by Susan Lewis
Ruth and Lizzie go into a huddle with the rest of their gang and whisper. When they come up again they say, ‘All right, you can play, but only today. We might not want you to play again tomorrow.’
That’s all right. At least I’ve got someone to play with today, and they live down my way, so they might let me walk home with them too.
They do, and I can hardly wait to tell Mum when I get in, because we talked about all sorts of cool things, like boyfriends and kissing. Not that any of us has got a boyfriend, or ever done any kissing, but there are some girls in our class who have, and Ruth says one of them might be pregnant.
I don’t think I’ll be able to tell Mum everything we talked about, but she’ll like to know that I’ve made some friends, because she’s always asking, so I go running in through the back door, drop my satchel in the kitchen and race up over the stairs, shouting, ‘Mum, Mum, you’ll never guess what . . .’ I push open her bedroom door. ‘I’ve just been walking home with . . .’ She’s not there. Her bed’s empty.
I’m really frightened. She’s always there, except the days she goes to the hospital and today isn’t one of them. ‘Mum!’ I scream. ‘Mum!’
I run out onto the landing. ‘Mum!’ I scream again. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m down here,’ she shouts back.
I thunder down over the stairs, charge along the passage and into the living room. And there she is, sitting in her chair, next to the fire in her pink pyjamas.
She’s laughing. ‘There’s a blinking noise you’re making,’ she says as I climb onto her lap.
‘I thought you were gone,’ I tell her.
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re a silly nincompoop, sometimes, aren’t you?’ she says.
‘Yes, I am,’ I laugh. ‘Can I have a spam sandwich?’
‘Yes you can. There’s some on the table that I made before you came in.’
‘Oh cool. That’s fab. And some lemon squash? I like that better than orange squash now.’
‘I know you do, which is why I made you some.’
‘Are you up for good?’ I ask, tucking into a sandwich.
‘I don’t know. I might be. I feel a lot better, anyway.’
‘Fab,’ I say.
‘All right, so what’s happened to your glasses?’
I go to fetch the teacher’s note from my satchel and hand it over.
‘I see,’ she says, after giving it a read. ‘That boy’s a damned pest if ever there was one. Did he hurt you?’
‘Only a little bit, but I’m all right now. You don’t have to go up there.’
‘That’s good, but I will if you want me to.’
‘No. It wouldn’t be cool, and I’m just making friends with some girls who are really cool and groovy. They might let me play with them tomorrow, as well.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. It’s about time you made some friends. Now, let me hear you recite the Brownie Promise.’
‘Why? It’s not Brownies tonight.’
‘It’s Tuesday, so I think it is.’
‘Oh yes. I forgot. Will you be taking me?’
‘Not this week, but next week maybe. The Promise.’
‘OK. I promise to do . . .’
‘I beg your pardon? Was that an OK I just heard?’
I put a hand over my mouth. ‘Oops, sorry. It just slipped out.’
‘You know what I’ve told you about American slang. All your fabs and groovies are enough, thank you very much. Now, start again.’
I take a deep breath, and rattle it off in one go. ‘I promise to do my best, to do my duty to God, and the Queen; to help other people every day, especially those at home.’
‘Very good. And the Brownie Law?’
‘A Brownie gives in to the older folk, a Brownie does not give in to herself.’
‘Excellent. Now let’s go up and get your uniform ready, then you can practise the piano for half an hour, because I don’t think I’ve been hearing much of it lately, have I?’
‘Half an hour,’ I groan. ‘That’s ages.’
‘This isn’t your father you’re talking to now, it’s me, so you’ll do as you’re told. And leave those glasses on the mantelpiece, Dad can take them in to be mended during his lunch hour tomorrow.’
Fab, that means I don’t have to wear them to school in the morning.
‘Where are the little round National Health ones?’ she asks. ‘You’ll have to wear them for the time being.’
‘Oh no,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’m not wearing them.’
‘You’ll have to, until we get the other ones back.’
‘I am not wearing them,’ I tell her.
