The Bad Mother's Handbook

by Kate Long

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it mattered.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s because you’re Real Middle Class. It’s the half-and-halves, caught in between, who obsess about it. Nan knew where she was, working in the mill and proud of it; I’ll probably go off and get my degree – eventually – and earn my twenty-thousand-plus a year, so I’ll be all right.’ Daniel’s eyebrows moved up and down rapidly. ‘Yeah, well, if everything goes to plan, that is. Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so smug. But Mum’s in the land of the class-dispossessed; part-time school assistant living in an ex-council house. She’s Aspirant Something, but I don’t know what.’

  Daniel squirmed and opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.

  ‘The irony is, she’s become Middle Class and she doesn’t even know it.’ I placed the naked Mintoes on Nan’s lap and clambered back on the sofa. ‘Shall I tell you why?’

  ‘I’m utterly intrigued.’

  ‘It’s the fact that, instead of spending her energy moaning about things, she’s now getting up and actually doing something to make them better. As long as I can remember she’s droned on about how life ought to be different and I always thought, “Well, why not see if you can change it, then?” And I never had a satisfactory answer, unless you count, “We don’t do that kind of thing”, “That’s the way it is”, “We put our heads down and slog on”. But your Middle-Class person says, I’m going to write to my MP, organize a rota, lobby the council, hold a meeting. Middle-Class people act, they don’t suffer.’

  ‘Too much of a generalization,’ said Daniel hugging himself like a man who’s been accidentally shut in a freezer. ‘I know plenty of whinging Middle-Class. Half my father’s patients probably fall into that category.’

  ‘Huh. It’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.’

  ‘Mrs Waters is fed up ’cause she’s having a hip op,’ Nan piped up.

  ‘No. She said she’s fed up with her son playing hip-hop.’ I sniggered, then felt mean when she looked confused. ‘He plays his music loud,’ I explained.

  ‘Well, they do, young ’uns. You do.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  There was an extra loud clatter and a yelp from the kitchen. I got up to investigate.

  ‘Do you think your mother’s going to be long in there? Because there’s something I want you all to hear,’ he blurted out. ‘Together. I think.’

  Radar Ears was back in like a shot.

  *

  IT WAS LIKE an old-fashioned film. ‘Mrs Cooper, may I have the honour of asking Charlotte to be my bride?’ A shock, but quite a nice one. I mean, a doctor’s son. I came through wiping my bleeding thumb on my apron, all ready to play Understanding Mother.

  *

  He stood up as soon as Mum walked in.

  ‘Eeh, are you going?’ mumbled Nan through a mouthful of toffee. ‘You’ll want a coat on, it’s bitter out.’

  He shook his head, embarrassed, and moved so that his back was to the fire. Me and Mum sat in front of him like an interview panel while he straightened his fingers, spread them out and put his palms together. Then his hands dropped to his sides and I thought, Oh God, what’s coming now? Because I really hadn’t a clue. He raised his head and began.

  ‘I should have said this earlier, when I first came, but I didn’t know how – I have something I need to tell you both. At least, I think I should tell you – I mean, there’s no question whether I should tell you, it’s whether I should tell you both together, or just you, Mrs Cooper, or maybe you, Charlotte, and get you to speak to your mother.’

  ‘Maureen Tickle had a broken ankle for six weeks before they X-rayed it,’ said Nan. ‘She’d been walking on it an’ all. Exercise, the doctor told her, honest to God.’ Her lips snapped shut and she stared at Daniel’s knees.

  ‘Go on,’ Mum prompted him. She was gripping her thumb so tightly the tip had gone white.

  ‘Right, well. The thing is, I may have been out of order, acting behind your back, in fact I probably was, and you’re going to be very cross. My father will be furious with me when he finds out, he’ll say I did it all wrong.’

  ‘What, for Heaven’s sake?’ I tried to catch his eye but he was looking over the tops of our heads.

  ‘They’ve a new woman at the Post Office, great big teeth like a rabbit.’

  ‘Shut up, Nan, just a sec.’

