Happy Families

by Janey Fraser

  ‘You’re still up!’ Bobbie stared at Jack sitting too close to the television on a bean bag that belonged to his bedroom. Daisy was at the far end of the room, cuddled up on the sofa with Melanie.

  ‘I had to put her next to me to stop them fighting,’ said her husband’s niece, shrugging. ‘Don’t like each other much, do they? They didn’t want to go to bed either.’

  Well, of course they didn’t; that’s why parents were invented. To make kids do stuff they didn’t want to. ‘We watched this cool film,’ piped up Jack. ‘They cut off this monster’s legs and all this green gunk spewed out.’

  How could Melanie have let them watch a programme like that? And how could the kids have played up? They’d promised to go to bed on time.

  ‘I’m very …’ she started. And then stopped. Positive praise! If she was going to give this course a chance, she had to find something to praise them for.

  But what?

  ‘I’m very pleased that you’ve brushed your hair,’ she ventured. It was one of their bugbears. Jack hated the feel of anything on his skin.

  Her son stared at her. ‘But I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, the thought might have been there.’ Bobbie turned to Daisy. ‘And well done for, er, sitting nicely.’

  Daisy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you feeling OK, Mum?’

  Her husband’s niece was giving her a strange look too. Standing up, she put something away in her handbag. ‘Think I’ll go now. Don’t worry, I’ll walk.’ As she spoke, there was the sound of the key in the lock. Rob! At last! Back from yet another late meeting. He looked tired: too tired obviously to even kiss her cheek.

  ‘You lot still awake?’ His gaze fell on his niece. ‘Thanks for babysitting, Melanie.’

  ‘Mel,’ said his niece sulkily. ‘I’ve changed my name.’

  ‘Right. Mel it is.’ He shrugged before finally giving Bobbie a peck on the cheek. There was a faint whiff of something alcoholic. Advertising meetings always seemed to involve drink. ‘How did the parenting course go?’

  Praise him! Praise him! Don’t have a go at him for being late when he’d promised, absolutely promised, that he’d be back ages ago. ‘I like the fact that you’ve been thoughtful enough to ask,’ she said brightly.

  Rob was frowning. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘I’m not!’ Bobbie could feel her cheeks burning. ‘It’s called positive praise. And if you’d made the effort to come on the course with me, you’d know how to do it yourself.’

  Appalled, she stopped. Mel was looking distinctly uncomfortable although luckily, Jack and Daisy were scrapping with each other over the remote control and hadn’t heard. Rob’s face was stony. ‘I’ll run you home, Mel. Thanks for babysitting.’

  ‘See you next Monday then!’

  ‘Actually,’ Bobbie heard herself saying, ‘I won’t be needing you, I’m afraid.’ Then she eyed her husband challengingly. ‘I don’t think the course is for me, after all.’

  STILL STUCK ON POSITIVE PRAISE?

  HERE ARE SOME EXAMPLES!

  I ADMIRE YOUR TEXTING SKILLS EVEN THOUGH WE’RE MEANT TO BE EATING.

  SO YOU’VE WRITTEN ON YOUR BEDROOM WALL? WOW! HOW ARTISTIC!

  YOU ARE A BRILLIANT COMMUNICATOR! I CAN SEE THAT FROM YOUR MOBILE-PHONE BILL!

  YOU’VE PEED ON THE FLOOR AGAIN? GREAT AIM!

  Chapter 8

  VANESSA

  VANESSA CARRIED THE filthy old grey blanket carefully into the lounge, looking down with awe at the little face that had gone back to sleep after the exchange with the rough chap on the doorstep. Very gently, she laid her granddaughter on to the sofa, kneeling down next to her and taking in the snub nose, rosebud mouth and those two little dimples, just like her own. She really was very small for her age.

  ‘What do you mean, you think she’s your granddaughter?’ Brian asked, confused.

  ‘I’ve never actually seen her before,’ she admitted.

  But despite the sun-tan and the heavily matted hair wound into tightly plaited braids with red and blue beads, there was no mistaking Brigid’s child. You only had to look at the dark, almost gypsy-like Irish look which had come from her husband’s side of the family. This child could have been her own daughter, twenty years ago. A Brigid who hadn’t yet learned to rebel. Who had wrapped her arms around her and said, ‘I love you, Mummy,’ over and over again.

