One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  ‘I don’t need a psychiatrist to work that out,’ she shouted. ‘I’ve been telling you till I’m blue in the face that I want to come home to live, but you won’t let me, so I’ve decided to get myself expelled.’

  This wasn’t the first time she’d thrown that at me, but it worried me a lot more hearing it then, because it was starting to acquire a ring of serious intent rather than something clever she’d thought up to impress her friends.

  ‘You realise, if you’re expelled, there are no guarantees they’ll let you come home to live,’ I told her.

  Her face turned sour. ‘They can’t tell you what to do,’ she retorted. ‘If you say I can, then that’s that. It’s up to you.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Someone came to see me from the Education Authority last week and they’re afraid that I’m not a strong enough influence on you. You need a firmer hand, they said, and if I can’t manage one now, while you’re at Red Maids most of the time, they don’t see how I can manage you on my own at home.’

  Just as I expected, her temper exploded. ‘Of course you can,’ she shouted. ‘And who the hell do they think they are, poking their noses in our business? You should tell them to get lost, or slam the door in their faces. That’s what you should do.’

  ‘Susan, it’s precisely this sort of attitude that’s causing the problems.’

  ‘But I’ll be good once I’m home,’ she insisted. ‘It’s being here that gets me all riled up.’

  ‘Yet you’ve made some lovely friends . ..’

  ‘Don’t keep going on about that. I know I have, but it doesn’t make a difference. I want to come home.’

  I’m sitting at the dining table now, holding a letter from Gloucestershire County Education Office that’s giving me the date and time of our first appointment at the Child Guidance Clinic. It’s set for a week tomorrow. On the back are some notes I made earlier, and because I don’t want to read the letter again, I read them instead.

  I won’t apologise for wanting to educate myself in subjects I’ve barely even heard of. Oology, die-cast aviation, orthography? ‘A load of old bunkum,’ is what they’d probably say down work. ‘Give me the Rovers and a pint of bitter any day.’

  And who could blame them? Simplicity is a kind of purity, a bed to lie down on, a place to be free, whereas stuffing your head with all sorts of information you might never need … It can keep you awake at night working yourself up into a sweat over things you can probably never change, even if you wanted to, and it’s not as if I don’t have enough to keep me awake as it is.

  I give a sigh, and turn the page over again. In spite of trying my best since Eddress went, this letter’s telling me loud and clear that my best just isn’t good enough.

  Now, if I can, I have to find the energy to go outside and kick a football around with Gary and his friends, because I promised I would. It won’t be easy, when I haven’t felt this drained since I realised Eddress was going to die. I don’t like thinking about those days, but they’re coming back to me a lot lately, reminding me of how helpless I was to change things then. It’s no different today, and now it’s my children I’m letting down, because it’s not only our Susan who’s worrying me, it’s this ridiculous new system of learning our Gary’s still being put through at Falconride. ITA they call it, Initial Teaching Alphabet, and while I can see what they’re on about, if anything’s a load of old bunkum, that is. You can’t teach a child a made up form of spelling when they’re six and seven and expect them to learn a different one when they’re eight and nine. Or not to my mind you can’t.

  ‘But the initial results have been positive,’ Mr Lewis, his headmaster, insisted when I finally managed to get a morning off work to go up there. ‘And Gary’s doing very well with his reading.’

  ‘He can’t spell,’ I told him, ‘or not in the traditional way, and apart from the books you give him here, he can’t read, so I don’t see how you can say he’s doing well. He doesn’t even put a capital letter on his own name.’

  ‘The transitional learning period is underway,’ I was informed. ‘I don’t want you to worry. This revolutionary new method is being very closely monitored by the education authorities, and I can assure you they know what they’re doing.’

  Frankly, I don’t think they know what they’re doing at all. The trouble is, I can’t fight them on my own, and I don’t know of anyone else who’s worried. I was considering asking Miss Dakin her opinion when I was up at the church last Sunday, but she’s got enough on her hands with one of my children, so I’m sure she won’t want to hear about my concerns for the other.

