“That's my boy! Straight through the window!”
At that moment, I hated being a girl.
4
There was a queue of men waiting outside the Job Centre when Sam and I walked to school the next day. They all looked down at the ground, as if they might miraculously find a new job in the gravel. Not one of them returned my smile.
“Do you think they’ve all lost their jobs, like Dad?” I asked.
“Probably,” said Sam. Then he frowned. “Why doesn’t Dad go down the Job Centre? They might be able to find him a new job.”
I shook my head.
“Being a fireman is the only thing he ever wanted to do.”
“Poor Dad.”
I felt Dad’s pain as keenly as if it were my own. I couldn’t imagine what it was like, landing the job of your dreams, only to have it taken away.
The upside of Dad being out of work was that he was home a lot more. He was usually asleep when we went to school in the mornings, but he was up when we arrived home. He had no interest in the stacks of books Mum brought back from jumble sales, but he was great at spinning a yarn, usually a tall story from his own life.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I had a pet alligator?” he asked, as we buttered toast in the kitchen.
“Oh, Dad! That can’t be true,” I said with a smile.
“I did, you know. I kept it in the bathtub, right here in this house.”
“I’ll miss having you around when you get a new job,” I said.
Dad gazed wistfully out the window, at the wisps of smoke that piped out of the factory beyond.
“I ain’t sure I’ll be getting another job.”
He looked so sad that I wrapped my arms around him.
“Of course you will! There are plenty of other things you can do.”
“But all I ever wanted to be was a fireman. What am I supposed to do now?”
It was a big question for a little girl.
“You’re still my dad. Ain’t that a job too? Sam and I still need you.”
My words seemed to brighten him up slightly. The next day, which was a Saturday, he announced that he was going to tackle a few jobs around the house.
“Might as well make myself useful.”
I smiled, pleased that he’d found something to do. Anything had to be better than sitting about and moping, didn’t it?
He took us out in the van while Mum was at work, and we traipsed around B&Q and Texas Homecare. Dad had lots of ideas for how he wanted the house to look but his plans seemed a bit fancy.
“Do you think Mum would like this?” he asked, pulling out a roll of golden wallpaper.
“It’s a bit flowery,” I said, “But Mum loves flowers, doesn’t she?”
Dad moved on, dissatisfied. “Maybe this one,” he said, picking up a black and white chequered design. It looked like a crazy chessboard.
We filled the trolley with all sorts of stuff: besides the wallpaper were paints, brushes, tiles and shelves. Dad bought trowels and pastes, a glue-gun and a saw.
“My goodness, you’ve got your work cut out,” joked the man on the checkout.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Dad said with confidence, handing over his credit card. It came to more than our weekly food shop.
When we got home, Dad dug out his toolbox. Sam went and got his out too, excited to join in with Dad’s big plan. I didn’t have any tools of my own, so Dad gave me the tape measure and told me to measure everything.
“Where shall I start?”
“Start at the beginning. Doors, windows, walls. I need you to measure it all.”
“Alright!”
I snatched up my notebook and hunted about for a pencil.
Just at that moment, Mum walked through the door, home from her shift at the factory.
“We’re going to have the best house in the street,” Dad called out, his face red with excitement.
“Which ain’t saying much,” Mum joked.
I glared at her. Why did she have to say that? She ought to be encouraging him, not bringing him down.
She slumped down in her chair and I watched in disgust as she rubbed her swollen belly. Well, I wasn’t going to sit around. Not when there was work to be done. I grabbed the tape measure and began my very important work. I had to climb up onto tables and chairs to get the measurements. It wasn’t easy on my own.
“Can you come and help me?” I asked Sam.
“Can’t you see I’m helping Dad?” he said, as he ripped the carpeting off the stairs. “There’s too much for him to do by himself.”
I was annoyed he wouldn’t help, but the pair of us battled on, each convinced that what we were doing was vital to Dad’s big DIY vision. But no sooner than we had ripped the old wallpaper down off the living room wall, Dad wanted to sort out the tiles in the bathroom. We removed the old tiles, but instead of putting new ones in, he said he really should take a look at fixing the roof. Mum sighed and grunted, but she never said anything. Not in so many words, anyhow.
Dad painted the kitchen while we were at school. We arrived home to a house that stank of chemicals.
“Do you like the colour?”
“It’s lovely,” I said, even though the bright orange was so loud it made me feel seasick.
“The paint looks a bit thin,” Sam said. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
“It needs another coat,” Dad said. “We’ll nip back to the shop later, and get some more.”
He never did get around to the second coat.
The longer Dad was off work, the worse the house became. He pulled up the carpets to reveal rotting floorboards. It was proper rancid. And he never did anything about the gaps between the stairs. If I was older I might have been embarrassed to have friends round, but at the tender age of nine, I thought all this was normal. I didn't know other people had neatly hoovered living rooms. I didn't know other people dusted and polished. Who cared if the curtains didn’t match or if the bedspreads had yellow stains all over them? This was my home.
