The next day I’m on my own with no-one to play with. I wish we’d brought Eunice, but Daddy said she needed to have a holiday back in the Transkei with her own children. I wander into the lounge and plonk myself down on the soft armchair by the window. I can see Mommy and Aunty Yvonne who are sitting on the porch. I peer at them through the burglar bars and hear them talk.
‘I’m scared just now the bloody police are going arrest Jon,’ Mommy says. ‘He’s too involved with that ANC.’ Her voice sounds cross.
‘Agh, you know how he feels about apartheid.’ Aunty Yvonne leans across and pats Mommy’s arm.
Mommy’s face stays pouty, while my throat grows tight. I don’t want the police to take Daddy away. Maybe I should talk to him. I wish he would come back now instead of being with Uncle Piet and the stupid sheep again.
‘We’ve got children to think of,’ says Mommy, ‘he can’t risk everything. Things are getting worse in the townships.’
Aunty Yvonne goes quiet for a bit. ‘He’s an ex-Royal Marine, Maria, it’s in his blood. But you’re right, I’ll try and speak to him. Agh, it’s a horrible old world we live in, hey? Give me your glass, I’ll pour us another G & T.’
Aunty Yvonne gets up and comes inside. I hide behind the chair as she goes to the trolley and pours some drinks from the big gin bottle. I grin. She hasn’t even seen me. I wait until she closes the door before I creep out from behind the chair and sink back into its big rose cushion. I can hear Nat and Elsa giggling from the bedroom. I push my lips together and narrow my eyes. I hate them! Why do I always have to be by myself? Why do they always have to think they’re such big deals just because they’re older? I grind my teeth together as thoughts stomp like angry buffalos through my head. I wish everything was different. I wish I was a boy; then maybe Mommy would be happy with me? Maybe Nat and Elsa would like a little brother better; maybe they would play more with him?
I hate being the baby and having short hair the colour of a chestnut. It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair! I look around the room for something to throw. I get up and pick up the glass ashtray. It feels heavy in my hand. I want to throw it at the window and smash it so that the glass shoots out like the ANC bomb Mommy shouted at Daddy about before we left. Why do I have to be by myself? Even Auntie Yvonne’s Great Dane, Tiggy, doesn’t want to play with me. She’s gone with Dad and that stupid Uncle Piet who doesn’t even talk to me.
I drop the ashtray back on the table. The loud thud makes me feel better. I kick the side table and then the trolley. I look at the bottle on the trolley. It seems to make Mommy and Auntie Yvonne happy. I can hear them laughing now. Mommy’s not cross any more. Why shouldn’t I have some too?
I twist the red lid with fierce fingers. I put my nose on the open top. Ugh, it smells horrible. Maybe it tastes better. It must do if grown-ups like it so much. I pour some into the bottom of a glass. It looks like water. I lift the crystal glass and taste it with the tip of my tongue and pull a face. It’s bitter and burns my lips. I pick up a bottle of coke from the trolley and fizz it in before taking another small sip. That’s better. It slides down my throat and makes a small fire in my tummy. I smile as a funny feeling falls to my legs. They feel so heavy. I take a big sip and then another. This is nice; it makes my mind stop thinking. My whole body feels happy now. I grin to myself. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. This must be why the grownups drink this. It’s happy juice. I take another big sip and then fill up my glass with some more. The warm fuzziness fills my whole body and I give a little hiccup. I pour a bit more with some coke. I don’t care about anything any more. I don’t care if Nat and Elsa don’t want me. I don’t care if Mommy wants a boy instead of me. I just feel happy, happy, happy. I start to sing, Nkosi Sikilele iAfrika, the song Daddy taught me but that I must only sing in secret at the top of my voice, but I stop after the first line as Nat walks in.
‘Lissa, you okay?’ She gives me a strange look.
‘Yesh, I was jusch singing. I’m fine.’
‘What’ve you had?’ Nat comes closer, sniffing the air around me. ‘You look sheepish.’
I frown. What’s she talking about sheep for?
‘Come on … tell me.’
‘Noshthing.’
‘Yes you have. Don’t lie to me. What’ve you had?’ Nat’s face scrunches up like an angry toad as she glares down at me.
