One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  Everyone gasps.

  Then it goes quiet.

  My fists are clenched, and without even thinking I bang one of them right into her. ‘I hate you,’ I scream, and before she can stop me I turn and run out of the building. I keep going, across the forecourt, down the drive towards the cookery rooms. The lane leading towards home is behind them, but Mrs Philpott must have seen me coming, because all of a sudden she’s there, trying to catch hold of me.

  ‘Susan, Susan, what is it?’ she cries.

  ‘Nothing. Let go of me,’ I sob.

  ‘Susan, stop!’ she shouts, holding me hard. ‘You have to tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Baron,’ I choke. ‘She called me a liar because I said my dog was dead and then she slapped me, so I punched her, but she deserved it.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she mutters. ‘Is your dog really dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. OK,’ and gathering me up in her arms she hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she tells me. ‘We’ll get this sorted out.’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘No, you must come with me, we’ll talk to Mrs Baron together.’

  ‘I don’t want to see that old bag.’

  ‘Susan, please, do as I say, just this once.’

  Because I haven’t been very nice to her lately, and because she’s still bothering to be nice to me anyway, I let her take me back up to the main building, where we find Mrs Baron and my friends all talking at once, trying to tell Miss Fisher what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Miss Fisher, here’s Susan,’ Mrs Philpott shouts above the noise.

  Miss Fisher turns round, and is just about to speak when Mrs Baron says, ‘We should call the police and let them deal with that girl. She’s nothing but …’

  ‘Mrs Baron will you be quiet,’ Miss Fisher barks.

  All our eyes go round. None of us have ever heard a teacher get told off before.

  ‘Susan, did you punch Mrs Baron?’ Miss Fisher demands.

  ‘Yes, miss, but she slapped me first and she called me a liar.’

  ‘That’s what we were trying to tell you,’ Lainey shouts.

  ‘All right, thank you, Lainey,’ Miss Fisher says.

  Lainey hasn’t finished. ‘Sue’s dog had to be put to sleep this morning, and she’s really upset, so …’ She stops as Miss Fisher turns to glower at her. ‘I’m just saying,’ she adds sulkily.

  ‘Mrs Philpott, bring Susan into my office,’ Miss Fisher says. ‘Mrs Baron, I’ll speak to you later. The rest of you, off to class.’

  When we’re in Miss Fisher’s office, she closes the door and turns to glare at me.

  ‘Miss Fisher, Susan isn’t lying,’ Mrs Philpott tells her, which I can hardly believe, because for all she knows I could be. I’m not though, and thinking about Lucky makes my eyes well up with tears again.

  ‘What happened, Susan?’ Miss Fisher asks. ‘Start from the beginning.’

  I feel really stupid as I try to tell her, because I keep sobbing and can hardly get the words out, but somehow I manage to describe about Lucky and what the vet told me, and why I even bothered coming to school today.

  ‘Dearie, dearie me,’ she sighs, coming to pat my shoulder. ‘I’m very sorry about your dog. They’re very special creatures, so I understand how you’re feeling, my dear. You can go home early today. I think that’ll be for the best.’

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ I ask.

  ‘For once, no,’ she replies.

  I look at Mrs Philpott, who seems nearly as surprised as I am. ‘Who’s at home?’ she says.

  ‘No one,’ I answer and start to cry again, because Lucky won’t be there.

  ‘What time does your home help come?’ Miss Fisher asks.

  ‘Actually she might be there by the time I get back,’ I say.

  Mrs Philpott puts an arm round me as we walk back down to the cookery rooms. ‘Listen to them,’ she says, rolling her eyes at all the noise going on in her class. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I reply. I take a breath. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit mean to you lately …’

  ‘Oh, you haven’t really,’ she interrupts, ‘but I’ve missed seeing you from time to time.’

