One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  ‘I’m not arguing with you about this, Dad,’ I say. ‘We’ve been over it enough times before …’

  ‘Dad,’ Gary chips in.

  ‘Ssh, you know better than to interrupt when grown-ups are speaking. Wait your turn.’ To our dad, I say, ‘She’s doing very well up there, and one of these days she’ll be thanking me for sending her.’

  ‘It’s what Eddress wanted,’ Beat reminds him.

  ‘But Eddress ain’t here, is she? And if you ask me, that girl’s missing her mother more than she’s letting on.’

  ‘I can’t help that,’ I say, wishing I could block our Gary’s ears.

  ‘Bound to be,’ he grunts. ‘What girl wouldn’t? And no teacher, nor edification’s going to make up for it.’

  ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ I suggest. ‘What did you want to say, Gary?’

  ‘Um, I can’t remember,’ he replies.

  ‘Then it couldn’t have been very important.’ I turn back to our dad to ask what news there is of our relatives down Wales, but there doesn’t seem to be any, so after finishing my tea I have another fiddle with their coat-hanger aerial, and get ready to leave.

  ‘I know you’re doing your best, boyo,’ our dad says, after Beattie’s walked out to the car with Gary, ‘but you don’t want to be alienating your own daughter. She thinks the world of you, always has, but if she’s feeling as shut out as she sounds in her letter, you mark my words, she’ll end up turning her back on you, and that’s not what you want, I know.’

  As I’m driving home his words are still ringing in my ears, causing me to feel all the guilt and anxiety he probably intended. He’s a tricky old bugger, and sometimes I wonder why I still bother going to see him. I suppose it’s out of duty more than anything, and because our mam would want me to. And because I know that deep down he cares about us all, even Beat, though, like a lot of men, he’s got a funny way of showing it. I’m sure it was being married to Eddress that made me the way I am now, disdainful of men who treat women as though they’re not much better than slaves. Eddress would never have put up with it, and I wouldn’t want our Susan to either. The rest of the world can call me as henpecked as they like, but I know how much Ed and I meant to each other, and I don’t think we could have been as close as we were if there hadn’t been a mutual respect in our marriage. So all this women’s lib that’s going on now, it’s nothing new, it’s just coming out into the open more than it ever used to. I’m not saying that’s not good, I just think that involving sexual promiscuity and drugs is going about it the wrong way, so our dad can go on all he likes, Susan is better off where she is.

  Susan

  Ages ago I wrote to the Lord Mayor of Bristol asking him to talk to Dad about letting me go home. I felt sure that someone with that much authority would be able to make Dad see sense, but the stinky Lord Mayor, whatever his name is, hasn’t even bothered to write back to me. None of my relations are on my side either, and I’m just about sick to death of it. It’s all right for them, getting on with their lives in a normal way enjoying all the freedoms of a civilised society, they’ve got no idea what it’s like being trapped in this godforsaken hole with disgusting food to eat, freezing dormitories to sleep in and satanic teachers hissing down our necks every minute of the day. I swear I’m not going to put up with it much longer. One way or another I’m getting out of here, and the amazing thing is, we’ve only gone and found an escape hole in the bushes on the far side of the hockey field.

  Thanks to an enormous old oak tree it can’t be seen from the school, the only problem is getting there without being spotted. However, if we keep close to the walled garden, then dash like mad along the edge of the pitch, we can just about make it, and then you dive through the bushes into a secret lane.

  We stumbled upon it yesterday afternoon when we had nothing to do before tea, so some of us first form decided to go exploring. (None of us have dared to venture down the tunnel outside Dot’s study yet, and until someone reminds us we’re not going to mention it.) Since discovering the lane I’ve been making a plan of how to get home. The trouble is, Bristol’s a massive place and I’m not sure which way to go once I reach the other side of the Downs. Plus, I’ll probably have to set out at night, because my own clothes are locked away so all I have are my uniforms, and if anyone sees me out of school bounds during the day they might wonder what I’m doing and call Dot. Going at night is a bit dangerous though, especially since the loony man’s been hanging around again lately. I haven’t seen him myself, but apparently he was lurking about the sixth-form common room last Friday night, and when Jessica Corner spotted him he flashed open his mac and showed her his willy.

