Just One More Day

by Susan Lewis

  There’s a good film on tonight with Rod Cameron and Yvonne de Carlo. It doesn’t start for another half an hour though, so plenty of time to get some more coal in and make a nice cup of tea before I sit down to write to our Maurice in New Zealand. Funny Rod Cameron and Yvonne de Carlo should be on telly tonight, when our Maurice only mentioned them in his last letter. He said Rod Cameron was starring in a programme over there now called State Trooper, and Yvonne de Carlo’s husband got injured, apparently, so she’s come out of retirement to work as a strip artist to make some money. Fancy that!

  The wind’s still howling away outside as I rummage in the sideboard drawer for one of the flimsy blue airmail letters I use. Poor Eddie having to be out in this. I’ll make him a nice bit of supper when he comes home, Cheddar cheese and bread with some Branston pickle. Meanwhile I sit down at the dining table to write. I always wait till Eddie’s out of the way to do it, because I think he gets a bit jealous, even if I offer to let him read it. He never does. He won’t read the ones Maurice sends either, says they’re none of his business. God knows what he thinks are in them, but if he wants to be like that, then let him.

  It don’t take me long to fill Maurice in on the news about our mam and the others, and to reassure him that I can use my arm, no trouble at all now. I remind him of his promise when he rang at Christmas that he’d come home for the next one, then I go on a bit about the plans they’ve got to change things up Kingswood, though I might already have told him how they’ve turned the picture house into a bowling alley. Then there was the fire at the pickle factory, and there’s been some talk of them closing down Jones’s. He’ll remember that place only too well, because he got accused of shoplifting there once when he was a teenager. It was all false and they never pressed charges, but he’s never had any fondness for the shop since. I think about the other things I could write, but I don’t. There’s not much space left and most of it’s not things I want to bring up again. It’s in the past now, so it won’t do any good remembering.

  I lick the edges, seal them down then pop it in my handbag ready to post in the morning. All’s quiet upstairs, it seems, but I creep into the hall to make sure they’re not somewhere they shouldn’t be. Not a peep. That’s good. Eddie won’t be back for at least another hour, so I’m safe to have a bit of a look at my other bosom in front of the fire without someone coming in. Not that I think there’s anything wrong, it’s just been on my mind a bit lately, what with everyone asking when the check-up’s supposed to be. I reckon the doctors have decided I don’t need one, that’s why I haven’t heard, and I don’t think I do either, but I might as well have a quick look myself, just in case Eddie decides to get in touch with the hospital to remind them. This way, if there’s no lumps, I can tell him we don’t need to do anything, and if he insists he can even examine me himself. Dr Eddie Kildare.

  The curtains are drawn, and the door’s closed, so I pull up me jumper and tuck my petticoat and brassiere cup under Cyclops, as I call the one I’ve got left. It don’t look any different to normal, a few freckles on it, and a nipple that wouldn’t let me feed either of me kids. I stand back a bit so I can see it in the mirror. It still looks all right, though I’ll have to hope Eddie never gets injured, because I don’t suppose I’d get a job as a stripper these days. I prod it about a bit. Everything feels as it should. No lumps or bumps, or aches or pains. I knew there was nothing to worry about, but I don’t mind admitting I’ll be able to enjoy my cup of tea and the film a bit better now. I might even, if the check-up letter does ever come, put it on the back of the fire and forget it. I mean, what’s the point in messing about with things that have got nothing wrong with them in the first place?

  Susan

  ‘Ow! Ow! OOOOWWW! You’re hurting me. Stop it!’

  ‘Sit still, will you?’ Mummy snaps and grabs on tighter to my ponytail.

  ‘Ooowww!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, anyone would think I was torturing you.’

  ‘You are!’

  She doesn’t care though, because she just tugs the brush even harder right through the knots, like she’s trying to tear off my scalp. She gets it caught and it hurts so much when she tries to pull it out that I jump up from the arm of the chair, before she can wrench my whole head off.

  ‘I don’t want you to do it,’ I cry. ‘You’re cruel and you – you should be reported to the police.’

