The Bad Mother's Handbook

by Kate Long

  So I took his advice but went with Charlotte. It was a family thing, after all.

  Mayfield was modern orange brick and overlooked a superstore, but inside it was clean and airy. The only detectable smells were furniture polish and dog. Blossom Where Ye Are Planted proclaimed a tapestry over the vestibule door.

  ‘Mum, have you seen this?’ Charlotte pointed to a six-foot-high cage full of budgies all going berserk because a tortoiseshell cat was lounging across the top and dangling a paw over the side.

  ‘They’re the best of friends, really,’ said the Matron, a smart woman in navy who met us in the hall. ‘They just enjoy scolding her, but she’s too well-fed and lazy to do any harm, even if she could get at them. Aren’t you, madam?’ The cat flicked an ear at her but otherwise made no movement. ‘Oh, and there’s Bertie as well.’ Bertie was a yellow Labrador who came up to the pram and laid his head on William’s blanket. ‘Everyone loves Bertie.’ Matron patted his flank. ‘I have such a job trying to stop our guests from over-feeding him.’

  Charlotte stroked the dog and it wagged its tail so hard its back end nearly went over. ‘Nan would like him,’ she mouthed at me.

  I don’t know what it was, whether the paint they used was brighter or the windows were bigger, or perhaps it was because we were seeing the place in the morning rather than at dusk, but it was a different world to Bishop House. There were still some very poorly old people there but there seemed to be more activity. Even the television watchers were arguing amongst themselves. How Old is Too Old to Give Birth?

  ‘We like Mr Kilroy in here, don’t we?’ said Matron. ‘What is it today? “I Had A Baby At 60”? Good God. What do you think about that, Enid?’

  ‘I reckon she’s mental,’ said a lady in a pink cardigan. ‘I put the flags out when I had my last one, and I were only twenty-six. Teks me all my time t’ look after mysen, never mind a babby.’

  They all went mad over William, though. Enid wanted him on her bony knee.

  ‘See the doggy? Can you see that nice doggy? That’s my Bella, that is.’

  Bertie trotted up to each outstretched hand in turn before exiting.

  ‘Off on his rounds again,’ said Matron. ‘He’s everyone’s pal. So, what else can I show you?’

  ‘I think we’ve seen enough, haven’t we, Charlotte? Thanks for the tour, we’re very grateful. And you do have a place available?’

  ‘At the moment.’ She touched my arm gently. ‘These decisions are never easy, but sometimes it really is for the best. Have a think and get back to me.’

  Bertie raced past us pursued by a woman with a zimmer frame.

  ‘Honey! Honey! Come back here!’ she was shouting. ‘Damn dog’s got my paper,’ she complained as she passed Matron.

  ‘Never mind, Irene, gets you your daily exercise, doesn’t it?’

  She let us out and we stood on the porch for a while looking out over Morrison’s.

  ‘What do you think?’ Charlotte asked me.

  ‘I think . . . it wouldn’t be so bad,’ I said. We walked slowly down the path onto the main road to where the Metro was parked. ‘I only hope Nan agrees.’

  You wait for years to overtake your parents and then when you do it’s no kind of victory. When I was little and being told off, I’d think, Just you wait, when I’m grown up I’ll show you. Sometimes Dad used to pull rank on me, Because I Say So, and I hated it. But nothing prepares you for the day when you realize your parents are weaker than you. It’s like having the ground fall away from under your feet.

  I sat by Mum’s bed holding her hand for a long time before I spoke. I was talking to her, though.

  Mum, I said, I wanted to tell you something, a secret you should know. She breathed evenly in her sleep. It’s something I’ve only just found out. The funny thing was, in profile she did look a bit like me. We had some of the same lines and wrinkles, anyway. Listen, Mum, you know when I got pregnant? I think – the idea formed itself properly into actual words – it might have been Freudian. The way she was lying made her skin smooth out and she seemed years younger lying there next to my face. Do you understand what that means? What I’m trying to say is, deep down, part of me was too scared to take exams and go off to university, start a new life away from everything I’d ever known. I didn’t know it then, it wasn’t conscious, but I can see quite clearly now. I think falling pregnant was a way of avoiding all that risk. So I would never have got rid of Charlotte, for all I moaned on at the time. And I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. It’s the way life works out.

