Mum unfolds the piece of paper in her lap and looks down at her notes. She hasn’t let me read her speech, she said she wanted me to hear it fresh, with the rest of the Slim Skills group.
I take her elbow, help her up and guide her to where Mitch is standing. Mitch shakes her hand and then sits down and I go back and sit next to Dad.
For a moment, Mum stands there in silence, staring out at the room, and I’m worried she’s frozen up.
I look around at all the people waiting for Mum to say something.
Mr Ding smiles at me. He’s lost a few pounds these last weeks and he looks healthier for it: his skin is clearer and whenever I see him walk across The Green, he looks lighter on his feet.
Mitch beams at us with his big smile.
Allen’s sitting on the back row. He gets out his notepad.
Mum clears her throat.
‘My name is Josephine Tucker… and I’m overweight.’ She clears her throat again. ‘I’m more than overweight: I’m obese.’ She pauses. ‘Morbidly obese.’
I can’t believe she’s actually used those words. Apart from with Jake, I haven’t said the term out loud. Maybe it was Nurse Heidi. Anyway, I’m so proud of Mum for being honest and facing up to being ill that I want to leap out of my chair and hug her. Instead, I lean my chin on my palms and focus every bit of my attention on Mum: I want to hear every word she has to say.
Mitch claps and the others join in.
I squeeze Dad’s hand.
Mum goes on: ‘I’ve been overweight for over ten years now. I suppose I kept kidding myself that I’d go on a diet some time, that it was just a phase. Only, every year, I got bigger.’ She takes a sip of water from the glass on the table next to her. ‘At about the same time as I started eating, I decided I didn’t want to leave the house any more.’
All the members of the group are nodding and hmmming.
‘It was easier, I suppose,’ Mum says. ‘Not to have to face people. The way they looked at me. I knew what they were thinking.’
Heads nod around me.
‘I asked George to take the mirrors out of the house.’ Mum pauses and smiles. ‘I think it’s called denial.’
‘That’s right, Jo,’ Mitch says.
Laughter spreads across the room.
What Dad said about Mum was true: she’s an awesome public speaker. She’s funny and warm and real and has the kind of voice that makes you want to listen for hours.
‘I guess that it’s Feather here who made me wake up to myself.’
I feel myself blush but I love that she sees it at last, that all my nagging about healthy eating and exercise was because I love her and want her to get better.
‘And George, too, of course.’
‘What happened to change things?’ Mitch asks, his voice gentle. ‘What was the turning point?’
Mitch gave Mum tips for the testimony, key words and phrases to help Mum structure her speech, words like ‘denial’ and ‘realisation’ and ‘trigger’ and ‘turning point’. I didn’t think she’d taken any notice of them.
‘I got very sick.’ Mum takes a breath. ‘I am sick.’
Be honest about where you are – Mitch had said that too.
‘I have diabetes. And if I don’t lose weight…’
My eyes well up.
‘If you don’t lose weight, Jo?’ Mitch asks.
Tell the truth. That’s what really matters. That’s what I told Mum when she said she didn’t know what to say.
Dad gets up and goes to fuss over the kettle at the back of the room.
‘I want to be here for my family. For my Feather. For George,’ Mum says. ‘That’s the point.’
‘I love you, Mum,’ I call over.
‘I love you, too, my darling.’
‘And are you going to tell us the good news?’ Mitch asks.
I can’t help it, I jump out of my seat and blurt out, ‘Mum lost seven stone!’
Everyone starts clapping.
Mitch stands up, walks over to Mum and hands her a laminated certificate.
More clapping.
‘So, before we tuck into your delicious creations, there’s time for us to ask Jo some questions.’
‘May I sit down?’ Mum asks.
Dad and I grab Mum’s chair and carry it over to Mum. She lowers herself into it. I notice that her hands are shaking. It must have taken a lot out of her, to stand up there and talk about herself like that.
Dad sits next to me and takes my hand again.
‘She’s doing well, isn’t she, Dad?’ I whisper.
