by Ruth Thomas
‘All right, don’t overdo it.’
Nicky told Roy on the way home. ‘We got to be good, so Mr Nelson doesn’t fetch our mum up to school and find out she isn’t there.’
‘You said she will be there. Today.’
‘I mean in case. Just in case.’
‘But you said.’
She had said it, but it was getting harder and harder to believe it. ‘Oh Roy, I don’t know, do I? We’ll see in a minute. . . . I know – if we don’t step on any lines on the pavement, Mum will be home when we get there! Careful, it will be all your fault if you spoil it!’
Mrs Williams was standing at her gate. ‘If you make that racket again, like you done last night, I’m coming in to see your mum.’
‘You’re not the boss of our house,’ said Nicky.
‘If you’re going to be cheeky, I’m coming in to see her now.’
‘She’s at work.’
‘I didn’t see her go.’
‘You don’t see everything. Even you don’t see everything.’
Mrs Williams sniffed.
The WELCOME HOME banner still smiled mockingly, over the kitchen door. Some of the letters were beginning to peel off. ‘She didn’t come,’ said Roy.
‘I know. . . . What shall we have for tea?’
‘She didn’t come!’
‘All right, all right, I can see! I’m not blind, you know. I said, what shall we have for tea?’
Roy was crying. He twisted his fingers and licked one salty tear as it rolled down his cheek. ‘Stop that!’ Nicky turned away and rummaged fiercely in the cupboard. ‘Spaghetti hoops. We can have the spaghetti hoops. D’you fancy spaghetti hoops, then?’ Suddenly her arm went up to cover her eyes, and her shoulders began to heave.
‘You’re crying!’
‘No I’m not, I just got something in my eye. . . . A-all right, I am! What about it? I am crying. I’m s-scared! I d-don’t know what to d-do!’
Roy held his breath, silent with shock. Nicky never cried, never! Then his terrified sobs shook the little kitchen. Hysterically, he pounded on the unit top, and kicked at the cupboard doors. His grief was an unleashed monster, raging through the empty house.
Nicky thumped him on the back, hard.
‘Leave me!’
She thumped him again, harder. ‘You got to stop it! Now! Come on, Roy, I’m not joking!’ The desperate crying subsided. ‘We got to think. We got to think together.’
They went into the Back Room, and sat on the sofa with the broken springs. ‘Isn’t she coming back at all?’ said Roy.
‘Of course she’s coming back,’ said Nicky. ‘The only thing is, we don’t know when.’
‘I think she’s dead,’ said Roy.
‘If you say that again I’ll hit you,’ said Nicky. ‘She can’t be dead because her handbag, remember? It’s got our address inside, remember? And about the police? And she can’t be ill because Tony would bring her home, or tell us anyway. Or someone would.’
‘So why didn’t she come?’
‘Maybe she’s in some trouble.’
‘What trouble?’
‘I don’t know, do I? Some grown-up trouble, I don’t know. . . . The thing is, the thing is, Roy, we have to not tell of her like she said. You don’t want our mum to get in trouble, do you? Well then!’
‘You just now said she is in trouble.’
‘No I didn’t. I said maybe . . . I said . . . I don’t know what I said, you’re muddling me up!’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Don’t be silly, there’s nothing to be scared of.’
‘You were scared just now, you said.’
‘Well I’m not scared now. I finished being scared. We just have to keep the secret, that’s all. You have to promise to keep the secret, Roy. I promise you, and you promise me, right? Right?’
‘I want Mum!’
‘I want Mum too but we can’t have her till she comes home, and in the meanwhile we have to keep the secret.’
‘There’s nothing to eat though, only spaghetti.’
‘No there isn’t, we got the rest of the emergencies money.’
‘What’s emergencies?’
‘I think this is. We can buy food with the emergencies money because I think that’s what it’s for. We don’t have to have that yucky old spaghetti if we don’t want to, we can choose. What do you choose to have for tea, Roy?’
‘Fish fingers!’
‘All right, we’ll have fish fingers. You see, we can have anything we like. You choose today, and I’ll choose tomorrow . . . if Mum isn’t home by then.’
