Just One More Day

by Susan Lewis

  I wish she wouldn’t talk about Dad like that because I know he’d be hurt if he knew. He never talks about her to anyone, and he’s always nice to her, except when they have a row and she hits him. Then he gets so angry that he shouts and cusses the same as her. He even got her in an armlock once and threw her down on the settee. I thought she was really going to beat him up then, because she could, she’s really strong and everyone’s afraid of her, but she started laughing and after a bit Dad did too. They were laughing a lot when they came back from Clevedon, but then they had a row about a Chinaman who was in the news and they haven’t been speaking since. That’s three whole days. Even Gary and I don’t go that long without making up.

  Now, here we all are, me, Gran, Mum and Mrs Williams, queuing up outside the bingo hut in the dark and freezing cold. Dad’s taken Gary to the children’s room up the Horseshoe for lemonade and crisps. Gary’s even got some empty bottles to take back to the off-licence, so he’ll get threepence to spend on peanuts or pork scratchings. Lucky thing. I hope he saves some for me when they come to pick me up at half-time.

  ‘Oh, blimey, Eddress, is that you?’ It’s Mrs Collins who lives over the back of us. Sometimes I like her and sometimes I don’t. Tonight I don’t, because I can tell Mummy doesn’t want to speak to her.

  ‘How’re you feeling now?’ Mrs Collins asks her.

  ‘I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?’ Mummy answers, sounding cross.

  I look up at her, worried she might start a row, but she just winks at me, and so I relax against Granny whose hands are on my shoulders. Granny’s even taller than Mum, and quite a lot bigger. She has terrible bad legs that she has to have bandaged every day, and she has to stick a needle in her bum every day too, because of something to do with her sugar. But she’s still the best gran in the world, and I know me and Gary are her favourites even though she has masses of other grandchildren from Mummy’s brothers and sisters.

  ‘Here, all right Florrie? How are you?’ someone says to Granny. ‘How’s your Billy getting on?’

  Granny’s fingers press into me. ‘He’s all right,’ she answers, not even looking at the woman who spoke to her. I expect she’s annoyed because she won’t want reminding about my cousin Billy, who’s twenty-five, and has just been sent to prison for robbing Granny’s gas meter. He’s done it before, which is why Granny told the police, though she hadn’t expected them to put him away. (I’m not supposed to know any of this, but I overheard Mum telling Mrs Williams while they were having a cup of tea in our kitchen the other day.)

  ‘Got your tanner to get in, Mam?’ Mummy says.

  ‘Here.’ Granny hands it over.

  ‘Eddress! Long time no see,’ the man on the door shouts. ‘Still as gorgeous as ever.’

  ‘Oh get on with you,’ Mummy snorts, though I can tell she’s pleased. I expect she’s glad she put her lipstick on now, which is cherry red and makes her look a bit like a film star.

  ‘Look who’s here,’ the man shouts to someone inside. ‘Eddress and Florrie. Make sure you keep a couple of good seats for them.’

  ‘Ed! It’s lovely to see you.’ It’s Mrs Burrows, who runs the bingo. She’s got all this white back-combed hair, that’s piled up on the top of her head like a giant Mr Whippy. She’s lucky Mummy doesn’t brush it for her.

  ‘Is that you Ed?’ someone else wants to know. ‘Nice to see you out and about again. How are you feeling?’

  It seems like everyone’s calling out to her.

  ‘Oh Eddress.’ It’s Mrs Lloyd from the next street, looking all stupid and soft, as though she’s about to start praying. ‘You’re so brave coming out again after all you’ve been through,’ she says. ‘How are you?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Mummy snaps. ‘Just mind your own business.’

  Mrs Lloyd shrinks away into the crowd. I feel sorry for her and angry with Mummy. She shouldn’t speak to people like that, but she always does and no-one ever tells her off.

  We move on in through the door, into the warm. My face and fingers are tingling, I can’t even feel my toes. Mum looks a bit pale and cross as she stoops to unbutton my coat.

  ‘I can do it,’ I say, wishing I’d gone with Dad and Gary now, because I don’t understand what’s wrong with her.

  ‘It’s too cold to take our coats off yet,’ Granny warns. ‘Let’s sit down and wait for this dump to warm up a bit. Oi, Gerald,’ she shouts to a man over by the toilets, ‘isn’t there any heating in this place?’

