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  I drew great splashes of water in the third picture, with poor Nicholas thrashing wildly through the waves, mouth wide open, screaming for help. Then I drew the poor drowned Nicholas lying in an open coffin, paws crossed on his chest, with wreaths of daisies and dandelion crosses arranged all around him.

  It was hard getting all four pictures properly balanced. I had to rub out quite a lot but at last it seemed OK. I coloured it in very carefully, not going over a single line and keeping my pencil strokes as smooth as I could.

  Mum came up to see how I was getting on and acted like I was an artistic genius.

  ‘You have to send it in to Sam, Beauty,’ she said.

  ‘No, Mum, I’m too old – and my picture’s too weird,’ I said, closing my drawing book.

  ‘You’re so artistic, Beauty.’ Mum hesitated. ‘Shall we show it to Dad when he comes in?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He’d be ever so proud.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. He’d go off on a rant.’ I puffed myself up and put on a deep Dad voice. ‘Why don’t you do a proper drawing of a teddy rather than this damn daft cartoon rubbish.’

  Mum burst out laughing. ‘Oh, stop it! Yes, that’s exactly what he’d say. OK, we won’t show him.’

  Nine

  I wanted to keep out of Dad’s way when he came home from golf but he started bellowing for me the moment he got in the front door. I didn’t dare lurk in my room. I didn’t want him thudding up the stairs and bursting into my bedroom. If he saw my broken mirror he’d explode.

  I went downstairs, ducking my head, fiddling with my hair, so scared of what Dad might say to me this time. But he was in one of his determinedly jolly moods.

  ‘Hello hello hello, here’s my lovely little Beauty!’ he boomed. His face was very red and he smelled of drink. ‘Who’s my pretty girl, eh? You look lovely, darling.’

  I felt my face going red too. He was trying to make up for yesterday. It didn’t make me feel better, it just made me go all squirmy inside. Dad patted the top of my head and then chucked me under the chin.

  ‘My little girl,’ he repeated.

  ‘I’m not that little, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘I know, I know, you’re growing up fast. Your birthday’s just around the corner.’

  I held my breath. Mum came out into the hall.

  ‘I’ve fixed it all up,’ said Dad, and he planted a wet kiss on my cheek.

  ‘Fixed what, Gerry?’ said Mum. She’d seen the expression on my face.

  ‘Beauty’s party, Silly Dilly!’

  ‘Are you sure about this, Gerry?’ said Mum. ‘Think of all those children running riot, sticky hands all over the furniture—’

  ‘We’re not going to have a party here. We’re going to go out,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve been talking to a couple of chaps at golf. One of them is part of some theatrical management company. He reckons he can get a whole block of front stalls seats for that Birthday Bonanza musical. Isn’t that great? It’s solidly booked up for the next six months. It’s always a matter of who you know, eh? And to make the day extra-special I’ve done a deal with another chap who has his own fleet of limos. You can ask all your friends, Beauty, and we’ll fit them into a super-stretch white limo, how about that?’

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

  ‘Look at her, she’s speechless!’ Dad chortled. ‘There, trust your old dad to turn up trumps. Gerry the Fixer, that’s me!’ He turned to Mum. ‘I’ll fix the Water Meadows deal too, just you wait and see.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Mum said mechanically. ‘So, Gerry, what about Beauty’s birthday tea?’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. They’ll have a birthday buffet when they get here. None of that cheese cubes on sticks and jelly and trifle rubbish. This is going to be a dead sophisticated buffet with canapés.’ He ticked each one off on his fingers. ‘Little tartlets and tiny vol au vents, chicken satay, sausages in honey sauce, crispy prawns, the works – and then instead of a birthday cake we’re going to have a profiterole tower.’ He smiled at me. ‘Don’t look so stunned, baby. You’ll love it. Profiteroles are them little chocolate creamy balls – they taste just like éclairs.’

  ‘But, Gerry, who’s going to make all this stuff ?’ said Mum.

  ‘You are, of course,’ said Dad, and then he roared with laughter, redder than ever, wheezing and spluttering. ‘Your face, Dilly! Dear lord, you’re practically wetting your pants. Calm down, darling, I’m only kidding you. We’re going to get caterers in. They come along and lay it all out, even provide the fancy plates, and then they serve it all too. Won’t that be grand, Beauty? Fancy having a proper waiter and waitress serving all your little friends, treating you all like grown-up ladies. Won’t they be impressed!’

  I felt faint. I could just imagine what Skye and Emily and Arabella would say.

  ‘It’s ever so kind of you, Dad, but won’t it all cost an awful lot of money? You said we’d maybe be poor if your Water Meadows deal doesn’t go through,’ I stammered.

  ‘It will go through, one way or another. Just you leave it to your old dad. Who am I? Gerry the . . . ?’ He put his hand to his ear, waiting for me to say it.

  ‘Fixer,’ I whispered.

  ‘That’s right, little Beauty. There! I bet there’s not another girl in your whole school who will have such a special birthday treat. Aren’t you a lucky girl?’

  ‘Yes, I’m very lucky,’ I said.

  I made myself smile and bounce about though inside I was dying. I didn’t want a party. I didn’t want a posh buffet with profiteroles instead of a birthday cake. I didn’t want a fancy stretch limo and front stalls seat at Birthday Bonanza. I especially didn’t want all my class at school to come to my party.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Dad, it all sounds as if it’s going to be wonderful but I think I’d like it just as much – maybe even more – if I just had one friend, say, and you and me and Mum.’

  I thought of Rhona and me partying together.

  We could feast on our buffet and then swan off to the show in a posh limo, playing we were celebrities. It would be such fun, just Rhona and me . . .

  ‘Don’t be daft, Beauty,’ said Dad. He was still smiling but there was an edge to his voice. ‘We don’t want people to think you haven’t got any proper friends.’

  ‘But I haven’t, Dad, not really,’ I mumbled.

  ‘I saw you just the other day with two lovely little girls – hanging on your arms, they were. And then there’s that other gorgeous kid, the one with all the hair and the big blue eyes.’

  Skye.

  ‘But Dad—’

  ‘Stop all this butting! You’re not a little goat! How many girls are in your class?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get busy, little Beauty. You need to write out eighteen invitations. You can do it on my laptop or maybe hand-print them yourself, seeing as you’re artistic.’

  I hand-printed the first one. I used special purple card and my silver italic pen. I didn’t address it to Skye or Emily or Arabella. I didn’t even address it to Rhona.

  I wrote:

  I drew a border of little silver rabbits chasing each other all round the edge of the card, and then I put it in a purple envelope and shook little silver hearts inside.

  I didn’t post it. I put it in the folder where I kept all my Sam and Lily drawings. Then I sighed deeply and started on the real invitations. Eighteen of them. I used ordinary white cards and envelopes and a blue pen. I drew a birthday cake on each one, even though I wasn’t going to have one. I saved Rhona’s card till last. I used red card for her and a gold pen. I drew four little teddy bears in each corner. I added, Reginald Redted is of course invited. He can feast on his very own pot of honey.

  Then I thought of everyone opening their invitations at school. They would see that Rhona’s was more elaborate. If they looked at what I’d written they’d laugh at me and think I was weird. I sighed again and wrote a new invitation for Rhona on whit