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘I’m not wearing them.’
‘You’ll do as you’re told.’
‘Mum, I’m not wearing them. They’re stupid and everyone’ll laugh at me. Even you laughed the first time I put them on.’
‘I did not.’
‘Yes you did, and you’re laughing now.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are, and it’s not fair to make me wear them if you’re going to laugh.’
‘All right, all right,’ she says, not hiding her laughing any more, ‘you don’t have to wear them. Now go and get on that piano before I change my mind.’
When I say my prayers tonight I’m going to say thank you to God for everything, because I’m really, really happy today. Best of all is being in a gang. It’s fab, and I hope they let me stay in tomorrow. Oh yes, and I’m really glad Mum is feeling better, because it means God answered my prayers and probably didn’t see me playing doctors and nurses in the shed.
Chapter Thirteen
Eddress
What a bloody relief to have all that treatment over. Knocked me for six this time, it did. Spoiled me summer, turned me bloody life upside down, and nearly stopped me taking my boy for his first day at school. I wasn’t having any of that though. I told Michaels, ‘I don’t care what you say, my son isn’t starting school without his mother being there on his first morning.’
He was quite good about it, and changed my appointment that week from Tuesday to Wednesday. Vi Dickens, across the road, took him for the rest of the week, because her boy David was starting at the same time. After that, they wanted to walk on their own. Don’t want mummies coming and holding their hands, only sissies do that.
It’s only been a couple of weeks since it all stopped, and already I’m feeling a hundred times better. They’ve changed me tablets too, but I’m still on the bloody steroids so me weight hasn’t gone down. Don’t matter though, just as long as I can get out of bed in the morning and take care of me kids, that’s all that’s important. And believe me, they need taking care of. Little perishers, been running rings round their father, they have, getting away with blue murder.
They’ve gone blackberrying with him now, up Siston Common, and seeing if they can find some sticks for the runner beans out the back. It’ll save us a couple of bob if we don’t have to buy canes. I can’t say Eddie’s that much of a gardener, but he tries, and to be fair, we haven’t done too bad with the potatoes, or the cabbages this year. Got a few onions too, and believe me, every little bit of savings helps when he’s been having to take so much time off.
He’s better with flowers. We’ve got a lovely front garden, with hydrangeas, foxgloves, delphiniums, peonies, glads, chrysanths, you name it, he’s got them popping up all the way from spring till the end of summer. It’s late autumn now, so it’s not looking quite so colourful out there today.
I’m in the middle of giving the bedrooms a good clean. Now I’ve got me energy back I can be nice and thorough, getting into all those mucky corners, under the beds, in all the cupboards and drawers, and all round the skirting boards. You wouldn’t believe how the filth builds up, and I’m not one to put up with filth. Speak to anyone and they’ll tell you, spick and span we are, in our house. Floors you can eat off and furnit
ure you can see your face in. I wouldn’t be surprised if ours was the cleanest house in the street.
It wasn’t this summer though. A right bloody pigsty it turned into then. Eddie just doesn’t have a clue when it comes to housework, because one look at these carpets and anyone can see, he can’t tell one end of a vacuum from another. And he probably thinks a duster’s for blowing his nose, or wiping his arse, because it definitely hasn’t been making any contact with me ornaments or glass shelving.
About four o’clock they all come bursting in through the door, looking like a bunch of bloody golliwogs. Blackberry juice everywhere, all round their mouths, up over their cheeks, in their hair and all down their fronts.
‘I might have expected it of them,’ I tell Eddie, as I scrub Gary’s face with the dishcloth, ‘but you! You big kid. Just look at yourself.’
He’s grinning from ear to ear. ‘But we had an awfully good time, didn’t we, children?’
I forgot to mention. He’s started talking posh. Don’t ask me why, he just started a couple of days ago and now we have to put up with him sounding like a right bloody charlie every time he opens his mouth, which isn’t so bad at home, but honest to God, you could clobber him when you’re out. Makes you feel proper soft, he does, going on like Lord bleeding Muck just off on a tally-ho round his estate.
