One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  I think Glenys and Laura must have nodded too, because Nina goes on. ‘Years one to five never use the front stairs,’ she informs us. ‘There are back stairs which we all use, but whenever you see someone older than you coming, either from in front, or behind, you immediately stand back. Do you understand?’

  We all nod.

  I think it’s raining outside. I’m tempted to look up at the window, but I don’t expect they’ll like me doing that.

  ‘Susan, what did I just say?’

  I think really fast. ‘I have to stand back on the stairs,’ I jabber.

  Everyone starts sniggering, and I realise I must have got something wrong, but I’m sure she didn’t say anything after telling us about the stairs.

  ‘She’s from Kingswood,’ I hear someone whisper.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘The other side of Bristol. All council houses.’

  ‘How did she get here?’

  I can feel my face going beetroot again, and I wish I could call them stuck-up pigs and tell them to get lost, but I don’t have the guts.

  Nina carries on ranting about all kinds of rules that don’t seem to make any sense to me, or I’m not really taking them in. I hear something about struck-ons, which is where a first-former can choose an older girl – second form up, any dormitory – to get struck on. The meaning of it seems to be that she would come and tuck you up at night, and maybe read you a story (if she feels like it) and you have to make her bed, sweep under it, write her poems and draw her pictures. I think there are other things too, but I missed them, because I’m watching another girl peeling an orange and throwing the skin on the floor.

  ‘Are you listening to what’s being said, Susan?’ Nina Lowe asks.

  I nod.

  ‘Pick up that orange peel,’ she barks.

  Quickly I stoop to get it.

  ‘Now eat it.’

  I stare at her. Orange peel is the most disgusting thing in the world.

  ‘Give it to me,’ someone snaps, and grabs it out of my hand. For a minute I think she’s going to shove it into my mouth, but luckily she walks over to the piano and drops it in a bin.

  ‘So, Susan,’ Nina says to me, ‘you’ll fill your struck-on’s hot-water bottle, give her your tuck and buy her anything she wants with your pocket money?’

  I go a bit still. I don’t have any pocket money, and even if I did I don’t want to spend it on someone else. I don’t want to give anyone my tuck, either, in case I get hungry.

  The girl with the orange passes a segment to Nina, and after chewing it up Nina spits a pip into my face.

  It hits my cheek, just below my eye, and really stings. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Sadie, tell them about Johnny,’ Nina commands.

  A pretty, dark-haired girl, with freckles on her nose and dimples, says, ‘The school’s haunted by our founder, John Whitson. There’s never any knowing when he might come to visit, but it’s always before Founder’s Day which is in November. After that, he disappears until the start of a new school year.’

  I’m beginning to shake. I knew this place was haunted, and without Daddy here to save me I don’t know what I’m going to do – unless, if Mummy’s a ghost now, maybe she can fight him off.

  I don’t want Mummy to be a ghost.

  ‘Johnny is most interested in the youngest girl in each dormitory,’ Sadie goes on. ‘Who’s the youngest out of you three?’

  It turns out to be me, because my birthday’s in August. I’m only just eleven, whereas Glenys and Laura are nearly twelve. I think Johnny should haunt them, because it’s mean to pick on the youngest.

  ‘Flying angels,’ someone else says. ‘You have to do at least three before Founder’s Day, or you’ll be made to wash everyone’s bags in your year for a week.’

  ‘A flying angel,’ Nina Lowe explains, ‘is a jump from the top of your wardrobe on to your bed. If you break your leg it doesn’t count, so you’ll have to do it again.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning you’ll be given your offices,’ Sadie continues. ‘First bell will ring at ten to seven, second bell at ten past. That’s when everyone who’s on offices has to start sweeping the stairs, or laying tables for breakfast, or cleaning out the house maids.’

  I wonder what house maids are, but don’t dare to ask. I expect it’s toilets or something, and if they think I’m cleaning them then they’ve got another think coming.

  Nina spits another orange pip in my face and it comes really tight on my nose.

  I give her one of my best dirty looks.

