The Suitcase Kid by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

you?’ says Dad, giving me a tickle. ‘Come on, little babykins, say
cootchy-coo
for your Dad-Dad.’
    â€˜Oh Dad, don’t be so daft,’ I say, shrieking with laughter.
    â€˜I don’t know – tears one minute, a great big fit of the giggles the next. I think it must be bed-time,’ says Mum.
    â€˜Oh no,’ I say, but I don’t argue too much because I don’t want to spoil anything and it’s easy to be good when I’m so happy. I get in the bath and Radish gets in with me and floats about as merry as a little duck. Thenwe both get dry and powdered and into our nighties and then Dad comes and carries me into bed as if I really am a baby. He tucks me up and he tucks Radish up too, and he kisses both our noses which makes me giggle again. Then Mum comes and she tickles us both under the chin and we giggle some more. Then Mum and Dad stand arm in arm at the foot of my bed, chatting softly to each other while Radish and I snuggle up. The bed’s so soft and I feel so safe with all my own things round me, my own rabbit pictures on the wall, my own wardrobe, my own toy cupboard, my own bookshelf, my own Radish in my hand, my own Mum and Dad right by my bed, together. I’m so happy I want this moment to last forever but I’m so sleepy too and I can’t stop my eyes closing and I know I’m going to sleep and I’m suddenly worried because I know it can’t last and that it’s going to be very different when I wake up and I try to open my eyes wide but they’re so heavy and I have to rest them just for a second and then they won’t open again and I’m going to sleep in spite of myself, I’m going to sleep . . .

I WOKE UP and it was dark and I was so cold and I felt for Radish but I couldn’t find her and then I remembered and I couldn’t bear it and I huddled under an old sack at the bottom of the garden and tried to get back into the dream . . .
    And then I woke up again and it was light and I heard someone out in the garden, over by the bird-table.
    â€˜Come on, little sparrows, nice toast crumbs for breakfast. Come and have a little peck. And I’ve got some nuts for you too and— Oh my goodness! Harry, come quick! There’s some little old vagrant sleeping under the mulberry tree!’
    A vagrant. For a moment I thought she meant a real vagrant sleeping somewhere beside me. And then I realized. She meant me.
    Vagrants sleep rough. They don’t have their own bed. They don’t have a proper home. Nobody wants them. They keep shifting around and getting moved on and everyone acts like they’re a general nuisance.
    I’m a vagrant.
    I scrambled out of the old sack and struggled to my feet, and then I started running, staggering once or twice because I was so stiff. The woman gasped and then called after me but I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t get the gate open so I jumped right over it. They’d painted it green instead of black. And when I chanced one last look round I saw they’d painted the front door green too. It didn’t look like my Mulberry Cottage without a butter-yellow front door. But it isn’t my Mulberry Cottage any more.
    I ran away, blundering down the road, roundcorners, along lanes, no longer watching where I was going, not even knowing any more, just wanting to run and run. I ran right across the road and a car hooted at me and made me jump so I didn’t cross any more roads for a bit and then another car hooted and I blinked at it, bewildered because I was still safely on the pavement, and it hooted again and someone shouted and I saw it was Dad. Only maybe I was still dreaming because Mum was with him too, Mum and Dad together in our car, and they stopped the car with a squeal of brakes and then they were both running towards me – and suddenly I was swept up in their arms and we were having a big hug together, Mum and Dad and me, hugging the way