One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Well, my love,’ I say, ‘being the colouring you are makes you very special, because not many people …’

  ‘But I hate it. And I’m not special. And I don’t want them to be this colour. I’m going to dye them.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Now, we were about to have a story, so what would you like?’

  She thinks about it again, then says, ‘I know, tell me about when you were little, down Wales. Not the soup kitchen, because we’ve had that before, or the mines … What about when Auntie Nance had scarlet fever so she was at home when you were born, and when it came time for her to go back to school you were three, and you’d got so attached to her that you wouldn’t let her go so you went with her.’ She starts to laugh. ‘Do you remember, you said your feet didn’t touch the floor when you sat down at the desk, and all the other children made a big fuss of you because you were so little. And then at the end of the year you came top of the class.’

  With a shout of laughter I say, ‘I think you made the last bit up.’

  ‘No I didn’t, that’s what you said. Anyway, tell me about when you all moved up to Bristol. It was because Auntie Nance got a job here, wasn’t it, when she was fourteen, and Granny Lewis missed her so much that she made you all move up, and Grampy could hardly speak English. Which school did you go to?’

  ‘Ah, now there’s an interesting story,’ I tell her, ‘because I was ten when we came to Bristol, and Uncle Bob was eleven, which meant we had to go to different schools. He was enrolled at Hanham Road, and I was supposed to go to High Street …’

  ‘Which is where I went before you sent me to prison.’

  I waggle my eyebrows in a way that tugs a smile out of her. ‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘We were living in Northend Avenue, which is a long way from either of the schools, and your gran was worried about me having to go off on my own when I was still so young, and in a foreign country too, so she decided I should go to Hanham Road with Uncle Bob in spite of my age.’

  Susan’s eyes grow wide. ‘Was she allowed to do that?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I admit, ‘but she’d made up her mind, so the weekend before we were due to start Grampy walked all the way to the school with us, and back again, to make sure we knew the way. Then, on our first day, he took us in and left us in the playground along with the other boys. Within ten minutes Uncle Bob and I were in a fight, because someone called us Taffies. We were giving them what for, when the teachers broke it up and sent us into the classroom. I squeezed in next to Uncle Bob, sharing his chair, because, of course, there wasn’t one for me. When the teacher spotted the two of us at one desk he came to find out what was going on, and the next thing I knew one of the dinner ladies was marching me off to High Street School to join my class there.

  ‘Well, this was fine, until it came time to go home at the end of the day. The bell rang and all the children poured out of the gates, including me. Everyone started off in different directions, but I didn’t know which one to take, because I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t even remember the way back to Hanham Road, except I was sure we’d come through Kingswood Park which, as you know, is right next to High Street School. So I set off that way, and had a go on the swings when I got there because one of them was empty and usually you had to wait a long time for a turn. After a while I realised everyone else had gone, and it was starting to get dark. I felt quite scared then. I wanted to find Uncle Bob, or Granny, but I still didn’t know which way to go. I set off again, trundling on through the park and out the other side, trying to keep warm because it was starting to get cold. I walked and walked but there was no sign of Uncle Bob’s school, or of our house, or anyone I knew because we didn’t know anyone yet.’

  I’m getting so carried away with the story that it takes me a moment to realise our Susan is crying.

  ‘Oh dear, what is it, my love?’ I say, opening my arms for her to come and sit on my lap.

  ‘I don’t want you to be lost,’ she sobs, snuggling up to me. ‘Please don’t be lost, Dad.’

  ‘Oh you daft old thing,’ I chuckle as I wrap her up tight.

  ‘I don’t want to think of you being on your own without Granny or Grampy, not knowing where to go. Were you crying?’

  ‘No,’ I lie, realising it’ll upset her even more if she thinks I was. ‘I was a big brave boy, and when a policeman found me – they were out looking for me, you see – he let me ride home on the crossbar of his bike and then he told Granny and Grampy how proud they should be of me for being so brave.’

  She gives a little splutter of laughter, but she’s still clinging on to me. ‘You won’t ever get lost again, will you?’ she says. ‘You know your way everywhere now, don’t you?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ I assure her, glancing up as the back door bangs open. ‘Aha, that’ll be my boy. I was wondering where you were,’ I tell him as he surges into the room.

