One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Tiddlywinks,’ Gary shouts, charging into the dining room.

  I look at Dad.

  ‘Go on,’ he says, giving me a little push, ‘I’ll come and play when I’ve finished upstairs.’

  We’re at Auntie Doreen’s now, eating our Christmas dinner of cockerel, roasters, cabbage, carrots, peas and lovely runny Bisto. (I don’t like it thick, because it’s usually got lumps in, or it has when Dad makes it.) It’s much better than the food we’re served up at school, which isn’t fit for pigs, and here we can wipe up our gravy with a lovely chunk of bread and dripping.

  Auntie Nance and Uncle Stan look really funny in their paper hats. Gary’s is too big and keeps slipping down over his eyes. He got told off just now for belting me across the back, so his eyes are all red from crying. I think Dad’s quite fed up with him today, because he doesn’t look very happy, and when Gary threw a Christmas cracker across the table at me I thought Dad was going to smack him. Dad almost never smacks us, so if he does we know we’ve done something very wrong indeed.

  I’m sitting next to Robert who keeps nudging me and mucking about. He’s in a really good mood, so I am too. I’m wearing my new turquoise dress, which young Doreen (we call her that because she’s younger than her mum who has the same name) said was the nicest dress she’d ever seen, and she’d like one too. She’s wearing a really short skirt, at least halfway up her thighs, and no one’s getting on at her, but I suppose that’s because she’s eighteen. I can’t wait till I’m sixteen, I’ll be able to do just as I want then without having to listen to anyone.

  I’m dying to know what Robert’s secret is, but after dinner we have to watch Top of the Pops. I’d rather die than miss it. It’s fab, because they play all the number ones from the year, and the Monkees are on first with I’m a Believer’. Doreen and I get straight up to dance, and I think she’s quite impressed with the way I can groove. Gary jumps about being his usual stupid self, and Robert sits watching us, pretending to play a guitar. There are lots of other great songs on too, like ‘Puppet on a String’, by Sandie Shaw, and ‘Silence is Golden’, by the Tremeloes, which is the first record I ever bought with my own money. ‘Baby Now That I’ve Found You’ is Doreen’s favourite, and ‘Something Stupid’ is Auntie Nance and Auntie Doreen’s. Number one this week is ‘Hello Goodbye’ by the Beatles, which we all love and sing along to. I had two record tokens for Christmas so I think I might use one of them to get it.

  When the programme’s over we sit and watch the Queen’s speech, which is really boring, then Gary wants to go outside to build a snowman, so young Doreen, Robert and I take him. I’m starting to get worried now that there might not be time for Robert to tell me his secret, because we’re leaving soon to go to Auntie Flo’s for tea. I keep going all funny inside every time I think about Sadie’s dare to kiss someone for a whole minute. I know I said I kissed Robert once for that long, but I didn’t really. It was just a peck, but it was on the lips and I don’t think it was an accident, so it must count as a proper kiss. I don’t think I’ve got the guts to try and do it for longer, but you never know. His secret might be that he wants to kiss me.

  I go all tingly in private places when I think that.

  Robert gives Gary a piggyback into the outhouse, where we take off our wet coats and boots and rush into the kitchen before our feet get too cold. Auntie Doreen’s making a cup of tea while Auntie Nance dries the dishes from dinner, and Uncle Alf and Uncle Stan are in the dining room snoozing in front of the telly.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask straight away.

  ‘He’s in the front room, my love,’ Auntie Doreen answers.

  ‘I’ll go and get him,’ Gary says.

  Auntie Doreen catches him. ‘No, let him be for a while,’ she tells him. ‘He’s not feeling all that well, so he’s after a bit of peace and quiet.’

  I start to feel strange and panicky inside. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I ask.

  ‘Just a headache,’ she answers. ‘He’ll be right as rain in an hour.’

  It would be rude to ask if she’s telling the truth, but I want to, because I’m afraid he might be really ill and if he is he might die if we don’t go to check on him.

  ‘Oh come on, now,’ Auntie Doreen says, giving me a hug, ‘there’s no need to cry. Like I said, it’s just a headache.’

  ‘I want to go and see him,’ I tell her.

  ‘So do I,’ Gary says, starting to cry too.

