Chapter Sixteen

Eddress

It’s been a funny old couple of months since Christmas, I can tell you. And what a bloody Christmas it turned into, didn’t it, thanks to our Jack and Maurice’s shenanigans. Still, that’s all behind us now, thank God. They’ve gone off to New Zealand, leaving the baby here with her father, because the courts wouldn’t allow her out of the country. How on earth Jacqueline brought herself to leave the poor little mite I’ll never know, but she did, and it seems her and Maurice are settling in nicely over there – if you call upsetting the natives settling in, which sounds about right for our Jack. Never could abide foreigners, so why she wants to go and live amongst ’em I’ll never know. In his last letter our Maurice was talking about Rhodesia again, so I suppose they might end up there where she can have a go at upsetting the blacks. Whether our mam’ll ever have anything to do with them again, God only knows. She never let them back over her threshold before they left, and she still swears she never will.

We’ve had a few other things to be worrying ourselves about though, like our Susan not doing well at school, and me having to go back in hospital for a couple of weeks at the start of February. I don’t know what gets into that girl when I’m not here, honest I don’t. One minute she’s as good as gold with Eddie, helping him with the tea, making her own bed and Gary’s, the next she’s cheeking him back, being difficult and even telling him there’s nothing wrong with me, and that I’ve just gone off and left them. How she gets these things in her head, I’ll never know. He ended up giving her a good smack and sending her to bed or she was going to frighten Gary with all her nonsense. I suppose it’s got something to do with her worrying about me, but we keep telling her, she should put it out of her mind and concentrate on her lessons.

Now, to cap it all, Eddie’s been hauled up in front of the management at work to be told he’s taking too much time off, and if it goes on any longer they’ll sack him. Bloody furious he was when he told me, and of course he ended up blaming our Maurice, because he blames him for everything now.

‘It’s his bloody fault you ended up back in that hospital,’ he ranted at me when he came home that night, still all in a lather after his ticking off. ‘If it weren’t for him and all his carrying on you’d be all right by now. I told you it wasn’t doing you any good, having them here, but you wouldn’t listen, would you? Oh no, you had to have it your way, and now look where we are, being bloody punished for allowing his sinning to go on under our roof.’

I argued back a bit, because it’s not in me nature not to, but I have to admit (not to him, mind you) that all that business with our Maurice did wear me out a bit, and I’m always in two minds about God, so I have asked meself once or twice if He might be punishing me, not just about our Jack and Maurice though, but about everything else I’ve done in me life. There’s a lot, believe me, enough to make me glad I’m not a Catholic, because I’d never want to confess to anyone else what I’ve done, especially not a bloody priest.

Anyway, whether or not it was a punishment, it bloody well felt like it when I was in hospital this time round. Don’t know what the hell they did to me, but it’s taken me until now – the middle of bleeding March – to get back on me feet again. To be honest, I got to a point when I was in there where I could see meself coming out in a bloody box, I felt that bad. Never said anything to Eddie mind, don’t want him thinking like that, or we’d all be bloody done for.

He’s been having a chat with the doctors again. He thinks I don’t know, but I do. I don’t say nothing though, what you don’t know you can’t worry about, is my motto. I just wish it was his, because it can’t be doing him any good. I mean, he’s not a bleeding doctor is he, so what’s the point in finding it all out? I’ve got a feeling they’ve told him they might not have got it in time. Turns my bloody insides straight to ice just to think it, I can tell you. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even bloody think straight when it comes over me what’s going on inside me. It just don’t seem right that they can’t do anything about it. Makes you feel so helpless that you want to do something . . . Well, something bloody drastic, if only you could think what. Honest, you got no idea how bloody angry it makes you, knowing your own body’s letting you down. It’s like having a brand spanking new car and finding out it’s all rusty inside. Cheated, that’s what it makes you feel, downright bloody cheated. Trouble is, you can’t take your body back, can you, or send someone round to sort out the bloke who shafted you, because God’s never home when you need Him to explain what the bloody hell He’s doing, and if the mechanics you’re left with haven’t got the tools to put you right . . .

