by Susan Lewis
‘Come on,’ she shouts, as the ride starts to slow. ‘Get ready to jump on or we’ll miss the next go.’
As a crowd of people, dizzied and laughing, stagger off the ride, another crowd surges forward to take their places. Mandy and I squeeze into the corner of one of the cars, and five other girls we’ve never seen before jam themselves in with us. We’re all screaming and laughing and telling each other our names. It’s really fab. I’m having the time of my life. Then this really good-looking chap jumps on to the back of our car to take our money, and I think how fab it would be if he was my boyfriend.
Mandy hands over our fares and gives him a smile. It’s really cool the way she does that, with her eyes kind of going down then up again, so I try it too, but he’s not looking at me.
I’m going to practise in front of the mirror when I get home.
Slowly the cars start to rise and dip, while gliding into a spin. ‘Lady Madonna’ comes on the speakers and as the waltzers pick up speed the music gets louder and louder, and we go faster and faster. We’re all screaming and yelling, and the really dishy bloke is whirling our car round as fast as he can. The whole world turns into a blur. I can’t see a thing. Mandy’s grabbing my arm and I’m grabbing hers. I feel sick and giddy, but totally fab. I wish Sadie and Cheryl were here, and Paula Gates.
The ride goes on and on. The music changes to ‘Congratulations’, making me think of Cheryl again, and I start to feel as though I might burst. Colours are whizzing past my eyes. I cling on more tightly than ever. I want it to stop now, but it doesn’t. Round and round, up and down, so fast I can hardly breathe. Cliff is singing his head off. I want to get off, but I can’t.
Eventually, just when I think I’m going to spin right off the edge of the world, we start slowing down. I feel Mandy’s hands clenched on the bar next to mine. Our heads are down, our shoulders hunched. This is the worst and best thing I’ve ever done since I went on the cat and mouse with Mum at Weymouth and I thought we were going to shoot right off the top runway into the sea. I wonder if she can see me now on the waltzer. I hope not, because she’d probably be as cross as Dad would if he could.
At last our car makes its final spin, and as the bars go back we all stumble and lurch over to the balustrades to make room for the next lot to get on.
I’m still too dizzy to see much. Everything around me seems to be swaying and swooping and as Amen Corner start singing ‘Bend Me, Shape Me’, Mandy and I stagger, all wobbly-legged, down the steps on to the grass. We’re laughing and gasping, and still hanging on to one another, as though trying to keep each other up.
‘That was really cool,’ I manage to say.
‘Want to go again?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘What about the big wheel?’
I look up to the top chair and wonder if I’ve got the guts to go that high. I don’t want to admit that I might not have, but nor do I want to start puking or panicking while I’m up there. ‘I should find my cousin,’ I say.
‘OK. I’ll come with you.’
We link arms and start off through the fair. I notice the way Mandy smiles at the boys who wolf-whistle, and gives snotty looks to girls who do the same to us.
‘Scrubbers,’ I hear someone jeer.
‘Look who’s talking,’ Mandy jeers back.
‘She’s not here,’ I say, when we get to the dodgems. The cars are all full and bumping around, but there’s no sign of Doreen and Stella.
‘They’re bound to be around somewhere,’ Mandy assures me, and tugging my arm she leads me over to the toffee-apple stall. ‘Want one?’ she offers.
I shake my head.
‘What about a candyfloss? Or a hot dog?’
‘I don’t have any money,’ I remind her.
‘Choose what you want. I don’t mind paying.’
In the end we decide on toffee apples and take them out on to the common to eat, where it’s a bit quieter, but starting to get dark.
‘Aren’t you scared being out on your own?’ I ask her, as we crunch into the fruity toffee. There are lots of other people scattered around eating chips or candyfloss, or drinking beer or pop as they puff away on their cigarettes.
‘Not really,’ she says. ‘I know my way home, and anyway, I’m used to it. I go out quite a lot at night on my own. Why? Are you scared?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, fascinated by the thought of going out in the dark on my own. ‘Where do you go?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘Lots of places. Downtown, up Kingswood, over the park.’
