Chapter Seven
Eddress
Sometimes I wonder where the weeks go, honest I do. One minute it’s Christmas, the next we’ve got Easter coming up on us, then before we know it it’ll be Whitsun and we’ll be thinking about our summer holidays again. I think we’ll go back to Dawlish this year, in a chalet. It worked out all right last time, apart from when Gary decided to go missing and we had the police out looking for him. What a to-do. Had the whole bloody campsite upside down, hiked people out the showers, off the lavs even, until we found him playing with a little boy seven chalets down, happy as Larry and twice as daft. Little perisher, going off like that. Gave us the fright of our lives.
I’ve been doing a bit of baking today ready for Easter, a dozen biscuits, a fruit cake for our mam, gingerbread men for the kids and some shortbread for Eddie. I’ll do the hot cross buns on Thursday night, I think, then warm them up in the oven on Good Friday morning. It’s lovely when the kitchen’s all warm and full of mouth-watering smells like this, and the wireless is on. I was listening to a programme just now about what’s supposed to be in, and what’s out. Didn’t half give us a laugh when Betty and June from over the road dropped in for a cup of tea and a chat after. Bloody Peregrine for a boy’s name’s supposed to be in. I ask you. Poor little bugger, fancy having to grow up with a moniker like that. Annabel’s all right for a girl, I suppose, quite nice really, wish I’d thought of it when our Susan was born. I gave Eddie his way over that. I wanted to call her Diane, but he liked Susan Heywood, so Susan it was. Gary was my choice, bloody sight better than Peregrine! Thanks to Eddie he’s ended up with Nakita too. Gary Maurice Nakita.
They even did what was in and out for things like cigarettes (Gauloise are in – none of us have ever even heard of them, Consulate are out, good job too); women’s shoes (Fortnum and Mason are in – I thought they sold food to the Queen; Freeman, Hardy and Willis are out – just as well because none of us can afford the place); clothes designers (Mary Quant and Jaeger are in, Hartnell and Tinling are out – we’ve only ever heard of Mary Quant and Hartnell and none of us is skinny enough to wear one, or rich enough to be out of fashion with the other). On and on it went, Donovan in, the Bachelors out, Jack Russells in, corgis out, Habitat in, Harrods out – never heard such a load of old bunkum, but it don’t half make you wonder about how the other half live, especially when they got into which artists you should have hanging on your walls, or how it’s not the done thing any more to have sanitary towels for your dogs! There’s a whole other world out there, in’t there, and I bet they don’t know anything about us lot either. I can tell them this much though, we’ve never bought sanitary towels for our bloody dogs.
June’s gone now, but Betty’s still here, upstairs checking on the kids. They were playing mothers and fathers earlier with Susan and Geoffrey as the grown-ups, and Gary and Nigel having to do as they’re told. It went quiet for a bit, which is never a good sign, so I’m just dusting down Eddie’s shortbread with some sugar, while Betty goes to find out if they’re up to no good.
‘Gary and Nigel are fast asleep,’ she says, coming back in the kitchen and picking up a tea towel to dry a few dishes, ‘and Susan and Geoffrey are playing ludo.’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a doze myself,’ I remark, clearing the sugar away. ‘This weather always makes me feel tired, don’t it you?’
‘A bit, yeah. Where do you keep this mixing bowl?’
‘In the cupboard next to the back door. I’ll put the kettle on again, shall I?’
‘I’ll have to go and get some more fags, I can’t keep borrowing off you.’
‘That’s all right, you can let me have them back later on. The packet’s there, on the window sill, if you want one now.’
She lights two, passes me one, and leaves hers in the corner of her mouth as she rinses out the teapot.
‘How much longer’s Don on nights?’ I ask her,
‘A couple more weeks. We should have enough saved up to get a car soon. He’s got his eye on an old Wolseley he saw down Two Mile Hill.’
‘I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry,’ I warn. ‘Ours is always breaking down and if Eddie can’t repair it, it just sits out there getting on my nerves.’
‘What’s the matter with it now?’
‘God knows.’ I yawn, loudly, and rest my fag on the window sill so my hands are free to put the biscuits and cake on a shelf in the pantry. ‘I’m bloody tired today, I know that,’ I grumble. ‘It’s hard work having the kids home from school when it’s raining, always under your feet, moaning they’re bored or fighting fit to kill each other. I can’t believe they’ve been good for this long.’
