Mummy strokes my hair some more and then she says, ‘OK. We’ll leave it for tonight. You need a good night’s sleep. Come on.’ And she moves me away, puts the books on the floor and stands up, holding her hands out to me.
I look at the books and I say, ‘What about stories?’
Mummy says, ‘Not tonight, Jesika. It’s sleep you need, not stories.’
My lips wobble and my eyes sting and they go blink, blink, blink, blink and I say, ‘But Mummy, you said …’
Mummy says, ‘I know, Jesika, but it’s been a very long day and it’s already past your bedtime.’
I say, ‘But Mummy …’
Mummy squeezes her fingers on her nose and closes her eyes and says, ‘You need to go to bed.’ She opens her eyes. ‘I need you to go to bed.’
I think she might be remembering.
I don’t want to find a new Mummy.
I stand up and hold Mummy’s hand and we creep into the dark bedroom.
6
I’M APPOSED TO be asleep. There’s a stripe of night-orange on the wall and it’s moving side to side and my eyes are moving side to side following it. Why is it moving? I twist my head round and look at the window and the curtain is moving side to side too. Maybe the curtain is pushing the night-orange side to side when it moves. But I don’t know why the curtain’s moving.
The rain on the window goes SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! and I can hear the cars and the buses and the lorries whizzing past outside with a swish-ROAR-swish and there’s people shouting and banging doors and the thump-da-thump-da-thump music is below and above and other places too and all at different times.
I curl up under my covers to get warm and tickle my finger round and round on the inside of my hand and I whisper the moon words that Mummy says at bedtime, cept I keep getting them muddled. Mummy didn’t say them tonight. Tonight she said, ‘Night-night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ That’s Daddy’s bedtime words. He always did tickly nips, pretending his fingers were the bed bugs, and sometimes Mummy would get cross cos Daddy was making me too giggly for bed, but he’s not done it for a long-a-long time cos he went away and stopped being my Daddy.
Bab-bab went away too. She didn’t mean to, it was cos her heart stopped working.
If Mummy goes far away too, it’ll just be me and Toby, cept Mummy will take Toby with her, so it’ll just be me, and then I’ll have to find a new Mummy.
Now there’s new music and it’s nearer than all the thumpy music. It’s floaty and shivery and it’s coming from the living room. I push back the covers and my feet reach down to the floor and the carpet is scratchy on my toes and the air is shivery-cold and I know night-orange means stay-in-bed-time but the music is telling me to come and listen.
I put my dressing gown on and creep over to the bedroom door and kneel down on the carpet and push Mummy’s dressing gown to the side so I can peep through the jaggy hole in the wood. The light from the living room is hurty-bright on my eyes and I shut them tight but I keep my ears open and the music fills them up and it tells me to lift my arms up above my head and pretend I’m a ballerina.
Now Mummy’s singing with the lady in the music and I open my eyes a teeny-tiny crack and I can see a shape in the living room moving about. I open my eyes a little bit more and a little bit more and the shape is Mummy and she’s turning and swaying all slow in the space atween the sofa and the eating table just like a beautiful ballerina, and her hair is twirling and floating, and she’s singing, not like the singing she does with me and Toby when we all end up giggling but beautiful, shivery, whispery singing. I didn’t know my Mummy could be so beautiful.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Mummy stops dancing and stops singing. She’s looking at the door but she’s not opening it. Why isn’t she opening it?
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A voice is shouting and then the letterhole flaps and snaps and then stays open and the voice is loud in the letterhole shouting, ‘Open the door, Tina! I’ve not got all fucking night!’
I can’t hear the shivery music now. Mummy moves fast round the sofa to the door and she’s not a floaty ballerina any more cos she bumps into everything on her way past and she’s coughing and coughing and then she’s fighting the door open and the door makes a CRACK! when she opens it and ahind me Toby cries but just one cry, not lots and lots, and that means he might still be sleeping.
I crawl over the scratchy carpet and peep through the stripy bars of his cot. He’s lying on his back and his eyes are shut and he’s got his arms right up above his head and his hands are tight like fighting fists and I think maybe he’s having a dream about fighting a dragon or a tiger or a monster. It’s good he’s not actually awake cos he doesn’t like going back to sleep again.
