Alice by Accident

  For a very special person,

  whom I love to distraxion.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  School Notebook: My Life by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: My Life by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Secret by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Magic Cartoon by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Magic Shower by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Bad Reward by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Visit to the National Gallery by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Conshuns of Bacchus by Alice Williamson-Stone

  School Notebook: The Magic Cactus by Alice Williamson-Stone

  Also by the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  SCHOOL NOTEBOOK

  MY LIFE

  by Alice Williamson-Stone

  I am nine years and six months old and my name is Alice Elizabeth Williamson-Stone. I am medium tall with very long brown curly hair that I wear in a pigtail and dark brown eyes. I was born in Brighton and I lived there till a year ago. It’s a lovely town with the Lanes and the pavilion which we visited twice with our school and the sea and the peer with a funfair on it and my favourite restaurant Pinocchio’s and the marina where you can tickle flatfish and I wish we were back there, I don’t like London as much (in some ways).

  My mum is a professional single parent. I liked it better when she was on benefit cos she was always at home but Mum says she likes to work and at least she’s got a good job and makes some money. Not that we feel any richer, we still never seem to have any to spare. Mum’s always saying “You have to make hard choices if you’re a single parent.

  This is embarasing but I’m going to write it. When I was little I asked Mum where I came from (!!) and she said I came by accident. Then for quite a long time I used to say when I met people, “Hello I’m Alice, I came by accident.” They used to give me very funny looks and Mum told me perhaps I shouldn’t say that and I said why, isn’t it true? Mum never tells lies to me. She didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know what came by accident ment then. I think I thought an accident was some kind of car or train or something that brought me!!!

  Then I noticed that when people said accident it was usually something bad. Like a girl in my nursery class peed in her pants and the teacher said she’d had an accident. When I was staying with Gene (my grandma) once I knocked over a glass of orange juice that went on the table and dripped cold all over my legs and I was scared she’d be furious but she said, never mind it was an accident.

  Then one day me and my mum saw a crowd in the street and she said don’t look, there’s been an accident. I asked what she ment and she said someone’s been knocked down by a car. I started crying and she said what’s wrong, and I wouldn’t say for ages but then she made me, and I said, accidents are bad I don’t want to be an accident, and she hugged me hard and said there are different kinds and you’re the good kind. “You’re a happy accident.”

  Later when I knew more, I figgered out that accidents are what happen when you’re not expecting them and I said to Mum didn’t you expect me? And she said, well I certainly knew you were coming. And I said, so how was I an accident? She said, “because I didn’t plan you. I said didn’t you want me? Then I got scared of what she’d say. And she said no I didn’t, not at first. But when you were born and I held you I wanted you more than anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I said, you mean the best accident and she hugged me and larfed and said yes.

  After that I didn’t mind being an accident but I stopped telling people I was because Mum said it was private and now I go really red when I think I told people that.

  But lately I’ve found out it’s not so good to be any kind of an accident whatever my mum says. It’s mixed up with me being an accident that we lost Gene. That’s my grandma who liked me to call her by her first name because she said grandma made her feel old. At least that was part of it.

  I can’t hand this in. I’ll have to tear the pages out and that means pages drop out of the back. I wish Brandy (Miss Brand, our teacher) had asked us to write a made-up story because I love making up stories almost as much as I love drawing.

  It’s just so stupid, asking us to write our lives for homework. It’s not even a weekend!!! I remember enough things in my life to keep me writing for about a million hours. I don’t write fast because my grandma muddled me up about writing, trying to teach me cursive. Just telling about that would take half an hour.

  When I moaned about the homework, Brandy said she hadn’t ment we should write our whole life story. She just ment the main things, like what we look like and where we were born and about our homes and families and pets and stuff. I said all my pets died and I don’t know my family exept my mum. Miss Brand said what about that famous grandma of yours and I felt a pain inside as if I was going to cry and I said “I don’t have her any more.” Miss Brand said what Alice don’t tell me she died too, and I didn’t say anything but I wanted to say no she’s not dead, only to us. But I couldn’t write about that because it’s private. Mum says I should never write about private things for school and she thinks nearly everything that happens out of school is private.

  But I like the idea of writing about myself. This that I’ve written so far is for myself. When I’ve torn it out I’ll selotape it into an old notebook from my old school. I’m going to watch The Simpsons now and then start my homework again in my proper book.

  Later. The Simpsons was brilliant. I love Bart but my favourite is Lisa. I love her being so clever when Bart is so stupid (but he isn’t really, for example he saved his aunt from being murdered) and I love the long words she uses. Lisa I mean. I could write for hours about The Simpsons. Describing every single episode. It’s not just for kids. Mum keeps larfing and won’t tell me what the joke is especially when Homer and Marge are in bed.

  I don’t want to do Miss Brand’s homework, I want to go on writing private stuff. But Brandy will kill me so I have to. So I’ll tear these pages out and start again. But first I’ll write “special notebook private” on my old one. That’ll be for writing about my true private life.

