Just One More Day

by Susan Lewis

  The bell rings so I close up my geography book and tuck it inside my desk. After dinner we’re going to do some ink writing with fountain pens. I can do joined-up letters now, all in italic. I wanted to be ink monitor once, but I don’t really care now. I’m getting too grown-up to do babyish things like filling up inkwells, so let Caroline Thompson do it. I hope she squirts herself in the eye and goes blind. Last lesson of the day is PE which I can’t stand. We have to do it in our vest and knicks, and Kelvin Milton always looks at me and pretends to be sick. Anyway, I don’t blame him because I look horrible in black PE daps, big green knicks, white vest and glasses. But I still wish Gary was my older brother so he could come along and bash Kelvin Milton’s face in.

  School dinners are always disgusting, but you have to eat them or you’ll just go hungry. Today we’re having roast beef, which is like a torn bit of cornflake box covered in cold, thick gravy, with boiled potatoes, soggy cabbage and carrots. Ugh! I don’t even like jam roly-poly which is what we’ve got for pudding. Frances Clark eats mine. She’s quite fat, so she would.

  Kelvin Milton and his gang are coming my way, so I keep my head down and hope the dinner lady is watching them. If they’re naughty she’ll make them stand in a corner, and they won’t get any playtime. That would be good because then I can play chase without them trying to trip me up.

  ‘Your mother’s a cripple,’ Kelvin hisses as he gets close.

  I get all enraged, even though I don’t know why he said that. ‘She is not,’ I hiss back.

  ‘Then why does she go off in the cripple wagon every week?’

  ‘She does not. She’s never been in the cripple wagon.’ All his friends are sniggering and I want to jab my fork in their faces, leaving rows of gooey holes like Mum does in her pastry.

  ‘Oh yes she has,’ he snorts, just like he knows everything. ‘My Aunty Beryl told my mum. She goes off in it every week with all the other cripples.’

  His Aunty Beryl lives in one of the old-age-pensioner bungalows at the bottom of our street. Mummy hates her and so do I. She’s nasty to everyone and even beats her dog with a stick. Once Mummy threatened to take a stick to her if she ever saw her hit the dog again, and even Daddy had been angry enough to say he’d report her to the RSPCA. ‘Your Aunty Beryl’s a witch,’ I tell him. ‘And she’s a liar too.’

  ‘Oh no she’s not. And she says your mother’s just a big mouth who’s got everything she deserves.’

  I leap up and punch him so hard in the face that he goes sprawling back across the table behind him.

  Everything goes quiet.

  I’m all out of breath and dizzy. Then I notice his nose is bleeding. Good. I hope he bleeds to death, because I hate him.

  ‘Susan Lewis!’ the dinner lady shouts. ‘I saw that. You bad girl. You’re going straight to the headmaster.’

  ‘But miss, it was him . . .’

  ‘Don’t answer me back. You just thumped that boy and now look what a mess he’s in. Come here, Kelvin, put your head back. Susan, go and stand outside Mr Dobbs’s office. Now!’

  ‘Please miss. I’m really sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t said . . .’

  ‘Susan, do as you’re told.’

  ‘Yeah, go and do as you’re told,’ Kelvin sneers from behind his bloody hanky.

  I’d happily smash him again, but I can’t while the dinner lady’s watching. Nearly starting to cry I take myself out of the canteen and along the corridor to the headmaster’s study. I’m really scared. I’ve never been in this much trouble before, and if Mum ever finds out I’ll get the hiding of my life.

  I make myself very small in a dark shadowy corner, across from his door and as far as I can go behind a pillar. If I’m lucky no-one will see me. I used to think if I closed my eyes I became invisible. I wish it was true. I can hear cars and lorries roaring up and down the main road outside, and the sound of all the other children charging round the playground. Sometimes there are footsteps and voices coming from other corridors, but no-one comes to Mr Dobbs’s office. I don’t think he’s in there, because I can’t hear anyone. There’s the smell of his pipe though. I’ve never been sent to him before. What if I have to have the cane? I look at all the paintings on the walls around me. Mine have never been good enough to be hung up. I’m rubbish at art. Some of the pictures are quite good, of houses and fish and trees and dogs. There’s one of a lady who looks a bit like Cilla Black. Top of the Pops is on tonight, but I won’t be allowed to stay up, not if Mum finds out about this.

