by Susan Lewis
‘Get something for yourself first, then we’ll see what’s left over.’
‘It’ll pay for our holiday. Let’s use it for that. Did you ask Bob and Flo if they want to come?’
‘They’re going to think about it, see if they can afford it. They’ve got a surprise for you though. One of Bob’s regulars gave him three tickets for My Fair Lady down the Odeon. I said why don’t you go with them and I’ll look after the kids.’
‘Well, why don’t we buy another ticket so you can come too, and we’ll ask your Nance to babysit? We’ve got the money now.’
He’s laughing and so am I.
‘We’re rich!’ I cry.
‘We’re rich,’ he echoes.
The children are up getting ready for bed, so it’s all right to have a bit of a cuddle. We might do a bit more than that after he’s read them a story.
We’ll see.
Chapter Ten
Susan
I love Whitsun. It’s the day that everyone who lives in Kingswood goes up to the main road to watch the parade. We all wear our best clothes and wave different sorts of flags, like Union Jacks, or St George and the dragon, or those made from coloured streamers that you can buy on the side of the road. The lampposts are decorated with bunting and flowers, and garlands are strung across the street like frilly washing on the line.
Gary and I are in the parade, riding on the Salvation Army lorry. He’s over the other side with the boys, so I can’t see him. I’m sitting with the girls and we’re playing our tambourines as we go slowly through the crowds who are all cheering and pushing forward trying to get a better look. The Salvation Army band is leading our lorry, playing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, which we’re playing too, shaking our tambourines, and hitting them against our shoulders, elbows, wrists and even the tops of our heads, all in time with one another. It looks lovely the way all our ribbons ripple through the air like flying rainbows.
The Brownies from Holy Trinity are behind us (I could have gone with them, but then I wouldn’t have been able to play the tambourine), and behind them are the Guides and the Scouts. There are lots of other Brownie and Scout groups marching, from Hanham, Two Mile Hill, and Warmley, and people from all the churches in the area, singing hymns and playing in their bands. There are cheerleaders and clowns, pantomime horses and even real horses that the police are riding. Whenever I go past a policeman I pull a face so he won’t recognise me. I don’t want to be arrested, you see.
When we get outside Fine Fare I spot Aunty Doreen and Aunty Nance, Dad’s sisters, so I give them a wave, and a bit further on I see Uncle Bob and Aunty Flo with Julie and Karen, who look very pretty in their new dresses. (We’re going to their house for tea later, after we’ve been up the Shant.) There are lots of people I know, from school, or who live near us. I expect they all recognise me, but I can’t wave to everyone or I’ll lose my place and go out of time.
Mum, Dad and Gran are outside Kingswood Park, where the parade turns around and goes back the way it came. Mum looks lovely in her navy blue dress with big white dots and Dad’s very smart in his pinstriped suit. He’s got a red flower in his lapel that matches the one pinned to Mum’s big white collar. Gran’s wearing a hat with a veil and the cream-coloured Crimplene suit that she bought in Littlewoods down town and always keeps for best. Mr and Mrs Williams are with them, and my Aunty Jean and Uncle Gord with some of their children.
As we go back up through Kingswood we pass Grampy who’s outside the British Legion with a pint in his hand and a top hat on his head (every year his picture’s in the paper wearing his top hat). It’s easy to wave to him, because we’re having a pause in playing. He waves back and topples into the people behind, who catch him and stand him up again. He’s very funny, my Grampy.
I love riding on the lorry so everyone can see me, I just wish Mum would have let me leave my glasses off for once, but she wouldn’t, and I didn’t argue because she hasn’t been very well lately. Of course she’s always well enough to tell me off and make me do things I don’t want to do, but I don’t want to make her headaches worse by getting on her nerves, so my glasses are on, and so is the patch.
When it’s all over we walk all the way down Soundwell Road, eating candyfloss and holding Gran’s hands. Mum and Dad are walking in front. Mum’s got her white high heels on, and a white handbag over one arm. With the other arm she’s holding onto Dad, who walks very upright, like a soldier. I tried to walk with them just now, but they told me to go away in case I get candyfloss all over them. Gran doesn’t mind if we get it on her, it all comes out in the wash, she says.
