by Susan Lewis
It’s Gary’s turn to have a sit in the deck chair now. He’s the youngest so he’s had to wait till last. We can’t see him very well, because it’s dark in our den, but he’s jumping about and being silly as usual, and Geoffrey’s poking him and pretending to pull the deck chair out of the way. Then suddenly Gary’s screaming and screaming, and Gran’s tearing the roof off our den, and I’m shoving Geoffrey out of the way, then I see Gary’s little finger is trapped in the deck chair, and there’s blood everywhere, and the finger’s all flat and soggy.
‘Oh my Lord, what’s your mother going to say?’ Gran cries, opening up the deck chair so he can get his finger out.
He’s sobbing and screaming, and so am I, because his finger looks like it might come off. ‘We have to get an ambulance, Gran!’ I shout.
‘Stay here, all of you,’ she tells us, ‘I’m going to send Nelly from next door up the pub to use the phone,’ and because she can’t run she goes as fast as she can out of the door.
Gary’s still crying and shouting for Mum, and Geoffrey looks really scared, because it was his fault. I go to put my arms round Gary, but he’s afraid I’m going to touch his finger and screams even louder. It looks really strange now, like a lump of bubbly red wool.
After a while Gran comes back, all out of breath and worried. Then not long after Mum and Dad come running in the door. Straight away Dad picks Gary up and takes him out to the car. Mum goes too, but they make me stay at Gran’s, even though I cry and plead to go with them.
‘We’re going to take him to the emergency at Cossham,’ Mum says, ‘so we won’t be long.’
‘Lucky they was only at Hubert and Hetty Bright’s dance school,’ Gran says as they leave. ‘Where’s me stout? Got to have a drink after that.’
Geoffrey gives it to her, then still looking scared he takes Deborah home, because they only live next door with their mum who Gran doesn’t speak to.
When Gary comes back he’s got a whopping great bandage on his finger, and a lollipop in his mouth that one of the nurses gave him. He lets me have a suck, and then he falls asleep on Dad’s shoulder, so I climb up on Mum’s lap to snuggle in with her while she talks to Gran about what happened.
When we go home we all sleep together in Mum and Dad’s bed. I’m on the outside, next to Dad, and Gary’s on the other outside, next to Mum, and because I think Mum and Dad are having a kiss I close my eyes really tight so I won’t see. I don’t mind them kissing, but it’s a bit embarrassing really, and when they start laughing I feel all sort of funny inside.
‘Stop making so much noise, I can’t get to sleep,’ I tell them crossly.
Everything goes silent for a few seconds, then Dad turns over and blows a raspberry on my cheek.
‘Kids, who’d have ’em,’ Mum grumbles, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
We all go off to sleep then, and when I wake up in the morning it’s only me and Gary in the bed, because Mum and Dad have gone into my room. When I find them I start to giggle, because they look really silly all squashed up in my little bed, then Gary comes in and starts to cry because his finger is hurting. I offer to kiss it better, but he thumps me out of the way, and goes to sit on the pillow right next to Mum’s face.
With her eyes still closed Mum says, ‘If you fluff now, Gary Lewis, you’ll be in big trouble.’
Gary and me start to laugh, then next thing he’s trying really hard to fluff. Boys are so disgusting, but it’s ever so funny, especially when he does it and Mum dives under the covers to get out of the way.
We have a really nice Sunday then, because instead of doing the ironing the way she usually does, Mum takes me up Kingswood Park to play on the swings and run round the bandstand, while Dad drives Gary back to the hospital to have his finger looked at again. Later, when Mr Softie comes round, we all have a 99, and then Dad lights the fire while Mum makes herself a nice cup of tea. I get a bit worried when she lights up a fag in case Dad starts on at her and everything gets spoiled, but he doesn’t, so everything’s lovely, and it’s really easy to make Mum laugh, so we keep on doing it.
She’s the very best mum in all the world, except when she’s telling me off, or making me have a bath, which I have to today, because it’s Sunday. I don’t mind really though, I don’t want anyone calling me smelly, and Mum goes extra careful when she’s washing my hair to make sure she doesn’t hurt, so I’m all squeaky clean and smelling of baby talc when I get into bed ready for Dad to read us a story.
