Family Fan Club

“It’ll mean me being out in the evenings,” warned Mum. “But we do need the money and Marmee is a good part.”

“When I was little,” said Jazz, “I used to wonder what Marmee meant!” She giggled.

“What does it mean?” said Daisy.

Laurel said kindly, “It’s the American way of saying Mummy.”

“They say mommy” explained Jazz. “Only it comes out” – she adopted an exaggerated American drawl – “as marmee.”

Daisy nodded and went back to grooming Tinkerbell, their white cat. Tink was big and fluffy and Daisy spent many contented hours combing out the knots with his special cat comb. None of the others had the patience.

“I need a whole new wardrobe,” said Laurel. “I wouldn’t be seen dead in half the stuff I’ve got!”

“Yes, and I want acting classes and Daisy wants another kitten and Rose – well, I don’t know what Rose wants.”

“Nothing.” Rose said it grandly. “I don’t want anything.”

“Just as well, since you probably won’t get anything.”

“You mean we’re really not having any presents?” Daisy’s face crumpled. “Not even stocking fillers?”

“Oh! Well. Yes. I expect we can run to those. But nothing big.”

“A kitten isn’t big.”

“Kittens cost money.”

“No! I know someone whose cat’s just had a litter! They’re giving them away free.”

“Honestly!” Laurel shook her head. “You’ve already got Tink and Muffy! What do you want another one for?”

“I just love them so,” said Daisy.

Rose said, “She needs something to cuddle.”

“Cats are very cuddly,” agreed Jazz. “Especially that great fat lump of a Tinkerbell.”

“I’d sooner have Dad!”

The words seemed to come bursting out of Daisy before she could stop them. There was a silence.

“I thought we’d agreed,” said Jazz, “that we wouldn’t talk about Dad.”

“I can’t help it!” sobbed Daisy. “I miss him! I want him!”

“We all miss him,” said Laurel. But it was true that Daisy had been Dad’s girl. He had always had a specially soft spot for his little Daisy.

“Maybe he’ll come home for Christmas,” suggested Rose.

“Well, he won’t,” said Jazz, “’cos I asked Mum and she said it was all over between them and we’d got to get used to the idea.”

“That needn’t stop him coming back for Christmas.” Rose could be stubborn. She also enjoyed arguing. “He doesn’t have to stay with us.”

“No, but I don’t expect he could afford the air fare.” Laurel said it sombrely. “It costs a bomb.”

Dad had been in the States for almost six months, now, looking for acting work. So far he’d only found what Jazz called bit parts. Bread-and-butter parts. Spits-and-coughs. Last time he’d rung he’d told them proudly that he was going to be in a Mel Gibson movie – “But it’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-me kind of thing. Know what I mean?”

“It’s so unfair!” cried Jazz. “Dad’s a really brilliant actor!”

“There probably aren’t that many parts for English actors in the States,” said Laurel, sadly.

“Specially not black English actors.” said Rose. Who else?

“Oh, don’t start on politics!” Jazz turned on her, crossly.

“It’s not politics,” said Rose. “It’s a fact of life. It’s why he couldn’t get work over here. ’cos they don’t use black actors.”

Jazz opened her mouth to argue — and then closed it again. If she said, “They do,” then it would be like saying Dad just wasn’t good enough. But he was good! Even Mum said so, and Mum wasn’t on speaking terms with him at the moment.

On the other hand, if she agreed with Rose … Jazz bit her lip. That would mean there wasn’t going to be much of a chance for her when she grew up. Jazz couldn’t accept that. She was going to be an actress, she was going to be a success, she was going to be a STAR.

“They do use some,” she muttered.

“Oh! Some. Just a few. Just as tokens.”

“Not always!”

“So when did Dad ever get a real part? I mean a real part? You tell me!” said Rose.

“Look, you two, just give it a rest!” begged Laurel. “It’s incredibly boring when you go at it like that. I get sick to death of all this political correctness stuff.”

“It’s not p—”

“Oh, stop it! Just stop it!” Laurel clapped her hands to her ears. “If you don’t stop I shall scream!”

There was a pause.

“Know what I think?” said Rose.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “No, but go on! Tell us.”

She would have done, anyway. There was no stopping Rose when she got on her soap box.

“I think Mum and Dad should never have got married. I think it was doomed to failure from the word go. That’s what I think.”

Jazz stared at her, aghast. “Now you’re being racist!”

“I’m not being racist! All I—”