Full House, Caroline Clough [easy novels to read .txt] 📗

Bulldogs. Life with four big brothers had taught me to look after myself and when there was a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate at stake, no one was going to get in my way. There were tears and fingers of accusation pointed but I didn’t care, I had got the chocolate and eaten it before anything could be said. The ladies in their twin-sets were aghast, nice girls didn’t push and shove and fight like wild boys. Their daughters at my age had worn turquoise and peach chiffon dresses layered with frothy petticoats and tied at the waist with a satin princess bow. Sweet and pretty and demure, those girls were groomed to marry bank managers and solicitors just like their daddies.
The ladies had had enough and conspired against me to prevent further taking of booty. I was furthest away from the cushion when the music was stopped in musical bumps. I was out. I retired gracefully, I didn’t really care. The prize I most wanted to win was the Thorntons of Harrogate special selection box awarded to the person whose house held the most pennies. How I wanted to win that toffee, not because of the toffee but because of the acclaim, the recognition by the adoring public that yes, my family were good kind citizens who wanted to improve the lot of mankind, and could afford to be generous. I wanted to belong to the elite membership of winners. Every year I came to this party and every year the Todd family had won it, the final humiliation, as if they took me just to prove how superior in all ways they were. Yes, not only could their children outshine me in class, and on the hockey and athletics field, and play six different instruments between them, and win the best attendance prizes at Sunday school, but just to show how thoroughly good and Christian they were, they won the Barnardo’s house prize too. They weren’t even allowed to eat the toffee. My Mum and Dad couldn’t give a monkeys; they were my teeth to rot as I pleased.
Every year as the dreaded party got nearer I spent hours scratching around the house, looking under cupboards, down the back of the settee, and then the final desperation of rummaging in Dad’s trouser pockets. God wouldn’t mind, it wasn’t really stealing, it was for the poor orphans. I told myself that but I knew the truth; it was for me. I wanted to win that prize. They would treat me different then, all of them, and I wouldn’t feel so angry with Mum and Dad. Somehow it would make it all OK.
Just then there was a commotion at the door. It sounded as if the Queen had arrived. I could hear lots of cooing and aahing and “Doesn’t she looked gorgeous?” and “Isn’t she beautiful?” Into the room she sailed with Mrs O beaming and gushing in front like a court usher introducing the Queen of Sheba. It was her, my lady of the night, the lady that had brought the exotic into my dreams. And here she was, in the same room as me. I instinctively backed up to the wall, a flush rising to my face as I thrust my sticky hands deep into the voluminous pockets. Her name was Suzanne.
“With a Z!” her mother emphasised to the adoring crowd gathering around. Mrs O was her mother, a fact which shocked me at first, but when I studied her mother I could see that under the puffy excesses there had once been a strong and attractive face. Suzanne wore a cream trouser suit which showed her dark features to perfection, the heavy dark tresses of hair lay smooth and glossy against the pale silk. Her face with its high cheekbones and cupid bow mouth was made up like a film star. My mum’s half hearted dabs with compressed powder had never prepared me for something like this. I stared. She didn’t notice, she was busy charming the little ones, and the twin-set ladies were clucking round her to advise against picking up toddlers whose grubby fists still clung to bits of chocolate crispie cake.
I waited for her to see me. ME! Perhaps she was just getting these other people out of the way so that she could give me her full attention. She surely must have seen me. I smiled at her but she wasn’t looking. Then she did look and I smiled again, a huge knowing smile with open teeth and lips and everything out there for her to see just how I felt. I knew she felt the same too. Her eyes flipped casually over one as if I was no-one, no-one she knew or cared for. My smile baked onto my face with the heat from inside me. I couldn’t stop smiling because if I did I would scream. She was pretending not to know me? She didn’t love me? I couldn’t understand. Was it something that I had done? Something I hadn’t done? Maybe her mother had turned her against me?
Her mother was speaking. I leant on the wall and slid to the floor. I didn’t care anymore.
“Now children, if you would all like to sit on the floor, we will give out the prizes for the Barnado’s House Competition.” Mrs O beamed happily at everyone. She was in her element now, not only was she in control of all these good people, but also her darling daughter had appeared to bless the company with her presence. Mrs O’s house was certainly full.
I placed my hands tightly over my ears, letting my hair swing over my arms to hide them. I didn’t want to hear. There was clapping and cheers and as I looked up I saw Amanda Todd receiving a large blue tin embossed with silver writing. It was my tin of Thornton’s toffee, and handing it over with that smile was Suzanne. I was betrayed. My hands slipped from my ears.
“Finally, I would just like to say,” Mrs O continued in her peacock’s voice, “just how grateful the children at St Eugene’s are for all your efforts and …”
That was all I heard before a great gush of red hot anger pounded into my ears. St Eugene’s? St. Bloody Eugene’s? That was where my money was going to? Not to the starving children of Biafra, or the homeless beggars of Calcutta? I wanted to shout at Mrs O;-
That’s rubbish! I know Billy Braithwaite from St Eugene’s! He’s in my class at school and he’s never said “Thank you” for anything in his life! He’s bloody trouble and my Dad says he’ll end up in Borstal! And what’s more he smells and wets himself in class!
There was silence in the hall. Had I shouted it out aloud? I didn’t think so, but why were they all staring at me?
“Now, children,” Mrs O broke the silence, “if you would all like to make an orderly queue, Mrs Lancaster here will give you back your houses. And don’t worry, they all have a new sticker on the bottom to keep those precious pennies in! I look forward to seeing you all next year.” Mrs O, a smile now pasted firmly to her red lips, pointed to the turquoise cardigan sat in the corner with a stack of newly sealed houses. The good children quietly filtered past and collected their respective boxes.
“Why don’t you wait outside for us, dear?” Mrs Todd motioned to the open door and continued to scoop up her brood. I nodded, and pushing past the other children, held my hand out to the turquoise cardy who thrust my house into it. I walked to the door, my hands sweaty and sticking to the paper mache. By the door was a bin. As I walked past it I dropped the house into it, and wiped my hands on the faded blue of the dress.
“I won’t be needing that.” I said to nobody in particular, and pushed open the door into the sun of the rest of the day.
THE END


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Publication Date: 01-28-2010

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