Darcy Burdock Book 3 Read online

  I don’t know why you would ever want to pop your blisters when you least expect it. To pop blisters is one of the main reasons I am alive. Who doesn’t love bursting those little man-made water balloons under your feet and letting all the foot juice pour out? It’s incredible. BUT NOT EDIBLE.

  Dad says his blisters are really severe and not like the tiny blisters us lot get. He said these are big and painful.

  Before I head upstairs to put on my pyjamas I call Will again.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  And no answer.

  Annie adores the phone, so I know they must be out. Maybe their dad took them to Disneyland to say sorry for being so terrible? Or on safari? Let me tell you I will be nothing less than LIVID if Will meets exotic creatures without me. L.I.V.I.D.

  But what if their dad convinces them to live with him? Far away? And he never comes back? Calm down, I tell myself. One step at a time. I run upstairs to snuggle with Lamb-Beth. She is being extra cute and has warmed the bed all cosy for me. But I can tell she is still moody and I bet I know why.

  ‘What do you think of Pork?’ I whisper, and give her a gentle nudge. I know this sounds mad but I think she raises an eyebrow at me and shakes her head wearily and sadly. ‘Tell me about it!’

  Chapter Ten

  It is morning now and Pork is the last one to wake up. He is sprawled out on the sofa like a drunken slob. He snores, his tongue lolled to the side of his mouth, his belly rising and falling like a football being pumped up. Hector is amazed by him.

  ‘Doubt there was much mice-catching going on then!’ Dad laughs. Dad has a soft spot for the underdog; an underdog means the disadvantaged, the weird ones, the odd ones out. Like me, I guess. Except actually, now that I think about it, I am pretty remarkable.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mum says. ‘I heard no noises all night, and fingers crossed, haven’t seen any new droppings today.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Dad says. ‘So maybe Pork’s earned the right to a lie-in!’

  ‘Sometimes the mice just sense it, don’t they? They can smell a cat a mile away.’

  ‘Can’t we all!’ I shout, and everybody laughs as the whiffy smell of a milky cat fart wafts over our faces. Lamb-Beth retches a few times and spits. She is not warming to Pork, I can tell.

  A thought occurs to me on the way to school. No sign of mice and no sign of Will. It’s almost as if the vermin signalled Will’s dad’s arrival and the vanishing of Will . . . Surely now that the mice have gone, Will should come back too?

  And like magic, when I reach the school gates I spot Will’s red hair, his slouchy way of standing, his school bag and shoes, and for some unexplainable reason known to man or woman I run. I run really fast, so fast my jaw is juddering and thundering and bouncing and I can’t help it, I throw myself around his neck, like two gorillas that have been separated in the wild.

  And sneaky leaky pesky tears dribble a bit out of my eyes and I say, ‘I’m so happy you’re back.’ And he pats me politely and tries to make me realize that we are not on a movie set but in front of everybody at the school gates. He peels me off and I blink a lot and brush myself down and then I say, ‘Where have you been?’

  Will looks at me blankly and goes, ‘Well, erm, I’m here now, aren’t I?’

  As if nothing had happened. That’s how he’s acting. As if his dad never turned up at the school gates, as if he hadn’t had two days off school and not answered the phone. But worse than that, he isn’t being . . . the same. It felt like he wasn’t my friend any more. Well, that’s how it felt. Every time I try to talk to Will about his dad or that morning, he swiftly changes the subject or starts a conversation up with somebody else. I’m trying really hard not to be weird or moody about this, because I have to be patient and remember Will is obviously going through something I can’t understand. But it still hurts.

  The bell rings furiously for lunch time. Finally, after a morning of fighting for his attention across the room, I can speak to him and we can be normal. We are the last ones in the classroom; I can feel Will deliberately lagging behind.

  ‘Ready?’ I say as he packs his bag away for lunch.

  ‘Ready for what?’ he grunts dismissively.

  ‘Lunch. It’s burger day!’ I smile, but behind the teeth I am frowning.

  ‘I thought I might play football if that’s OK?’