‘Doesn’t anyone ever go with you?’
‘I’ve got a friend, Julie, who I go round with sometimes, but she lives over Downend so I usually only see her at school.’ She takes a bite of her apple and watches some boys go by as she eats it. ‘Your mum died, didn’t she?’ she says after a while.
I stop chewing as I think of what Mum would say if she could see me now.
‘What was wrong with her?’
‘Cancer,’ I mumble.
She nods, seeming to understand. ‘So what’s it like at your school?’
‘Horrible. I hate it. Everyone’s stuck-up and teacher’s pets or goody-two-shoes. I mean, there are a few nice girls, but they wish they could get out too. What’s your school like?’
‘I don’t know. I hardly ever go.’
I turn to look at her.
‘I knock off,’ she explains. ‘It’s better than going and sitting in a bloody classroom all day, listening to those wanker teachers going on and on about the most boring things in the world.’
I couldn’t agree more. ‘So what do you do?’ I ask.
‘I just go places, either on the bus, or I walk, depending how much money I’ve got.’
I’m not sure what to say now. As much as I hate school, I can’t imagine not going. I never even realised there might be an alternative. In the end I say, ‘Do you have any boys at your school?’
‘Yes, but they’re all freaks and weirdos, and anyway, I’m not interested in boys the same age as me. They’re too immature.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I sigh. ‘If I had a boyfriend he’d have to be at least four years older than me, like my cousin Robert. He’s sixteen and rides a motorbike.’
‘I know. I’ve seen him around. He’s really dishy.’
Feeling proud, I say, ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. Actually, I’ve got lots of boys after me.’
I can believe it, because she’s really pretty, and I’m thinking, if I start going round with her, I might have lots of boyfriends too. I imagine what everyone will say at school when all the letters start turning up. I might even get some of the boys to come to see me after church on Sundays, just so’s everyone will know that I’m telling the truth.
‘Have you ever snogged anyone?’ she asks.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but I can’t quite make myself lie to her, because I’ve got a feeling she’ll know. So I say, ‘Only a bit. What about you?’
She nods. ‘Loads of times. How old are you?’
‘Nearly thirteen,’ I say, before I can stop myself. But I could be, because lots of girls in my year will be come September or October, and it’s not fair that I’m only going to be twelve in August when they’re already nearly in their teens and they act so much younger than me. ‘How old are you?’
‘I was fourteen last month. Have you ever been shagged?’
I almost say yes, but then I realise if I pretend I have she won’t tell me what it is. ‘Have you?’ I reply.
She shrugs. ‘Loads of times.’
‘Susan! Thank God, there you are. I’ve been looking all over the place for you.’ Doreen comes puffing up to me, Stella close behind. They look very pale and cross. ‘You frightened the living daylights out of me,’ Doreen complains. If I hadn’t been able to find you your dad would have had my hide, so would my mum. Where did you go? You were there one minute and gone the next.’
‘I met my friend Mandy,’ I
tell her, thinking it best not to mention the waltzer. She lives near us.’
Doreen eyes Mandy up and down. ‘I think you’d better come with us now,’ she says, taking hold of my arm. ‘It’s time we were getting you home.’
‘Mandy’s going to walk with us,’ I say. ‘She lost her brother and now she’s all on her own.’
‘It’s OK,’ Mandy interrupts. ‘I can find my way.’
I see Doreen look at Stella. They obviously feel guilty about leaving Mandy on her own, but they still don’t seem to want her to come with us. In the end, I seize Mandy’s arm and say, ‘Why don’t we go across the common instead of down round the road? We’ll be safe if there’s four of us.’
Eddie
It’s Good Friday. I’ve been queuing for nearly half an hour outside the Clock Tower for our fish and chips and I’m still the wrong side of the door. It’s pouring down with rain, and bless her, the woman behind offered to let me shelter under her umbrella. I thanked her politely and said that I didn’t mind getting wet.