When we reach the waterworks, which is just after Dr Tyldesley’s surgery, we turn right into Crown Road, where Mummy was born, at number five. The funny thing is, Daddy’s mummy was born in the same house, but a long time before. (That’s called a coincidence.) The Shant is at the end of Crown Road, a big white pub that’s really called the Crown, but everyone calls it the Shant. I don’t know why. They just do.
Aunty Phil and Aunty Ivy are already there, baggsing some tables out in the garden. We need quite a few with all our family. Dad and Uncle Gord go inside to get the drinks. Gary and I have shandy, Mum has a port and lemon, and Dad has a pint of best. There are lots of bags of crisps and peanuts to share, and some toffee apples that our cousins Geoffrey and Deborah brought with them.
Mum sits with the women, chatting and laughing. Her headache seems better today, though I just heard her telling Aunty Phil that the way Dad keeps on at her makes her bloody head throb. I don’t know what he keeps on about, because I’ve never heard him, but I saw her let go of his arm before we got here, and she gave him a really dirty look just now. I’m not going to take any notice though, because they get on my nerves, always rowing. And he shouldn’t be mean to her, because she has to go to hospital every week to have some treatment for her bad head. I don’t think it’s doing much good though, because she’s in bed all the next day with the curtains drawn. She lets me go in and lie down with her, but only for five minutes, because I can’t keep still, and Gary’s even worse.
Dad’s over by the pub door with the men. Gary’s on his shoulders dropping crisps in his hair.
‘Do you want to see how good I am at cartwheels and handstands?’ I ask Gran and Aunty Phil.
‘Stop showing off,’ Mummy says.
‘Let her be,’ Gran admonishes. ‘Go on my love.’
As I go up my dress tumbles all the way down over my face. It’s all right because I’ve got my vest and knickers on, but Mum says it’s not, so I can’t do any more.
‘Will you come on the swings with me?’ Gary says. ‘Dad won’t let me go on on my own.’
‘All right. I’ll give you a push. You’ll have to go in the baby swing though, in case you fall off.’
We take it in turns pushing each other, then we jump on the roundabout with some other children and whizz round so fast that everything goes blurry. There’s a queue for the slider, so we wait, then come whishing down together, Gary sitting between my legs. He goes up again, on his own, and comes down head first, which is really brave, but the next thing I know I’m getting a smack from Mummy for letting him do it.
It’s not fair, it’s always my fault, and now she’s gone and shown me up in front of everyone.
I don’t want to be here any more, not with her, so I go over to Dad who’s sitting at a table with Uncle Gord and climb up on his lap. They’re talking about the miners who were killed down Wales last week. Dad used to be a miner, so did Grampy and Uncle Bob.
‘It’s not as bad as when all those people died in Pakistan though,’ I say. ‘I saw it on the news. Nearly sixteen thousand people might have died then.’
‘She’s her father’s daughter,’ Uncle Gord comments.
‘It’s true, sixteen thousand is a lot more than thirty-one,’ Dad agrees. ‘But anyone dying is a tragedy for their family, no matter who or where they are.’
‘Do we know anyone who’s dead?’ I ask.
&n
bsp; ‘Well, Granny Lewis is dead, but she died before you were born, so you didn’t actually know her, but she’s still your grandmother.’
‘People don’t die until they’re very old, do they?’
‘Not usually, no.’
‘Unless something bad happens, like in the mines, or in Pakistan?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can we have a dog?’
‘Not today, my love.’
I lean my head back against his shoulder and just listen as him and Uncle Gordon go on chatting. It’s a bit boring though, about the Union and a man called Tony Benn who came to give a talk in Kingswood that they went to. Then Uncle Gord says, ‘So how’s our Ed coping?’
‘Oh, all right, you know,’ Dad answers.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Uncle Gord says, nodding. ‘That’s good then.’ He finishes his beer. ‘Do you want another?’