  ‘Ran out of coins for the meter,’ he answers. ‘Someone’s gone to get some.’

  ‘Hello Sue!’

  It’s Andrew Fox, the four-eyed twit, who’s in our class – the one I usually end up with if we have to be paired as boy and girl. ‘Hello,’ I say.

  He’s about to go and join his mum who’s talking to someone by the coffee bar when Mummy says, ‘Oi, you!’

  Andrew looks round.

  ‘Her name’s Susan,’ Mummy informs him. ‘We had her christened Susan, so you can call her Susan.’

  Andrew’s face is turning beetroot red. I reckon mine is too.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles.

  ‘Mum!’ I say under my breath. ‘All the children in school call me Sue.’

  ‘Well they shouldn’t. Your name’s Susan. I’m going up there to have a word with that teacher.’

  ‘No! You can’t. Anyway, not everyone calls me Sue. Most of them call me Susan.’

  Mummy turns round as someone taps her on the shoulder. It’s Grace Shepherd, one of Mummy’s friends.

  ‘Here Ed, want a fag?’ she says, speaking past the one that’s dangling from the corner of her lips.

  Mummy takes one from the packet, and accepts a light.

  ‘You don’t smoke do you, Florrie?’ Grace says.

  ‘Never did,’ Granny replies. ‘Bottle of stout and a pinch of snuff, that’ll do me.’

  Grace gives a fag to Mrs Williams and they all start talking about boring things, so I wait for a pause and quickly say, ‘Can I go and get an orange squash? Daddy gave me threepence.’

  Little squiggles of smoke come out of Mummy’s nose and lips as she says, ‘Go on then, but make sure you’re back in time for eyes down.’

  I go and stand in the queue, nearly get trodden on a couple of times, until it’s my turn. I hand over a penny for a bottle of squash and a straw, make a hole in the foil top and start drinking away. A voice shouts out for everyone to take their seats, so I hurry back to Mum who gives me one of her cards. I want to put my arm round it to stop her from seeing, because I’m not a baby. If my numbers are called I can check on my own.

  By half-time none of us has won anything, which is a shame because once when we came we won the first two games. My prize was a washing-up bowl and a bucket. Mummy’s was two pound ten, so she bought the bucket and bowl off me for ten bob.

  Dad and Gary are waiting outside when Mum takes me out, all wrapped up in scarves and bobble hats, stamping their feet and blowing out clouds of white air.

  ‘Susan, ask your father where the car is,’ Mummy says, tying her scarf under her chin.

  ‘Dad, where’s the car?’

  ‘At the end of the lane,’ he answers. ‘Tell your mother . . .’

  ‘Susan, tell your father I’ve had enough,’ Mummy interrupts. ‘Everyone’s staring, looking at me like I belong in the bleeding zoo. Tell him Granny’s staying.’

  I look up at Dad.

  ‘Tell your mother I’ll go in with Gran,’ he says. ‘Might as well, seeing as I’ve got to give her a lift home. I’ll take you three home first though.’

  ‘Tell him we can walk, thank you very much,’ Mummy snaps.

  ‘No! It’s freezing!’ Gary wails.

  ‘Come on,’ Mummy barks, and grabs us both by the hand.

  By the time we get home me and Gary are nearly crying we’re so cold. Jack Frost has definitely got our ankles, mine are all chapped and purple, and Gary’s have been cut right through by the wind, because one of them’s bleed
ing. Mum quickly shovels more coal on the fire and turns up the back burner. We huddle together in our coats, shivering and holding out our hands to the flames. Mum lights a cigarette and lets it dangle from her mouth as she rubs Gary’s legs to get them warm.

  As she flicks her ash in the grate Gary slumps onto her, almost asleep. I expect her to pick him up to carry him up to bed, until I remember she can’t. But she does anyway.

  ‘Time for you to go up the wooden hill too, young lady,’ she tells me.

  ‘It’s too cold to go to bed,’ I protest.

  ‘I don’t want any arguing. You can have a hot-water bottle.’

  ‘How long’s it until Christmas?’ I ask, following her up the stairs and staring down at the white whirly patterns in the carpet.

  ‘Five weeks.’

  ‘When can we start sending our notes up the chimney?’