It’s a load of old bunkum. That’s what it is. I mean, if they have told Eddie they can’t cure it, it’s a load of old bunkum, because they could discover a new drug any time, or it could just get better of its own accord, or we could all get bombed by the bloody Russians for all I know. They just landed theirselves a rocket on Venus, so chucking the odd bomb over here shouldn’t be too much trouble, should it? So it don’t make any sense to listen to all that nonsense. It just gets you all worked up about something that might never happen, and it don’t get you nowhere that.

Anyway, I’m up and about again now, good as new. All right, I’m not as fast on me feet as I was, got to take me time over things, but that’s improving as I go on, so I should be back to normal I reckon, by Whitsun, or at least by summer. We’re even talking about going up to Wembley to watch the World Cup in May, if England manages to get through that is, and providing we can get tickets. Eddie knows a bloke down the Rovers ground who might be able to get some, and there’s someone else down his work who’s got a brother-in-law who’s supposed to have an in at Wembley. We haven’t been to a football match since we had kids, and we used to love going down the Rovers on a Saturday afternoon with our blue and white scarves and rattles, then stopping up the Shant on the way home for a drink with our mates.

I’ve been thinking about the past a lot lately. Well, I suppose it’s hard not to when your number’s looking like it might be up. It’s better than thinking about the future and knowing you won’t be there. That’s bloody hard, that is. Breaks you right up. You don’t want to do it to yourself, not when you got kids. Honest you don’t. Still, it’s all right now. The worst is over, and I’m sitting here in the front room on a lovely spring day, looking at the most beautiful white lacy dress for our Susan to wear at Whitsun. It’s just turned up from the club book, along with some new shoes for Gary and a Fair Isle pullover for Eddie. Usually I knit all our jumpers meself, but I haven’t been able to this past while, so I ordered a few from John Myers. We can do it on the weekly, now Christmas is all paid off.

It’s a funny feeling I’ve got today. Don’t know where it’s coming from, but here I am, sitting in me own house, where I’ve been every day this past I don’t know how long, yet it’s like I’ve just come back after months and months of being away. Now isn’t that strange? I reckon, if you ask me, not that I’m getting me hopes up too much, you understand, that it could mean I’m finally back on the real road to recovery. Something inside me knows that I’ve turned the last corner now. I’m not like someone lost in a wilderness any more, crashing about, not knowing whether I’m coming or going, or even bloody dead or alive. I’m back here now, right where I belong, and that sun out there today is the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve come through. I’m on the home bloody stretch, so just you watch me romp past that finishing gate come May or June. Whitsun! The World Cup! Dawlish for our holidays! It’s a lovely time we’re going to be having, just you wait and see.

‘Yoo hoo! Anyone home?’

‘In here.’

I’m in too good a mood to try and dodge Cissy Weiner today. Anyway, I have to admit she’s been bloody good to Eddie and the kids these last couple of months, and to me too, which is why I’ve invited her to come and see The Sound of Music with me and Betty next Wednesday night. We’re going up the caff in Kingswood after, if they’re still open that late, so she’ll probably drive us mad with all her talking, but I can always tell her to belt up if she starts getting on our nerves.

‘Hello Eddress,’ she says, bustling in the room like the fussy old bag she is. ‘Oooh, look at the lovely colour in your cheeks. I can see you’re feeling well today.’

‘Not bad,’ I assure her. I never actually told her she could call me Eddress, but I suppose after all she’s had to do for me these past couple of months, it wouldn’t seem right to go on calling me Mrs Lewis, now would it? ‘Did you put the kettle on while you were out there?’ I ask her.

‘No, I’ll just go and do it now. Don’t put that dress away. I want to have a better look. It’s the prettiest thing I ever did see.’

Her and her Scarlett O’Hara talk. Silly cow. ‘It’s for our Susan at Whitsun,’ I tell her.

‘She’ll look a picture, she will. I just wish I could find something like that for one of mine.’

I don’t tell her where I got it, in case she has the bright idea of sending for one too. Really bloody upset me that would, if one of her girls turned up in the same dress as our Susan for the Whitsun parade.

‘Right,’ she says, coming back in. ‘Kettle’s on, tea’s in the pot. Dr Tyldesley been in today, has he?’

‘About half an hour ago, so he took me temperature and checked everything that needs it. I’ve taken me pills too. I reckon these new ones are a lot better than the others. I don’t feel half as bad as I used to.’

