by Jean Ure
“She can, you know,” said Dad.
I said, “But Dad, we gave Mum our word! It’s a matter of principle. Mum feels really strongly about it.”
Dad pulled a henpecked face and said, “Tell me something I don’t know! I lived with it for nearly seventeen years. The thing is, Honeybun, your mum may be an admirable woman – she is an admirable woman! – but she gets these bees in her bonnet. If she wants to live on nut loaves and lettuce leaves, that’s up to her. But she’s got no right to impose it on you.”
I pointed out, in fairness to Mum, that she wasn’t imposing, that me and the Afterthought had decided for ourselves; but the Afterthought, guzzling pizza as fast as she could go, and spraying disgusting gobbets of food all about the table, screamed that she had changed her mind.
“I can change my mind if I want! Can’t I, Dad? I can change my mind!”
“You most certainly can,” said Dad.
“See?” The Afterthought stuck out her scummy pizza-covered tongue and gave me this look of evil triumph. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
I decided that from now on I would simply wash my hands of her.
“I’m going to go and write my postcards,” I said. I’d got one for Vix, one for Mum, and one for Gran, Mum’s mum, who is very old and lives in a home. “Is it OK if I give Vix your email address?” I said to Dad.
Dad said, “Sorry, kiddo! I don’t have one any more. Got rid of the computer. It had to go.”
The Afterthought cried, “Dad!”
“Needs must,” said Dad. “When a man is cruelly turned out of his home without a penny to his name, he has to raise money as best he can. It’s no big deal! Who needs possessions, anyway?”
I thought, I do! I like possessions. I love all my ornaments and my trinkets and what Mum calls my bits and pieces. Not to mention clothes. I would have wardrobes full, if I could! I said this to Dad, but he just laughed and told me that it was nothing but useless clutter.
“You think it’s important, but it isn’t. What’s important is being able to throw everything you own into a couple of carrier bags. That way, you can be ready to get up and go at a moment’s notice. Clutter just holds you back.”
Dad certainly didn’t have any clutter. He’d taken almost nothing with him when he left home, and he didn’t seem to have bought anything since. I couldn’t live like that! I don’t want to get up and go at a moment’s notice. I like to take stay put. I suppose I am not very adventurous.
I wrote my postcard to Vix:
Then I wrote to Gran, printing it in my best handwriting as her eyesight is not too good:
Lastly I wrote to Mum:
In spite of my resolve to wash my hands of the Afterthought, I still got stuck with her next day as Dad said he had things to do.
“Like work, you know? Keep the wolf from the door.”
I was a bit surprised by this, as I was not used to Dad working, though of course he had on occasion. I asked him whether it was in an office, which seemed to amuse him.
“Me? In an office? That’ll be the day!”
“So what sort of work is it?” I said. I wasn’t being nosy, I just wanted to be able to tell Mum: Dad’s got a proper job! But I don’t think it was a proper job; not exactly. Well, not a being-there-every-day-from-nine-till-five sort of job. Dad just said that he had “this nice little number going” and he winked as he said it, which made me think perhaps I’d better not ask any more questions. Just in case. Not that I thought it would be anything illegal, but maybe something it would be better for us not to know about, like – well! I couldn’t actually think of anything. At least Dad was earning money; that was all that mattered. (I decided, though, that I wouldn’t mention it to Mum. Not unless she asked.)
I was really pleased that Dad had found himself a job. What I wasn’t so pleased about was the prospect of having to cart the Afterthought round with me wherever I went. I’d been kind of hoping that she might go off somewhere with Dad and leaveme to my own devices. How could I look for boys with a whiny ten year old clinging to me?
“Wouldn’t you rather go with Dad?” I said.
But Dad didn’t think that was such a good idea, and neither did the Afterthought.
“I want to go on the pier!” she said.
So off we trolled to the pier, with our pockets full of money. (I’d given Mum’s cheque to Dad, to put in the bank, and he’d said to go to him whenever we needed anything.)
