Lily Alone
Jacqueline Wilson
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Introducing Lily
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Visit the Website!
About the Author
Also by Jacqueline Wilson
Copyright
About the Book
LILY’S THINGS TO REMEMBER!
HOW TO LOOK AFTER MY BROTHER AND SISTERS
1. Make sure they eat three meals a day – and not just ice cream!
2. Keep clothes not too mucky!
3. Everyone must go to bed before midnight, especially Pixie!
4. Don’t let them go to school in case they give away our secret.
5. Keep everyone safe till Mum comes back . . .
For games competitions and more, explore www.jacquelinewilson.co.uk
LILY ALONE
Jacqueline Wilson
ILLUSTRATED BY NICK SHARRATT
To Milan, Macey-Grace,
Tom, Scarlett and Isaac
Introducing Lily
‘You’ll make a lovely mum one day, Lily,’ Mum said. But it’s not true – I don’t ever want a load of kids yelling round me all the time. Living in our tiny flat with my little brother and two little sisters, I’ve had to put up with enough of that already. When I grow up, I’m going to live in a lovely big house all by myself. But for now, I’d be happy with just my own pair of wings. Then I’d go soaring up into the sky and over the trees of the park, instead of hiding in them with the little ones, hoping that no one finds out that Mum’s gone on holiday and left us alone . . .
It was my fault. We were all sitting squashed up on the sofa on Friday night watching Coronation Street, the second episode of the evening. Well, none of us were actually watching. Pixie was squatting on the arm of the sofa rubbing tomato sauce round her mouth, telling us over and over again that she was wearing lipstick like Mummy. My littlest sister, Pixie, could win the world record for repetition. She’s three and talks all the time, though most of what she says is nonsense.
My other sister, Bliss, is six, but she hardly talks at all. She was lying on her back on the sofa twiddling her long pale hair and snuffling into her old teddy. She had her favourite fairy-tale book tucked beside her. Her twin brother Baxter was driving a matchbox up and down her legs, pretending it was a car, making silly whining racing noises.
I was flipping through the pages of one of Mum’s magazines, wondering what it would be like to be rich and famous and trying to choose which lady I wanted to be. It was hard taking them seriously because they all had bushy moustaches. Baxter had clearly been busy with his blue biro at some earlier stage.
Mum was the only one of us sitting up properly and watching the screen but I knew she wasn’t following all the Corrie people. She didn’t change position when the adverts came on. She just sat staring, her chin on her hand, her eyes big and blank.
‘Mum?’ I reached out and gave her a little poke. ‘Mum, are you OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t look OK.’
‘Oh, shut up, Lily,’ Mum said wearily.
She was always acting tired now, since Paul died. She was too tired to get up in the mornings, too tired to go to bed at night. She was too tired to go to work and then when she lost her job in the canteen, she was too tired to get another one. She just stayed at home smoking and staring into space.
I made her go to the doctor because I was dead worried about her. He gave her tablets for depression. He said it was natural to grieve for a while when you’d lost your husband. I didn’t get that. Mum didn’t like Paul much when he was around. None of us liked him, not even Pixie, and he was her father. He’d either be yelling and slapping at us, even Mum, or he’d be zoned out on the sofa, looking stupid in his vest and pants and socks. We weren’t allowed to sit on our own sofa when Paul was around. Mum muttered that he was a waste of space and a big mistake. She said she’d always had lousy taste when it came to men. That’s what I couldn’t understand. Whenever she didn’t have a man she turned into Zombie Woman, acting like it was the end of the world.
I couldn’t bear to see her like that, especially looking so ordinary in her old baggy T-shirt and trackie bottoms. Mum could look fantastic when she wanted, better than any of the ladies in the magazines. When she got all dressed up to go out she could make my heart stop she looked so gorgeous. So that’s why I said it.
‘Mum, why don’t you go out?’
‘What?’
‘Go on, go down the Fox, see some of your old mates.’
