The Tutti-frutti Collection

Now that Mum has told me about the baby she seems to think it’s OK for her to keep on talking about it. She said to me at teatime, while Slime was upstairs with his elves, “What do you think we should call it? Think of some names!” I said, “There aren’t many names that go with Butter.” I said, “Barbara Butter, Brenda Butter, Belinda Butter,” very heavily sarcastic, but that was the wrong thing as Mum immediately thought it meant that I was interested. She said, “Would you like it to be a girl?” Very quickly, and just as sarcastic, I said, “Bertram Butter, Bruce Butter, Bernard Butter.” All Mum said was, “Bernard’s nice! I like Bernard.”

Bernard Butter? She has to be joking!

Slimey Roland brought me back a china figure from Newcastle. It is a Victorian lady with a crinoline and the crinoline is made of real lace.

Mum says it is valuable and that I must be careful not to break it. It is quite nice, I suppose. I have put it on the top shelf near my bed.

I would much rather have had a dog.

Thursday

I have found something new to worry about. Suppose Mum dies while she is having this baby? People do die. In olden times they were always dying in childbirth. Even today it could still happen. I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it. It would be all Slimey’s fault! Why couldn’t he keep out of our lives? Why couldn’t he leave Mum alone? We were perfectly happy without him!

Friday

I asked Mum two things when I got in from school and to both of them she said no.

First of all I asked her yet again if I could take sandwiches instead of having school dinner because today it was something quite unspeakable, I mean it looked as if it had been scraped up off the pavement. It is only a question of time before I get terminally poisoned. Mum said, “You can take sandwiches so long as you’re prepared for them to be vegetarian” which as far as I’m concerned is the same as saying no because I am not going to change my eating habits just to please Slime. What’s being veggie ever done for him? Made him look like a fungus. And anyway, it would mean he’d won and then he’d get all unbearable and triumphant.

So we had a bit of a dispute about it, with me saying why couldn’t I have ham or chicken and Mum saying because it upsets Slime to see dead things in the fridge (and me thinking but not saying that it upsets me to see Slime in the house) and that if I choose to eat meat at school that’s up to me but we’re not going to have it at home, which means we shall all end up looking like fungus. Except by then I shall probably be dead of food poisoning so I suppose it really doesn’t matter.

Anyhow, we then had tea and I said, “Oh, by the way, Gemma Parker has invited me to her sleep-over tomorrow. Is that OK?” and Mum tightened her lips and said, “Well, no, as a matter of fact I’m afraid I don’t think it is. I think I’d rather that you stayed away from Gemma Parker.”

I knew she’d say that. She has taken it into her head that Gemma is a bad influence all because last term she heard her say a four-letter word that she doesn’t even know the meaning of. Gemma, that is. It was just something she’d heard her brother say. All the boys say it; all the older ones. Even Skinny’s brother, who Mum thinks is such a “nice young man”. They go round shouting it at each other. It doesn’t mean anything. They think it makes them sound butch and grown-up.

I said to Mum, “Everybody else is going. I’ll feel left out.” She said, “Not everybody can be. There wouldn’t be room for them.” “Well, everyone who is anyone,” I said. “The Melon, for instance. Her mum doesn’t mind.”

Mum likes the Melon. I thought it would sway her, but it didn’t. After about ten minutes of arguing she said, “Look, I’m sorry. Cherry, but that is that. I do not want you going to the sleep-over.” I shrieked “Why not? When the Melon is allowed to?” Mum said, “You don’t have to shout at me. What Melanie’s mother allows her to do is neither here nor there. She probably doesn’t know that family as I do. I just don’t trust them.”

The only reason she says this is because Gemma’s mum smokes cigarettes and she and Slimey think that anyone who smokes cigarettes is some kind of criminal and ought to be locked up, and also because Gemma’s dad happens to work in a place called Franco’s that once got raided by the police, which is hardly Gemma’s dad’s fault. He can’t help where he works. What Mum doesn’t understand is that Gemma is totally naive. She’s like a six year old. Her mum won’t even let her watch television without supervision in case she sees something she shouldn’t.

I tried explaining this to Mum but she plainly didn’t believe me. She said. “If you ask me, Gemma’s mother is rather flighty.”

What does she mean, flighty? Does she think she’s a witch, or something?

Mum told me not to sulk. She said that to make up for not letting me go to the sleep-over, we’d all have a meal in the pizza place tomorrow night and then we’d go to the video shop and I could choose whatever video I wanted. That cheered me up a bit as I thought that I would get something really gross that they normally wouldn’t let me have. But honestly, what does she think we do at sleep-overs? We don’t do anything! Just sit and talk and try on each other’s clothes and then tell scary stories in the dark. Gemma’s such a baby she usually falls asleep.

I am going to get a really gross DVD.

Saturday

I am seriously annoyed. They wouldn’t let me have any of the videos I wanted. Mum said I was just picking them to be awkward, because of her not letting me go to the sleep-over. She said if I couldn’t choose something sensible, then she would have to choose for me. When I pointed out that she had promised me, she said, “Oh, now, Cherry, act your age! You know perfectly well there are limits.”

