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  work. I held my breath because

  Callum's ultra picky about

  keeping his bike pristine, but he barely looked at it.

  He fussed about my knees instead, spitting on a scrubby bit of tissue, trying to get them cleaned up.

  'Ouch!' I said. 'Sorry I scratched your bike, Cal.'

  'That's OK.'

  'I'm rubbish at riding it.'

  'No you're not. You'd be great, it's just your legs are still little and my bike's way too big. We're going to have to get you your own bike, Gem.'

  'Oh yeah,' I said, because bikes cost a fortune.

  'We could look for a little second-hand one, something that maybe needs fixing up a bit. I could do that for you! It could be your birthday present.'

  I thought about my birthday next month. The first birthday without Alice. 'I don't think I want to bother about my birthday,' I said.

  130

  'That's daft, Gem. We'll make it a really special day, you'll see,' said Callum.

  He was trying so hard to be sweet to me (even though he was hurting my knees horribly) but I couldn't pretend.

  'It can't be a special day without

  Alice,' I said, and I burst into tears.

  Once I'd started I couldn't stop.

  Callum didn't have any more tissues to mop me with so he popped me on the

  saddle and wheeled me home quick.

  Mum was out working so she couldn't tell me off about my knees.

  'We'd better wash them properly and put some sort of stuff on them to stop them going mouldy,'

  said Callum. 'Where's Dad?'

  He wasn't lying on the sofa watching television.

  He wasn't still in bed. The taxi was parked in the driveway so he wasn't out at work.

  'So where's he got to?' said Callum, taking me by the hand. 'Maybe he's in the garden?'

  Mum had been having a right old nag at him recently to mow the lawn, but the grass was still ankle-high and spattered with gold dandelions.

  There was no lawn-mower noise but we could hear a distant sawing.

  'Dad?' Callum called.

  There was a muffled shout from the old shed at 131

  the bottom of the garden.

  'Dad, what are you up to?' Callum yelled, taking me down the garden. 'Look, Gemma's hurt herself.'

  'She's what?' Dad shouted, still sawing.

  Callum opened the shed door. 'Look at her knees,'

  he said.

  But Dad immediately shoved the door shut again.

  'Dad?'

  'Just a tick,' Dad called.

  We could hear him bustling around. Then he opened the door to us. There was an old tarpaulin thrown over his workbench.

  'What's under that?' I sniffled.

  'Never you mind!' said Dad. 'Oh Gawd, look at the state of you! What are we going to do with you, Gem? You're always in the wars.'

  I felt like I really had been in a war. And I hadn't won. I was totally defeated.

  I didn't want to do anything. I sprawled on Dad's sofa most of the time, watching television. I didn't always watch the screen.

  I stared into space and

  saw Alice instead.

  Sometimes this

  phantom Alice

  waved to me and

  told me how much

  she was missing me.

  132

  She sometimes cried too. But other times she was smiling. She wasn't smiling at me. She was smiling at this Flora girl. Then they'd both wave at me and scoot off together, arms linked.

  Mum came home from work and caught me crying. She thought it was my sore knees. She went on and on about them. 'The last lot of scabs have only just cleared up, you silly girl. What am I going to do with you, eh? How can we get you all dressed up nicely in a pretty dress if you've always got cuts and scrapes and bruises all over you?' she said, dabbing Savlon on my knees.

  'Ow! I don't want to get dressed up nicely. I hate getting dressed up. I especially hate dresses.'

  'Yes, well, that lovely yellow dress will never be the same again,' said Mum, shaking her head at me.

  'You were such a naughty girl, Gemma. What a waste of money that dress was! I thought you could wear it for your birthday party—'

  'I don't want a birthday party this year,'

  I said. 'Not without Alice.'

  'Of course you do. You can invite some of your other friends,' said Mum.

  'I haven't got any other friends,' I said.

  'Don't be so silly, you've got heaps of friends, dear. What about that funny boy with the silly nickname. Cookie?

  Chocolate? Pudding?'

  133

  'I haven't got a clue who you're talking about, Mum,' I lied.

  'Well anyway, you start thinking about who you want to invite.'

  I put my chin on my chest. 'Alice,' I mumbled.

  Mum sighed. 'There must be some girls in your class that you like, Gemma.'

  'They're all right, I suppose. But they're just not my friends.'

  'Maybe a special birthday party would be an excellent way of making friends. So what are you going to wear, hmm? I realize you don't like yellow.

  What colour dress would you like?'

  I shrugged my shoulders. I thought about the message Alice had tucked into the sleeve of the awful canary dress. Tears dribbled down my cheeks.

  'Now stop that silly crying,' said Mum, but she sat down on the sofa beside me and put her arm round me. 'What about blue for a dress? You like blue, Gemma.'

  She had another look at my shredded knees.

  'Maybe I'm wasting my time talking about dresses.

  Suppose we bought you a smart little pair of trousers, really well cut, with a designer T-shirt?

  Would you like that, poppet?'

  'I know what I'd really really like as a party outfit,' I said suddenly. 'I'd like a great big sparkly suit.'

  134

  Mum gave me a double-take. 'A great big sparkly suit?' she said wearily. 'Don't be silly, Gemma.'

  I decided not to push too hard just yet. I'd have to work on it. Besides, I wasn't quite sure exactly the kind I wanted.

  Grandad remembered to video Fat Larry and showed me after school the following week.

  'It's quite a good show. That Fat Larry's a right laugh,' said Grandad. 'He's certainly a good advert for his nosh. Look at the size of him!'

  Fat Larry was very very fat. His crimson sparkly suit was very very big. I'd have to stick a cushion down my trousers to pad myself out a bit. If Mum made me the trousers. She kept telling me there was no way her little girl was going to wear such a bizarre outfit at her own party. I hoped she might weaken.

  I watched Fat Larry very carefully

  indeed. When the programme

  finished I asked Grandad if we

  could watch it again.

  'Again?' said Grandad. 'You're a

  funny girl, our Gem. Have you got

  a little crush on this Fat Larry? You were staring at him like you were

  transfixed. Don't tell me you've fallen in love!'

  Grandad wiggled his eyebrows and made kissing noises.

  135

  'I don't love Fat Larry. I just want to look like him,' I said.

  Grandad's eyes popped. 'You're one weird little kid, sweetheart,' he said, but he replayed the video for me.

  I watched Fat Larry bouncing round the studio as if he had springs in his chunky suede shoes. I watched Fat Larry wave his big arms like windmills.

  I watched Fat Larry shaking seasoning into his stewpan as if he was playing the maracas. I watched Fat Larry taste his chocolate cake and lick his lips s-1-o-w-l-y like the happiest cat in a vat of cream.

  When Grandad went out the room to

  make a cup of tea I tried a bounce, a wave, a shake, a smile. I felt a little tingle up and down my spine. I was getting it.

  I made Grandad promise to video Fat Larry every time he came on television.

  'I'm sure you can buy videos of his old shows,' sa