Just One More Day

by Susan Lewis

  The next day Dad finishes work early and takes Gary up to Grampy’s and Aunty Beat’s to deliver their presents. The car’s broken down so they have to walk in all the rain. Mum and I get a lift up to Gran’s with one of the neighbours who’s going that way. My cousins, Geoffrey and Deborah, live next door to Gran, so after helping Mum with some of Gran’s housework, I go round to play hide-and-seek with them. While I’m lying under the bed in their big sister’s bedroom I spot a bottle with a little cork in the top that’s easy to pull out. I take a sip, just to see what it’s like and wonder if I might shrink, or grow big, like Alice. It’s really nice, so I have a bit more, and when Geoff and Deb find me they have some too. We start to get all giggly and silly, and we do rude things like pulling up our jumpers, or showing our bums. We’re laughing so much that none of us sees Mummy standing in the door, but even when we do, we still can’t stop laughing. She’s really mad, I can tell by her face, but it just makes us laugh even more.

  ‘Come here,’ she says to me in her strictest voice.

  I’m really for it now, I know I am, but I’m still giggling at the others as I go towards her. She grabs my arm, spins me round and whacks me so hard across the legs that I scream. She does it again and again.

  ‘You naughty, naughty girl!’ she shouts. ‘You’re disgusting, do you hear me? Disgusting. I’m telling your father as soon as we get home. Pulling your knickers down in front of boys. And what’s that smell?’ She looks around, her eyes all wild like a witch’s. ‘Is that booze I can smell? Bloody hell, have you been drinking?’ She spots the empty bottle. ‘Deborah, bring that here,’ she barks. ‘Ivy,’ she shouts to Deborah’s mum.

  I’m starting to feel really scared now, and a bit sick. My head’s spinning round and round and my legs are stinging like bees from where they got smacked. Mum’s still holding me by the arm, as she grabs the bottle off Deborah and sniffs it. ‘You stupid girl,’ she rages, and starts smacking me again. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Just you wait till I tell your father. Sneaking around in Wendy’s bedroom, stealing her booze, pulling your knickers down . . .’

  ‘No, stop! Stop!’ I shout, trying to get away. ‘I won’t ever do it again. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re damned right you’ll never do it again. Now get down those stairs.’

  Aunty Ivy’s upstairs now, and Geoffrey’s getting a smack. Not as hard as the one I got though. My mum always gives the hardest smacks and . . . ‘I’m going to be sick,’ I wail.

  Mummy yanks me across the landing, but it’s too late, it’s already coming up. It goes all over the carpet and down my front. She picks me up and sticks my head over the toilet.

  ‘I’m going to put you in a home, my girl, if you don’t learn to behave,’ she says.

  She always says that, but it still frightens me in case one day she means it.

  After I’ve washed my face and helped her clean the sick off the carpet, I have to go back round Gran’s and stay shut up in her bedroom with no dinner, just a cup of water and a piece of bread, until I can learn how to behave like a decent girl. There won’t be any Christmas presents for me either, because Father Christmas doesn’t come to disgusting little girls like me.

  I wait for about ten and a half hours then I call out to say I’m sorry, but no-one answers. I can hear them talking though, so I know they’re still there. I creep out to the landing and listen.

  ‘Let her come down now, Ed,’ I hear Gran say. ‘It’s cold up there.’

  ‘She’s got to learn, Mam, and going soft on her the way Eddie does isn’t going to teach her.’

  No-one ever argues with Mum, not even Gran, so I take myself back into Gran’s bedroom and close the door. I want my dad, but I’m afraid he’s going to be angry with me too when Mum tells him I showed my bum to Geoffrey. I’m a terrible girl and I hate myself. I’m worried about Gary too, because if Father Christmas doesn’t come to our house, he won’t get any presents either, and that’s not fair. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

  Gran’s bed is so high I have to climb up on a stool to get on it. It’s a lovely bed, with big brass railings, huge squidgy pillows and a bouncy mattress. I have a jump up and down for a while, then I sit down to play I-spy with a pretend friend, but she keeps cheating so I stop being her friend. I count the daisies on the wallpaper up to two hundred and five, then I lose my place. I watch the rain running down the window and decide to go and draw pictures in the condescension. As I slide down to the stool it tips over, and I fall with a great big bang, hitting my head on the chest of drawers next to the bed.

