The Bed and Breakfast Star (7 page)

‘Here,’ said Mack, grabbing Hank, hauling him out of the cot and dumping him into Mum’s lap.

For a moment Mum kept her arms limply by her side, her face still blank. Hank howled harder, hurt that he was getting ignored. He raised his arms, wanting a hug. He stretched higher, lost his balance, and nearly toppled right off Mum’s lap and on to the floor. But just in time Mum’s hands grabbed him and pulled him close against her chest.

‘Don’t cry. I’ve got you,’ said Mum, sighing. She blinked, back in herself again.

‘Where’s the wee boy going to sleep, then?’ Mack asked again.

Mum shrugged.

‘He’ll have to sleep with one of his sisters, won’t he,’ she said.

‘Not me!’ I said quickly.

‘Not me either,’ said Pippa. ‘He wets right out of his nappies.’

Hank went on crying.

‘He’s hungry,’ said Mum. ‘We could all do with a drink and a bite to eat. I’m going to go and find this communal kitchen. Here Hank, go to Daddy. And you girls, you get all our stuff unpacked from those bags, right?’

Yes, everything was all right again. Mum rolled up her sleeves and got the cardboard box with our kettle and our pots and pans and some tins of food and went off to find the kitchen. Mack romped on the bed with Hank, and he stopped crying and started chuckling. Pippa said Baby Pillow was still crying though, and she insisted she had to tuck him up in the duck cot and put him to sleep.

So I got lumbered doing most of the unpacking. There were two bags full of Pippa’s clothes and Hank’s baby stuff. There was an old suitcase stuffed with Mum and Mack’s clothes and Mum’s hairdryer and her make-up and her precious china crinoline lady. And there was my carrier bag. I don’t have that many clothes because I always get them mucked up anyway. I’ve got T-shirts and shorts for the summer, and jumpers and jeans for the winter, and some knickers and socks and stuff. I’ve got a Minnie Mouse hairbrush though it doesn’t ever get all the tangles out of my mane of hair. I’ve got a green marble that I used to pretend was magic. I’ve got my box of felt-tip pens. Most of the colours have run out and Pippa mucked up some of the points when she was little, but I don’t feel like throwing them away yet. Sometimes I colour a ghost picture, pretending the colours in my head. Then there are my joke books. They are a bit torn and tatty because I thumb through them so often.

I hoped Mum would be ever so pleased with me getting all our stuff sorted out and the room all neat and tidy but she came back so flaming mad she hardly noticed.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, dumping the cardboard box so violently that all the pots and pans played a tune. ‘I had to queue up for ages just to get into this crummy little kitchen, and then when some of these other women were finished and I got my chance, I realized that it was all a waste of time anyway. You should see the state of that stove! It’s filthy. I’d have to scrub at it for a week before I’d set my saucepans on it. Even the floor’s so slimy with grease I nearly slipped and fell. What are we going to do, Mack?’

‘You’re asking Big Mack, right?’ said Mack, throwing Hank up in the air so he shrieked with delight. ‘Big Mack says let’s go and eat Big Macs at McDonald’s.’

Pippa and I shrieked with delight too. Mum didn’t look so thrilled.

‘And what are we going to live on for the rest of the week, eh?’ she said. ‘We can’t eat out all the time, Mack.’

‘Come on now, hen, give it a rest. You just now said we can’t eat in. So we’ll eat out today. Tomorrow will just have to take care of itself.’

‘The sun will come out tooomorrow . . .’ I sang. I maybe don’t have a very sweet voice but it is strong.

‘Elsa! Keep your voice down!’ Mum hissed.

Mack pulled a silly face and covered up his ears, pretending to be deafened.

We sang the Tomorrow song at school. It comes from a musical about a little orphan girl called Annie. Occasionally I think I’d rather like to be Little Orphan Elsa.