‘Can we have chips as well? From the chippie?’
‘Well – just for today.’ Uneasily, Nicky was remembering how quickly the first ten pounds disappeared.
‘And Coke?’
‘I’ll buy a big bottle, but we got to make it last.’
‘Only till Mum comes back.’
‘Well that’s right, that’s right. And if Mum is enjoying herself at the seaside, we can be enjoying ourself here. That’s fair, isn’t it?’
‘You said she isn’t enjoying herself, you said she’s in trouble.’
‘I didn’t, I didn’t, I said she might be in trouble. Don’t go on about I said she’s in trouble! Most likely she’s enjoying herself, and good because she has a hard life.’
‘She’s supposed to come home, and look after us,’ said Roy.
‘You’re always thinking about yourself,’ said Nicky.
There were things to be bought, as well as fish fingers and the chips and the Coke. There was a new packet of cornflakes, for instance, because the old one was running out; and some biscuits for after the fish fingers because Roy would ask for something sweet, and he would probably turn his nose up at the rice pudding. Nicky put the change away carefully.
‘Perhaps she’ll come tonight after all,’ said Roy, after tea.
‘Perhaps,’ said Nicky.
‘Shall we watch at the window again?’
‘No,’ said Nicky. ‘Watching’s silly, it doesn’t make her come.’
But Roy sneaked into the Front Room anyway, when Nicky was watching television, and he opened the window with the special key, which he wasn’t supposed to do; the Front Room window was always kept locked. Roy leaned over the back of the best sofa, and as far out of the window as he could, as though the effort of straining might make Mum come after all.
And someone was coming up the path, but it wasn’t Mum. Roy slammed the window down and scuttled into the Back Room. ‘There’s somebody at the door.’ He couldn’t say who it was, because he wasn’t supposed to have been watching.
‘Who is it?’ called Nicky through the letter box. Mum always said they must be very careful about who they opened the door to.
It was Mrs Morris from next door, and Mrs Morris was not welcome, but there was no excuse for not opening the door to her. ‘Oh hullo, Aunty Four-Eyes,’ said Nicky.
Mrs Morris flushed; she did not like Mum’s rude name for her. ‘I want to see your mother,’ she said.
‘What about?’
‘I want to see your mother, Nicky, not you.’
‘She’s not in.’
‘It’s past seven o’clock!’
‘She’s not in, she’s working late.’
‘At seven o’clock?’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
Mrs Morris sniffed. ‘Anyway she ought to be home, minding you.’
‘That’s her business,’ said Nicky.
Mrs Morris swallowed. She was a dull, whiny sort of person, middle-aged looking already, although she was only a year or two older than Mrs Mitchell. She knew she was too fond of judging people; she knew it wasn’t really Christian to do that, and from time to time she made a real effort to be better. ‘I wouldn’t come if I didn’t have to,’ she said.
‘Is it important then?’ said Nicky.
‘As if you didn’t know!’ Mrs Morris burst out. ‘Two days running! First his face all scratched, and now his shirt ruin
ed. Gravy stains all over it!’
‘Oh that!’ said Nicky.
‘Yes, that! And you can take that smile off your face, it’s not funny!’
‘Can’t you wash Eric’s shirt?’
‘That’s as much as you care, isn’t it! You don’t care his shirt is ruined and no good for school any more. You had your fun, and that’s all you can think about. I want to see your mother.’
‘She’s not in, I said.’
‘What time’s she coming back?’
‘I don’t know.’ A sudden terrible thought struck Nicky – the WELCOME HOME, over the kitchen door! Could Mrs Morris see the WELCOME HOME? Nicky pushed the front door quickly, and Mrs Morris stepped back, thinking it was going to be shut in her face.
‘All right, I’ll just go and see the headmaster tomorrow then! He’ll get on to your mum, he’ll have to! I’m not the only mother’s getting sick of your carryings on up that school.’
Nicky opened the door a fraction more, and squeezed herself into the porch. ‘Don’t do that, Mrs Morris! Dear Mrs Morris, please don’t do that!’