‘I’ll just have half,’ Dad says. ‘Susan, go and ask your mother if she wants a lemonade.’
I do as I’m told and come back and say, ‘No, she wants another port and lemon.’
Dad goes into the pub and comes out with lemonades for all of us, including Mum.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the look she gives him that she’s really cross.
‘And you can put that out too,’ he says, pointing at her cigarette.
‘Don’t you bloody talk to me like that,’ she snaps.
‘If you won’t listen to me at home, then maybe you’ll listen in front of your family,’ he says, sounding really angry. ‘Now put that bloody cigarette out.’
Dad swore!
‘I’ll put it out on you if you don’t shut up.’
Dad leans forward, grabs the cigarette from her and stubs it out in the ashtray.
Everyone goes very quiet.
‘If you light up another, I’ll do the same again,’ he warns.
‘You do that again and you’ll be sorry,’ she tells him.
He stands staring at her. I’ve never seen him this cross before. She stares back. I think they’re going to have a fight. I wish Gran would stop them. Or Uncle Gord. Please God, don’t let them have a fight.
Mummy opens her handbag and takes out her cigarettes.
‘No, Mum, don’t,’ I cry.
‘You’d better listen to her, Ed,’ Daddy says.
‘Don’t you use my kids against me,’ she says through gritted teeth. ‘If I want a cigarette I’ll have one, and no one, not even she, is going to stop me.’
‘If you light that cigarette you’re going to regret it,’ he tells her.
I feel Gary’s hand go into mine. I stand in close to protect him and look at Mummy. The cigarette’s in her mouth, her lighter’s in her hand. She’s staring at Daddy as though she hates him. She snaps open the lighter and rolls the little wheel. A flame pops up. She brings it to the end of her cigarette and sucks in.
For what seems like ages no-one moves, then Daddy turns round and says to me and Gary, ‘Come on, we’re going.’ He takes us both by the hand and starts walking away.
‘Don’t you dare take my kids,’ Mummy shouts after us.
Daddy ignores her and just keeps on walking, across the garden and off down the road. His face is very white. Mummy’s shouting things after us, but Daddy won’t stop.
‘Where are we going?’ Gary says.
‘To your Uncle Bob’s.’
‘What about Mummy? Is she coming too?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I want to go back with Mummy,’ Gary says.
‘No you don’t,’ I tell him.
‘Yes I do.’
‘Then you won’t be able to play bus conductors with Uncle Bob.’
When we get to Uncle Bob’s, which is in Northend Avenue, Aunty Flo puts the kettle on and sends me and Gary out the back to play cricket with Julie and Karen. Dad and Uncle Bob go in the front room and close the door.
Usually I love being at Uncle Bob’s. Julie and Karen are my favourite cousins and it’s lots of fun when Dad and Uncle Bob play with us, which they normally do. But they aren’t playing today, they just stay shut up in the room and we’re not allowed to go in.
‘They’ve got some private talking to do,’ Aunty Flo tells us and comes out to play with us instead.
The others are all too young to understand what’s going on, but I’m not. I know something is, and I’m getting upset. I want my dad. I want my mum too, but lots of time goes by and she still doesn’t come and knock on the door.
When Dad and Uncle Bob come out of the front room they’re smiling and joking the way they usually do. I don’t think Dad should be happy when we don’t know where Mum is. She might leave us and go and be with Michael and her other family. I want to go and find her, but Aunty Flo’s just serving up some tea, so it would be rude to ask Dad if we can leave now.
I keep looking at him as we sit at the table. I wish I knew why he got so angry about Mum having a cigarette. She always smokes, so why did he do that up the Shant, in front of everyone? It was wrong of him to act like that, and he should say sorry. I want him to find Mum and say sorry.
Julie and Karen are sitting either side of me at the table and keep asking me if I’ll sleep at their house tonight. I want to, but I can’t. I have to find Mum. We eat lemon jelly and blancmange, some chocolate marshmallows and raspberry trifle. Karen offers me her chocolate marshmallow, because I haven’t eaten mine, but I don’t want it. I just want to go home.