She goes on smiling and blinking, and looking like she doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. Oh well, maybe Tyldesley didn’t tell her he changed my pills. I mean, he didn’t actually tell me either, but you’ve only got to be me to know something’s different.

‘Eddie getting ready to vote, is he?’ she asks. ‘They reckon Labour’ll sweep the board this time.’

‘Oh, he’ll be out there all right. He’s offered to do a bit of canvassing, when he’s got time, and he’s doing an hour at the polling station after work on the day.’

‘What about you? Are you going to vote?’

‘Course I am. I don’t want those bloody Tories getting in, do I?’

‘None of us do.’

That takes me back a bit. ‘Don’t you vote Tory?’ I ask her. ‘I thought you did.’

She chuckles. ‘We’re as Labour as you and Eddie in our house,’ she tells me. ‘I’m doing a shift down the polling station too, on the day. Mine’s in the morning, just making some tea and generally lending a hand. If you’re feeling up to it, why don’t you come along too?’

‘Yeah, I might,’ I say. ‘There’ll be a lot of faces there I know, and I haven’t seen anyone since I can hardly remember when.’

‘That’s settled then. I’ll put your name down, you can do the same shift as me. Now, I’ve got to ask you if you can spare a couple of pennies for the blind dogs.’

She’s always collecting for one good cause or another, bloody do-gooder that she is. Worse than Eddie. Anyway, I got no objection to helping train a dog so some poor blind person can get around a bit. God knows, enough’s put in the collections for people who’ve got what I’ve got, so it would be a bit bloody rich if I refused to help anyone else, wouldn’t it, even if I have only got one and three in me purse. I’ll borrow a couple of bob off Betty to buy some fags later, rather than ask Eddie for any more before Friday.

Cissy stays for about an hour, chatting on and on the way she always does, boasting about her girls, and what she does for her patients, who it seems wouldn’t be alive, half of them, if it weren’t for her. The woman never bloody stops, but I don’t suppose she means any harm. To tell the truth I reckon she’s a bit lonely, because it can’t be easy making friends when you’re married to a German, can it? Eddie says he’s a nice bloke, but I’ve hardly ever spoken to him meself, and I don’t know how Eddie manages it without mentioning the war. It’s all I can ever think about when I see him. And the Jews – though Eddie says Mr Weiner hates the Nazis as much as we do. Well, he has to say that now he’s living here, doesn’t he? But maybe he does hate them, or he’d still be in Heil Hitler land pinning yellow stars on poor sods with big hooters. I don’t suppose a lot of it goes on now though, does it? It wouldn’t be allowed.

Twenty to four prompt Gary comes crashing in through the back door, bursting for the toilet and shouting back down the stairs for a chocolate-spread sandwich and a coconut marshmallow. Never ceases to amaze me how that boy manages to remember what’s in the cupboard. Down it all goes, with a glass of squash, while he tries to tell me what he did in school. He’s in too much of a hurry to get back out to play to make much sense, but I manage to talk him into a hug and a kiss, which he immediately wipes off his face in case I’m wearing any lipstick.

At five past four Susan bounds in, full of her new best friend, Diane Meadows, who’s going on the school cruise in June, so they’re going to make sure they have beds next to each other, and matching bags to carry their luggage. (Where does she get all these ideas?) She wants a sandwich-spread sandwich and a glass of Ribena. She has to go running back outside then, because she’s promised Janet and Sarah across the road that she’ll play skipping with them and they’re out there waiting.

‘Don’t you want to see your new dress?’ I ask her. ‘It came from the club book today.’

Her face lights up. ‘The white one?’

I nod.

‘Where is it?’

‘Hanging up in your wardrobe.’

She charges up over the stairs, sounding like a herd of elephants. I follow her up and find her standing in front of her mirror holding the dress up against her.

‘It’s the best dress in the whole wide world,’ she declares. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘I think you’d better, because we don’t want to leave it till Whitsun to find out it doesn’t fit.’

But it does, perfectly. Or it will by then, she’s growing that fast. Just a tiny bit big across the shoulders and under the arms, nothing a little tuck here and there won’t sort out if need be come the day. She’s going to look like an angel.

She turns and gives me a hug all round my neck.

‘How did you get on in school today?’ I ask her.

‘All right.’

‘No tellings off for chatting, or not paying attention?’

