by Susan Lewis
Here comes Dad, all wet through with his plastic mac and cap on. I can see him through the window.
‘I think it’s going off a bit,’ he says, wiping his feet on the mat as he comes in the door. ‘The woman at the shop said the forecast’s supposed to be good for tomorrow.’
‘Then let’s hope she’s right,’ Gran answers. ‘These kids could do with a bit of air, and I don’t think it’d do our Eddress any harm either.’
‘How is she?’
‘Still asleep, as far as I know.’
‘I’ll go and have a look.’
‘What have we got for dinner?’ Gary says.
‘Ham.’
‘Yuk! I hate ham.’
‘No you don’t,’ I tell him.
‘I thought I did.’
‘No, it’s tongue you don’t like.’
‘Tongue! Oh, yuk, yuk, yuk, yuk. No-one eats tongue.’
‘Gran does,’ Alwyn says. ‘Don’t you Gran?’
‘Course I do. Nothing like a nice bit of tongue.’
‘But that’s like French kissing a cow,’ I tell her.
Her eyes go all big as she looks at me. ‘What kind of talk’s that for a young lady?’ she demands.
I don’t know, because I don’t know what it means. I just heard Alwyn say it the other day, but I can’t tell Gran that or, by the look of her, I’ll get Alwyn in trouble.
‘Just don’t let your mother hear you,’ Gran warns, ‘or you’ll be catching what for.’
I look at Alwyn. She’s gone all red and is trying to hide behind her hair, which is the same colour as mine, but she’s allowed to wear hers down. As usual mine’s in plaits, which is how I always wear it when Mum can’t be bothered to go through all the fuss I make when she puts it up in a ponytail.
‘Let’s play snakes and ladders,’ Gary says. ‘I’ll go first.’
‘We haven’t finished playing old maid yet,’ I remind him.
‘Oh yeah. Whose turn is it?’
‘Gran’s.’ I hold up my cards. She eyes them carefully and goes to take one from the end. ‘No, take that one,’ I tell her, showing her the one that’s sticking up.
‘Oh no,’ she cries when she sees what it is, ‘I’m not stuck with that old bitch again, am I?’
‘Mam!’ Mum snaps.
We all look up.
‘Do you have to use language like that in front of the children?’ Mum says.
‘Like what?’ Gran asks.
‘You know.’
Gran shrugs. ‘I can see a nap hasn’t done much to improve your temper,’ she comments.
‘Don’t start,’ Mum warns her. ‘Now, what do you all want for dinner?’
‘I’ll do it,’ Dad says, coming out of the bedroom. ‘You go and sit down over there, and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’
‘Have we got enough water?’ she asks.
‘I’ll see,’ Gary cries, and he shoots out of his chair to go and check the big urn under the sink. ‘I think we should get some more,’ he tells Dad. ‘This one’s nearly empty.’
‘No it’s not,’ Dad says. ‘It’s just you, wanting to go and fill it up all the time. So, ham sandwiches for everyone, and a packet of crisps?’
‘Yes,’ we all cheer.
Mum comes and sits down next to me and pulls a face as Gary climbs onto her lap. Then we all start laughing, because Dad’s just put his pinny on, and the cook’s hat that we found yesterday for a halfpenny in the second-hand shop.
‘He’s a daft old thing, isn’t he?’ Mum says. ‘Makes you wonder what he’s going to do next.’
‘I’ve entered us in the ballroom dancing competition, up the clubhouse,’ he tells her. ‘It’s the first round tonight, so we better do some practice.’
‘Oh, I haven’t got the energy for that,’ she says.
‘Oh, yes Mum, yes,’ me and Gary cry. ‘Please do it.’
‘I can’t, my old loves,’ she says.
‘Yes you can. You’re a good dancer.’
She gives a big sigh. ‘All right, we’ll see after dinner. Gary, you’ll have to get down, you’re like an octopus.’
We all eat our dinners and keep looking at the window to see if the rain’s gone off. When we’ve finished me and Alwyn help Dad clear away (with Gran’s legs she can’t stand for very long) then Dad puts on the wireless and finds a station that plays music him and Mum can dance to.