‘How did you get on up the doctor’s the other day? Did he give you anything for your cold?’
‘Ssh,’ I say, going to close the hall door. ‘I don’t want old big ears, Susan, hearing I went up the doctor’s, or she’ll start asking questions. You know what she’s like, wants to be told the ins and outs of everything, and with an imagination like hers, the less she knows the better. We haven’t even told her she passed the test for Red Maids yet, or she’ll just start getting herself in a state again. Honest to God, you’d think we were sending her to Transylvania the way she carries on, bloody witches, vampires and ghosts. I keep telling her, she’s not even going to be a boarder, like some of them. She’s only going as a day girl, so she can get the number eight bus all the way there every morning, and all the way home again every night. But try telling her that. She thinks we’re wicked and mean and we don’t want her any more. Honest, kids, who’d have ’em?’
I cover the pot with a cosy and carry it through to put next to the fire, while Betty spoons sugar into a couple of cups and pours in a drop of milk.
‘So what did the doctor say?’ she asks, keeping her voice down as she comes into the living room behind me.
‘Oh, he just gave me a prescription, but I’m not going to bother getting it. I’m all right now, just a bit of a cough.’
‘Anything about your check-up? Have you heard when it is yet?’
‘No.’ My answer comes out a bit snappy, but I don’t like people mentioning anything about what I had done.
‘It’s over six months now though, innit? I thought they wanted you back . . .’
‘Maybe they don’t any more. They haven’t been in touch, and I’m definitely not going to go chasing them. Eddie thinks I should, but he would. Do you know, he actually accused me of hiding the appointment letter the other night. Bloody fool, as if I’d do that.’
‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘Don’t you bloody start. No, course I didn’t. Where would it get me if I did? I have to let them make sure it’s still all clear, I know that. But if there was something wrong I’d know, and there’s not. Now, let’s have a cup of tea and then I’ve got something to show you.’
There’s an advert for kids’ coats that I cut out of the paper. They’ve got fur linings and hoods, they’re waterproof and half the price you’d pay down Millets or somewhere like that. The reason they’re so cheap is you have to send away to China for them, where everything’s a lot cheaper than here, but they’re nice, good-quality-looking coats, so I think we should get some.
‘How do we pay?’ Betty asks.
‘It says here we can send the money by postal order or cheque. Well, seeing as neither of us has got a bank account, I can sort it out when I go to the post office tomorrow to pick up the family allowance. Do you want to get two for Geoffrey and Nigel?’
‘I don’t know if I’ve got a fiver to spare this week,’ she answers. ‘I’ll ask Don when he gets up. See what he says. Have you told Eddie?’
‘It was him what spotted the advert in the first place. You know him, anything to do with Russia or China.’ I finish off my tea, then put the strainer on the cup to pour myself another. ‘Blimey, listen to that rain. It sounds like it’s going to come straight through the bloody windows.’
‘Never get the washing dry in this weather,’ Betty grumbles.
We stare down at the fire as the coals shift and settle again. My eyes are feeling heavy, I reckon I could drop off right where I’m sitting. ‘I’ve promised to take the kids up the zoo next week,’ I say, ‘so I hope it clears up by then.’
‘That’ll be nice. Up the zoo. Our Geoffrey likes the reptile house. Gives me the bleeding creeps, all those sodding snakes and toads, but he has to go in. Thought I might take ’em to the pictures instead this holiday.’
We go on chatting about this and that, what’s hap pening on Coronation Street, whether they’ll really ban cigarette advertising on the telly the way they’re saying, about Molly Carson, over in the next street, whose husband just ran off with some floozy from St George leaving her with four kids to bring up, until it’s time for me to start putting Eddie’s tea on. Betty’s got to go and wake Don up too, but her kids stay to watch children’s hour, even though they’ve got their own telly next door now.
When Eddie comes home his food’s ready to go on the table – fish pie made with a nice piece of cod, chips and peas. Susan and Gary have fish fingers sitting at her little table, then Eddie’s back out the door again, off to night school. Before he goes he puts the paraffin heater in the bathroom to warm it up a bit, so after Susan helps me wash up I send her up to have a bath while I play a game with Gary. When she’s finished I boil a kettle to warm up the bathwater, then I plop Gary in while I go to give Susan a brisk rub-down to try and stop her from shivering. I’m always too rough, she tells me, with her teeth chattering together, she can do it herself. So I let go of the towel and take her pyjamas out of the airing cupboard. They’re nice and warm, which puts a smile on her face when I pull the top over her head.