She never said anything about limits. She said I could choose whatever I wanted.

“Anything sensible,” she said.

They cheat all the time, grown-ups do.

So while I’m mooching about looking for something sensible, and doing my best to find one they’d loathe, she and Slimey are wandering over to the kids’ section and mooning about amongst the Walt Disneys. Suddenly I hear Slimey cry, “Oh, look, Butterpat!” (I nearly died. The girl behind the counter had to put her hand over her mouth to stop from sniggering.) “Look, Butterpat! Look at this … Snow White!”

And Mum squeaks, “Ohh! Snow White!” in a silly little girly voice, and claps her hands. “I haven’t seen that since I was younger than Cherry!”

Slimey says, “Me neither. It used to be my favourite film when I was five years old.” And Mum says, “Oh, we’ve got to have it! Cherry, it’s all right, we’ve found One … we’re going to watch Snow White!”

Which we did, whether I liked it or not. Which for the most part I did not. I mean, it’s kids’ stuff. Mum and Slimey sat there on the sofa together going oooh and aaah and “Oh, I remember this bit!” “That bit always terrified me!” Having a right nostalgia binge.

Afterwards I rang Gemma’s number and spoke to Skinny. I asked her how the sleep-over was going and she said they were watching When Harry Met Sally, which actually I have already seen, though I wouldn’t have minded seeing it again. At least it would have been better than Snow Soppy White. I said, “I’m surprised Gemma’s mum lets her watch that,” remembering certain bits which I felt sure she wouldn’t think suitable. Gemma’s mum is really strict, in spite of being flighty and going round on broomsticks. Skinny said, “She’s sitting there with her finger on the fast forward button in case of dirty bits, but she can’t always get there in time!” and we both giggled.

When I went back in the lounge Mum said, “It’s good to hear you sounding so cheerful.” I just frowned and didn’t say anything. That is the second time Mum has broken her promise.

Sunday

Dad rang this morning. He said he and Rosemary are really looking forward to having me at half-term although it is unfortunate that I won’t be able to stay with them for the whole week as they are both working and cannot get more than a few days off. He said they are very disappointed about this but they are not free agents like Mum and Slimey. They can’t just take time off whenever they feel like it.

I said that I understood and that it would be lovely to get away even just for a few days. Dad said, “Why? Are you fed up? You’re sounding a bit fed up.” So I told him about Mum breaking her promises, not letting me have a dog or choose a video, and Dad said, “Breaking a promise to a child is one of the worst things you can do,” which I must say I heartily agree with.

He said, “I can’t offer you a dog, but when you come to us you can watch whatever video you like, and that is a PROMISE.” I said, “You mean it? Any video I like?” and he said, “Any video except Snow White and those dratted Dwarves.” And I hadn’t even told him that that was what Mum and Slimey made me watch! He said they kept pushing it at him in his local video shop, trying to make him take it.

“Don’t,” I said. “It’s really yucky.”

Dad said, “I won’t, don’t worry! I was taken to see it as a kid and had nightmares for months afterwards.”

Nightmares? What on earth could he have had nightmares about? Dad must have been an extremely sensitive little boy.

When I told Mum about him and Rosemary not being able to get time off she gave this sort of sneer, with her lip hooped up, and said, “You amaze me!”

“It’s because they both go out and do proper work,” I said. “They can’t just go taking days off whenever they want, like you can.”

“Of course they can’t,” said Mum, all sarky and snide.

“Well, they can’t,” I said. “They do very important jobs.”

“I don’t call being a computer programmer all that important,” said Mum. “Nor being an office manager,” she added.

It’s Rosemary who’s the office manager, Dad who’s the computer programmer. They both work in the same office, which is probably quite nice for them.

I said, “If it wasn’t important, nobody would care if they took time off,” and to my surprise old Slimey jumped in and agreed with me. He said, “She’s absolutely right!” and I saw him give Mum this funny little frown. I don’t know what he did that for, but anyhow it stopped her trying to tell me that Dad isn’t important, which I really resent. He said, “The way I see it, everyone is important in his own way.” To which Mum snapped, “Her!” being a bit of a feminist which actually I am as well. So then old Slime says, “His or her. I stand corrected,” and goes on to say that he personally doesn’t see why a person that sweeps the road, for instance, should be considered any less important than a prime minister, which is just stupid. Anybody could sweep the road. Not anybody could be prime minister. And not anybody could be a computer programmer, either, so sucks to Mum! She certainly couldn’t be.

141 Arethusa Road

London W5

18 October

My dear Carol,

Well, I’ve done it! My secret is out. On the whole she has taken it very well; far better than I’d dared to hope. To begin with I could see she was a bit stunned – as she had every right to be – and a bit put out that I hadn’t told her sooner, but I apologised for that and admitted that I was a coward, and I think she understood.