One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  ‘What are you doing for Christmas, Su Lu?’ Paula Gates asks me.

  We’re in her room watching her brush her lovely long crinkly hair and put on make-up ready for when she sneaks out to meet Steve on his motorbike. Sadie’s lying on the bed with Cheryl curled up at the end, and Laura and I are sitting on cushions on the floor.

  ‘Um, I’m going to my auntie’s, I expect,’ I say, wishing I had something more exciting to tell them. Then I suddenly remember that I do. ‘My cousin Robert will be there. He’s really dishy and sexy, you should see him.’ (Sexy is our new word, and everyone’s saying it.) ‘I’ll bring some photos back with me if you like.’ (I’m still not too sure what sexy means, but I expect I’ll find out soon enough.)

  ‘How old is he?’ Laura asks.

  ‘Sixteen. He’s got a motorbike, and he’s always asking me if I want to go on it.’

  ‘Wow. Are you going to?’

  I nod. ‘Definitely.’ I’ve sat on it before, with him in front of me, and I felt all tingly and funny when I put my arms round him to hold on. We didn’t go anywhere, it was just so I could find out what it was like to get on it. ‘We’re probably going to get married when I’m older,’ I tell them.

  Sadie wrinkles up her nose. ‘Are you allowed to marry your cousin?’ she says.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Paula answers. ‘It’s not against the law.’ She goes on applying her eyeliner, all thick and black like Twiggy’s. I’m going to buy some with my Christmas money, if I get any.

  ‘Do you miss your mum?’ Paula suddenly asks.

  I think she’s talking to Sadie and Cheryl so I look at them, waiting for one of them to answer. Then I realise she means me, and I suddenly feel all strange and afraid as I remember the dream I had last night. I don’t want to talk about my mum, but I don’t want to be rude either.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Paula says, watching me in the mirror. ‘It must be horrible without her.’

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

  ‘What did she die of?’ Cheryl asks.

  I take a breath and it catches in my throat. I want to tell them that she’s not really dead, but they know that she is. I’m thinking about the way she went off with a strange man in the dream.

  I wish she had. She might come back then.

  ‘It was, um, something called cancer,’ I say.

  ‘I’ve heard of that,’ Sadie tells me. ‘Lots of people die from it, apparently.’

  ‘How did she catch it?’ Cheryl asks.

  ‘I don’t know. She just did.’

  ‘Do you remember her?’ Paula wants to know.

  I look away. ‘No, not very well,’ I lie.

  ‘I bet your dad misses her. I know mine would if my mum died. He can’t do anything without her.’

  ‘My dad can do most things,’ I tell her.

  ‘Do you think he’ll ever get married again?’ Laura asks.

  I’m starting to feel like I want to run away. ‘No,’ I reply.

  ‘Would you mind if he did?’

  I wish I knew what they wanted me to say, but I don’t, so I don’t say anything, because it might seem selfish if I say I don’t want my dad to get married again, but I don’t, not ever. No one can take Mummy’s place.

  Except me, if Dad would just let me live at home.

  ‘Of course she’d mind, wouldn’t you?’ Paula says. ‘Who wants a stepmother, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘They’re not all wicked,’ Cheryl tells her.

  ‘Most of them are,’ Sadie insists.

  ‘Has your dad got a girlfriend?’ Paula asks.

  I’m really hating this now. It’s horrible to think of my dad with a girlfriend, it’s making me feel sick and like I want to hit someone. He’s too old for things like that. I wish they’d stop.

  ‘What if she was beautiful and mod and let you do everything you wanted?’ Paula says. ‘Wouldn’t that be great?’

  ‘Oh God, just imagine a mother who let you wear minidresses and black patent boots,’ Sadie swoons.

  ‘And false eyelashes and lipstick,’ Cheryl adds.

  ‘And a fringe right down to your eyes,’ I laugh, wanting to join in. I’m always being told off because my fringe is too long, but it hides my eyebrows so what choice do I have? I can just hear what Mummy would have to say about it though, so maybe it’s just as well she can’t see it.

