Fortune Cookie

“She could come out any minute!”

That got her moving. She shot back over the wall like she was jet-propelled, with me scrabbling after. And then, guess what? I realised that I’d gone and left the tennis ball behind!

Cupcake said, “Well, but we couldn’t have taken it off him. It’s his toy!”

I agreed; it would have been too heartless. We perched on the upturned bucket and peered over, watching as he went scampering off up the garden, throwing the ball in the air with his mouth and chasing after it.

“So cute,” sighed Cupcake.

All puppies are cute. Much cuter than babies, I think, though of course that is only my opinion. But it was the first time Cupcake had ever properly met one, so naturally she thought he was special. She asked me what sort of breed he was. “Is he a pedigree?”

I said I didn’t know. “He could just be a mongrel.” I added that some people reckon mongrels are best. Cupcake shook her head.

“I think he’s a pedigree,” she said. She didn’t know any more than I did! She didn’t even know as much as I did. But it was obviously what she wanted to believe, so I didn’t argue with her.

Now that we knew the puppy was there, we started taking quick peeps over the wall before getting on with our tennis practice. My tennis practice. Cupcake seemed to have got more interested in watching the puppy than helping me prepare for Wimbledon.

If he was in the garden by himself, without the old woman, we’d call to him and he’d come rushing up, all happy, tail wagging and ready for a game. Even I wasn’t quite brave enough to climb over again, but we broke bits of stick off a nearby tree and threw them for him, and once we found an old burst football and lobbed that over, and he carried it off as proud as could be, shaking it from side to side.

Sometimes the old lady was out there, hanging washing on a clothes whizzy thing, or prodding about in the flower beds with a trowel. She never played with the puppy like we did. He tried so hard to make her! He used to run and fetch a toy and push it at her, or drop it by her side then back away with his bum in the air and his tail whirring in circles. I knew what he was saying. “Go on, missus! Throw it for us!”

But the old woman just ignored him. Either that or she shoved him out of the way. She really didn’t seem to like him very much. Quite often she’d shout at him.

“Just stop bothering me!”

One time she whacked him for digging up one of her flowers. Poor little boy! He didn’t know it was wrong. He was just trying to have fun. Another time we saw him in the garden by himself, tossing something small and bright into the air and catching it as it came down. Me and Cupcake were clapping and going “Yay!” and “Well done!” I suppose you could say we were encouraging him. Maybe we shouldn’t have, cos all of a sudden the old woman came bursting out of the back door and started screeching.

“You bad dog! Bad! Drop that! Stop it! Drop it this instant!”

At first the puppy thought it was a game, he thought she was playing with him at last, but then he started to cower, and his ears went back and his tail crept between his legs, and the old lady grabbed the small, bright thing he’d been playing with and gave him a sharp crack across his nose. Oh, he did yelp! We felt so sorry for him. In a doubtful voice, afterwards, Cupcake said, “I suppose he has to learn.” But you don’t teach children by hitting them, so why teach puppies that way? We hated the old woman for that.

“I told you she was horrible,” said Cupcake.

We still didn’t know what the puppy’s name was. The old woman never seemed to call him anything except “Bad dog”. We just called him Boy. I was the one who came up with the name Cookie. We were perched on our bucket, dangling a pair of old woollen tights over the wall for the puppy to play with. I’d tied a big knot in one of the legs, and the puppy was tugging and making little growly noises.

“Thinks he’s sooo clever,” crooned Cupcake. “Such a big grown-up boy!”

She was getting to be like one of those yucky, show-off mums who are for ever going on about how wonderful their kids are. I tried teasing her about it, but instead of laughing – cos it was funny, well, I thought it was – she just hunched a shoulder and went “Humph.” It wasn’t like Cupcake; she usually has a good sense of humour. I can almost always make her laugh. But she’d been a bit down just lately. The puppy was the only thing that seemed to bring a smile to her face.

