by Jean Ure
I hardly knew what I was watching, to tell the truth; I just didn’t want to go to bed and have bad dreams. But after that I couldn’t watch telly, because Mum made me promise – “No sneaking out of bed the minute my back’s turned, do you hear me?” – so all I had was books, which are great for lying down and going to sleep with but no good at all for keeping awake as your eyelids very quickly grow heavy and start drooping, and before you know it you’ve gone and lost consciousness. And then the dreams begin, and there is nothing you can do about it.
Mum and me spent Christmas like we always do, with Auntie Sue and Uncle Frank, and my cousin Posy. I love Auntie Sue and Uncle Frank, but Posy is a bit of a trial. We are almost the same age, and so, of course, our mums expect us to do things together and be all cosy and chummy and talk girl talk in her bedroom. Well, sorry, I hate to ruin this idyllic picture, but the fact is she and I have absolutely nothing whatsoever in common. Not one single, solitary thing. How can you talk girl talk with someone who has no interest in boys, no interest in clothes, no interest in music – well, not what I would call music. To give you an example, she once went to a Cliff Richard concert with her mum and dad!!! She said he was just “so lovely”! Pardon me while I go away to recover myself.
Right. OK. Where was I? Saying about Posy. Her main passion in life, her only passion in life, is playing the harp. She started off with a teeny tiny little one, and now she has graduated to a great whopping thing almost bigger than she is.
I suppose one day she will be famous for her harp playing, and then I shall go round boasting to everyone that she is my cousin. In the meantime, if you happen to think, as I do, that the harp is an instrument the world could well do without, it does leave you a bit short of conversation. Mum says I should learn to be more tolerant.
“Live and let live. And don’t you dare to sit there pulling faces while she’s playing!”
To which I retort that a little plinking and plonking goes a long way, and why does it always, always have to be inflicted on us?
“Because her mum and dad are proud of her!” snaps Mum. “For goodness’ sake, it’s only once a year! Just put up with it.”
Normally, as I am sure you will understand, I set out for Christmas with a glum and sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This Christmas – which just shows the state I was in – I was only too relieved to be getting away. Sooner Posy and her heavenly harp than run the risk of bumping into Paul every time I set foot outside the front door. I was also hoping that being in a totally different part of the world, down in Somerset, would put a stop to the bad dreams, and I have to say that it did help.
We came back home the day after Boxing Day and I thought that perhaps I was cured and could start living normally again, but it seems that when you have had a really bad fright it is not so easy to get over it. It’s like there’s a kind of aftershock. I wasn’t having the dreams any more, and that was a relief, but when Dee rang up to check that I was going to the New Year firework display with her as usual, I desperately didn’t want to go. Dee couldn’t understand it, and neither could Mum. Mum said, “But you always go to the fireworks! What’s the matter? You and Dee haven’t fallen out, have you?”
I told her no, which was true. Dee had sounded her old self when she rang, not a hint of irritation. She had obviously forgiven me, and just wanted to be friends again.
“So why don’t you want to go?” said Mum.
I hunched a shoulder and muttered that I didn’t know. “I just don’t.”
“Oh, now, come on! There must be a reason. Something you’re not telling me.”
I sucked in my cheeks and looked down, hard, at the floor. It’s fortunate that Mum made this vow, when I was little, that she would never, ever use her gift on me, a bit like doctors not treating members of their own family. She could have done it, quite easily. But she wouldn’t, because that would have been like invading my privacy.
She tried coaxing me. She said, again, “Jo, you always go!”
“Twice,” I said. “I’ve been twice.”
“And you’ve enjoyed it. You’ve had fun!”
So why didn’t Mum go if she thought it was so great? I muttered this under my breath, not intending Mum to hear. I didn’t think she had, because she didn’t pick up on it. Instead, in worried tones, she said, “You always told me you had fun.”
“Yeah?” I said this in my best swaggering sort of voice. It seemed to me that a bit of bravado was called for, if I didn’t want Mum probing too deeply. “So I’ve changed my mind. I’ve gone off the idea.”
“Gone off the idea of fireworks?”
