by Jean Ure
Well, almost strictly private. Just between me and Cat. And Cat’s mum, of course, but I don’t count her. She’s only typing it out. It’s not as if she knows us. She doesn’t even live near us. She lives in Northwood, which is a dead posh area. We’re nowhere near her. So I don’t mind if she gets to hear what I’m saying, but no way do I want Dad to!
I was hoping, when I’d filled one tape, that Cat would say I could stop now, but she said, “Oh, no! You don’t get let off that easily. I want a whole book out of you, young woman.”
I said, “A whole book?” thinking that I would still be filling up tapes when I am old and ancient.
Cat said, “Well, several chapters at any rate.”
I said, “How many is several?” and she said, “Mm … seven or eight?”
Seven or eight! I said, “I haven’t lived long enough to do seven or eight!” But Cat only laughed and said, “Get on with it, you’re doing fine,” and handed me another tape.
I suppose I don’t mind, really.
Just so long as Dad doesn’t get to eavesdrop!!!!
But I don’t think he would.
* Note from Cat’s mum: I think you mean “dyslexic”
Here I am, starting over again. Testing, testing. One, two, three. This is Mandy Small telling her life story.
Now I’m going to play it back and see if it’s come out OK.
Hearing your own voice is really strange! I don’t sound a bit like what I thought I did. I thought I’d sound like someone on the television, maybe.
Talking posh.
Like Tracey Bigg.
Cat asked me once how I felt about Tracey Bigg. She said, “I get the feeling she upsets you.”
She doesn’t upset me! I’d just like to jump up and down on her a few times and squash her flat.
Then when I’d done it, I’d roll her up like an old carpet and stuff her in the bin.
I’m not supposed to be talking about Tracey Bigg. This book isn’t about Tracey Bigg, it’s about me! I don’t know how she got into it again. She keeps getting into things. From now on I am going to keep her out. That’ll settle her.
Now I’m back to telling my life story, only I don’t quite know what to tell. When I asked Cat, she said, “Just tell it like it is! Why not pick up where you left off?” Where I left off was the night Mum burnt Dad’s tea and we all ate toasted teacher and baked beans.
The next day was Saturday. I like Saturdays! They’re one of my favourite days. No school, for one thing. For another, Mum doesn’t have to work and neither does Dad.
Dad and I always go down the shops of a Saturday morning. Mum stops behind to catch up on stuff like the washing and the ironing. She has her treat on Sunday when she stays in bed. Sometimes she stays there until twelve o’clock! Sunday is Mum’s day. But Saturday is mine and Dad’s.
Dad was in a really good mood that particular Saturday. He fooled around doing his Elvis act as we walked down the road and Mrs Stern that lives at No. 4 called out to him.
“Hi, Barry! When we gonna see you down the Hand & Flower again?”
Mrs Stern is a huge fan of Dad’s. She also does a lot of drinking in the Hand & Flower.
The Hand & Flower is where Dad fell off the stage in the middle of his Elvis gig. But Dad had not been drinking. He is just accident prone.
When we got to the shops Dad said, “Let’s give your mum a surprise … let’s go and buy some stuff to fix that kitchen cabinet she’s always on about.”
Mum had been on about the kitchen cabinet for weeks. Months. It’s this little cupboardy thing that’s supposed to be fixed to the wall only one day it went and fell down right on top of me and almost knocked me out.
I didn’t half see stars!
I had to go to the hospital and have a chunk of hair cut off and six stitches, and I had this enormous great lump like a football stuck out the side of my head.
I told Miss Foster I’d slipped on the ice (it was way back last winter and it was really cold). I thought it sounded silly to say a kitchen cabinet had fallen on me.
Like one time when the banister rail broke and I fell down the stairs and twisted my ankle, Miss Foster looked at me like she just couldn’t believe people lived in houses where that sort of thing happened. But our house is really old and it crumbles all the time. Just at the moment there was this rotten floor board on the landing. It had got rotted ‘cos of rain coming through the roof. Old houses always have leaky roofs; even ones that belong to dukes and duchesses.
I don’t know if they have cupboards that come off the walls.
Mum and Dad had a right old row about that cupboard ‘cos Mum had been telling Dad for ages it was going to come down.
“We’ll fix it for her,” said Dad. “Be like a sort of birthday treat.”
“But Mum’s already had her birthday,” I said.
Dad said OK, it would be an in-between birthday treat.
“And while I’m about it, I’ll knock down that wardrobe and make a shelf for you.”
Well, at least we bought the stuff for doing it with. Some things to hold it up and things for fixing it to the wall. I mean, it was a start. It was closer than he’d ever come before.
“I’ll do it,” said Dad. “You’ll see.”
I really thought that this time he might, but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. I know my dad! He means well, but he gets very easily sidetracked.
Like on the way back from the D.I.Y. store he wanted to get side-tracked into the betting shop, only I wouldn’t let him.
Last time he got sidetracked in the betting shop he put all the housekeeping money on a horse called Sweet Sandy Star, on account of Star being my mum’s name before she got married. Dad said it was such a terrific coincidence that the horse simply couldn’t lose. Only it did. It came in last. Dad’s horses always do. So after that he gave me strict instructions: “You’re not to let me go into that betting shop ever again. Understand? I’m relying on you, girl!”
