‘I know. It’s all right. It’s not your fault. Did you know Star was going for good?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I wept.
‘Never mind,’ said Marigold. ‘Never mind, never mind.’
She said it over and over again until the words lost all sense. Then she started drinking. I stayed with her for a while and then sloped off into the bedroom. It still smelt terribly of paint. I couldn’t shut the white gloss door because it was still sticky.
I got into bed but I couldn’t sleep. I wanted Star so badly I got into her bed to sniff the faint talcumy smell of her still on her pillow. But it made me angry too. I punched the pillow, harder and harder. Then I missed and punched the wall instead. It hurt so much that I huddled into a ball, tucking my fist into my armpit.
I was acting like the crazy person now, smashing everything. Maybe I was going to go mad like Marigold. We’d both end up in the loony bin. While Star had her shiny new life with her father.
I couldn’t wake Marigold in the morning. She’d managed to get herself to bed but the vodka bottle was empty. I stood shivering, staring at her. She was breathing heavily, her eyes open a fraction. I shook her hard. She mumbled a bit but she didn’t make sense.
I got myself ready for school, creeping round the flat. I backed away from the broken phone on the floor as if it could bite me. I grabbed a handful of the stale party snacks left out all night and then went out the door. I tiptoed down the stairs but Mrs Luft was out like a flash.
‘You! That row last night! Screaming, shouting, bang bang banging. I’m going to get you all evicted, you see if I don’t. Where’s your sister?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ I said, and I ran out of the house.
It was so odd walking down the road without Star. It felt like a part of me was missing. When I turned the corner there was Ronnie Churley right in front of me. I stopped dead, but he was with his mum, not his mates. All he could do was stick his tongue out at me when she wasn’t watching. He looked a bit embarrassed, Mr Tough Guy discovered trotting along with Mummy.
I stuck my tongue out back at him and then skipped past, singing out, ‘Mummy’s little diddums.’
He’d get me for it later, but it was worth it. I was on my own.
It was cool to walk alone to school.
Ronnie Churley’s mum looked horrible too, a frowny lady with those funny trousers with little straps that go under the foot to stop them wrinkling. She needed a strap under her chin and all to straighten out her face wrinkles.
I didn’t think much of any of their mums. Not even Tasha’s. Marigold was much younger and much prettier. Oliver thought so too.
He was already in the playground, leaning against the railings right at the front. He often hung about there because it was so public it was hard for anyone to pick on him.
‘Hi, Dolphin!’ He waved at me frantically. He was so shortsighted he always thought no-one else could see a foot in front of their face.
‘Hi,’ I said, climbing up over the railing and swinging down the other side instead of bothering to go all the way round to the front entrance. The hem of my witch skirt caught. I unhooked it, seeing tiny toads and black cats and bats fluttering free.
A flock of bats whirled round my head so that I could barely see.
‘Dolphin? What is it? Have you hurt yourself?’ said Oliver.
‘It’s not me. It’s my mum,’ I said, and I started crying.
‘Don’t!’ said Oliver. ‘Oh Dolphin, don’t, please. Don’t cry.’
He put his skinny arm awkwardly round my neck. There was a shriek from the other side of the railings.
‘Look at Bottle Nose and Owly! They’re practically snogging. Yuck!’
‘Quick. Come round the back of the playground toilets,’ said Oliver urgently.
There was a narrow gap between the girls’ building and the boys’. Oliver edged into the middle and pulled me after him. I stood bolt upright beside him, tears still trickling down my face.
‘Haven’t you got a paper hankie?’ said Oliver.
‘No, I haven’t,’ I said, scrubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand. I gave a big sniff. ‘Stop staring at me.’
‘It’s all right. I cry too. I cried this weekend because my mum cried when Dad brought me back.’
‘Well I haven’t got a dad. Star has. And she’s gone off with him and now I’ve broken the phone and we can’t get in touch and Marigold . . . She’s drinking. She wouldn’t even wake up this morning. You don’t know what it can be like. Star always did stuff, cleaned her up and looked after her when she was really bad. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to do anything without Star. She’s not just like my sister. She’s like my mum too. And my best friend. And now she’s walked out on me and I haven’t got anyone.’
I started sobbing again.