Eddress
Four weeks it lasted. Right as rain I was, back to me old self and never been happier, then I wake up one morning and it’s all I can do to get meself out of bed. Course, I did. I made meself, but the minute the kids left the house, hair not properly combed, coats hanging off their shoulders, shoelaces ready to trip ’em up, I had to go and sit down. I cried at how scruffy they looked. My kids, scruffy. It’s never happened before, but honest to God, I didn’t have it in me to sort them out that morning. I didn’t even have it in me to get back on me feet for the rest of the day.
When he got home Eddie went straight round the phone box and called the doctor. I didn’t want him to. ‘I’ll be all right tomorrow,’ I told him, but he wouldn’t listen, and the next thing I know they’ve got me back up Cossham for more tests and poking about, then another bloody session of radium. I can’t tell you how much it upset me. I reckon I must have cried for a week, not that I let anyone see. No point is there, nothing they can do, and if you keep blubbing in front of the doctors they just ignore you anyway.
I’m back home again now, and spending more time in bed than out of it. It’s never right is it, for a mother to be lying about like this. I should be downstairs in the kitchen, like every other kid’s mother. Believe you me, it’s where I’d be if I could, making their tea, sorting out their squabbles, doing all the normal things a mother does.
They never complain, bless their hearts. They’ve just come to accept this is how it is for now. It won’t go on for ever though, I tell them. It’ll all change by Christmas. I’ll be up and about again then, good as new. And I will, I’ve made me mind up about that, so those bleeding doctors who don’t know what the bloody hell they’re doing better get used to the idea. In fact, I told Michaels that the last time I was there.
‘You don’t know what the bloody hell you’re doing,’ I says. ‘You got me on radium and steroids and God knows what else, and none of it’s working, is it? You give me a rest from it, change me drugs, and then it all comes back again. So what kind of treatment’s that, I want to know?’
‘I understand your frustration, Mrs Lewis,’ he answers, ‘but I do assure you the treatment’s necessary to deal with your condition.’
‘I never felt like I had one until you got going,’ I tell him. ‘Everything was all right till then.’
‘I’m sure it seemed that way, but if we hadn’t taken action when we did, your condition would be at a far more severe stage than it is now. So please, just be patient, and I’m sure we’ll start seeing some positive results again very soon.’
Well, we’d better, that’s all I can say, because if I’m still feeling as bad as this by Christmas I’m going to put a stop to it all. I swear it’s all these damned pills, and everything, that’s making me worse, and I’ve got to be all right by the time our Maurice comes across in the middle of December.
Meantime, Eddie’s talking about making up a bed for me on the best settee in the front room. That way I can be downstairs when the kids come in from school. I think they’ll like that better than having to put up with me lying about in bed all the time. I can watch them playing, when I’m not dozing off that is, and Eddie’s going to put the telly in there too, so I can get back to Coronation Street, and Billy Cotton’s Band Show and all me favourites. That might perk me up a bit too. God knows how Eddie’s going to get me up and down the stairs though, because I’m no lightweight now, I can tell you that. Never was, of course, but honest to God, you should see me now. Well, it’s probably bet
ter no-one has to, because I don’t feel good, oh no, I don’t feel good at all. Bloody steroids. I’d like to tell that damned doctor to stick ’em down his own bloody throat then look in the mirror, see how he likes it. He’d have himself off ’em quicker than you can say, ‘Who’s that fat sod looking at me?’ I’ll tell you that.
We had Bonfire Night last night. The kids made a guy to put on top the bonfire, and Eddie went out in the garden to set off the fireworks. Murder, it was, watching from up here, because our Gary kept getting too close to the flames trying to light his sparklers, and our Susan ran back up to a Catherine wheel that wouldn’t go round. Luckily Eddie spotted her, and pulled her back. No emergency though, because the bloody things never work anyway. The rockets were worth the money, soaring up out of the milk bottles, and the Roman candles went off well. Course Gary loved the bangers and the jumping jacks. You should have seen them all out there, having the time of their lives they were.