  She drops her arms to her sides and sighs. ‘What do you do with her, Mam?’ she says to Granny. ‘She’s such a baby, isn’t she? Can’t even have her hair brushed without making a fuss.’

  ‘I am not a baby.’

  ‘You’ve got to have your hair brushed, my old love,’ Granny says.

  ‘I don’t want to. I hate having it brushed. I want it cut right up to here.’ I chop my hand against the side of my head.

  ‘Go on speaking to your grandmother like that and you’ll get the back of my hand,’ Mummy warns, resting her cigarette in an ashtray. ‘Now come here and let me finish.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you won’t be able to come to the zoo.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to the zoo.’

  ‘Yes you do.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  I do, but I don’t want to have my hair brushed any more, not by her. ‘Let Gran do it,’ I say. Gran never hurts the way Mummy does.

  Mummy hands the brush over, and goes to get the milk in off the doorstep, and shouts upstairs to Gary to make sure he’s cleaning his teeth. I know he’s not, but the little fibber says he is.

  ‘Are you going to help me make some sandwiches to take with us?’ Gran says as she smooths the brush gently over my hair.

  ‘We’ve already done them,’ I tell her. ‘You and Mum have got salmon and cucumber, I’ve got luncheon meat and Gary’s got jam. We’ve made a flask of tea too and a bottle of orange squash. Dad gave us some money to buy nuts for the monkeys. I’ve got one and six now that I’ve saved up.’

  ‘Then you’re richer than me,’ Gran chuckles.

  I let my head drop back and grin up at her. She’s got a lovely wrinkly, whiskery face with watery blue eyes and funny white fluffy hair. ‘Are you sleeping here again tonight?’ I ask.

  ‘I expect so,’ she answers.

  ‘You can sleep in my bed, if you like.’

  ‘You’re a lovely girl, but there’s not enough room in there for the two of us.’

  ‘I can sleep with Mum and Dad, the way Gary did last night.’

  ‘All right, we’ll see.’ I can tell she’s not really listening now, because she’s turned her head towards the door. ‘Who’s that your mother’s chatting to out there?’ she says.

  ‘Probably the milkman, or Mrs Lear,’ I answer.

  The front door closes and Mum comes back along the hall into the room. ‘Haven’t you finished doing her hair yet?’ she snaps at Gran.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Gran says and starts twisting an elastic band round my ponytail. ‘Who were you chatting to?’

  ‘No-one,’ Mum answers.

  Gran doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she wants to. I turn to look at Mum, but she’s got her back to me as she puts something in the sideboard. I don’t know what it is, but I expect if I ask she’ll tell me to mind my own business.

  She does, but when she turns round again she looks a bit strange, like she’s put too much powder on.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ Gran says to Mummy.

  Mum gives me a quick look and says, ‘Not now, Mam. It’s time to go. Susan, go and tell that brother of yours to hurry up or we’ll miss the bus. Ah, here he is. Did you wash behind your ears?’

  ‘Mummy it’s working again!’ he shouts up at her. ‘I got it working. Listen.’ He’s holding up the old transistor radio Grampy gave him for Christmas, and somewhere inside all the hissing and crackling there’s the faint sound of a man’s voice. ‘Listen!’ he cries again.

  Mummy takes the radio and puts it up to her ear. The voice comes clearer, so we can hear th
e man reading the news, talking about all the people who were killed in an earthquake in Chile. (That’s in South America and the capital is . . . I’ve forgotten. And anyway I don’t care what Mum’s hidden in the sideboard, so there.)

  ‘Poor blighters,’ Mummy says, giving the radio back to Gary. ‘See, you two children don’t know where you’re well off. All those bad things happening out there and here you are with more than either of you deserve. Now, where’s my handbag? Has anyone seen it?’

  Finding it on the table, she lights another cigarette and lets it dangle from the corner of her mouth as she carries the cold teapot and milk jug out to the kitchen. Gran takes Gary into the hall to help him put on his coat, so I’m on my own in here now, but I’m too afraid to go and find out what Mum put in the sideboard, in case she comes back and catches me.