  ‘I wish you weren’t leaving. I mean, I know you have to, but …’

  ‘I’ll write to you,’ she promises. ‘I’ll tell you all about my new life and my new school, and when you write back you’ll be able to tell me what’s happening to you. You will write back, won’t you?’

  I nod again, and I think I might, but only if she writes first.

  ‘Will you be all right getting home?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine,’ and turning away I start walking along the lane. If only I could stop wishing Lucky was with me, bouncing around on her lead and trying to get into mischief the way she does. I wonder if she’s in heaven. If she is Mum and Robert will be looking after her. I look up at the sky, but then I have to drop my head again because I can’t stop crying.

  Eddie

  I’ve been thinking about our Susan all day, wondering how she got on at the vet’s and feeling terrible for not going with her. The trouble is there’s a real crack-down happening at work, they’re watching us like hawks, especially those of us involved in the union, and I don’t want to be getting on the wrong side of them any more than I already am.

  It’s ten past five now, and I’m at the chemist’s in Staple Hill because I promised Florrie I’d pick up a prescription for her and drop it in on my way home. I’d rather not be late tonight, but I reminded the children this morning that I would be so I hope they haven’t forgotten. I don’t want to find them pacing up and down the street again, which has happened when I’m not home at my usual time.

  I thank the pharmacist for the tablets and take the change after purchasing a tube of toothpaste, and as I tuck it in my pocket I start wondering how much change I’ll get out of the fiver I gave Susan for the vet. We’re a bit short again this week, what with one thing and another, but I suppose as long as Lucky’s all right, that’s all that matters.

  I’m just going past the baker’s when I think it might be nice to have a cake or some sponge rolls after our tea, and since they’re usually selling them cheap at this time of day, I turn back to find out what’s left. To my surprise I almost bump into Anne as she comes out of the door.

  ‘Mr Lewis,’ she cries, looking pleased to see me.

  ‘Hello, Anne, how are you?’ I ask, hoping I’m looking just as pleased to see her, because I am.

  ‘Oh, not too bad. Just on your way home from work, are you? It’s a bit out of your way up around here, isn’t it?’

  ‘I had to pick up a prescription for my mother-in-law,’ I explain, holding up the bag for her to see. ‘Have you been working today?’

  ‘No. Actually, I’m not at the shop any more, so I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve had to give it up, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ A lot sorrier than I dare to admit, in case it embarrasses her. ‘I hope everything’s all right.’

  ‘My mother had a stroke,’ she tells me, ‘so someone has to be at home to look after her.’

  ‘Oh dear, that is bad news. When did it happen?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. She came home from hospital yesterday, and I don’t suppose she’s too bad, considering, but I don’t like to leave her for long. My brother’s promised to help as much as he can, and my aunt, her sister, is only a few doors away, so at least I can still go out for a few hours now and again.’

  ‘That’s good, because it can be a tiring business looking after someone who’s ill.’ I’m trying very hard to think of the right thing to say, and what comes out next is, ‘Did you ever get to see that film Paint Your Wagon?’ Immediately I’ve said it I realise how rude it was to change the subject so abruptly, especially when we’d been discussing something so important. ‘I’m sor—’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she answers
. ‘Did you?’

  ‘No, but if it’s still on, would you like to go? I mean, with me?’ The words are tripping out like they have a will of their own, and I can feel myself blushing like a flipping teenager, all down over my neck and up around my ears.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she says.

  I start to beam, but luckily someone wants to get into the shop, so we have to step out of the way and I’ve managed to get the foolish look off my face by the time I ask, ‘Are you on the telephone at home?’

  ‘Yes, we are. Are you?’

  I laugh. ‘No, not us, but if you give me your number I can find out if the picture’s still showing, and if it is I’ll ring you up and let you know.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely. Have you got a pen or pencil?’

  Did she but know it, that’s like asking me if I’ve got blood in my veins. Promptly I produce my notebook and after I’ve written her number down, she says, ‘It’s in the telephone directory, just in case you lose it.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t,’ I assure her. Then, ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be getting along. The children will be wondering what’s happened to me.’