As usual her record player goes on, ‘Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea’, so I leave her to brush her own hair while I scoop my boy out of the bath and carry him into his bedroom. Eddie decorated it a couple of weeks ago with some wallpaper we found in the club book that’s all pictures of the Beatles. So there we are, me and Gary, shivering, rubbing and laughing in his tiny little boxroom being watched over by John, Paul, George and Ringo, who’s Gary’s favourite. Susan prefers George and has dreams about him, she tells me.
Before getting into bed in his Beatles pyjamas Gary has to have a quick bang on his drums, so I make sure Susan’s all tucked up, go through the usual ‘you’re horrible for making me go to bed early’ business, then I turn off their lights and take meself back downstairs. I wait in the kitchen doorway, and sure enough, as soon as the little devils think I can’t hear them they start calling out to one another.
‘If you come in here I’ll tell you a story,’ Susan offers.
Seconds later I hear Gary’s door creak open and his little feet pad across Susan’s room, followed by a few grunts and slaps when he obviously manages to step on her as he climbs into her bed. It’s no wonder he has nightmares with the horror stories she tells him, but he can never seem to get enough of them, so it’s his silly fault if he keeps listening. (I won’t be saying that when he comes waking me up in the middle of the night, I’ll want to clout her one then.)
There’s a good film on tonight with Rod Cameron and Yvonne de Carlo. It doesn’t start for another half an hour though, so plenty of time to get some more coal in and make a nice cup of tea before I sit down to write to our Maurice in New Zealand. Funny Rod Cameron and Yvonne de Carlo should be on telly tonight, when our Maurice only mentioned them in his last letter. He said Rod Cameron was starring in a programme over there now called State Trooper, and Yvonne de Carlo’s husband got injured, apparently, so she’s come out of retirement to work as a strip artist to make some money. Fancy that!
The wind’s still howling away outside as I rummage in the sideboard drawer for one of the flimsy blue airmail letters I use. Poor Eddie having to be out in this. I’ll make him a nice bit of supper when he comes home, Cheddar cheese and bread with some Branston pickle. Meanwhile I sit down at the dining table to write. I always wait till Eddie’s out of the way to do it, because I think he gets a bit jealous, even if I offer to let him read it. He never does. He won’t read the ones Maurice sends either, says they’re none of his business. God knows what he thinks are in them, but if he wants to be like that, then let him.
It don’t take me long to fill Maurice in on the news about our mam and the others, and to reassure him that I can use my arm, no trouble at all now. I remind him of his promise when he rang at Christmas that he’d come home for the next one, then I go on a bit about the plans they’ve got to change things up Kingswood, though I might already have told him how they’ve turned the picture house into a bowling alley. Then there was the fire at the pickle factory, and there’s been some talk of them closing down Jones’s. He’ll remember that place only too well, because he got accused of shoplifting there once when he was a teenager. It was all false and they never pressed charges, but he’s never had any fondness for the shop since. I think about the other things I could write, but I don’t. There’s not much space left and most of it’s not things I want to bring up again. It’s in the past now, so it won’t do any good remembering.
I lick the edges, seal them down then pop it in my handbag ready to post in the morning. All’s quiet upstairs, it seems, but I creep into the hall to make sure they’re not somewhere they shouldn’t be. Not a peep. That’s good. Eddie won’t be back for at least another hour, so I’m safe to have a bit of a look at my other bosom in front of the fire without someone coming in. Not that I think there’s anything wrong, it’s just been on my mind a bit lately, what with everyone asking when the check-up’s supposed to be. I reckon the doctors have decided I don’t need one, that’s why I haven’t heard, and I don’t think I do either, but I might as well have a quick look myself, just in case Eddie decides to get in touch with the hospital to remind them. This way, if there’s no lumps, I can tell him we don’t need to do anything, and if he insists he can even examine me himself. Dr Eddie Kildare.