‘What are you trying on now?’ said Mrs Morris, suspiciously.
‘Mum isn’t very well.’
‘Huh!’
‘She isn’t, she isn’t, she’s very brave about it, she doesn’t tell many people.’
‘She’s well enough to stop out.’
‘She’s got a terrible pain though. She’s not supposed to have people worry her. I’m sorry about Eric’s shirt, I won’t do it again.’
Mrs Morris hesitated. She knew it was right to forgive people when they said they were sorry. She knew it was right to help people if they were ill. ‘What sort of a pain has your mother got?’
‘Just a pain. She’s had it for weeks, it comes and goes.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘He says it’s just a pain.’
‘Are you sure that’s all he says?’
‘Oh yes. But he says she mustn’t have nothing to worry her. She has a hard life, you know.’
‘You should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?’
‘Yes I should, I’m a terrible person, I know! But I won’t do it again, I promise. See this wet, see this dry, cross my heart and hope to die!’
‘It’s all very well—’
‘Please, Mrs Morris. Please. Don’t go up to school about me, please!’
Mrs Morris hesitated. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Think about my mum with her pain, that she is so brave about. Think about that.’
‘All right, all right! Is there anything I can do, then, to help?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Nicky. ‘We’re fine.’
‘Well tell your mum she knows where I am if she wants me.’ Mrs Morris thought she ought to say that, even though she felt awkward, and not at all sure she really wanted to help that woman.
‘Goodbye,’ said Nicky, firmly.
Back in the house, Nicky ripped down the WELCOME HOME banner. ‘Thank goodness Aunty Four-Eyes didn’t see this! Thank goodness, eh Roy? That would make her ask questions for certain, if she saw this.’
‘I think she’s going to come again anyway,’ said Roy nervously. ‘To spy on us.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Nicky. ‘I’ll get rid of her if she does.’ She scrumpled up the banner, so carefully made, and stuffed the sad remains into the waste-bin, in the kitchen.
‘I think other people are going to come and spy on us,’ said Roy, twisting his fingers. ‘I think Polly Pry is going to come, and I think the people at Mum’s work are going to come. I think they’re going to come here soon, to find out why she is stopping away all this time.’
‘Oh they won’t come,’ said Nicky. ‘They don’t care. You know what Mum told us! They just want a laugh and a joke. And the boss only cares if they all finish a load of dresses to make money for him! Nobody cares about Mum, and she rather have it like that, because then they don’t poke their noses in. Did you hear what I said?’
‘What about?’
‘About the people at Mum’s work don’t care.’
‘Don’t they?’
‘You weren’t listening!’
‘I was thinking something else.’ His face was turned from her, his thoughts a secret yet.
‘What?’
‘Just something.’
‘What?’
‘Well . . . I was thinking it’s my birthday on Thursday.’
‘So?’
‘Well . . . so Mum will come home then, won’t she! She won’t miss my birthday, will she?’
He looked round then, and his eyes were alight with hope. Too much hope. Troubled and confused, Nicky tried to be realistic for him. ‘Do you know what I think? I think we didn’t ought to say a exact time for Mum to come. I know I said before . . . I mean I know I said, but that was when it wasn’t so long. . . . It’s different now, it’s all different, so we didn’t ought to think the same.’
But Roy looked the other way again, not wanting to hear.
Miles away in Southbourne, a woman opened her eyes and blinked. She felt very muddled. Everything looked strange and there were parts of her that hurt, but it was confusing trying to decide which parts they were. ‘What?’ she muttered. ‘What? . . . What? . . . What?’ She seemed only able to say one word, and even that was not very clear, so the nurse had to bend over to catch what it was.
‘You’re all right,’ said the nurse. ‘You’re quite safe. You’re in hospital.’
‘What? . . . Why?’
‘Don’t you remember the accident?’
‘Accident? . . . No . . . no . . . what?’
‘Hush,’ said the nurse. ‘You’re all right. You were knocked down by a car, and you’ve got a few broken bones but they’ll mend. The main thing is – you’ve been asleep rather a long time. Everyone is going to be very pleased that you’ve wakened up at last.’