  Everyone thought this was hilarious, but funnier still was the note Dotty sent round after. This is what it said: I regret to say that once again a troubled individual has trespassed upon the school grounds and revealed his penis to a member of Lower Sixth.

  Penis! She actually used that word. We couldn’t stop laughing. It was the funniest thing we’d ever read.

  It went on to say: The police have been informed and it is hoped that a recurrence of this nature will not happen again. Should any of you see anyone suspicious loitering around the premises, please report it immediately to a member of staff.

  I wrote at the end: because she wants to see a penis too, and it went all round the school making everyone laugh so much that we could hardly sleep that night.

  The next day I had another idea that made them laugh even more. I went to Seaweed to report Mr Hinton, the music teacher, for loitering around the premises. Laura, Peg and loads of others were listening outside, making it really difficult for me to keep a straight face, especially when I heard them sniggering. It was Seaweed’s fault that I ended up exploding in her face; she shouldn’t have said that Mr Hinton could be arrested if my childishness reached the wrong ears, because I could just imagine him in handcuffs being marched away with all of us waving goodbye from the music room.

  ‘You’re irresponsible, immature and ignorant,’ she told me angrily. ‘You are in immediate detention and I’ll be writing to your father to inform him as to why.’

  I nearly poked out my tongue then, but I didn’t quite have the guts, and anyway, I wasn’t laughing as much any more, because I didn’t want to miss another exeat. Bloody Seaweed.

  ‘I was only joking, miss,’ I said.

  ‘There was absolutely nothing funny about it,’ she retorted, ‘and if I hear you’ve repeated it to anyone outside this office I warn you there will be even more dire consequences to pay.’

  When I came out everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what I would say.

  ‘Do you think she means you’d be expelled?’ Laura asked.

  ‘If it does then we all have to say Hinton’s a loony,’ Peg told her. ‘Then we can all be expelled.’

  Everyone agreed with that, because everyone wants to get out of here, so that could be a good way of doing it.

  We haven’t mentioned it again since, but we don’t need to now we’ve found an escape route. It was so fab climbing out into the secret lane. Freedom! We weren’t inside the school grounds any more. It was like being let out of prison, or breaking out of a straitjacket and flying. We hardly knew what to do at first it felt so strange, but then we crept along to the end of the lane to see what was there. Lots of houses, and a street that seems like it leads down to a main road, which is probably the one that runs along the front of the school.

  The whole first and second form are working out an escape plan now, plus this could be a fantastic way to meet boys in secret, which we’re trying to sort out too.

  I got struck on Sadie at the beginning of term and it’s fab. The best thing of all was that she sent Laura to ask me if I’d like to be struck on her and I said yes straight away. Now she comes to tuck me up at night, and I share my tuck with her (when I have any, which isn’t very often) and I’ve bought her a couple of singles with my pocket money, ‘Say a Little Prayer’ by Aretha F
ranklin, which is really fab, and ‘Pictures of Matchstick Men’ by Status Quo, which I don’t like very much because they’re more freaks than mods, but Sadie likes them and that’s what counts.

  When we came back after Christmas I told everyone that I’d kissed Robert for a whole minute for a second time, because I’m scared stiff of walking the plank. I’d rather go down into Dotty’s cellar than plunge to my death from a fourth-floor fire escape. It turned out that everyone else had kissed someone too, but I think they might have the same dread of dying as I do. Peg had to go one better than the rest of us and claim that her boyfriend, Nigel, had felt her up, which I don’t believe for a minute. I don’t think he even exists, because she doesn’t have a photo of him, and it gets right on my nerves the way she always tries to make herself look bigger and more daring than everyone else when she’s not.

  Laura’s best friends with Isabelle Phillips now, who’s in Discoverer. I don’t mind, because I spend most of my time with Sadie when we’re not in lessons, and with Paula when she invites us into her room. Cheryl usually comes too, and a few others, but Laura’s not really interested in all the groovy things we like, such as make-up and boys.