The curtains are drawn, and the door’s closed, so I pull up me jumper and tuck my petticoat and brassiere cup under Cyclops, as I call the one I’ve got left. It don’t look any different to normal, a few freckles on it, and a nipple that wouldn’t let me feed either of me kids. I stand back a bit so I can see it in the mirror. It still looks all right, though I’ll have to hope Eddie never gets injured, because I don’t suppose I’d get a job as a stripper these days. I prod it about a bit. Everything feels as it should. No lumps or bumps, or aches or pains. I knew there was nothing to worry about, but I don’t mind admitting I’ll be able to enjoy my cup of tea and the film a bit better now. I might even, if the check-up letter does ever come, put it on the back of the fire and forget it. I mean, what’s the point in messing about with things that have got nothing wrong with them in the first place?
Susan
‘Ow! Ow! OOOOWWW! You’re hurting me. Stop it!’
‘Sit still, will you?’ Mummy snaps and grabs on tighter to my ponytail.
‘Ooowww!’
‘For heaven’s sake, anyone would think I was torturing you.’
‘You are!’
She doesn’t care though, because she just tugs the brush even harder right through the knots, like she’s trying to tear off my scalp. She gets it caught and it hurts so much when she tries to pull it out that I jump up from the arm of the chair, before she can wrench my whole head off.
‘I don’t want you to do it,’ I cry. ‘You’re cruel and you – you should be reported to the police.’
She drops her arms to her sides and sighs. ‘What do you do with her, Mam?’ she says to Granny. ‘She’s such a baby, isn’t she? Can’t even have her hair brushed without making a fuss.’
‘I am not a baby.’
‘You’ve got to have your hair brushed, my old love,’ Granny says.
‘I don’t want to. I hate having it brushed. I want it cut right up to here.’ I chop my hand against the side of my head.
‘Go on speaking to your grandmother like that and you’ll get the back of my hand,’ Mummy warns, resting her cigarette in an ashtray. ‘Now come here and let me finish.’
‘No.’
‘Then you won’t be able to come to the zoo.’
‘I don’t want to go to the zoo.’
‘Yes you do.’
‘No I don’t.’
I do, but I don’t want to have my hair brushed any more, not by her. ‘Let Gran do it,’ I say. Gran never hurts the way Mummy does.
Mummy hands the brush over, and goes to get the milk in off the doorstep, and shouts upstairs to Gary to make sure he’s cleaning his teeth. I know he’s not, but the little fibber says he is.
‘Are you going to help me make some sandwiches to take with us?’ Gran says as she smooths the brush gently over my hair.
‘We’ve already done them,’ I tell her. ‘You and Mum have got salmon and cucumber, I’ve got luncheon meat and Gary’s got jam. We’ve made a flask of tea too and a bottle of orange squash. Dad gave us some money to buy nuts for the monkeys. I’ve got one and six now that I’ve saved up.’
‘Then you’re richer than me,’ Gran chuckles.
I let my head drop back and grin up at her. She’s got a lovely wrinkly, whiskery face with watery blue eyes and funny white fluffy hair. ‘Are you sleeping here again tonight?’ I ask.
‘I expect so,’ she answers.
‘You can sleep in my bed, if you like.’
‘You’re a lovely girl, but there’s not enough room in there for the two of us.’
‘I can sleep with Mum and Dad, the way Gary did last night.’
‘All right, we’ll see.’ I can tell she’s not really listening now, because she’s turned her head towards the door. ‘Who’s that your mother’s chatting to out there?’ she says.
‘Probably the milkman, or Mrs Lear,’ I answer.
The front door closes and Mum comes back along the hall into the room. ‘Haven’t you finished doing her hair yet?’ she snaps at Gran.
‘Nearly there,’ Gran says and starts twisting an elastic band round my ponytail. ‘Who were you chatting to?’
‘No-one,’ Mum answers.
Gran doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she wants to. I turn to look at Mum, but she’s got her back to me as she puts something in the sideboard. I don’t know what it is, but I expect if I ask she’ll tell me to mind my own business.
She does, but when she turns round again she looks a bit strange, like she’s put too much powder on.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Gran says to Mummy.
Mum gives me a quick look and says, ‘Not now, Mam. It’s time to go. Susan, go and tell that brother of yours to hurry up or we’ll miss the bus. Ah, here he is. Did you wash behind your ears?’