I said, “Here! You play with him.” I thought it might cheer her up. She took one leg of the tights and obediently hung on to it, but not with very much enthusiasm. She’d suddenly gone all miserable and quiet. I did my best to make a game out of it. I said, “Grr!” and “Go for it!” and shook my head madly from side to side making growly noises, but the puppy could obviously sense there’d been a change of mood cos he dropped his knotted end and sat down instead to have a scratch.

I said, “Here, boy!” And then, “Know what?”

Cupcake said, “What?”

“We ought to call him Cookie.”

There was a silence. I said, “The dog in Joey’s book? He looks just like him!”

Cupcake sighed and said, “Mm… maybe.”

“He does!”

Joey had this book, Charlie Clark, all about a little boy called Charlie and his dog, Cookie. Charlie and Cookie got up to all kinds of mischief. The book was one of Joey’s favourites; almost as big a favourite as Man on the Moon. I don’t know how many times he must have read it, but it always had him chuckling. He loved the idea of a boy and his dog having adventures. Maybe it’s because he’d have liked to have adventures, same as all the tough little kids who lived in our block and were always getting into trouble for climbing on garage roofs or kicking footballs through windows or jamming the lifts by messing around with the buttons. Joey couldn’t do any of those things – but Charlie could! So could Cookie. Charlie and Cookie went everywhere together. And in spite of Cupcake and her “Mm… maybe,” our puppy looked just like Cookie’s twin. Brown and white and cheeky.

That was when I had my great idea – well, I thought it was a great idea. Why didn’t Cupcake ask her mum if they could have a dog?

“For Joey,” I said. “Joey would love it!”

Know what? All she did was grunt. Like, hmm.

“I’m thinking of Joey,” I said.

She didn’t say anything at all to that. I felt like shaking her. I said, “Well?”

“Well, what?” said Cupcake.

“Why not try asking her?”

“I’m not asking my mum if we can have a dog! She’s got enough to do, looking after Joey.”

“But it would make him so happy!” I said.

“How?” She suddenly turned on me. “How would it make him happy? He couldn’t play with it, he couldn’t take it out for walks, he c—”

“We’d take it out!”

“And that would make him happy?” She didn’t have to bite my head off. “How d’you know what’d make him happy? He’s not your brother!”

That really got to me. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about him!” I said.

She obviously felt a bit ashamed, then. She mumbled something about being sorry, but that it wasn’t like I was responsible for him. I said, “No, but I still don’t like it when he’s sad.”

She muttered, “I expect you’d be sad if you were in a wheelchair.”

If I was in a wheelchair I’d be so frustrated I would probably scream and smash things. But Joey was such a bright, sunny little boy! He’d always just seemed to accept that there were certain things he couldn’t do. Until I’d gone round the previous weekend I’d never known him to be grumpy. Cupcake had been riding round the garden on Joey’s tricycle singing her silly cupcake song, but for once he hadn’t shown any interest. Usually he demanded that I do “the bird poo one”. I did offer. I said, “Come on! Let’s do it together… you get on the bike and I’ll push you, and we’ll both sing. Fudge keeps a-falling on my head… ”

But he wouldn’t. I grabbed his hand and tried to coax him, but he just snatched his hand away and shouted, “Don’t wanna!” I was really upset. Now Cupcake was upsetting me as well!

I said, “Look, I’m just saying… if he had a dog he mightn’t mind so much about—”

“What?” she said. “About what?”

“About…” I faltered. She’d sounded really fierce. I wasn’t used to Cupcake sounding fierce. “Being in a wheelchair?” I whispered.

Cupcake’s face had gone bright red. “Why don’t you just shut up?” She hissed it at me. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

What had I done to deserve that? She was in a really weird mood. I hated to quarrel with her, but you can’t just let yourself be trampled on. I said, “OK, if that’s the way you want it. Sorry I bothered.” And then I walked off, swishing my tennis racquet and leaving her there to sulk.

It was the first time me and Cupcake had ever seriously fallen out. And I still didn’t know what it was I had done to upset her!