‘Are you going to make a blackberry pie?’ Susan asks. ‘Can I help with the pastry?’
‘Yes, you can. I think with all this lot, we’d better make some jam too.’
You should see what they’ve brought home, there must be at least four pounds here, enough to feed half of bloody Africa.
‘We’ll have to give some away,’ I tell them.
‘Not the ones I picked,’ Gary says. ‘I got the biggest and fattest.’
‘Yeah, and then ate them,’ Susan responds.
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes you did.’
‘All right, all right. Go on upstairs now and get out of those clothes. And don’t throw them on the floor, put them in the linen basket.’
‘We managed to find some sticks,’ Eddie says, like a toff. ‘A couple of them might not be long enough, but I rather think they’ll do the trick. I’ll go on out there now, before it gets dark.’
‘Oh do bring some coal in first, old thing,’ I say, ‘the fire could do with stoking up.’
‘Righty-oh. Chop, chop.’
He’s a berk, but his heart’s in the right place. Anyway, it’s good to see him like this, because he’s been proper down since his Bob went, proper down. Nearly six weeks it’s been now, and to be honest, I still keep expecting him to walk in the door any minute, or be driving the bus when I go up Cossham, so what it must be like for Flo God only knows. With her own family all living down Wales she must be finding it hard, coping on her own, so I’m going to make the effort to see a bit more of her now I’m feeling more meself, do what I can to help.
‘Mum?’ Susan says when we’re rolling out the pastry later.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you know a horrible man called Michael?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘Who is he?’ I ask, closing up the cookery book and popping it back in the drawer.
‘No-one.’
‘So why did you ask?’
She shrugs. ‘I just thought . . .’ She shrugs again.
‘What did you think?’
‘Nothing. Can I eat some of this pastry now?’
‘Wait till we’ve lined the dish and made a circle for the top. Get a big plate out of the cupboard, we’ll cut round that.’
I don’t know, she’s a funny thing sometimes, my daughter, talks in riddles so you never know what’s going round in her head.
‘Has Susan ever mentioned anyone called Michael to you?’ I ask Eddie when we’re upstairs on our own.
‘No, darling, not that I recall,’ he answers, still sounding like a berk. ‘Why?’
‘She asked me just now if I knew a horrible man called Michael.’
‘What horrible man called Michael?’
‘I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.’
‘Do you think she could be referring to Mr Michaels?’
‘Mm, maybe. I’ve never mentioned him to her though. Have you?’
‘No, but you’re always saying she has ears like a bat.’
‘That’s her all right. Check my nylons, will you? Are the seams straight at the back?’
‘All looks tickety-boo to me. What time are you going out?’
‘In about five minutes.’ I check in my handbag to make sure I’ve got me money and lipstick. ‘See that they only have one piece of that pie each,’ I tell him, ‘I don’t want them up in the night, being sick.’
‘One piece each,’ he repeats. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, put out some clean pants for our Gary tomorrow, and stick an apple in his satchel. Susan doesn’t want one, but see that her reading book’s in there, she left it at home on Friday.’
‘Pants, apple and reading book. Ah ha, that must be your friends knocking on the door. Do you have enough money?’
‘I’ve got ten bob, that should do me. I’ll bring you home some fish and chips if we get the number eight back. Now make sure they’re in bed by seven, or no, Dr Who’s on tonight, instead of last night, so I said they could stay up and watch it. Keep an eye on our Gary though, I don’t want him having nightmares. Have you seen me fags?’
He don’t answer that, which is no surprise, but when I turn round I find him looking at me in one of his daft ways that always makes me heart melt. He’s as happy as I am that I’m feeling better, and it does us both good to have a bit of a cuddle, because God knows, we do have the living daylights scared out of us when I’m bad. Silly buggers we are really, because we both should know I’m going to be all right . . . Oh, look at that, he’s gone and smudged me lipstick now, so I’ll have to put it on all over again.
