Diary of a Lottery Winner's Daughter Page 6

  The room had the ability (like one of the Dementors in Harry Potter) of sucking all the hope and joy out of a person. Spencer shivered. He obviously felt it too, so I knew I wasn’t being weird.

  ‘Let’s find the other one,’ he said cheerfully, for my benefit, though I could tell, like me, he was dying to get out of there.

  At the end of the corridor there was a smaller archway and a couple of steps down.

  ‘Looks like we’re in the servants’ quarters,’ Spencer commented.

  ‘I thought servants always slept in the attic,’ I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. Not that it mattered, I kept telling myself. I’d sleep in the cupboard under the stairs if it meant I had it to myself. And besides, if the next one was as bad as the last, I’d sleep in the other attic room.

  Spencer stopped at the door, as if he already thought of it as my room, and let me go in first. I stepped inside and looked around.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Spencer, peering over my shoulder,’ looks like you’ll be in the attic with me, then.’

  I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath until it came out in a big sigh.

  ‘What do mean? It’s absolutely perfect,’ I eventually managed to say.

  I was still taking it all in. I suppose Spencer thought I wouldn’t like it because it was smaller than all the other rooms. But that was one of the things I liked about it. It had a bay window overlooking the garden which let in plenty of light, and the thing that I couldn’t take my eyes off was the wall between the bay window and the little window at the back of the room. The whole wall was covered with bookshelves. Floor to ceiling bookshelves. I mentally put all my books in place and reckoned they’d take up about two of the twelve shelves.

  On the opposite wall was a tiny fireplace. There was wallpaper on that wall but it was lovely. I could definitely live with it. It was pale blue with tiny sprigs of flowers. Maybe not what I would have chosen myself, but it was growing on me already. Mind you, I think that if there had been a hole in the roof I would have told myself I could live with it, because I had fallen head over heels in love.

  ‘Whatever floats your boat,’ said Spencer. I was just grateful that he hadn’t fallen in love with it too. I was pretty sure that Chelsea wouldn’t want it.

  I ran my hand over the polished wood of the shelves. It was funny really. Only the other day I’d been wishing I had somewhere to put all my books.

  And that’s when it hit me. Because a bookcase wasn’t the only thing I’d wished for. In fact, thinking about it, everything I’d wished for, when Spencer found the card from the arcade machine under my pillow at the caravan site, had so far come true.

  ‘Spencer?’ I said. ‘Do you remember on holiday when I made those wishes? I wished we could afford a better holiday, which we definitely can now, even if we haven’t been on one yet. And I wished I had a room of my own and that thing about you not being picked on at school for being the cleverest. Well, now you aren’t because you’re at a new school, aren’t you? And now here are the bookshelves I wished for on the way back from our first shopping trip.’

  Spencer was looking at me and his eyes were huge. ‘Oh my God! Gypsy Ginny is making your dreams come true!’

  And then he grinned and made spooky music noises and fell over laughing.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, please wish away all my spots and please wish that Emma Lilywhite lurves me!’ he said.

  I kicked him. Not hard, just enough to make me feel better. I could feel myself blushing. I really must get a grip. If Spencer tells Chelsea what I’d said about the wishes, I might as well be dead.

  ‘Who’s Emma Lilywhite?’ I demanded.

  Now it was his turn to blush. ‘No one,’ he mumbled. No doubt she was the hottest girl at his new school. I looked at Spencer with his tufty hair and glasses and pimples and knew that no girl was going to fancy him for a few years yet. I wish someone would see past the geeky exterior and appreciate him for what he is.

  God, I’m doing it again! Making random wishes! I really ought to be more careful. No, get a grip - there is no way my wishes are being granted.

  Anyway, Spencer and I were staring at each other and there was an unspoken agreement that he wouldn’t mention my crazy wish thing if I never mentioned Emma Lilywhite again.

  ‘Let’s go and find the others. We haven’t seen the kitchen yet,’ he said.