  ‘It was meant to be a surprise. I’ve been doing some research on the Internet. I thought you had a right to know—’ Daniel pulled out an envelope from his jeans pocket and made as if to offer it to Mum, then pulled it back and held it to his chest. ‘But I can see now I should have gone to you first because it was to do with your family, no business of mine—’

  ‘Please, Daniel, tell us.’ I rose from the settee and he let me take the envelope out of his hands. I started to unfold the contents, a printout from some website or other, an envelope paper-clipped to the back, and for a moment I thought, Christ, he’s found Mum’s birth mother, bloody hell what a can of worms that’d be. I sat back down quickly, not sure what to do. But then my eyes focused properly. www.nationalsavings.co.uk, the footer read. A photo of a smiling woman with her arms in the air, over the legend Congratulations!.

  Mum leaned against my arm, scanning the page. ‘Is it Ernie?’ she asked, and swallowed. She undid the paper clip.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, chaps.’ Daniel grimaced with emotion. ‘It’s not the jackpot. But it’s better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. Tax-free, as well.’ He was rocking on his feet; I think he’d have liked to run for the door and take off down the street.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Daniel, but I don’t think we have any premium bonds. You must have typed in the wrong letters or something.’ Mum’s voice was quavering because, like me, she’d spotted the line where it said £10,000!. ‘This is somebody else’s prize.’

  ‘Lucky bastards,’ I said with a feeble laugh.

  ‘No, no. That’s what I was trying to tell you. It was absolutely the wrong thing to do, to go behind your back. When I spotted the bonds I should have handed them straight to you—’

  ‘What bonds?’ Mum’s hand was really shaking as she undid the flap of the envelope.

  ‘The ones out of that old bag. In Charlotte’s grandma’s room. It was in with all those silk postcards.’ Daniel’s face was flaming, his hair spectacularly on end where he’d pushed his fingers through it over and over again. ‘Oh, hell, I can’t believe I behaved so crassly; I should have just handed them over at once. I had this idea it would make a nice surprise.’

  ‘Is there a James Bond on this afternoon?’ asked Nan. ‘He’s a swanky chap.’ Everyone ignored her and she closed her eyes. Mum spread the yellowed bonds out on the sofa between us. Issued by the Lords Commissioners of HM Treasury, the one nearest me said. £1.

  ‘So Nan’s won £10,000?’ I laughed. It was a hysterical thought. ‘My God, she’ll be able to buy cartloads of belly pork!’

  Nan opened her eyes and started to giggle too, though I don’t think she had a clue what was going on.

  ‘No, hang on a minute,’ said Mum waving the page and breathing hard.

  ‘What now?’

  Mum frowned. ‘Well, there’s no name on the bonds themselves . . . but it says Miss Karen Hesketh on the card that’s with them. Does that mean . . .’

  ‘Oh, my God! I bet Nan and Grandad bought you these when you were a baby! How many are there?’

  Nan was smiling broadly.

  ‘Twenty pounds’ worth. That would have been a fortune in those days.’ Mum got up slowly and knelt in front of Nan, holding up the scraps of paper under her nose in a fan. They looked a bit like bank notes. ‘Did you? Did you buy these for me when I was born?’ Nan carried on smiling but said nothing. ‘It’s very important, Mother. Do you understand me? Did you buy these – for me?’

  ‘They’re dated-stamped April 1963, if that’s any help,’ murmured Daniel politely.

  Mum put the bonds into the dip of Nan’s
skirt and took Nan’s hands in hers. ‘Oh . . .’

  Nan patted her daughter’s head absently, sighed, then closed her eyes again. ‘It were a good big turkey,’ she muttered. Her lips parted and she was asleep immediately, head lolling onto the antimacassar. How do they do that, old people, just drop straight off? Mum rocked back onto her haunches and Daniel helped her to her feet.

  ‘OK, Mrs Cooper?’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘Are you absolutely sure this money’s ours? Because I don’t think I could stand it now, you know, if you were wrong.’

  He stared right back. ‘Mrs Cooper, I wouldn’t have said a word till I was one hundred per cent positive.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’

  ‘No.’