  Gary screws up his face in disgust. ‘What are you doing on Dad’s lap?’ he demands of Susan. ‘You’re such a baby.’

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll smash your face in,’ she warns.

  ‘Yeah, you and whose army?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ I gasp, holding her back. ‘Where are your caterpillars?’ I ask Gary.

  ‘In a box out by the door. We got loads. And I even got a mouse,’ he adds in triumph.

  ‘You caught a mouse!’ I say, duly, and genuinely, impressed.

  He nods happily, then scowls at Susan. ‘And I’ll set it on you if you don’t shut up.’

  ‘I’m not scared of mice,’ she informs him. ‘So go and get it.’

  By the time he comes back she’s sitting on one of her play chairs in front of the fireguard, and I’m winding up the clock.

  ‘It’s in there, hiding in the grass,’ Gary says, handing me an old shoebox with no lid. There’s a veritable caterpillar convention going on inside, but no sign of a mouse.

  ‘Oh dear, he must have escaped,’ I say, bracing for the storm.

  ‘No, he can’t,’ Gary protests. ‘He’s definitely there,’ and yanking the box back he fishes around and a moment later he has a mouse dangling by its tail.

  Susan’s scoff says it all. ‘It’s dead,’ she snorts.

  Gary looks angry. ‘So what, it’s still a mouse,’ he snarls.

  ‘Anyone can catch a dead mouse,’ she sneers. ‘What did you bring it home for?’

  Gary looks at me. ‘I thought we could bury it,’ he says, ‘the way we did with Sixpence.’

  ‘Sixpence was a pet,’ she tells him. ‘That thing there is a wild animal. And Sixpence would still be alive if you’d remembered to feed him.’

  ‘I did feed him, didn’t I, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ I assure him.

  ‘And I said a prayer for him,’ Gary told her earnestly. ‘So I think you should let my mouse go and keep him company.’

  Susan pulls a face, but I can see the idea has some appeal. ‘All right,’ she agrees. ‘We ought to give it a name first though.’

  Gary wastes not a second. ‘Mickey?’

  ‘No, that’s too obvious.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It means everyone would call a mouse Mickey, so we have to think of something else.’

  ‘I know, what about Rodney? He was with me when I found it.’

  ‘All right, Rodney. Unless it’s a girl. Can you check please, Dad?’

  Determining the sex of a dead mouse is a skill I’ve yet to acquire, whereas exercising the parental licence to lie I’m already getting quite good at. ‘It’s definitely male,’ I declare, after swinging it back and forth a couple of times.

  ‘How do you know?’ Gary asks.

  ‘If it was a girl it would swing the other way,’ I tell him. I don’t know, but I’m sure I can hear Eddress laughing.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to find out if it has a dicky-dye-doh?’

  Susan’s watching me, and I could swear there’s a devilish little gleam in her eyes.

  ‘He has one,’ I insist, ‘but
it wouldn’t be polite to stare at it, especially now he’s dead. So who’s going to help dig the hole?’

  ‘Me!’ Gary cheers.

  ‘Me too,’ Susan echoes.

  I glance at the clock and feel her eyes lancing me as I say, ‘You ought to be getting yourself ready to go back now, my love. We have to pop in and see Gran on the way.’

  The look on her face throws me back all those years to the time I was lost, when I thought everyone had returned to Wales and left me. Never had the world seemed so lonely, or frightening. I’ll never forget it. It’s not like that for Susan, though. She’s well taken care of at school and though she might not know her way home, I don’t have to worry, because she’s as safe as safe could be behind those walls, and much as she might talk about running away, I know that deep down inside she doesn’t mean it.