‘Mummy it’s working again!’ he shouts up at her. ‘I got it working. Listen.’ He’s holding up the old transistor radio Grampy gave him for Christmas, and somewhere inside all the hissing and crackling there’s the faint sound of a man’s voice. ‘Listen!’ he cries again.
Mummy takes the radio and puts it up to her ear. The voice comes clearer, so we can hear the man reading the news, talking about all the people who were killed in an earthquake in Chile. (That’s in South America and the capital is . . . I’ve forgotten. And anyway I don’t care what Mum’s hidden in the sideboard, so there.)
‘Poor blighters,’ Mummy says, giving the radio back to Gary. ‘See, you two children don’t know where you’re well off. All those bad things happening out there and here you are with more than either of you deserve. Now, where’s my handbag? Has anyone seen it?’
Finding it on the table, she lights another cigarette and lets it dangle from the corner of her mouth as she carries the cold teapot and milk jug out to the kitchen. Gran takes Gary into the hall to help him put on his coat, so I’m on my own in here now, but I’m too afraid to go and find out what Mum put in the sideboard, in case she comes back and catches me.
We catch the number eight bus outside the Tennis Court pub to take us all the way to Clifton. It’s the same bus as the one Mummy and I caught to go to the wicked, horrible, haunted school that turns girls into men, but I don’t say anything in case it reminds Mummy, and I don’t want to do that or she might start saying I have to go there again. I sit downstairs with Gran, because she can’t get up on top, but Mummy has to go up there, because that’s where you’re allowed to smoke. Gary climbs up with her and we can hear him all the way downstairs, pretending to be a driver. I wish he was, because he sounds as though his bus is going a lot faster than ours.
When we get to the zoo there’s a queue right along the road to go in. Lucky we brought our umbrellas and plastic macs, because it starts to rain as we wait, which makes all the mums grumble and moan.
‘Bloody weather,’ they say. ‘It started out nice this morning, now look at it.’
It doesn’t last very long though, and by the time we go through the turnstile the sun’s out again making it all shiny and warm. The first thing we do is go to buy some peanuts for the monkeys. There’s another queue there, but we don’t mind waiting because there’s a clown doing tricks with our money, making it disappear then come back again. I don’t think I’ll give him mine just in case his magic runs out.
Mum and Gran are standing behind us, chatting. There’s lots of noise going on, with all the children shouting and playing and the mums and dads telling them to be quiet, so I can’t hear everything Mum’s saying, but I do hear some.
‘No, I didn’t open it,’ she says. ‘Not yet.’
‘So how do you know who it’s from?’
‘It’s written on the front of the envelope. When I saw Dr Tyldesley last week he said it should have come before, around Christmas. This one’ll probably be the second reminder.’
‘So you didn’t get the first one?’
‘No. If I had I’d already know when I have to go, wouldn’t I?’
‘It must be soon now then.’
‘I expect so.’
‘Is it with Michaels again?’
‘I don’t know till I open it, do I?’
A baby next to me starts screaming so I don’t hear what they say after that, until the baby gets a dummy stuck in its mouth, and Gran says, ‘. . . it’s hard for Eddie to cope on his own.’
I suddenly feel all funny. I don’t like them talking about doctors and Daddy being on his own, because I don’t understand what it all means. I just know I don’t like it. I decide not to listen any more in case they start talking about Mummy’s other family, where she goes when she’s not with us.
I buy my peanuts and walk with Gary over to the monkey temple. There are hundreds of people there, all trying to get to the front to throw in their peanuts. The monkeys are funny and playful with big yellow teeth and gleaming red bottoms. They’re lots of fun to watch, but it’s hard to see with so many people around. I wish Daddy was here so we could climb on his shoulders. I wish he was here to stop Mum having secrets too. She can’t hide things from him because he’s her husband. If she does go off to her other family it’ll be my fault, because I’m always getting on her nerves. I don’t mean to, I just do.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Mummy says as I look up at her. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Yes you are,’ Gary jeers.
‘No I am not.’
‘Enough! Don’t start arguing,’ Mummy barks. ‘Let’s see if we can get through to the front.’
It’s easy for Mummy to push her way through because she’s tall and strong, and if anyone complains she just tells them to shut up or they’ll be sorry. Next thing we’re up on the wall and we can see everything that’s going on.