  So Mum cracked open a foul bottle of wine one of the kids at school had given her at the end of term, and Daniel had one glass and then went because he said we had a lot to talk about. After I closed the door on him I went back into the room and Mum and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my God,’ Mum kept saying. ‘Oh, my God.’

  *

  I KNEW CHARLOTTE had in her mind a huge shopping spree; she’d have blown the whole lot on clothes easily, might have taken a few months but she’d have done it. But it was my money. I told her that straight off. Her face fell.

  ‘Well, can we at least have the bathroom done, then? You said you would.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, what, then?’ She was brewing a strop, it was quite funny to watch. Well, all that tension had to go somewhere. ‘You’re not going to stick it all in the bank for a “rainy day”, surely? Come on, Mum, life’s too short.’

  Emma nodded at me.

  ‘I will share this money with you. In fact I’ll split it down the middle, fifty-fifty.’ Her eyes lit up. £5,000 to spend in Top Shop! ‘But listen, we need this money to do something very important.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s going to get us both through university.’

  You could see the cogs going round.

  ‘Both? Are you . . . ? D’you know, I thought there was something going on with you and college. Bloody hell.’ She was shaking her head. ‘Will they take people so . . . people like you?’

  ‘Get away.’ I made to give her a kick. ‘I’ll be a mature student. Yes, all right, stop pulling faces, it’s not that funny. There are thousands like me, apparently, I’ve been looking into it. I just never thought it was really on, what with the cost. But as soon as Daniel told us. . . . Oh, Charlotte! I still can’t believe . . . There are debts to be sorted, quite a few of those, store cards, catalogues . . .’

  ‘My computer.’

  ‘Your computer. But the rest is going to pay for a teacher training course for me at Manchester Metropolitan, and your English degree, wherever you decide to do it. Because you must go on and do it now, Charlotte.’

  I felt so full of energy, like I really was ready to step into this new millennium everyone kept going on about.

  ‘I never had any intention of not applying,’ she said, a bit haughty. ‘But I can always get a loan.’

  ‘I could throw this glass of wine over you. Don’t be so daft! Why get in hock when there’s a big lump of cash sitting there for the purpose? And it’ll help fund a place for Will at the best nursery we can find. If you’re all right with that.’

  ‘Course it is; God, don’t ask me. You’ll be lumbered with the little star while I’m away, it’s for you to decide.’ She combed her fingers through her hair and sighed. ‘Bloody hell, Mum, it sounds mental, but £10,000’s hardly going to be enough, is it?’

  I took a swig of wine. ‘It won’t cover everything, no, but it’ll give us a damn good start.’

  ‘You going to tell Dad? He gave us some out of that bogus compensation claim that time.’

  ‘He didn’t, actually. Although it wasn’t his fault; he was supposed to get thousands but the claims company took most of it in fees. Serves him right, painting on bruises with eyeshadow. So, no, I think we’ll keep quiet for now. Not that he’d begrudge it going on your education, he really wouldn’t. He’s proud of you.’ Even if he does find you scary.

  She kicked off her mules, stretched out on the sofa and put her feet in my lap like she used to do when she was very young. It was such an ordinary, intimate gesture, but she’d never have done that six months ago; when we hated each other. I looked down at her neat young toes and for a second remembered her as a baby, a startling memory of fat feet pressing into my naked thighs as I held her up, giggling, by her baby armpits. All that clean, innocent skin, this little piggy.

  I came out of the dream and tuned back in.

  ‘What I don’t understand, though,’ she was saying, ‘is why the Premium Bond people didn’t contact us. Is it like the lottery, it’s up to you to check your numbers?’

  I took her toes between my palms and she squeaked and wriggled; what a shock that we could be like this again. I was overwhelmed with the desire to bend right over and give her an enormous hug, thank her for having once been such a beautiful baby, but she’d have thought I was unhinged. Instead I just said; ‘Yes, I was thinking about that. They’re supposed to write. We should have had at least one letter the October, November before last. I wonder what happened to it.’

  From the armchair, Nan smacked her lips and muttered. Charlotte turned her head round to look, then made a despairing face at me.