“Yeah. Right! You grow out of things, you know? I just happen to have grown out of fireworks.”
It was a gross lie, ’cos I love those fireworks parties. But I was just so scared that he would be there. And it would be dark, and there would be crowds of people. It’s all too easy to get lost in crowds of people. Worst of all, it was in Water Tower Park. Water Tower Park is right opposite the gravel pits, at the bottom of Gravelpit Hill. If there was one place in the world I didn’t ever want to go to, that was it: Gravelpit Hill. Even just the sound of it made my insides start shaking.
One of the drawbacks of having a mum who is psychic is that you cannot get away with all the little fibs and evasions that most people take for granted. Mum always knows when I’m not telling her the truth.
“Something’s happened,” she said. “Something’s upset you. It’s all right, I’m not going to ask you what it is; I’m sure you’d tell me if you wanted me to know. Why don’t we go along together?”
That stopped me right in my tracks. Go along together? To a fireworks display? Mum hates fireworks!
“You were absolutely right,” she said. “I ought to go.” So she had heard me. Trust Mum! Ears like a lynx.
“What do you say? It’s New Year’s Eve! You can’t sit at home all by yourself.”
“You would have done,” I said.
“Oh, well! Me. I’m old,” said Mum.
She isn’t old! Forty isn’t old. But Mum is not a great one for going out and socialising; it was one of the things that she and Dad always used to fall out about. Dad just loves to party! Maybe it is being psychic that makes Mum such a home body. She gets too many … messages, too many emotions, when she is among people. But I am psychic, too, and I am certainly not a home body! Not as a rule, I’m not.
Mum obviously sensed that I was still dithering.
“You and me,” she said. “We’ll go together. It’s time we did something together. We’ll have fun!”
I couldn’t help being apprehensive, even with Mum for company. I tried hard to relax, and laugh, and make like I was having a good time. I felt I owed it to Mum. I knew she had only come because she wanted me to enjoy myself, and that really she would have been far happier tucked up at home with a book and a glass of wine. So I grinned like mad, and waved at people I knew, and shouted “Hi!” and went ooh and aaah as the rockets exploded, but all the time I pressed close to Mum, like I used to when I was little and was scared she might suddenly disappear.
Dee was there with her mum and dad, and we all stood together for a bit and chatted.
“I thought you weren’t going to come?” said Dee.
I said, “I wasn’t. I was going to stay in with Mum.”
“You can’t stay in on New Year’s Eve!” said Dee.
“I know, that’s what Mum said.”
“Chloe’s around somewhere, but I haven’t seen her. Have you?”
I shook my head. I did so hope she wasn’t going to suggest we went off by ourselves to look for her. I wanted to ask if Paul was here, but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. In the end, Dee’s mum and dad moved off to talk to someone else, and Dee went with them, leaving me still stuck like a limpet to Mum’s side. I wished I’d had the courage to ask about her brother! Not knowing was even worse than knowing. I kept imagining him lingering and loitering, out in the darkness, at the edge of the crowd. I don
’t think I was ever more glad of anything than when the clock at last struck twelve, and we could sing Auld Lang Syne and go home. I felt safe at home; I hadn’t felt safe in Water Tower Park. Mum asked me if I’d enjoyed myself, and of course I said yes. I don’t think she altogether believed me, but she didn’t say anything. Mum is so scrupulous about not prying. I guess it’s because she knows she could probe my emotions any time she wanted, and there would be nothing I could do to stop her. The result is, I probably have more secrets from her than I would if she was just an ordinary mum.
Just occasionally I have wished that Mum could be a more ordinary mum, so that she would feel free to dig and delve and nag like they do. What are you keeping from me? What aren’t you telling me? I think if she hadn’t had her clairvoyant gift she might have got the truth out of me. And oh, in some ways, it would have been such a relief! To have been forced into telling her. It would have been like … handing over the burden. As it was, I kept it all to myself. Sometimes I thought it was growing easier; then something would happen to set it all off again.