Anyway, I ought to start thinking about what to get them for Christmas now. If I can’t go out shopping, I can always buy what they want from the club book.
Did I already mention, our Jacqueline’s been coming down a lot lately? Good as gold she is, going up Kingswood to get me shopping, and taking the kids to the dentist and optician, so Eddie doesn’t have to take any time off work. I wonder what we’d do without her. She even makes Eddie’s tea on a night sometimes, so it’s on the table when he comes in from work. Her baby Vanessa’s a cute little thing. No trouble. Chuckles away with the kids and goes off to sleep when you want her to, no fuss at all. Can’t say my two were ever like that, little perishers. Still aren’t. Love ’em to bits though. Don’t know what I’d do without them. Won’t think about that though, cos it don’t do no good to.
Oh well, I suppose I ought to think about taking me next lot of pills, and getting meself out to the bathroom. Eddie’s always telling me not to do it on me own, but I can’t keep relying on Betty and I want it over before that nosy old cow, Cissy Weiner, calls in on her rounds. Of all the people, they had to go and give me her as a nurse. I reckon someone’s having a bloody joke on me, I do. Either that or she wangled it herself, so she could come in here and have a good look round.
Honest to God, getting off this bed and standing up is so bloody hard that for two pins I’d just lie here and wet the damned thing. That’d give old Weiner something to gossip about, wouldn’t it? She’d like that, I bet.
Oooh, blimey. Me head’s spinning, me limbs are like lead, but at least I’m up. I just got to make one foot move in front of the other now, to get me out to the bathroom. It’ll be all right tomorrow, I’ll be able to do it no trouble by then, it’s just today, after the treatment. Feels like they’ve filled me veins with concrete, it does, and stuck a brass band inside me head. Boom, boom, boom. I can hardly think for that bloody boom.
Here we go. One step, two steps . . . It’s like walking a baby, or a bloody cripple. I can do it, I know I can. It’s just keeping me balance that’s hard. Bloody head’s lolling about like a football and it feels like someone’s nicked the bones from me knees.
I make it to the door, then out onto the landing. Kids’ clothes hanging out of the linen basket, curtains not all the way open. Carpet could do with a vac. Think I’ll have a rest a minute and sit down on the stool Eddie put there in case I need it.
Oooh, ow, bloody hell. I missed, and now I’m lying here on the damned floor with the bloody stool on top of me. I don’t think I can get up again yet, but it’s too cold to go on lying here. Crying’s not going to do me any good, so I’m going to bloody stop that right now. I must look a right bloody charlie, sprawled out here across the landing. A beached bloody whale in pink pyjamas.
‘Yoo hoo! Anyone home?’
Oh Christ, it would be her, wouldn’t it, Cissy bleeding Weiner. Trust her to come now, before I’ve managed to get meself up again.
‘Are you up there, Mrs Lewis?’ she calls out. ‘Can I come up?’
‘No, I’m all right, thank you. No need for you to stop today.’
‘Have you taken your pills?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘A bit tired. I’m having a lie-down.’ Well, it amuses me.
‘That’s good. You need lots of rest. Have you done your bathroom business today?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘All in order, was it?’
Why doesn’t she just bugger off? ‘Yes, all in order.’
‘Good girl. That’s what we like to hear.’
I can see her down there now, checking for dust, turning her nose up at the bits on the carpet.
‘I saw Eddie at the school last night for parents’ evening.’
‘Yes, he said.’ Annoys me how she calls him Eddie and me, Mrs Lewis.
‘How’s Susan doing?’
Not as well as she was, but I’m damned if I’m going to tell her that. ‘Very good thank you.’
‘Our Wendy came second in the class, did your Susan tell you? She’s doing ever so well. The teachers can’t say enough good things about her. They don’t think she’ll have any trouble getting into the grammar school when she’s eleven.’
‘Lovely.’
‘Our Tina’s doing well too. Very sociable, the teacher said when I was in there this morning, helping with the vaccines. Your Gary had his. Brave boy he was, didn’t even murmur.’