  ‘Soon.’

  After she’s undressed Gary and tucked him into bed, she comes into my room to make sure I’m getting into bed too. I’ve got my record player on and a big blue winceyette nightie with my socks, knickers and vest underneath to help me keep warm.

  ‘Will Dad tell you off for carrying Gary?’ I ask her, as she lights the candle in my night light.

  ‘Not if you don’t tell him.’

  I slide in under the covers and finding last night’s cold hot-water bottle, I push it out the end of the bed to make it plop on the floor.

  ‘Come on, move up,’ she says, and unzipping the tops of her furry boots, she gets into bed next to me, still wearing her hairy purple coat.

  We listen to the record player.

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean,

  My Bonnie lies over the sea,

  My Bonnie lies over the ocean,

  Oh bring back my Bonnie to me.

  The next time the chorus comes we sing too, not very loud or we’ll wake up Gary. The record finishes and keeps going round until the needle slides over the middle. Mummy goes to put it on again, then comes back to bed.

  ‘Who says my girls can’t sing?’ Dad teases when he comes home.

  Mum gives me a kiss on the forehead and gets up. ‘Dad’ll read you a story now,’ she says.

  I look up at Dad as she goes, but he doesn’t seem to mind that she doesn’t want to make friends. I mind that she’s forgotten my hot-water bottle though.

  Eddress

  Our bedroom’s no warmer than Susan’s. It’s probably even colder, considering she’s got the airing cupboard in hers. I start putting away the pile of ironing I left on the bed earlier, only half-listening to the sound of Eddie’s voice rising and falling, squeaking and squawking as he reads to his precious girl. I expect his breath is forming little clouds in the air, and he’s probably still got his cap on too. It’s so bloody cold it’s enough to make you think you’re in the North bleeding Pole. I still haven’t taken my coat off since I came in, and I’m half-tempted to go back into our Susan’s room to get my boots. Fancy having to wear coats and boots inside the house to keep warm. It’s not right, is it? I bet the poshies up Redland and Clifton don’t have to do it. I bet they don’t have to rely on their wives winning something at bingo to bring in a bit of extra cash at the end of the week, either.

  I don’t mind telling you, it’s getting on my bloody nerves all this. When I married Eddie I was proud as can be. I’d found meself a good man, I thought, better than all the thickos I knew put together, a cut above us all with his brains and manners. We were going to be rich, me and Eddie. He’d be a famous writer and we’d live in a big house, with a big car and lots of fancy holidays. It seems bloody laughable now that I fell for it all, but I did. Green as grass I was then, and twice as daft. What a long time ago it all seems, though I remember only too well how no-one could believe it when I said I was going to marry him. I could hardly believe it meself, half the time, but once the idea was there it sort of took root, and the next thing I knew we had this big wedding planned and I was off up the aisle.

  It was one in the eye for my brothers, who’d said no-one would ever want someone like me. I was too much like a boy, they said, too common and too bloody ugly. Our Gord and Tom never used to say that, it was the older ones, Graham, Ernie and Arthur. Maurice, me half-brother, never said it either, but I was always Maurice’s favourite. I think he was a bit jealous when I wrote and told him I was getting married. He still hasn’t met Eddie, because he hasn’t come home for a visit since going to New Zealand, back in 1950. I miss him. I wish he’d walk in the door now and take me away from all this. I don’t suppose I’d leave the kids though. I don’t suppose I’d leave Eddie either, if it came right down to it, but I was bloody tempted when he told me the other day I had to start walking up our mam’s because I’m spending too much on bus fares.

  ‘You can sod right off,’ I told him. ‘I’m not walking in this weather just to save on a couple of tuppenny-ha’penny bus fares, when you’re spending ten times as much on petrol for that bloody car of yours.’

  ‘I’m going to ride my bike,’ he told me. ‘We’ll use the car at weekends, for all of us.’

  ‘You think you’re so bloody clever, making me look bad, don’t you?’ I shouted at him. ‘Well, I know your game. You’ll get a lift from someone, that’s what you’ll do, while me and Gary freeze to death walking up that bloody hill.’

  ‘I’m not getting a lift, I’m going to ride my bike.’ He was looking at the clock. ‘I’m going to listen to the wireless now,’ he said. ‘There’s a broadcast from . . .’

