by Gwyneth Rees
Mum’s dress sense seemed to have changed too.
‘Mum, you’re not wearing that to school, are you?’ I asked when she came down the stairs one morning wearing a bright yellow cardigan instead of the brown jacket that went with the brown skirt of her horrible frumpy suit.
‘I don’t know why you’re complaining about the way I’m dressed,’ Mum retorted. ‘I mean, look at what you’re wearing! Talk about dismal!’
‘Mum, this is my school uniform!’
‘Even your tie is grey. Purple and grey. You look like you’re going to a funeral.’
‘Yeah . . . well . . .’ School? Funeral? I mean, what was the difference? (In terms of the solemness of the occasion, I mean.) ‘School uniforms are meant to be dull,’ I told her.
‘Hmm . . .’ She didn’t sound convinced.
In assembly I thought she looked like a light bulb. I kept waiting for someone else in my class to point that out, but nobody did.
‘I have an announcement to make regarding this year’s book sale,’ she shouted out, and I couldn’t help glancing nervously at Mrs Lyle, who was standing at the back of all the Year Sevens. ‘Instead of just books,’ Mum continued, ‘we’re going to sell plants and cakes as well. Because books and plants and cakes all go together.’
There were a few funny looks being exchanged in the assembly hall by people who didn’t see how they went together, but Mum was unphased. ‘Instead of having stalls with books on them here in the school hall, we’re going to convert the hall into one of those cafe book-shops like they have in America. I’m going to bring in my sofas from home and anyone else who wants to lend sofas or armchairs is most welcome to do so. I’ve put an advert in the local paper this year as well, so that more people know about it.’
Somebody in my class whispered, ‘How are we supposed to bring in sofas?’ (Which is what I was thinking too.)
Nobody asked me anything about it, thank goodness. The unexpected thing was that lots of people at school seemed to keep forgetting that our headmistress was also my mother. I mean, they all knew, and I’d got lots of comments about it at the beginning, but now they often talked about her like you’d talk about any head teacher, even when I was there. It was as if they couldn’t hold the two ideas together in their heads at the same time – Mrs MacKenzie, the head teacher, and Mrs MacKenzie, mother of Daniel – so they sort of kept splitting them up.
The only person who didn’t split them was Mrs Lyle. We had English straight after assembly and the first thing she said when we’d all settled down was, ‘So, everybody . . . who’s planning on bringing the odd sofa with them when they come to our book sale then?’ Everyone laughed, even Abby, and Mrs Lyle added, ‘It looks like you’ll be the only one, Daniel.’
I went bright red and everyone immediately remembered that I was Daniel MacKenzie, who was only masquerading as an ordinary member of the class. I tried to think of something to say in reply. Mrs Lyle obviously resented my mother just barging in and taking over the organization of the book sale and I can’t say I blamed her. After all, from the way Mum was carrying on, you’d think Mrs Lyle was incapable of making it a successful event herself. I looked Mrs Lyle in the eyes (which was easy because I was still sitting right at the front of the class) and said, ‘Sorry, miss.’ Because I really did feel sorry about what Mum was doing and I felt sort of responsible too in a funny sort of way.
Mrs Lyle went bright red herself then and didn’t say anything about being a missus. She immediately started having a go at somebody else for not doing their homework, and when I accidently banged into the desk behind while I was swinging on my chair a bit later on, she didn’t even tell me off for it.
At break-time I’d meant to ask Abby if she wanted to hang out with me, but she left the room so quickly that I didn’t have time to. So I did my usual thing of heading for the boys’ toilets first to kill a bit of time before going to the tuck shop where, by then, there would always be a longish queue. I could then join the end of it and stand there for most of break without looking awkward because I was on my own. I hated looking like I had nothing to do.
I headed for the stairs, making for the furthest-away toilets because that way the whole trip took up more time. I had to remind myself to walk on the right, which was the rule at my new school to stop everyone bumping into each other. At my last school we had to walk on the left, which is far more sensible, if you ask me, considering that everybody drives on the left.
