When Mum creeps out from her bedroom two hours later, I learn a few vital facts.
- Dad hasn’t gone off with one of the students, but a model. “One of those women who drape themselves over a chair or whatever, stark naked,” Mum snarls, banging the teapot on to the worktop. I can’t believe it. All I can picture is Dad walking arm-in-arm with a terrible pencil drawing, and not a real woman at all.
- This has, according to Mum, been going on for months.
- The thought of Dad doing anything with anybody is almost enough to make me run out and spew in the garden. The only thing that stops me is the thought of Betty peering over the fence and watching me. Strange girl, that Clover. Peed in Superdrug, was sick on her lawn … now what other embarrassing things might she do?
The front door flies open. “I’m back!” Lily yells, clattering into the kitchen and flinging her sleepover bag on to the table.
“Hey,” I say, trying to normalize my voice. “How was it?”
“Awesome,” she enthuses. “Why are you wearing your nightie, Mum?”
“Oh, guess I forgot to get dressed,” Mum says with a small laugh. I glance at the kitchen clock. It’s twelve-thirty. Will she ever wear proper daytime clothes again, or drift around in her nightie to parents’ evenings, school concerts, everything? There’s a woman down the road who comes out in a grey bra and jogging bottoms held up with a dressing gown cord. Will Mum turn into that?
“Are you sick?” Lily asks with a frown.
“No, I’m not sick,” Mum says wearily. “I’m just a bit … tired, that’s all. Where’s Hannah? Did her mum just drop you off?”
“Yeah, ‘cause they’re in a rush for the swimming gala.”
Swimming galas. Trips to Auntie Sue’s. Other people’s lives are so cosy and normal. “Right.” Mum looks relieved. A tense pause fills the kitchen, and I don’t know what to do. The inside of my mouth feels sawdusty, like the bottom of Cedric’s cage. Is it my job to tell Lily about Dad and the nudie model? I only turned thirteen yesterday. I don’t feel ready for the responsibility. Mum sips tea from her chipped World’s Best Mum mug.
“Where’s Dad?” Lily asks.
My heart staggers in my chest. Tell her, Mum. Tell her.
Mum sips some more.
“I said where’s—”
“He’s … not here,” I cut in. “He’s … gone away.”
Mum seems to draw herself up then, as if her tea has magical, strength-giving powers. “Lily, sweetheart. Me and Daddy … we’re … he’s … gone-to-live-somewhere-else.”
Lily’s mouth wilts. “What? Where’s he gone?”
I go over and squeeze her hand, noticing that each of her stubby nails has been painted a different colour. Her shoulder-length dark hair hangs messily around her face. “We’re not sure yet,” Mum says softly, “but whatever happens, we’ll be fine, OK? Everything will work out. Won’t it, Clover?”
How the heck should I know? “Suppose so,” I mumble.
Lily inhales deeply. I can tell she’s trying to flatten the wobble in her voice as she announces, “Guess what! Hannah’s got a chocolate fountain.”
And that, in a nutshell, is how my little sister’s mind works. It flits on to something else – something less scary than nudie models, like chocolate fountains or wanting to buy a plastic tunnel to stop Cedric keeling over from boredom on his wheel.
I’m worried about Mum, but I don’t know what to do with her. Every time I try to cuddle her or offer her more tea, she shrugs me off as if she doesn’t want to be cuddled. “I’m swimming in tea!” she wails at one point. What else could I offer her? Wine? No – I can imagine how that’d end up. So I pack our swimming stuff and set off with Lily into town, which feels better than being trapped in our house.
I’ll figure out what to do when we get back. In fact, by that time, Dad’ll have realized that he can’t live another second without us and come rushing home, and I’ll pretend that my demented brain just made the whole episode up.