Fizzypop Read online

  I groaned. That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. That just got her going even more. She kept at it all the rest of the day. All through the lunch hour, all through the afternoon break, all the way home. It’s funny how some people can’t ever let a subject drop.

  I wondered, as we all peeled off in our different directions, what Mum would say if I told her I wanted to do modelling. Not that I did, I am just like totally the wrong shape, being sort of… square, I suppose is the word. But I thought I would put it to her, just out of interest. See if she reacted the same way as Jem’s mum. If she did, then maybe it would make Jem feel a bit better and not so down on poor Mrs McClusky. It was really mean of her to call her mum fat!

  I started to yell “Mu-u-um” as soon as I let myself in, but then I saw that the door of the front room was closed which meant Mum had someone in there so I went through to the kitchen to find that Dad was home. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Angel, eating pizza. Well, Dad was eating pizza; Angel was nibbling on a lettuce leaf. I was glad he was there as there was something I’d been meaning to ask him. It was a pity about Angel, but as she lives in the same house it is not always easy to avoid her.

  “Dad,” I said.

  Dad said, “Mm?”

  “Can you tell me something?”

  “Don’t know till you ask.”

  “If you were using an iron,” I said, “and all of a sudden there was a power s—”

  “Not again!” shouted Angel. “Don’t you ever give up?”

  She looked like she might be going to turn violent.

  “Well, all right, then,” I said. “What about the garden shed? You don’t th—”

  Angel screamed. A short, sharp, mad sort of scream.

  “Do you mind?” I said. “I’m trying to talk.”

  “Yes, and I’m trying to relax,” said Dad. “Do I have to remind you both that I was out of the house by five thirty this morning? I’ve had a hard day, I can do without you two going at each other.”

  There was a pause.

  “I’ve had a hard day,” I said. “We had double maths after lunch.”

  “Shut up,” said Angel.

  “Shut up yourself!”

  “No, you shut up!”

  Dad banged on the table. Tom, who had silently come in and helped himself to a slice of pizza, went silently back out. At the door he bumped into Mum, on her way in.

  “What’s going on?” said Mum. “What’s with all the noise?”

  “They’re at it again,” said Tom.

  “For goodness’ sake!” Mum pulled out a chair and sat down next to Dad. “If you have to shout, go and do it somewhere else. Not down our ears!”

  Very dignified, cos I wasn’t going to lower myself to Angel’s level, I said, “Pardon me, but I was just trying to talk.”

  “Just trying to make excuses! Drivelling on about power surges. Honestly,” said Angel, “I sometimes can’t believe I’m related to it. You didn’t secretly adopt it or something, did you?”

  “Not as far as I can recall,” said Mum.

  “It wouldn’t worry me,” I said. “Jem’s adopted. She says it makes you special. But I think if I was,” I said, “I’d want to find out who my birth mother was. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose I might, at some stage,” agreed Mum.

  “Jem says she’s not interested.” Well, that’s what she’d said in her essay. She might feel differently now that her life had been blighted. “She says she wouldn’t want her mum and dad thinking she didn’t love them.”

  “In that case,” said Mum, “don’t you go putting ideas in her head.”

  “Me?” I said.

  “Yes, you.”

  “I wouldn’t!”

  “Well, make sure you don’t.”

  I munched for a bit on a slice of pizza.

  “Jem wants to join a model agency,” I said. “She’s decided she wants to model clothes for catalogues and earn pots of money. Would you let one of us do that? If we wanted to? Jem’s mum won’t let her. Jem’s so upset.”

  “I wouldn’t mind joining a model agency,” said Angel.

  “Oh, no!” Mum was very firm about it. “We’re having none of that, young woman! You’re already quite obsessed enough with your weight as it is.”

  “So you mean you wouldn’t let us?” I said. “Not even me? I’m not obsessed!”

  “Neither of you,” said Mum.

  “But why not? I don’t understand why not!”