I wasn’t really looking where I was going because I was thinking about something that had happened yesterday. Martha had been crayoning a picture of the seaside – a yellow rectangle of beach with a blue strip of sky above it and lots of white ‘V’ shapes on the sky which were the seagulls. Mum had come along and dripped white blobs of Tipp Ex all over it and written ‘Seagull Pooh by Martha MacKenzie’ in big letters along the bottom. It would have been funny except that Martha was really upset because she was meant to hand it in the next day as homework.
I jumped as someone put out their arm and stopped me in my tracks. ‘DANIEL!’
It was Mum.
‘Go away,’ I hissed, quickly scanning the area to see if anyone from my class was around.
‘Don’t be silly!’ Mum said, ruffling my hair before I could squirm out of her reach. ‘Can’t stop. I’m on my way to do my social bit in the staffroom. See you later. By the way, I thought we could go to the beach after school. It’s silly to live by the seaside and never go to the beach, isn’t it?’ She said the last bit really loudly.
The kids who were within earshot all turned to stare at me and right then I just wanted to die. Or at least hire a contract killer to assassinate Mum.
‘It’s not fair!’ I burst out, sounding like a five year old and not even caring. ‘You just go out of your way to embarrass me at school. You do it on purpose!’
‘Don’t be silly!’ Mum said, handing me an ice cream even though I’d just told her I didn’t want one. ‘Why be embarrassed?’
‘It’s normal to be embarrassed when you’ve got a mother who makes you look really stupid in front of everyone at school!’ I snapped.
We were standing at an ice-cream booth on the seafront. Right now, it was high tide, so there wasn’t any sand to play on, but Martha was excited anyway because she’d just got an ice cream that was half vanilla and half strawberry. She frowned as Mum handed me my ice cream, as if she was worried about something. ‘Daniel, you’re not going to throw that on the floor, are you?’
‘Don’t be silly, Martha!’ Mum said, getting out her purse and paying for them.
‘But that’s what he did when—’ Martha started to say, but Mum had stopped listening.
‘Kate!’ she shrieked, and before we could stop her she had rushed over to the other side of the road, without even looking to see if there were any cars coming. A blonde woman was standing on the opposite pavement.
I grabbed Martha’s hand in case she had any ideas about running across the road after Mum. By the time she and I had carefully crossed the road, Mum was deep in conversation with the blonde woman who was laughing away with her as if they were old friends. I didn’t recognize her, even close up.
‘This is Kate,’ Mum told us when we caught up with her.
‘Wow – is this Martha?’ Kate gasped, staring at my sister excitedly. ‘Sophie’s just over there, Isobel. See!’ She pointed at a dark-haired little girl about the same age as Martha, who was buying a pink stick of rock from a souvenir stall. The little girl came running over to us with the rock. She had long dark hair and plump rosy cheeks like Martha’s.
‘You won’t remember, Sophie, but you two knew each other when you were babies,’ Kate said, pointing out Martha, who was battling to control the drips on her ice cream. Kate glanced quickly at Mum. ‘It is OK to mention that?’
‘Oh yes! They know all about it.’
‘Yes. Sophie knows too. We always thought it was best to tell her the truth.’
‘Did you tell her about the mi
x-up?’
‘The mix-up?’
‘With the babies. That day.’
‘You mean when . . .’ Kate trailed off, shaking her head. Even I could tell she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was, but Mum didn’t seem to notice.
‘That Mother and Baby Unit should have been closed down after that, if you ask me.’
I was listening intently now. What was Mum talking about? Was it something to do with her time in the hospital?
‘Those were scary days,’ Kate said hoarsely. ‘I’ve been well since though.’ She swallowed. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine!’ Mum was looking at Sophie, who was showing Martha the letters on the rock she had bought. Martha was having trouble with her ice cream, which was melting so fast it was dripping on to her hand, unlike mine, which was already licked neatly down to the cone. (I can eat ice cream pretty quickly when I’m not chucking it on the ground.)
‘You must be Martha’s big brother,’ Kate said to me while Mum kept staring in the direction of the girls. ‘Your mum told me about you when we were in hospital together. You probably don’t remember much about that, do you?’