Dad’s brother, Uncle Richard dropped round one day. They didn’t look much alike: Richard was as bald as Dad was hairy, as wiry as Dad was stout. What I liked best about him was that he always knew exactly the right thing to say. Within minutes of his visit, Dad was smiling and laughing, acting more like himself than he had in weeks. Richard was nice to us kids too.
“How’s school?” he asked, running a hand over his bald head. He always did that, as if he was sweeping back some invisible hair.
Sam pulled a face at the mention of school.
“Yeah, well it’s a load of old bollocks anyway,” Richard said. “I couldn’t wait to finish school and get out into the real world.”
Sam and I grinned.
“You’re looking lovely as ever, Mary Jane,” he said, as Mum waddled in. I didn’t think she looked lovely at all. She resembled a pink-faced hippopotamus in her voluminous floral dress.
“Thank you, Richard,” Mum said, smiling.
I’ll say this for my mum, she knew how to take a compliment.
“I thought I’d come and help Tony out with this grand DIY project of his,” Richard said, gesturing around the place.
“Thank god!”
As it turned out, Uncle Richard’s offer of help didn’t extend far beyond admiring the wallpaper, then he produced a six pack from the carrier bag he’d brought with him. Mum let out a sigh and went upstairs to lie down while Dad and Richard lay about by the fire, putting the world to rights. Every time one of them mentioned Thatcher, they both spat on the floor. Sam spat on the floor too, to show how grown up he was.
“Oy! You better not flob on my puzzle,” I warned him, laying an edge piece.
When they got down to the last beer, Richard handed it to Dad.
“You got me out of a tight spot. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“We were lucky,” Dad said, accepting the can. He held it in his hand for a moment, before popping it open. A volcano of foam f
izzed over the top and ran down his hand, filling the air with a yeasty smell.
“Still, I want to give you a little something,” Richard said, opening his wallet. He pulled out a wad of crisp bank notes. “And when the insurance comes through, you’ll get your cut.”
Dad hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, you earned it,” Richard said, holding it so close I could almost smell it.
I watched Dad in bewilderment. I didn’t understand what the conversation was about, but I knew we needed the dough. I held my breath until Dad finally took it and folded the notes into the pocket of his jeans.
The very next day, Dad gave Mum a present. It was a tiny box, wrapped in delicate tissue paper. I watched as she opened it. Her face glowed with pleasure.
“Oh, Tony, can we really afford these?” she asked, as she held up her new earrings. They looked like two tiny crystals.
“Don’t you like them?”
“They’re beautiful. But they must have cost a bomb. Where did you get the money?”
“I’ve been doing a few jobs for a mate.”
“What sort of jobs?”
“Fire safety checks, that sort of stuff.”
“How clever of you!”
She tried on the earrings in front of the mirror, twisting and turning to get the best the view.
I looked over at Dad and he winked at me, warning me to keep his secret. We both knew the money must have come from Uncle Richard.
“The earrings are beautiful, but perhaps we should put the money towards the rent?” Mum said, tearing herself away from the mirror. “We barely had enough to cover it last month.”
“Already did. I bought these with what was left over. Now be quiet and enjoy.”
I smiled as Mum wrapped her arms around his thick neck and kissed him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about where the money had really come from. I had an unsettling feeling that Dad and Richard had done something they shouldn’t.
5
Sam sat on the banister, overlooking our front room.
“Oy! Watchit!” he called out to me. I looked up and saw he was holding a toy soldier with a parachute. He stood the soldier on the banister and let go. Slowly, gracefully, the toy soldier made his descent, spinning slowly through the air. The soldier’s mouth was set in a straight line, in obvious concentration, and his eyes stared diligently ahead. I thought that he must have been aware that if the parachute failed, his legs would be badly broken by the fall. But the parachute was marvellous, holding the soldier until he landed gently on the floor. The parachute billowed around him like one of Mum’s skirts.
“Can I try the parachute with my teddy?” I asked.
“Won’t work,” Sam said, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve.
“Bet it will.”
I raced up to our room and retrieved my bear from my bed. I only had the one. Dawn Cheeseman’s bed was covered in them. But Dad didn’t think much of toys.
“They don’t teach you nothing about the real world,” he always told me.
I unhooked the parachute from the soldier and attached it as best as I could to the bear, then dropped him over the banister. He fell like a stone, his plastic nose smacking the wooden floor boards below.
“Dead!” Sam shouted gleefully. “Your teddy’s dead.”
“Let me have another go. I can do it. I know I can.”
“What for? He’s already dead. His blood and guts are splattered all over the floor, and his arms and legs are all twisted and broken. And if there was anyone walking underneath, they’d be all dead too.”
I raced down the stairs, but there was no blood to be seen. Teddy smiled up at me as always.
I scooped him up in my arms and gave him a big hug.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “This time I’ll do it right.”
Sam wouldn’t give me the parachute again, so I experimented with a plastic bag. Poor Teddy fell out of the bag, nine times out of ten.
“What’s for tea?” I asked Mum, when I’d had enough.
“Air pie,” she said, wiping down the surfaces.
“Not funny.”