‘Come on,’ he says, taking hold of her hand.
‘No,’ she answers. ‘Show our Susan how to do it.’
‘Let’s both show her. Come on.’
In the end she gets up and they start doing the waltz. (I think it’s the waltz, but it might be a foxtrot or a tango, I don’t really know the difference.) There’s not much room, but they’re really good, and Mum’s cheeks are going all pink.
‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Dad says when the music ends. ‘Do you think we’ll win, you lot?’
‘Yes,’ we cheer.
Some more music comes on so Dad tries to teach me and Alwyn to dance, and Gary plays snakes and ladders with Gran. Mum watches us all, with her head resting on the window sill behind her.
Later on the rain is nearly gone, so we all put on our coats and wellingtons and walk down to the beach. Gary and I have brought our buckets and spades, but Dad won’t let us bury him today. The tide’s out and no-one else is around. It’s like a black and white day because all the colours have gone, the sky’s a dirty sort of grey, the sea’s a darker shade of that, and the sand is a sludgy mix of the two. The wind’s a bit cold, but we’re wrapped up quite warm and Mum’s brought some extra blankets in case we need them.
‘Where are the donkeys?’ Gary asks.
‘They’re sensible. They don’t come out in this weather,’ Mum answers.
‘Let’s go for a walk along to those rocks,’ Dad says.
‘Yes, we can find crabs,’ Gary cries.
‘I meant me and your mother.’
‘Oh.’
‘Take them,’ Mum says. ‘I’m going back. It’s too cold out here for me.’
‘Who’d ever think it was the middle of bleeding August,’ Gran moans.
‘Look! There’s a ship,’ Gary shouts, pointing towards the horizon. ‘Can you see it?’
We all peer through the mist, and we’re so busy looking that I don’t realise straight away that Mum and Dad are having a row. I don’t want to hear it, so I link Alwyn’s arm and start walking off down the beach. At least Mum can’t go off to her other family while we’re in Dawlish.
‘Can I come?’ Gary says, running up behind us.
‘No!’ I say.
‘Please.’
‘I said no!’
He stops where he is and when I look back he’s still standing there, staring at us, and nearly crying. I want to hit him now, because I want him to go away, but he’s making me feel mean. ‘Come on then,’ I say angrily, ‘but you’re not to speak. All right? I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.’
‘All right. I promise.’
By the time we get over to the rocks Dad has caught us up and I suppose Mum and Gran have gone back to the chalet. I don’t ask, because I don’t care. Mum’s always spoiling things. She never wants to do anything, and she’s always shouting at me and Dad and Gary, and today’s my birthday, so she shouldn’t be like that. If I ever have any children I’m going to let them do whatever they want on their birthdays, and I’ll be nice to them all day long.
Jim’s there when we go over to the clubhouse at six. There’s no rain at all now, but it’s still a bit damp and we’ve brought our umbrellas just in case. Lots of other families are turning up, but it’s no-one else’s birthday today, except mine. Yesterday it was three people’s, so they had to share the special cake and games.
Me, Alwyn, Gary and Dad all sit down at a table (Mum and Gran didn’t come and I don’t care), and then a drum rolls and Jim says, ‘Would Miss Susan Lewis who’s nine today please come up on the stage.’
Dad winks a
t me, and Gary gives me a thump as I squeeze past them and walk in my best ladylike way over to Jim. My glasses are a bit steamed up, so I can’t see very well, but it’s all right, I don’t trip over.
There’s a cake on the stage with nine candles, all lit. First of all though, Jim gets everyone to sing happy birthday, then they all clap as I blow out every single candle in one go. I’m allowed to make a wish then, but I can’t tell anyone what it is, or it won’t come true.
‘Now Susan,’ Jim says, ‘because it’s your birthday we’ve got a very special treat for you. Do you know what it is?’
I shake my head.
‘Then I’ll tell you. You’re going to be the helper for Mervyn the Magician tonight. So how does that sound?’