In school next day we didn’t seem to be talking. Instead of sitting next to each other like we usually did, we both deliberately chose seats next to other people. Everybody noticed. At lunch time we even ended up at different tables. Livy said, “What’s going on?”

I said, “Nothing. Why?”

“Just asking,” said Livy.

I gave her this stony glare, and she pulled a face and said, “Well, pardon me for breathing!” and began to talk to someone else.

Me and Cupcake caught each other’s eye and quickly looked away again. I think we both felt a bit foolish. And upset, too. I can always tell when Cupcake is upset. She droops, and sags, and goes very quiet. I tend to do the exact opposite. I get all busy and LOUD, and charge about yelling and making jokes in the hope that no one will notice. I did a lot of charging about and yelling that particular day. In art, I charged about so much I managed to upset the fruit and flower arrangement we were supposed to be painting and skidded halfway across the studio on a bunch of grapes. Mrs Rae, who is normally very relaxed, threatened to send me out if I didn’t control myself.

“What’s the matter with you, Danielle? You’re completely hyperactive!”

Next day, it was like nothing had ever happened. Like both of us had decided the time had come to make up. We didn’t actually say anything, but Cupcake came and sat next to me, same as usual, and asked me how I’d got on with the French translation we’d been given for homework. When I said that I hadn’t got beyond the first few words, she said, “D’you want to borrow mine?” and slid her book across the desk for me to look at. It was like a sort of peace offering. Like in her own way she was saying sorry for having been so mean and grouchy. It immediately made me feel that I wanted to say sorry, too, so I thanked her and promised “I won’t actually copy.”

Cupcake said, “You can if you want. I don’t mind.” Which was really generous of her, since she nearly always gets an A in French, whereas I am totally hopeless and usually get a big red D, plus rude comments along the lines of “Danielle, I really would appreciate it if you made a bit of an effort to stay awake when I am teaching you.” But anyway I didn’t totally copy as it might have got us into trouble. I am used to being in trouble, but it wouldn’t have been fair on Cupcake.

After that, we were back to normal. I still had this feeling that Cupcake was a bit down, but sometimes with her it is hard to tell as she is naturally a quiet sort of person. She’s also quite secretive. I tend to blurt everything out, whereas Cupcake keeps things to herself. Still, I didn’t want to upset her again, so I did my best to pretend I hadn’t noticed. I thought if I talked loudly enough it would act as a sort of cover and nobody else would notice, either, which I don’t think they did. They are used to me being noisy and Cupcake being quiet.

Saturday morning I went round to her place, same as always. We liked to give Joey a bit of time before we went off to mooch round the shops or practise my tennis. He was really on form that morning! All bright and bubbly and wanting to do things. We took him into the garden and he insisted on trying to get on his tricycle without any help from me or Cupcake. Unfortunately he couldn’t quite manage it, and toppled over on to the grass. We rushed to pick him up, but he pushed us away, going, “I can do it, I can do it!”

It is very difficult to just stand by and watch, but we knew we had to let him. He almost made it. Slowly he pulled himself back on to his feet, muttering, “Now I fall down, now I get up. Now I fall down… now I get up!” And then, at last, he let us help him.

We both hugged him, which was something we wouldn’t have dared do a week ago. He’d been so angry the previous Saturday he’d probably have punched us. Now he was all cheeky and grinning and demanding the bird poo song as we pulled him round the garden on his bike.

We played for about an hour, until it was time for Joey to rest. I said to Cupcake, “Let’s go and see if Cookie’s there!”

He was, but so was the old woman, so we didn’t like to call to him. We just perched on our bucket and watched for a while as he pottered about the garden. His legs were still rubbery, and while he was digging in a bit of old earth, one of them suddenly gave way and he sat down with a thump, looking quite surprised. I immediately thought of Joey; his legs kept giving way. It was what had happened that morning, when he’d tried to get on his bike. Now I fall down, now I get up.

Impulsively, as we stepped off the bucket, I said, “Joey seems so much happier! D’you think he’s getting better?”