  When she woke up I was going to tell her about Mayfield.

  *

  There were little yellow chicks all over the house suddenly.

  ‘What’re these in aid of?’ I asked Mum, who was producing them at fantastic speed. ‘I didn’t even know you could knit.’

  ‘Nan taught me years ago, you don’t forget. You can knock these off in an hour. Ivy showed me. Then they fit over a Cadbury’s Creme Egg, can you see?’ She put her fingers inside the chick’s body and filled it out. ‘If you’re not doing anything you could sew some eyes on those two over there. There’s black wool in the basket.’

  ‘I’ve got to change Will, he stinks. Anyway, what are you making them for?’

  ‘The NSPCC. I talked it over with Leo, we’re going to have a big drive at school next term and see how much we can raise with lots of different events. I thought we could have an Easter fair and sell these, say, a pound a time? Or could we get away with charging more, what do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re bonkers,’ I said, hoisting Will onto his plastic mat and undoing his poppers. ‘We’re in the middle of Christmas, never mind Easter. I don’t know how you’ve got the time.’ I undid the nappy. ‘Oh, God, look at that. It’s gone up his back.’

  ‘Well, I thought if I did two or three a week from now till March, and buy a couple of eggs every time we go shopping . . .’

  Will chortled with delight as I wiped him down. ‘It’s not funny and it’s not clever,’ I told him. He grabbed his genitals and grinned. ‘Perv,’ I said and strapped him back up.

  ‘Then I was wondering about a duck race on the canal at Ambley, and a sponsored walk, and maybe cake sales every Friday by the back doors, because if we have them outside then the cleaners won’t complain about crumbs . . .’ Mum’s needles clicked busily.

  ‘You’re turning into Nan, you are,’ I joked.

  ‘Don’t even think it,’ she said.

  I presume it’s her way of coping. Apparently it was really hard to get through to Nan about not coming back here, and whenever Mum thought she’d finally broken the awful truth, Nan would gaze up at her and say something like, ‘I can’t wait to get home to that baby.’ In the end she gave up.

  Oh, another funny thing I found: talk about turning into Nan, she left some papers on the cistern, of all places; a pack from the DFEE about Returning to Education. I wonder what’s going on there, and if Leo Fairbrother put her up to it. He seems to be behind a lot of stuff these days. I won’t say anything, though, I don’t think I was meant to see it. I left the pack where it was and it was gone next time I looked, anyway.

  On Christmas Eve Daniel came round to have A Talk.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he said, surveying the chaos in my bedroom. ‘Is this really the best time for a major clear-out?’

  ‘Mum’s idea. She wanted me to move into Nan’s room, but I don’t want to, so we’re setting it up as a study-cum-nursery type thing. If you think it’s bad in here you should see next door. Come and have a look, it’s so weird.’

  Mum had pushed Nan’s wardrobe against the chest of drawers to clear a wall, and the bed was piled high with old-lady underclothes and spare bedding. The carpet was darker in an oblong where the wardrobe had been and there were some spectacular cobwebs across the newly revealed wallpaper. God knows what kind of tarantula hybrid had been sharing Nan’s room for the last few years.

  ‘The desk’s going along there, and the bo
okcase. And Will’s moving in the New Year, I thought he could have his cot under the window.’ I squeezed round the bed and looked out over the frosted Working Men’s. It would have been nearly beautiful, but for the fact that two lads were going from one vehicle to another inscribing rude messages on the sparkling windscreens. I opened the window catch and shouted down, ‘There’s two Gs in BUGGER, you know. What’s Santa Claus bringing you? Lobotomies?’ They whipped their heads up, saw me and gave me the finger. I gave it back and shut the window again. ‘Nice to see community spirit’s alive and well. Christ, it’s bloody freezing out.’ I pulled the curtains shut quickly and hugged myself warm. ‘Don’t know what’s going to happen to the bed, though. It seems really disrespectful to start messing about with Nan’s stuff when she doesn’t even know she’s not coming back. Like she was dead, only she’s not.’