  Her mouth falls open in shock. ‘Don’t you dare look at me like that,’ she cries. ‘As a first year you’re not allowed to look at me at all. Now get down on your knees and say sorry this minute or I’ll slap your face.’

  I don’t want to get down on my knees, but I don’t want her to hit me either, so I do it. ‘You shouldn’t spit pips at me,’ I tell her, ‘it’s not polite.’

  She looks shocked all over again. ‘Never speak until spoken to,’ she rages at me. ‘Now apologise for that look.’

  I hang my head. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble.

  ‘Now apologise for speaking without being spoken to.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘As a punishment you’ll do Sadie’s offices for a week,’ she tells me. ‘She’s on bog-cleaning duty.’

  Everyone sniggers, even Laura and Glenys.

  ‘What are you two laughing at?’ Nina barks. ‘You don’t even know what’s funny. Susan, don’t look at them. You’re supposed to be staring at the floor.’

  ‘Get her to dance a jig,’ someone says.

  ‘Yeah, that should be a laugh. In those pyjamas.’

  ‘Can you dance, Susan?’

  ‘What about the slippers? Have you seen them? My grandma has slippers like that.’

  I’m trying really hard not to cry, but I’m scared and I want to go home so much that I might start sobbing if I don’t stop thinking about it. This is worse than being in prison, because at least there I might have a cell to myself, or my head chopped off and then it would all be over.

  Suddenly the swing doors at the end fly open and someone dashes in. ‘Cluttie’s coming,’ she hisses, and everyone instantly rushes to their beds.

  ‘Come on,’ Laura says, getting hold of my arm. ‘Quick.’

  I’m just climbing under the covers when a great big fat woman with flick-up glasses and curly silver hair stomps into the room.

  ‘It’s Miss Clutterbuck,’ Laura whispers. ‘The head matron.’

  Miss Clutterbuck is glaring up and down the room like a dragon looking for a snack. I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke started coming out of her nose, or a spiky tail came swishing in the door behind her. ‘Where are the new girls?’ she booms.

  ‘At the end,’ someone answers.

  As Cluttie’s fiery eyes find us we cower under our counterpanes.

  When she reaches the foot of Glenys’s bed she checks something on a list she’s holding. ‘Glenys Beach?’ she barks.

  I can hear Glenys swallow from where I am. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

  Cluttie moves on, checks her list again. ‘Susan Lewis?’

  ‘Yes,’ I mutter.

  She goes to Laura next, and once she’s satisfied we’re all there she says, ‘The older girls will tell you a lot of nonsense about unwritten school rules. They are not to be obeyed. You will only adhere to the official rules which you’ll find in your school manual. Any questions, bring them to me. Any sickness or other difficulties, bring them to me. My office is behind the nursery down on the next landing. Do any of you have sweets or chocolate in your cubicles?’

  I’ve still got my mint humbugs, but I’m not telling her, because she’ll probably take them away and I’m getting a bit hungry after that horrible tea.

  ‘No,’ Laura says.

  ‘No what?’

  Laura looks confused.

  ‘No Miss Clutterbuck,’ the matron explains. ‘What about you two?’


  I shake my head. So does Glenys. ‘No Miss Clutterbuck,’ we say together.

  ‘If anything’s found it’ll be confiscated,’ she warns us, ‘and you’ll find yourselves on report. Do you know what a report is?’

  She’s looking at me so I shake my head.

  ‘Three reports lead to a punishment, and that wouldn’t be a good start. Now, I’m glad to see you’re all in bed. Seven thirty lights out, apart from Thursdays when you’ll be allowed to stay up to watch Top of the Pops. Have you looked at your bath rota yet?’

  I have, so I know I’m due to have one on Tuesday mornings and Friday evenings. Two a week seems a lot; I only used to have one on Sundays at home.