‘No. Well, I did have to put my finger over my lips once, but that’s because I was asking my best friend Diane if I could borrow her rubber. That’s all I was saying, so I shouldn’t have had to put my finger over my lips for that, should I?’

‘Are you sure that’s all you were saying?’

‘Honest. I just told her that Gary borrowed mine last night and forgot to give it back, so that’s why I didn’t have one today. And she said her brother does that too, forgets to give things back. And I said brothers are a nuisance, I’d rather have a sister.’

‘So you were chatting?’

‘Yes, but only about the rubber.’

What can you do but laugh. ‘You’ve got to try a bit harder,’ I tell her. I’m thinking about the final test she’ll have to sit next year for Red Maids now. I definitely don’t want her failing that.

‘Can my best friend Diane come here for tea one night?’ she asks.

‘If you start doing a bit better with your lessons. Where does she live?’

‘Up by New Cheltenham park, not far from Aunty Flo. Oh yes, I’ve got a note from school asking if we can go on a trip to the Roman Baths. Can I go? I want to.’

‘Let’s find out how much it is first. You’ve got the cruise coming up in June, don’t forget, and you’ve had this new dress.’

‘Can I wear it outside now, to show Janet and Sarah?’

‘Don’t be silly. Take it off before it gets dirty.’

‘Can I wear it up to show Gran on Saturday?’

‘No. It’s for Whitsun. Now go on out to play, you can practise the piano after tea.’

As she thunders back down over the stairs, I hang the dress up again and tidy up some of her dolls. She don’t do badly, considering the little bit of money we’ve got. Neither of them do. It’s just me and Eddie who do without, really, but we’ve got decent clothes on our backs, and food on the table, so we mustn’t grumble, must we? No, mustn’t grumble, but it’s bloody hard not to.

The days and weeks have gone on. It’s nearly the end of April now, and I’m starting to feel a bit worn down again. I have to have a rest in the afternoons, and sometimes I don’t get up again till the next morning. But like I tell Dr Tyldesley when I see him on Wednesdays at half past ten, it’s nothing to get worried about. I mean if I can get up to his surgery, instead of him calling in on his rounds, there can’t be, can there? Carry me samples on the bus I do, tucked inside me handbag so no-one can see. He’s gone and banned smoking in his waiting room, so I generally stand outside having a chat with the others out there, until me name is called.

I always know I’m in for a telling off when I get in his office. ‘You shouldn’t smoke, you know how bad it is for you, it’s not helping you to get better, you should try to give up.’ I’ve heard it all a hundred times before, and today’s no different, so I just let him get it off his chest before I remind him of how much better I am, so it can’t be doing me that much harm, can it?

Anyway, he goes on then about me latest tests and the letter he’s just had from the hospital. I can hear what he’s saying, but I don’t think I’ll take any notice. I’m not going to have him spoiling things now, when everything’s just starting to go right again. Instead I have a think about where to go when I leave here. I’m supposed to be going up our mam’s, but I don’t fancy it now, so I think I’ll call in and see Flo on my way back down the hill. Yeah, that’s a good idea, because I want to pop in the post office to get meself a provisional licence and it’s on the way. Eddie said he’d teach me to drive, so now let’s see if he really will. Blimey, if I pass me test, I could be driving us down Dawlish in the summer.

Dr Tyldesley walks to the door with me. ‘You’ll be hearing from them in the next few days, I expect,’ he tells me.

‘All right,’ I answer. ‘Thanks then. Cheerio,’ and I skedaddle before he can say any more.

Flo’s in when I get there, which is lucky, because she’s got herself a little job as a home help now, just mornings, but Karen’s got chicken pox, so she’s had to take the day off.

She puts the kettle on and makes us a nice cup of tea, which we drink in front of the fire in her living room. It’s looking very nice in here. I remember when Bob put the wallpaper up and Eddie gave him a hand. Doesn’t seem all that long ago, but it must be a couple of years now. It’s a horrible thought, knowing Bob won’t be putting any more up – I wish it hadn’t come into me head. I wonder if Flo ever thinks like that. I suppose she’s bound to, but it don’t do any good to dwell on it, does it? You can’t help but admire how she keeps everything up together though, when she has to cope on her own. Must be hard not having a man about the place. I know Eddie wishes he could do more, but with me being under the weather all that time, he just couldn’t manage it. She’s got some good neighbours though, so I expect they help. They bloody better, or I’ll be knocking on their doors wanting to know why.

