All of a sudden it was the Saturday of the church union exams. Caleb was still unwell but said he wanted to do his exam, which made Mum very happy and proud. She called him her little disciple. She had had a few Jesus days in that time. This usually happened when she went to the church’s women’s group or Bible class and came home feeling more godly and calm. For some reason she went to more of these classes for a couple of weeks around this time, and we all got the benefit.
I asked Ruthy if she thought Mum was going more often because she was sad about Sixpence, but she just snorted and said it was more likely that she was praying for precious Caleb, which wasn’t like Ruthy, who usually took Mum’s side, even when she’s cross. Dad seemed pleased Mum was going frequently, so they didn’t argue quite as much. We were relieved when Ruthy could write ‘Jesus day’ on the top of a journal page, and we tried to keep everything as happy as possible so they would last.
We helped each other to be good. Ruthy was especially helpful because she seemed to naturally be a better child and could catch me or Caleb starting to do the wrong thing and hiss a warning at us, which often made us stop and get out of Mum’s way.
I had been trying to do some extra revision, and Ruthy tutored me after we went to bed. In the weeks before the exam, Mum and Dad allowed us an extra hour to study with the light on before we went to sleep. Ruthy was nicer to me than usual, but she said it was because I was nicer than usual and I don’t know which one of those was true. I don’t think I was nicer. I think I was just sadder.
I thought about Sixpence every day. I visited her grave after school. Mr Driver and Ruthy had helped me build a little house to mark the spot where she was buried. It was about eight inches square, and it had a door and two windows, and Mr Driver made a little postbox to go with it. Mr Driver made it out of bits of timber, and screwed and glued it together for us, and Ruthy helped me paint it. I painted it sky blue with big white dots on it, and Ruthy said she thought it was a bit bright for a tombstone but Mr Driver said he thought it was fine and he was happy to have it in his garden. He pulled up weeds around it and planted some little white seaside daisies he said Mrs Kerfoops across the street let him have for nothing. I don’t think her name was Mrs Kerfoops, but for some reason it’s what all the neighbours called her. Ruthy said it was because she had a very long, complicated Greek name that no one could say properly.
I thought the grave was lovely. Mr Driver put a little chair next to the bit of garden where we planted her, and every day I would sit for a while and tell her what had happened. Sometimes I saw him looking at me out of his kitchen window, and he would wave, but he didn’t ever interrupt me or ask me to go home, and I felt calmer there than anywhere else.
Although no one would ever replace her, I admitted to myself I would love to have another pet because Sixpence couldn’t talk back to me or snuggle into my jumper anymore. I missed visiting the animals at the Johnsons, but even I didn’t have to be told to stay away from them again. I started to think in my head that if I tried very hard to be good until Christmas, and did better in my union exam than the year before, I might be able to talk to Dad about another guinea pig.
Mum and I seemed to have reached an uneasy truce. She didn’t get as cross with me, but she didn’t talk to me much either. I must have been scratching my head in the night more than usual because my head was often sore in the morning, but she just took the pillowcases off the bed and put them in the laundry without nagging me or making me wrap my hair in ringlet rags at night.
Ruthy’s hair was golden white and curly, but mine was a dark brown colour and dead straight to halfway down my back if left alone. The problem with it being shiny was that the big pieces of sores from my scabs would get stuck in my hair and you could see them sitting on the surface sometimes. Rufus’s nasty friend Robert Bridge started to call me Leprosy, and Rufus called me Scabhead. Maynard kindly looked over my hair in the lunch hours and pointed out bits he could see so we could try to pick them out. He wasn’t at all fussed about this. He wanted to be a doctor and said this was nothing compared to the blood and guts he would have to get used to. In fact he seemed quite fascinated by it all and even wrapped some of the bigger bits of scabs in his hanky to look at under his microscope at home.
Mum must have been right though about me being a terrible child, because sometimes even though I knew I shouldn’t do things I just came right out and did them anyway. The morning of the exam Mum and Dad sat around the kitchen table helping us with our revision questions. Mum made pancakes for breakfast and, even though it was all about getting ready for the exams, it felt like a family holiday thing that we were all working on together. Mum helped Caleb and Ruthy, and Dad helped me. He asked me lots of questions about the Daniel in the Bible in particular. Dad was a bit of a Daniel fan, as far as I could tell, and he was really enjoying himself. He knew a lot of things about him that weren’t in my Sunday school notes, and he made him sound a lot more interesting than Sister Joyce, my teacher, ever did. I told him he should be a Sunday school teacher, and he said he was when he was younger, which was fascinating because I didn’t know that about him. I told him I’d like to be a Sunday school teacher too and he said that was a fine ambition, but I’d better learn the stories if I wanted to do that, and I thought this was good advice and made a lot of sense.
We parked in Halifax Street and Mum and Dad walked around to the rear hall with us. They left Ruthy and I there and we found our classes at the big trestle tables. Everyone was a bit nervous, and Mr Walters, who was in charge of making sure all the exams were done properly, was strutting around giving out orders. I heard Mum say ‘Pompous git’ under her breath, which made Ruthy and I giggle very quietly and feel quite pleased with her, because we thought he was too.