  ‘In the morning,’ Cluttie was saying, ‘you’ll get up at first bell if you’re due for a bath, at second bell if you’re on offices, which are duties that will be explained to you after school tomorrow. The third bell will ring at seven twenty, which is the last bell before breakfast which is at seven thirty sharp, except Sundays when it’s at eight. Don’t be late, or you’ll receive a report. No getting out of bed during the night, unless you’re ill, or can’t wait for the toilet. And no talking after lights out. Welcome to Red Maids. Good night.’

  With that she turns on her heel and squeaks off on her rubbery soles towards the door to the bathrooms, which is opposite our beds. I’m just starting to breathe when she suddenly turns back. ‘Have you all handed your money in to Miss Sayward?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Clutterbuck,’ say Laura and Glenys.

  I don’t say anything, because I haven’t got any money, but she doesn’t seem to notice, thank goodness, and next thing she’s gone stomping on through the bathrooms ready to invade Discoverer.

  I stay where I am, watching the second- and third-form girls getting into bed, then Laura’s sister, Cheryl, comes to tuck Laura in. Lucky Laura. I wish I had a sister. If I did I wouldn’t have had to come here, because I wouldn’t be the only girl at home. I wonder if Gary’s missing me. I expect he’ll have a story tonight. Dad’s really good at reading stories. I hope they don’t like it better without me, that would be so mean.

  I watch Cheryl give Laura a kiss goodnight, and I feel really pleased when she says goodnight to me too. And to Glenys. At least not all the older girls are horrible.

  After that the lights go out, and everything stays quiet for a while. I hear someone whispering a few beds away, and when I turn to look at Laura I can tell she’s got a torch on under her blankets.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whisper, wishing I had a torch too.

  She peeps out. ‘Writing a letter to my mum and dad.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘I can give you some paper if you want to write to yours,’ she offers. ‘You can borrow the torch when I’ve finished.’

  That’s really nice of her, so I say thank you and tell her I’ve got a new pad and envelopes. ‘How are you going to post it?’ I whisper.

  ‘We have to put stamps on and then we can drop them in a basket down in the front hall.’

  I suddenly go all cold inside. I didn’t think about stamps, and I haven’t got any money to buy some, even if I could get out to the post office, which I can’t. I’m really scared now, because if I can’t send a letter to Daddy he might think I don’t love him any more and then he won’t come to see me after church next Sunday, which means I’ll be left here all alone and I might never see anyone I love ever again.

  Chapter Two

  Eddie

  DEAR SUSAN, I hope you are all right at your new school. I’m sorry I went away like I did on Sunday night and I hope you forgive me if it upset you. Any partings are usually made worse by drawing them out.

  It is dinnertime as I am writing, or should I say lunch? I thought there might have been a letter from you by now, but there isn’t, so instead of reading a letter I am writing one. The sun is shining and the day is pleasant.

  I’m sitting in Fishponds library where everything’s quiet and familiar, and people speak in whispers, or go about on tiptoe. I appreciate the respect this shows for others and am careful to behave the same way. Being amongst so many books is, for me, like being surrounded by scores of old friends. I can feel their energy and nourishment sometimes without even opening the pages. What a blessing it is to be able to read and write. I think of all the great authors and poets who have shared their genius with us and feel linked to them through their words in a way that is both humbling and uplifting.

  I often wonder how I’d have got through this past year without my books. Losing myself in history or science, mathematics, politics or the influence of Dostoevsky on the form of the novel has provided me with an escape from the grief like nothing else. Not that it ever goes away, but if I was to stay with it the whole time I dread to think how I’d be. I expect the neighbours thought I’d lost my mind the night before last, when I took myself down to the rhubarb patch at the end of the garden and started tearing it apart. Gary was already in bed, and it was dark out, so maybe no one saw me. I hope not, but they’d have seen the mess in the morning. It gets me like that sometimes, though. It’s all bottling up inside me and suddenly I can’t take any more and I have to hit out in a way that would be awful for Gary to see. I want to know what I did to deserve this. First my brother, Bob, then six months later my wife. What’s God got against our little family that He’d punish us like this?