We chat about the kids and this and that, you know how you do. In the back of me mind I keep wondering about Bob and whether she still misses him at all. She must, I mean, it’s not even a year yet, is it? He has to have left a great big hole in her life. I know Eddie would, if anything happened to him. I’m feeling a bit tempted to ask her about it, but that would be prying, and anyway, she probably doesn’t want to be reminded. She’s a lovely woman, quiet, never pushes herself on anyone, makes you wonder why God had to go and do this to her.

When I leave her place I walk on down the hill and stop outside the park where I stare in at the swings and sliders. No kids there today, they’re all at school. Just old Bert, the caretaker, picking up some bits of rubbish. He gives me a wave, so I wave back then go on walking down to the post office. The sun’s gone in a bit now, but it’s still not cold. I keep me scarf tied up though, just in case the wind picks up from nowhere, the way it does sometimes, when you’re not expecting it. It’ll be handy when I can drive. Our car’s been quite reliable lately, so Eddie might even be able to give me a lesson tonight. He reckons we’ll end up having a row. He could be right, we usually do, about one thing or another.

I wonder if he’ll be glad when I’m gone, no more arguing and fighting then.

The letter turned up a few days ago, and now I’m sitting here on the edge of me bed with me coat on, staring down at me feet. Me little case is next to me, on the floor, me handbag’s already over me arm.

‘All right?’ Eddie says, coming in the room.

‘Yes,’ I say, and crush out me fag in an ashtray.

He picks up me case, then puts a hand under me elbow to help me up.

‘I can manage,’ I tell him.

I check me lipstick in the dressing-table mirror and decide to put on a bit more. I see him watching and try to give him a smile. ‘You can’t afford to take this time off,’ I tell him. ‘The last thing we need now is for you to go getting the sack.’

‘We’ll worry about that if it happens. I’ll take this on down then.’

I watch him go, then I look down at me bed again and start remembering the night I had our Gary. No good thinking about that now though, is it? It’s time to go.

‘At least it’s a nice sunny day,’ I say to Eddie as we get in the car.

‘They’re saying it could go up to sixty-five later,’ he tells me.

‘That’s nice.’

The engine starts after about the third go, and we reverse back up the street.

‘Have you told the kids?’ I ask him.

‘Not yet. I’ll tell them when they come home from school.’

We drive on round past the Anchor and up New Cheltenham Road. We see a couple of people we know, walking, but we don’t stop to offer them a lift.

‘Make sure our Susan don’t wear that white dress before Whitsun,’ I tell him, ‘because if she has her way she’ll have it on tomorrow.’

‘You’ll be back home long before then,’ he tells me.

‘Yeah, course I will. I’m just saying.’

‘I’ll come in as often as I can.’

I nod. ‘Shame the kids can’t come too, but it’s not allowed, so that’s that. Probably be too upsetting for them anyway.’

‘They’ll be all right.’

‘Yes.’

When we get to Cossham I feel like I’m going to start sobbing, or screaming. I don’t though, I just pull meself together as we drive on by. You see, it’s not Cossham I’m going to this time, it’s back down the bloody General, the place where I had me first big operation. Never ever wanted to go there again in me life, but it don’t seem as though I’ve got a choice now, does it? That’s where they want me, so that’s where I have to go. Thing that keeps going round and round in my head is, they can’t remove me liver the way they did me bosom, can they? I’ve only got one of them, and if it’s no bloody good any more, well then, I’ve had it, haven’t I? It’s all going to be over and I’ll never see me children again.

Susan

Mum’s gone back in hospital. She went last Thursday, and we don’t know when she’s coming out again, so Gran’s been staying with us, helping to get us ready for school in the morning, and making our tea at night. Gary’s been sleeping in with Dad, so I creep in too, and we all sleep in the big bed together. It’s not the same without Mum being there, but she’ll be home soon, Dad says, and I know she will because she’s come home all the other times when I was afraid she wouldn’t.