  I’m feeling really unhappy now, because I’m going to make her angry and I like it much better when she’s proud of me. I wish she didn’t have to go to work at the sack factory. It’s horrible when she’s not at home. It doesn’t feel right, and Dad always talks in a whisper on those days. I think he can’t speak loud because he’s too upset. No-one admits it, but I know she’s going to see her other family on those days, really. I wonder if she loves them more than us. I hate her if she does. I wouldn’t care if she went off in the cripple wagon then. I’d want her to go and never come back.

  ‘Hello, and who do we have here?’

  The voice makes me jump, but I know who it is. ‘It’s me, sir,’ I say in a whisper, still keeping in behind the pillar.

  ‘And who is me? Step out so I can see you.’

  I take a miserable step into the light.

  Mr Dobbs is as tall as a giant, with greased black hair and a floppy double chin. He canes everyone, even the girls, so I know I’m in for it, and it’s just not fair.

  ‘It’s Susan Lewis, isn’t it?’ he says.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And why are you standing here?’

  ‘Miss Phipps the dinner lady sent me.’ I keep my head down and look at his black shiny shoes. They’re so big I can’t imagine how his feet fill them up.

  ‘Why did she send you?’

  ‘Because . . .’ I don’t want to tell him, because I really, really don’t want to be caned.

  ‘Come on in,’ he says, and pushes open the door.

  I think I might run away instead, but I haven’t got the courage, so I follow him in and stand in the middle of his dark, musty room that’s filled up with books and is bound to be haunted. There’s a picture of the Queen behind his desk, which I notice as he sits down. She looks nice and kind. I wonder if I’m supposed to curtsey.

  ‘So what have you been up to?’ he says, folding his hands together. His mouth is small, and his moustache is a bit like Hitler’s.

  ‘I – I hit Kelvin Milton,’ I tell him. My fingers are crossed and inside I’m saying, Please God, don’t let him cane me. Please, please, please. I’ll go to bed early without making a fuss. I’ll be nice to Gary. I’ll even do the washing-up after tea.

  He opens his top drawer and I know the cane’s coming out. I start to sob. ‘No, please don’t give me the cane,’ I cry. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll never do it again.’

  His eyebrows go halfway up his forehead. ‘Why did you hit him?’ he asks.

  ‘He said my mum goes in the cripple wagon, but she doesn’t. He’s a liar. He said nasty things about her, and he shouldn’t do that about other people’s mums. I don’t ever say anything about his.’

  ‘What is a cripple wagon?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s an ambulance what comes round for the old people.’

  ‘That,’ he corrects. ‘That comes round.’

  ‘Sorry. That comes round.’

  ‘Does your mother get the ambulance?’

  ‘No! Kelvin Milton’s a liar. He shouldn’t say things like that. His tongue’ll fall out. He’ll grow warts and he won’t go to heaven.’

  ‘Maybe I should have a word with your mother.’

  ‘No, sir. Please, don’t tell her I’ve been in trouble. I’ll stand in the corner for five weeks. I’ll write ten million lines . . .’

  His hand comes up so I stop. Just as well, because I can’t think of anything else to offer to do. I can’t stop crying either. I want my dad.r />
  He gets up and comes round his desk to stand in front of me. He’s taller than Big Ben. Not that I’ve ever seen Big Ben, for real, I’ve just seen pictures where people standing in front of it look as small as ants. I wish I was an ant, but if I was he might stand on me with his big feet and kill me.

  ‘Here, dry your eyes,’ he says, and gives me the hanky from his top pocket. It smells horrible and bits of tobacco fall out, but I do as I’m told.

  After he takes his hanky back he picks up a ruler and tells me to hold out my hands. He brings the ruler down really tight over my palms. It stings so hard that I start crying again.

  ‘Go on out to play now,’ he says, ‘and make sure you don’t hit anyone else.’

  I leave his office, but I’m so morbidfied and upset that I go to the girls’ toilets and shut myself in. I’m all alone in the world. No-one cares about me. I’ve got no friends and my mum loves her other children more than us. So why should I care if everyone’s saying she goes off in the cripple wagon? It’s better than them knowing what she’s really doing. And anyway, I’m going to tell her that I know the truth, about her other family, and that I think she’s wicked for telling lies.