  Next thing the door opens and Mummy comes in. ‘What’s going on in here?’ she demands.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I tell her. ‘The stool fell over and I banged my head.’ I start to cry because it really hurt and I want her to make it better, not tell me off.

  She comes to kneel down next to me and pulls my hand away to look at my head. She smells of Cadum soap and cigarettes. I feel tired and want to curl up in her lap and go to sleep.

  ‘You’ll live,’ she tells me.

  I look up at her. ‘Can I come down now?’ I ask.

  ‘No. You’re staying here until you can learn to behave yourself.’

  ‘But I am behaving myself.’

  ‘Answering me back isn’t behaving yourself.’

  ‘I’m just saying, I’m being good now, and I promise to be good for ever.’

  ‘What did I just say about answering back? Now, you’ll stay here and I’ll let your father deal with you when we get home.’

  After the door’s closed behind her I stick out my tongue and say, ‘I hate you.’ Then I climb back up on the bed and cry, because she’s turning my dad against me, so I’m going to leave home and she’ll never see me again. She’ll be sorry then. I’m going to take Mandy and Teddy, some clean knicks and vests, a scarf and some gloves. I’ll have to creep down in the middle of the night to make some jam sandwiches. I can put it all in a Fine Fare bag inside my satchel, and carry it over my shoulder. If I go on Christmas Eve I might bump into Father Christmas, who I don’t believe in really. But if I do bump into him, he might give me a ride in his sleigh and take me back to the North Pole to live. I’ll have all the toys in the world then, and I won’t get smacked all the time, or have my hair pulled by horrible boys in school. The elves and the goblins will play with me, and there’ll probably be other children there too, whose parents don’t love them either. I wonder if I should take Gary, because he’d really like it. He’d miss Mum though and she loves him. It’s only me she doesn’t love.

  When it’s time to go she shouts upstairs for me to come down now. She’s waiting in the hall with my coat and scarf. I put them on myself and go in to kiss Gran cheerio. When Mummy’s not looking Gran pushes a penny into my hand.

  ‘Be a good girl now,’ she whispers. ‘See you on Christmas Day.’

  I don’t tell her I won’t be there, because she might tell Mum.

  It’s still raining outside. Mum’s got us both plastic rain hats, which tie under the chin, and plastic macs to put over our coats. She makes me hold her hand as we walk to the bus stop and tells me off for splashing in the puddles. I wasn’t, but if I cheek her back I’ll only get a smack, out here in the road.

  We wait for the bus in the knitting-shop doorway. I want to go in the sweet shop next door to spend my penny, but I know it won’t be allowed. I think about the marshmallow shrimps, white chocolate mice, and fruit salad chews. I’m so hungry my tummy can’t stop rumbling.

  ‘Is that you?’ Mum says, after a really loud rumble.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  She looks down at me. ‘That was a stroppy voice, if ever I heard one. You’re not sulking, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t sound like it.’

  I turn my face into the wall, so my back’s to her.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, pulling me against her. ‘It’s nothing to cry about. We’ll put it behind us now and forget it happene
d.’

  I lean into her.

  ‘Just make sure you don’t do anything like it again,’ she warns.

  ‘Are you going to tell Dad?’

  ‘We’ll see. If you’re a good girl tonight, maybe not.’

  I turn my face up to look at her.

  She looks down at me and shakes her head.

  ‘Do you like Gary better than me?’ I ask.

  She opens her eyes wide and laughs. ‘What kind of question’s that? Of course not. I like you both the same.’ She pulls me inside her coat to keep me warmer. ‘Come on bus,’ she mutters. ‘It’s freezing standing here.’

  ‘Tell me stories about when you were little,’ I say.

  ‘What, now?’