She’s not up Cossham this time, she’s in the General, down town. Dad goes in to see her most nights, and sometimes we go too, but we have to wait out in the car. When she was up Cossham she could wave to us from a window, but she can’t down the General, so we just sit there with Gran, in amongst all the other cars, waiting for Dad to come out again. We play I-spy-with-my-little-eye, and sing ‘Ten Green Bottles’, or ‘One Man Went to Mow’. Then we sing on the way home with Dad.

Tonight when he came back Dad said Mum was getting a lot better, so she could be coming home at the end of the week. I’m glad because she said my best friend Diane could come for tea. Dad wouldn’t let her, because it was too much for Gran. I’ve been up Diane’s house though, and I was even going to sleep there, but then I wanted to go home, just in case Dad was missing me, or Mum came back, so Diane’s dad drove me down in his car.

We’re doing French in school now, so I can say bonjour to Mum when I see her, and comment allez-vous? She’ll like that, because she says it’s good to speak another language, even though she doesn’t like the French very much. They eat frogs’ legs and snails, which is really disgusting. Lucky we don’t have that for tea or we’d be sick.

I’m trying out for the choir again next week, so I can be in the school concert. I’m going to sing my very, very best, so they don’t turn me down again, because I really want to be in it. Everyone else is, so I don’t want to be left out or Kelvin Milton will make fun of me again. I haven’t told Dad, because I want to surprise him.

Gary’s in his school choir, and he’s done lots of paintings for Mum that Dad takes into hospital. I haven’t done any, because mine are no good, but I’m making her a card saying ‘Get Well Soon’ with bows and stars on it, which is nearly ready, I just have to make some more glue. I’m doing it in secret, up in my bedroom, so no-one else knows.

‘Bonjour frère,’ I say as Gary comes in the living room where I’m helping Gran wind some wool.

‘What?’

‘It means hello brother,’ I tell him. ‘It’s French. And you’ll never guess what the word for yes is. It’s oui.’

He starts to laugh. ‘No it’s not, is it Gran?’

‘Yes it is,’ she answers.

‘You mean, oui it is,’ I tell her.

‘Oui it is,’ she repeats and Gary and I laugh our heads off.

‘What’s all this noise?’ Dad says, coming down from the bathroom where he’s been having a shave. He’s got little bits of paper stuck to his chin where he’s nicked himself, with spots of blood seeping through.

‘Susan keeps saying wee,’ Gary tells him. ‘And Gran did too.’

‘It’s French for yes, isn’t it Dad?’

‘Oui,’ he answers and we start laughing all over again.

‘Are you going down the hospital now?’ I ask him.

‘Yes, do you want to come?’

‘I don’t know. Can I go in and see Mum?’

‘You know children aren’t allowed in.’

‘I don’t think she’s in there,’ I say.

‘Now don’t start that nonsense again. Of course she’s in there, and we should find out tonight whether or not she can come home at the weekend.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Gary asks.

He always asks that question and Dad always says, ‘She’s having a little operation.’

‘You mean like having her tonsils out?’

‘Yes, a bit like that.’

‘Will she be able to speak after?’

‘Yes, but she’ll probably have to be in bed to recover.’

We have to go through what recover means then, and after that we try to guess what the score’s going to be when England play Germany at Wembley in the World Cup.

I didn’t go with Dad to the hospital the other night, but I’m going now, because Mum’s coming home. I’ve got my card ready to give her, and some scent I made with rose petals and water. It’s in a pickled-onion jar that Gran washed out for me, because it’s the only one we could find with a lid.

I’m sitting in the back seat of the car, all on my own, while Dad goes in to get her. Gary’s got choir practice tonight, so he couldn’t come, and Gran’s gone to watch him so she can bring him home when he’s finished. I still don’t know if they’re going to let me be in my school choir. I did the audition, and I sounded really good, except for when Kelvin Milton and his friends starting wailing like cats outside and put me off.

‘It’s a pity it’s raining,’ Gran said when Dad and I left earlier. ‘The weather’s been lovely while she’s been in.’

‘Forecast is good though,’ he told her, and he must be right because the rain’s stopped now, but the sun still hasn’t come back out again yet.

They’ve been in there a long time, and I’m starting to get worried that Dad can’t find her. Or that they’ve forgotten all about me. The car doors are locked, but I can always climb out of a window to go and find them. If the windows won’t go down I could end up living here, in the back of the car. I expect one of the nurses would give me a blanket to keep warm, and I might be able to beg some scraps of food from the kitchens. It’ll be handy if I get ill.