If I stop answering will she think I’ve fallen asleep? No, knowing her she’ll creep up the stairs to check. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ I say.
I’m bloody freezing and this floor’s as hard as rock. Bugger off, you old bag, please, just bugger off.
‘All right, I’ll be on my way now then,’ she says. ‘Send one of the children up if you need anything. You know where I am.’
She slams the back door behind her and I heave a sigh of relief. Thank God she’s gone. I’d rather die than have her come up here and find me like this. Trouble is, I’ve got to get meself up again now, and back into bed. I can do it though. It might take all I’ve got, but I can do it.
Turns out the easiest way is to crawl. I even manage to get into the bathroom then, and onto the toilet. I lean against the wall as I’m doing me business and close me eyes. When it starts to come it’s like giving birth. Sometimes I think it’s worse. We buy soft toilet roll now, even though we can’t really afford it, but I can’t use that Izal any more. Susan and Gary moaned that they didn’t have any tracing paper, so Eddie bought some up Woolworth’s to keep them quiet.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, bloody ow. You can’t help but cry when it hurts like this. Tears just stream down your cheeks and sweat out of your pores. There I am like a block of ice, with sweat coming out all over. I’ll catch me death of cold if I don’t hurry up.
Thank God that’s over. I thought I was going to pass out come the end, but I managed to finish and pull the flush. Blood everywhere, as usual. Now I better fill a glass with water to take me pills.
It probably don’t do me any good to flop onto the bed the way I just did, but I didn’t have the energy to hold meself up any longer. It’s about all I can do now to pull the blankets over me to try and get warm again. I’ll be better tomorrow though, it’s always the day after that’s worse.
Told you I’d feel better today. I’m propped up on the pillows now and, would you believe, Eddie’s reading me a story. No need to tell you it was his idea. Daft bugger, but I’m enjoying it. The kids are up our mam’s for the night, and he’s just come back from the Union. They’re hoping Tony Benn’ll come and give another talk in the spring. If he does I think I’ll go. It’d please Eddie to have me there, and I’m interested in what the old git’s got to say. He’s for us workers, or as for us as anyone of his class ever is. Like I said to Eddie, he can afford his socialism, question is, can we?
This is a saucy book Eddie’s reading. Everyone was talking about it a few years ago, and I can see why now. That Constance Chatterley’s a bit of a floozie with the Mellors bloke, doing it
under bushes and in the backs of cars. Dirty little devil she is, but I have to admit, it could put you in the mood if you weren’t weak as a fish, like me. Blimey, just listen to it . . . I’m surprised Eddie’s not blushing, because he’s a bit of a prude when he wants to be, but he’s just reading away, getting proper carried away by the look of him. What about the washing-up, I want to know. Has he done that yet? I hate to think of my sink being full of dirty dishes, just in case someone pops in.
That hasn’t been happening much lately. They’ve all stopped coming as regular as they used to, my brothers and sisters, me mate Nellie who I used to work with, the neighbours, they don’t drop in for cups of tea and a chat any more. Well, they can’t can they, when I’m not down there to put the kettle on. Eddie says it’s because they don’t want to tire me out, but I know it’s more to do with them not knowing what to say. I don’t blame them, I don’t suppose I’d know what to say in their shoes either. I mean, this isn’t something you want to talk about, is it? It’s a bit like Cissy Weiner, you just wish it wasn’t there.
She was in here again earlier, fussing about and getting on me nerves. Luckily I didn’t need to go to the bathroom, though it’d serve her right if I made her wipe my arse, the way she shoves her bloody kids down my throat. I’d never tell her this, but it was a bit of a boost having someone to chat to for five minutes, and a relief having someone to get the water for me pills. Down they all went, every last one of them. I just wish I knew what bloody good they was doing, because I’m not seeing any end to this yet.
‘Are you asleep?’ Eddie says.
‘No. Just got me eyes closed.’
‘How are you feeling?’
Like I want to have a fag, but I better not say that. ‘All right.’
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’