I shook my head.
‘You know . . . Sophie doesn’t look anything like you,’ Mum suddenly said loudly to Kate.
Kate looked like she thought that was an odd thing for Mum to say. ‘No. She takes after her dad.’ She glanced at me. ‘You look like your mum,’ she said, smiling.
I nodded. People were always saying that.
‘Well, we’d better go, I suppose. We’re meant to be meeting my husband in a minute.’ She held out her hand for her daughter. ‘Come on, Sophie!’ She was looking at Mum again. ‘Great to see you again, Isobel. Take care!’ And she waved goodbye to Martha, holding Sophie’s hand tightly as they headed off together.
Mum had a funny look on her face as she kept staring after them.
‘Mum, who was that?’ I asked.
Martha started tugging at Mum’s hand, whining, ‘Mummy, my ice cream’s all melting!’
Mum shook her off abruptly, which I would have done since Martha’s hands and face were a pink sticky mess, but which Mum wouldn’t normally do at all. Normally she’d be paying Martha’s hands and face lots of attention just now, using up half a packet of wet wipes on them.
‘Mum, who was that?’ I said again, hearing my voice go up a pitch. I don’t know why I felt so nervous all of a sudden.
‘Kate was in the next bed to me in the Mother and Baby Unit. Her baby had fair hair and mine had dark.’
‘You mean the other way round, don’t you?’ I glanced at Martha, whose blonde hair was blowing into her ice cream.
‘No,’ Mum replied, looking wistful. ‘My baby had dark hair. A whole thatch of it. Hers was blonde, like her.’
‘But, Mum—’ I stopped. She had reached into her bag for a pen and she was writing something on the back of her hand. I’d never seen Mum write on her hand before. Normally she tells me off if I do it and makes me go and fetch a bit of paper. ‘What are you writing?’
‘Kate’s holiday address here. It’s a B. & B. on Castle Road. Mariner’s Cottage.’
‘Are you going to see her again then?’ I asked, surprised. From the way Kate had whizzed away at the end of their meeting, it hadn’t looked to me like she was planning on that.
Mum didn’t reply. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You bring Martha. We have to get home.’
On the way back I asked, ‘Mum, what’s a Mother and Baby Unit? Is it where people go when they’ve just had a baby?’
Mum looked at me. ‘The one I’m talking about was in the psychiatric hospital. It’s better for babies to stay with their mothers rather than be separated from them, even if their mothers have a mental illness. So some psychiatric hospitals have these special units where the babies can be looked after too.’
‘But why should your one have been closed down? What was wrong with it?’
‘Something happened there that shouldn’t have happened. Your dad didn’t think it was safe any more, so he took Martha home. Don’t you remember him bringing Martha home from the hospital without me? That would have been the first time you got to see her?’
I shook my head. My memories of that time are really hazy. ‘What happened?’
But she wouldn’t tell me any more.
Mum and I both raced to the phone when it rang later that evening.
‘Dad!’ I gasped, getting there first.
‘G’day, mate!’ Dad was always putting on a fake Australian accent when he phoned us, which I thought was silly since he was in New Zealand.
‘Dad, is Grandma—’ I just stopped myself from blurting out, Is Grandma dead yet? Last time he’d phoned he’d told us that she had taken a turn for the worse and been admitted to hospital.
‘They gave her a blood transfusion. She’s back home again now.’
‘Right.’ I tried to sound cool about it. I knew that if Grandma died sooner than we’d expected, Dad would be able to come home sooner than we’d expected, that was all. Not that I was wishing Grandma would hurry up and die. Not really.
‘Malcolm?’ Mum grabbed the phone off me in her excitement to speak to him.
‘Mum, can I go on the other phone?’ I whispered, and she nodded. We did that quite a lot when Dad was on the line. Mum would be on the downstairs phone and Martha and I would share the upstairs extension at the same time so we could all get to speak to him at once. Martha was already in bed tonight though.
By the time I picked up the phone upstairs, Dad was telling Mum that Grandma’s doctor thought she had a few weeks left to live at the most. Dad wanted to stay with her until then. ‘But, Izzy, are you OK? I hate being away from you like this.’