  The truth is, I don’t know who to turn to about anything any more, so I suppose I ought to try and look on the appointment with this psychiatrist as a bit of a blessing in disguise, instead of proof of my failings as a father.

  Susan

  Apart from Sadie, Cheryl, Laura, Peg and a few others, I haven’t told anyone about Kev and how we snogged and shagged and did everything else while I was at home during half-term. It’s my secret and I know they’ll keep it, but it doesn’t really matter if they don’t. They all want to know what ‘everything else’ means, but I keep telling them they’ll find out when they’re going steady themselves.

  Actually, it’s not really true about the shag. That night at the Horseshoe was the only time I saw Kev, and when I went round the back of the pub with Rich, well, it was revolting. At first I thought he was yawning, but then I realised he was snogging, but his mouth was so wide I thought he was going to swallow me up!

  All the time we were there I kept wondering where Mandy and Kev were, but I didn’t find out till the next day, when I crept out to meet her before coming back to school. She told me that they’d climbed the stile together, crossed over a field full of cows, in the dark, and then gone into the old railway hut just over the bank.

  ‘But I thought I was supposed to be going out with him,’ I reminded her angrily.

  ‘You are,’ she said. ‘He kept talking about you, saying how cool he thinks you are, and funny and pretty, but you’ve got to grow up. Everyone’s having sex with everyone these days, so you have to do it too.’

  I would if he’d let me, and now I’m determined to show him that I’m mature enough to have sex with lots of boys, and I will, the minute I can get out of this dump.

  I’ve had one bloody exeat since I got back after half-term, but I didn’t tell Dad about it, so he went home without me after church, then Sadie, Cheryl and I caught the bus to the Centre, then another to Warmley. From there we walked along Tennis Court Road to meet Mandy outside the Anchor, before going up Siston Common to meet Kev and his mates. I was so excited and nervous I kept thinking I was going to wet myself. We all felt like that and the way we couldn’t stop laughing was making it worse.

  When we got there Kev seemed really pleased to see me, but I think he was a bit more interested in Sadie really, but she’s my best friend so she wouldn’t do anything to take him away from me. In the end she and Cheryl started to get bored, which got on my nerves a bit, so I walked off without them and Kev only followed me over to Lover’s Dip! (Lover’s Dip is full of bushes and trees and all sorts of secret places where you can go to be private.) All we did was snog, because there wasn’t time for anything else before we had to get the bus back to school, but it was so fabsville and fantastic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

  The way he kisses is completely different to his brother. He doesn’t open his mouth as wide as it’ll go, instead it’s open just a little way, and he doesn’t press really hard like Rich, who nearly crushed my teeth. He didn’t use his tongue either, which I was quite glad about, because I was afraid it might make me gag.

  ‘Anyway, we’re back at school now and it’s so boring it makes us all want to do something insane, like blowing up the science lab, or throwing Cluttie out of a window. I can just see her plunging down and going splat on the ground. Yesterday we decided to raid the wine cellar under Dot’s study, but when we g
ot to the bush where the entrance is hidden, we ended up chickening out.

  ‘What if she comes and rolls a boulder over the entrance,’ someone said. ‘We’ll be buried alive.’

  Since none of us fancied that we came back inside and played jacks, or read magazines until prep. That’s where we are now, stuffed in the classroom having to do more work, even though we’ve been studying all day. I’m writing about The Planets by Holst. What I should really be doing is working out how to get expelled.

  ‘I know,’ I suddenly say. ‘Why don’t we go and break a window?’

  Everyone looks at each other, and then Peg says, ‘Great idea,’ and abandoning our desks we traipse off outside, leaving the goody-two-shoes and teacher’s pets behind.

  ‘Which one?’ I say once we’re out there.

  ‘What about the next classroom to ours?’ someone suggests. ‘No one’s in it.’

  So we pick up some stones and start to throw them at the bottom panes of glass. After a while a crack appears, and we give a cheer. Then deciding to get it over with, I take off a shoe and hurl it with all my might. The window smashes, glass flies into the classroom and we leap up and down in the air.