  I don’t like violence, I never have, but sometimes the confusion, the grief, gets me all riled up in a way that’s not easy to hold in. It’s not very Christian either and I feel bad about it after, but the rage I feel towards those people who make cigarettes, and towards Eddress for bloody well smoking the things … Well, it’s better I get it out of my system by ripping up a rhubarb patch, or thumping a few pillows, than turning on someone at work as he lights up, or writing to the government and finding myself arrested for threatening behaviour.

  I hope our Susan writes a letter soon.

  I popped into a couple of shops on the way here to pick up some odds and ends we need at home, and a nice big orange and cream slice that Gary and I can share for afters tonight. I’m hoping it might cheer him up a bit, because he seems to be missing our Susan even more than I expected. He’s slept in with me these past three nights, needing a cuddle with his dad, in spite of being a big boy now. I wonder if I should have taken him to the school with us last Sunday. If I had, he’d have been able to see for himself where she is, which might have helped him to understand that she hasn’t gone to the same place as his mum and won’t ever be coming back. I hope he doesn’t think that, but if he does it should put his mind at rest when we go up to the church to see her on Sunday.

  He’s a good boy. I love him so much I’ve got to be careful when I squeeze him not to make it too hard or I’ll hurt him. He was his mother’s pride and joy, and he’s mine too, along with our Susan who I know is in good hands, but I can’t stop worrying about her all the same. I’d really hoped to hear from her by now, even though she said she wouldn’t write. I know her though, she says these things, but she doesn’t mean them. I’m sure she’s all right. I’m writing to her so she’ll know we’re thinking about her.

  Gary and I are well. Gary went to his pony-riding lessons last night and Mrs White (the teacher) was very pleased with him and said he could go round on his own next time. He was overjoyed with himself, as I expect you can imagine. He’s taking good care of Sixpence, remembering to feed him and play with him, and at the weekend he’s going to help me clean out his cage.

  That should please her, to know we’re looking after her hamster.

  I called in Auntie Nancy’s as usual on the way home from work last night. She’s making up a nice box for you which I’ll bring with me on Sunday. There’s the extra stockings you need and she’s going to put in some fruit. I’ve added a copy of Black Beauty in case you feel like having a read.

  When you write to me please tell me about your lessons and the other girls. I expect you’re making lots of friends by now. Love and God
bless, from Daddy and Gary. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  I think she’ll like lots of kisses at the bottom. It’ll show how much we love her. I ought to get Gary to write too. That should help him to understand that she’s not very far away, just the other side of Bristol in a school that’s going to do her the world of good in the long run.

  PS: Also in the box will be linen bags, two reels of cotton, a packet of needles, a tape measure and a thimble, which we forgot to pack. Auntie Nance has also added some cotton wool and two tins of talcum powder which she says is your favourite, Topaz by Avon.

  That should cheer my girl up, knowing she’s going to have some nice smelly stuff. She’s like her mother in that way, always trying out new scents and soaps, and bubble baths. (She’s like her mother in more ways than I can bear to think about at times.) I read in the school manual that she’s going to be having two baths a week now, which is nice for a girl. We’ll just have to hope she doesn’t have a needlework lesson before I can get her parcel to her, or she won’t have the right equipment. I wonder if I should ring the school to explain, just in case. I don’t want her getting into trouble for something that’s not her fault. I can imagine how much that would upset her, and she’ll be angry with me, which isn’t how we want to spend our time after church on Sunday.

  Ah well, time’s getting on, so I suppose I’d better be making my way back to work. If I’m late clocking in my pay’ll be docked, and I can’t afford for that to happen now I’ve got these fees to pay, even though they have been reduced. I’m hoping to be promoted to foreman of the tool shop when old Fred retires. It’ll mean fifty bob or even a couple of quid extra a week, which’ll come in very handy now we’ve got this added expense.

  We make pneumatic drills at our factory on Lodge Causeway. I’ve been there for a good ten years now, since finishing up at the BAC (that’s Bristol Aeroplane Company) just after Ed and I got married. The management were very good about letting me have time off when she was ill, but I tried not to take too much because I only get paid for the hours I work, and being short of money wouldn’t have helped us at all.