  ‘Maybe your mum could put it in storage.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I perched on one side of the mattress and Daniel perched on the other. ‘It’s what we’re doing to Nan, after all.’

  He reached across and squeezed my hand. ‘Hey up,’ he grinned, in a pathetic attempt at a northern accent.

  ‘Watch it, you.’

  ‘By ’eck.’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  He pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Ooh, Mr ’Igginbottom, is that a ferret down your trousers or are you just pleased to see me?’

  I picked up some big ecru knickers and threw them at him. ‘Stop it, will you? I want to be miserable for a minute. You don’t understand, Nan’s always been here.’

  ‘You said.’

  He held out his arms and I crawled across the bedspread to him. He pulled me against his chest and I found I was shivering.

  ‘Well, she has. And I never really took her on. I thought she was a nuisance half the time. It’s too late.’ I sagged my shoulders and exhaled slowly. ‘I’ve been a rubbish granddaughter. Why don’t we ever say the things we should to the people we care about?’

  ‘Like you said, she’s not dead yet. Sort it out, if that’s the way you feel. Look, I’m not trying to be unsympathetic, but simply by producing Will you’ve probably done as much for her as any doctor. Go and see her. Talk to her.’ He gave me a squeeze, then took my face between his hands. ‘And listen, there’s one thing you should know that’s more important than anything else right now.’

  I searched his eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘That there’s a damn great spider on your shoulder.’

  I yelped and shot off the bed, pulling at my jumper and staggering into the wall.

  ‘Hold it!’ shouted Daniel and launched forward, clapping his hand over the dark shape that squatted between the tufts of the candlewick bedspread. ‘Gotcha!’ He held it up as if for inspection. ‘Oh no, it’s got away!’ he yelled as the black blob leapt out of his hands and at my feet. I screamed at the top of my voice and threw myself against the wardrobe. The hairy mass flopped onto the floor. And lay still.

  ‘You total bastard,’ I said, and picked it up.

  Mum appeared in the doorway, the old cross expression back on her face, like it had never been away. She wears it well.

  ‘Will you two make a bit less noise? I’ve just this minute got the baby down—’ She wiped her brow with the back of hand like a poor woman in a Victorian melodrama.

  ‘Sorry—’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Cooper.’ Daniel cocked his head on one side and raised his eyebrows earnestly; it made him look about twelve.

  Mum huffed.

  ‘It’s all my fault I’m afraid, Mrs Cooper, I was being very immature.’ Daniel’s neck craned into an even more humble posture.

  ‘Yeah, he was, Mum, actually, it was his fault, he threw this – God, it’s not funny! – fake moustache at me.’ I held it up for her to see. ‘What’s it doing in here? I don’t remember having any pirate costumes as a kid.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She held out her hand and I placed it in her palm. ‘Oh.’ She smiled, turning the moustache over in her fingers so it was tape-up. ‘You’d never believe it, this was Nan’s.’

  Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. I snorted. ‘Get away.’

  ‘No, honestly. She used to do a lot of plays for the Mothers’ Union, comedy ones, in dialect. She was always the man, for some reason.’

  ‘But she’s such a midget!’

  ‘I think that was part of the joke. She’d be paired up with some hefty woman as the wife; hen-pecked husband, that sort of thing. Seaside postcard couple. They used to perform over at the Working Men’s, in the days when it wasn’t quite so seedy.’

  ‘God, really? Did you ever see her?’ It was fascinating, this Nan I never knew.

  ‘Oh, no; it was only when I was very little. Apparently she was very good, though. Had the audience in tears a time or two, with laughter. Ask Maud, she’ll remember.’ She passed the moustache back to Daniel like she was offering him a canape. ‘Here you go, lad, try it for size.’

  Daniel took it politely and pressed it against his lip. ‘What do you think?’ he tried to say, turning to me, but the moustache fell off and dropped down between his legs in a spider-type action. I half expected it to scuttle off across the rug.