We stay there until our peanuts run out, then we move on to see the lions and cheetahs and leopards. The white tigers are very special, but I tell Mum we don’t really want to see them in case it reminds her of the test I did for the scary school.
The elephants are having a bath when we get there which is very funny, because they suck the water up in their trunks and squirt it out at the crowd. If you’re at the front you get soaked, so we keep well back and nearly get knocked over as everyone tries to duck. The keeper has to keep ducking too, as he scrubs away with his sweeping brush and bottle of Vim. At least I think it’s Vim, but it might not be. A space opens up and Gran gets drenched. Mum laughs so much that tears run down her cheeks.
We have to find a toilet then to get some paper towels to dry Gran’s hair. We lose Gary for a few minutes, then find him all on his own queuing up to go and see the snakes.
Mummy and I wait outside because we hate snakes. We find a bench to sit down on and Mum opens a packet of salt and vinegar crisps for us to share. Eventually Gary and Gran come out, and we have to shout so they find us. Mum has an open packet of cheese and onion waiting for them, which Gary immediately starts scoffing. He’s such a pig, because there are hardly any left for Gran. Then he keeps on and on that he wants to go back in the reptile house, so I give him a thump to shut him up.
He thumps me back, so I thump him again.
He kicks me, so I kick him, then he grabs hold of my hair, so I grab hold of his.
Mummy tears us apart, smacks our legs and tells us she’ll leave us here if we start again.
After we’ve stopped crying Mum takes us both by the hand and walks us over to the bear pit. It’s got huge high railings around it to stop anyone falling in, and the bears walking about the bottom are massive and cuddly and don’t look frightening at all. I like the baby ones the best, and wish I could hold one. The mother – or it might be the father – stands up on two legs and reaches up towards the people. Everyone gasps and takes a step back – except Gary, because his head’s stuck in the railings.
‘How the bloody hell did you manage this?’ Mummy grumbles as she tries to get him out.
‘I didn’t. It’s not my fault,’ he shouts.
‘Hold still now. You’re making it worse.’
It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t stop laughing.
‘Shut up, Susan, or I’ll bash you,’ he shouts.
‘Be quiet,’ Mummy tells him. ‘And you,’ she snaps at me. ‘It’s not funny, he’s stuck and I can’t get him out.’
Gary’s going all red in the face and starts screaming blue murder. I look round and see that we’ve got more people watching us than are watching the bears.
‘Mam, you’ll have to go and get some help,’ Mummy says. ‘We might even have to call the fire brigade. Oh, you stupid boy, what did you go and stick your head in there for?’
‘I didn’t!’ he cries.
‘Oh what, it just opened up and grabbed you, did it?’
I still think it’s funny, but I’m getting a bit worried now, in case one of the bears manages to climb up and bite off his head. A man is helping Mummy to try and bend open the bars, but they can’t. Then Gran comes back with a zookeeper who tries to bend the bars too, but he can’t either.
‘The only answer is to chop off your ears,’ he tells Gary, giving me a wink.
‘No!’ Gary screams. ‘I don’t want my ears chopped off.’
‘He’s only joking,’ Mummy says, but she doesn’t seem to find it any funnier than Gary. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asks the zookeeper.
‘I’ve got some tools in the workshop,’ he answers, ‘something in there should get him out.’
It ends up taking ages, and by the time he’s free Gary’s quite famous, because everyone in the zoo has come to have a look. He’s acting as though he’s some sort of hero now, instead of a great big idiot, but at least he won’t be giving a bear a bellyache tonight with his stupid great big head.
‘Just wait till I tell your father,’ Mummy says when we’re on the bus going home. ‘You old nincompoop you! I dread to think what you’ll get up to next.’
Daddy laughs and laughs when Mum tells him what happened, and swoops Gary up in his arms to give him a bear hug. Get it? (Dad’s jokes aren’t always very funny, but we laugh anyway to keep him happy.)
After tea Gran goes and sits by the fire to watch the telly, while Gary and I stay at my little table to draw some pictures for Dad of the animals we saw at the zoo. (I draw Gary with his head stuck in the bars. Gary draws a camel that looks like a dog, and a lizard that’s really good.)
Mum and Dad are out in the kitchen washing up, then Mum comes in and takes the thing she hid earlier out of the sideboard. She catches me watching and taps the side of her nose with her finger.