‘You’ve got me,’ said Oliver.
We could hear the bell ringing in the playground.
‘We’d better go,’ I said. ‘We can’t really hole up here all day long.’
‘I mean it, Dolphin. I can be your best friend. I’d like that,’ said Oliver, and he twisted his head round and kissed my cheek, even though it was all teary and disgusting.
Then he edged out quick. It took me several seconds to squeeze out after him, but he was still bright red, with his glasses all steamed up. He looked incredibly silly but I managed to give him a wobbly smile.
‘OK, best friend. Lessons. And then let’s make up our own comic strip in the library at lunch.’
‘Oh wow, yes, let’s.’
‘And – and maybe Star will be back by tonight.’
‘Yes, I bet she’ll come back right away,’ said Oliver.
I counted in sevens and made endless wishes and bargains and made up witchy spells all day long. As I ran home I touched each lamp-post and whispered Star seven times over for every one so that she would be waiting for me in our new blue-and-white bedroom.
She wasn’t waiting. Marigold was lying on her bed, still in her nightdress. She didn’t get up all afternoon and evening, apart from stumbling to the toilet like a zombie.
‘Why don’t you clean your teeth and have a wash?’ I suggested.
‘Teeth? Wash?’ Marigold repeated, as if I was speaking a foreign language. ‘What’s the point?’
‘Well. It’ll make you feel better.’
She took no notice and got another bottle from the cupboard.
‘Don’t drink. Eat,’ I said, and I made us both some tea.
Marigold said she didn’t want any. I tried to prop her up against her pillow and help her sip a cup of tea but half of it dribbled down her chin.
‘Please try, Marigold,’ I begged.
‘I don’t want to try,’ she said. ‘Just let me be.’ She slid back down under her duvet.
I watched over her for a while. She seemed to be asleep. I wasn’t sure if she was drunk or not. I fidgeted around her, staring at her closed eyes and tousled hair and Technicolor skin.
I vaguely heard a faint ringing from downstairs. And then a minute later there was a banging at the door.
‘You in there! Come and answer this door.’
It was Mrs Luft. I decided to take no notice but she went on banging.
‘Oh God, my head,’ Marigold groaned, going further under the duvet. ‘Get rid of the old bag, Dol.’
‘I don’t like her. She’s horrid to me. You go,’ I said.
I had as much chance of the duvet rising upwards and slithering to the door to deal with Mrs Luft. I had to go myself.
‘For goodness sake, about time!’ Mrs Luft shouted when I opened our door an inch. ‘What’s going on in there?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said. I opened the door properly, stepped outside and pulled it too behind me. I couldn’t have her barging in and seeing Marigold in a stupor.
‘This is a one-off. I want to make that crystal clear. It’s a total liberty. I’ve got better things to do than climb up all these stairs. You don’t even answ
er the door straight away like normal folk. Anyway, it’s tying up my phone. Someone might be wanting to speak to me.’
I suddenly understood.
‘My sister! She’s phoned you!’ I started flying down the stairs.
‘Hey, hey! Wait for me. Don’t you dare go in my flat by yourself, young lady! The cheek of it!’
I had to hover until she got there herself and then trail after her into her darkly polished domain. She made me wipe my feet on her doormat. She’d probably douse the telephone with disinfectant the minute I’d stopped using it.
‘Star?’
‘Oh Dol. Oh Dol. Oh Dol.’ Star was crying. ‘What’s happened? What’s the matter with the mobile phone? I was so worried when I couldn’t get through. And then I suddenly thought of Mrs Luft. What’s Marigold done? Has she smashed the phone? She hasn’t done anything to you, has she?’
I thought quickly, my eyes swivelling round Mrs Luft’s horrible brown living room. She had a mottled browny-pink lamp and a matching vase that looked like liver sausage. I put out my hand to touch the vase to see if it felt like liver sausage too. Mrs Luft flicked my fingers away, outraged.
‘Dol! Tell me. What’s happened?’
‘It’s been so awful,’ I said. I turned my back on Mrs Luft and started whispering. ‘She’s been so drunk.’
‘Well. She often is,’ said Star.