  ‘You heard Auntie Doreen,’ Auntie Nance says, ‘leave him be now. He works hard down that factory and looking after you two, so he needs a rest. Go and play with some of your games, there’s a good boy and girl.’

  Gary looks at me and I feel his hand slip into mine. I want to charge past my aunties into the front room, but I’m afraid Dad’ll be angry if we do, so I keep hold of Gary’s hand and take him into the dining room to wait for Dad to join us.

  ‘How about some snakes and ladders?’ young Doreen suggests, coming to give Gary a cuddle.

  ‘All right,’ he agrees, ‘but you have to let me win, because I’m smaller than you.’

  What’s funny about that is that he means it.

  ‘Fancy a game of chess?’ Robert asks me.

  My chest goes all tight. We have to play in his bedroom where the pieces are set up on a table next to his bed. I’m not very good at the game, although I have managed to beat him a couple of times when we played before. I always beat Dad, but I know he lets me.

  As Robert and I go along the passage I stop outside the front-room door, wondering what Dad’s doing. Everything’s very quiet, making me afraid that he might not be in there at all. What if he’s gone off and left us? But he wouldn’t do that. Auntie Doreen wouldn’t let him. I want to check he’s put the electric fire on to keep himself warm, especially if he’s not very well.

  ‘He’s probably having a nap,’ Robert says.

  I feel better then, because Robert’s usually right. Dad often likes to have a nap, so I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.

  Upstairs in Robert’s room he closes the door and invites me to sit on the bed one side of the chessboard, while he pulls up a chair to sit the other. There are lots of posters on his walls of motorbikes and flower-power people, and some girls with nearly nothing on. It makes me feel all embarrassed when I notice them. I want to stare at them, but I turn away quickly in case he catches me looking. I don’t want him to think I’m a lezzie, or anything. (I think that’s what they call a girl who likes other girls, anyway, that’s what they say about Trudie Fox and Annette Ryder at school, who are always in Trudie’s sixth-form room together.)

  ‘Do you like them?’ he says.

  For one horrible minute I think he’s talking about the pictures, and then I realise he is! I go blood red as I say, ‘They’re OK. I wouldn’t want them on my wall though.’

  He laughs. ‘I’d be worried if you did.’ He leans back in his chair and stretches out his legs. He reminds me of Billy Fury when he does that. ‘Do you want to listen to some music?’ he asks.

  I glance at his record player.

  ‘Choose what you want,’ he offers.

  After going through his collection I pick ‘Dedicated to the One I Love’ by the Mamas and Papas, because I know he likes it. I do too. I’ve put ‘A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You’ second in the pile, and ‘Penny Lane’ third. It’s fantastic the way the records drop down to play on their own without you having to get up to change them. The sixth form at school have a record player like that in their common room.

  ‘Do you ever listen to Radio Caroline?’ he asks, tapping his feet to the music.

  I catch my breath. ‘It’s not allowed,’ I remind him.

  He gives me a wink. ‘I bet you do though.’

  Actually, I’ve never been able to find the pirate station on the little transistor Uncle Stan gave me, but I’ve definitely tried. ‘Some of the girls at my school do,’ I admit. ‘Do you?’

  ‘All the time. It’s fab.’

  We go on
listening to the music, and I can feel him watching me as I stare down at the floor. I’m thinking how lush it would be if he leaned over and kissed me, but I don’t expect he will.

  ‘You seem to have gone all shy on me,’ he teases.

  I give a laugh and blush at the same time. ‘What’s your secret?’ I ask.

  He tilts his head to one side. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you now.’

  ‘You have to,’ I protest. ‘You promised.’

  ‘No, it was you who promised not to tell.’

  ‘I won’t. I swear it.’

  His eyes are narrowing as he watches me. ‘How old are you now?’ he asks.

  ‘Nearly twelve,’ I lie. I’ve got another eight months to go, worse luck.

  He shakes his head. ‘You look closer to fourteen,’ he tells me.

  I’m very pleased by that and feel myself sit up a little straighter. ‘Lots of people say that,’ I boast.

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend yet?’

  My throat starts to feel tight. ‘Sort of,’ I reply, thinking of him. Then out of nowhere I say, ‘What about you? Have you got a girlfriend?’