I crawl back to the hole in the door and peep through again and Mummy’s giving something to a man. I know that man! Mummy says he’s the Money Man cos he’s always asking for more and more money so me and Mummy and Toby can keep living here. Money’s the same thing as pennies cept it’s maked out of paper. Sometimes the Money Man comes here so Mummy can give him the paper and sometimes we have to walk all the way to the house where the Pirate Lady was today.
The man says, ‘Is that it?’ and his big, hairy eyebrows squash right together.
Mummy is saying something but I can’t see her face and I can’t hear the words. The man’s face goes even meaner. He pushes it right up to Mummy’s face and says, ‘You think you’ve got a fucking choice?’
Then his face changes. He smiles and steps forward and puts one of his arms right round Mummy and he’s stroking it up and down her back like Mummy does to me and Toby when we’re crying. He’s whispering something right in Mummy’s ear. I think he’s whispering, ‘Sorry,’ for having a mean face afore.
Mummy’s twisting her face away.
Oh.
Oh!
He’s squeezing Mummy’s chin in one hand and pulling all Mummy’s hair in his other hand. He’s hurting Mummy! Mummy needs to do her Big Voice and shout, ‘STOP IT!’
Mummy isn’t shouting.
Why isn’t she shouting?
She cries, ‘Sorry! I’m sorry!’
Why is Mummy saying sorry? The Money Man has to say sorry, not Mummy.
The Money Man still hasn’t let go. He’s twisting and pulling and Mummy says, ‘Ow! Ow!’
Stop hurting Mummy!
I stand up quick. I have to tell him to stop. Mummy’s crying!
But what if he pulls my hair too?
My heart is thumping and thumping.
I’m scared.
‘Oi! Stop it! Leave her alone!’
I drop back onto my knees and press my eye up to the hole. It’s Next-Door Lady!
The Money Man lets go of Mummy and turns to Next-Door Lady, standing just inside our door. He walks right up to her and says something I can’t hear but it must be something funny cos Next-Door Lady laughs with her mouth open wide and her laugh is like a witch’s cackle. I didn’t notice that afore. I don’t think she brushes her teeth very good cos she’s only got four or five or six teeth and they’re all brown and yellow and black and there’s lots of holes where her other teeth are apposed to be.
Next-Door Lady walks backwards out of our house and she’s still laughing and the Money Man follows her out of the door pointing his finger like he’s telling her where to go and I can’t see them now but I hear the Money Man shouting and Next-Door Lady laughs and laughs and laughs.
BANG! BANG!
Oh! Mummy’s slammed the door shut and she only had to bang it two times. She only does that when she’s angry. She turns away from the door but I can’t see if her face is angry cos she’s hided it ahind her hands and she slides her back all the way down the door til her bottom bumps on the ground. She doesn’t look angry.
The letterhole flaps open and Mummy drops her head down to the floor and curls up on her side. The Money Man shouts, ‘I’m a generous man, Tina. You’ve got two days to decide how you want to pay m
e. Sweet dreams, darlin’.’ The letterhole snaps shut.
Mummy stays curled up on the floor. Her shoulders are shaking.
She’s not angry – she’s crying!
I pull open the bedroom door and I run and run as fast as a cheetah and throw myself onto Mummy and hug her tight and tight and tight.
Mummy sits up and hugs me too and does lots of big breaths and wipes and wipes her face with her sleeve and then she says, ‘You’re supposed to be asleep!’
I say, ‘I love you, Mummy.’
Mummy says, ‘Was it the door banging that woke you up?’
Will Mummy be cross if I tell her I was awake all the time?
Afore I can decide, Toby coughs and coughs and then he’s crying and coughing and crying and this time he’s actually awake and Mummy’s head drops down and she says, ‘Not Toby, too,’ and then we have to hurry into the bedroom and Mummy tells me to take my dressing gown off and she tucks me into the warm covers and kisses my cheek and she says, ‘See if you can get back to sleep before Toby,’ then she lifts Toby out of the cot and she holds him next to the window and she rocks him and pats his back and says, ‘Shhh, shhh, shhh,’ and Toby stops crying and Mummy’s shhh gets quiet and quiet and she leans over the cot to put Toby back in.
BANG!