‘No. Worse. So violent. She broke the phone. She . . . she hit me and hit me. I’m bleeding. I think she’s broken something,’ I whispered. ‘And now . . . now she’s drunk an entire bottle, no, two, and she’s in a coma and . . . and she might even be dead.’
‘Oh, Dol! It’s all right. I’ll come and—’
But a whirlwind in a nightdress barged uninvited into Mrs Luft’s flat and snatched the telephone before I could stop her.
‘Star? Oh Star, sweetie, how brilliant of you to phone Mrs Luft,’ said Marigold, without so much as a slur to her voice.
‘It was dreadful cheek and it’s certainly not going to happen ever again!’ said Mrs Luft. ‘Now get off that phone!’
‘In a minute,’ Marigold muttered, obviously trying to concentrate on what Star was saying. ‘I did what, Star, sweetie? No, it was Dolly, but it was an accident. We’ll get another phone. But why don’t you and Micky stop playing silly games and give me his phone number? No, of course I’m not drunk, darling. Do I sound drunk? What? OK, speak to Dol again, but we’ve got to talk too.’
‘Not on my phone you don’t!’ said Mrs Luft indignantly. ‘Just say your goodbyes. I can’t believe you can be so rude.’
Marigold pressed the phone into my palm. I didn’t hold it too close to my ear. Star’s words shot out like bullets.
‘Dol? How could you lie like that? She’s not in a coma, she’s not even drunk. I was so scared! How could you say it?’
‘She did, she did,’ I mumbled, though Marigold was standing right in front of me, staring into my face.
‘You were just lying to get me to come home. So it was you who broke the phone?’
‘No. Yes. Look Star, please, please come back now—’
‘Why should I? It’s not fair. I want to do what I want just this once. Now listen. We’ll send you another phone, right? But don’t you dare ever tell lies like that again.’
‘Star—’
‘No. I’m putting the phone down now.’
‘Please!’
I heard a click and then the purr of the freed line.
‘Let me talk now,’ said Marigold.
‘No, this has gone too far. Put my phone down at once,’ said Mrs Luft.
Marigold snatched the phone from me and then heard the dialling tone herself.
‘Put it down!’ Mrs Luft commanded.
Marigold did as she was told, her hand trembling so that she could barely slot the receiver back into its socket.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Mrs Luft sarcastically. ‘Now if it’s not too much trouble could you both go back upstairs to your own place. And don’t you dare use my flat as your personal telephone box. Get your own phone reconnected and stop wasting all your money on your disgusting habits. Look at you, wandering round in your skimpy nightie, showing off all your lurid tattoos. What sort of example are you to your little girls? No wonder one seems to have scarpered. Who would want a mother like you?’
I expected Marigold to yell a whole load of abuse. But she didn’t say a word. Her eyes looked dazed. She turned and picked her way towards the door in her bare feet.
‘Look at those black soles! You’ll make marks all over the carpet,’ said Mrs Luft.
Marigold didn’t seem to be listening.
‘I want my mum. She’s the best mum in the whole world,’ I said.
‘What rubbish. I heard what you were saying, how she hits you. When the pair of you have been screaming I’ve had it in mind to phone the welfare people.’
‘You mustn’t! Please don’t. There’s nothing wrong. Marigold’s never hit me, ever ever ever,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell anyone, please.’
Mrs Luft folded her arms triumphantly.
‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ she said. ‘Look, it’s for your own good.’
‘Marigold! Tell her. Tell her you’ve never done anything to me. I made up some stuff but I didn’t mean it. Marigold!’
Marigold was already halfway upstairs so I ran after her. I pulled at her arm.
‘Marigold, we have to tell her everything’s fine. We can’t have her phoning any welfare people, can we?’
‘Why not?’ Marigold said, her voice sounding flat and far away.
‘Because they might put me in a home!’
‘Maybe you’d be better off,’ said Marigold. ‘That old bat was right. I’m not a fit mother.’
‘Yes, you are!’ I argued.
I tried to cuddle up close to her when we were back in the flat. I held her tight but I still couldn’t get close enough. I pulled her arms round me but after a few seconds they flopped to her sides. I begged her to talk to me but the voice she replied in didn’t seem to belong to her. Her eyes were dull and dark, barely green.
‘Do you want to go back to bed?’ I said. ‘You look ever so tired.’