A man and woman come across the car park and get into a car behind me. I turn to watch them out of the back window and the woman gives me a little wave. I don’t wave back though, because I’m not allowed to wave to strangers.

I jump as the passenger door opens and turn round as Dad starts to help Mum get in.

‘Take it steady now,’ he’s saying. ‘It’s all right, I’ve got you. There you go, are you down?’

‘Yes, I’m down,’ she says. ‘I just got to get me feet in now.’

‘Don’t worry about that, I’ve got them,’ and he lifts her feet inside.

‘All right to close the door now?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I think so.’

She tilts herself to one side a bit and the door slams closed.

‘I’m here, Mum,’ I say from behind her.

‘I know you are,’ she says. ‘How are you, my old love?’

I start to say I’m all right, but then she turns round to look at me and I want to scream. She’s got a funny-colour face. It’s all grey and dark and the whites of her eyes are yellow.

‘Look a bit of a fright, do I?’ she says as Dad gets in. ‘I’ll be all right when we get home.’

‘I’ve got a card to make you better,’ I tell her, but I don’t want to give it to her because I don’t think she’s my mum.

‘There’s lovely.’

‘And some scent.’

‘Oh, that’s good, get rid of the horrid hospital smell, eh?’

I pass it over and she unscrews the lid to have a sniff.

‘Whew!’ she says, jerking her head back. ‘There’s nice. I’ll put some on after I’ve had a bath, eh? And look at this lovely card. Did you make it yourself?’

‘Yes. All on my own, didn’t I Dad?’

‘No help from anyone,’ he answers.

I want to climb on Dad’s lap and whisper in his ear if he’s sure it’s Mum, but he’s driving the car, so I sit back on the seat and stay quiet. She should have put some lipstick on, and some powder, because it’s scaring me to see her that horrible colour. I don’t want her to be like that. It makes her look like a ghost.

When we get home Dad takes her straight upstairs, and Gran goes to help her undress and get into bed. When she’s ready Gary goes in to see her, but I stay downstairs with Dad and Gran.

‘Aren’t you going up too?’ Dad asks when I go out to the kitchen to see what he’s doing.

I shake my head.

‘What’s the matter?’ he says.

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you hungry?’

‘No.’

‘Go on up and see your mum. She’s missed you.’

I shake my head again. ‘I don’t want her to be in bed,’ I say. ‘I want her to get up again.’

‘She will when she’s better.’

‘But she’s never better. She’s always ill. Why can’t she be like other people’s mums and be all right?’

‘Ssh, now, or she’ll hear you, and you’re old enough to know that she doesn’t want to be ill. That’s why she’s had an operation, to make her better again, but it takes time to get over it.’

‘How much time?’

‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

Mum’s been home from hospital for nearly two weeks now and she still hasn’t got out of bed, except to go to the toilet, when Dad or Gran have to help her. We’re not allowed to go into her room very much, in case she’s asleep and we wake her up. We just pop in to give her a kiss before we go off to school in the morning, and then again when we come home to let her know we’re back. Sometimes we go in and say goodnight, it depends how she’s feeling.

The doctor comes nearly every day, and Mrs Weiner, but she doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I wish she’d hurry up though, because we want her to watch the World Cup with us, and to come up Kingswood for the Whitsun parade. I don’t care about the school concert, because they won’t let me be in the choir anyway. I hate them, and their choir’s just stupid. So’s Diane Meadows, because she’s gone off with Caroline Fry, and I don’t want a best friend anyway, so there.

Gran’s gone back home again for a couple of nights, so Dad’s making the tea tonight. He’s standing in front of the stove, checking the boiled potatoes to see if they’re done. They’re always crunchy when he makes them, so you can’t mash them properly, and they go a funny colour too. I wish Mum would come downstairs and make our tea.

‘Dad?’ I say.

‘Yes?’

‘Is Mum going to die?’

‘No, of course not,’ he says. ‘Don’t be daft. Now go and lay the table, like a good girl.’

I’m happy now, because it’s taken me days and days to pluck up the courage to ask, and now I know it’s going to be all right. Anyway, I didn’t think she was going to die really, it was just worrying me a little bit.