A door slams somewhere and there’s people shouting and the thump-da-thump-da-thump music stops and then starts again, different and more loud. Toby’s arm flings out of Mummy’s cuddle and he starts coughing and crying again and Mummy has to start all over again with the rocking and the shhh-ing and she sings my fayvrit song about the beautiful tree and the green grass and that always helps me go to sleep and she sings, ‘… and on that twig, there was a nest, the most beauuuutiful nest you ever did see …’ and I’m apposed to be asleep but I can’t make myself go sleepy. I keep seeing a picture of the Money Man inside my eyes when I close them and he’s pulling Mummy’s hair and squeezing her chin and she’s not telling him to stop.
7
EYES OPEN.
Dark.
Dark and quiet.
Not the quiet like when I jam my fingers in my ears and quiet-noise leaks past them so I can still hear the busy-ness and the veekles and the door-slamming and the yelling and the thump-da-thump-da-thump music. This is Real Quiet. This is Magic-Amazing Quiet.
I roll over and lift my head to look over Mummy’s hilly bump. The clock says five – it’s not Getting-Up Time unless it says seven. How much counting does it take to get from five to seven? I count one-two-three-four-five-six-seven, but the clock doesn’t change. Maybe if I count to a-hundred-a-thousand-a-hundred-a-hundred, then it’ll be seven.
I need a wee.
I push back the covers and put my feet on the floor and, ugh! It’s not scratchy like it should be. It’s soft and soggy and cold. I roll back onto the bed and push at Mummy’s hilly bump and I say, ‘Mummy, Mummy, the rainy-hater’s leaked again.’
Mummy groans and coughs two times and moves a bit and says, ‘Jesika, it’s not morning. Back to sleep.’
I say, ‘But Mummy …’
‘Back to sleep, Jesika. Please.’ Mummy’s eyes aren’t open cos they’re not shining. I don’t think Mummy’s actually awake. I shake her shoulder and say, ‘But Mummy!’
Mummy’s head lifts up and her eyes flick open and her hand shoots out and grabs my shoulder tight.
‘SHHH! Do not wake Toby!’ Her voice hisses like a snake and then she coughs and coughs and she pushes her face into her pillow and coughs and coughs some more and then Toby coughs and coughs again and then he cries and Mummy rolls over and flops onto her back and says, ‘Fan-bloody-tastic.’
I make my voice whispery-quiet and say, ‘But Mummy, the chewy-gum’s gone hard again and the rainy-hater’s leaked all over the floor and the carpet’s all soggy and it’s maked my feet wet and I need a wee.’
After we’ve got up and got dressed and had toast and milk and Mummy’s fixed the rainy-hater with more chewy-gum, I help Toby build tall towers with the bricks, but he keeps knocking them down afore I’m finished so I go and play with Baby Annabelle instead. I change her clothes and tuck her into the pram and we go for a long walk through the jungle. There’s lots of trees in the jungle and monkeys and snakes and rabbits and tigers. Oh! There’s a tiger! Quick, hide!
Mummy says, ‘Jesika, that was my foot!’
I peep out from under the table. Mummy is leaning down and she’s holding a piece of toast and she points it at the sofa and she says, ‘Go and play over there, please.’
I say, ‘But I’m hiding from the tiger.’
Mummy says, ‘And you can hide over there. Let me finish my breakfast, poppet. I won’t be long.’
But Mummy is long cos after she’s finished eating she still sits at the table and she puts her head down on her arms and she sits there for a long-a-long time and I can’t find anywhere to hide from the tiger and it’s not fair.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
I say, ‘What was that?’ and Mummy’s head comes up fast and she yawns and rubs her eyes and pulls her phone out of her pocket and she looks at it and she says, ‘Someone’s sent me a text,’ and now she’s smiling and she’s pressing buttons on her phone and then the phone beeps again and her smile is a bit bigger.
I say, ‘What’s a text?’
Mummy says, ‘It’s a message on my phone.’
I say, ‘Who’s the message from?’ But Mummy doesn’t answer me cos she’s too busy smiling and pressing buttons on her phone and her phone beeps and beeps and beeps. She’s getting a lot of messages. Then she stands up quick, pushing her chair back and says, ‘Time to get going.’
I say, ‘Where are we going?’
Mummy says, ‘We’re going on a bus!’
I say, ‘On a bus? You mean like the buses that whizz down the busy street? The buses that have an upstairs and a downstairs? A bus like that?’