  We catch the number eight bus outside the Tennis Court pub to take us all the way to Clifton. It’s the same bus as the one Mummy and I caught to go to the wicked, horrible, haunted school that turns girls into men, but I don’t say anything in case it reminds Mummy, and I don’t want to do that or she might start saying I have to go there again. I sit downstairs with Gran, because she can’t get up on top, but Mummy has to go up there, because that’s where you’re allowed to smoke. Gary climbs up with her and we can hear him all the way downstairs, pretending to be a driver. I wish he was, because he sounds as though his bus is going a lot faster than ours.

  When we get to the zoo there’s a queue right along the road to go in. Lucky we brought our umbrellas and plastic macs, because it starts to rain as we wait, which makes all the mums grumble and moan.

  ‘Bloody weather,’ they say. ‘It started out nice this morning, now look at it.’

  It doesn’t last very long though, and by the time we go through the turnstile the sun’s out again making it all shiny and warm. The first thing we do is go to buy some peanuts for the monkeys. There’s another queue there, but we don’t mind waiting because there’s a clown doing tricks with our money, making it disappear then come back again. I don’t think I’ll give him mine just in case his magic runs out.

  Mum and Gran are standing behind us, chatting. There’s lots of noise going on, with all the children shouting and playing and the mums and dads telling them to be quiet, so I can’t hear everything Mum’s saying, but I do hear some.

  ‘No, I didn’t open it,’ she says. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So how do you know who it’s from?’

  ‘It’s written on the front of the envelope. When I saw Dr Tyldesley last week he said it should have come before, around Christmas. This one’ll probably be the second reminder.’

  ‘So you didn’t get the first one?’

  ‘No. If I had I’d already know when I have to go, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘It must be soon now then.’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Is it with Michaels again?’

  ‘I don’t know till I open it, do I?’

  A baby next to me starts screaming so I don’t hear what they say after that, until the baby gets a dummy stuck in its mouth, and Gran says, ‘. . . it’s hard for Eddie to cope on his own.’

  I suddenly feel all funny. I don’t like them talking about doctors and Daddy being on his own, because I don’t understand what it all means. I just know I don’t like it. I decide not to listen any more in case they start talking about Mummy’s other family, where she goes when she’s not with us.

  I buy my peanuts and walk with Gary over to the monkey temple. There are hundreds of people there, all trying to get to the front to throw in their peanuts. The monkeys are funny and playful with big yellow teeth and gleaming red bottoms. They’re lots of fun to watch, but it’s hard to see with so many people around. I wish Daddy was here so we could climb on his shoulders. I wish he was here to stop Mum having secrets too. She can’t hide things from him because he’s her husband. If she does go off to her other family it’ll be my fault, because I’m always getting on her nerves. I don’t mean to, I just do.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Mummy says as I look up at her. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Yes you are,’ Gary jeers.

  ‘No I am not.’

  ‘Enough! Don’t start arguing,’ Mummy barks. ‘Let’s see if we can get through to the front.’

  It’s easy for Mummy to push her way through because she’s tall and strong, and if anyone complains she just tells them to shut up or they’ll be sorry. Next thing we’re up on the wall and we can see everything that’s going on.

  We stay there until our peanuts run out, then we move on to see the lions and cheetahs and leopards. The white tigers are very special, but I tell Mum we don’t really want to see them in case it reminds her of the test I did for the scary school.

  The elephants are having a bath when we get there which is very funny, because they suck the water up in their trunks and squirt it out at the crowd. If you’re at the front you get soaked, so we keep well back and nearly get knocked over as everyone tries to duck. The keeper has to keep ducking too, as he scrubs away with his sweeping brush and bottle of Vim. At least I think it’s Vim, but it might not be. A space opens up and Gran gets drenched. Mum laughs so much that tears run down her cheeks.

  We have to find a toilet then to get some paper towels to dry Gran’s hair. We lose Gary for a few minutes, then find him all on his own queuing up to go and see the snakes.