The Fox and Hounds is the pub over the road from our estate. It’s got a garden so in summertime the kids and I used to hang out there with Mum and Paul – and before that with Mikey, Baxter and Bliss’s father. Mum says she used to take me there when it was just the two of us. She’d wheel me there in my buggy and I’d sit crunching crisps, happy as Larry. I was always an easy baby, Mum said. She didn’t half get a shock when she fell for Baxter and Bliss. And Pixie’s a nightmare, she won’t sit in her buggy for two minutes at a time. She arches her back and screams when you try to get her in it.
‘Don’t be daft, Lily. I can’t go down the Fox, not with you lot.’
‘I’m not being daft. I meant to go on your own. The kids will be all right. I’ll babysit.’
Mum looked at me, chewing one of her fingernails.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
Mum went on chewing, her hair in her eyes. I could tell she was considering. She’d left me in charge of the kids heaps of times, when she had to go to the post office or the newsagent or the off-licence (though it was my job to run down to the chippy).
‘I shouldn’t leave you lot on your own in the evening,’ Mum said.
‘You used to, when you first started going out with Paul,’ I reminded her.
‘Yeah, but I shouldn’t have. And that was when you were all tucked up in bed and asleep.’
‘I’ll put the kids to bed. I do it half the time anyway.’
‘I know. You’re a good kid.’ Mum reached out past Baxter and Bliss and stroked my cheek with her finger. ‘I forget you are a little kid sometimes.’
‘I’m not little! I’m eleven. And I’m old for my age.’
‘Yeah, you act like a little old woman a lot of the time. I love you, Lily.’
‘I love you too, Mum. Go on, go and get dressed up. I’ll be fine.’
‘Well, maybe just for one drink, to cheer myself up a bit?’
‘Go on then.’
Mum smiled, looking just like Pixie when you buy her an ice cream, and rushed off to her bedroom. Pixie toddled after her. She loved watching when Mum dressed up.
‘So Mum’s going out then?’ said Baxter, driving his ‘car’ across my face.
‘Leave it out,’ I say, swotting at him. ‘And give me that matchbox – you know it’s dangerous to play with matches.’
‘I’m not playing with the matches. I’m playing with the box. So can we stay up, yeah? We’ll watch a DVD, right?’
‘Not a scary one,’ said Bliss, hunching up into a little ball.
‘Not a scary one,’ I promised, though that was going to be a challenge. Bliss can’t even watch Up without shaking. I think it’s the dogs. Her dad Mikey had an Alsatian, Rex. It wasn’t a truly scary dog like a Rottweiler or a pit bull but it could be a little savage at times, even when it was a puppy. It looked all cuddly and cute so Bliss treated it like one of her teddies
and once tried to dress it up. Rexy got fed up and bit her. It was only a little nip but it made her hand bleed. She was always terrified of dogs after that.
‘You’re no fun, Bliss. I want to watch a really, really, really scary DVD,’ said Baxter. ‘Let’s watch a vampire film and then we can all turn into vampires and bite.’ He pretended to take a chunk out of Bliss’s neck. She screamed as if she was literally pouring blood.
‘What’s up?’ said Mum, putting her head round the door. She’d got one eye shadowed and outlined, but hadn’t done the other one yet, so she looked lop-sided. ‘They don’t want me to go, do they?’
‘They’re fine, Mum, they’re just being silly. Shut up, you two,’ I said, bashing at Baxter and Bliss with a cushion. ‘You want Mum to go out and have a lovely time, don’t you? Don’t you?’ I said, digging at them with my feet.
‘Yes, Lily,’ said Bliss, her hands round her neck, staunching her imaginary wound.
I dug Baxter, harder this time, and put my hand on his matchbox car.
‘Yes, go out, Mum,’ he said, snatching his car back.
‘Well then, I will,’ said Mum. ‘You can keep them in better order than I can, Lily. You’ll make a lovely little mum one day.’
No I won’t. I’m not ever going to be a mother. I’m not going to live with any man and have a load of kids yelling round me all the time. I can’t stick men, apart from Mr Abbott, my teacher. I wouldn’t mind marrying Mr Abbott but Mum says he’s not the marrying kind. If I can’t have Mr Abbott I won’t have anybody. I’ll make lots and lots of money and live in a lovely big house all by myself. No one will throw their toys on the floor or spill juice on the carpet or bash the television so it goes on the blink. My house will stay as pristine as a palace. It will get featured in all the magazines and little girls will cut out photos of it and stick them in their scrapbooks because my house will be so beautiful. I’ll design it myself. That’s how I’ll make all my money. I’ll be a famous interior designer with my own television programme.