  If cutting it would make her come back I’d get the scissors out and do it right now. She’d be there on Christmas morning then to jump into bed with and watch us unwrap our presents. She’d make our breakfasts and put a turkey in the oven so that the whole house smelled of Christmas. Later, after the Queen’s speech, she and Dad would play our games with us, and we’d all dance to our new records. I wouldn’t be the only girl in the house the way I was last year, because she’d be there and everything would be all right.

  I didn’t like Christmas very much last year. I don’t think Dad did either, but he didn’t say anything. Admittedly, it got better when we went over to Auntie Doreen’s for dinner and played Monopoly in the afternoon. Robert was there, so was young Doreen, my other cousin who’s his older sister. I always wanted to be like her when I grow up, but now I’d rather be like Paula. What would be really cool would be having Paula for a sister, but I don’t say so, or she’ll think I’m a loony.

  ‘What’s your cousin’s name again?’ Cheryl asks. ‘The one with the motorbike.’

  ‘Robert.’

  ‘Have you ever kissed him?’ Sadie wants to know.

  My cheeks go beet red. ‘Only once,’ I mumble.

  Cheryl’s eyes pop out. ‘What, on the mouth?’

  I swallow hard and give a little nod.

  Paula’s watching me in the mirror again. I can tell she thinks I’m lying.

  ‘What was it like?’ Cheryl asks.

  ‘It was nice.’

  ‘How long did it last?’

  I shrug. ‘About a minute,’ I lie.

  Sadie shrieks and kicks her legs in the air. ‘That is a really long time. You’re so sexy, Su Lu. I’ve never kissed a boy for that long. Have you, Paula?’

  Paula rolls her eyes and carries on making them up.

  ‘I’d kiss Cliff for hours and hours if I could,’ Cheryl swoons.

  ‘Oh no, give me Mick Jagger any day,’ Sadie protests.

  ‘What about your boyfriends?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you want to kiss them?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Sadie answers, ‘but they’re really immature in comparison to Mick Jagger and Steve, Paula’s boyfriend. Aren’t they, Paula?’

  ‘How old is Steve?’ Cheryl wants to know.

  ‘Nineteen,’ Paula replies. ‘A year older than me.’

  ‘I think we should have a dare for the Christmas hols,’ Sadie declares. ‘I think we should all kiss someone for at least a minute, and when we come back if anyone hasn’t she’s a baby and has to walk the plank.’ The plank is a piece of wood that we place on the fire escape to jut out into midair for about ten feet, and if anyone does something hideously wrong, or is cheeky to sixth form, they’re made to walk it. I’ve never known anyone to do it, but I’ve been threatened with it lots of times. As we’re four storeys up, if I have to walk it I know I’ll fall off and die.

  Paula’s not looking very pleased, and I hope it’s because she doesn’t approve of the plank. ‘I’m not part of your gang,’ she tells Sadie.

  ‘No, I don’t mean you,’ Sadie says hastily. ‘I mean the rest of us. We should get Peg and some of the others to come in on it too.’

  I want to object to that, because knowing Peg she’ll have loads of boys to choose from and if there’s anyone who should be made to walk the plank, just because she’s so full of herself, it’s her, but Cheryl’s saying, ‘Fab, fab, fab idea. I wish I had your guts, Su Lu, to kiss someone for a whole minute, but I’m definitely going to give it a try.’ She lets out a squeal of excitement. ‘This is so sexy and groovy. I can hardly wait. Happy Christmas everyone, roll on going home and then coming b
ack next term to tell all our secrets.’

  I join in with what they’re saying, but if I get my way I won’t be coming back. I’m still not sure how I’m going to prevent it yet, but I’ll have a lot more time to talk to Dad during the break and make him see things my way. What would also be really fab and groovy would be for Robert to scoop me up on the back of his motorbike and whisk me off to Gretna Green so we could get married. Then I really wouldn’t have to come back here any more.

  If only I was (were) sixteen. Everything would be different then.

  I wonder what time Dad’s picking me up tomorrow. I hope he hasn’t forgotten.

  I think the man I saw in the bluebell field with Mum might have been Dad. I wonder why they didn’t wait for us.