I’m nearly crying so I ask to leave the table. When I get to the stairs I’m just going up when Uncle Bob comes out and closes the door behind him. I turn my face into the wall so he can’t see me.
‘Come on, my darling,’ he says, picking me up and sitting down with me on his lap. ‘It’ll be all right. Mums and dads have arguments sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I want to go home,’ I tell him.
‘I know you do. But why don’t you stay here tonight, with Julie and Karen, and I’ll take you home in the morning?’
I shake my head. ‘I want to go now,’ I say. ‘I want my mum.’
He puts my head on his shoulder and gives me a kiss. ‘I know,’ he says.
‘I wish Mum and Dad would be like you and Aunty Flo,’ I say. ‘You never have rows.’
‘Oh, we do,’ he laughs. ‘Everyone does. That’s why it’s nothing to worry about. We always make up after.’
I rest my head on his shoulder and wonder if I should tell him about Michael and Mum’s other family. He’d understand then that I have to go home to make sure she’s there.
The door opens again and Dad comes out.
‘She wants to go home,’ Uncle Bob tells him.
Dad nods. ‘I thought she might.’
When Gary finds out I’m going with Dad he wants to come too. I wish Uncle Bob would come with us, because if Mum is there he’ll make sure her and Dad don’t row.
The sun’s gone in now so it’s quite chilly as we walk down New Cheltenham Road, past the post office and the infants’ school where Gary’s going in September. It’s where I went until I was seven.
By the time we arrive at Greenways it’s starting to rain, so we run down the street because we don’t have any coats. I’m the first in the back door and there’s Mum, coming down the passage into the kitchen.
‘Dad!’ I cry excitedly. ‘She’s here.’
Dad comes in behind me, but he doesn’t say anything.
Mum doesn’t either, except to me. ‘Go and change out of your best clothes,’ she says. ‘Then you can put your pyjamas on. That goes for you too, Gary.’
‘Can we come back down after?’ he asks.
‘Just go and do as you’re told,’ she answers.
Dad comes up with us and changes out of his suit into his old working trousers and a grey woolly jumper. I can hear Mum doing things downstairs, then the telly goes on and Gary comes into my room with his slippers on the wrong feet.
‘Shall we go down?’ he whispers.
‘I don’t know. Where’s Dad?’
‘In the bathroom. Do you think they’re going to have another row?’
‘No,’ I answer, because I can see he’s scared. I put my arm round him and sit down on the bed with him while I decide what we should do.
The flush goes and Dad comes out of the bathroom. We hear the landing curtains swish across the rail as he pulls them, then the sound of him going downstairs.
Gary looks up at me. ‘Do you think they’ve forgotten about us?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘I think so.’ I get up and go to the door. ‘Wait here,’ I tell him, ‘I’m going to see if I can hear what they’re saying.’
I creep across the landing, and get almost halfway down the stairs when I realise he’s behind me. ‘Ssh,’ I say, putting a finger over my lips. ‘You mustn’t let them hear you.’
We stand very still and listen, but there’s only the sound of the telly coming from the living room. Then the front-room door opens and Dad comes out.
It’s too late to run so we stand there, staring down at him and knowing we’re in for it the second he spots us.
Just as he does the living-room door opens and Mum comes out.
She doesn’t see us. She doesn’t see Dad either. She only goes over to the kitchen sink and fills up the kettle.
‘Come on,’ Dad says to us, ‘back up to bed. I’ll read you a story.’
‘Can I sleep in with Susan tonight?’ Gary asks.
Dad doesn’t answer, so Gary comes in with me anyway.
The rain is making so much noise on the windows outside that Dad says, ‘Sounds like it’s turned to hail.’
‘Will it snow?’ Gary asks.
‘No. Not in May.’
He doesn’t ask us which story we want, he just picks up Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, sits down on my dressing-table stool and starts to read The Merchant of Venice. After that he reads As You Like It. Gary’s fast asleep by the time he finishes that, but I’m not so he opens the book again to The Taming of the Shrew.