  A large lump formed in Vanessa’s throat. If only she had known then how things would turn out, she wouldn’t have been so hasty. Wouldn’t have said all those terrible things.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Brian quietly beside her. ‘Why haven’t you seen her?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t allowed,’ she replied shortly. Why couldn’t he just go? All the earlier tenderness between them had disappeared now. Instead, Brian felt like an intruder. She needed to be alone with her granddaughter, to find out what on earth had happened. But she couldn’t wake her, even though she was desperate to find out where Brigid was. It wouldn’t be fair. From the look of that filthy – and smelly – shift dress she was wearing, the child might well have been travelling for some time.

  ‘Funny name, isn’t it?’ added Brian. ‘Sunshine, I mean. Quite nice though. I like it.’

  What right had he to pass judgement on her granddaughter’s name as though he knew her? Besides, Sunshine was quite ridiculous! So typical of Brigid!

  ‘I hate my name,’ she used to complain as a teenager. ‘I don’t care if it belonged to Dad’s mum. It’s not as though that lot have ever had anything to do with us, is it? When I’m a mother, I’m going to call my kids something pretty. And I’m going to bring them up differently!’

  The memory made Vanessa smile. Why was it that every generation of children was determined to ‘do it differently’ from their parents? When it came to it, they often ended up repeating the very behaviour that they had once criticised.

  Suddenly the child woke up. So quickly that Vanessa was taken by surprise. Those catlike green eyes – such a contrast to her dark looks – focused steadily first on her and then on Brian. But she didn’t look troubled – not at all! Vanessa wondered suddenly if this little girl was used to waking up next to people she didn’t know.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘I’m your grandmother.’ Even as she said the words, a wonderful warmth flooded her body. For six long years, she had yearned to say those words! Nearly seven if you went back to the day that Brigid had come home, white-faced, with the pregnancy-testing kit. Of course she had said some things she hadn’t meant. They both had. But she hadn’t expected her daughter to turn on her heel and never come back.

  The child stared at her as though she was taking her in rather than the other way round. ‘I know.’ She spoke very clearly, pronouncing each word as though it had a space around it. ‘Mummy told me.’

  Mummy! Vanessa felt her heart soar with excitement and nervousness. ‘Where is Mummy?’ she asked urgently.

  ‘Gone away.’ The little one spoke without emotion, as though this was perfectly normal. ‘She said you would look after me until she came back.’

  ‘Came back from where?’ asked Brian.

  Vanessa wished he wouldn’t ask questions too. It might scare the child. Stop her from talking. But she didn’t seem to mind. ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged prettily and Vanessa was struck by how narrow and thin her shoulders were under the shift dress. ‘She’ll be back soon. She always is.’

  So this had happened before! Vanessa felt anger mixed with resignation. For years, she had fretted and worried about her irresponsible teenage daughter. After Brigid had walked out, she’d done everything to find her. Gone to the police, and even the Missing Persons section of the Salvation Army. But to no avail. How on earth would her daughter manage to bring up a child on her own when she was no more than a child herself?

  And now she, Vanessa, had been proved right. This little one hadn’t been looked after – just look at her clothes and dirty fingernails. She’d
been abandoned, probably for some holiday or a boyfriend who didn’t want a child in tow. It was appalling! Brigid didn’t deserve to be a mum.

  Besides, the letter – or rather the note – spoke for itself. Please look after her.

  As though she was Paddington Bear!

  There was a passport too, giving Sunshine’s surname as her own (Thomas) and her place of birth as London. Vanessa felt a pang. So her daughter had given birth in this country then, without even bothering to tell her. That really hurt.

  In the emergency-numbers section, there was Brigid’s name but no address or contact number. The second contact was her own. Maybe her daughter did care for her after all? Or perhaps there simply hadn’t been anyone else to put.

  And, hang on, there was another note at the back of the passport, also in Brigid’s handwriting. To whom it may concern. I give authority to my mother Vanessa Thomas to look after my daughter Sunshine Thomas until further notice. There was no date or witness’s signature.

