Dare Game (23 page)

‘Get out of it,
I’m
the greatest,’ Football said. He tried to tackle me. His great boot kicked me instead of the ball.

‘Ooowww! My ankle! You’re the greatest biggest booted bully!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Football peered at my leg. ‘Red,’ he said, sounding puzzled.

‘It’s blood!’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Football mumbled.

‘Oh yes,’ I said, busy dabbing and mopping. ‘Like you had no control whatsoever over your
foot
, it just developed this wicked will of its own and gouged a huge lump out of my flesh. It
hurts
!’

‘I’m really really sorry, Tracy.’ Football looked like he was nearly in tears. ‘I’d never try to hurt you. You mean a lot to me, kid. Tracy?’ He tried to put his arm round me.

I dodged underneath. ‘Get off me!’

‘Go on, you know you like me too.’

‘Not when you’re all damp and smelly. Yuck, you don’t half need a bath, Football.’

‘Don’t nag at me. You sound like my mum. You’re all the same. Nag moan whine whinge. Think I really care about you? You’re mad. I don’t want you one little bit. No-one wants you, Tracy Beaker.’

‘My
mum
wants me!’ I yelled.

I roared it so loudly the birds flew into the air in terror and people stopped dead in their tracks all over town and cars ran into each other and aeroplanes stalled in the sky.

‘
MY MUM WANTS ME
!’

Mum’s Home (Again)

MUM’S HOME WAS
a little bit different this time. Mum was a little bit different too. She was very pale underneath her make-up and she wore dark glasses and when we had our big hug hello she smelt stale underneath her lovely powdery scent. Her home smelt too, of cigarettes and a lot of booze. The curtains were still drawn.

I went to open them but Mum stopped me. ‘Not too much daylight, sweetie,’ she said, holding her forehead.

‘Have you got a hangover, Mum?’

‘What? No, of course not. Don’t be silly, darling. No, I have this nasty migraine. I get them a lot. I’m bothered with my nerves.’ She lit a cigarette and drew on it desperately.

‘I don’t make you nervous, do I, Mum?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be so silly, sweetie,’ said Mum. ‘Now, see what your mum’s got for you.’

‘Another present!’

I hoped it wasn’t chocolates again because I was feeling a bit sick. I was bothered with my nerves too. I take after my mum.

The present was a big parcel, but soft and floppy.
Not
chocolates.

‘Is it a rag doll or a teddy?’ I asked cautiously, feeling for heads or paws under the wrapping paper.

‘Have a look.’

So I carefully undid the wrapping paper, Ultra-neatly this time, and discovered an amazing pair of combat trousers – with a label to die for!

‘Oh wow! Great!’ I said, whirling around, clutching the trousers, making each leg dance up and down.

‘You like them?’ said Mum.

‘I
love
them. They’re seriously cool. Shame I haven’t got a really great jacket to go with them.’

‘You’re not hinting, by any chance?’ said Mum, smiling.

I decided to hint for all I was worth. ‘Of
course
, my old trainers are going to spoil the whole sharp look,’ I said. ‘I need a pair of Nikes to kind of complete the outfit.’

‘I’m not made of money,’ said Mum. ‘I think it’s a bit rich – ha, a bit
poor
– that Cam gets paid a fortune to look after you, while I won’t get a penny.’

‘Still, I’m worth it, aren’t I, Mum?’ I said, whirling closer.

‘Of course you are, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Do give over thumping about though, you’re doing my head in.’

I made her a strong black coffee and she sat on her sofa and sipped. Then she lay back on the cushion and stayed very still, not answering when I spoke to her. It looked like she’d fallen asleep, though I couldn’t see her eyes for the dark glasses.

I circled the sofa slowly, looking at her, still not quite able to believe she was really my mum and we were with each other and we were going to be together for ever and ever. I’d made it up so many times that it was hard to
believe
it was real now. I kept staring and staring until my eyes went blurry but Mum didn’t vanish: she stretched out in her sparkly sweater and leopardskin pants, so splendid, so special, so sweet to me. So sleepy too.

She wouldn’t wake up. I loved to look at her but it started to get just a weeny bit boring. I went for a wander round the room, emptying the ashtrays into the wastebin and taking the glass and empty bottle out into the kitchen like a real Mummy’s Little Helper. I had a peer in all her kitchen cupboards and the fridge but there weren’t many snacks to nibble on, just frozen packets and diet stuff and booze.

I played hopscotch across the kitchen tiles for a bit and then I took off my trainers and played ice skating and then I shuffled back to the living room hopefully because I heard Mum sigh, but she’d just turned over and was still playing Sleeping Beauty. One of her black suede high heels had fallen off. I tried it on, and then carefully eased the other one off her foot too. I had my very own pair of high heels. I clonked about the living room for a bit to get my balance and then staggered off to her bedroom to admire myself in her wardrobe mirror.

I had a little peep in her wardrobe – and
before
I could stop myself I was dressing up in her mohair sweater and her leather skirt. I looked almost like my mum! I pretended to be her. I promised my little Tracy I would always love her and be with her for ever no matter what.

Then
my
mum came into the bedroom, rubbing her eyes and lighting her fag. ‘So that’s where you’ve got to. Did I doze off for five minutes? Hey, you cheeky baggage, you’re all togged up in my clothes! Take them off! And watch that skirt, it cost a fortune.’

‘Oh Mum, please, let me keep them on, just for a second. I look so beautiful. Just like you,’ I begged. I rootled through her wardrobe. ‘Oh wow! I love your red dress. Can I try that on too? And the purply thing? And what’s this black dress? Oh, it’s dead sexy.’

‘Tracy!’ said Mum, giggling. ‘OK then. Come here, we’ll play dressing up.’

It was
MAGIC
. Mum got me all beautifully dressed up – though we both fell about laughing when I tried the black dress on because it came right down to my belly button and I wasn’t just topless, I was very nearly bottomless too.
I
ended up back in the mohair sweater and the leather skirt and Mum’s suede high heels, and she made me up like a real grown-up lady and did my hair too. I strutted about like a fashion model and Mum joined in too, showing me how to do the walk properly, and I did my best to copy her. Then we played being rock stars and Mum was incredible – she could do all the bouncy bits and the little dances and everything, and she could really sing too. She has this amazing voice. She said she was queen of the karaoke night down the pub and everyone always begged her to sing.