  “Because apart from anything else, it would distract from your school work.”

  “And who would want you, anyway?” said Angel.

  I said, “Somebody might.”

  Angel tossed her head. She likes doing that as it makes her hair swish. I guess she thinks it will attract boys.

  “You have to be joking,” she said. “What would you model? Boxing gloves?”

  Dad banged again on the table. “Enough!” he said. “I have had enough. If you can’t manage to be civilised with each other—”

  I said, “I’m civilised. She was the one being rude.”

  Angel opened her mouth, then caught Dad’s eye and closed it again. Dad doesn’t very often get ratty, but when he does it’s best not to try his patience.

  “I’m going up to my room,” I said, grabbing a slice of pizza.

  “Good,” said Angel. “Give us all a break.”

  I hope Dad told her off. If he didn’t, he so should! She is the rudest person on earth.

  Next morning, on the way to school, I told Jem about Mum saying how she wouldn’t let either me or Angel do modelling.

  “So you see it’s not just your mum,” I said. “It’s mine, as well.”

  I’d hoped Jem would find this a comfort and stop raging on about her mum being prejudiced against thin people, but all it did was start her off all over again.

  “Specially chosen,” she said. “Huh! They probably just took what they could get. Here’s a baby nobody wants, have this one!”

  “What makes you think nobody wanted you?” said Skye.

  “Wouldn’t have been up for adoption otherwise, would I?”

  “Doesn’t mean nobody wanted you.”

  “Means my real mum didn’t.”

  I said, “Your real mum? I thought you s—”

  “My birth mum!”

  “Well, but you don’t actually know,” I said. “You don’t know anything about her. Just cos she had you adopted doesn’t necessarily mean she didn’t want you.”

  Jem looked at me, doubtfully.

  “She could have been forced into it. You just don’t know.”

  Jem said, “Mm… maybe.”

  “Anything could have happened! They could have come and torn you away from her, and she’d be like all screaming and crying… don’t take my baby! Don’t let them take my baby!”

  I clutched, dramatically, at an imaginary bundle. A woman passing by gave me a very odd stare.

  “They do these things,” I said. Jem’s eyes had gone like saucers. “They’re always snatching people’s babies!”

  “What she means,” said Skye, “is they might have thought she couldn’t cope.”

  “My mum couldn’t cope?”

  “Yes, like if she was a dr—” Skye stopped.

  “Like if she was what?” said Jem.

  “Oh!” Skye waved a hand. “You know… like if she was still at school, or something.”

  Jem looked at her, uncertainly. I went rushing in to the rescue. “She wouldn’t have wanted to give you up. She probably loved you to bits! She could be wondering even now where you are and what you’re doing… praying that you’re all right. Weeping on your birthday… ”

  Jem put a finger in her mouth and chewed, hesitantly, at a fingernail. Even Skye seemed moved by the tragic picture I was painting. I was moved myself. I could see it all so clearly! A pale young woman, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled desperately to hold on to her baby. Omigod, it was heart-rending!

 
Jem took her finger out of her mouth. “Stop it,” she said. “I can’t bear it!”

  “It’s only a scenario,” said Skye. She tends to use these sort of words. “We don’t know that it’s actually what happened.”

  “But it could be,” choked Jem. “My mum, she could be out there, worrying about me!” And she stuffed her finger back in her mouth and began nibbling, furiously, like a rabbit.

  “If it bothers you that much,” I said, “maybe—”

  “What, what?” spluttered Jem.

  “Maybe you should see if you can find her?”

  Chapter Four

  I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t do it on purpose! The words just slipped out, as words do; you can’t always control them. I find this happens quite a lot. Mum says it is what comes of being over-eager and not stopping to think before I speak. But I think and speak at the same time! It is just the way I am made, I have these very quick reactions.

  Jem had taken her finger back out of her mouth and come to a full stop in the middle of the street. She was looking at me, searchingly.