I turn to Dad, all excited. He’s laughing and clapping. I wish Mum was here to see me.
The first trick Mervyn does is with cards, and it’s really clever. Then he makes my glasses disappear, which is even cleverer (I wish I could do it). He finds them under a hat on the table behind him, worse luck.
Next he gets me to lie on a table with my head and feet sticking out of a box. He’s going to saw me in half, he tells the audience, and they all go, ‘Ooooooh.’
I’m a bit frightened now, because I don’t want to be sawn in half. And I don’t think it’s very nice that Dad’s laughing, because what if Mervyn can’t put me back together again?
‘Are you ready?’ Mervyn asks.
I want to say no, but that wouldn’t be polite, so I say, ‘Yes.’
‘Then prepare for the saw. Ah! Ah!’ he growls to the audience, like a wicked pirate.
I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and try not to be afraid. I wonder if it’s going to hurt. I feel really sorry for me, because I’m a poor, unhappy little girl, whose parents don’t want her so they’ve given her to the wicked wizard to saw into bits. After they’ll take me into the woods and bury me next to a stream, that turns into a river and carries me away to an enchanted castle where I’ll become a beautiful princess and rule all the land. Billy J. Kramer will be my boyfriend then.
Everyone’s clapping and Mervyn’s bowing. I look down and there are my feet, a long way away, sticking out of the other end of the box. I’m in half, and it didn’t hurt at all, but I wish he’d put me back together now in case his magic runs out and they have to take me to hospital to have an operation. That’ll make Mum’s headaches worse; it might give Dad one too when she tells him off for letting them cut me in half.
At the end of the trick Mervyn opens the box and I’m all in one piece. Everyone gasps. How did that happen? It was really cool. (That’s one of Alwyn’s words. She also says groovy and fab, which I’m going to say too as soon as I can.)
‘Take a bow, Susan,’ Mervyn tells me. ‘You’ve been the best magician’s assistant I’ve ever had.’
The best! Oh I wish Mum was here now. Fancy me being the best! I bow and bow as everyone claps and cheers, then I look up and there’s Mum, sitting with Dad. I’m beaming all over my face as I go back to the table, and slide in next to her to get a kiss on the head.
‘Well done, my love,’ she says. ‘You were very brave and I’m very proud of you.’
I’m still beaming.
‘Can I saw her in half too?’ Gary says. ‘I could use your saw, Dad.’
Everyone around us laughs, which baffles Gary because he means it.
They’re bringing my cake round now, a slice for everyone, and a paper cup of lemonade. Then there are games of blind man’s buff and pass the parcel, before the ballroom dancing competition starts.
Mum and Dad don’t go in for it though. Mum doesn’t want to, and Dad says it’s all right, she doesn’t have to. I wish they would, because they’re really groovy when they dance so I’m sure they’d win and that would be fab. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s got her head on his shoulder and they’re not cross with each other about it, they’re just enjoying watching everyone else.
Chapter Twelve
Eddress
Someone’s knocking on the door. It’s gone midnight, and someone’s down there, banging on the bleeding front door as though the house was on fire.
Eddie’s already awake and getting out of bed.
‘Who is it?’ I say, starting to get up too. ‘If they go on like that they’re going to wake up the kids.’
‘Stay there,’ he says. ‘I’ll go and find out.’
Normally I’d have gone with him, but I was up the hospital a couple of days ago so I’m still not all that steady on me feet again yet. Not too weak to know that someone knocking us up at this time of night isn’t bringing good news, though.
First thing I reckon is it’s our Gord, come to tell us that our mam’s been taken to hospital. Or worse.
It could be Eddie’s father, drunk too much and fell and cracked his head in the gutter.
I can hear voices down there, but it don’t sound like someone we know. Then the front door closes and Eddie starts walking back up the stairs. When he comes in the room the look on his face sends the shivers right through me. ‘What is it?’ I say. ‘What’s happened?’
He doesn’t answer me.
‘Eddie?’ I say, starting to feel really uneasy now.
‘It’s our Bob.’
‘Your Bob? You mean that was him at the door? Blimey, his kids are all right, are they?’