  SCHOOL NOTEBOOK

  MY LIFE

  by Alice Williamson-Stone

  I was born in Brighton and on April 8th I will be ten. I don’t think I’m pretty but I have strait teeth and big eyes and my hair is nice but I wish Mum would let me have it cut (and have my ears perced) but she says I can’t till I’m SIXTEEN!! My mum is a solicitor. I have no brothers or sisters. I have two grandmas and one grandad. I may have another grandad too. I have some aunts and an uncle and cousins but I don’t see them exept once I met my Auntie Carla and my cousin James who’s a baby and sweet but boring when they came to visit us from Liverpool. I used to have a pair of minicher hamsters and a goldfish called Jason because he was golden like the golden fleece. The hamsters were called Itchy and Scratchy after the cat and mouse in The Simpsons. They all died. I cried most about Jason, and I haven’t had a pet since then. I had a Tamagochi cyberpet but that was yonks ago. I want another pet. I’d like a dog but I know it would be too hard to look after it and they cost too much to feed. But something small like another hamster or maybe a white rat. Rats are very soshable and like to stay in your pocket.

  In Brighton we lived in a flat on a main road. I never went outside by myself because it was dangerous. Gene my grandma said I was a battery child, that’s like chickens who are always kept indoors, but in London I’m a bit more free-range. We live in a house my grandma lent us. It’s bigger than the flat an
d it’s got a garden and it’s in a quiet street so I can ride my bike and play outside, and there are other kids, but not the ones I go to school with. But I still think of our flat in Brighton as home. That’s where my proper room is with most of my things in it including my bed and my hammock and my fairy doll and my big armchair where my stuffed animals live. All exept Benny my blue bear, I brought him with me of course. I wish we could go back there but we can’t because Mum works in London and it’s too far to commute. English is my second favourite subject after Art. I always get As in Art.

  That’s my life.

  B+. It’s good, Alice, and would have got an A if your punctuation had been better. I know, you get carried away, but presentation matters – try harder! And why are you doing this strange joined-up writing? Please PRINT. Spelling (not so bad this time) – copy 5 times each: pierced, miniature, sociable.

  My life? Well all I can think of that isn’t private. Talk about boring, but it’s what she asked for. I wrote it all in my grandma’s kind of writing, joined up and with loops for the b’s, h’s, g’s, j’s, k’s, q’s, y’s and l’s. Little f’s have two loops, top and bottom, they’re a tail-letter and a tall-letter. I can’t do the capital letters in Gene’s kind of writing exept the F’s and G’s. I practised F’s when she first showed me because they’re fun to write, it’s like drawing a fancy design, like this . Capital G’s are fun too, you can do two kinds or . I like best of course but it’s not very G-ish.

  I’ve been sent up to bed. Mum got fed up with me because I keep talking about the row she had with Gene so she said “Go to bed and read, I want to watch TV.” She watches TV alot. She used to read me bedtime stories but she stopped. She said because now I can read for myself but I think it’s because I complained because she got sleepy in the middle and her voice sort of went away and I had to keep nudging her. She got really hurt feelings and wouldn’t read to me any more even when she wasn’t sleepy.

  Gene used to read to me. She read really well because she’s an actress, she did different voices for all the caracters in the stories. She used to sing songs to me too when I went to stay with her in the country. She knows millions of songs with all the words. I’m really upset with Gene but Mum says even if you get angry with people you should try to remember the good things about them. Mum said that for when I’m angry with her, but I’m using it for Gene. Only it doesn’t work all the time cos the anger is too strong. Well it’s not all being angry, it’s mostly being sad because I miss her. Still who wouldn’t be angry with a grandma who has a row with your mum and then doesn’t see you any more.

  When I wrote that last bit I started crying so I stopped. I cry alot when I think about Gene so I think I’ll stop thinking about her.

  I was quite pleased with getting a B+, and I copied the spellings, which I don’t always. Only three, it’s a miracle, I usually get a dozen, maybe the Brandy medsin is working. She is SO STRICT AND PICKY banging on about presentation. Putting in quote marks and paragraphs is just so fiddly I can’t be bothered. After the lesson she kept me back and said “I want you to stop this silly show-off writing.”

  I said it’s called cursive. She said I know what it’s called but we don’t do cursive writing in British schools any more it’s too hard to learn. Gene told me she’d probably say that and what she means is it’s too hard to teach. Gene said that for hundreds of years kids learnt to do cursive and do good penmanship and they still do it in America but here now they just do joined-up print which is babyish and a cop-out.

  I said to Miss Brand “but I like writing cursive and Brandy said quite crossly “Well you can’t, unless you can do it properly it looks like a spider that got drunk on ink. Everyone larfed and I felt a bit hurt. It didn’t put me off though. I’m going to practise the capitals secretly. You can’t join-up Brandy’s kind of capitals. Gene said if you have to keep lifting your pen between letters you write much slower and that makes sense. I want to write fast because I’m going to write alot.

  At least Brandy didn’t make me copy my life story all out again. Nicola and Alexandra had to cos they got Cs. You have to if you get anything under a C+. But she said “Basicly it was good. You see you could write your life story.” My life story will be ten years long in April. Till now it’s only nine and a half years long. (It’s true I don’t remember the first three and only bits after that until I was about eight.)