  “You really think that’s what I ought to do? Try and trace my real mum?”

  “Your birth mum.” Mrs McClusky was her real mum.

  “You really think I should?” said Jem.

  “Well… only if it’s what you feel.” I wasn’t going to push her, cos that would be wrong.

  “I don’t know!” wailed Jem.

  We were nearly at the school gates.

  “Think about it,” said Skye. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “I’ve decided.” Jem hissed it at us as we went into the playground at break. “I’m going to do it!”

  “Are you sure?” said Skye. She sounded a bit anxious, though I couldn’t think why. It seemed to me anyone that had been adopted would want to find their birth mother. It wasn’t anything to do with not loving their real mum, it was just ordinary, natural, human curiosity. Well, that’s what I would have thought. But Skye is a very cautious sort of person; she doesn’t believe in rushing headlong into things. She likes to weigh them up and make mental lists like For and Against. Me and Jem can’t be bothered with all that; we tend to go more on impulse.

  “It’s a big decision,” said Skye.

  “I know.” Jem said it very solemnly. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning.” All through French, all through history… she’d been told off twice for not paying attention. “The only thing is…” She hesitated. “Where do I start?”

  “Ask your mum?” said Skye.

  “I can’t ask Mum! I know I’m like totally furious with her, but she might think I was doing it to pay her back, kind of thing. I wouldn’t want her thinking that! Cos honestly, I’m not.”

  Jem said it earnestly. I agreed. “You’re doing it cos you want to know. It’s your right.”

  “How about asking your dad?” said Skye.

  Jem made a scoffing sound. “No use asking him. He’d just say, ask your mum. Then he’d go and tell her, and she’d get all hurt and stuff.”

  I was glad Jem didn’t want her mum to be hurt. But all the same, it was her right. There had to be some way she could find out.

  “There’s got to be records,” I said.

  “But where?”

  We both turned, instinctively, to Skye. She is a mine of information about all sorts of things, like if you want to know the capital of Peru or how far away the sun is from the earth. But Skye shrugged her shoulders and said she didn’t know.

  “In some government office, maybe?”

  I made a face. That wasn’t any good. Government offices wouldn’t tell you anything; specially not if you were only eleven years old. There’d be bound to be some kind of law against it.

  “P’raps when you were adopted,” I said, “there’d have been papers or something?” I was a bit vague about what kind of papers, but it seems to me there are papers for pretty well everything. Dad always complains that he is drowning in them. He says, “Papers for this, papers for that… it’s a wonder there are any trees left standing.”

  “You could always try looking,” I said.

  “I could.” Jem brightened. “I know where they’d be… in Mum and Dad’s desk. They keep everything in there, all locked away. The key’s in their dressing-table drawer. I can easily get it. It’s just a question of waiting for the right moment.”

  “You mean like when your mum and dad aren’t there.” Skye had that look she sometimes gets, with her mouth all pursed, like she’s sucking on lemons. “This is starting to sound a bit off, if you ask me. It’s like you’re spying on them.”

  I said, “She’s not spying on them! She’s just trying to find out something she’s got every right to know, only she doesn’t want to hurt her mum.”

  “I wouldn’t read anything that’s private,” said Jem. “I’m only looking for stuff that’s about me.”

  Skye’s lips were still pursed. She can be so exasperating!

  “If you won’t even let her look,” I said, “how is she supposed to find out?”

  “I’m not sure finding out is such a good idea,” said Skye.

  “But it’s her right!”

  “It’s my right,” said Jem.

  “It’s all very well keeping on saying that, but suppose when you find out you wish you hadn’t?”

  Jem scrunched her face into a frown. “Why would I wish that?”

  “You might find something you don’t like! People do,” said Skye. “They have these fantasies their mums are going to be celebs, or royalty, or something, and then they turn out to be… I don’t know! Something not very nice.”

  I said, “Some people find their mums are celebs. Or their dads,” I added.