He gives a little nod. ‘It was Mr Gunter, Bob’s next-door neighbour,’ he says. ‘Our Bob’s gone and died.’
I just look at him, knowing I can’t have heard right.
‘He came home from work with a headache,’ he says, staring at nothing. ‘The doctor’s been . . .’
I feel all the blood running out of me veins. It’s like I’m going off me head or something, because this can’t be real.
He starts getting dressed. He’s like a robot, hardly seeming to know what he’s doing.
‘Are you all right?’ I say.
He nods.
When he’s ready he just stands there, looking at nothing, then he puts his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I tell him.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be. You try and get back to sleep now.’
I listen to him going down the stairs and out the front door. There’s the noise of him starting the car, turning the engine over and over until it catches. I think of him driving up through New Cheltenham in the dark, probably the only car on the road at this time on a Sunday night.
I can hardly bring meself to think of how poor Flo’s coping up there now. If it was me, and Eddie went, just like that . . . But it’s not me and I don’t want to get me mind going off in that direction, because that won’t do anyone any good.
Thirty-seven. Thirty bleeding seven. That’s too young to die. I don’t care what any of your vicars or priests have to say, Jesus, nor anyone else up there, don’t need him yet. It’s those girls who need him. And his wife. And his brother, because they was close those two, lived in each other’s pockets all their lives. For God’s sake, we only saw him yesterday, and there wasn’t anything wrong with him then. Right as rain he was, messing about with the kids, teaching Gary to drive a pretend bus, tipping Julie upside down, with Karen riding on his back. Full of life. A mischievous bugger, for ever teasing and joking, or getting worked up about the Union with Eddie, or sorting out someone else’s problems because he has that kind of heart. Dads don’t come much better than Bob and Eddie Lewis, and now to think those two lovely little girls have lost theirs. I can’t seem to take it in. The world just don’t make any sense when it does things like this.
It’s six o’clock in the morning now. The sun’s been up for a long time, and the birds are all out there singing. Eddie came back a couple of hours ago. By then he’d been to Flo’s, to both his sisters’ houses and his dad’s, where he had to break the news to Beat because they couldn’t wake the old man up. He got stopped by the police on the way home for not driving straight. Poor sod was wor
n out, and they was very understanding when he told them about his brother. We had a chat about things when he got back into bed. The only other time I’ve ever seen him cry was when his mam died. She wasn’t all that old when she went either, but at fifty-five she had nearly twenty years on Bob. It just don’t seem fair, do it? I mean, what have poor Flo and those girls ever done to anyone to deserve this?
Eddie says Flo don’t seem to be taking it too bad, but she’s probably still in a state of shock. Must have shaken her up terrible, to find her husband dead in his bed like that. Eddie’s going back up there later to help her start sorting things out. If I was feeling a bit better I’d go with him, but I can’t. No use to anyone when I’m as weak as this, and anyway, someone has to stay here with my two.
‘Are you awake?’ Eddie says.
‘Yes.’
He’s got his back turned and doesn’t roll over. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ he asks.
‘Not bad. How about you?’
‘All right.’
We don’t say anything again, just lie there listening to the birds and trying to make ourselves believe what’s happened.
‘I suppose I’d better go round the phone box and tell work I won’t be coming in today,’ he says.
I know we’re both thinking of the money he’ll lose, but it can’t be helped. He’ll just have to ride his bike next week instead of driving the car, and I won’t be able to go up our mam’s on the bus. I don’t go up there as much now anyway. I just can’t do it. It’s enough trying to keep me own house clean and tidy, and do me own shopping, while I’m having to go through this. But our Jacqueline’s up our mam’s a lot now, and she don’t mind changing her bandages and making her a bit of dinner. I’ll ask our Gord when he comes in for his chip sandwich at dinnertime, to pop in the offy on his way home tonight to get our mam her stout.
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea while you’re gone,’ I tell Eddie. ‘What do you want for your breakfast?’
‘Nothing. I’m not hungry,’ he answers.
‘You got to have something. I’ll make some toast.’