The previous year, after Christmas, I’d gone up to Birmingham to stay with Dad and Irene for a few days, and Dad was expecting me to do the same this year. I wanted to go, ’cos I wanted to see Dad, but suddenly I found I was having nightmares about getting there. I’d been so proud last year setting off on the train all by myself. I’d begged Mum to let me do it, so now, of course, she took it for granted that I’d want to do it again. But the bad dreams had come back, except that now it was a train I was trapped on. I kept trying to find the communication cord, and I couldn’t, and it was just so scary!
I didn’t say anything to Mum about it. I’d looked in her diary and seen that she had two bookings for the day
I was due to travel, and I knew I couldn’t ask her to cancel them, just to drive me up to Birmingham. In the end I was glad that I didn’t, in spite of the nightmares, because once I was actually on the train, and surrounded by people, all my fears fell away from me and I thought how silly and exaggerated they were.
It was lovely being with Dad again. It is quite a different experience from being with Mum, as they are almost exact opposites. Mum is quiet and serious, whereas Dad is very bright and extrovert. Also, he is a touchy-feely kind of person, which Mum is not. I am not sure that I am, either, to tell the truth, but I do like it when Dad envelops me in a big squeezy hug.
Me and Mum peck each other on the cheek occasionally, but that is about all. I don’t know how she and Dad ever got it together! How did two people who are so entirely different ever think that they were soul mates? But they obviously were, once; and they are still good friends and care about each other.
I know lots of people whose mums and dads have split up and are really mean and vicious to each other and hardly even talk. I would just hate that! Mum and Dad speak quite often on the phone, and whenever I go to Birmingham Dad always wants to know how Mum is, just like when I get back the first thing Mum says is, “How’s your Dad?” If people must split up, although I think it is terribly sad, then this is probably the way to do it.
It helps that Irene is a really nice person, very warm and friendly, so that I don’t bear her any grudges for taking Mum’s place. Unlike Mum, who enjoys her own company, Dad could not have survived by himself. He needs someone to kiss and cuddle and be there for him. Irene is rather billowy, with big soft wobbly bosoms, so I should think she cuddles really well!
I felt good when I got back home. I felt that at last I really had recovered myself; that from now on there would be no bad dreams, no more panics. I had learnt my lesson. Never again would I be stupid enough to get into a car with someone I didn’t properly know. I’d been lucky to escape, but I had escaped, and now it was time to put it all behind me and move on. Yeah!
On our last Friday before the new term started, we had our going-back-to-school celebration in the Pizza Palace. Mum had said she was most impressed by my desire to get back to my lessons, but she would really rather I didn’t go out by myself at night again.
“Not after last time. I don’t want to seem like a harridan, but you were almost half an hour late. So if you don’t mind, I think we’ll keep it to a middle-of-the-day affair.”
I didn’t even try to argue with her. I told the others that it was lunch time or nothing, and they were quite happy.
“I know he works lunches,” said Chloe. “I’ve seen him!”
“Yes, and there won’t be so much competition at that time of day,” said Dee.
One way and another, I’d had quite a lot of money for Christmas. Dad had given me a cheque and Irene had given me a really cool top, black with red swirls
(Mum said, “Hm! Rather sophisticated,” in tones that weren’t altogether approving, but personally I thought it was brilliant. Irene has great taste!). From Auntie Sue and Uncle Frank I’d had gift vouchers for the Body Shop; Gran-up-North had sent real money, by Special Delivery. I just love real money! Mum had told me that I could spend “up to £25” on her Beattie’s store card, “Since clothes seem the only thing you care about.”
Not true! I care about lots of things, such as, for example, protecting the environment and Save the Children. I am always putting money in collecting boxes. But obviously clothes are important and I did think I was entitled to a bit of a spending spree before going back to the daily grind of lessons and homework. I bought some black trousers, to go with my new black top, hesitated over a miniskirt, decided against – Mum heaved a sigh of relief – tried on a couple of dresses, both unutterably hideous, went back and bought the miniskirt.
“You’d get away far cheaper just buying a scarf,” said Mum.
I said, “What do I want a scarf for? I want a skirt!”
Mum said that if I tied a scarf round my waist, I would have a skirt.
“And it would probably cover up a great deal more of you than that thing does!”
Aha! She was just worried that people would be able to see my knickers.