I went to find some paper to draw on, deciding to make a start straight away. Baxter and Bliss wanted to draw too, but there was only one clean page left in the old drawing pad.
‘It’s my drawing pad,’ said Bliss, which was strictly true. It was one of her presents last Christmas, along with some fat wax crayons.
‘Yeah, and you can crayon on the cardboard back, that’s the best bit,’ I lied.
‘What about me?’ said Baxter, trying to snatch the drawing pad for himself.
‘I thought you liked drawing in magazines?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you give all the ladies beards as well as moustaches?’
So Baxter scribbled determinedly, giving every celebrity a bushy beard, adding a distressing amount of body hair while he was at it. Bliss crayoned a big pink cube with little wires sticking out, and then added four little wiry cubes. She said it was our family portrait but we had to take her word for it. I sat up cross-legged, resting my precious piece of paper lengthwise on a tray, and started designing my dream house. I drew it sliced open so I could show all the rooms inside. I didn’t just stick at living room and kitchen and bedrooms. I had a studio with a proper artist’s easel and a potter’s wheel, a music room with a piano and a drum kit, a library stuffed to the ceiling with books, a conservatory with butterflies flying about the flowers, and a swimming pool the entire length of the basement.
Pixie stayed watching Mum, which was wonderful. She was usually a royal pain when we drew. She hated it that she wasn’t old enough to draw properly herself so she’d snatch at our pens and crayons and then scribble rubbish all over our pages.
She came skipping in at last, going, ‘Look at Mum, look at Mum, isn’t she pretty?’
Mum looked lovely, her long hair piled up with the front bit crimped into little curls. She had matching Cleopatra eyes now and a big shiny scarlet mouth. She wore a tight pink top that showed a bit of her red bra and a little black skirt, black tights and her best red high heels. Pixie and Bliss and I love to shuffle along in Mum’s high heels, pretending we’re grown-up ladies out on the town.
‘You look totally knock-out, Mum,’ I said, and Baxter whooped in agreement.
‘You really think I look all right?’ Mum said anxiously. ‘I think I’ve got a bit baggy and saggy since Pixie was born.’
‘You have not. You look fantastic,’ I said.
Mum peered down critically at her chest.
‘I couldn’t half do with a boob job,’ she said. ‘There’s hardly anything there.’
‘Stick a couple of oranges on your chest, Mum,’ said Baxter, cackling with laughter.
‘You shut up, you cheeky little whatsit,’ said Mum.
She seemed so different now she’d put on her make-up and fancy clothes. I was pleased my suggestion had perked her up no end.
‘You go and have a great time, Mum,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m not even sure if any of the old crowd will be there. I’ll maybe just have a couple of drinks and come home. But even if I’m having a right laugh I promise I’ll be back home by midnight. Don’t want to turn into a pumpkin, do I?’
‘It was Cinderella’s coach that turned into a pumpkin,’ said Bliss.
Cinderella’s her favourite fairy tale. I had to read it to her every night from our big fairy-story book. She took it all very seriously.
Mum kissed Bliss on her pale cheek, gently pinched Baxter’s nose (he hates being kissed) and picked Pixie up and twirled her round and round till she squealed. Then Mum gave me a quick hug.
‘Thanks, babe,’ she said, and darted off in her high heels.
For a few seconds we were all silent after she’d slammed the front door. The flat seemed suddenly still. Then the Corrie theme started up and it sounded weirdly melancholy. Baxter leaped up and started running round the room, yelling at the top of his voice, pretending to be a police car, siren blaring.
‘Stop that row, Baxter,’ I said.
‘I’m going to catch you and arrest you and beat you up in my cells,’ said Baxter, driving himself straight at me.