  ‘Oh, God. She could have done anything with it, Mum. Toasted it, pushed it under a carpet, stuck it behind a pic—’ She gave a funny sort of giggle. ‘Well, who knows. They could have sent us a whole load of Congratulations! and she’d have snaffled them one after the other. Like having a vicious dog lurking behind the letter box. Who knows what vital communications we’ve lost over the last couple of years. But then, you’d think they’d have used the telephone . . .’

  ‘Which she won’t ever answer.’

  Charlotte clapped her hand to her brow. ‘And if we were tied up and missed the call . . .’

  ‘They don’t keep trying for ever. There are thousands in unclaimed prizes, apparently, Daniel said.’

  ‘Thousands of people with grannies who eat the post?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I thought of what the New Year was to bring, the bed waiting for Nan at Mayfield. Remembering was like having a family Bible settle on your chest. ‘Anyway, that’s one problem we won’t have to deal with any more.’

  LEO CAME in the evening, after Nan had gone back. I told him about the money; I wasn’t going to at first, but then it just came out. He was delighted for us, as I knew he would be. He is a nice man.

  *

  There are a lot of things money can’t touch, of course.

  It was so weird leaving Nan in that home. We got her set up in her room – a pleasant one with a bay window and a tree outside that hid most of the car park – put her slippers by the bed, her underclothes in the drawers, her knick-knacks out on the shelves. She didn’t have much with her. Big photo of Will on one side of the bed, Mum’s wedding on the other, but pride of place went to a blown-up print of her and Grandad sitting on a form, they look about twenty, having a cuddle. She’s got white stockings on and black shoes with a bar across and her hair is straight and shoulder-length. She’s looking into the camera, only half-smiling, as if she has something on her mind. He’s looking at her, his arms tight round her shoulders, shy grin. His legs are out in front of him and you can see four little studs at the front of each sole. They are so young.

  ‘You’ll be able to watch the birds, Mum.’

  ‘Aye.’

  When we walked away she was sitting on the bed like a lost child. Matron was chatting away to her but she wasn’t taking much notice.

  ‘I don’t think I can stand it,’ said Mum clinging to the door jamb.

  ‘Come on. Quick, before you bottle it. If she’s really unhappy after a few weeks, you can think again, but you’ve got to give it a try. The doctor said it was the best place.’ I took Mum’s sleeve
and pulled her away, down the corridor. Bertie trotted past us, tail beating. I watched with my fingers crossed, and he disappeared into Nan’s room.

  ‘I need a drink,’ said Mum.

  ‘Do we not need to get back for Debbie?’

  ‘I told her half three and it’s not half two yet. She’s got my mobile if William plays up.’

  So we found a wine bar, and sat there for nearly an hour, just two women sharing a bottle of Chardonnay.

  *

  CHARLOTTE HAD BEEN moth-eating me about filling in the family tree at the front of William’s Baby Record book. I’d drawn a blank after three generations, so I told her to ask Nan. ‘Take those old photos in the shoe box while you’re at it, I’ve been meaning to get them labelled up for ages. And leave William here with me or you’ll never get anything done.’

  When she came back she was bubbling with excitement.

  ‘God, it was mad, Mum! They had a full-scale emergency on when I got there because this old biddy reckoned she’d seen her friend eat a bit off a firelighter. They had an ambulance out, the doctor, everyone running round looking for the First Aid book, do you induce vomiting or not. Then in the end it turned out to be a chunk off a Thornton’s nougat casket. Matron had to have a sit down after. Never a dull moment at Mayfield, she says.’

  ‘And how was Nan?’

  Charlotte started unpacking the carrier bag of photos. ‘Amazing. It was like switching a light on, Mum; she just came to life. We talked for hours and it was dead interesting.’

  She pulled some photos out of an envelope and laid them on the table. I stuck William under his baby gym and came to see.

  ‘That one’s their wedding day.’

  ‘I guessed that.’

  ‘Yeah, but check out that hat! You can hardly see her face. Is that the locket she still wears?’

  ‘Probably. Gosh, doesn’t my dad look dapper with his buttonhole . . . He was no age when he died, it was such a shame.’ I picked up the picture and held it to the light. The dad I’d known had always been tired and short of breath; here was a young, happy, vigorous man starting out in life.