By the time we get downstairs our Susan’s already opened the front door to Betty and Brenda Lear, who live the other side of us. We’re going to meet our Jacqueline on the bus up Soundwell, if she can get someone to look after the baby. Poor cow could do with a night out after all she’s been going through with that swine of a husband. Mind you, she can be a bit of a handful herself when she wants to be, so half the time she probably has it coming.
‘Off you go then, my beauties,’ Eddie says, holding open the door. ‘Have a topping time, what?’
‘I’m going to clout you,’ I tell him, trying not to laugh. ‘Take no notice of him,’ I instruct the others as we walk off down the path, ‘he’s gone a bit soft in the head.’
We’re off down the Gaumont to see the film everyone’s been talking about, Doctor Zhivago. They say it’s very good, so I hope the bloody bus turns up on time, because we don’t want to miss the start.
None of the men was interested in coming, except Eddie of course, what with it being set in Russia, but he’s babysitting so I can go out, and he took some new books out the library yesterday, so he’ll be happy enough staying home and having a read. If it turns out to be really good, I’ll go and see it with him again. Not next week, because we’re going dancing over the Staple Hill Legion with our Jean and Gord, but maybe the week after.
You know, I can hardly put into words how happy I’m feeling. On top of the bloody world, that’s what I am, because there’s nothing like being ill to make you appreciate everything you’ve got in life, and believe me, I’ve got a lot. I might not have known it before, but I bloody well do now. Your health, that’s what matters, not bloody money, or big houses, or flash cars, it’s your health, and I don’t mind admitting there was times over the past couple of months when I wasn’t too sure I was ever going to get mine back. All that radium, and the drugs they gave me, it makes you feel that bad, that sometimes you come close to wishing you could close your eyes and never open them again.
But that’s all behind me now. The doctors are happy with
the progress I’ve made, and I don’t have to go up the hospital again until the beginning of December. Course, I still have to go and see Tyldesley every week, but that’s only so’s he can keep an eye on how I’m getting on. Any bad signs of anything, and they’ll have me back in, but I’m not worried about that. The worst is over, I can feel it in me bones. We can get on with our lives now, like a normal family, and put all this down to an experience that was hard, but worth it in the end for how good it’s making us all feel now it’s over.
Susan
I’ve decided God is very nice, because He’s answered my prayers. Mum’s not in bed any more, she’s up and about, doing the cooking and cleaning, and going up Gran’s and making sure we brush our teeth and wash behind our ears. She’s always in a really good mood too, and keeps making us laugh the way she plays jokes on Dad. He plays them on her too, and then she teases him about the way he talks posh. Sometimes he reads to us like it, but then he has to stop, because we laugh too much, and Mum says we mustn’t get overexcited before going to sleep.
I think I’m doing a bit better in school now. The teacher said I was when Mum went up to see her. I’ve got lots of friends as well, but really I want to be in Ruth Parker and Lizzie Phelp’s gang. They might let me if I buy them some sweets, or give them my tuck, but I haven’t tried yet. I feel a bit shy, which happens to me sometimes.
I’m not worried about Mum going off with her other family any more, because I think she loves us the best of everyone. Anyway, I don’t really think she’s got another family, because she’s too busy with us, and she’s probably not pretending to go to hospital when she’s bad, I expect she’s really there. Well, she could be pretending, because I don’t ever see her – no-one lets me go in, but Dad does, so she must be there, unless he’s pretending too. I think grown-ups have too many secrets, which isn’t very nice, because us children ought to be told the truth, or how are we going to learn?
Mum and Dad have gone dancing tonight with some of my aunties and uncles, so me and Gary are up Gran’s playing with our cousins, Geoffrey and Deborah. We’ve got this deck chair to put in our den, which we’re building with blankets and coats draped around the table and a big wooden clothes horse. We’re in it now, eating our midnight feast of tomato sauce sandwiches, even though it’s only half past eight, but we were getting a bit hungry so Gran wound the clock on.