It is rather a responsibility, but it made Mum really upset when he lost all the housekeeping money. We had to beg from Nan, and Mum hates doing that.
When he’s in a good mood Dad actually thanks me for stopping him. That’s what he did that Saturday. He ruffled my hair and said, “Good old Mand! Keeping her dad on the straight and narrow.” And then he said was he allowed to just buy a couple of lottery tickets, and I said yes, because you never know, you could win a million pounds, it’s just that I have to be there with him or he’ll start buying scratch cards like there’s no tomorrow and that’s almost as bad as the horses. The thing is with Dad, he can’t help himself. Like Mum can’t help doing some of the daffy things she does.
They need me to look after them.
Mum was so pleased when Dad and I got home without spending the housekeeping money! Dad said, “You’ve got Mand to thank for that. She’s my guardian angel, aren’t you, poppet?” And then he showed Mum all the stuff that we’d got at the D.I.Y. All the screws and the hinges and things to make holes with and the things to put into the holes once they’d been made, and Mum said, “Oh! You’re never going to fix that kitchen cabinet at last?” Dad just grinned and said, “Only if you behave yourself.”
He didn’t do the cabinet that afternoon because of sport on the telly. Dad’s a huge sports fan! He’ll watch anything, even snooker. Mum and I don’t care for it, so I went into my room to do some more tape for Cat, and Mum went over the road to her friend Deirdre that’s just had a new baby.
Sometimes I think that Mum would quite like a new baby herself, but I expect Nan’s right and it wouldn’t be sensible. I bet I know who’d end up looking after it if she did have one! Not that I’d mind; I think babies are cute. When I grow up I’m going to have at least six. Both sexes. Maybe triplets, then I could get it over with in just two goes.
Of course I would have to find a husband first, and that might not be so easy as at the moment I happen to think that boys are the pits. We have a lot at our school.
They
are all disgusting. Maybe they get better as they grow older. I can only hope!
When Mum came back from seeing the new baby she said to Dad, “What do you want for your tea?” and Dad said, “Something special,” and I saw Mum start to look worried ‘cos I knew that all she’d got was fish fingers or egg and chips (which as a matter of fact are two of my all-time favourite meals). Then Dad jumped up and switched off the telly and said, “Let’s go out! It’s time we treated ourselves.”
Mum got as far as saying, “But what about the—”
Gas bill, probably. Or the electricity. A bill of some kind. But when Dad gets an idea in his head there’s no stopping him. He simply pulled Mum towards him and planted this huge smacker of a kiss on her lips and roared, “Forget it! Whatever it is. Forget it! I’m tired of counting every penny! I want a good time!”
So Mum went and got dressed up in her best pink skirt and this lovely slinky blouse that has pictures of pop stars all over it, and Dad put on his best denims and his Levi jacket, and slicked his hair back like Elvis, and we went trolling up the road to the Indian restaurant.
I feel really proud of my mum and dad when they get all their gear on! If you didn’t know, you’d think probably they were on the telly, or celebrities of some kind. Mum was still going on a bit about the bills (I think Nan scared her when they had to ask for help with the electric) but Dad said—
I can’t say what he really said as Cat’s mum might not like it! I expect where she lives in Northwood they don’t say things like ••••.*
And it was fun, to begin with. It always is, to begin with. I always hope that it will go on being, and sometimes it does and that is wonderful. I mean, that is just absolutely THE BEST.
I kept my fingers crossed that that was how it would be that night.
Just at first, I thought it might. Dad picked up the menu and said, “Now, Mand, you can have just whatever you like.” So I started off with poppadoms and chutney, and then I had samosas, with mint sauce, and then I had a biryani, and then I had an ice cream, bright green with little coloured bits all over it: only by the time I got to the ice cream, things weren’t being such fun any more as Mum and Dad were having one of their rows.
Dad accused Mum of being a misery and a killjoy, and Mum accused Dad of being irresponsible. She said that it was Nan’s fault, she said she’d spoilt him, and Dad said, “You leave my mum out of this!” and before I knew it they were at it hammer and tongs.
They say such terrible things when they get angry. Like, “I don’t know why I ever married you” and “You’re nothing but a millstone round my neck.” The sort of things that make me terrified they won’t want to go on living together. I couldn’t bear it if my mum and dad split up! I know Nan says they’re useless, the pair of them, but they’re my mum and dad and I love them!
What made things worse was that Mum was drinking too much wine. She’s all right if she just has one glass, but if she has more than one it makes her tearful. And if she has more than two it makes her tipsy. She doesn’t get drunk or throw up or anything horrid like that. She just gets a bit wobbly and out of control and then the wine gets spilt and the glasses get smashed and Dad says she’s a liability and that he can’t take her anywhere.
I tried to stop her. I said, “Mum, if you have any more you’ll only get tipsy,” but she wouldn’t listen to me. She was going on about the telephone bill and how the telephone people had sent a nasty letter saying they were going to cut us off and how she wasn’t going to go to Nan for help, not this time, not ever again, “Because she’s so hateful to me, she always seems to think it’s my fault!”