She went to bed obediently and closed her eyes at once. I leant over her and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I said some stupid stuff about you but it was just to make Star come back,’ I whispered.
Marigold didn’t reply but a tear trickled beneath one of her eyelids.
‘I think I’ll go to bed too,’ I said.
I huddled up in my strange lonely room. I played games inside my head, pretending I had discovered a secret time machine. If I touched a special stud on my mattress I hurtled forwards ten years and grew willowy and beautiful with long thick hair down to my waist. Not fair like Star. Red like Marigold? No, as I got older my mousey hair would darken and I’d be raven black at twenty, with my own green eyes outlined with sooty lashes. I’d have clear white skin with just one exquisite secret tattoo on my shoulder, a little black witch. I’d have a nose stud too, an emerald to match my eyes, but I’d take it out at work and wear sleeves and tie my long black hair into a chic twirl on top. I’d wear black jeans and a black smock and have my own magical hair salon where I’d invent wonderful exotic styles for very special people. I’d adorn hair with flowers and little crystals and beadwork, I’d dye it fantasy shades of purple and turquoise and sky blue, I’d cut and colour and crimp all day while models and rock stars and fashion editors fawned all over me and famous photographers recorded my creations.
I’d be taken out by a different dynamic man every single night of the week and I’d allow them to buy me food and flowers and fine wines, but then I’d go home to my beautiful stylish designer flat, silver and black with a mirror ball revolving in each ceiling so that sparkles of light glimmered in every room. Star and Marigold would be there, desperate to please me. If I wasn’t too tired I’d maybe be persuaded to style their hair or paint a nail polish design on their fin
gertips. They’d be so grateful to me and they’d beg me to promise to stay with them for ever and ever . . .
I fell asleep dreaming this and then kept half-waking in the night, not sure whether I was still dreaming or not. I thought I heard Marigold in the kitchen, but when I stumbled in there myself to get a glass of water there was no sign of her. I drank a lot, the glass clinking against my teeth. My tummy rumbled and I remembered I hadn’t had any tea. I wondered if I should try to eat something now but the smell of paint was making me feel sick. It seemed stronger than ever, harsh in my nostrils, making my eyes water.
I needed to go to the bathroom after gulping down all the water. I opened the door and saw a white ghost in the moonlight. A ghost. Really there. Glowing eerily white.
I screamed.
The ghost gasped too.
I knew that sound. I knew that smell.
I pulled the light cord and stared at the white figure before me.
‘Marigold?’
I couldn’t believe what I saw. She was white all over. Even part of her hair. Her neck, her arms, her bare body, her legs. She’d painted herself white with the gloss paint. There were frantic white splotches all over her body, covering each and every tattoo, although the larger darker ones showed through her new white skin like veins.
I put out my hand to touch her, to see if it was real.
‘No. Don’t. Not dry yet,’ said Marigold. ‘Not dry. Wet. So I can’t sit down. I can’t lie down. I can’t. But that’s OK. It will dry and so will I. And then I’ll be right. I’ll be white. I’ll be a good mother and a good lover and Micky will bring Star back and we’ll be together for ever and ever, a family, my family, and it will be all right, it will, it will, I will it, it has to be better. It couldn’t be worse, this is a curse. But it will be better better better, no more tattoos, Star hated them, she hated me, but now they’re gone, until the laser, could I use a razor? No, too red, I want white, pure light, that’s right . . .’
She went on and on muttering weird half rhymes to herself. I stood shivering beside her. She had gone really mad now. Crazy. Bonkers. Bats.
I ran the bath with hot water but she wouldn’t get in. I tried scrubbing at her with a flannel but she started screaming. I hung on her ghostly arm and tried to pull her to bed but she stood rigidly, her white feet tensed on the cold lino tiles as if they’d taken root. I was scared to leave her by herself as I had no idea what she’d do next. I eventually emptied the bath, dried it with her towel, and then curled up inside it with my head on my own towel. It was like being in an iron cradle and I didn’t see how I could ever sleep, with my mad mother palely luminous in the dark. I dozed off when it was starting to get light and then woke with a start, banging my head against the tap. She was still there, swaying slightly, her eyes closed.
The Illustrated Mum Page 14