I smelt a steak and kidney pie baking in the oven, but there was no sign of pudding.
“Do we have any custard?” I asked.
“No,” Mum said. “There are apples and yoghurts if you want a snack.”
I pulled a face. “No, thanks.”
Dad gave Mum a peck on the cheek, then pulled out a beer from the fridge.
“Want a bit?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “It tastes like bath water.”
I went into the living room and spread my Big Farm jigsaw puzzle out all around me. I had done it many times before, so it wasn’t hard, but I liked to see how quickly I could complete it. Sometimes Sam liked to do it with me, but today he sat at the table, building a model of a ship out of matchsticks.
Dad settled in front of the TV, his feet resting on the coffee table, where Mum kept all her housekeeping magazines. He was still wearing his muddy boots, and there were clods of mud all over the floor, where he had trodden it in.
“Jody, will you dry for me, please?” Mum called from the kitchen.
“Why do I have to do it?”
“Because I asked.”
“You do as your mother says,” Dad grunted.
“Oh, alright.”
I picked up a tea towel and passed it over the sopping dishes. Mum leaned against the sink, her immense belly taking up half the room. She put away pots and pans as I dried them, sighing the whole time, as if it were a great effort.
“How long till tea, love?” Dad called.
“It won’t be more than twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes!”
He got up and ferreted around in the fridge, pulling out one of those little polystyrene tubs full of jellied eels, the kind you get from the pie shop.
He opened it up and grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer.
“You want some?” he asked Mum, waving the tub under her nose.
“No, thanks.”
We all knew Mum didn’t care for seafood.
“Oh, go on, just a little bit.” He thrust it under her nose.
“Stop it, you’re going to make me ill!”
“Have some.”
“No, thank you.”
She waddled into the lounge, but Dad followed her.
“Go on, they’re good for you.”
He dangled one of the offending eels right in front of her face. She wasn’t laughing now.
“For god’s sake, Tony. Will you stop it?”
That’s when the joke went too far. As I watched, Dad wrenched Mum’s mouth open and forced a great forkful of eels into it, ramming her mouth closed again so she couldn’t spit them out. Mum started coughing. She looked like she was going to puke, except she couldn’t, because Dad had his hand over her mouth.
“Chew and swallow!”
Mum coughed again. Her face turned bright red and I wished she would swallow.
Finally, she did, and Dad let go.
“Arsehole!” she shrieked at him, and she stomped upstairs. I heard her gasping and heaving for a good ten minutes. She was violently sick all over the bathroom floor. There were splatters of it all over the walls, and even in the bath. It was worse than the time Dad had a dodgy burger from the van.
I tried to catch Sam’s eye, but he had gone into robot mode. He focused on his ship with laser vision, as if it were the most important job in the universe. I waited for Mum to come back down, but she didn’t. In the end, I went and got her a glass of water from the kitchen and took it upstairs. She was lying in her bed, rocking slightly, as if her stomach hurt.
I placed the glass on the night stand.
“Thank you, Jody Bear,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She patted the bed with her hand. I think she wanted me to stay a while, but her breath smelled like rotten fish.
“Be back in a mo,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.
I hu
rried back downstairs before I was sick too.
Dad dossed about on the sofa, watching the footie, as if nothing had happened. Sam left his precious ship and went and sat next to him, to watch the game. I was jealous that Sam got to sit there, instead of me.
“Come on you reds,” Dad yelled, shaking his fist at the TV.
“Yeah, come on you reds,” Sam echoed.
Neither of them supported a team as such, but they always watched when Millwall was playing, so they could cheer on the other side. I forget exactly what Millwall had done to earn Dad’s hatred. Probably, he didn’t remember himself.
I went to the kitchen, and checked the oven. Mum’s pie looked ready now. The juices bubbled and steam hit my face when I opened the oven door. I found the oven gloves and pulled it out. I didn’t know when we would be having tea, with Mum feeling poorly. Dad and Sam were caught up with the game now, it was probably only me who was hungry.
I peered round the door at Dad.
“Maybe you should say sorry to Mum. Then she’ll come down for tea.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “What have I done? She’s the one who’s carrying on like a baby!”
“Yeah, go on reds!” Sam yelled, pumping his fist as his team won. Soon, the pair of them were dancing around the living room, celebrating Millwall’s defeat.
I slinked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Perhaps Dad was right. It wasn’t his fault Mum couldn’t take a joke. Still, I thought it had gone a bit too far. I remembered Valentine’s Day, when Dad had stood on the doorstep and belted out Mum’s favourite song until she came outside and danced with him. I liked him better like that, all lovey-dovey. It was as if they were two different people. You never knew which Dad you were going to get.
When I walked into the classroom Wednesday morning. Dawn wasn’t in her seat. I had never known her to be late before, she was always there before me. I saw Mrs Benedict arrive at her desk, carrying a large stack of papers. On the top of the pile, was the large red binder she used as a register. I bit my lip, wondering if there was some way I could stall her.
My hand shot up in the air before I had even decided what to say.
Cold Bath Lane Page 3