  Susan

  I love Granny Price more than anyone else in the world, except Dad and Gary who I love the same. She’s really old and has bad legs that have to be bandaged every day, and whiskers on her chin that some of my older cousins pluck out with tweezers. She doesn’t like that much, but she lets them do it anyway, because she lets everyone do everything they like. Apart from Reggie, her lodger. She’s really mean to him, and so is everyone else, except Dad, because he’s never mean to anyone. He talks to Reggie, and never seems to mind about the dewdrop at the end of Reggie’s nose, or the stumpy little fag poking out of the corner of Reggie’s mouth. Reggie is very poor, and scruffy, and can hardly walk, or talk. He doesn’t have any family, or a job, or anything at all. Gran’s always saying she doesn’t know why she puts up with him, the lazy good-for-nothing that he is, but she never throws him out. I think this must mean that she’s got a bit of a soft spot for him really, but she’d never let it show.

  Dad’s out in the garden now, having a look at the potatoes Reggie’s planted. Gary’s next door at Uncle Graham’s and Auntie Ivy’s, playing with our cousins Geoffrey and Deborah. So it’s just me and Gran, buttering some toast while the tea brews in a big brown china pot under a cosy that I knitted, with Mummy’s help, for her eighty-first birthday.

  ‘You see, Gran,’ I’m telling her, ‘it’s horrible being there. Everyone’s really stuck-up and snobby and they hardly give us anything to eat. They treat us like slaves, too, because we have to get up before it gets light in the morning to sweep the stairs, or lay the tables, or wash up, or wait on the staff and sixth form hand, foot and finger. They’re really lazy and mean and wicked. You can see it in their eyes. I’m really scared of them, and that’s not right, is it? I shouldn’t be in a place where people are evil and tell me off all the time, even though I haven’t done anything wrong, should I?’

  ‘Well, no, my old love, but …’

  ‘Oh Gran, I knew you’d agree with me,’ and I throw my arms around her for a great big hug, forgetting about my buttery knife that goes all down her back and in her hair. She won’t mind though, because she never minds about anything. ‘So you’ll talk to Dad and tell him that I don’t need to go back today?’ I urge.

  ‘Susan, my old love, you can’t leave school just like that,’ she says, ‘and being up the Red Maids means you’re going to go far one of these days …’

  ‘But I want to stay here,’ I shout, ‘with you, and Dad and Gary, and all my friends.’

  ‘I know you do,’ she says, putting one of her trembly old hands on my head, ‘but I expect you’re making new friends already …’

  ‘No, I’m not! I hate everyone and they hate me.’

  She gives me one of her Granny Price looks. ‘Are you sure you’re telling the truth?’ she asks.

  I start to nod, but I shouldn’t lie, really, so I tell her about Laura and Cheryl, and a couple of other girls who I suppose are all right, in their way.

  ‘There you are, you see, you’ve got some lovely friends …’

  ‘But I don’t want them, Granny. I want to go to school with all my proper friends and come home every night the way they do. It’s not fair that I have to stay in that horrible place. You should see it. There are ghosts and spiders and rats …’

  ‘I think we’re exaggerating, aren’t we?’ she chides. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts …’

  ‘Yes there is! His name’s Johnny and he has a wooden leg and it’s always me he picks on. And the piano plays all on its own. I promise, I’m not lying. There’s no one there, but the keys go up and down, like there’s fingers on them. It’s a really spooky place, Gran. I think everyone’s a witch in disguise, and they’re going to turn me into one too.’

  ‘The things that go on in that head of yourn,’ she sighs. ‘I wonder what you’re going to come out with next.’

  ‘It’s true, Gran, honest. All of it. If you had to stay there, you’d see what I mean.’

  ‘It’s got a very good reputation,’ she tells me. ‘The girls who come out of there go on to places like Oxford and Cambridge.’

  ‘I don’t want to go there,’ I rage. Why won’t anyone listen to me?

  ‘What’s all this, shouting at your grandmother?’ Daddy demands, coming into the room. ‘You’ll say you’re sorry now, or there won’t be any tea for you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go getting on at her,’ Granny tells him. ‘She’s a good girl really, aren’t you, my old babby?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree, with a scowl at Daddy.

  ‘If the wind changes you’ll stay like that,’ he warns.

  ‘Well, I can’t be any uglier than I already am.’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense now, and go next door to get Gary.’

  I find him in Uncle Graham’s shed making a den with Geoffrey. I want to make a den too, because I love dens, but there isn’t time. We have to eat our toast and drink our tea before I have to go back to school.