  ‘They’re all right, are they?’ she asks.

  I think of the trouble with our Susan lately, and feel thankful that the cuts and bruises on my face have healed and no longer show. What on earth would a genteel lady like Anne make of the way I behaved that day? ‘They’re very well, thank you,’ I tell her, keeping my smile in place. ‘I wish we could say the same for Susan’s dog, but she took her to the vet today so I expect everything’ll be better by the time I get home.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘Don’t forget to call, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ and forgetting all about going in to pick up a cake, I walk off down the road feeling a spring in my step like I haven’t felt in a long time.

  When I get to Florrie’s Eddress’s brother, Tom, is there, and he kindly offers to give me a lift home which I jump at, even though it means taking him out of his way.

  ‘What do you make of our mam these days?’ he asks as we drive down over Pound Road. ‘Does she seem all there to you?’

  I’m slightly taken aback by the question. ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed anything wrong,’ I tell him. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s just a couple of things she’s said. She was talking about Maurice the other day as though he was upstairs, and when I reminded her he was in New Zealand she didn’t seem to know what I was on about.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, starting to worry. ‘Was she all right after?’

  ‘She seemed to be, but our Gordon said he had a similar thing happen with her last week, when she started calling him Albert, which was our dad’s name. If you ask me, I reckon she’s starting to lose her marbles.’

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ I reply. ‘We don’t want to have to put her in a home, I don’t think she’d like that at all.’

  ‘Not one bit,’ he agrees. ‘She can’t come and live with us though, we haven’t got the room. Anyway, we don’t need to do anything for the moment, except keep an eye on her. You’ll let me know if you notice anything, won’t you? We’re having a telephone installed next month, so you’ll be able to ring us up, any time.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘Lots of people seem to be getting them put in now.’

  ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘No, we don’t have any need for one. The phone box is just around the corner.’

  We’re at the top of Holly Green now, where he pulls up so I can walk through the lane to home. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I say, opening the door.

  ‘That’s all right. Oh, by the way, I saw your stepmother up Kingswood the other day. Beat, is it?’

  ‘That’s right. How is she?’ I feel a sharp pang of guilt that I have to ask him when I should know for myself, but I just haven’t had time to get over there these past few weeks.

  ‘She seemed all right. She asked me to say hello if I saw you, so I’m passing the message on.’

  Dear, dear Beat. She’s probably as lonely as can be in that house all on her own, so come what may I have to make some time to get over and see her.

  To my relief, when I go round the corner into Greenways there’s no sign of Susan and Gary pacing the street, or of their white faces peering out of the window to see if I’m coming.

  ‘Hello,’ I call out, as I let myself in the back door, ‘anybody home?’

  The dining-room door opens and Gary comes into the kitchen.

  ‘What’s the matter, my love?’ I say when I see his bloodshot eyes. ‘You two haven’t been fighting again, have you?’

  He shakes his head and starts to cry. ‘Lucky’s dead,’ he tells me, and as my heart sinks he tumbles into my arms.

  ‘There, there,’ I say, trying to comfort him. ‘What happened? Where’s our Susan?’

  ‘She’s upstairs in her bedroom. She won’t let me in.’

  Cursing myself for not going with her this morning, I settle him down with a jam sandwich and a cup of Ribena, and putting my own sadness about the dog aside, I go upstairs to knock on Susan’s door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

  She doesn’t answer, which is usually a sign that it’s safe to proceed, so I push the door open and when I see her, huddled up on her bed, I want to pick her up the way I used to when she was a baby.

  ‘What did the vet say?’ I ask, going to sit next to her.

  ‘She had distemper,’ she answers, ‘so he put her to sleep.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ I murmur, giving her back a rub. I can hardly bear to think of what she had to go through all on her own. What must the vet have thought, a girl her age turning up with a mortally sick dog and without any sign of a parent? It would serve me right if he reported me to the authorities. ‘How did you get back from the vet’s?’ I say.