  I nod. I always like hearing stories of when she was growing up in the war and her mum and dad used to snore all the way through the air raids, while Uncle Maurice, who was a fire warden, used to rush home to grab the little ones and take them out to the shelter. Or how they used to sell flowers from Grandad’s allotment so they could buy meat for the stew. Or how they’d heat water in a kettle over the fire to have a bath on Friday nights. It was a big old tin bath that they used to keep outside, next to the toilet, and carry in on Fridays. They all used to get undressed in front of each other, and people even used to visit when they were in the bath. There are lots of funny stories about bath night, that always make me and Gary laugh.

  ‘I know, tell me about when you used to steal apples,’ I say. ‘No. Tell me about how you and Auntie Jean hitch-hiked to the RAF camp to see Uncle Gordon one night and ended up sleeping in a field.’

  ‘You’ve got too good a memory,’ she tells me.

  ‘What about when you all used to sleep three and four in a bed? How many brothers and sisters do you have?’

  ‘You know the answer to that.’

  ‘Twelve,’ I say. ‘And you make thirteen. No, Uncle Tom makes thirteen, because he’s the youngest. And only Uncle Tom and Uncle Gord are your real brothers. The others are from Gran’s first husband, so that makes them your half-brothers and sisters.’

  ‘That’s right. And then there’s Aunty Kathleen and Uncle Maurice, who are my half-brother and half-sister, because they’ve got the same dad as me, but a different mum.’

  ‘And Aunty Kathleen lives in London, and Uncle Maurice is in the RAF in New Zealand. Will we ever see him?’

  ‘I hope so. He said in his last letter he was coming home soon. Gran’s sending him a telegram tomorrow to wish him happy Christmas from us all, and to give him the number of the phone box at the bottom of Holly Hill so he can ring us next Friday at six, so you might be able to say hello if he calls. Ah, at last, here’s the bus.’

  We hold hands and run through the rain to the bus stop, getting there a long time before the bus. Uncle Bob’s not driving, but Mum knows the conductor so we get away with paying only one fare. I keep hold of the yellow ticket in case the inspector gets on, and go to sit in the front seat, upstairs, while Mum has a cigarette and chats with someone she knows a few rows back. She knows everyone.

  It’s pitch dark by the time we get home. Tree lights are twinkling in all the windows along the lane and in our street. You can’t see ours, because our kitchen’s at the front, but Dad’s put some lights round the pane of glass in the front door, which look lovely. Him and Gary are already home, so the fire’s lit and it’s all warm inside, with even more presents under the tree from Grampy and Aunty Beat. Gary and I are getting really excited now, because there’s only one more day to go and it’ll be Christmas. Tomorrow Dad’s going to pluck the goose that’s hanging in the shed, and Mum will try to get it in the oven. She thinks it might be too big.

  All the next day we’re really busy, taking last-minute presents to everyone, or going up Fine Fare to buy the vegetables, or tidying up and vacuuming to make sure it’s nice for Father Christmas (who Gary still believes in). At four o’clock Dad and Gary go round the barbers to get their hair cut, while Mum’s hairdresser comes to give her a wash and set. After she’s put the rollers in, she puts a carrier bag over them, then sticks the hairdryer inside and tells Mum to hold it. It’s my turn next for a trim, Mum already washed it last night. It’s so long now I can nearly sit on it.

  Aunty Doreen and Uncle Alf come, Dad’s sister and her husband, then his other sister, Aunty Nance and Uncle Stan. They drink some sherry and put even more presents under the tree. None of them smoke, which is a relief for Mum, because she doesn’t want to give them any and then run out over Christmas when the shops are closed. Uncle Bob and Aunty Flo are bringing Julie and Karen down tomorrow, and Gran will be here too, if Dad can get the car going to pick her up. It started earlier, so he’s got his fingers crossed for the morning.

  Gary and I don’t mind going to bed early tonight, to make sure we’re asleep before Father Christmas comes, so about six o’clock we pour some milk in a glass and put out a saucer of chocolate biscuits for him and the reindeer, then we hang our stockings over the fireplace and get a piggyback from Dad up the stairs. Mum’s too busy icing the Christmas cake to come and tuck us in, so Dad does it for her and tells us no nonsense, or Father Christmas won’t come.