  ‘Bugger the bloody wireless. That’s all you ever think about, the bloody wireless, or the Union, or books . . .’

  ‘It’s from Moscow. They’re going to be talking about Chou En-lai’s visit a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what they’re talking about.’

  ‘You were interested before. We listened together last time . . .’

  ‘That was before you started getting stingy with the money.’

  ‘I don’t see how me asking you to cut down has got anything to do with your interest in world affairs.’

  ‘I’m only interested to keep you happy, you stupid sod. You don’t think I care about whether or not some Chink drops in on Moscow, do you? As far as I’m concerned they’re just a bunch of bleeding foreigners who are more than happy to keep the likes of us nice and poor, while idiots like you believe all their crap about it being for the greater good.’

  ‘You’re being deliberately obtuse, and racist into the bargain.’

  ‘Your fancy words don’t impress me, so save them for your . . .’

  ‘I’m not listening to any more of this. I’m going to turn on the wireless.’

  ‘Don’t you dare walk out of this room.’

  ‘I’ll do what I damned well like in my own house.’

  ‘It’s my house too, and you can stay right where you are.’

  He started to walk out, so I snatched up my knitting bag and threw it at him. It bounced off his head and dropped to the floor.

  ‘You’re just being childish,’ he told me.

  That earned him the ashtray. He ducked and it crashed against the door.

  ‘Eddress, pull yourself together,’ he snapped.

  ‘Don’t you bloody dare talk to me like that,’ I raged. He makes me so mad when he’s condescending like that.

  ‘If you throw one more thing you’re going to get it back.’

  I picked up a book and hurled it. ‘Come on then,’ I cried. ‘Let’s have it. Let’s see you throw it back.’

  He just stared at me, all pale-faced the way he goes when he’s angry.

  I spotted Gary’s toy hammer, grabbed it and threw. He managed to catch it, then before I knew it, it was bouncing off my head.

  ‘You bloody swine,’ I yelled as he walked out.

  He slammed the door behind him and I haven’t spoken to him since. And I’m still getting the bus up our mam’s, even though he’s riding his bike to work. He’s a high-minded bugger sometimes, well now he’s a
freezing cold high-minded bugger, isn’t he, who owes me an apology for the bruise on my forehead.

  I have a look out the window as I close the curtains, half-expecting to see snow. There’s none though, but I reckon there’s a good chance we’ll have some by Christmas. The kids’ll like that. It won’t be me going out there building snowmen, mind. It’ll be Eddie, the perfect dad, the saint, the bloody clever clogs who knows everything. He’ll do anything for them kids, so let him. Go on Eddie, show off to the world just how perfect you are, let everyone think the sun shines out your bleeding backside, because that’s what they all think, isn’t it? They’ve got no idea what I have to put up with, all your bleeding pontificating and politics, or the shouting and blinding when your temper’s up – hardly anyone but me even knows you got a temper, do they? You’re a crafty bugger, you are. Never let anyone see what you’re really like, accusing me of racial prejudice and not having a proper understanding of what’s going on in the world. He goes out of his way to make me feel bleeding stupid when he wants to, and I’m telling you, I’ve had e-bloody-nough of it. Talking to me like I’m thick in the head half the time. Well who the bloody hell cares what’s coming out of Moscow? No-one, that’s who – except Comrade Eddie, of course.

  I open his wardrobe door, stick his clean underwear on a shelf and start hanging up his shirts. Even my bloody brothers think he’s Mr Wonderful. Well, they damned well should. He’s always doing things for them, wallpapering their bathrooms, helping mend their cars, or driving them up the betting shop, or the pub, wherever they want to go. Our mam’s another who thinks he can do no wrong. Ten quid she won at bingo, while I was in hospital, and she tried to give him five of it. Said he deserved it for the things he does for her. He didn’t take it, of course. Not Eddie. It wouldn’t be right to take money off an old woman who only had her pension to live on. I’d have given him a right mouthful if he had, mind you, but it don’t half get on your nerves when someone always does the right thing. Susan worships him. Daddy this, Daddy that. It wouldn’t bother her if I left and never came back. She’d have her precious dad all to herself then. Well she can have him. Gary’d probably mind a bit if I went, but he’d get over it soon enough.