  ‘Gerrross! You look like the love-child of Professor Winston and Cher. Don’t ever grow one of your own, promise?’ I bent double and fished it off the floor. ‘If you do, you’re dumped, OK?’ I put the moustache to my lip; it smelt of must. ‘Imagine Nan dressed as a man, though.’

  ‘Wherever did it come from?’ asked Mum, stepping forward to shift some of the ancient pillowcases and sheets. Some of them still had the cellophane wrappers on. ‘Did it drop out of these? Oh, wait a minute, what’s this?’

  She lifted some linen and nestled in between the layers was a pink raffia knitting bag with wooden handles. It had been squashed under the sheets so long it had left its shape imprinted in them, top and bottom, like a fossil. A ginger moustache was sticking out of the top, and as Mum picked the bag up, a thick wooden peg fell out and rolled against my thigh.

  ‘And this is?’

  Mum frowned. ‘A piggy, probably.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Some game they used to play in the olden days.’

  The ghosts of Nan’s past crowded round to see.

  ‘I wonder what they did with it,’ said Daniel, attempting to spin it on the bedspread.

  ‘Hit it with a bat and ran after it, I think.’ Mum rummaged in the bag and brought out a little plaster figure with a flat white triangle where its nose should have been. She held it out for us to see.

  ‘They called these kewpie dolls, with their pot-bellies and moulded hair. This’ll be old, you know.’

  ‘Worth anything?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought so. Seen better days, haven’t you, love? Never mind, so have we all.’ Mum put the doll on the bed and emptied the bag carefully between me and Daniel, then she knelt down so she was on a level with it all. Papers, cards, odds and ends had spilled out. A pair of pink baby bootees caught my eye.

  ‘Oh, sweet! Were these mine?’

  ‘No. They were mine. And the lamb rattle.’ Mum looked sad as she touched them.

  ‘These must be from World War One,’ said Daniel flicking carefully through a bundle of postcards with embroidered fronts. ‘Amazing. This is real social history.’

  Mum handed me a letter to Santa she’d written when she was about six or seven.

  ‘Purple felt tip? Bit sloppy, that. And what’s that zombie-thing in the corner?’

  ‘Zombie?’ Mum imitated outrage. ‘That’s a drawing of Barbie. My whole happiness hung on that doll, you know, I thought it would complete my life. Even though it was in the days before she had all these poseable limbs and bum-length hair, what have you. It’s all gone completely mad now, of course; they do Barbie Penthouse Apartments and camper vans, and beauty salons, discos . . . Takes all the fun out of it. I used to cut up shoe boxes and line them with wallpaper, stop sniggering, Charlotte. And you couldn’t get Ken outside th
e States, nobody would import him, so I made do with an Action Man I got from a jumble sale. His gripping hands came in useful many a time.’ Mum smoothed out the letter wistfully. ‘Tell you what, though, I wish I’d kept that doll, it would have been really collectable. Nothing like those interchangeable pink-and-blonde bimbos you had when you were tiny. This one had black hair cut in a fringe and an op-art dress, à la Mary Quant. Quite scary, actually, but it could have been an heirloom.’

  ‘Cool,’ I said, then laughed. ‘God, Mum, how sad are we?’

  ‘Do you realize, these cards have seen actual bloodshed,’ Daniel broke in. ‘This thumb-print here, it might even be blood. Wow. You should take them into school, Mrs Carlisle would love it.’ He turned one over and started to read it.

  ‘No.’ Mum took it gently out of his hand. ‘Sorry. I want to look through them first. They might be personal. Nan’s grandad was killed out there, you know.’

  The light in the room shifted and the air in the chimney sighed. Daniel gazed at his knees in embarrassment, so to make him feel better I undid the safety pin on the crepe bandage I’d found and began to wind it round his wrist. He didn’t seem to object so I carried on up his arm, tying a neat knot at the shoulder. After a minute he shook himself out of his mood and started a retaliatory action with a bobbin of thin pink ribbon. His fingers wove the satin in and out between my fingers, his long bony fingers mixed up with my thin girly ones, and I thought, I love you, you daft sod.