  Mummy and I wait outside because we hate snakes. We find a bench to sit down on and Mum opens a packet of salt and vinegar crisps for us to share. Eventually Gary and Gran come out, and we have to shout so they find us. Mum has an open packet of cheese and onion waiting for them, which Gary immediately starts scoffing. He’s such a pig, because there are hardly any left for Gran. Then he keeps on and on that he wants to go back in the reptile house, so I give him a thump to shut him up.

  He thumps me back, so I thump him again.

  He kicks me, so I kick him, then he grabs hold of my hair, so I grab hold of his.

  Mummy tears us apart, smacks our legs and tells us she’ll leave us here if we start again.

  After we’ve stopped crying Mum takes us both by the hand and walks us over to the bear pit. It’s got huge high railings around it to stop anyone falling in, and the bears walking about the bottom are massive and cuddly and don’t look frightening at all. I like the baby ones the best, and wish I could hold one. The mother – or it might be the father – stands up on two legs and reaches up towards the people. Everyone gasps and takes a step back – except Gary, because his head’s stuck in the railings.

  ‘How the bloody hell did you manage this?’ Mummy grumbles as she tries to get him out.

  ‘I didn’t. It’s not my fault,’ he shouts.

  ‘Hold still now. You’re making it worse.’

  It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t stop laughing.

  ‘Shut up, Susan, or I’ll bash you,’ he shouts.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Mummy tells him. ‘And you,’ she snaps at me. ‘It’s not funny, he’s stuck and I can’t get him out.’

  Gary’s going all red in the face and starts screaming blue murder. I look round and see that we’ve got more people watching us than are watching the bears.

  ‘Mam, you’ll have to go and get some help,’ Mummy says. ‘We might even have to call the fire brigade. Oh, you stupid boy, what did you go and stick your head in there for?’

  ‘I didn’t!’ he cries.

  ‘Oh what, it just opened up and grabbed you, did it?’

  I still think it’s funny, but I’m getting a bit worried now, in case one of the bears manages to climb up and bite off his head. A man is helping Mummy to try and bend open the bars, but they can’t. Then Gran comes back with a zookeeper who tries to bend the bars too, but he can’t either.

  ‘The only answer is to chop off your ears,’ he tells Gary, giving me a wink.

  ‘No!’ Gary screams. ‘I don’t want my ears c
hopped off.’

  ‘He’s only joking,’ Mummy says, but she doesn’t seem to find it any funnier than Gary. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asks the zookeeper.

  ‘I’ve got some tools in the workshop,’ he answers, ‘something in there should get him out.’

  It ends up taking ages, and by the time he’s free Gary’s quite famous, because everyone in the zoo has come to have a look. He’s acting as though he’s some sort of hero now, instead of a great big idiot, but at least he won’t be giving a bear a bellyache tonight with his stupid great big head.

  ‘Just wait till I tell your father,’ Mummy says when we’re on the bus going home. ‘You old nincompoop you! I dread to think what you’ll get up to next.’

  Daddy laughs and laughs when Mum tells him what happened, and swoops Gary up in his arms to give him a bear hug. Get it? (Dad’s jokes aren’t always very funny, but we laugh anyway to keep him happy.)

  After tea Gran goes and sits by the fire to watch the telly, while Gary and I stay at my little table to draw some pictures for Dad of the animals we saw at the zoo. (I draw Gary with his head stuck in the bars. Gary draws a camel that looks like a dog, and a lizard that’s really good.)

  Mum and Dad are out in the kitchen washing up, then Mum comes in and takes the thing she hid earlier out of the sideboard. She catches me watching and taps the side of her nose with her finger.

  I go on drawing, sea lions and elephants and giant tortoises, then I play noughts and crosses with Gary and let him win. It’s only fair because he’s little and I can win any time I like.

  Suddenly the door swings open and Mum is saying in an angry voice, ‘All right you two, up to bed now.’

  ‘But it’s not time yet,’ I wail. ‘It’s only half . . .’

  ‘Do as you’re told and stop arguing.’

  ‘But we haven’t done anything wrong . . .’

  ‘Susan.’

  I look at Dad who’s come in the room behind her.

  ‘Eddress, it’s not their fault . . .’