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘All that way?’

  ‘I kept looking out for a bus but one didn’t come.’

  ‘So you haven’t been to school at all today?’

  ‘Yes, I went in this afternoon, and something really horrible happened.’

  Alarm sinks my heart to further depths.

  ‘Miss Fisher says it’s all right now though, it wasn’t my fault, so I’m not in trouble.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what it was?’

  Eventually she rolls on to her back, and when I see how broken up she is I scoop her up in my arms. ‘It’ll be all right,’ I tell her as she starts to sob. ‘She’s gone to heaven now. Jesus will take care of her.’

  ‘Why does Jesus always have to take away everyone I love?’

  ‘I don’t know, my darling, but I hope you love me, and I’m still here, aren’t I?’

  ‘And me,’ Gary says from the door.

  Susan gives a splutter of laughter, and next thing Gary’s on the bed too and we’re all having a hug.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ I say, ‘why don’t we have some tea, and after we’ve watched a bit of telly we’ll all sleep in my room tonight. Is that a good idea?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gary cheers.

  I look at Susan, and drop a kiss on her forehead as she nods.

  How could I ever have contemplated having her put away? Life’s giving her enough knocks as it is, without me making it all a hundred times worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Susan

  LUCKY’S BEEN DEAD for almost two weeks now, and the house is so quiet without her bouncing around and barking every time she hears a noise that it’s like she’s there by not being there, if you know what I mean.

  Dad misses her too.

  ‘She could be a blinking nuisance,’ he grumbled the other day, ‘and half the time she was more trouble than she was worth, but we all loved her and she loved us, which is why we’re feeling so lost without her.’

  I wanted to ask if he thought she was with Mum and Robert, but I didn’t. I keep telling myself she is, but what happens after you die is God’s big secret that He doesn’t share with anyone els
e. Religious people say you go to heaven, but they can’t tell you where heaven is, or even if it really exists, and I’m not sure it does. I have to admit, it would be nice to know that there’s somewhere better than here when you die, with no rules, or crime, or evil people going round killing innocent people, just happiness, sunshine and kindness all day long. I wonder if that would get a bit boring, everything always being the same. Who knows? Who cares even, because we’re not going to find out anything for certain until God decides to let us in on what happens next. And too bad if you don’t like it, because you’ll be dead so there won’t be anything you can do about it.

  Dad’s blaming himself for Lucky’s death. He says he should have thought about the vaccines when I first got her, but I should have too, so it’s both our faults. Between us we’ve killed Lucky, which is a terrible, unforgivable thing to do.

  Gary wants to get another dog, but I don’t think we will, in case it ends up dying too.

  We’re up Gran’s now, on a Saturday night, because Dad’s gone out. He’s never been out at night before, apart from up the union, so maybe that’s where he is, I forgot to ask. He was wearing his best suit when we left the house, and he’d combed Brylcreem through his hair, making it all greasy and slick, and he’d splashed some Old Spice on his face which really stinks. I’d much rather have Brut, but being in the older generation he probably hasn’t even heard of it.

  Gary’s in next door with our cousins, which is where I was until a few minutes ago, watching Wendy getting ready to go out. I wish I was her age so I could have my own money and go down the Top Rank to meet blokes every week the way she does. I still haven’t seen Kev since the night he kicked Lucky, even though Mandy keeps sending notes saying that he wants to see me. ‘Everyone keeps asking where you are,’ she wrote in her last one, and I wondered who she meant by everyone, because hardly anyone speaks to her, apart from Rich, Kev, Larry and Clive, and they only want her for one thing. It’s all they want me for too, I can see that now, and I feel ashamed and stupid for what I let them do. As far as I’m concerned they can all drop dead, because they’re not worth even thinking about, and Kev’ll be sorry when he finds out I’ve met someone else who’s much nicer and better-looking than him.