  I didn’t want to leave ‘my’ room and I knew I would die if Mum and Dad didn’t buy this house. As if Spencer could read my mind he said,’ All we have to do is convince Mum and Dad to buy this house.’

  ‘Chelsea will go mad,’ I said. ‘Seriously mental.’

  Just then, the door to the back of the house opened and Chelsea came out into the hall.

  ‘Don’t say we like it until I’ve eaten my lunch,’ whispered Spencer. ‘I don’t want indigestion.’

  ‘Lunch is ready, children,’ Chelsea called, looking scornfully up the stairs at us.

  ‘Oooh, hark at Nursey!’ said Spencer, swinging his leg over the polished banister and sliding down the last bit. Luckily he managed to stop himself before he hit the ornately carved post at the bottom.

  We followed Chelsea down a stone passage into the kitchen. It wasn’t too bad as kitchens go. Whoever had cleared the house had left behind the biggest pieces of furniture. One of the walls was taken up with a built-in dresser and there was a huge Aga in the old fireplace. I could see why Mum was smiling. The big pine table in the middle had also been left, although there were no chairs to sit on. Someone, probably Dad, had found an assortment of packing cases and crates which he had overturned so we didn’t have to stand up to eat our lunch. Spencer and I were still in a silly, giggly mood which just seemed to annoy Chelsea.

  ‘God, look at this place,’ she said, somehow encompassing not only the kitchen but the whole house in her disapproving look. ‘What’s the point in buying a place where you’d have to rip everything out and start again? At least with the other house we can move straight in and won’t have to do anything.’

  ‘Which bedroom did you like?’ I asked her to get her off the subject of the other house.

  ‘God, I don’t know, I didn’t look. What’s the point? We won’t be buying this heap.’

  Mum brought out a flask full of coffee and some mugs. She was bustling round the kitchen like she already owned it.

  We munched our sandwiches in silence for a bit. Chelsea had found the estate agent’s details about the house and was rifling through them.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she said, pointing at the top of the first page. ‘This house isn’t even worth a million quid! What’s the point of being a millionaire if you can’t live in a million pound property?’

  It was only five thousand pounds short of a million, I noticed, reading the price upside down. But then the house she was so keen on was selling for £2. 2 million.

  That started Dad off on an explanation about ‘capital’ and ‘interest rates’ which is when I lost interest. I picked up my tuna sandwich and wandered outside. The sun was still out so I sat down on the step outside the kitchen door. There was a sort of cobbled courtyard with a load of outbuildings that I guessed were for storing coal in the old days. One of them might even be an outside loo. I smiled to myself when I thought what Chelsea would have to say about that.

  One of the doors was rotten at the bottom and there was a hole. As I nibbled my sandwich, thinking that I wasn’t really that hungry, I caught a movement behind the rotting door. I froze. I was tempted to scream because I was convinced it was a rat, but I didn’t want to draw attention to it. It would only give Chelsea more ammunition in her fight against the house. Then a head popped out of the hole, followed by a big furry body, and I had to laugh because I was so relieved. It was only a cat. It sat down carefully on the cobbles and curled its tail neatly round its feet. We observed each other. It was a lovely cat - white and long-haired with green eyes. The tip of its tail and ears were ginger.

  Very carefully, I extend
ed my hand and made kissing noises. The cat blinked, then trotted up to me. It stopped about half a metre away and I could see it was poised to run if I turned out to be scary. But it lifted its nose up and I realised it had caught the smell of my tuna sandwich. I peeled the bread apart and threw it a bit of fish. I threw it another piece, a bit closer this time, and after the third piece the cat was happily polishing off the rest of the sandwich out of my hand. When it was satisfied that it had licked every scrap of tuna and butter off the slices of bread, it had a quick wash then rubbed itself against my legs. I decided it was too dainty to be a male cat and I wondered what she was called and which house she lived in. I was busy tickling her under her chin when there was an eruption from the kitchen behind me - ‘Nooo! NO!’ followed by a kind of animal screech. The cat was gone before I’d jumped up and stuck my head in the door to see what was going on. I just caught a glimpse of Chelsea as she stormed out through the opposite door.