Cupcake didn’t say anything. She just frowned, and dug the tip of her trainer into a bit of soft earth at the bottom of the wall.

“I mean… he almost managed to get on his bike by himself!”

In this small, tight voice Cupcake said, “This time last year he could get on his bike by himself.”

“Well… y-yes. But he’s better than he has been!”

“Last year,” said Cupcake, “he could still ride round the garden. When we first came here, he could still walk.”

I fell silent, chewing on my lip. I could remember Joey walking. He used to come with Mrs Costello to pick Cupcake up from school.

“He just gets worse all the time,” she cried. “He’s not ever going to get better!”

And then she burst into tears and I didn’t know what to say. I felt that I should do something, like put my arms round her or something, but I just stood there, staring at the ground and twiddling my tennis racquet.

After a bit I managed to mumble that I was sorry.

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” Cupcake wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “You weren’t to know.”

But I should have done! I’d watched Joey grow weaker and weaker and I’d never once asked any questions. I’d tried telling myself it was because of not liking to think about people being ill, but maybe it was simply because I was scared of what the answer might be. The truth is, I hadn’t really wanted to know.

“I should have told you,” said Cupcake. She said that she had always known, right from the beginning. Her mum had never kept any secrets from her. “I’m sorry! It’s just – ” the tears came welling up again – “I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it!”

I pulled a crumpled tissue from my pocket and silently handed it to her. Then I patted her on the back a few times, like I’d seen people do in movies when they were trying to comfort someone. I felt really ashamed of being so useless. I’m not usually so useless! If Cupcake had fallen off a cliff I would be the first one scrambling down to save her. If she were to fall into the canal I would dive straight in after her, never mind that I can’t swim. If she got sucked into a bog I would tear off the branch of a nearby tree and push it out to her, and wouldn’t let go no matter how close I came to being sucked in with her. But now, because she was crying, I couldn’t think of a single thing to do except just stand helplessly by and watch.

After a while she dried her eyes and blew her nose and said again that she was sorry.

“Want to play some tennis?” I asked.

We played for a bit, but not for very long. It suddenly seemed kind of pointless, bashing tennis balls against a wall when Cupcake was so sad. We didn’t go and look round the shops, either; I didn’t even suggest it.

“Think I’ll go home now,” said Cupcake.

She didn’t ask me to go with her, but I understood.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

Cupcake just nodded, and ran off.

CHAPTER THREE

Mum was surprised to see me back so soon.

“I thought you were out there training for Wimbledon?”

It was her idea of a joke. Danielle training for Wimbledon, ha ha! Mum always treats my ambitions as a joke, it doesn’t matter what they are. She thinks my present ambition, to be a TV celeb, is the biggest joke ever. She says, “Surely celebs have to do something?”

I will do something! It’s just I haven’t yet decided what.

Rather sternly I said, “Cupcake had to go home.”

“Oh. Well! In that case, if you’re at a loose end,” said Mum, “maybe you could entertain Rosie.”

I didn’t want to entertain Rosie.

“I wish you would,” said Mum. “She’s feeling a bit sorry for herself.”

Just because she had the sniffles. Not even a proper cold! And there was poor little Joey, stuck in a wheelchair and still managing to laugh.

“Go on,” said Mum. “Do something nice for once!”

I said, “I don’t feel like it.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Cupcake said Joey isn’t going to get any better!” I blurted out. “She said he’s only going to get worse!”

“Oh.” Mum stopped what she was doing, which was chopping stuff for dinner. She wiped her hands on her apron and held them out to me. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry!”

I used to have lots of cuddles with Mum when I was little, until Rosie came along. Not that I cared. I was too old for all that kind of stuff in any case. But just now and then, like when she isn’t around, we have a bit of a secret snuggle. It can be quite a comfort.

“Is that why you’re back early?” said Mum.

I nodded, with my head pressed into the bib of her apron, which smelt for some reason of oranges. Now I always think of oranges when I think of Joey. I expect I always will.

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