He nods. I know he’s as proud of Mum as I am.
‘So, questions?’ Mitch asks.
Allen’s hand shoots up. I feel my jaw clench up.
‘Yes, Allen?’ Mitch says.
He’s frowning. I can tell he’s thinking what I am. That
Allen’s job is to sit in a corner and keep it zipped.
‘How did you do it?’ Allen asks.
‘Excuse me?’ Mum asks.
‘Lose the weight. What helps you to stop eating – I mean, when you get tempted?’
Mum and Allen’s eyes lock.
‘I realised it wasn’t fair on the people I love,’ Mum says.
Allen nods. ‘Good answer.’
‘Any others?’ Mitch asks.
‘What’s next month’s goal?’ Mr Ding asks.
‘Nurse Heidi says we should aim for another three stone!’ I pipe up.
‘I’ll try,’ Mum says, giving me a smile.
This is turning out to be one of the best days ever. I even stop caring about finding out about all the stuff in the past that I’ve been kept in the dark about. If Mum’s committed to getting healthy again, none of that matters any more.
‘By Willingdon Day, Mum’s going to be healthy again,’ I announce to the group, ‘properly healthy.’
Mum shifts in her chair. ‘Like I said, I’ll try.’
‘It’s good to have a goal,’ says Mitch. ‘But remember, we need to take a step at a time.’
Mum nods.
Allen’s hand goes up again.
I’m beginning to wish I never let him into the house.
‘Allen?’ Mitch asks. ‘Another question?’
‘How did it start?’
The room goes silent.
Dad’s gone really red.
‘What made you start eating?’ Allen clarifies. ‘What was the trigger?’
Mum folds up her notes and places them on her lap. Then she looks out at the room.
‘I ate because I was sad.’
‘You don’t need to go into that, love,’ Dad says, his voice wobbly. ‘Does she, Mitch?’
‘It’s okay, George.’ Mum smiles out at her audience. ‘I don’t mind.’ She takes a sip of water and then wipes her mouth, and says, ‘I suffered from post-natal depression.’
I watch her lips and I hear her words but they don’t sink in. I don’t understand.
Dad’s hand goes limp.
‘Dad?’ I whisper. ‘What does Mum mean?’
Dad shakes his head and looks into his lap.
‘After I had Feather, I struggled to adjust.’
‘You were sad because of me?’ My voice comes out small and croaky.
Mum shakes her head. ‘No, I was sad because of me. Because I wasn’t very good at being a mum.’ Mum lifts her chin and stares out at the room. ‘Being a mum is the hardest job in the world. And I wasn’t ready for it.’
You know what I said about Mum’s voice being warm and funny and real? In a few seconds, all of that has seeped away. In fact, the words don’t sound like they’re coming from Mum at all.
I look over to Dad. He’s closed his eyes.
‘So you ate to make yourself feel better about yourself – and your situation?’ Allen’s voice rings across the room.
‘I ate to survive. I ate to numb the sadness.’ Mum swallows hard. ‘I ate to give me the strength to face each new day.’
Mr Ding lifts his head. For a second, I forge
t about Mum and what she just said and how it changes everything I’ve ever felt about her and about us, and wonder what his sadness is and whether someone he loves made him sick like I made Mum sick.
Mitch comes to stand at the front.
He runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes dart around the room.
‘Thank you for your honesty, Jo. It takes guts to share like that.’
Mum nods and looks at me like she wants me to say something, but what am I meant to say when I’ve just found out that Mum being ill is basically my fault?
27
I pull my body through the pool. I might as well be filled with lead weights: I can barely get my arms above the water. I imagine the official at the regionals, shouting, Feather Tucker – disqualified!
I try harder, pushing my arms up and over. My shoulders burn.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mum’s testimony all day. School was a blur. I got told off three times for daydreaming. I came straight to the pool without telling Steph and Jake: I needed to train on my own today.
I breathe hard as I come out of the water and kick, kick, kick my legs.
Come on, make an effort, I say to myself.
