Dad and Victoria circle the dance floor, cheek to cheek. I can’t help grinning. It came so close to being ruined, but everything worked out in the end. They got their special day.
‘Come on, Jude!’ Victoria shouts, waving at me from the dance floor. ‘Please!’ I smile and shake my head, but Victoria swoops down on me and I abandon any attempts at cool and join in.
It’s much later when I spot Mum at the bar alone, waving madly. I pick my way towards her.
‘Mum?’ I shout, above the pounding sixties music. ‘Is this a good idea, d’you think, being here? After what happened earlier?’
‘I’ve made a fool of myself,’ she says into her whisky. ‘I feel so stupid. I’m such an embarrassment!’
Well, yeah. The smell of burning bridal veil is still scarily fresh in my memory, so it must be in Mum’s too.
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ I say kindly. Not everyone makes them with a dodgy lighter in their hand, of course, but I decide not to mention this.
‘I’m going to change, Jude,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll give up drinking – and smoking. I promise.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I say.
‘Really. Jude, wake-up calls don’t come any clearer than this one. Right now, I just need to get out of here,’ Mum says, and I notice for the first time that her pink holdall and my overnight bag are leaning up against the bar. ‘We have to go, Jude.’
‘What, now? We’ll miss the rest of the party. We’ll miss the fireworks!’
‘I think we’ve had the fireworks already,’ Mum says ruefully. ‘Look, let me explain to your dad – then we’ll go.’
There’s a flash of white satin at my side. ‘Explain what, Rose?’ Dad asks.
Mum looks stricken. ‘Well, this afternoon,’ she says in a small voice. ‘The accident. I behaved appallingly.’
‘Yes,’ Dad agrees. ‘You did. Still, I guess we’ll get over it.’
‘I won’t!’ Mum declares. ‘Not ever! I’ve learnt my lesson this time, Bobby. I’m so ashamed. I just want to get out of here, take Jude home. I should never have come in the first place.’
‘No,’ Dad agrees. ‘It’s all been a bit of a mess.’
‘If I just had some cash …’
Dad sighs, reaching into the pocket of his satin catsuit to bring out a wad of notes. ‘Sorry Jude,’ he says to me. ‘It’s probably for the best. They’re not going let Toto stay here another night, and you can see how upset your mum is. I’d feel better if I knew you were back home.’
Mum pockets the cash. ‘I knew you’d understand, Bobby. There’s a train soon after six, if I can just get to Carlisle – I rang National Rail Enquiries earlier. I suppose we could get a taxi …’
Dad sighs. ‘Vic hasn’t been drinking,’ he says. ‘I expect she’d drive you …’
Half an hour later, I’m standing on the platform at Carlisle station waiting for the Birmingham train, wearing my school blazer over the pink minidress and red boots. This is not a good look, but when I took my travel bag into the station loos a few minutes back to get changed, I discovered that Mum had cleverly dumped my school bag inside, but left my neatly folded pile of ‘normal’ clothes back in the hotel room. Great.
‘No problem,’ Dad says. ‘We’ll bring them down for you after the honeymoon.’
‘I know, but I’ll be stuck like this for the whole journey …’
‘You look lovely,’ Victoria says, and I bite my tongue and try to smile. Mum, meanwhile, is still apologizing for the Burning Veil Disaster.
‘Don’t give it another thought, Rose,’ Victoria says. ‘No harm done!’
No harm done? I can practically see small, fluffy wings sprouting up from Victoria’s sequinned shoulders, a halo hovering above her candyfloss wig.
Mum takes Victoria’s hands, like the two of them are new best friends. ‘I should never have said the things I did,’ she says. ‘I was angry, and bitter, and … well, drunk. I’m sorry. Sorry for all of it. I hope you and Bobby will be very happy.’
‘Rose, you don’t know what that means to me,’ Victoria says, flinging her arms around Mum. I get hugged too, of course, and then Dad and Victoria grin and wave and wish us luck, and they walk away, back to their snazzy pink Cadillac, their party, the fireworks, the honeymoon.
‘There’s just something I need to check,’ Mum says, the minute they’re out of sight. She disappears into the ticket office, then emerges a minute later full of smiles, a cigarette dangling from her lip.