  It’s very hard getting to sleep. Gary keeps calling out to ask if I’m asleep yet. He goes quiet for a while, so I call out to him. ‘Are you still awake?’

  ‘No,’ he answers.

  ‘Are you asleep?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me too.’

  In the middle of the night, when I’m fast asleep, I wake up for a minute. I can hear someone in my room, so I open my eyes just a little bit, and I see a big man in red at the end of my bed. I go back to sleep then and don’t wake up until half past five when Gary comes in.

  ‘He’s been,’ he whispers, all excited. ‘He’s been.’

  I sit up, all excited too.

  ‘Look,’ Gary says, pointing to the end of my bed.

  In the dim light I can see something lying there. It’s my stocking, all full up and bulging.

  ‘I’ve got one too,’ he says. ‘Shall I get it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He runs back to his own room, making so much noise I don’t know why he bothers whispering when he comes back. ‘Can I get in with you?’ he says. ‘It’s cold out here.’

  I make room for him and together we open our stockings. We’ve got apples and oranges, nuts, a selection box, sticks of liquorice, a yo-yo, a key ring and two Christmas crackers each. We pull one. Gary wins, and out tumbles a noughts and crosses game with a yellow paper hat and a joke we can’t read because it’s in Chinese. We pull again, Gary wins again, but he lets me have the little spinning top and the green paper hat.

  ‘Shall we go and show Mum?’ he says.

  ‘They’re still asleep.’

  ‘I know, but I want to.’

  ‘Then you go first.’

  ‘What if she tells me off?’

  ‘She won’t. She never tells you off.’

  ‘Yes she does.’

  ‘No she doesn’t. You’re her favourite.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Shut up and go first.’

  ‘No, you.’

  ‘You’re such a baby.’

  ‘You are!’ He gives me a thump.

  I thump him back. ‘If I go first, I’m going round Dad’s side,’ I tell him.

  ‘All right.’

  We put on our hats and pick up our stockings. At Mum and Dad’s bedroom door we stop and listen.

  ‘They’re still asleep,’ I whisper, starting to shiver.

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I know, we can go downstairs and see if he’s left anything there.’

  I’m not sure about that. I don’t think it’s allowed until Mum and Dad are up too. ‘Go and pull the chain,’ I say. ‘It might wake them up.’

  ‘I can’t reach it.’

  We jump as Dad’s voice says, ‘Is that elves I can hear out there?’

  Gary and I look at each ot
her and grin.

  ‘Yes, it’s elves,’ Gary answers.

  ‘Are you good elves, or bad elves?’

  ‘We’re Christmas elves,’ he says, which I think is a really good answer. ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Do you know the password?’

  ‘Umm?’ Gary looks at me.

  We whisper to each other, trying to guess what it is.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ I say.

  ‘Very good. Come on in.’

  We burst in through the door to find Mum and Dad sitting up in bed in their pyjamas. ‘Father Christmas has been!’ Gary shouts. ‘He’s been. Look what we’ve got!’

  He leaps onto the bed with his stocking and lands on Mum. Dad swings me up and plonks me next to him. We show them all our things, and pull the other crackers so they’ve got hats too. Dad wears his downstairs to light the fire. Gary and I wait at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Has he been?’ Gary shouts.

  ‘Yes,’ Dad shouts back.

  Gary and I jump up and down and run back to Mum.

  ‘He’s been,’ Gary tells her. ‘Can we go down now?’

  ‘All right, all right,’ she laughs. ‘Bring me my dressing gown, and you can go and put yours on too, the both of you.’

  We rush off to do as we’re told, still dragging our stockings and hanging onto our hats. Mum goes downstairs first. We follow her until we reach the dining-room door.

  ‘Go on then,’ she says, standing back for us to pass her.

  We push open the door and have to blink, because we can hardly believe our eyes. ‘Cor! Look at all that,’ Gary cries, running over to a Beatles drum set and starting to thump. ‘It’s real drums. And look, a horse on springs. Can I get on?’