“I don’t think we ought to gamble again,” I said. I braced myself for a load of bad mouth along the lines of “I can do what I like! You can’t order me about!” but to my surprise the Afterthought agreed. She said, “No, ‘cos when you gamble you lose all your money.”
I was so knocked out that I asked her what she did want to do. She said she wanted to get a printed T-shirt and be tattooed. I said, “Right! Let’s do it.”
I got a blue T-shirt with PASSION FLOWER printed on it. The Afterthought got a red one with My dad’s mad and bad. She said it was something she’d read somewhere and she thought it was funny. I suppose it was, quite.
“Let’s put them on!” she said, so we both dived into the Ladies and did a quick change. After that we went to the tattoo place, which was now open, and got ourselves tattooed. I asked for a passion flower to be put on my arm, but the woman who did the tattoos couldn’t find a picture one so she did a different sort of flower, red, like I wanted. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was pretty and I was pleased with it. The Afterthought was sickening. She got a heart with the words I love my dad. Truly disgusting and yucky! I didn’t say so, however, as we were getting along really well and I didn’t want to ruin things.
I asked her what she would like to do next. I could have thought of a zillion things that I would have liked to do, such as going round the shops, but I didn’t mind humouring her, just so long as she behaved herself. “Do you want to stay on the pier or go somewhere else?”
The Afterthought said she wanted to stay on the pier. “I want something to eat! I’m starving.”
I was quite hungry myself. Dad didn’t really have very much to offer in the way of food; all we’d had for breakfast was a plate of soggy cereal and a piece of shrivelled toast. The Afterthought said there was “a dear little café” near where we had come in, so we turned and started walking back towards it. I held my arm out in front of me, admiring my tattoo. I giggled.
“Just as well they wear off… Mum would have a fit!”
“Don’t see why,” said the Afterthought. “It’s not like a real tattoo… I wish I could have a real tattoo! I bet Dad would let me.”
I thought that Dad just might. “Don’t you dare ask him!” I said.
“Why not?”
“‘Cos Mum wouldn’t like it.”
“Mum wouldn’t see it!”
“She could hardly miss it,” I said. “Unless you had it done somewhere stupid, like your bottom.”
“I’d have it done here.” The Afterthought tapped the side of her nose. “I’d start a new fashion… I’d have a nose tattoo! And she still wouldn’t see it, ‘cos we’re not going to go back. So there!”
I stopped. “What do you mean, we’re not going back?”
“We’re not going back!”
I said, “Of course we’re going back. Don’t be silly! We’re only here for the holidays.”
“That’s what you think,” said the Afterthought.
I said, “That’s what I know.”
“Well, you know wrong! She doesn’t want us back. Dad said. She told him he could have us, and welcome. So that’s it! We’re staying with Dad.”
“That is such rubbish,” I said. How could we stay with Dad? It was great being with him for a short time, but Dad couldn’t look after us. He didn’t have the room! He didn’t have a kitchen, he didn’t have a bathroom, he didn’t have anywhere to keep food. We couldn’t stay with Dad! Trust the Afterthought to get it wrong.
“Mum just meant for the summer,” I said. “He was welc
ome to us for the summer. While she had a break, ‘cos we’d been mean to her.”
“We weren’t mean to her!” shrilled the Afterthought. “She was mean to us! She was mean to Dad. Throwing him out like that!”
There was no denying that Mum had been quite hard on Dad.
“You’re always on her side,” grumbled the Afterthought.