The woman in the bed did not actually hear the last bit of that, because she had drifted down, down, down into sleep again. She floated nearly to the surface, sank again, rose once more, and opened her eyes. ‘Oh,’ she said.
The nurse was still there. ‘We’ve been trying to find out who you are.’
‘Oh.’
‘Your name?’ said the nurse, hopefully.
‘Yes . . . what?’
‘Your name!’ said the nurse.
The woman struggled to remember. ‘Yes. . . . What? . . . I don’t know.’ The room was blurring and tipping about. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Well yes,’ said the nurse. ‘It does, rather.’
‘Ask somebody else,’ said the woman, indistinctly; and she dropped back into the warm darkness.
5
The birthday party
NICKY HAD NOT forgotten Roy’s birthday; only which day it was she was supposed to give him his present. She’d had the present for a week, and it was quite hard to keep hidden, because it was two goldfish in a bowl. Nicky knew Roy would be pleased with his present, because he was always hanging around the goldfish in the hall at school. Of course the goldfish at school were in a proper tank. Nicky would have liked to get a proper tank for Roy, but they cost too much money. The bowl was in a junk shop. Nicky often looked in the junk shop window, because there were old and beautiful things there as well as rubbish, and that was how she came to see the goldfish bowl. And the lady let her have it for a pound, because there was a chip in the rim.
She had a card for Roy, as well as a present. The card had rabbits on it (she couldn’t find one with goldfish) and a lot of tinselly stuff, and it said TO A DEAR BROTHER.
She wondered if Mum had a present for Roy, and she thought of going to look, but then she thought it was best not to know. She didn’t want to have to tell Roy Mum hadn’t thought about his birthday yet. She also didn’t want to have to see his disappointment if Mum didn’t turn up, like he was making himself expect. He was building his hopes in a wobbly tower, like babies’ bricks piled one on top of the other. And she wished he
wouldn’t do it because the bricks would fall, they would fall if Mum didn’t come, and Roy would be all in pieces like the wobbly tower.
It hurt her to think about that, it really hurt. Because honestly, honestly, Nicky didn’t think you could count on Mum coming just because it was Roy’s birthday. Whatever was keeping her was not going to stop keeping her just because Roy had a birthday on Thursday. Maybe she forgot all about it was Roy’s birthday! She did that once before, until Nicky reminded her. She was sorry after, but she could do it again perhaps, Nicky thought.
And Nicky had to admit she didn’t know what to make of this funny thing about Mum staying away so long. It really was getting very hard to think of a good explanation. Or to know what to expect any more. Or to know what to say to Roy – so he wouldn’t hope too much, or go the other way and give up hoping altogether.
Just two things stood out clearly. To keep the secret so Mum wouldn’t get in trouble; and make a good birthday for Roy, whatever!
Nicky counted her little store of money. There was seven pounds forty-seven pence left out of Mum’s twenty pounds, and one pound thirteen pence in her own private purse. She usually had more than that, but the goldfish and the goldfish food and the card had taken up the biggest part of her savings. She put the five-pound note from Mum’s seven pounds forty-seven into the pocket of her school dress. She hoped she wouldn’t have to spend it all.
In school there was one good thing, and that was Mr Hunt was back. Nicky put her arm round his neck in the playground and gave him a kiss. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ said Mr Hunt, who was good-natured but lazy, and made no special effort to make himself liked.
‘Now you’re here, can I come back to my own class?’ said Nicky.
‘Nicky was bad while you was away, Sir,’ said Marcus.
‘So what’s new?’ said Mr Hunt.
‘I’ll tell you what’s new,’ said Nicky, warmly. ‘What’s new is I’m not going to be bad any more! I’m different, I’m changed.’
‘You’re frightening me!’ said Mr Hunt, pretending to cower behind his hands.
She was as good as her word, though. Miraculously, her good resolution lasted all day! She even helped Joycelyn, who was a bit slow, patiently explaining the maths to her, long after Mr Hunt had given up trying.