When Mitch hung back after the meeting last night, he said, You should feel positive, Feather. Your mum showed real courage, facing the past like that.
But how can I be happy when she’s just told the world that it was me who made her sad?
Which basically means it’s because of me that she’s obese.
And that she’s got diabetes.
And that she might die.
In other words, if I’d never been born, Mum would be just fine.
But the thing is, it doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t having a baby meant to be the happiest time in your life? I must have been a really screwed-up baby to make Mum get depressed.
I get to the far end of the pool and climb out. There’s no point practising today, my head’s all over the place.
I get the bus back home, grab Houdini and head straight across The Green and down Twirl Street to Jake’s house.
He’s the only one I want to speak to right now.
I ring on the doorbell.
Steph opens the door. ‘Feather…’
‘Hi, Steph,’ I say and look over her shoulder. ‘Is Jake in?’
She looks past me up the street.
‘I thought he was with you. He headed to The Green a while ago.’
‘How long’s a while?’
‘An hour.’
My heart sinks into my stomach. If he went to The Green, and he didn’t come to see me, it’s obvious who he’s with: Amy and Clay. The Three Musketeers.
‘Was he with Amy?’ I ask.
‘You haven’t heard?’ Steph asks.
‘Heard what?’
‘They split up.’
I feel that same burn that tore through my shoulders at the pool, except this time it’s in my chest and in my throat. I should be really happy: I’ve been waiting for Amy and Jake to split for close to a year now. But all I can think is that he didn’t even discuss it with me. Worse: that he’s probably talked to Clay about it instead of me. And what’s more, Jake’s never split up with a girl in his life. He doesn’t want the hassle of breaking someone’s heart; he always waits for them to finish it.
‘I think he’s better off without her,’ Steph says.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I guess so.’
‘You okay, Feather?’
‘I’m fine.’
I wind Houdini’s lead around my hand.
Steph catches my arm. ‘You know I’m here to talk… any time…’
‘You knew about Mum,’ I say, ‘and you didn’t tell me.’
Steph’s face drops.
‘And please don’t say it’s complicated,’ I add, ‘because I’m tired of that excuse.’
‘Your mum and I are best friends, like you and Jake are best friends. There are things that it’s hard to talk about. I’ve told your mum that she should be more open with you—’
‘I’d better get back home,’ I interrupt. I’m not going to get any further talking to Steph now. Yanking Houdini behind me, I head back down Twirl Street to The Green.
‘Mrs Zas!’ I knock on the front door of Bewitched.
Friday is Mrs Zas’s busiest day, it’s when she sets everything up for the weekend. But the shop’s dark and the door’s locked.
I step back and look up to the windows of her flat. ‘Mrs Zas!’
I see a light on in the kitchen, but no one answers.
Across The Green, Rev Cootes looks up from under his hat. He’s watering the Fuzzy Deutzia I gave him. He holds up his hand and gives me a crooked smile and it makes sense now, what he said about the thing you love betraying you. Mum loved me – or she thought she’d love me because everyone thinks they’ll love their baby. And then she had me and I did what Rev Cootes said – I betrayed her.
I get out my keys and unlock the door to the shop. I need to talk to Mrs Zas. I should have come to her to start with. Jake wouldn’t get what’s happening with Mum. Mrs Zas is the only one who can help unscramble my head about Mum being depressed. She told me how she was depressed when her sister got sick. She’ll understand.
Returned costumes lie on the backs of chairs, a pile of receipts sits on the counter along with a calculator, Mrs Zas’s accounting book, a mug of grey, milky coffee – and her reading glasses. Mrs Zas spends Friday evenings getting everything ready for Saturdays, she never leaves things in a mess like this. It’s like she just upped and left. And then I notice an envelope, so jaggedy looking it must have been torn open in a real hurry. It’s got a stamp across the top: ‘UK Visas and Immigration’. And the letter inside is missing.
There’s another envelope too. It’s got funny writing on it, which must be Ukrainian. There’s a wodge of twenty-pound notes stuffed inside.