  Oh, the fabbest and best news of all is that Robert wrote to me like he said he would, and this is what he said:

  Dear Susan, how are you? I hope you’re behaving yourself up there at that posh school and studying hard to make us all proud. It was lovely seeing you at Christmas and seeing how grown up you are now. I’m sorry if I upset you before you left, I didn’t mean to. You know you’re my favourite cousin and always will be. I hope when you come home at Easter that you’ll come for a ride on the bike. Lots of love, Robert xxx

  I’ve only let the others see the last sentence, and they’re all really jealous and dying to know what he’s like. I’ve told them Billy Fury, and when he sends me a photo they’ll see for themselves that it’s true. Paula’s mad on Billy Fury so she’s always asking if I’ve had another letter yet, and if Robert might come to church one Sunday. I don’t think he will, because he’s too cool to go to church, but maybe one day he’ll give me a lift back to school on his bike after an exeat.

  Today we’re looking for slugs to put in third form’s tea. It was Peg’s idea so I’m letting her pick them up, because they’re so slimy and fat that I can’t stand to touch them. I keep thinking of the time Mum caught Gary eating one when he was a baby. Ugh, it makes me feel sick.

  As a matter of fact, I’m a bit fed up out here doing this, the ground’s all mucky after so much rain and if we’re not going into the back lane I’d rather be in my cubicle having a look at my Monkees annual, or reading Robert’s letter. Good job I took it out of my satchel the other day, because Scatty, our English teacher, confiscated the satchel yesterday and if she’d stolen my letter I’d have done something drastic. She took the satchel because one of the day girls accused me of pinching her hair slide. Bloody cheek! In fact, it was another day girl, Isabelle Luckins, who nicked it, but I didn’t split on her, even though I probably should have since it landed me up in another bloody detention. Still, the good news is that Isabelle lives really close to my Auntie Phil’s newsagents shop in Longwell Green. So now, to make up for the punishment I took on her behalf she’s going to smuggle in the chocolates, crisps and sweets Auntie Phil is happy to send, even though we’re not allowed them. She’s also going to bring us copies of Honey which Paula really likes, and Jackie which Sadie and I love because of all the romance stories and pin-ups of pop stars.

  It’s really cool having an auntie with a shop. She’s my mum’s older sister and we used to see her all the time when Mum was alive, but we don’t so much any more. I’d like to work behind the counter when I’m older, then I’ll be able to have all the sweets and magazines and cigarettes I want. Paula smokes, so do quite a few of the other sixth-formers, so Isabelle smuggles fags in for them too, usually five Park Drive which come with five matches in the pack for about a shilling, I think, or ten Embassy if they can afford it, at around one and ten. Auntie Phil allows her to buy them because sixth form are, by law, old enough to smoke, even if they can’t do it at school, and Auntie Phil’s always been kind. (By the way the girls do smoke at school when no one’s looking, but we never split and would make anyone who did walk the plank and probably push them off if they didn’t fall.)

  ‘I’m going in now,’ I say as Peg turfs up another slug. ‘This is immature.’

  ‘You’re just a spoilsport,’ she tells me.

  I don’t care. I want to go and find out if I had any post this morning. I’ve given up waiting for Davy Jones to write back, so I’ve written to Tommy James who’s the singer with the Shondells, because ‘Mony Mony’ is the best record I’ve ever heard in my life. I was going to write to George Harrison, but the Beatles have gone all freaky now, growing their hair and beards long and straggly and going on about peace and stuff, which really puts me off. Although I might ask for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band for my birthday in August, because everyone’s got it except me, and I don’t have any LPs yet, so I suppose it’s time I did. Anyway, I like ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ so it makes sense for me to have the whole album (that’s what they call it now, an album, instead of LP, which means long player).