I have to admit, I’m not really enjoying all the drip and trickle running down my back, but there’s so much sex going round these days that you never know what anyone means any more. Even the most innocent little remark can end up being taken the wrong way, and standing that close to a woman I’ve never met before could easily lead to all sorts of rumours that I definitely wouldn’t want to be the butt of.
A shocking thing happened down the factory yesterday. George Daily, who operates the cutter-grinder machine next to mine, was arrested for assaulting his wife. The police turned up, unannounced, and marched him away, while the other blokes began jeering and calling him names I wouldn’t want to repeat, as if they’d already decided he was guilty even though none of them had a clue what it was really all about. I did, because George had told me earlier in the day what had happened between him and his missus the evening before. Apparently, he’d caught her red-handed having a bit of how’s-yer-father with the bloke who comes to collect the rent for the council. George lost his temper and swung a punch at them both, and now he’s the one in clink. Heaven only knows where the other two are now – I can only hope it’s in church praying for forgiveness after committing a cardinal sin.
I swear the world’s going mad. Blokes don’t know what’s going on with their wives any more, because the women are running out of control. They seem to think it’s all right to go round flirting and drinking and showing themselves off like trollops, but that’s not how a lady should behave. It’s not what marriage vows are about, either. Thou shalt not commit adultery. I can only feel glad I don’t have to put up with all the shenanigans myself, but I honestly don’t think Eddress would be like it if she was still here. Not that she was a saint, mind you. Far from it, in fact, and she definitely enjoyed a bit of the other before she was ill. We used to do it every Saturday night, after bingo, and again on Sunday mornings if we managed a lie-in. There was even a couple of occasions during the week if we were in the mood, but there’s a time and a place for everything and when you’ve got children rampaging about the house and flinging themselves into your bed at all hours, that doesn’t arise very often.
Ah, at last, I’m inside the shop, and the rain’s not running down my neck any more. Just as well Nance and I took flowers to the graves yesterday, while the weather was good. Two bunches, one for our Bob, the other for our mam. While we were sorting it out, that rascal of a son of mine managed to sneak out under a bush into the park next door so he could have a go on the swings. Frightened me half out of my wits when I turned round to find him gone. Luckily he shouted out to let me know where he was, which turned out to be close to rolling round the top bar, he was going so high. I had to rush down through the graveyard, shove myself under the bush and into the park before he managed to launch himself off to the stars.
I’d have liked to take some flowers for Eddress, but I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back to the crematorium since we scattered her ashes.
It seems Eddress was on our Nance’s mind while we were at the graves, because it was while we were putting daffs in our mam’s urn that she said, ‘Do Susan or Gary ever ask after their mam now?’
‘No, not really,’ I told her. I often wish they did, but that’s me being selfish, because I want to talk about her and they’re too young to be burdened with my needs and memories.
‘That’s good.’ Nance stooped to rearrange one of the fresh daffs. ‘It shows they’re getting over it. Children always do and it generally don’t take long.’
I expect she’s right, but even so, I say, ‘I sometimes wonder if I ought to ask them how they feel about things. I was reading the other day that it can be good to get things unbottled ...’
‘Oh, all that new-fangled rubbish. I’ve heard about it too, but we never had time to go round talking about things during the war, did we, and we managed to survive.’
‘But we’re not at war any more, and the world’s changing.’
She gave a sigh. ‘You know your trouble, Eddie, you read too much. You’ve got enough to be doing keeping your head above water and making sure our Gary’s all right, so why do you want to go and make things even more difficult for yourself by dredging up the past when it’s the future what counts?’
I didn’t disagree, but I had to say, ‘Our Susan is bound to remember her, so I...’
‘Look, how often do we talk about our mam? Not hardly ever, and that’s a good thing, because it lets her rest in peace while we get on with our lives.’
Still not able to let it go, I asked, ‘Does Flo talk to the girls about Bob?’
‘No, not as far as I know. They were so young when he went that they hardly remember him at all, so Flo’s doing the best thing and getting on with the hand she’s been dealt.’