“I’ll only wear it for parties,” I said.
“Like that makes it all right?” said Mum.
Sometimes I think that maybe forty is quite old, after all. I pointed out to Mum that when we had gone on holiday I’d worn a bikini.
“That didn’t seem to bother you!”
“It did,” said Mum, “but I knew I’d be fighting a losing battle. Can we go home now, or do you want to fritter more money away?”
I said that I wanted to fritter, so we ambled through the shopping centre, finally fetching up at the shop where I’d seen the glitter boots. They were still there, glittering away, but somehow they seemed to have lost their charm. They seemed a bit … tacky. So I bought a pair of PVC ones, instead. Bright red, with straps.
“Won’t last five minutes,” said Mum.
She says that about everything. She’s always right, of course, but she misses the point. Who needs things to last five minutes? Mum has stuff in her wardrobe that she bought years ago. I don’t know how she can bear to be seen in it!
It was fun, having our back-to-school celebration. Just the three of us – and gorgeous Danny! Without that idiotic Mel to distract him, he actually recognised me and remembered who I was.
“Oh!” he said. “You’re the one who sold me the bunny!”
Chloe, needless to say, instantly dissolved into giggles. I felt like slapping her, but fortunately Danny didn’t seem to be embarrassed by her ridiculous behaviour.
He just grinned and said, “Yup! She sold me a bunny.”
I said, “It was a pink one.”
“It was,” said Danny. “It was a pink bunny.”
Chloe said, “Wow!” and went off into yet another peal of mindless giggles.
“You can say wow,” said Danny, “but it’s not everybody that could sell me a pink bunny!”
I thought, so there, and kicked at Chloe under the table.
“Well!” Dee flopped herself against me, as Danny went off to take someone else’s order. She let her head lol
l on my shoulder. “If that isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is!”
I felt this big foolish beam spread across my face. Danny had remembered me! We had talked! We had had a conversation!
“Oh, boy,” said Chloe. “She’s got it really bad!”
I think I would have gone on foolishly beaming all the way home if the door of the restaurant hadn’t suddenly swung open and Paul come walking in. I immediately froze. What was he doing here? It was Dee’s mum who’d been going to collect us. She finished work at half past two, she’d said she’d be here to pick us up, I couldn’t get into a car again with Paul!
“W-where’s your m-mum?” I said.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Dee. “Paul offered to come instead. We can give you a lift as well, if you like,” she said to Chloe.
“It’s OK,” said Chloe. “Dad’s coming.”
That did it. I pushed back my chair and jumped up.
“I’ve suddenly remembered,” I gabbled, “I told Mum I’d meet her in Beattie’s. We’re going to buy school stuff.” I pulled a face. “Boring. But I’d better go, or she’ll wonder where I am. See you Monday. Byeee!”
I flapped a hand and went rushing out, past a surprised-looking Paul, who said, “You’re in a hurry!” Chloe came dashing after me, shrieking, “Jo! Your phone!” I’d gone and left it on the table again …
I snatched it from her, with muttered thanks, and ran like a hare all the way to the bus stop. I don’t what I’d have done if Dee and Paul had driven past while I was waiting for the bus. Fortunately they didn’t, as a bus came almost immediately; but I was shaking again, and that night the dreams came back. I began to wonder if I would ever be free of them, or whether they would haunt me for the rest of my life.
On monday we went back to school. In spite of all our jokes about being soooo glad to start working again, and soooo glad to have mountains of homework – “Just soooo relieved I shan’t have to sit watching telly all night” – I was actually quite happy to be back. With all its irritations (such as having to be in the same class as Mel Sanders, and play hockey in force ten gales), with all its silly little rules and regulations and its truly disgusting uniform (stripes!!! I ask you!), school was safe. School was normal. The worst that could happen to you at school was being sent to Mrs Jarvis (deputy head) for smoking in the games cupboard. Then, most probably, you would be suspended, as with any luck Mel Sanders would be before she was very much older. But since I almost threw up the only time I tried a fag, and since on the whole I am a reasonably law abiding sort of person, I really had nothing to worry about. Not even Paul.