  I’ve decided I’m going to write my ortobiography in here in cursive in my special notebook. First I’ll practise some cursive capitals. I’ve got them all written by Gene on a piece of paper with extra lines on it so the spider doesn’t look so drunk. F and G first and then I’ll do the others that aren’t so fancy but they’re still fancier than Miss Brand’s boring print ones.

  The only one you can’t join to the next letter is a P because it ends too high up.

  I’m going to draw pictures in here too, I’ve just thought of it, it will be an ilustrated ortobiography. I’ll start with a picture of Peony. She’s my child minder’s little girl so I see her every day after school. She’s only eight but she’s completely mad. She wears crazy clothes and hats with things stuck in them like the bottoms of old shoes and paper flowers and choclate rappers. She makes her mum buy her crazy clothes in jumble sales and she actully wears them outside like she cut two pairs of trowsers up and pinned the wrong legs together and she wears different shoes on each foot. Once she went to school in a mad outfit (she changed on the way behind a hedge in someone’s front garden!!) and they sent her home only she couldn’t go because they haven’t got a phone so her mum couldn’t come and get her so she wore all this funny gear all day, the other kids kept falling off their chairs larfing and the teacher was going bananas.

  There. That’s Peony in her odd legs and crazy hat and that silky blouse down to her knees. It’s good.

  I don’t want to write about when I was very small because I did babyish things, maybe I will later. So I’ll write about something interesting that I still think about and that’s Pierre-Luc.

  He was Mum’s boyfriend and he was French. He was very nice and I liked him and Mum liked him. He came around alot and he used to take us for meals to Pinocchio’s which was my favourite restaurant and it still is. We don’t eat out much in London. Now Mum’s working she’s often too tired to go out or cook and besides she is still saving money so we eat mainly beans on toast and salads and sometimes we phone a number and they bring you pizzas to the door. But they’re never as good as the ones we used to get in Pinocchio’s. My favourites are margeritas. That’s tomato and cheese. I’m not allowed to eat red meat because you can get mad cow disease. Every time I do something a bit silly Mum thinks I’ve got mad cow disease!! We’re practically vegetarians exept for chicken (sometimes) and fish but I hate fish. (Exept tuna.)

  Once when Pierre-Luc started coming around I asked Mum if he was my dad. She said NO and don’t say that to him. That was the first time I remember asking her why my dad didn’t live with us. She said “because he doesn’t love me.” I said why not, I love you, and she said you can’t order love. He just didn’t and he couldn’t help it. I said so why is he my dad, and she said, “You’ll understand better when you’re older.

  I was only about six then. I don’t know if I understand better now. Gene said people shouldn’t have babies if they aren’t a couple. If they don’t love each other and want to be together. When I told Mum that Gene said that, she didn’t say anything but I could tell she was furious. When I asked her why she was upset she said, “That means she thinks I shouldn’t of had you.” Next time I saw Gene I asked her if that was true, and she wouldn’t say so I nagged her to answer and she finally said I love you so I can’t unwish you, but still it’s not a good way to have a baby, you ought to be married first or at least have a partner.”

  I think about that alot. Especially since the Big Row. It’s part of why I’m on Mum’s side and against Gene. How can you like a person who thinks you shouldn’t of been born (even if she is your gra
ndma, I mean especially?)

  Anyway back to Pierre-Luc. They used to kiss alot but they used to fratch alot too. Fratch is Mum’s and my word for small quarrelling. I liked Pierre-Luc but I loved Mum much more so I was always on her side but I could see she was making him annoyed. I said don’t pick on Pierre-Luc or he won’t come around any more or do grown-up cuddling with you. Him being in the flat made me feel very safe.

  Because once when he wasn’t there we had a prowler. Mum went to draw the curtains on our french windows into the back garden and she saw him out there in the dark. He’d climed over the wall from the side street and he was just standing there looking in. Mum was so scared she screamed really loud and I got a bad fright and started to cry and ran and hid in my hammock. He jumped over the wall and ran away and Mum called the police but they never caught him and I didn’t feel safe after that unless Pierre-Luc was staying the night. I always made Mum close the curtains even in the daytime in case the prowler came to watch us, and we just put on the lights. When Gene visited she always put on a funny deep voice and said “Ah! Stijian gloom!” Or “Darkness at noon.” (I never found out what stijian means, Gene said she didn’t know either but it sounds really gloomy.) Then she used to pull back the curtains which Mum thought was cheeky because it wasn’t her flat, but I wasn’t scared when Gene was there. After I was about eight I stopped being so scared but by then it was a habit with Mum and we only had the curtains open when Gene came so we had stijian gloom all day.

  By that time Pierre-Luc had left for good. He never said goodbye. They had one last fratch and he said “You are always creeteesize me! Eef you feel like zat I weel leave and not come back.” When he did leave and didn’t come back I was angry with Mum and told her off. I said he was nice and he took us out and you made him go away. She said men have to respect me and I said he did respect you and she said no he didn’t, not enough. I said why not and she said that’s just how men are.