I turn my eyes towards the trolley and hiccup. Nat goes over and picks up the bottle from the trolley.
‘How much have you had? Tell me, it’s not funny.’
My head feels light. The room is going round and round like I’m on a merry-go-round. Nat’s voice is making my tummy feel funny. ‘I’m shorry,’ I dribble, ‘I’m sho shorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ whispers Nat, putting her arms around me and giving me a hug. It makes me feel warm inside and I hug her back hard. ‘You need to sick this up, Liss, before they come in, and then I’ll give you lots of water. Come on, get up.’
She helps me out of the armchair and down the passage towards the toilet where she makes me put my fingers down my throat. The horrid gin shoots out of my tummy. It spills onto the toilet and the floor. More and more comes up. It burns. Big sobs come up from my tummy and the tears run down my cheeks. ‘I want Daddy,’ I wail. ‘I want Daddy!’
‘What’s going on?’ Elsa pushes open the toilet door.
‘Liss pinched some of Yvonne’s gin!’
‘What?’ Elsa laughs. ‘Liss, you little scallywag. Why did you do that?’
‘I don’tsh know,’ I sob, ‘I don’tsh know.’
‘I think she was bored,’ says Nat.
‘Oh, poor Liss. Come here.’ Elsa put her arms around my shivering body and gives me a hug. ‘You pong. We’d better clean you up.’
Nat and Els help me down the passage, but we stop as Mommy comes towards us. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Her voice sounds like a snake’s.
‘Liss is sick,’ says Nat, standing in front of me.
‘She’s just puked,’ says Elsa. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.’
Mommy’s nostrils are moving like a police sniffer dog. ‘This child’s been drinking. What the hell has she had?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nat shrugs. ‘I think she found some gin in the lounge.’
‘Well, whose fault is that? Why haven’t you and Elsa looked after her?’
‘She’s not a baby,’ says Elsa with a firm jaw. ‘We thought she was okay. We’ve also got our own things to do.’
‘You shouldn’t be always leaving her out,’ says Mommy. ‘It’s not that much to ask. Take her to the bedroom. I don’t want Yvonne seeing her like this. What the hell will she think?’
Mommy’s blue eyes feel like knives as she looks at me.
‘I want my Daddy … I want my Daddy.’
‘Shush, you stupid child! Clean her up and take her to the room. Give her some black coffee. Oh God, that my life has come to this,’ says Mommy. ‘My nine-year-old child drunk. Drunk! What next! Your bloody father! This is all his fault!’
‘What’s Dad got to do with Lissa getting drunk?’ says Elsa, frowning at Mommy, but Mommy just glares and then stomps back down the passage. Nat helps me to the bedroom.
‘I’ll wipe your face with a warm cloth and then change your clothes. It’ll make you feel better,’ says Nat. ‘Get the cloth and some water for her, Els. I’ll close the curtains and then you must try and sleep.’
Elsa comes back with a warm face cloth and some water. ‘Do you want me to read a bit of Wind in the Willows?’ I nod weakly as she wipes my face and makes me glug down a tumbler of water.
She pulls my stinking clothes up over my head and Nat helps me into my shorty pyjamas with the strawberries on. I feel clean as I snuggle down under the cool sheets. Elsa takes the Wind in the Willows out of my case. She sits with her legs crossed on the end of my camp bed and opens it. Nat sits next to me, her back resting against the wall. I close my eyes, the nearness of my sisters makes me feel better. My head’s not going round so much any more. I listen as Elsa starts to read the part about Toad and the washerwomen. A laugh bubbles up from my belly. I like the posh way she says Toad’s voice.
‘You mustn’t do that again, little Liss,’ says Nat. She strokes my hair. ‘Just ask and we’ll do something with you.’
I smile and push myself down deeper under the cool covers. The horrible sick feeling in my tummy is getting better. I feel Nat give my hand a squeeze. I take a deep breath. I can smell Nat and Elsa’s Charlie perfume. I’m going to wear it too when I become a teenager. My body grows heavy.
‘It’s a bloody generational curse,’ says Nat, ‘it really is.’
‘Maybe,’ says Elsa, ‘but whatever, the last thing we need in this family is another alcoholic.’