  ‘So what’s it like up that posh place?’ Geoffrey asks. He’s nearly a year older than me, and is one of the fastest runners in the world. ‘Bet you’re a right old babby-ass always crying to come home.’

  I glare at Gary. He’s really in for it now. To Geoffrey I say, ‘It’s a very nice school, h’actu-ally, much too good for the likes of you,’ and snatching Gary’s hand I drag him after me, back over to Gran’s, where I’d have given him a good thumping if Dad hadn’t been on his way out to find us.

  Here I am, back in the haunted castle. Actually, it’s quite nice to see Laura, who hates it here as much as I do. She’s been with her parents for the day – Cheryl too, naturally – and her eyes are still quite red from how much she cried when they brought her back. I saw some other first-formers on our way up to bed, and they all looked miserable too. None of us wants to be here. If I pay more attention in science I might learn how to blow the place up, and then we’d all be free.

  I found out the other day about a girl who got expelled. Her name was Caroline Gooding, and apparently she was thrown out when she was in the fifth form for sneaking out to go with boys. It must be really terrible to be expelled. I expect her whole life is ruined, and her name’s not even written in gold on the old girls’ board in the dining room. It’s like she never existed, but everyone knows she did.

  I wonder how I can get a boyfriend. Not to sneak out and see or I might end up expelled too, but to write to the way some of the older girls do. They even get visits from them at the weekends. It would definitely shut everyone up if I had someone like Davy Jones or George Harrison visiting me. It makes me go all lush and giggly inside just to think of it. I love imagining what it might be like kissing them. I do that for ages sometimes; it’s loads better than doing prep or listening to some boring lesson. I think about having all their records, and everyone knowing their songs are written about me. I’ve been thinking about sending them a letter to ask if they’ll come. You never know, they might. It would be a bit embarrassing if they both turned up at the same time though, so if I do write, I’ll send a letter to Davy first because he’s my favourite. George is my second.

  I wonder if my cousin Robert would come to see me? He’s really, really
good-looking, and he’s got a motorbike. I’d like to marry him when I’m old enough. I think it’s allowed between first cousins. He’s got a girlfriend at the moment, but that’s only because I’m too young for him now, and he’s always finishing with girls. He’s promised to let me have a ride on his motorbike one day. It would be dead cool if he came to church next Sunday and we zoomed off together with everyone watching. They’d all wish he was their boyfriend, and they’d be ganging round me the minute I came back, dead keen to hear all about him.

  I wonder what Paula Gates’s boyfriend is like?

  Or Sadie’s?

  ‘Susan Lewis. Get out of bed!’

  My heart stops beating and I go icy cold. They’re going to give me a blowing up, and I was nearly asleep.

  ‘Go in the bathrooms,’ someone hisses. I think it’s Nina, but it might be Sonya, who sleeps in the next bed to Glenys.

  I don’t know whether or not to get my dressing gown. It’s cold and my new brushed nylon pyjamas aren’t all that warm.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Nina growls.

  Forgetting my dressing gown I run over to the bathrooms, scared and angry and wishing they’d leave me alone.

  Two more third-formers, from Discoverer, are waiting in one of the bath cubicles, where a single light is on. Sonya closes the door behind me and Nina orders me to stand in the bath.

  I do as I’m told, and struggle not to gasp and cry as they turn on the cold tap, covering my feet and the bottoms of my pyjamas with freezing water.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ Nina barks.

  I shake my head, and try not to shiver, but I can’t help it.

  ‘It’s because you’re sullen and lazy and you don’t listen to what you’re told,’ she informs me.

  ‘I-I’m sorry,’ I tell her. My feet are turning numb and the water’s going up around my ankles.

  ‘So you should be,’ she snarls. ‘Do you realise you pushed in front of Felicity in the house maids tonight?’

  I look at Felicity. She’s fair-haired and stick-thin and has even more freckles than I do. She’s looking as though she wants to slap me. If she does I’d love to slap her back, but I’d be too scared. ‘I didn’t see you,’ I tell her truthfully. ‘I thought I was in there on my own.’ I know I was, because it’s a really big room with a huge sink at one end and two wooden draining boards and nothing else at all, so if someone else was there I’d have been bound to see them.