  Because he looks at me for quite a while before he nods I start to wonder if it’s me. But then he says, ‘Her name’s Jenny.’

  Suddenly I want to go. I shouldn’t be here anyway, I should be downstairs with my dad making sure he’s all right. He’s the only one who matters.

  ‘I’ve told her all about you,’ he says.

  I’m finding it hard not to sound miserable as I ask, ‘What did you say?’

  He gives a big smile and leans forward to tweak my nose. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he teases.

  I’m not a child,’ I snap, pulling back angrily. ‘And I don’t care that you’ve got a girlfriend, because I’ve got a boyfriend. I just didn’t want to tell you in case you … In case you thought I was too young.’ I don’t know if he believes me and I don’t care. ‘I’m going down now,’ I say, getting to my feet.

  ‘What about our game of chess?’

  I look at the board and feel tempted to sweep all the pieces to the floor. ‘I’m not in the mood any more.’

  He catches hold of my hand. ‘Why are you so cross?’ he says, looking up at me.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You look it.’

  I shrug.

  He keeps hold of my hand. ‘Are we still friends?’

  I want to say no, but I can’t.

  ‘I’m not letting you go until you say we’re friends.’

  I turn my head away. ‘OK, we’re friends,’ I say sulkily.

  He gets to his feet and draws me into a great big hug. ‘That’s better,’ he says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. ‘I’ll write to you when you’re back at school, if you like.’

  I would like him to, but Christmas is still ruined for me now I know he’s got a girlfriend. Except I expect he only told me that to make me jealous. I bet she doesn’t exist really, and even if she does, he’s had loads of girlfriends before who he’s always finished with sooner or later, so I’m sure he’ll do the same to her. What’s more, getting a letter from him will be almost as good as getting one from Davy Jones. So really, everything’s all right.

  When I go downstairs I find Dad playing ludo with young Doreen and Gary, his headache all gone.

  One by one the clouds are lifting.

  I wonder if we’ve got any photos of Robert in our albums. When we get home I go upstairs to have a look, but when I take them out of Dad’s dressing-table drawer, I remember who else is in them and I decide to put them away again. I don’t really want to see any pictures of Mummy.

  I can always ask Robert to send one of him when I write back to his letter.

  Chapter Eight

  Eddie

  I’VE FINALLY MANAGED to afford a new car. It’s been a hard winter without one, grinding back and forth to work on my pushbike in the snow, skidding down Lodge Hill like a bloody comedian and nearly breaking my neck, getting a puncture outside the factory with no blighter offering me a lift home, and finding our Gary frozen to the blinking crossbar early one Saturday morning when I dropped him off at his gran’s.

  It’s thanks to all the weekend working and double shifts in the week that I can manage the first instalment on the ’56 Anglia. It might be getting on for twelve years old, but it’s in fairly good nick, with no rust on the bodywork and a reconditioned engine, so it should last me a while. I’m paying for it in six instalments of twenty quid a month, but if I can scrape the money together before that then all well and good, because being in debt is something that goes right against the grain with me. I don’t even like club books, but Eddress had her nose in one all the time.

  As well as getting myself and Gary around, and Florrie to bingo now and again, it’s going to be a great relief to be able to drive up and down to the school on Sundays. Taking the bus is no joke, what with having to change at the Centre, and all the waiting around at bus stops means our Susan’s exeats don’t last very long when we have to spend so much time getting back and forth across town.

  Returning her to school after Christmas turned into an ordeal and a half, and that’s putting it mildly. It didn’t start off too badly, though. Bless her heart, she sat me down the day before she was due to leave to try and persuade me that it was best for Gary if she stayed.

  ‘He really needs me to be here, Dad,’ she said, so solemnly that I could see she truly believed it – and why shouldn’t she when I’m sure he’d like nothing better. ‘As his older sister it’s only right that I should be at home to take care of him.’

  ‘But you two argue all the time,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Only when he doesn’t do as he’s told, and you’re too soft on him, Dad. I’d be much stricter, which is what he needs.’

  I can’t dispute that, because I know I’m not a dab hand at discipline, far from it in fact. The trouble is, even when he’s misbehaved and I’m cross, I find myself remembering how he’s trying to get along without his mother and straight away I lose the heart to tell him off.

