seconds now. She’s hankering to take to the open sea and attempt to cross the great pond in the park. She thinks her yacht is the best Christmas present ever.

  Guess what my best Christmas present is.

  CARRIE GAVE BIRTH to my half-sister a week after Christmas. She should have hurried things up a bit so that she arrived on the proper present day but that’s typical of Carrie, she’s always late for everything.

  It was my week to stay at Mum’s but Dad came round and asked if he could take me to the hospital to see the new baby all the same. I thought Mum might make a fuss but she was in a good mood because un-Uncle Bill had got a new decorating job and they were celebrating on the sofa with drinks and chocolates and a smoochy video so Mum said yes quite happily – and she even gave Dad a little kiss on the cheek and said congratulations.

  Dad looked pleased and I dared hope that they might get back together after all if they were actually kissing each other nowadays – but when I saw the way Dad kissed Carrie at the hospital I realized there are all sorts of different kisses and some mean you love someone a great deal and others mean you maybe still love someone a little tiny bit but that’s all.

  ‘Yuck yuck yuck!’ said Zen, who had to come to the hospital with us. ‘Do you have to do all that stupid slurpy kissy stuff?’

  ‘I want to see my sister,’ said Crystal, jumping up and down excitedly, her hair all over her face (Dad was looking after the twins single-handedly and they both looked even more ruffled and rumpled than usual).

  ‘Here she is,’ said Carrie, holding up this little bundle in a blanket.

  I was right down at the end of the bed and couldn