Since our Nance doesn’t have the best relationship with Flo, I couldn’t help wondering how much she really knew about the way Flo’s coping, but it wouldn’t do to dig any deeper. A person’s business is their own, and thankfully Flo’s got her family to give her any support she needs. Like mine do for me, and I suppose Nance is right, it doesn’t do any good to dwell on things, because no one wants to hear you going on and on about someone who’s dead. It’s embarrassing for them, they never know what to say, and anyway, missing Eddress isn’t something I should discuss with the kids.
Our Susan went up the shows with young Doreen and her friend last night and came back full of it. She wants to go again tonight, but I expect they’ll be closed in this weather. You should have seen the long face on her this morning when she got up and saw the rain. Kicked the bed, she did, then she started on Gary. Anyone would have thought it was his fault the weather was bad. Before I knew it they were at each other’s throats and if I hadn’t grabbed the ashtray off her I swear she’d have clobbered him with it. She’s a bundle of frustration these days, always picking on him, or me, unable to find anything nice to say to either of us, and nothing we ever do is right. Then, out of the blue, one of us manages to make her laugh, and when she does it’s like the sun’s come out, full force. I even find myself blinking. We don’t half love it when she’s home, most of the time, it’s as though the house fills up with colour again, but I’m careful never to tell her how pleased we are to see her because I know she’ll use it to try and make me let her stay.
What a battle of wills this education of hers is turning into.
She’s down our Nancy’s now, with Gary, waiting for me to bring their dinner. They’ll probably have been up the Tizer shop by the time I get back. I hope she remembers she’s supposed to share the money they get back on the bottles with Gary. She wants to go downtown shopping tomorrow, on her own, she says. I told her she can go up Kingswood for an hour and I’ll wait in the library to walk her home again, but downtown is much too far for a girl her age. Needless to say there was hell to pay, but I shan’t give in. She won’t tell me what she wants to buy, so I’ve said she can’t have any money until she does, because I know s
he’s after a miniskirt and make-up and all sorts of things she’s still far too young for.
I had no idea it could be this hard being a parent. I just hope she doesn’t start speaking to her teachers the way she sometimes speaks to me, telling me I’m stupid and old-fashioned and should keep up with the times. If she does, there are going to be a lot more detentions to come, which’ll mean no exeats, and I can’t help worrying how much more they’ll be prepared to put up with.
I wonder what I can do to keep her occupied this afternoon. All she seems interested in these days is playing her records and mooning over pictures of pop stars. It’s a pity Robert’s gone down Weymouth for the weekend, because she usually enjoys seeing him. It gives our Doreen and me a bit of a smile to see the crush she has on him, and I can’t say I blame her because he’s a good-looking lad, in spite of his long hair. Thank goodness he hasn’t turned into a hippy, I don’t think any of us would know what to do with one of those, but even so, our Doreen and Alf still don’t approve of the leather jackets and tatty jeans he’s taken to wearing. Still, he’s going on seventeen now, so what can they do?
I was thinking about driving down to George Daily’s house later to see if they’ve let the poor bloke out yet. Trouble is, it’s not really any of my business and I don’t want his missus slamming the door in my face the way she did once before. Apparently she thought I was a debt collector. She’s a handful, that one, and I can’t help feeling sorry for George who’s a nice bloke in his way. A bit of a rough diamond, the way he swears all the time, and tries his best to get under everyone’s skin, but he always remembers to ask after Susan and Gary, and he’s one of the few down the factory who don’t take the mickey out of me for all the writing I do. I can’t see why it bothers everyone so much that I like to take out my notebook and pencil during breaks, after all, it’s not hurting them. I could explain, but I won’t, how I find it soothing to put words on a page – any words will do, famous quotations, my own thoughts, song lyrics, poems I remember, news stories from the day, anything at all. It’s a lot more pleasing to me than leering over the girlie magazines they get themselves engrossed in. That sort of pastime wouldn’t do a chap like me, with no wife to come home to, any good at all.