Dad said well, it was. He said Mum was the one who was supposed to buy the stamps for the telephone bill; why hadn’t she bought them? And Mum poured another glass of wine and started crying and saying how could she buy them when Dad insisted on throwing money away on Indian meals when he could have stayed at home and had fish fingers?
To which Dad snarled that he couldn’t stand another day of Mum’s cooking, she couldn’t even cook a fish finger without ruining it.
And I knew what was going to happen, so I just took out my pen and some paper, which I always carry with me, and started doing some drawings and tried not to listen.
But you can’t not listen as they always drag you into it.
It’s always like this. It’s very embarrassing, in the middle of a restaurant. Both of them wanting to know that I love them best. I love them equally! I love them both so much. I wish they wouldn’t fight! I really really do!
It is a good thing that Balji, who owns the restaurant, is used to my mum and dad. When Dad went storming off to the loo and Mum reached out a hand and sent her wine spilling all over the table and just sat there weeping, he came over immediately with a cloth and very calmly began to mop it all up.
I said, “I think we’d better have the bill, now, Balji,” and Balji nodded and said, “And a cab?” I said, “Yes, please. And a cab.”
He always gets us a cab. Well, I mean, not always. Mum and Dad don’t always have rows in his restaurant. Mum doesn’t always start weeping. But it has happened quite often. I always pray that it won’t, but Mum does worry so about how the bills are going to be paid and Dad does so hate to be nagged. If we just had a bit more money, things would be all right.
By the time we got home Mum had stopped crying and Dad had stopped threatening to walk out and they were both sitting there in front of the telly so I thought it would be safe to leave them. So I went to bed and said my special prayer and I had just about fallen to sleep when I was woken by the horrible voice of old Misery Guts shrieking up the stairs.
Mum and Dad were at it again. Bickering and bawling at each other in the sitting-room.
I threw back the duvet and went tearing into the sitting-room. I was in such a rush I forgot all about the broken floorboard on the landing. My foot went right through it.
At least it stopped them fighting. So I guess it was worth it.
Cat’s mum has typed out the whole of my first tape! She must type incredibly fast. About 100mph, I should think.
Phew! I can’t imagine how anyone could move their fingers that quick. And no crossings-out, or anything. It’s as neat as neat, just like a real book.
I wonder who will publish it? If anyone! I can’t think who would be interested in the life story of someone like me. Cat says, “People who have the same sort of problems, that’s who.”
What does she mean, problems? I don’t have problems! Cat seems to think that Mum and Dad are a problem, but they are not. Only when they quarrel, because that is upsetting, but they have promised they will not do it any more.
They say they have turned over a new leaf.
It would be nice if they didn’t – quarrel, I mean – but I expect they will. It’s when things get on top of them and Dad spends all the money and Mum does something daft. But so long as I am there to keep an eye on them they will always, hopefully, kiss and make up.
Cat says it must be a great responsibility for me. She says, “It’s a very grown up sort of thing to do, Mandy.” Well, so maybe I’m a very grown up sort of person! I don’t see what’s wrong with that. Cat says what’s wrong is that I should be enjoying myself and doing all the things that other kids do. I say, suppose I don’t want to do the things that other kids do? I can still enjoy myself! It’s not a problem for me to keep an eye on my mum and dad. It would only be a problem if we stopped being together as a family. But that is why I say my special prayer every night.
When I tell this to Cat she says, “That’s what I mean about people who would be interested in reading about you. You’re not the only one who worries about their mum and dad getting divorced. I’m afraid it happens all the time.”
I said, “I’m not really worried.” Not if I go on saying my prayer. My mum and dad couldn’t get divorced! How would one of them manage without me?
All the same, it did make me stop and think. Imagine if there are thousands of other people jus
t like me, all worrying – really worrying – and saying their prayers. Perhaps they would read my book and think, “Oh, that girl is just like me. I know just how she feels.” And it would be a comfort to them to know that they are not the only ones. That is what Cat says.
So maybe somebody will publish it, after all! And then I will be famous and make lots of money, which I will give to Mum and Dad so that we can move to a proper house where the floorboards don’t collapse and there is a bathroom all of our own and they will not quarrel any more. That, at least, is my dream. Tracey Bigg will be just so-o-o-o jealous!
Oh! I have just had a thought. Suppose she tries to sue me for that thing that people are always suing the newspapers for? When they say things that aren’t true? *
But I am only saying things that are true. So sucks to Tracey Bigg!
I’m really glad I didn’t go on that summer camp. Two weeks with Tracey Bigg! Yeeeeeurgh!!!
Cat asked me the other day if I had any friends at school. I haven’t, but who needs them? I’ve got my mum and dad!
Cat said, “You ought to have friends of your own age, Mandy.” I don’t see why. I did have a friend, once. She was called Janis and she was really nice. She lived next door and we used to play together. She had to be in a wheelchair ‘cos there was something wrong with her legs, and I used to gallop her up and down the street.
One time she fell out, but she didn’t mind. She just laughed!
She was ever so sparky, Janis was. Even though she couldn’t walk, we still had fun.