  My tummy dies. I am flat. Run over. ‘Sure,’ I croak. In a voice of a person that is NOT OK. ‘Sure, that’s fine.’ And Will nods and still doesn’t look up and it’s just when I look round at him as I’m walking out of the classroom I see he might be crying but I’m not sure. I wanted to show him my peel taped in the back of my book but the idea now feels too stupid and unwanted.

  I am lost. I can’t believe I wanted Will to be back at school so much and now that he is, he doesn’t even care about me one tiny bit.

  To keep my day moving and not be upset I get an extremely vegetarian cheese and pickle sandwich, a packet of Hula Hoops and a juice and go and see Mavis at her desk in Reception. She is happy to see me.

  ‘Where’s your Will? Thought you two would be joined at the hip today?’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ I can’t hide my disappointment, but I equally don’t want Mavis to be nosy. Somehow she isn’t and changes the subject.

  ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this story of yours all night, honestly, it’s what got me through my husband’s snoring!’ I laugh at Mavis; she has this way of looking really serious and then going all soft and smiley again. ‘Let’s get a brew on, shall we?’ A brew means tea, but I wish it were a bright purple witch’s brew that was served up in a big cauldron!

  With a cup of steaming hot tea in one hand, I begin to read Mavis my story. She yawns a little when I start, but I am not offended because that’s kind of the intention, I guess, and it proves she’s listening as yawning is so infectious. Because Mavis is polite she covers her mouth and lets her eyes do the yawn for her in little watering puddles. Wow, Mavis has got really leaky eyes. Mavis laughs at the story in these odd places where I didn’t even think it was funny and she sometimes closes her eyes. It’s also a bit like she’s so overexcited that I used a name she suggested for a main character that she almost squeezes her body every time she hears the name ‘Morphina’, as if giving herself a proud cuddle. I can almost forget Will ever came back to school and has turned into a completely different person.

  ‘And here’s what I worked on yesterday,’ I say. ‘I’ve been reading comics, you see, and they inspired me.’

  ‘Comics?’ Mavis blurts. ‘OK, hen, I can’t wait to see what happens. Will the King wake? Will he find out that Morphina is a robber? What will the Queen do? I do like the Queen. She’s like me.’ Mavis looks proud and does another cuddle of herself.

  ‘OK, I’ll continue . . .’

  ‘Gosh, it’s very . . . erm, violent, Darcy.’ Mavis shuddered and pulled her cardigan around her.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘Good!’ I squeaked.

  ‘I think I need another biscuit,’ Mavis muttered. I watched her reach for the biscuits and suddenly worried that maybe my story was a little gory. Maybe I’d overstepped the mark a bit with Mavis? Now she would think I was a disgusting wee girl with horrible thoughts going round in my brain and she maybe wouldn’t give me tea and shortbread any more. I went to close my writing book.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mavis shrilled. ‘Don’t stop!’

  I laughed in relief. ‘I thought maybe you didn’t like it?’

  ‘I may be old but I LOVE a bit of vulgarity! So come on, let’s get back to this butt-kicking. I’ll tell you what, Darcy, I can think of more than a couple of people I’d like to do this to! Ha-ha! Go on, what happens next?’ She nudges me and I carry on reading, with confidence.

  ‘DARCY!’ Mavis gasps. ‘That’s so clever. So it was the Queen all along with the sleeping problems?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘I do
n’t know how you do it . . . but Morphina . . . was she real? Because the teeth marks on her hand were from where Morphina bit her, weren’t they? Who is she? What is she?’

  The bell for the end of lunch time shrieks and I pack away my things. I want to show Mavis my copy of Sleeping Beauty that gave me the idea for the Morphina story in the first place, but I think this will give me an excuse to go and see her tomorrow lunch time if Will is still not being Will.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’ she calls after me, frustrated. I shake my head. In real life, authors don’t get to sit next to you breathing down your neck as you read their work, so you don’t usually get to ask them questions.

  ‘Ah, you wee tease!’ Mavis laughs.