“Oh, shut up!” I said. We’d been getting on so well. I’d almost been quite fond of her, just for a few minutes. Why did she always have to go and ruin everything? We found the dear little café and sat at a table outside, eating doughnuts and drinking milk shakes. Probably fattening, but who cared? We were on holiday! While we were sitting there, I noticed this boy that kept glancing at me from the doorway of a slot machine place. He was with two other boys, but they were busy at a machine, pulling levers and pressing buttons. The one who kept glancing at me seemed more interested in – well, in me! I edged my chair round ever so slightly so that he would get a better view of my profile. I don’t mean to boast, but I am quite proud of my profile. You know how with some people, movie stars, for instance, they can look fab full face? But then they turn their heads and you suddenly see that they have pointy noses or double chins and look quite ordinary. Even, in some cases, plain. A great disappointment! Especially if you have been thinking to yourself that this is my dream guy and then you see their nose all beaky or their chin sagging down like a waterlogged sock. I mean, talk about disillusion.
I have studied myself long and hard in Mum’s dressing table mirror, which is one of those with wings on either side, and I feel reasonably confident that my profile would live up to expectations. Assuming, that is, that you had looked at me full face and liked what you saw. I am not being vain here! I think it is important to know these things about yourself; it can save a lot of heartache.
It can also save a lot of heartache if you don’t have beastly ten-year-old brats dragging round with you, clocking everything with their beady little eyes and shrieking out their vulgar comments.
“Why do you keep staring at that boy?” demanded the Afterthought, in these loud clanging tones that everybody within a ten-mile radius could probably have heard.
I said, “Which boy? I’m not staring.”
“Yes, you are! You’re ogling.”
What kind of word is that for a ten year old to use?
“I suppose you fancy him,” she said.
I tossed my head. “You can suppose what you like.”
Usually when I toss my head, my hair goes swirling round. But I’d forgotten – I’d tied it in bunches. Reluctantly, I decided that it would look a bit too obvious if I pulled it loose. A pity! My hair is black, like Dad’s, and quite thick. Vix once said it was sexy!!! I suppose that really is boasting, though I’m only repeating what she said.
“Do you think he’s good-looking?” said the Afterthought.
I did, as a matter of fact, but I wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of knowing.
“Do you?” I said.
“No,” said the Afterthought. “He’s got silly hair! He’s ugly.”
I felt like bashing her. He wasn’t ugly! And his hair wasn’t silly, he’d had it dyed blond and gelled it so it was all gorgeously stiff and spiky. The Afterthought just had no sense of style at all.
“Looks like a hedgehog,” she said. “Oh, gobbets! He’s coming over… he’s going to talk to you! Yuck!” She hung her head over the side of the table and pretended – noisily – to throw up.
“Why don’t you go back home?” I said.
“Don’t want to go back home,” said the Afterthought.
“Well, then! Go and buy yourself a funny hat, or jump off the end of the pier, or something.”
“No.” She settled herself back on her chair. “I want to stay here and see what happens.”
Spiky Hair was making his way towards us. The Afterthought was right. He was going to talk!
“Hi,” he said.
I said, “Hi,” and blushed furiously into my milk shake.
“Love the T-shirt! Is that your name? Passion Flower?”
“No, her name’s Stephanie,” said the Afterthought. “Who’re you?”
Spiky Hair grinned. “I’m Zed. Who are you?”
“I’m Samantha and I’m staying,” said the Afterthought.
“Quite right,” said Zed. “Who knows what I might get up to?”
The Afterthought made a hrrumphing noise and twizzled her straw in her milk shake.
“She your chaperone?” said Zed.
“No,” I said, “she’s my sister and I’m stuck with her.”
“Know the feeling,” said Zed. “I’ve got one at home. A right pain.”
“You can say that again,” I said.
The Afterthought made another hrrumphing noise.
“Elephants run in the family?” said Zed.
Hah! That got her. She hates being made fun of. Crossly, she shoved her chair back.
“I’m going to feed the seagulls. Don’t be all day!”
Zed promptly sat himself down next to me. “Why not?” he said. “In a hurry?”
I shook my head.
“Here on holiday?”
“We’re here for the whole of the summer,” I said. I didn’t want him to think we were just, like, day trippers. “We’re staying with our dad.” And then I got brave and said, “How about you?”
