that nice any more,” she says. “You haven’t seen him for years. People change. Just saying.”
“But you said you’d help!” I say. “You promised, Henny! You said if I helped you then you’d help me. You said it’s what families do.”
I stare at her, my body filling with panic.
“Oh, don’t be boring, kitten,” she says, jumping up. “We are family and we do do stuff for each other. I’m looking after you, aren’t I? You just got me breakfast. That’s being family, that’s doing stuff.”
“We could ask people?” I say. “Or make signs and put them up and hope Beckett sees them? There’s probably loads of stuff we could be doing, Henny, but I can’t do it on my own. I need your help. Please?”
Henny rolls her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world or anything,” she says. “Come on; let’s have some fun today.”
I follow her all the way back to Piccadilly Gardens, limping and sulking.
I don’t want to be with Henny any more. I just want Beckett.
But it’s hard to leave her.
“Stay here,” she says, when we catch up with the other kids. “And don’t move, OK?”
I sit on the grass and watch her linger on the kerb, smiling, twirling her stripy hair round her finger. A man with a shiny bald head strolls up to Henny, she loops her arm through his and they walk away, chattering and laughing. Tia plops down on the grass next to me and wraps her arms around her knees.
“You OK, Gabriella?” she asks.
I nod, feeling for Blue Bunny in my pocket.
“Did she make you do stuff?”
My eyes twitch. I shake my head. “Nothing much,” I lie, pulling my sock up over my ankle.
“You don’t always have to do what she says,” says Tia. “She’s not the boss of you.”
When Henny comes back her eyes are shining, her cheeks flushed pink. “Result!” she says, pulling me up and flashing money in my face.
“Is that Kingdom?” I ask, remembering the name Henny said at Tia’s.
“No!” she says. “Kingdom never gets out of his car!”
“Who was it then?”
“No one special,” she says, smiling. She turns to Tia. “Wanna come with us?” she says. “I’ve promised kitten some fun.”
Tia flaps her sleeves, looks up at the huge, dark clouds threatening to tip rain on our heads, and nods.
First we wander down the street, window-shopping, imagining all the things we’d buy if we won the lottery. Then we trail through the shops trying on loads of cool stuff, giggling and laughing so much I almost forget about my ankle.
Henny dares us to go into this big department store and pretend we’re on that programme Don’t Tell The Bride , buying bridesmaid stuff. I think about Dad all trussed up like a turkey in his grey suit and pink shirt. I think about Amy and her two dresses and all the money. I wonder where they are now and wish I had a charger for my phone. But you can’t say no to Henny. She doesn’t really allow it and when we’re in the shop she acts so grown-up, bossing the assistant around while we try on all these really expensive dresses and shoes and put sparkly tiaras on our heads that I almost believe it’s true. I almost believe that we really are going to be on the telly.
Tia and me practise walking up the aisle, all slow-mo and serious, while Henny talks to the lady about what flowers would go best with our clothes. I only want roses, white ones, like the ones around Grace’s mum’s door, but the lady’s saying tulips are in fashion. I wonder if Amy and Dad had roses or tulips at their wedding. I bet Amy had a mega-sparkly tiara.
If Amy would’ve let me be a bridesmaid I know what dress I’d choose. It’s not a silky one or a puffy one. It’s not even the most expensive. It’s one tucked at the end of the rail made of white cotton with sparkles on like the kind of thing Laura from Little House on the Prairie might wear. I wouldn’t have spoilt it for Amy. I would have even worn whatever dress she chose. Just so I could be there with Dad.
When we
“But you said you’d help!” I say. “You promised, Henny! You said if I helped you then you’d help me. You said it’s what families do.”
I stare at her, my body filling with panic.
“Oh, don’t be boring, kitten,” she says, jumping up. “We are family and we do do stuff for each other. I’m looking after you, aren’t I? You just got me breakfast. That’s being family, that’s doing stuff.”
“We could ask people?” I say. “Or make signs and put them up and hope Beckett sees them? There’s probably loads of stuff we could be doing, Henny, but I can’t do it on my own. I need your help. Please?”
Henny rolls her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world or anything,” she says. “Come on; let’s have some fun today.”
I follow her all the way back to Piccadilly Gardens, limping and sulking.
I don’t want to be with Henny any more. I just want Beckett.
But it’s hard to leave her.
“Stay here,” she says, when we catch up with the other kids. “And don’t move, OK?”
I sit on the grass and watch her linger on the kerb, smiling, twirling her stripy hair round her finger. A man with a shiny bald head strolls up to Henny, she loops her arm through his and they walk away, chattering and laughing. Tia plops down on the grass next to me and wraps her arms around her knees.
“You OK, Gabriella?” she asks.
I nod, feeling for Blue Bunny in my pocket.
“Did she make you do stuff?”
My eyes twitch. I shake my head. “Nothing much,” I lie, pulling my sock up over my ankle.
“You don’t always have to do what she says,” says Tia. “She’s not the boss of you.”
When Henny comes back her eyes are shining, her cheeks flushed pink. “Result!” she says, pulling me up and flashing money in my face.
“Is that Kingdom?” I ask, remembering the name Henny said at Tia’s.
“No!” she says. “Kingdom never gets out of his car!”
“Who was it then?”
“No one special,” she says, smiling. She turns to Tia. “Wanna come with us?” she says. “I’ve promised kitten some fun.”
Tia flaps her sleeves, looks up at the huge, dark clouds threatening to tip rain on our heads, and nods.
First we wander down the street, window-shopping, imagining all the things we’d buy if we won the lottery. Then we trail through the shops trying on loads of cool stuff, giggling and laughing so much I almost forget about my ankle.
Henny dares us to go into this big department store and pretend we’re on that programme Don’t Tell The Bride , buying bridesmaid stuff. I think about Dad all trussed up like a turkey in his grey suit and pink shirt. I think about Amy and her two dresses and all the money. I wonder where they are now and wish I had a charger for my phone. But you can’t say no to Henny. She doesn’t really allow it and when we’re in the shop she acts so grown-up, bossing the assistant around while we try on all these really expensive dresses and shoes and put sparkly tiaras on our heads that I almost believe it’s true. I almost believe that we really are going to be on the telly.
Tia and me practise walking up the aisle, all slow-mo and serious, while Henny talks to the lady about what flowers would go best with our clothes. I only want roses, white ones, like the ones around Grace’s mum’s door, but the lady’s saying tulips are in fashion. I wonder if Amy and Dad had roses or tulips at their wedding. I bet Amy had a mega-sparkly tiara.
If Amy would’ve let me be a bridesmaid I know what dress I’d choose. It’s not a silky one or a puffy one. It’s not even the most expensive. It’s one tucked at the end of the rail made of white cotton with sparkles on like the kind of thing Laura from Little House on the Prairie might wear. I wouldn’t have spoilt it for Amy. I would have even worn whatever dress she chose. Just so I could be there with Dad.
When we
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