  The first thing I am met with when I come out of the Reception area is the worserest thing I have EVER seen that makes me want to scratch my eyeballs out with screwdrivers – Olly Supperidge and Clementine HOLDING HANDS, and then . . . then . . . THEN . . . SNOGGING. Curse my eyes, my eyes, my sorry scolded red-raw wretched ripped eyesight for chancing upon such a miserable view. Olly Supperidge snogs like a frog, except he is NEVER going to turn into a prince like in the fairy tales. He shall remain a wretched bullfrog toad for ever. And anyway the spell wouldn’t be broked, as Clementine is NOT a princess queen. She is a ghoul.

  They stop the lizard gob-swapping to both take a look at me, all, Why are you hanging out with MAVIS, AGAIN? But I think, SHUT UP, why are you two attaching your lips together? SICK. They do a bit of whispering and because they are both tall they make me feel like a stumpy turnip. GO AWAY, you stupid wicked kissing squids! I start to get angry. ANGROSAUR-RUS rex.

  And then Clementine tips me over the absolute edge of absolute madness. She’s trying to be caring, but it’s false and patronizing, nosy and mean: ‘Great to see Will back at school. Weird, I was expecting you two to be living in each other’s pockets . . . but nope . . . not at all . . . it’s almost like you two don’t even know each other. Did you fight?’

  ‘No. We’re FINE,’ I assure her confidently. And then Olly pulls a face as if to say, Are you sure about that?

  I walk away.

  I am angry with Will and Will’s dad, and Annie for not answering the phone or calling me to tell me what was going on. Angry with stupid Olly and wretched Clementine. Angry with the mice and Pork – so angry that I begin to boil up a bit. And Mavis isn’t my ONLY friend anyway. Even if Will chooses to never speak to me again I wouldn’t care because I’ve got plenty of mates. I’ve got LOADS of friends . . . well, there’s . . . there’s always . . . er . . . I start filing through the faces in my head and realize that at school, apart from Will, my only friend is . . . well . . . Mavis.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I’VE GOT NO FRIENDS!’ are my first words when I enter the house. I stand waiting for Mum to run towards me and burrow me into her armpit and tell me everything will be OK. But she doesn’t. ‘Mum?’

  ‘In here, Darcy!’ Mum calls from the kitchen and she’s there, and so, sitting at the table eating a biscuit, is Will. ‘What do you call him, then?’ She smiles.

  I want to pretend I’m not happy but I can’t. I sort of don’t want to ask him why he was weird with me all day because it sort of doesn’t matter and ‘actions speak louder than words’ as my mum always says.

  Lamb-Beth is extra happy and licks Will’s fingers and rolls over for him to stroke her tummy. There’s so much catching up for Will to do – he has to meet Pork and hear about the mice and the kittens at the pet shop! Even though TECHNICALLY he would have heard those stories today if he was my real-life friend and not a weirdo.

  Mum puts the Chinese takeaway menu on the table. Hooray! I love it that Pork decided for us to have takeaway. I make a list and we all add what we want so that it’s all ready and hot for Dad when he gets home. My only-eating-vegetables rule goes out of the window. I am going to EAT, boy! We order so much: chicken balls, crispy duck pancakes, noodles and egg-fried rice. We order stir-fry and chicken in black bean sauce, beef in ginger, and chips too with sweet and sour sauce to dip. We have to get extra of the best sauce that comes with the crispy duck pancakes because it’s just too delicious and it’s only normal to want to dip absolutely everything into it. Mum gets some other stuff that looks sea-foody and fishy or too spicy. Whilst we wait for the food to arrive Will and I sit on the stairs by the door like dogs on a door mat waiting for our owner to come home.

  ‘So . . .’ I gulp. Feeling a real-life proper actual human conversation beginning.

  ‘Please don’t be weird,’ he says quietly, stopping me in my tracks. He isn’t really wearing gel in his hair. Annie does his hair. Why hasn’t he got gel in his hair?

  ‘What? I wasn’t!’ I defend myself.

  ‘I know that weird voice you do when you’re getting all school counsellor on me.’ He blushes, in that purple way he always does.

  Even though it’s awkward I can’t risk not having him open up about this. Detective Darcy tries again . . .

  ‘What did your dad want? I mean . . . why did he come to school?’