“Me? I’m a denizen! I live here.”
“You live here?”
“People do. You’d be surprised!”
“I wouldn’t,” I said, “‘cos my dad does.” But I did think Zed was lucky!
“So where d’you live, then?” I pulled a face.
“Nottingham.”
“With your mum?”
“Yes. They’re separated.”
“Mine, too. We have something in common!” He grinned at me. I grinned back. “We both live with our mums, and we both have little bratty sisters… d’you ever manage to get out without her?”
I said, “At home, I do. At home we have practically nothing whatsoever to do with each other. It’s difficult, here.”
“How about in the evening?”
“Oh! Well – yes.” Was he asking me out??? “I guess in the evening she could stay with Dad.” I couldn’t be expected to keep an eye on her all the time.
“There’s a gang of us meet up in the Bluebell Caff. Just a bit further along from the pier.” He pointed. “Feel like coming along? Eight o’clock?”
I nodded, breathlessly. Zed said, “Great. See you there!”
It was at that moment that my little bratty sister came wandering back. She watched jealously as Zed returned to his mates.
“See you where?” she said.
I said, “None of your business. I have a date!”
And I bought another postcard, to send to Vix.
“I SUPPOSE I have to ask where you’re going,” said Dad. “And what time you’re going to be back… that’s what your mum would do, isn’t it?”
“She’s going on a date,” said the Afterthought. “With a hedgehog!”
“Really? That’s novel,” said Dad. “Where does one hang out, with a hedgehog?”
Glaring at the stupid Afterthought, who vulgarly stuck her tongue out, I told Dad that we were “just meeting up in a café.”
“OK,” said Dad. “You know the rules. Home by… what shall we say? Ten? Does that sound about right?”
“Mum wouldn’t let her stay out that late,” said the Afterthought.
“She would, too!” I said.
“Not with a boy you don’t even know,” said the Afterthought.
“So how do I get to know him?” I said. “If I’m not allowed to go out with him?”
“Good question,” said Dad. “How old is he?”
I thought probably he had to be sixteen. Even, maybe, seventeen. But it seemed safer to say, “About my age?”
“More like twenty,” said the Afterthought.
“Dad, he isn’t!” I crie
d.
“OK, OK,” said Dad. “I believe you. Just behave yourself – and make sure you’ve got your phone with you. There!” He sat back, beaming. “I reckon that’s my parental duty taken care of.”
The Afterthought sucked in her breath and slowly shook her head, like some cranky old woman. I really couldn’t understand what her problem was; I’d have thought she’d be pleased to be left on her own with Dad. She just didn’t like me having fun was what it was. She’d been behaving like the worst kind of spoilt brat ever since Mum and Dad split up. Mum said she was insecure and we must make allowances, and I did try, but what about me? I was insecure, too!
“I bet he does drugs,” said the Afterthought.
“He doesn’t!” I shrieked.
“Bet he does!”
If the Afterthought had said something like that in front of Mum, Mum would have gone half demented. It would have been, like, full-scale panic and Stephanie-I-don’t-want-you-going-out-with-that-boy! Dad – dear old Dad! – just snapped open another can of lager and said, “Why do you bet? What do you know about it?”
“She doesn’t know anything!” I said. “She’s all mouth!”
“Well, just watch it,” said Dad. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
I sent the Afterthought a look of triumph and shot out of the door before she could think of any other objections to raise. Nasty little troll! I was just glad Dad didn’t take her seriously. Not that anyone could, though that wouldn’t have stopped Mum. But Mum wasn’t here. I was free!
I rushed off, down to the seafront. Only my second day in Brighton, and already I’d got myself a date! Vix would be soooo envious.
I was wearing my new passion flower T-shirt and my denim shorts with the flip flops Dad had bought me. I didn’t think I would need a jacket as it was really hot and anyway I didn’t want to spoil my outfit. I guess what I really mean is, I didn’t want to cover up my tattoo!