  When I looked at Spencer he grinned at me and did a double thumbs-up.’Mum and Dad have already bought the house,’ he said.

  I ran over and gave Mum a huge hug.’You’ve bought it?’ I yelled. ‘You’ve actually bought it?’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see somebody’s pleased,’ she said wearily. ‘Chelsea wasn’t exactly over the moon.’

  ‘It’s four against one,’ said Spencer philosophically,’ so she’ll just have to get over it.’

  I wish I had his optimism. Chelsea doesn’t have a very good track record in getting over major things. And believe me, she’s going to see this as major.

  Mum explained that she’d fallen in love with the house the first time she saw it (which was last week), but they’d had to move fast and buy it before they could show it to us because there were loads of developers after it, wanting to turn it into flats, and Mum couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  Eventually Spencer and I wandered out the front door. I was half expecting to see Chelsea sulking in the back of the car and I was going to persuade her to come and explore the garden with us. But there was no sign of her and I supposed she’d either gone shopping or caught the bus home. Mum would be cross because she doesn’t like us going off without telling her where we’re going.

  Spencer and I made our way round the back and had a good look at the garden. Beyond the yard outside the kitchen was a bit of garden which had obviously been some sort of kitchen garden, although it’s hopelessly overgrown now. There were paths leading between raised beds with a high wall on one side, then there were some greenhouses and some steps down to a lawn. On the right was a big hedge with a gap halfway down it and, when we went through, we found ourselves in an orchard with a summer house tucked away in the corner.

  ‘Not too shabby,’ said Spencer, although actually it was and the grass hadn’t seen a mower all summer. There were some nice apples on the trees though and we were both munching on one as we made our way back to the house. I kept a good look out but I didn’t see the cat again. It must have gone home.

  There was a house on either side of ours, but with the high walls and trees they weren’t very visible. I wondered who lived in them and what sort of neighbours they’d make and if there were any children in them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave the estate where we knew everyone and move here where we didn’t even know who the neighbours were. They didn’t look like the kind of houses you could just pop into for a cup of tea and a chat. They looked like the kind of houses where you’d need a gilt-framed invitation to get in the front door.

  But then I looked up and saw the bay window that belonged to my new bedroom. I thought about our house on the estate where we were always on top of each other and I thought about Chelsea’s snoring and her inability to put anything away, and I thought: It doesn’t really matter about the neighbours because I’m finally going to get a room to myself.

  When we got home, Chelsea was in her pyjamas, curled up on the sofa watching telly. As soon as we walked in she got up and swept past us without saying a word. We heard the bedroom door slam and then the unmistakable beat of some of her more aggressive music.

  We were all standing in the hallway looking up the stairs. Mum and Dad looked worried. I was cross. We should have been celebrating and instead we were all concerned about Chelsea. I was fed up with Chelsea and her tantrums. Why does she have to be such a drama queen? She’s such a brat. I wish she’d go away. We’d make a much better family without her.

  I took the details about the new house out of Mum’s handbag and went round to see Lauren.

  Pam smiled when she answered the door and before she sent me up to Lauren’s room I told her about Hill House.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she said, looking at the details. ‘Your mum must be over the moon. You know, we used to walk past those houses when we were your age and I always had to drag your mum away because she’d stop at the gates and gaze at them. I bet she can’t believe she’s going to be living in one!’

  I like to think about Mum and Pam being friends like me and Lauren are. For one bizarre moment I wondered if, one day, my daughter would be going round to Lauren’s house to play with her daughter. But it was such a strange thought, that one day I’d be grown up and as old as Pam and Mum, that I couldn’t quite get my head round it.

  Lauren wasn’t quite as pleased as her mum had been about the house because she didn’t want me to move away. But she did listen as I told her about my new room and I said she could help me decorate it. Mum and Dad had said we could all have a certain amount of money to spend on our new rooms and we could choose what we wanted in them.

