Little Darlings Read online

  ‘You’re crazy, Mum! He hit me. He was horrid. What is all this? Why aren’t you happy just being us? It sounds like you’re desperate to get a boyfriend again.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I just worry so. You need a proper family.’ Mum plays with a strand of her hair that’s come loose, winding it round and round her finger. ‘What do you think about visiting your grandma?’

  ‘Now I know you’ve gone totally bonkers!’ I say.

  Mum’s mum, my grandma, is a hateful old bag who kicked Mum out when she was expecting me. She doesn’t act like a real grandma at all. Last time we went to see her, she just gave us our tea and then she was off down the pub with her boyfriend, not the slightest bit interested in talking to Mum or me.

  ‘What was it Grandma said about me?’ I say, pretending to think. ‘Oh, I know – I was a cocky little madam and goodness knows why, because I was a gawky little kid with wonky teeth. Yeah, remember?’

  ‘That was awful of her – but she’d think you’re lovely now, Destiny. You’re growing up gorgeous,’ says Mum. ‘And she is family.’

  ‘I don’t want to be her family. We’re family, just you and me. Now shut up with all this daft stuff. I need you to help me with my homework.’

  ‘I’d love to help you, sweetheart, but you know I’m useless at literacy and maths and all that stuff.’

  ‘You’re a total Danny expert. You could get a flipping degree on Danny Kilman – so I want you to help me with his song. I’ve said I’ll sing Destiny at the stupid school concert. Can I practise with you?’

  ‘Oh, darling!’

  I’ve distracted her at last.

  ‘You’ve been picked to sing at a concert!’

  ‘We’ve all been picked, every single one of us in my class.’

  ‘But your teacher must think you’ve got a lovely voice – and you have.’

  ‘It’s not like anyone else’s voice though. Miss Belling at Latchford said I sounded overpowering, like I was trying to drown out all the others.’

  ‘Well, that’s just typical of that rubbish school. They can’t recognize talent when it’s right under their noses. Good for Bilefield! And how lovely to be singing your very own song! I’m so proud of you. Danny would be too. You’re a chip off the old block, darling.’

  6

  SUNSET

  I keep thinking about that girl Destiny. Could she really be my sister? Mum’s so angry about it, it’s almost as if she’s got something to hide.

  ‘Don’t you dare mention it to your father!’

  Well, I do dare. And I’ll tell him Mum slapped me round the face. I put my hand up to my cheek. The slap doesn’t hurt any more, it hasn’t left the slightest mark, but I can still feel it. Sometimes I think Mum hates me. And sometimes I hate her.

  I wait till late in the afternoon. I’m not daft – no one goes near my dad in the mornings, especially on Sundays. We all have a very late lunch. Sweetie and Ace babble away but I keep my lip buttoned tight. Mum’s not saying much either, but she keeps looking at me anxiously. She just picks at a tiny piece of chicken, nibble-nibble with her perfect teeth.

  I wait till she goes off with Claudia and Ace and Sweetie. Dad slopes off down to the pool with the Sunday papers. He’s not said much either. I’m not sure if he’s in a good mood or not. But I have a cunning plan. Destiny’s given me an idea.

  I go to the drinks cabinet and pour a whisky and soda just the way Dad likes it – lots of whisky with just a splash of soda, in one of the fancy crystal glasses. I tie a tea towel round my waist, put the whisky on a tray, and then carry it very carefully to the pool.

  Dad’s rifling through the tabloids, looking for photos from last night. Mum’s done that already, of course, but there’s no Danny Kilman pics at all, just lots of snaps of Milky Star.

  ‘What do you think of Milky Star, Sunset?’ he asks me, scratching his head.

  He hasn’t combed his hair properly and his bandanna has been tied on so carelessly I can see his scalp, weirdly pink under his very black hair. It makes me feel sad for him.

  ‘I didn’t reckon them much,’ I say, wrinkling my nose.

  ‘Yeah, can’t see what all the fuss is about myself,’ says Dad. ‘They’re so bland and boring, you can’t tell one from the other. Can you? Which one do you like best?’

  ‘I said, Dad, I didn’t really like any of them. I couldn’t tell which one was which,’ I fib. That’s the way to keep him in a good mood. You just repeat back everything he’s said, simply changing the words round a little.

  ‘What’s this then?’ says Dad, nodding at my tray and tea towel.

  ‘I’m Sunset, your cocktail waitress. Care for a drink, sir? My speciality is whisky and soda.’

  ‘Yes please, you funny little kid,’ says Dad.

  I serve him his drink and then sit down beside him. I kick off my flip-flops and dangle my feet in the pool.

  ‘It’s so great having you for my dad, Dad,’ I say, really sucking up to him.

  He smiles and sips his drink.

  ‘It’s great for Sweetie and Ace too,’ I continue, splashing my feet in the water. I pause. I wait till half the whisky has slipped down. ‘And I bet Danny Junior and Topaz are dead chuffed to have you as their dad too,’ I say.

  I don’t look at Dad. I keep on splashing. We don’t ever mention Dad’s first family. Dad had another wife, Ashleigh, long before Mum. I’ve never met her, but Danny Junior and Topaz used to come and stay with us sometimes, mostly before Sweetie was born. Danny Junior drank a lot and Topaz didn’t eat anything at all. They didn’t act like they wanted to be friends with me.

  Dad makes a grunting noise, not commenting further. He finishes his drink.

  ‘Let me get you another, sir. I am your ever-willing cocktail waitress,’ I gabble, and then charge back to the living room.

  Oh, shoot, Mum’s there – but she starts as guiltily as me. She’s checking something on her mobile. No, not hers – that’s little and pink. She’s checking Dad’s mobile. He’s left it with a pile of change and his car keys on the big coffee table. Mum’s clicking through all the messages. She nearly drops it when she sees me.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  She glares at me, suddenly focusing. ‘What have you got draped round your hips? It looks awful, showing off your tummy – take it off, Sunset. You’ve got no more sense of style than a monkey in the zoo.’

  I gibber and pretend to scratch under my arms, to show her I’m not a bit hurt – though I am.

  ‘It’s a tea towel! What in God’s name are you doing wearing one of my tea towels?’

  ‘It’s my apron, ma’am. I’m your friendly cocktail waitress. I’ve just been serving the gentleman by the poolside, but I’ll be right back to mix you a vodka and tonic – slimline naturally – or I have a very delicious dry white wine.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re ten years old. You’re not supposed to be messing around with alcohol.’

  ‘I’m not drinking it, I’m serving it. Ma’am.’

  ‘Well, stop serving it. It’s a stupid game.’

  ‘I have to serve the gentleman. He’s wanting his whisky.’

  Mum sighs. ‘Well, serve it then – and then go and amuse yourself sensibly. I don’t know what the matter is with you, Sunset. You’ve got your own plasma television, an Apple Mac, a Nintendo DS – I’d have given anything to have all this stuff when I was a kid – and yet all you do is play silly baby games or lock yourself in your wardrobe and mutter to yourself. I think you’re a bit simple in the head.’

  I pull a simple face at her, pour another whisky and soda in double-quick time, and get out of there. Dad is lying back on the lounger, his eyes closed. His mouth is turned down in an I-don’t-want-company manner, but I can’t give up now. I rattle the whisky glass and he opens his eye.

  ‘Your repeat order, sir,’ I say, holding out the tray.

  He sits up a little, shaking his head. ‘You’re a funny kid, Sunset,’ he says, taking the glass.

  ‘Yes, I know