  Further notice? What on earth did that mean?

  ‘Who was that man, Sunshine? The one who brought you?

  The child’s eyes widened as though the answer was obvious. ‘One of Mummy’s friends.’

  Vanessa shuddered. Brigid’s friends, over the years, had been a motley crew. She could just imagine her daughter giving her child, as though she were a parcel, to this grubby backpacker, whoever he was. How irresponsible.

  Sunshine began to shiver. Quickly, Vanessa put the note back in the passport. She needed to sort out the child first. She was cold. And no wonder, in those rags. Her mind began to race. She didn’t have any clothes that would fit. Besides, she needed to clean her up first. And feed her too. There was nothing to her! All skin and bones.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she said as the child sat up, fully awake even though it was the small hours of the morning.

  She nodded.

  Vanessa felt a stab of panic as she tried to recall what was in the fridge. What did children eat nowadays? Then she remembered – that was it! Brigid had loved her soldiers.

  ‘Would you like a boiled egg?’

  That snub nose wrinkled with disgust. ‘Mummy and I don’t kill things. We’re vegans.’

  Vegans?

  Vanessa stared at Brian in horror. No wonder her granddaughter looked so thin.

  ‘What do you eat then?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Beans.’ There was the sort of look that indicated Vanessa should have known that.

  ‘Shall I go to the garage?’ suggested Brian. ‘The twenty-four-hour one?’

  ‘I don’t think she means Heinz.’ She glanced down at Sunshine – such a wacky name – who had fallen asleep again. ‘But thanks, anyway.’

  Brian nodded; his large face soft with compassion. ‘Want me to stay?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I need to be alone for a bit.’ Vanessa looked up at him now, hoping that he’d understand. She liked him – more than that – but now this had happened, and it was big. She had her granddaughter back. How long for, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t mess it up as she had with Brigid. And if that meant giving up the personal life she had only just made for herself, so be it.

  ‘I’ll ring you,’ said Brian uncertainly.

  Vanessa hardly heard him letting himself out. Instead, she curled up on the sofa next to Sunshine – Sunshine! – and snuggled into her. She might smell, but she was still her granddaughter. Only then did she notice that the child’s right hand was clasped tight around something. Gently, Vanessa unfurled it. It was a whistle! A simple clay whistle with three holes and a bit of grubby string attached. Sunshine muttered something in her sleep and, closing her fist, turned away. It reminded her of a mouth organ that her daughter had had as a teenager. She used to blow it tunelessly all day long: it had driven the neighbours mad.

  ‘Mummy,’ murmured Sunshine, still asleep.

  Mummy. Vanessa’s heart twisted with pain. ‘Oh Brigid,’ she said out loud. ‘What have you done this time?’

  When Vanessa woke the next morning, Sunshine wasn’t there. Her first thought was that it must have been a dream and a huge cloud of disappointment billowed up in her chest. Then she saw the old blanket lying on the ground. It was true then: her granddaughter really was here! But where had she gone?

  Her mind raced wildly round the possibilities. Sunshine had unlocked the front door and run off in search of her mother. What could be more natural than that? Anything could have happened! She might have been run over. Snatched by some evil person. Got lost! She’d be scared – crying her eyes out. For God’s sake, what was she doing just standing there in her dressing gown? She needed to ring the police!

  Dashing into the kitchen to grab the phone, she glanced out of the window. It was open, even though she was sure she’d shut it last night. Sunshine was sitting in the middle of the lawn, cross-legged, playing that little clay flute. For all the world, she looked like a small faun in that filthy thin brown shift dress and braids. Vanessa’s initial relief was swiftly followed by embarrassment. It was five o’clock in the morning – what would the neighbours say?

  Hastily, Vanessa unlocked the back door and ran out, barefoot, over the patio, which she’d built herself last summer. ‘What are you doing?’

  A pair of green eyes lifted up to hers. There was no emotion there, Vanessa realised with a start. Just … well, nothing. ‘Mummy and I always play our flutes when the sun has woken up.’ The words were said steadily, as though she was explaining something obvious. ‘Then we sit and listen to ourselves for a while.’ She patted the grass beside her. ‘You can sit with me, if you like.’