‘Know what?’ she says, between puffs. ‘My life up to now has been one big disappointment. A career that flopped before it even got started, a series of no-good men –’
‘Dad’s not no-good!’
‘Well, maybe he was just wrong for me,’ Mum says. ‘Life isn’t like the movies, Jude. I wish it was. Is it so wrong to want romance, adventure? To want to see the world in glorious Technicolor, instead of boring black and white?’
‘Well …’
‘Jude, today was a nightmare,’ she says, taking a drag on her cigarette. ‘For the first time ever, I saw myself the way others see me – a sad, middle-aged woman with a drink problem, making a fool of herself in public. That’s not who I want to be. I’m scared, Jude. Scared I’ve left it too late to have a life!’
‘Don’t be silly, Mum! It’s never too late!’
‘I knew you’d say that!’ Mum grins. ‘I knew you’d understand! What better chance will we ever have to get away, make a fresh start? Find our own yellow-brick road, our own Emerald City?’
She takes my hand, pulls me up the steps and over the footbridge.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’ I protest. ‘The Birmingham train goes from platform one. It says so on the departures board …’
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘We need platform three.’
A small knot of panic forms in my belly. ‘Mum?’
She runs down the stairs on to the opposite platform, dragging me and Toto in her wake. The station loudspeaker system crackles into life, telling me something I don’t understand, don’t want to understand, about the train now standing at platform three. Then we’re on the train, squishing into a table seat, Toto settling himself down in the aisle with a huff.
I look along the crowded carriage, spot the computerized information board above the door. This train is the 18.22 for Glasgow Central, it tells me. This train shall call at Glasgow Central only.
Mum turns to me. ‘It’s time we made our very own adventure,’ she says excitedly. ‘You and me, Jude!’
The train slides noiselessly forward, gathering speed, but it’s taking us further and further from home.
‘Mum!’ I argue. ‘This is crazy! What about Gran and Grandad?’
‘What about them?’ Mum says. ‘They think we’re in Gretna for another night. They won’t worry.’
‘But I want to go home!’
‘We will,’ Mum tells me. ‘Eventually. But we’re going to see Gina first.’
‘Gina?’
‘The old friend I told you about,’ Mum says, laughing. ‘The one who moved to Scotland.’
‘Mum, we can’t!’
‘Well, this train doesn’t stop again until Glasgow,’ Mum points out. ‘So, actually, we can. Cheer up, Jude, it’ll be fun! Gina’s a great girl.’
‘You haven’t seen her for years!’
‘Well, no,’ Mum admits. ‘But she sent me a Christmas card with her new address.’ Mum scrabbles in the pink holdall, pulls out a crumpled card with a cartoon of Santa, drunk and snoring beneath a Christmas tree.
‘She looks like a great laugh,’ I say sourly.
‘No, no, look at the message,’ Mum insists. ‘Don’t you see?’
I look at the curly blue biro writing. Got a job as barmaid at a great old pub in Glasgow, I read. The Wizard. You’d love it, Rose!
‘See?’ Mum says. ‘The Wizard! Like in The Wizard of Oz! We can’t ignore that, can we? It’s an omen!’
I bite my lip. We’re going to Glasgow to see a woman Mum knew slightl
y years ago, all because she works in a pub called The Wizard. It’s an omen all right – a bad one.
‘It’s just a stupid film!’ I say, and watch the smile slide from her face. A minute later, she is climbing over Toto, lurching her way down the carriage in search of the buffet car and more of those dinky pop-bottle sized shots of wine.
I fell for it, again. I believed her shamefaced apologies, her promises to change, but none of it meant a thing. It’s still April the first, I remember. And I’m the biggest fool of all.
Mum sits at the piano, hammering out Irish tunes while the whole pub sings along. ‘“The Fields of Athenry”!’ they shout, the minute one song ends. ‘“Molly Malone”! Come on, Rose, love!’
Mum has made two dozen new best friends. She knows every song they ask for – she should do, she’s had years of practice. It never fails to amaze me how her fingers can move so quickly, so gracefully, even when she’s steaming drunk. Whiskies line up on top of the piano, and she hasn’t paid for a single one herself.
‘Come in, come in!’ Gina said when we arrived, ushering us into the darkest, dingiest pub I’d ever seen. ‘What a surprise! My old mate Rose – and is this little Julie? All grown up?’