  ‘He has kids. More kids . . . new kids . . . with another woman. Two. And he wants us to all be like friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ I am Will’s friends. Annie and my family. We’re his friends. He doesn’t need any stupid-not-real borrowed baby brothers and sisters to play happy families with.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He wanted us to move with him. To the countryside. Annie and me. To be a family. He said Annie was too young to take care of me.’

  ‘That’s not true. Annie’s amazing!’ I bark. I am a big fan of Will’s big sister.

  ‘Well, yeah, I know . . . funny how he didn’t care that Annie was young when he deserted us. But now it’s on his terms he is pretending that he cares.’

  ‘You’re not going, are you? To the countryside?’

  The letterbox claps. The Chinese takeaway is here and so is Dad. And the conversation is over for now.

  There is a five-minute mad rush of excitement as we lay the plates and the cutlery and everything is clattering and banging as we one by one remove the individual cardboard lids and let the hot fragrant steam rise out of each dish.

  Lamb-Beth eats prawn crackers, and the sound of her tongue wetting the cracker lets off a little crackling sting, as though there’s an electric current running through it. Poppy piles rice into her crackers, scooping it up like the cracker is a forklift truck and the rice is the rubble and her mouth is the dump. Pork nibbles on chicken and then falls back to sleep. I wonder when Henrietta-from-next-door’s dog, Kevin, will think to come and harass Pork. Or maybe he will never know he exists as Pork goes outside about . . . ooo . . . OH YEAH, NEVER. The laziest cat in the world.

  After Chinese food we are so thirsty we need to drink as many drinks as we can whilst our bodies are set to burst. It feels like I need to open a window in my mouth, let some air in.

  ‘Fortune cookies!’ Mum says, and we all settle down on the floor in the living room. We all think about our future fate that lies inside the cookie. Hmm . . . our fingers swirl over them, deciding our destiny. A fortune cookie isn’t actually a cookie. It’s more like a dried pancake, so crunchy and sweet. Inside they have little slips of paper, messages about your life and stuff.

  Hector goes first, but he throws the whole thing into his mouth and nearly chokes, because if it’s got sugar in it, he wants it. Dad has to fish it out of his mouth like he’s a dog that’s stolen a tennis ball; it comes out all slobbery and covered in gob goo.

  Dad reads out Hector’s fortune whilst Hector eats the cookie. ‘Everything has beauty; you just have to find it.’

  ‘Boring!’ Hector ignores it and starts stroking Pork’s fur back to front which clearly annoys him as he wakes up to hiss.

  Next is Mum: ‘Life is a musical and you are on stage. Am I? Feels like a musical! All this drama. It could be the remake of CATS!’ We all fall about giggling because of Pork and the kittens at the pet shop, but not too ha
rd in case our stuffed tummies begin to leak food.

  Poppy goes next; she opens her fortune and then flushes red. ‘I don’t want to read this out, this is stupid.’ She throws the little slip inside the cookie away, with the cookie too, crunching it up into her hand.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. ‘Let me see.’

  ‘No, DON’T!’ Poppy gargles. ‘Please!’

  ‘Oh, just read it.’ Mum reaches for her little slip. ‘It’s only a game.’

  ‘Fine. But it’s not true. It says: Love is in the air for you, ooo-la-la. See? I told you it was dumb.’ And we all laugh, really hard, rolling round on the floor and our bellies hurt even more this time and then Poppy starts to laugh too. ‘Dad next!’ Poppy instructs.

  ‘OK.’ Dad opens his cookie. ‘It says: All your dreams will succeed. Hope not. I dreamed of being chased by a gorilla last night!’ And we all laugh some more.

  ‘Maybe the gorilla is Mum!’ Hector yells, and Mum pretends to be offended and grabs him and tickles his belly. He squirms so much his tummy pops out and his bellybutton is all twisted like a knot.

  ‘You go next,’ Will says to me.

  ‘No, you go,’ I insist.

  ‘Go on . . .’ Our fates are being juggled, I think, but I reach for the cookie and carefully unwrap it from the red foil and crack it in two. ‘What does it say?’ Will asks.

  ‘It says . . . Keep your future plans a secret . . . What does that mean?’