I go on drawing, sea lions and elephants and giant tortoises, then I play noughts and crosses with Gary and let him win. It’s only fair because he’s little and I can win any time I like.
Suddenly the door swings open and Mum is saying in an angry voice, ‘All right you two, up to bed now.’
‘But it’s not time yet,’ I wail. ‘It’s only half . . .’
‘Do as you’re told and stop arguing.’
‘But we haven’t done anything wrong . . .’
‘Susan.’
I look at Dad who’s come in the room behind her.
‘Eddress, it’s not their fault . . .’
‘You want to discuss it in front of them?’ she shouts. ‘Is that what you want? Well I don’t want to discuss it at all, so just sod off . . .’
‘Let’s go in the other room,’ he says.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snaps, shrugging him off. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. If you can’t listen to what I’m saying . . .’
‘I am listening, but you can’t just not go, Ed . . .’
‘I can do what I bloody well like, thank you very much. Now, you heard what I said, you two, up to bed.’
I’m still looking at Dad, but I can see he’s not going to stick up for us again. I wish he would, because if they’re going to have a row I want to be here to stop them. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback,’ he says.
Mummy’s face shows that she won’t put up with any more arguing, so I get up from my table and go over to kiss Gran goodnight. It’s not fair. I always have to go to bed earlier than everyone else anyway, and now I have to go to bed even earlier than me.
‘Dad,’ I say.
‘Susan, you heard your mother. Now off you go.’
I want to cry and hit him, because he was on my side just now. ‘You said you’d give us a piggyback.’
‘That was before you started answering back.’
‘I’m not answering back.’
‘You’re doing it now.’
‘I’m not putting up with any more of this,’ Mummy suddenly shouts, and grabbing my arm she drags me out of the room and throws me down the passage. ‘Up those stairs now and make sure you’re in bed by the time I come up to tuck you in. And that goes for you too, Gary Lewis. Bed and no answering back.’
I can see he’s about to cry, so I take hold of his hand and walk up the stairs with him. I want to cry too, but I’m the oldest so I can’t. ‘It’s all right,’ I tell him when we reach his bedroom door. ‘You can sleep in with me tonight, after they’ve been up to turn off the lights.’
‘It’s not fair, we didn’t do anything,’ he says.
‘I know. They’re just wicked and anyway, they’re not our real mum and dad. They stole us from kind people when we were born.’
‘No they didn’t.’
‘Yes they did.’ He’s starting to look a bit worried so I say, ‘Why don’t we run away and find our real mum and dad?’
‘I don’t want to run away.’
‘Don’t be such a baby. We’re going to see if we can get on a boat and go to an island where no grown-ups are allowed. I read about it in one of my books.’
‘I don’t want to go on a boat without Daddy.’
‘Then don’t come. I don’t want you to anyway.’
I walk off into my bedroom, leaving him on the landing. It’s not long before he follows me in though. ‘You’re not going to run away, are you?’ he says.
‘I might.’
He goes on standing there, watching as I play with my dolls. ‘I’m going to tell Mum,’ he says.
‘If you do I’ll smash your brains in.’
‘I’ll smash yours in.’
I snuggle my dolls down in their pram and button on the cover.
‘I’m going to put my pyjamas on,’ he says.
‘Go on then, goody-two-shoes.’
‘You’ll be in trouble if you don’t put yours on too.’
‘See if I care.’
By the time Mum comes up I’m under the covers and facing the wall. She goes in to Gary first and I can hear them chatting, but can’t make out what they’re saying. I bet he’s telling her I’m going to run away.
His light goes off, his door closes then she comes in to me. ‘I hope you’re not sulking,’ she says.
I don’t answer.
‘Yes, I think she’s sulking. Well I’ll give her a kiss goodnight anyway.’ She kisses the back of my head. ‘God bless, sweet dreams,’ she says.
I still don’t answer.
‘You’re a proper little madam and you can stay up an extra half an hour tomorrow night,’ she says. ‘Will that make you happy?’
I nod.
‘So do I get a kiss now?’
I turn over and put my arms round her neck. I feel like I want to cry, but I don’t because there’s nothing to cry about now. When she’s gone I don’t go and listen over the banister. I’m not sure why, I just don’t.