‘I’m fine, Malcolm.’
‘And the kids? Is Daniel behaving himself?’
I nearly interrupted indignantly that of course I was, but Mum swiftly replied on my behalf. ‘I told you before, Malcolm. He’s being very good. A big help, in fact.’ I wondered if she was going to tell him about me going to the hospital with her. Or if she’d already mentioned that when he’d phoned before.
‘That’s great. I thought he might be giving you a hard time about school.’
I realized then that Dad didn’t know I was listening in and that Mum seemed to have forgotten. I was about to speak to let them know I was there when Dad suddenly asked, ‘And you’re still taking the same dose of lithium?’
‘Of course.’ Mum sounded a bit impatient.
I was shocked by how convincing her lie sounded. I almost had the courage to butt in and tell Dad the truth, but then, Mum was right about Dad worrying if he knew – and, anyway, she hadn’t got ill like he’d thought she would if she ever stopped it. Besides, Mum was the parent who was here with me right now, whereas Dad was thousands of miles away. And I wasn’t sure how angry Mum would be with me if I told.
‘Are you managing OK with work and everything? You sound very . . . perky . . .’
‘I’m fine, Malcolm. I’m just happy to hear your voice! I’m having the time of my life up at that school, bossing everyone about! I love being Head.’
He laughed. ‘Are you sleeping better?’
‘Yes. I told you. I’m fine. Now, what about you?’
Dad started to talk about what was happening at his end and how he was feeling about it all. I felt guilty continuing to listen in when he thought he was having a private conversation with Mum, so I decided to hang up. But just as I was about to, Mum interrupted him to say, ‘You’ll never guess who I met today!’
‘Who?’ Dad had been in the middle of telling Mum about the injections his mother was getting to ease the pain and how he had offered to give the injections himself so the nurse didn’t have to visit so often. He sounded a bit surprised by Mum changing the subject so abruptly.
‘Kate! Do you remember her? She was in the bed next to me on the Mother and Baby Unit. She used to come and see me on the other ward after I got moved. Anyway, she’s here with her husban
d, taking a late summer holiday . . . after her daughter’s school’s gone back, and you know what I think about that . . . anyway, the little girl was with her. She’s Martha’s age now, of course. And, Malcolm, she has dark hair. Dark hair.’ She paused. ‘Kate had a blonde baby, remember?’
‘I can’t say I remember Kate very well – or her baby.’
‘Well, I do, and it’s made me think about it.’
‘Think about what?’ Dad sounded puzzled.
‘You know what!’
‘No I don’t! Izzy, what are you saying?’
‘I’m not saying anything!’ Mum snapped. ‘It was just a shock seeing them, that’s all. It brought it all back! It’s all right for you! You weren’t the one who had your baby taken away from you, were you?’
‘Izzy . . .’ he began, sounding concerned, then he broke off. There were other voices in the background and Dad’s name was being called. ‘Izzy, the nurse is here to see my mother. I have to go, but we’ll talk properly later, OK?’ He paused. ‘Izzy, I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry you’re upset . . . You are OK, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. I’m just really missing you, that’s all. And then this happened . . .’
‘I’m missing you too, love.’
I wanted to put the phone down in case they started to get slushy, but I was worried that they would hear it, so I forced myself to wait until they’d hung up.
I was having difficulty making sense of what I’d just heard. All that stuff about Martha. Had something happened back then that nobody had told me? I had only been four or five and I couldn’t remember what Mum had been like when she got ill. Dad had sent me to stay with Uncle Robert and Aunt Sandra when it all started. That had been before they split up and Aunt Sandra moved back to Scotland. I think Dad looked after me on his own for a while after Mum went in to hospital. I do remember Dad coming home one day and telling me I had a new baby sister. And I remember a nanny coming and living in our spare room for a while. She hadn’t stayed long. I think maybe she and Dad didn’t get on all that well. I tried to remember the day Dad had brought Martha home but I couldn’t. And the only colour I can ever remember her hair being is the colour it is now.