Mummy smiles and nods her head and I say, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah!’
Mummy says, ‘We do go on buses sometimes, Jesika. It’s not that exciting.’
I say, ‘It is! It is! We’re going on a bus!’ and I dance around the living room til Mummy gets cross cos she says she’s told me five times to put my shoes on. I don’t think she did cos I didn’t even hear her.
When we’re all ready and we’re outside the door, Mummy fights the door shut and I hold Toby’s buggy. Next-Door Lady puffs up the stairs and I say, ‘Hello,’ but she just pushes past and doesn’t say anything and I open my mouth to ask Mummy why she never says hello but then Next-Door Lady is about to open her door and today I remember about the eggy-yucky smell and I take a big deep breath and hold my nose. But she doesn’t open her door, she turns right round and comes back to Mummy, just as Mummy does one last bang with the door and gets it closed proply, and Next-Door Lady says, ‘Leon’ll fix that if you ask him.’
Mummy’s mouth opens and closes and opens again but she doesn’t say anything and then Next-Door Lady says, ‘A good man, Leon. Does it cost price, and he won’t ask for any extra favours. A good man.’ She points above her head and says, ‘Next floor. You go ask him,’ and then turns round and walks back to her door saying, ‘A good man. A good man,’ quiet as quiet and then she opens her door and the eggy-yucky smell is all in my nose and my mouth cos I was so surprised that Next-Door Lady speaked to us that I forgotted to not breathe.
The door bangs shut and the smell gets smaller again. I say, ‘What was she telling you about Leon, Mummy?’
Mummy makes a noise like a hiccup and says, ‘She said I should ask Leon to fix the door.’
I say, ‘I didn’t know Leon did fixing.’
Mummy says, ‘Nandini said I should ask him about the broken window too but …’ She scrunches up her face and shakes her head quick and says, ‘I’ve already given Darren money towards fixing it. I can’t afford to pay twice.’ She puts her hands on her hips and stares at Next-Door Lady’s door and shakes her head again and I say, ‘Is Darren the Money Man?’ but then Toby shout
s, ‘Out! Out! Out!’ and pushes himself against his straps and we have to bump quick as quick down all the stairs cos now he’s crying and shouting and making so much noise and we have to rush out into the busy street afore someone comes out of one of the doors and shouts scary words at us.
We have to stand in a line at the bus stop and I’m jumping up and down cos I’m so excited we’re going on a bus.
Mummy says, ‘Stand still, Jesika, it’s too busy for jumping around,’ but I can’t stop wriggling cos I can’t wait to go upstairs on the bus.
After ages of waiting, the bus comes and everyone’s squashing and Mummy tells me to go in front of her so she can lift Toby’s buggy on and I step on and it’s so squashy with legs, I can’t see where the stairs are and I’m pushing my head past all the legs to have a better look.
‘I SAID YOU CAN’T COME ON WITH THAT!’
The Driver Lady looks very cross.
Mummy says, ‘But it says you take buggies. On the front. It’s got the buggy and wheelchair sticker.’
The Driver Lady points at all the people squashed on the bus and says, ‘When there’s space, Madam. You’ll have to wait for the next bus.’
Mummy says, ‘Will there be space on the next one?’
The Driver Lady looks out of her front window and says, ‘I have no idea, Madam,’ and she waves her hand at the door.
‘Excuse me!’
There’s a man squeezing past people to the front of the bus and I know this man! He’s the man that took Paige home, but not her Daddy, her … something else.
He says, ‘There’s room in the buggy space, if everyone squashes up a little.’
I say, ‘Mummy, what’s that man called?’
But when I look at Mummy, she’s not looking at me, she’s looking at the man and she’s smiling at him.
The man walks up the bus and he says, ‘SQUASH UP. COME ON EVERYONE, MOVE UP A BIT,’ and Mummy says, ‘Follow Ryan, Jesika,’ and that’s what he’s called. Ryan. I remember that now!
I follow Ryan and Mummy comes after with Toby in the buggy and people are squeezing up against the sides and then the whole bus shakes and starts moving and people are falling towards me and I’m falling backwards cept there’s a push on my back and a pull on my arm and I’m standing on my feet again. A lady next to me huffs and says, ‘She could have waited just another minute.’
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