  In wondering tones, Jem said, “I never thought about my dad.”

  “You can think about him later,” I told her. “The important thing is to find your mum.”

  “You’re right!” She nodded. “I’ll find her first, then I can ask her about my dad.”

  I said, “Yes, cos she’ll be able to tell you who he was.”

  “Maybe,” said Skye.

  “Maybe not.”

  We both rounded on her. “Don’t be so negative!” I said.

  “It’s not going to stop me,” said Jem. “I’m still going to do it, I don’t care what you say. I want to find out!”

  Jem and Skye were waiting for me on the corner next morning. Eagerly, I went racing up to them.

  “What happened? Did you find anything?”

  “Haven’t been able to look yet,” said Jem.

  “Give her a chance!” Skye biffed me with her school bag. “It’s not easy, being a spy. You can’t just go blundering into things.”

  “Mum and Dad are always there,” explained Jem.

  My mum and dad are always there, but I felt sure I could creep into their bedroom without them knowing. Well, I had done! On lots of occasions. Searching for Christmas presents on top of the wardrobe…

  “It’s all right for you,” said Jem. “You don’t live in a flat.”

  That was true. I could see that being all on one floor might make things a bit difficult. In a house you can disappear upstairs and nobody knows which room you’re in, but Jem’s place is quite small and her mum and dad’s bedroom is right next door to the sitting room.

  “I’ll do it as soon as I can,” said Jem.

  I said, “That’s OK. I won’t ask you again until… this time next week!”

  “Like we believe that?” said Skye. “Come on, you two! Get a move on.”

  Skye went power-walking off, leaving me and Jem to trail behind.

  “I’ll do it before next week,” said Jem. “I promise!”

  I pointed out that she wasn’t doing it for me. “It’s your birth mum. You’re the one that needs to know!”

  Every morning after that I looked at her, hopefully, but didn’t actually say anything. It took a lot of self-control. I couldn’t help this sneaking feeling that if a person really, seriously wanted to do som
ething, they would find a way of doing it. I would! But maybe that is just me.

  The weekend came and went. So did Monday. On Tuesday when I gave my hopeful look Jem said, “I nearly went and blew it! Dad was having a bath and Mum was in the kitchen so I took a chance and guess what? Mum came into the bedroom and found me there!”

  I said, “Wow.”

  “You can say wow,” said Skye. “You weren’t the one being caught red-handed!”

  I looked anxiously at Jem. “Were you really?”

  “Not quite,” said Jem, “but it was a nasty moment.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told Mum I was looking for Titch.”

  Titch is her hamster. I nodded. “That was quick thinking.”

  “Spies have to be quick,” said Skye.

  “Shut up about spies! She’s not spying.”

  “I’m beginning to feel like I am,” said Jem. “But I’m not giving up!”

  That was the day Miss Rolfe announced that Jem’s essay on Beginnings had been chosen for Speech Day. I could tell from the way Jem’s cheeks fired up that she was pleased and proud, but also a bit embarrassed.

  “All that yucky stuff,” she wailed later, to me and Skye.

  “People like yucky stuff,” said Skye.

  “I know, but it doesn’t feel right… not when I’m planning to go through Mum and Dad’s private papers behind their back!”

  “In that case maybe you shouldn’t be doing it.” Skye looked hard at Jem.

  “What? You mean…” Jem paused, uncertain. “Reading out my essay?”

  “No! Going through your mum and dad’s stuff.”

  “But I need to know!”

  “It’s her right,” I said.

  “It may be her right, but if it’s going to make her feel bad… why don’t you just talk to them?”

  “I can’t!” Jem shook her head. “You know I can’t!”

  “You’re still cross with your mum,” I said. She wasn’t in quite such a sulk as she had been, though every now and again she would remember that she had a grievance and start going on about being misunderstood and her life being blighted, so I could see it probably wasn’t a good time for her to start asking questions.