  By the time we get back inside Seaweed’s already in the classroom, holding my shoe aloft and inspecting our feet like the demon opposite of Prince Charming.

  Off I go to stand outside Dot’s study. I might have to sign the black book for this, which is great, because it’ll be one step closer to getting me out of here and back home to Kev, where I belong.

  He promised to write to me, but I haven’t received anything yet. I reckon that’s because Cluttie or Seaweed are censoring our letters. They do that sometimes, which might be a criminal offence, because no one’s supposed to interfere with the Royal Mail. I’ve written to him lots of times, telling him how boring it is here and how much I’m looking forward to seeing him at Christmas. I don’t suppose I’ll be able to spend it with him, Dad would go mad if he found out I was seeing someone so much older than me, and anyway, I expect Kev’ll have to spend it with his family too.

  Mandy caught the bus up here the day before yesterday and met me in the back lane. She’s really fed up, because she hasn’t seen very much of Rich. It’s so cold out now that she doesn’t like waiting around in the open for him, and she can’t go down the club because the other girls keep threatening to beat her up.

  Oh blimey, here comes Dot, her witch’s cape billowing out behind her, and her lace-up shoes squeaking like a couple of squashed mice. I suppose I’m in for it now.

  ‘Susan? What are you doing there?’ she asks, sweeping by me and opening her door.

  ‘Miss Sayward sent me,’ I tell her.

  ‘Well, I didn’t imagine you came for the view. Why did Miss Sayward send you?’

  ‘Because I threw my shoe through a window, miss.’

  ‘I see. You’d better come in.’

  Her study’s all brown and dreary and full of ancient books that look all crumbly and crusty, a bit like her. ‘Why did you throw your shoe through a window?’ she asks, putting her stuff down on her desk and going to sit behind it.

  ‘I just felt like it,’ I say.

  She looks at me long and hard. ‘Did it strike you that such foolhardy behaviour might be considered an act of vandalism, for which I could report you to the police?’ she asks.

  I turn cold. Being in trouble with her is one thing, with the police is another altogether.

  ‘Well?’ she prompts.

  ‘No, miss,’ I reply.

  ‘I thought not. You understand I will have to inform your father about this, and the cost of repair will be deducted from the funds you have deposited with Miss Sayward.’

  ‘But miss, I won’t be able to buy any yoghurts or records on a Saturday if you do that.’

  ‘What a pity. You’ll be in detention for the next exeat, when you will report to me here to enter the details of your offence into the punishment book.’

  I surprise even myself as I suddenly start to cry.

  ‘I have no sympathy for you,’ she informs me harshly. ‘Your behaviour since the start of this term has been appalling. I can only hope that your sessions with the psychiatrist will help bring you to your senses. You can go now, but straight up to bed without supper. I’ll see to it that Miss Clutterbuck is aware of why you are in disgrace again.’

  Sadie and the others are waiting at the bottom of the back stairs as I round the corner. ‘What did she say?’ Sadie whispers, putting an arm around me.

  ‘Are you in detention?’ Cheryl wants to know.

  ‘Did you sign the black book?’ Peg asks.

  We’re all moving up the stairs in a huddle as I say, ‘Yes, I’m in detention, and yes I have to sign the book. Silly cow. She’s only going to charge me for the bloody window and tell my dad.’ I don’t mention anything about the psychiatrist, because if she thinks I’m going to see one of them, then she’s got another bloody think coming.

  I’m only here in this stupid clinic because it means I’m able to get out of school for the day. The others were all dead jealous when I told them my dad was coming to pick me up so I could go to my grampy’s funeral. It doesn’t matter that someone’s dead, any excuse to get out is good enough for us. I don’t really like telling that sort of lie, but it’s better than having them think I’m a loony. Anyway, it’s true that Grampy’s dead. Dad rang the school the same night as I broke the window to tell Dot, who called me back to her office to break it to me.

  See, this is God punishing me again. Every time I do anything wrong He takes away someone I love. I couldn’t stop crying that night, and everyone was making a fuss of me, but I just wanted them to go away. They don’t know what it’s like to have everyone die.