  ‘He’s a good boy, most of the time,’ I told her, ‘and I think we’re just about managing.’

  ‘But think of how much easier it would be if I was here to help.’

  ‘It’s not your job, my love, to look after us. It’s your job to do well at school and …’

  ‘I can do well at The Grange,’ she cried, her temper rising. ‘Why does it have to be bloody Red Maids? I hate it there and I’m not going back.’

  ‘Oh Susan …’

  ‘Don’t say “Oh Susan” like that. You have to listen to me. You don’t understand that you’re ruining my life sending me to that horrible place. I don’t belong there. This is where I belong, with you and Gary and if Mummy was still here she’d at least let me be a day girl.’

  The sting of the truth was sharp and I wanted to say, ‘If Mummy was still here you would be a day girl,’ but I knew it wouldn’t help. So all I said was, ‘One day you’ll understand …’

  ‘Stop saying that, stop, stop, stop,’ she seethed, banging her fists into me. ‘I don’t care about one day. All I care about is now and staying here and never having to go to that horrible place again.’

  Catching her hands I tried to pull her on to my lap, but she tore herself free and charged up the stairs to her room. I could hear her sobbing her heart out, and I was pretty close to doing the same. It made me think of Christmas Day, when I’d had to take myself off to our Doreen’s front room before I disgraced myself in front of the kids. All this crying. I know it’s not manly, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. I miss Eddress so much and it never seems to stop.

  When I tried to get into our Susan’s room later she had a chair jammed up against the door stopping me from opening it. I knocked and pushed, but she just kept telling me to go away.

  ‘I’m not going back to school and that’s that!’ she informed me.

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’

  ‘No I won’t, and y
ou can’t make me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, now open this door or there’s going to be trouble.’

  ‘No! I’m never coming out again.’

  In the end, after half an hour or more of arguing, cajoling, ordering, even trying to bribe with an ice cream when Mr Whippy came round, I got the ladder out of the shed and climbed up to her bedroom window. She got such a fright when she saw my face that she screamed and I nearly fell off the blooming thing.

  ‘What are you doing out there?’ she shrieked.

  ‘Open this damned window, or I’ll break it,’ I shouted, brandishing a hammer to show I meant business. I wouldn’t have used it, but I couldn’t think of anything else more persuasive.

  To my surprise, she did as she was told. What I hadn’t bargained for was how flipping difficult it was going to be getting off the ladder and in through the window. I ended up sliding in head first and landing in a kind of handstand with my feet still up on the sill and our Susan laughing so hard she could hardly catch her breath.

  After I got myself sorted out and the laughter had died down, I sat on the bed with her and as she started to cry again I came within an inch of telling her that she didn’t have to go back after all. To tell the truth, I’d give almost anything for her to be at home with me, because I miss her almost as much as I do her mother. The lights seem to come on again when she’s in the house, not in the same way as when Eddress was here, but she has so much of her mother’s spark that I just want to hold her to me and never let her go. It would be selfish though to think of myself, when what really matters is her future.

  So back to school she went the following day with more tears and tantrums, and a promise never to write to me again.

  ‘I don’t belong here. You’re turning me into a freak,’ were her parting words. ‘Everyone hates me, including you.’

  I have to be honest, I don’t think I gave enough thought to how difficult it might be for her to make the change from our way of life to the one she’s in now. I suppose, if I considered it at all, I imagined mixing with a higher class of people was something she’d get used to in time, and actually, I think she has to a degree. I just didn’t expect her friends in Greenways to turn their backs on her the way they seemed to over Christmas. I’m sure they’ll come round in time, kids always do, but it upsets me to think of how lonely she looked at times. It’s as though she’s not too sure who she is any more, or where she fits in. I’m sure she must be missing her mother terribly, and knowing that makes my heart break for her, but nothing I say or do is ever going to bring Eddress back so I suppose we just have to continue hoping that things will get easier with time. Perhaps it would help if I could make our Susan feel proud of how well she’s doing at school, but she never seems to care very much, even though her marks are consistently above average, even good. And in spite of how miserable she says she is, whenever I see her with the other girls she always looks to me as though she’s a lot happier than she makes out.