‘It’s Jude,’ I mumbled, but I don’t think she even heard.
That was hours ago. It’s Saturday night and The Wizard is crammed with regulars, Glaswegians, mostly of Irish descent. Mum, glued to the piano, is the star attraction.
I’m stuck in a corner with Toto, eating a cheese roll and sipping orange juice through a straw.
‘Something Scottish, now,’ an old man calls out. ‘How about “I Belong to Glasgow”?’ Mum knows the tune and launches into it at once.
‘What a talent your mum is,’ Gina says to me. ‘You must be very proud, Julie.’
I bite my lip.
‘Is there anything else I can get you? A piece of apple pie? Some water for the dog?’
‘Is there a telephone I can use?’ I ask. ‘I need to call home.’
‘Ah, sure there is, sweetheart. Out in the lobby there. Help yourself!’
She sorts me out with loose change and finds me the dialling code for Coventry, and I stand in the lobby shivering, pressing in the numbers. The call rings through, but there’s nothing but a ringtone at the other end. Nobody picks up. I try again, but still there’s no reply.
Gran and Grandad must have gone out. Perhaps they’re shopping. But … on a Saturday night? I decide to call again later.
I slip outside, Toto at my heels. The street is deserted, except for a chip paper blowing along in the gutter and a skinny kid on a bike in the distance, doing wheelies in the light of the lamp post. Across the road, there’s a rundown warehouse and a row of boarded-up shops. Toto shivers and tries to hide behind my legs. It’s like a wasteland.
I go back inside. Mum has left the piano, despite the protests of her admiring audience. ‘Later, OK?’ she promises. ‘I’ll play again later.’
‘Just one more?’ the old man pleads.
‘No, no, I’m taking a break!’ Mum says. ‘Maybe Jude will play something for you? She’s very good. She takes after me, musically.’
I hide behind my hands.
‘Come on, Jude!’ Mum shouts. ‘Show us what you can do!’
The crowd around the piano take up the cry, shouting, heckling. ‘Come on, love! Give it a go!’
Gina steers me over to the piano, sits me down firmly. ‘Go on, sweetheart,’ she whispers. Just the one, eh?’ It’s a million times worse than any piano exam. My throat is dry, my fingers trembling. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do.
‘Come on, then!’ someone shouts.
‘ “Danny Boy”!’ someone requests.
‘ “Wild Mountain Thyme”!’
I don’t know those tunes – I’ve heard Mum play them, sure, but I don’t know them well enough to play myself, not without music. I shoot Mum a desperate look, and she grins and throws her head back and tells everyone it’s time she had a request.
‘OΚ, Jude. Just for me, OK?’ She comes over, leans on the piano. ‘You know the one.’
There is only one song Mum ever wants to hear me play – ‘Over the Rainbow’, from The Wizard of Oz. I’ve been playing it since I was nine years old. I know it inside out.
I bite my lip, begin to play. Straightaway, the noisy pub quietens, and Mum starts to sing. Her voice is reedy and rough around the edges, the voice of someone whose life has turned out badly, for reasons she can’t quite fathom. I join in too.
My fingers are flying, my voice soaring up above the heads of the locals in The Wizard, out across the potholed roads and the boarded-up shops and the rundown warehouse, and far, far beyond.
When we finish, Mum is crying into her whisky and the pub is silent. The old man starts to clap and then the place erupts into a mess of whistles, cheers, applause. ‘Lovely, sweetheart,’ Gina says. ‘Just lovely!’
Later, I call Grandad again, then again, just after midnight, from Gina’s flat above the pub, where I’m curled up under a fleece blanket on the brown nylon sofa. There’s still no reply.
In the morning, I call home again, and again there’s nobody there. The phone just rings and rings.
‘Mum?’ I say. ‘Grandad’s not answering the phone. What if something’s wrong?’
Mum just pulls the blanket over her head and turns her back on me. I try to think of sensible explanations for why Grandad’s not picking up the phone, but I can’t think of any. I begin to panic.
I’ve punched out Dad’s phone number before I remember that he’s on honeymoon, cruising the Scottish Highlands in a pink Cadillac with a bundle of tin cans tied on behind it. Who else can I call?