‘No, I’m the boss of a really mean gang of criminals and I’m going to have you wiped out,’ I said. I grabbed hold of him and wrestled him to the floor. We were only mock-fighting but Bliss started begging us not to hurt each other.
‘Stop it, Baxter. OK, you win. March me off to the cells in handcuffs,’ I said, offering him my wrists. ‘It’s OK, Bliss, we’re just mucking about. Hey, where’s Pixie?’
She’d gone wandering off to Mum’s bedroom. I found her sitting in the middle of the bed rubbing lipstick all over her face.
‘Pixie! You are naughty,’ I said, though I had to struggle not to laugh because she looked so funny.
‘Not naughty! I want real lipstick like Mum,’ she said. ‘I want to be a pretty lady.’
‘Mum will be mad if she finds out – that’s her best lipstick. Here, what do you look like?’ I picked her up and stood her at the dressing table. Pixie laughed at her war-paint.
‘Come on, let’s wash it all off.’
‘No, no, I like it!’
‘Well, you’re going to have to wash it off before bedtime. It is your bedtime, Pixie. Come on.’
Pixie wasn’t going anywhere. She jumped up and started careering about the flat, waving her arms like windmills. I chased her round for ages.
‘I’m not tired yet, I’m not tired yet!’ she gabbled.
‘Look, I’m getting tired running after you. Maybe I’ll go to bed now,’ I said, and I threw myself down on Mum’s bed and lay still as stone, my eyes shut.
Pixie giggled uncertainly. She ran a few more steps and then stopped.
‘Lily?’ she said.
I didn’t move. I heard the little slurpy sound of her putting her thumb in her mouth. She snuffled and sucked for a minute. Then, ‘Lily!’
I sat up and grabbed her and pulled her onto the bed with me for a cuddle. She squealed and wriggled and thumped me with her little fists.
‘You f
rightened me, you meanie,’ she said.
‘Ah, I’m sorry, Pixie. I forgot you’re so little. Like a little, little baby. Here, let’s turn you into a real baby.’ I pulled Mum’s soft blanket off her bed and wrapped it around Pixie and picked her up in my arms.
‘There now,’ I said, carrying her into the living room. Baxter was sorting through our pile of DVDs, chucking the ones he didn’t fancy over his shoulder. Bliss had found my crumpled page of dream house and was carefully walking her fingers into every room.
‘Look at my new little baby, Baxter and Bliss. Isn’t she lovely?’ I said. ‘Say hello, little baby.’
‘Coo coo, coo coo, coo coo,’ said Pixie, trying hard to play the game and do baby talk.
‘What’s she saying? Poo poo?’ said Baxter, sniggering. ‘The baby’s done a big poo poo!’
‘I haven’t!’ said Pixie, struggling to get out of her blanket.
‘Poo poo!’ Baxter repeated maddeningly, holding his nose.
‘Stop teasing her, Baxter, it’s mean. And quit chucking those DVDs around. I’ll choose,’ I said, tucking Pixie up on the sofa beside Bliss. ‘There, you’ll look after my baby properly, won’t you, Bliss?’
‘Can she be my baby too?’ said Bliss. ‘Can I feed her?’
‘Want my bottle!’ said Pixie. She wasn’t playing now. She still had a real bottle at night. It didn’t have to be full of proper milk. It could be weak tea or Ribena, anything. She just liked lying on her back and sleepily sucking.
‘OK, OK, I’ll fetch you your bottle in just a second. We’re all going to watch . . . Peter Pan.’
‘That’s boring. It’s just for babies,’ said Baxter.
‘No, it isn’t. There are pirates in it, remember?’
‘The pirates are scary,’ said Bliss.
‘Not really – and remember, there’s little Tinker Bell in Peter Pan, you like fairies, and mermaids too, and you like Wendy’s house,’ I said.
I still liked all these things myself, babyish or not – and I especially loved the flying part. I would give anything to be able to soar straight up into the sky. I’ve dreamed about flying but I can’t do it properly even in my dreams. I just skim the surface of things and I have to move my arms and legs jerkily, as if I’m swimming. It’s not really flying properly, more mid-air gymnastics. I want to fly up and away, effortlessly, like a bird.
