I stood on the station platform and I wondered what to do next. I felt the cool sea air and smelt its saltiness. Overhead, seagulls screeched and dived at the fishing boats as they steamed towards the little harbour. The station was deserted. There was no guard like in the old films. I looked at the station name, panicking for a second that I was at the wrong station. But no, it was the right one; so where was Aunty Marmalade?
I came to Tarlton–on–Sea to stay with Aunty Marmalade while my parents went on a business trip to Australia. Aunty Marmalade was not her real name. It was Madeleine, my godmother, my mum’s unmarried older sister, and she had no children. She was almost identical to my mum and people often thought they were twins. But they were nothing alike in every other way. Aunty M was just one year older and much more fun. Nothing seemed to ever bother her. When I was little, I couldn’t say her name but I could say ‘marmalade’ which I had on my toast. So I was the reason why everyone called her Aunty Marmalade.
Aunty Marmalade was famous in the family for her amazing hats with fruit and flowers sticking out of the tops and sides. She wore hats to try to control her red frizzy hair which bobbed about as she talked and even after she combed it, it still escaped and did exactly what she didn’t want it to do. My hair was the same. She was really wacky and so unlike my mum. Mum always had her hair cut really short like a boy. Aunty M’s was long and unruly. She loved breaking the rules and not conforming. I thought she was great, easy to be with and great fun. The only problem was she didn’t visit very often and we never visited her. Mum always said she was too busy. She blamed everything on working full time and me.
“It doesn’t matter how many times I try to tidy your hair, it still does what it wants to,” spat my mum as she dragged a comb through my tangles. “You get more like Aunty Marmalade every day.”
My mum gave me strict instructions to follow for the journey and the stay because she never trusted me to do anything right. As mum said goodbye to me, she snapped, “Now Florence, when you arrive at the station Aunty Marmalade will be there to meet you.”
“I don’t really know her that well mum. What will I do if she doesn’t want me for two weeks?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She doesn’t mind looking after you. She’s my sister for goodness sake. She owes me you know, big time, if only you knew, but that’s another story. Anyway there was no one else to ask. Now listen once more. She will be at the …………”
I had heard these instructions so many times. I smiled and tried to look like I was listening but I knew it all by heart.
“Have you remembered your book? Don’t forget to do your holiday diary and don’t let her fill you up with stodge. You look enough like her as it is.”
“I won’t. I’ll tell her I’m not allowed.”
“Good. There’s no excuse nowadays to be overweight.”
“I’ve forgotten my book, Mum.”
“Florence, how many times do you have to be told? Now what are you going to do?”
“I could ask Aunty Marmalade to lend me a book.”
“You are supposed to be no trouble, Florence. Just stay there and keep out of mischief and don’t bother Aunty Marmalade. She’s not used to children. She won’t understand you like I do. You know that. I give up with you. Here’s your train. Try to do as I have asked you for this once. Please.”
With that she had turned around and stomped away without even a smile, let alone a hug. Why did I always do everything wrong? Why didn’t I just keep quiet about forgetting my book? Why did my mum not like me? Why was I such a nuisance to her?
I had a sick feeling in my throat and I felt hot and wished I hadn’t put my fleece on under my anorak. It seemed like a good idea when I packed my rucksack, as it was too bulky to fit in to the space on top. Mum told me I had to fit everything in the one bag as I wouldn’t be able to lift a suitcase. My rucksack wasn’t that big so I didn’t have that much with me. I’d have to ask Aunty Marmalade to wash stuff for me.
“Don’t be a nuisance, Florence.”
I won’t be. But I will be smelly.
As all these thoughts and feelings made tears prickle my eyes, I heard a squeal of brakes and saw a cloud of dust just like the genii arriving in the pantomime at Christmas. As the dust settled, I could see an ancient vintage car with huge front lamps and a running board down the side. The door opened and out marched Aunty Marmalade, huffing and puffing towards me, wearing a huge floral tent dress and an old leather pilot’s helmet and goggles.