  When the time comes though I don’t have the courage, because when I get home she’s already looking cross. Gary’s done something naughty, so he’s upstairs in his bedroom, sulking and banging things around. I try to think of something to make her laugh.

  ‘What did the earwig say when he fell over a cliff?’ I ask her.

  The hot fat whooshes as she drops in the chips to start cooking. The first time I told her this joke she laughed her head off. So did Dad.

  ‘Go on, what did he say?’ she answers.

  ‘Earwiggo,’ I shout.

  She pulls a face and rolls her eyes. ‘Very funny,’ she says. ‘Now come on, out of the way, before you get burnt.’

  I go and stand by the door, torn between staying with her and going out to play with my friends. She hasn’t asked how I got on in school today yet, so I should go out before she does, but for some reason I don’t seem able to.

  ‘Do you have to go to work tomorrow?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  I don’t answer.

  She looks round. ‘What’s the matter with you? What’s that face for?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You don’t like me going to work, is that it?’

  I shrug. I’m not going to tell her that I know where she’s really going, just in case I turn out to be right. I don’t want her to tell me, because I won’t be able to pretend it’s not true. ‘How do you manage to work with a bad arm?’ I say.

  She looks a bit surprised. ‘It’s not that bad any more,’ she reminds me. ‘It’s getting better all the time.’

  ‘The nurse still comes though.’

  ‘Only to help me change the dressing. And not as often any more.’

  I shrug again.

  Gary shouts angrily from the top of the stairs. ‘I’m being good now.’

  Mummy looks up at the ceiling, then winks at me as she shouts back, ‘Come on down then.’

  ‘I said I’m being good,’ he rages.

  ‘And I said you can come down.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Mummy and I start to laugh. She holds out her arms, and I go to her, careful not to knock her bad one, that’s getting a lot better.

  ‘Ugh! Soppy girls,’ Gary snorts, coming into the kitchen. ‘Can I have a jam tart?’

  ‘No. And you, madam,’ Mum says to me, ‘can go and do your piano practice.’

  ‘Oooooh. I hate the piano.’

  ‘Off you go. Fifteen minutes, tea’ll be ready by then. I’ve made some cream and jam horns for afters.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Gary and I cry together. Our mum’s the best cook in the world, and this is the first time she’s made cream and jam horns since she went to hospital. So she must be getting better. The baker’s going to be worried though, because he says she does him out of business when she gets baking. Sometimes, during the school holidays, he comes round in his van in the afternoon with all his custard tarts and jam doughnuts and chocolate eclairs, and no-one wants any because we’re already full up on Mum’s jam and cream horns.

  ‘Here, Gary, go and put this empty milk bottle on the doorstep,’ she says, ‘and mind you don’t fall. On second thoughts, you’d better do it, Susan.’

  ‘I can do it,’ he angrily declares, and shoves me out of the way.

  I give him a thump then go off to practise the piano. I’m about halfway through ‘The Kookaburra Sits on the Old Gum Tree’, when Dad comes home from work. He starts singing the song as he takes off his greasy overalls. It sounds a bit silly, because I’m not good enough at playing it, but I like it when he messes about, and so does Mum. Usually. She doesn’t join in tonight though, just comes and puts our teas on the table and tells Dad to go and have a quick wash before he sits down.

  I’m not sure if she’s in a bad mood again, so I decide to have less tomato sauce on my chips than usual to make her pleased with me. ‘Can I make a chip sandwich?’ I ask.

  ‘Go on then, but make sure you don’t get sauce on that cardigan, you’ve got to wear it again tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah ha,’ Dad says, rubbing his hands together as he comes into the room, sounding like a wizard about to do a trick, ‘what do we have here?’

  ‘Sausage egg and chips,’ Gary tells him, with a sausage bulging in his cheek.

  ‘What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?’ Mummy snaps.

  Gary merrily goes on eating. Dad sits down and picks up the brown sauce, which he prefers to the tomato sauce. Mum only has salt and vinegar. She likes chip sandwiches too, and the top of the bread for toast.