  Dad was very quiet in the car on the way here, and I was expecting him to have a real go at me about breaking the window. So far he hasn’t even mentioned it, which is how I know he doesn’t really have his mind on what’s going on. He’s upset about his dad dying. I try for a minute to imagine how I’d feel if anything happened to him, and it’s so horrible it makes me start panicking and want to throw myself out of the car. I don’t let it show though, and to stop it, I force myself to think of something else.

  Actually, if Grampy hadn’t died, I’d have refused to come today, but when I saw how unhappy Dad looked I decided not to upset him any more by kicking up a fuss. He said he might take me to see Auntie Beat when we’ve finished talking to the psychiatrist. I hope she doesn’t cry, because if she does I’ll start crying too. I know Grampy was a bit daft sometimes, and always getting drunk, but I really loved him, and I think it’s horrible that he’s not going to be here any more.

  The trouble is, God never listens to me.

  We’re the only ones in the waiting room, even though there are lots of chairs. Dad’s sitting with his cap in his hands, staring at nothing, so I watch the rain on the windows, telling myself if the drop I’m following reaches the bottom without blending with any others I’ll get married to Kev.

  I wish I could light up a fag. I wonder what would happen if I did. I won’t be able to find out, because I haven’t got any, and even if I had, I don’t want to make Dad any more upset than he already is.

  I wonder if I should say something about Grampy.

  A door opens and a tall, stooped man with saggy skin and little round glasses comes into the waiting room. ‘Mr Lewis? Susan?’ he says. ‘I’m Dr Leigh, it’s nice to meet you.’

  Dad stands up and shakes the man’s hand, so I do too. Behind his glasses his eyes are quite friendly, and when he smiles his face doesn’t seem to sag quite so much.

  ‘Come in,’ he tells us, and standing back he waits for us to go past into his office. It’s quite big, with lots of children’s drawings on the walls, toys in one corner, a telly in another, and hundreds of books on the shelves.

  He invites us to sit down, and once he’s behind his desk he looks at me and kind of twinkles as he says, ‘I expect it’s rather good to be
having a day off school, isn’t it?’

  I nod, and wonder if Dad’s happy to be having a day off work. I expect it’s hard for him to be happy about anything now Grampy’s dead.

  I wish Grampy wasn’t dead.

  Dr Leigh opens a file in front of him and has a slow read through.

  I start wondering what Kev’s doing now, and what he’d say if he knew where I was. I’m not even going to tell Mandy about this, because I don’t want everyone thinking I belong down Barrow Gurney. What if they do send me away to a place like that, where no one can find me any more? Dad might not come to visit, and Gary will grow up without me. Mandy and Sadie will make other best friends, and Kev will marry someone else.

  I feel like I’m starting to panic.

  ‘Mm, yes,’ Dr Leigh says. ‘He looks at Dad. ‘I think it might be helpful if I interview the two of you separately to begin with, what do you say?’

  Dad twists his cap between his hands. ‘Whatever you think best,’ he replies.

  Dr Leigh gets up and goes to open the door. ‘I’ll have a chat with Susan first,’ he tells Dad. ‘Do help yourself to a coffee or tea from the machine, Mr Lewis.’

  After Dad’s gone the doctor sits down again and fixes me with his friendly eyes. ‘So, you’re not very happy at school?’ he says with a sigh.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because I hate sleeping there and not having any freedom. I want to be like other girls who go to school in the day and come home at night.’

  He nods, seeming to understand that, which makes me think I might be able to get him on my side. ‘Do you have many friends at Red Maids?’ he asks.

  ‘Loads.’ I don’t want him thinking I’m one of the smelly people who no one ever talks to.

  ‘And you’re fond of them?’

  ‘Of course. They’re really great.’

  He steeples his fingers. ‘Would it be true to say that you have more friends there these days, than you do where you grew up?’

  ‘I might, but that’s only because I don’t see the others very much any more. If I was with them all the time, they’d still be my friends.’