  This is going to be the best Christmas Day we’ve ever had. Last night, about six o’clock, Robert came over on his motorbike and while he was here he whispered to me that he has a secret that he’s going to share with me when I go to his house today. It was really fab the way he pulled up outside on his motorbike. His hair’s quite long now and he walks like a pop star. All the neighbours were watching him and Gary raced down the garden path to jump on him. He’d brought a sack full of presents from his mum and dad, which we spread out under the tree, and when Dad went to make a cup of tea, after ordering Gary up to the toilet before he wet himself, Robert said to me, ‘You’ve got taller since I last saw you.’

  I felt myself blush as I nodded. I wished I’d known he was coming, because I’d have put on my eyebrow pencil and turned over the waist-band of my skirt to make myself look more mod. I did manage to do my posh voice though, and he seemed to like it, though I’m not sure he really understood it at first. He did in the end though, because he said, ‘You’re growing into a proper young lady sounding all your Ts and Hs. I hope you’re not becoming too good for us.’

  It worried me that he might think that, until I saw him laughing, so I laughed too.

  ‘I’m going to tell you a secret tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Do you promise to keep it?’

  ‘Of course,’ I assured him, feeling as though I was already his girlfriend.

  He gave me a wink. ‘I don’t think it’ll be much longer before you have all the boys after you,’ he teased.

  I felt really beautiful then, and I’m glad he thinks that, because it might make him jealous and want me himself. I think he does anyway, but just in case, I was about to tell him that I’m writing to Davy Jones, when Gary zoomed back into the room with a Thunderbirds kit that he’d won from one of his comics. Little brothers can be really annoying at times, especially mine, but this morning I love him because he’s so happy opening his presents, and he keeps showing them to me, the way he used to show them to Mummy. I still wish she was here, because everything would be much better if she was. I’m sure Dad thinks so too, because his eyes are all sad and if I look at him it makes me want to cry, so I only look at Gary. I’m starting to realise how much he misses me when I’m not here, so I really must have another talk with Dad about how important it is for me to be at home with Gary, and not locked away in that stupid school.

  Although Dad’s watching us, he’s also listening to the carols on TV. ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’. ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’. Gary and I sang them all when we went round the street carol singing two nights ago. Dad doesn’t like us to go any further than he can see us, so he stands at the kitchen window and watches as we knock on everyone’s front door. (Sometimes he comes with us, which is embarrassing because he’s too old to go carol singing, but at least he’s a good singer. Lots of Welsh people are. I remember Mum telling me that.) Hardly anyone ever says no, whether he’s with us or not, so we ended up with a lot of singing to do, but we came home with three and six between us, which makes one and ninepence each, so we’re quite rich now. We always give tuppence to the carol singers who come to our door, which is only fair when that’s what we usually get. When Gary’s older we’ll be able to go over Pound Road and Champion Lane to sing our carols, but he’s still too young to go that far yet, and I have to take care of him, which is why I stay in Greenways when some of my friends go along the lane to Holly Green and even Holly Hill.

  There’s a church service on the telly now, which Dad keeps telling us to take notice of. He’s reminding us that it’s Jesus’s birthday, so all our presents are presents for Jesus really, and not for us.

  ‘But Jesus would look silly in a dress,’ I tell him, cheekily. ‘This is for me.’ I picked it out of the John Myers catalogue when I was last up Auntie Nance’s, and Dad actually said I could have it, even though it’s above the knee. It’s not a proper mini, because it’s too long for that, but I love it anyway. It’s turquoise with a white polka-dot collar and cuffs and white buttons down the front. I’m so happy to have it. I can’t wait to show Paula Gates when I go back to school, if I go, which I probably won’t once I’ve talked to Dad.

  I could wear it on a Sunday if I go to visit them all at church.

  ‘Dad, do you think Jesus likes the Beatles?’ Gary asks.

  I’m not sure if Dad has heard until he says, ‘Jesus loves all His children, and no matter who we are, we are Jesus’s children.’

  Gary looks at me. I can see he hasn’t understood the answer properly, so I say, ‘You are Dad’s child and Dad is one of Jesus’s children, and so are you.’