  The grass was damp and the curtains next door were already twitching, but something inside Vanessa made her sit down next to Sunshine – funny, the more she said it, the less odd it sounded – and wait. The child was chanting something quietly to herself. It sounded like ‘peace’ repeated over and over again. Was she meditating? Had Brigid joined some kind of cult? Vanessa felt a pang of panic. Despite her strong personality, her daughter had all too often been led astray by unsuitable friends.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ Vanessa asked gently, wondering if the child recalled the conversation they’d had last night when she was barely awake.

  The little girl nodded. ‘Van Van.’

  Vanessa laughed. ‘Nearly. It’s Gran, actually.’ She made the sound. ‘Gr. Like that!’

  There was a solemn nod. ‘I know. But Mummy said your name is Vanessa. So I’ve always called you Van Van.’

  Always? So this little mite had been thinking of her for all these years when she’d been doing the same? Vanessa felt a mixture of agony and happiness.

  Then the child stopped and looked up at her expectantly. ‘Are we going to wash in the river now?’

  Wash in the river? What kind of life had her granddaughter been leading? ‘Actually,’ she said gently, leading her towards the back door, ‘I thought you might like a shower.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  If the question hadn’t been asked in such a sweet way, Vanessa would have thought she was having her on. Such a poppet! ‘I’ll show you. Look. Here’s the bathroom.’ Then she felt awkward. ‘You’ll need to take off your clothes first.’

  Without hesitation, Sunshine neatly stepped out of the brown shift dress. She was wearing knickers made out of some kind of hessian. Even though this child was her flesh and blood, it still seemed odd to see her naked. Trying not to look, Vanessa turned on the power shower. ‘You see—’ she began but Sunshine started to scream.

  ‘It’s the rains!’ She clung to Vanessa, burying her face in her chest. ‘Help! We’re going to be flooded again!’

  ‘No. It’s all right.’

  But however much Vanessa tried to reassure her, it was no good. Eventually, she turned it off and ran a bath instead. That seemed to appease her granddaughter. ‘It’s like the pond,’ she said, splashing herself.

  Just the cue that Vanessa had been waiting for. ‘What pond, Sunshine?’
/>   Another look of surprise. ‘At home, of course.’

  ‘And where is home?’

  There was a shrug. ‘Near the pond.’

  She mustn’t push her too fast. Not yet.

  ‘Let’s wash your hair, shall we?’ she said brightly, putting a dollop of shampoo in her hands.

  That little nose wrinkled. ‘If you don’t wash it, it stays clean. Mummy says so.’

  That old wives’ tale! Vanessa had been itching to do something with Sunshine’s hair ever since she’d arrived. ‘Let’s just try it, shall we?’

  ‘Ow! My eyes hurt!’

  ‘Sorry. Here. Take this flannel.’

  Even as she spoke, Vanessa realised that her granddaughter probably didn’t know what a flannel was. Besides, she was yelling so much that she couldn’t hear. It was almost impossible to wash those tightly knitted braids. Maybe she could get her to the hairdresser tomorrow, during her lunch hour. That was a point – how on earth was she going to open the shop with her granddaughter in tow? She’d have to ask Kim to step in.

  Somehow she managed to wash Sunshine. But what could she put her in? The thin shift dress she’d arrived in was hardly suitable for this weather. In desperation, Vanessa tried a pair of size six jeans from a bag of shop rejects by the front door, but they were far too big. How about this sky-blue jumper? It went down well below Sunshine’s knees and the colour suited her. Brought out those green Irish eyes. Teamed with a pair of long socks, it would do until she could get to the shops.

  She also managed to find some organic muesli at the back of the cupboard (a free sample which she’d never opened) which seemed to go down all right. But now what? Vanessa looked at her granddaughter sitting cross-legged on the floor with her cereal bowl – she’d seemed reluctant to sit at the table and Vanessa hadn’t wanted to force the issue – and felt a wave of apprehension.

  She hadn’t looked after a child for more than twenty years and she’d made a real hash of it then. Sunshine would need to go to school; she’d need to be registered at the doctor’s. Where on earth should she begin?