Nuala? Giovanni? Miss Devlin? Father Lynch?
I drop the phone abruptly, grabbing my school blazer. There in the right-hand pocket is a crumpled chocolate wrapper with a six-figure number scrawled across it. Call me, it says.
I dial, adding in the Coventry code, and Carter picks up the phone on the third ring.
‘I’m in trouble,’ I blurt. ‘Will you help me? Mum went kind of off the rails a bit and we’re stranded in Glasgow and nobody knows …’
‘Slow down,’ Carter says. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Carter, something’s wrong,’ I tell him. ‘I know there is. Gran and Grandad won’t pick up the phone – I’ve been ringing and ringing, and there’s just no reply. Can you go round and check that everything’s OK?’
‘Hey, hey,’ Carter says. ‘Don’t worry. Their phone’s probably just out of order! I’ll go round and give them a message, shall I?’
‘Would you? Just tell him we’re in Glasgow and we’re fine. Well, kind of. We’re staying with Mum’s friend, Gina, at a flat above a pub called The Wizard, down by the docks.’ I take a deep breath in, trying to stay calm.
‘I’ll tell them all that,’ Carter promises. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘Thanks, Carter.’
‘Jude?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘I don’t want to be nosy,’ he says. ‘But what exactly are you doing in Glasgow?’
The tears come then, leaking out of the corners of my eyes like raindrops sliding down a windowpane. I find a tissue and blow my nose, loudly.
‘I don’t know,’ I tell Carter at last. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Bag of crisps, love?’ Gina asks, chucking a packet of Salt ‘n’ Vinegar across the bar. I smile and tear open the packet. Since we got here last night, I’ve eaten two cheese rolls, a packet of salted nuts and a Yorkie bar. It’s not exactly a balanced diet, but it’s something. The crisps probably count as a serving of vegetables.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Cheer up,’ Gina tells me. ‘It might never happen.’
‘It already has,’ I say. ‘I mean, it’s very nice here and everything …’ I look around at the dingy, half-empty pub. It isn’t nice at all, but I don’t want to offend Gina. ‘It’s just we should be getting home. I’m worried about Gran and Grandad, a
nd I’m missing my friends …’
‘Ah, you’ll soon settle in,’ Gina says. ‘Wait till your mum has got herself a job and a nice little flat, and you’re at school again. You’ll like Glasgow. It’s a lively place. You’ll soon make friends.’
‘We’re not staying here,’ I say. Mum and Gina were up till all hours last night, sipping whisky and talking about the future. It involved a piano bar, a chain of hairdressing salons, an exclusive nightclub called Emerald City decorated to look like Oz, complete with yellow-brick dance floor. Mum likes to dream.
I look at her now, slumped at the piano, playing ‘Over the Rainbow’ so slowly it’s hard to even recognize the tune.
‘We’re going home,’ I say decisively.
‘Maybe.’ Gina shrugs, polishing a glass. ‘Who can tell?’
I slip out into the lobby, Toto on my heels, to try home yet again on the payphone. No reply. Where are they? I try Carter’s number next. There’s been no reply all day there either, so I have no idea if he was able to pass my message on. It’s past seven now.
This time, when I ring Carter, a small child answers.
‘Hello. Is Kevin there?’
‘We’ve been at Aunty Eileen’s.’
‘That’s nice. Can you put Kevin on the line?’
There’s a silence, then, ‘I’ve got a wobbly tooth.’
‘Lovely. Look, is your mum there?’ I appeal. ‘Or your dad? Can I speak to a grown-up please?’
‘I’m not supposed to answer the phone,’ the child says finally, and the line goes dead.
Great. No wonder Carter is slightly deranged – it’s clearly a family trait. I push open the door, looking out into the street. It’s dusk already – it’s amazing how you lose track of time when you spend your days in a dark, smoky pub. I could swear I’ve been here a hundred years – every minute feels like a lifetime – but it’s not even twenty-four hours yet.
Toto is whining softly. He hates the smoky pub atmosphere even more than I do. I took him out earlier on when Gina and Mum nipped along to the supermarket for bread and dog biscuits and whisky, but I don’t fancy walking him on my own, in the dark. It’s scary enough in the daylight.
Sundae Girl Page 13