  Gary, because he’s annoying, seems more puzzled than ever. ‘What about Grampy?’ he asks. ‘I thought he was Dad’s dad.’

  ‘He is,’ I confirm, ‘but he’s also Jesus’s son. Or I think he is, but it doesn’t really matter, because what does is that we understand who was born today, and if He hadn’t been born then nor would we.’ (I don’t think that’s quite right, but neither Dad nor Gary argue, so I don’t say any more. Phew! Children! Honestly! You never know what they’re going to ask next.)

  When all our presents are open Dad goes to do some washing up and Gary skids out into the snow to play with his friends. I’m staying by the fire to look through my new Monkees Annual that Gran gave me. (I expect Dad got it for her.) It’s really fab, with a purple cover that has The Monkees printed in the shape of a guitar across the top, and the group pictured inside a big keyhole, but I only look at Davy. Inside there are loads of groovy photos in black and white and colour.

  Suddenly I start feeling restless and angry and I don’t know why. I wish Dad would stop calling out for me to come and wipe up – it’s Christmas Day so I shouldn’t have to do any chores. I start picking up all the wrapping paper and stuffing it into a sack, then I have a go on Gary’s new machine gun which makes a heck of a racket. It’s a bit boring, so I have a look at the King Kong which he’s left on the floor along with his new vests and underpants. I wish it was time to go to Auntie Doreen’s already. I think about going out to play in the snow, and taking some of my presents to show my friends, but they were quite mean to me yesterday, calling me a snob and saying I was stuck-up so they didn’t want to be my friend any more. It’s not my fault that I go to a better school than they do. I don’t want to be there, and now they’re blaming me and sending me to Coventry so I don’t have anyone to talk to.

  Anyway, they’re just immature and stupid. I’d much rather be in here with Dad, so I think I’ll go and wipe up.

  ‘Did you like your book token?’ I ask him as I take the tea towel from the rail on the back door. It’s what I bought for him with the money he gave me to go Christmas shopping.

  ‘Oh yes, very much,’ he answers.

  ‘What are you going to get with it?’

  ‘Dad! Dad!’ Gary shouts, bursting in through the door. ‘I fell over in the snow and cut my knee. Look, it’s bleeding.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Dad says. ‘Let’s give it a wash. How did you do it?’

  ‘I was skidding down the pavement with Gordon, but then I hit a bump.’

  ‘You’re as cold as ice,’ Dad tells him. ‘It’s time you came in now and got yourself warmed up.’

 
‘All right. What time are we going over Auntie Doreen’s?’

  ‘Uncle Alf’s picking us up at twelve …’

  ‘Ow, ow, ow, ow,’ Gary squeals, as Dad dabs some water on his knee. ‘Can I have a plaster?’

  ‘If we’ve got some.’

  ‘You can put the dishes away,’ I tell him.

  ‘No!’ he shouts.

  ‘Yes!’ I shout back. ‘I’m wiping up, so you have to do something too.’

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ he says sulkily.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Dad tells him. ‘Then we’ll all have a nice cup of cocoa. How does that sound?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gary cheers, ‘and can I eat some chocolate from one of my selection boxes?’

  ‘No, or you won’t want your dinner.’

  Dad sounds quite tired, I think, and a bit fed up, and we’re not supposed to be fed up on Christmas Day. To try and cheer him up I remind him of his book token and ask again what he’s going to spend it on.

  ‘Well,’ he says, sounding slightly jollier, ‘it’s not very often that I can treat myself to a brand-new book, so I thought I might put a little bit extra to my token and buy a very important book that’s just come out called The Naked Ape.’

  Gary snorts. ‘That’s rude,’ he sniggers.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ I say. ‘When did you ever see an ape with clothes on?’

  ‘My Jacko monkey’s got shorts,’ he reminds me.

  ‘That’s not the same thing, is it, Dad?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Dad answers.

  ‘You’re such a show-off,’ Gary tells me. ‘Everyone hates you now because you’re all brainy and stuck up.’

  ‘No they don’t.’

  ‘Yes they do.’

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ Dad intervenes. ‘Why don’t you go and choose a game from Gary’s new compendium while I go up and make the beds?’