Still, I cheered up considerably because McDonald’s is one of my all-time favourite places. Mum changed Hank and we all got ready to go out. It was odd using the little loo in the bedroom. Pippa didn’t like it with everybody listening so I trekked down the corridor with her to find a proper ladies’ toilet. If Mum saw it she’d get flaming mad again. Pippa got even more upset, hopping about agitatedly, so I ended up trailing her down six flights of stairs and down the corridor to the toilet where we met Naomi. I hoped she might still be there, but she’d gone. The boys weren’t hanging around any more either. The rude words were still on the wall though.

We’d worked up quite an appetite by the time we’d trudged up the stairs to put on our jumpers and then down all over again with Mum and Mack and Hank. It was a long long walk into the town to find the McDonald’s too. Pippa started to lag behind and Mum kept twisting her ankle in her high heels. I started to get a bit tired too, and my toes rubbed up against the edge of my trainers because they’re getting too small for me. Mum moaned about being stuck in a dump of a hotel at the back of beyond and said she couldn’t walk another step. Mack stopped at a phone box and said he’d call a cab then, and Mum said he was crazy and it was no wonder we’d all ended up in bed and breakfast.

It was starting to sound like a very big row. I was getting scared that we’d maybe end up with no tea at all. But then we got to a bus stop and a bus came along and we all climbed on and we were in the town in no time. At McDonald’s.

Mack had his Big Mac. Mum had chicken nuggets. I chose a cheeseburger and Pippa did too because she always copies me. Hank nibbled his own French fries and experienced his very first strawberry milkshake.

It was great. We didn’t have a big row. We didn’t even have a little one. We sat in the warm, feeling full, and Mack pulled Pippa on to his lap and Mum put her arm round me, and Hank nodded off in his buggy still clutching a handful of chips.

We looked like an ordinary happy family having a meal out. But we didn’t go back to an ordinary happy family house. We had to go back to the Bed-and-Breakfast hotel.

The people in 607 were still arguing. The people in 609 still had their television blaring. The people in 508 were still into heavy-metal music. And it was even more of a squash in room 608.

We all went to bed because there wasn’t much else to do. Mum and Mack in the double bed. Pippa and Hank either end of one single bed. Me in the other. Baby Pillow the comfiest of the lot in the duck cot.

Hank wasn’t the only one who wet in the night. Pippa did too, so she had to creep in with me. She went back to sleep straightaway, but I didn’t. I wriggled around uncomfortably, Pippa’s hair tickling my nose and her elbow digging into my chest. I stared up into the dark while Mack snored and Hank snuffled and I wished I could rise out of my crowded bed, right through the roof and up into the starry sky.

We’ve always had different breakfasts. Mum’s never really bothered. She just likes a cup of coffee and a ciggie. She says she can’t fancy food early in the morning. She cooks for Mack though. He likes great greasy bacon sandwiches and a cup of strong tea with four sugars. I’d like four sugars in my tea but Mum won’t let me. It’s not fair. She does sometimes let me have a sugar sandwich for my breakfast though, if she’s in a very good mood. I say
she
needs to eat a sugar sandwich to sweeten herself up.

Pippa likes sugar sandwiches too, because she always copies me. Hank has a runny boiled egg that certainly runs all over him. His face is bright yellow by the time he’s finished his breakfast, and he always insists on clutching his buttered toast soldiers until he’s squeezed them into a soggy pulp. Sometimes I can see why Mum can’t face food herself. Mopping up my baby brother would put anyone off their breakfast.

Mum certainly didn’t look like she wanted any breakfast our first morning at the Royal. She’d obviously tossed and turned a lot in the night because her hair was all sticking up at the back. Her eyes looked red and sore. I’d heard her crying in the night.

‘How about you taking the kids down to breakfast, Mack?’ she said pleadingly. ‘I don’t think I could face it today. I’m feeling ever so queasy.’

‘Aw, come on, hen. I can’t cope with all three of them on my own. I’m not Mary Piddly Poppins.’

‘You don’t have to cope with me,’ I said indignantly.

‘I sometimes wish to God I didn’t,’ Mack growled.

He’s always like that with me. Ready to bite my head off. He’s the one who’s like a lion, not me.