Mum and Dad then went through the middle hall to take Caleb upstairs to the baby’s Sunday school rooms, where Caleb would do his exam. They told us they would wait for us in the car. Mum had made them sandwiches and a big flask of tea, and they said they would be fine until we were ready to come home, and not to worry about them or rush our answers. A lot of parents waited out the front on union exam day. Most of them got out of their cars and had a sort of social event on the footpath, sharing what they’d brought for lunch and talking nine to the dozen. Anne King, who always finished the exam early because she just wasn’t that interested and was allowed to leave the hall, had told me the year before that my mum just stayed in the car by herself, and that some other mums thought she was sad and some thought she was stuck up because she was sort of beautiful and didn’t mind showing it. So I lost a few minutes at the start of the exam worrying about whether Mum would join the party outside of the ecclesial hall, or just be miserable by herself. I looked in front of me and could see Ruthy writing away with her pen sliding fast along the page and her tongue stuck out, so I thought I’d better get on with it too.
After the exam, I was feeling pretty optimistic. I had been able to answer all of the questions at least in part, and when I checked some of what I’d written with Ruthy, she thought I might have done quite well too. We were all together in the car driving back home from the exam, and Mum had us all singing ‘Lead, Kindly Light’ and ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam’. She had a very lovely voice, and so did my dad, and sometimes they sang a duet at the family nights and everyone admired them because they were both so handsome and beautiful and sang like songbirds together. Mum was a contralto. That means she can sing a bit lower than other women. She sings the boring sort of not tuneful lines, but when you sing that way with the people who do sing the main tune of the songs, it makes it all sound rather wonderful.
I should have just sang songs and kept myself quiet, but I was so happy that I might actually do well in the exam, I heard words coming out of my mouth again before I could stop them.
‘Dad, if I get a first-class certificate in my exams instead of a second-class certificate, could I have a guinea pig for Christmas?’ I asked.
As soon as I asked this question, I knew I had started something very big and very bad. Mum immediately stopped singing. Caleb and Ruthy froze. Dad said nothing for a minute but I saw his arms go tight around the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead for a few seconds and then I saw him look at me in the rear-view mirror. It was a sad look and made me feel bad. Mum’s shoulders were very straight and stiff and didn’t move for a long time. Caleb looked at Ruthy who made a very small ‘no’ with her mouth, and we travelled on that way for what seemed like miles and miles.
‘So, Dorcas,’ Mum finally said through gritted teeth, ‘despite your brother nearly dying of an asthma attack only a few weeks ago, you want to bring an animal into the house that might kill him. That’s what you think of him, is it? And you want your dad and me to have no sleep taking turns of sitting in his room with him all night because he can’t breathe? And you want us to have more hospital bills? And all so you can have a dirty little rat in the garden? I don’t know why I send you to Sunday school. You don’t seem to be able to learn anything about caring for other people at all.’
‘That’s enough, Agnes,’ said Dad quietly.
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Mum’s voice was getting louder now, with sharp spikes in her words like the teeth on Dad’s saw. ‘You stand up for her. You always do. I’m never first with you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, and let’s talk about this when we get home.’
‘That’s right. Sweep it all under the rug like you always do. Nothing will change. Nothing ever does. I’m stuck here in this dreadful house with naughty children and no family to support me while you swan off to work with your mates, too scared to tell Henry he exploits you. It’s not turning the other cheek, you know. It’s just weakness. You’re weak. And because you’re weak I will never see my family again.’ Her voice was filling up the car now like a dangerous gas. It was getting hard to breathe.
‘Just stop it, Agnes,’ said Dad quietly. ‘Just calm down.’
Even I knew it was never a good idea to tell Mum to calm down. It was like pouring petrol on a fire. Up she goes. Up she goes!
‘Can’t you see you are going to be sacrificed? Henry is sacrificing you at the altar of his own greed. He will kill you and I will be left with the children and no support. Can’t you see what’s going to happen? Do you even care? You come home later and later, and more and more tired. You have no energy for me or for the children. We never do anything together anymore. He is going to kill you and you don’t even care!’
Dad made the car skid to a sudden stop, which made all three of us in the back seat gasp. Ruthy put her hands over her mouth, and Caleb covered his eyes. I couldn’t stop looking. This was a worse fight than usual.
‘Dad …’ I said, although I didn’t know what I was going to say next.
Dad turned and looked at me with a look I hadn’t seen on his face before. Then he reached over the back of the seat and hit me across the face. ‘Dorcas. For once. Will you shut up. Stop causing trouble. You will never have a guinea pig or a pet. It would make your brother sick. It will make your mother sick. Stop being so selfish. And. Just. Shut. Up!’
Mum was sobbing now. Caleb was sobbing too. Ruthy was crying with no noise coming out of her mouth but with her face all twisted up and her mouth opened and a long line of spittle from her lip to the collar of her blouse. I felt a sort of shock. I put my hand to the place where Dad had hit me and it felt hot and stinging, but not as bad as my heart did, which I thought might burst out of my chest in a huge explosion. My lungs didn’t seem to be working properly, and I was having trouble finding my breath.
Dad put on the indicator and pulled back out into the street, and we drove home with just crying noises filling up the car. And then Caleb started to wail.
‘Don’t be sacrificed, Dad,’ he said. ‘Don’t be sacrificed. I don’t want you to be nailed on a cross like Jesus. Mum, tell him not to be sacrificed.’
Ruthy tried to calm him down by patting his shoulder. ‘He won’t be sacrificed, Caleb,’ she said. ‘Mum doesn’t mean that, do you, Mum? She just means he works too hard for his boss, don’t you, Mum? Don’t cry, Caleb. She doesn’t mean that.’
Dad turned to look at Caleb and said, ‘Of course not, Caleb. Of course not. Don’t be silly now. Mum didn’t mean it, did you, Agnes?’
But Mum would neither affirm nor deny, as they said on cop shows on tellie, and Caleb started to scream and cry hysterically. And then he started to wheeze. And my mother sat like a statue in the front seat next to my dad.