  Pam invited me to stay for tea and we all watched The X Factor and had a good laugh, but I felt kind of hollow. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it might be the last time I ‘just popped round to Lauren’s’.

  Friday 8th October

  Mum left some boxes in my and Chelsea’s bedroom and I’ve filled six of them with all my stuff. I’ve decided to have a clear out at the other end because there are a lot of things I ought to get rid of. I couldn’t believe how many fluffy toys I have, not to mention the odd Barbie doll I’d found under the bed. One box contained my books and I was itching to get them on the bookshelves in my new room. I stacked the boxes neatly against one wall, which made opening the door a bit tricky. The problem wasn’t helped by the fact that Chelsea was being messier than ever and the floor was ankle deep in clothes.

  When I realised she wasn’t going to make any attempt to pack her own stuff, I spent a couple of hours throwing her things into boxes, only to come to bed to find that she’d tipped the whole lot out again. Well, that’s the last time I’m going to help her with anything. Mum will have to sort it out.

  Monday 18th October

  The ‘last time’ feeling stayed with me all last week. Walking to school with Lauren, nipping into the newsagent’s together for sweets on the way home - everything has taken on a new, nostalgic feeling. Neither of us has said anything about it to each other, but I know Lauren feels the same way because we’ve both been acting extra silly. When we’re at school it’s okay because everything’s the same there. It’s just on the way to and from school when it becomes difficult and I get a lump in my throat.

  The house is full of cardboard boxes and the removal van has been booked. Mum said we barely needed one as she’s going to have to buy new furniture for Hill House.

  The removal men, Terry and his son Baz, came round the other evening to assess the job and Chelsea had been very taken with Baz. She’d even offered to make them a cup of tea, and she and Baz spent half an hour chatting in the garden while Terry discussed the move with Mum and Dad.

  He’s about eighteen and quite good-looking if you ignore all his tattoos, which was a bit difficult as he was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt so he could show them off. I thought they were repulsive because they made his arms all blue - unless that was just the effect of wearing nothing but a vest in October. Despite all this, Chelsea had homed in on Baz’s bare muscular arms like a moth to a bare light
bulb.

  It looks like we’ll be practically camping in the new house for a while until it all gets sorted out. I think it sounds like fun but Chelsea had another major strop when she found out we were going to move before the new house was fully modernised. I’ve got a feeling Mum and Dad aren’t planning to modernise it quite as much as she’s hoping, which is fine by me because I think it’s perfect as it is.

  Saturday 23rd October

  In the end, Mum had to do all Chelsea’s packing. It became obvious, this morning, that Chelsea didn’t intend to do anything. And I mean anything. She wouldn’t even get out of bed. I didn’t like to snitch on her but by nine o’clock, when she still wasn’t up, and the removal van was coming at ten, I thought I’d better bring it to Mum’s notice.

  Mum, who was stressed anyway, stormed into our bedroom and started to fling things any old how into the boxes. Chelsea was just a lump underneath the duvet. I watched from the door as Mum kept up a running commentary.

  ‘How can one girl possibly need so many pairs of shoes? Charlotte, pass me that box. I’m going to fill it with stuff for the charity shop.’ I could see the twinkle in her eye as she went through Chelsea’s wardrobe. ‘I’m sure this top can’t fit you any more, Chelsea. Perhaps you’d like it, Charlotte? What do you think?’

  There was the faintest of movements from beneath the duvet. Chelsea hates me anywhere near her clothes. She must have been dying to take a look to see which of her precious tops Mum was about to give away.

  ‘What’s this?’said Mum, picking Chelsea’s favourite top off the floor. It was the one Chelsea had bought on the day after Mum’s lottery win, when she’d been in such a good mood. ‘This one looks like an old rag, I don’t think even the charity shop will want this,’ said Mum, knowing full well that the tears were an intentional fashion statement. Chelsea must have known which top Mum was talking about.