Jean Ure - Fortune Cookie

“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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