  I’m thinking of writing to all my relations again, letting them know that Dad can’t manage as well as he thinks without me. When I was at home over Christmas I noticed that the house wasn’t as clean as it used to be, and I’m very good at polishing and hoovering so he definitely needs me there to do it. I can bake cakes now too, because I’ve learned how in our housekeeping classes (they don’t rise much, but they taste all right once the icing’s on), and I can darn socks and stockings in quite straight lines, and embroider the borders of a peg bag that I made myself with a sewing machine. I can even plant bulbs and weed a garden. I’ve learned millions of things since I’ve been here that will come in very handy when I go home to live, but I’m not going to give Dad the benefit of my skills until he agrees to take me out of here.

  He will, one of these days, I’ve already made up my mind about that and if getting expelled is the only way, then I think getting expelled is what I’ll do.

  Eddie

  Dear Susan, I am very disappointed in you, my girl. If it wasn’t bad enough that you should have to miss an exeat because of what you said about your music teacher, I now hear that you’re missing another because you STOLE someone’s hair slide. Theft is a very grave sin, Susan, and I will not tolerate it any more than the school will, so I certainly will not be writing to Miss Dakin to try to persuade her to let you come home on Sunday. Your punishment is well deserved. I hope you will spend the afternoon asking Jesus to forgive and guide you and writing notes of apology to those you have offended.

  Now, I don’t want my whole letter to be taken up with admonishing you, so I will move on to other things. The ink you asked for is in the parcel with this letter, along with some deodorant and a small packet of Persil. When you do your washing don’t forget to rinse all the soap out before you hang it in the linen room to dry.

  You have asked me to help with your geography. Well, geography is the science of the earth’s surface, form, physical features, natural and political divisions, climate, and populations. Please don’t be afraid of these strange words. Science means what we know and are sure about. Earth’s surface means the outside surface of the Earth or the part you can walk on …

  ‘Dad?’ Gary says, drawing it out in a way that tells me he’s starting to get fed up.

  ‘Yes.’ We’re sitting either side of the dining table with some pieces of Lego, a few chewed pencils and some blotting paper between us.

  ‘I don’t know what to say in my letter,’ he tells me.

  ‘Let me see what you’ve written so far,’ I reply, and reaching over to turn his page round I read: Dear Susun, I hope yw ar getting on all ryt and I hope yw ar getting lots more frends.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ I say, itching to correct t
he spelling. I still haven’t had time to go up the school to find out more about this new-fangled method of teaching, or to write to the local authorities about it, but seeing this reminds me that I have to. ‘All you have to do is sign your name now,’ I tell him.

  He pulls a face. ‘Do I have to put love and stupid stuff like that?’

  ‘I think you should, don’t you?’

  He gives a shrug and picks up his pencil again. The page slides around the tablecloth as he presses down hard to write. ‘Fondist luv, Gary xxx,’ he says aloud as he writes.

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘Can I do my Thunderbirds painting now?’

  ‘Ten minutes before tea.’

  ‘What have we got? I’m starving.’

  ‘Corned beef, mashed potatoes and peas.’

  ‘Can I have beans instead?’

  ‘No, or you’ll turn into one.’

  He finds that funny and picking up a small chair that belongs to our Susan’s dining set, he carries it out to the kitchen so he can reach the tap to fill his paint jar with water.

  Once he’s settled I return to my letter and the explanation of geography. When it comes to the part about longitude and latitude I add a couple of diagrams, and I hope I’m correct when I say that there are fifty million people in Britain, forty million in France and one hundred and twenty million in America. I’m soon running out of paper so I have to bring it to a close, and because I began the letter with a reprimand I decide to be gentler at the end so we don’t finish on a bad note. Well, Susan, I expect all this seems like another lesson, but I hope you find it helpful. I haven’t managed to find your copy of Naughty Amelia Jane yet, and I’ve searched your room, but I’m sure it’ll turn up somewhere. As soon as it does I’ll send it as you asked. I’m popping a letter from Gary in the envelope with this one. Now I shall say goodnight, my sweetheart. God Bless, try to keep smiling and don’t forget to wash the back of your neck clean. Best love from Dad. xxxxx