I go to the back and call up the stairs. ‘Mrs Zas?’
Still no answer.
I climb up to the top landing. All the lights are on but she’s definitely not here.
As I come back out of the shop, I notice Rev Cootes by the children’s headstones.
I walk across The Green.
‘Have you seen Mrs Zas?’ I ask him.
Rev Cootes looks up. ‘Mrs Zas?’
‘She’s meant to be in her shop,’ I add.
‘I believe she drove into town,’ he says quickly.
I look at the road and realise he’s right, her small Fiat with BEWITCHED painted across the side is missing. But it doesn’t make sense; the only time Mrs Zas goes into town is when she goes to Newton Primary to teach her dance classes.
Rev Cootes yanks up a big, jaggedy-looking weed from between the small graves.
‘She’d never leave her shop closed on a Friday,’ I say, hoping he might give me some more information.
‘She was in a hurry. I think something important came up.’
‘In Newton?’
‘She said she had to get the train to London.’ He looks at his watch. ‘I imagine she’ll be home soon.’
‘London? What’s she doing in London?’
And why didn’t she tell me?
A lorry and a digger make their way through the small road along The Green on their way to the park. The work has started on the Lido.
‘Maybe I got it wrong,’ Rev Cootes says.
He gets back onto his knees and brushes some moss off the headstone that doesn’t have a name on it.
‘Thanks anyway.’ I look across at the vicarage. Clay’s curtains are drawn. ‘Say hello to Clay for me.’
Rev Cootes nods and goes back to yanking up weeds.
I tie Houdini back up at home and get the bus to Newton and head straight to the train station. Although Newton’s a million times bigger than Willingdon, it’s still pretty small, so the station only has two tracks going through it. I go to the side where trains come in from Paddington. The board says that the next train is due in just under an hour.
&n
bsp; So I sit on a bench and wait.
And when that trains shows up and Mrs Zas doesn’t step off, I wait for the next one.
And the one after that.
As the third train pulls in, I consider jumping on and letting it take me to London. Once I’m in London I could go anywhere. And I wouldn’t have to deal with any of the rubbish back home. Kids run away from home all the time, don’t they? They make a fresh start. They get jobs. In London, I could be anyone I wanted to be.
Except, as the train doors open, I chicken out. Mum says I’m brave but I’m not really: Willingdon is all I know, I’d be lost in a big city.
By the time the fourth train screeches to a halt, I’m getting hungry and cold and I’m beginning to think that Rev Cootes got it wrong, that Mrs Zas just went back to the shop – we must have crossed each other.
Just as I get up to leave, I get a glimpse of a green headscarf through the window of the train and a moment later Mrs Zas steps out onto the platform.
‘Feather!’ Her ‘r’ echoes around the station.
Mrs Zas takes my face in her hands and kisses both my cheeks. ‘You’re freezing. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ I say. ‘You were meant to be in the shop.’
She nods. Her eyes look glassy and tired.
‘What happened?’
‘Why don’t we go home,’ says Mrs Zas. ‘I’ll make you some cinnamon milk. And then we can talk.’
As we sit at Mrs Zas’s kitchen table, our hands cupped around the special pottery mugs she brought over from the Ukraine, sipping warm, sweet milk, I ask her:
‘Why did you have to go to London in such a hurry?’
She takes a puff from her electric cigarette and stares at me for a second as though she’s weighing up whether or not she can trust me. But then she says:
‘I’m having trouble with my work visa.’
‘What does that mean?’
She takes another puff of her cigarette.
‘It means I might not be able to stay.’
My throat goes dry. Not be able to stay? Ever since Jake’s decided not to talk to me about his life any more and to make Clay his new best friend, and ever since Mum’s gone all weird and defensive about everything, and ever since I’ve worked out that Steph and Dad and just about everyone else in the village has been lying to me for years, I’ve run out of people to trust – and to talk to. Mrs Zas is the only friend I’ve got left.
Wishbones Page 19