  ‘So, how did my girl get on in school today?’ Daddy asks, tucking into his tea.

  I’d forgotten all about it, and now I don’t want my chip sandwich any more. ‘All right,’ I mumble.

  ‘Do anything special?’

  ‘No, not really.’ I can feel Mummy looking at me. She pours herself and Dad a cup of tea from the pot, and settles it back on the stand. I knitted the cosy. It took me a long time, because I’m not a very good knitter. I’m a good skipper though.

  ‘We’ve got jam and cream horns for afters,’ Gary informs Dad.

  Dad’s face lights up. He turns to Mum. ‘You’ve been baking?’ he says.

  ‘It’s nothing to get excited about,’ she answers.

  Dad seems to think it is, because he keeps on smiling.

  ‘What happened at school today?’ Mum says to me.

  Sometimes I think she’s a witch, because she always knows everything. ‘I’m not telling you,’ I say, staring down at my plate.

  ‘No cream and jam horns until you do,’ Gary says.

  ‘Shut up, and mind your own business,’ I snap at him.

  ‘I’m still waiting for an answer,’ Mum says.

  I look at Dad, but for once he doesn’t seem to be on my side. In the end I admit that I thumped Kelvin Milton.

  ‘Where did you thump him?’ Gary wants to know, bouncing up and down in his seat. ‘Was it in the face? Smash! Bang! Biff!’

  I look at Mum.

  ‘Why did you hit him?’ she asks.

  ‘Because he tells lies.’

  ‘What sort of lies?’

  ‘Just lies. He tells them all the time.’

  ‘But what about?’

  I really don’t want to tell her, but then I realise, if she thinks I was sticking up for her, she might not get too cross. ‘He tells lies about you,’ I say.

  She seems a bit surprised about that. ‘What does he say about me?’

  I feel miserable again. ‘I don’t know. I’m not telling you.’

  ‘Susan.’

  ‘I’m not telling you.’

  She’s looking at Dad. If he tells me off too I’m going to cry, because I don’t want to say anything about the cripple wagon. I know it’s not true, she doesn’t go in it at all. She’s better
now, but then she might have to tell the real truth about her job in the sack factory, and her other family, and Dad will be all upset. And then there’s the ruler, she’ll be really cross about that. And then there’s Kelvin’s Aunty Beryl . . .

  ‘I want to know what that boy’s been saying,’ Mum demands in an angry voice.

  ‘That’s enough now,’ Dad tells her. ‘Let’s just leave it,’ and he puts a hand on my head to smooth my hair. ‘Get on with your tea,’ he says.

  We don’t say anything again until we’ve finished eating. For once even Gary is quiet, if you don’t count the way he scrapes his knife and fork on the plate, and smacks his chops as he eats. He ends up with tomato sauce all over his face and in his hair, so after we help carry the dishes out, Dad takes him upstairs for a wash, while Mum does the dishes and I do more piano and ballet practice. My friends are all outside playing, because they’ve got really kind mums who don’t make them do things they hate.

  Top of the Pops is on soon, but no-one’s said anything about it, and though I think of all different ways to ask if we can stay up to watch, I haven’t tried any of them yet. But then Mum comes in and puts the telly on. It takes a few minutes to warm up, and by the time the picture’s there Dad’s brought Gary down in his pyjamas, and Mum’s brought in a plate of cream and jam horns for us all. As the programme starts I sit down at the side of her chair where she can’t quite see me, so I can peep over the top of my glasses to watch. The Kinks come on first. I don’t like them much. Then it’s Roy Orbison who’s blind, but he can sing anyway. This one’s called ‘Pretty Woman’, and Dad sings along because he knows some of the words. Sometimes we dance to Top of the Pops, but tonight we don’t, not even when Herman’s Hermits come on with our favourite song, ‘I’m Into Something Good’. I think we’re going to for a minute though, when Mum gets up, but she just goes out to the kitchen. Then Dad goes out too. If Gary wasn’t there I’d go to the door and listen, but if I do, he’ll come too and give us away. I wish I knew what they were saying though, because I’ve got a feeling it’s something to do with me thumping Kelvin Milton, so if they end up having another row it’ll be all my fault.