One Day at a Time

by Susan Lewis

  That’s what I’m going to do from now on.

  Sometimes I go downstairs to watch telly. Gary likes Crackerjack and Dad’s favourite is The Dick Emery Show, so we usually watch those two programmes. It’s quite funny the way he hits people with his handbag and says, ‘Oh you are awful, but I like you.’ (I mean Dick Emery, not Dad.) I have a bit of a smile at the idea of Dad with a handbag.

  Some rich people are getting colour televisions now. It’s just started, but only on BBC2 and we can’t get that channel anyway, so it doesn’t count for us. Mum always liked Coronation Street and The Billy Cotton Band Show. Sometimes she’d let me stay up late on a Saturday night to watch Billy Cotton. He’s not on any more. It seems a really long time ago that we used to shout along with him, ‘Wakey Wakey!’

  I wonder if Robert’s with her and they like it where they are.

  Dad’s on holiday from work next week so we might go down Bowleaze Cove for a few days. I expect Gran will come too, and one or two of my cousins, like Geoffrey and Deborah. Auntie Doreen and Uncle Alf rented a caravan down there, but they’re not going now, so we might use it instead to save it going to waste.

  I saw Auntie Doreen last week and gave her a great big hug. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She told me how a young policeman came to the door in the middle of the night to tell them about Robert, and he got so upset that she sat him down in the front room and went to make him a cup of tea.

  ‘He wasn’t much older than our Robert,’ she said. ‘Must have been a terrible shock for him.’

  That’s typical of Auntie Doreen, to think about other people before she thinks about herself. She’s lovely and gentle and kind and I don’t understand why God had to do this to her.

  Towards the end of last term I started to read the Treasury of Devotion, because in between getting into trouble I kept worrying that I might be making God cross, and if I was then He might never forgive me for whatever I did to make Him take Mummy away and send me to Red Maids. I’ve stopped reading it now, and I’m never going to read it again.

  Ever since the weekend I’ve had a terrible stomach ache, and on Saturday night my head hurt so much that I wanted to bang it against the wall. Dad sat with me, trying to make me feel better, but it pounded and hurt so badly that in the end I started to be sick. The doctor was visiting one of the old-age pensioners in the bungalows at the bottom of the street so Dad asked him to pop in and see me. He said I had a migraine, and there was nothing he could give me except more aspirin. On Sunday I had a nosebleed that lasted so long I was afraid I might end up with no blood left.

  It’s quite early in the morning now and I’m still in bed. Dad’s gone to work, but Auntie Kath, our home help, is downstairs making our breakfasts. We’re supposed to be going to her house today, instead of Gran’s, which I was really looking forward to until I woke up to find out that I’m dying. I’m trying to comfort myself by thinking that Mum and Robert and Uncle Bob will be waiting for me when I get there, but what if they’re not? I might go to a different place to them, like hell, because I’ve stopped saying my prayers and thought bad things about God.

  I don’t want to die. I want to stay here with Dad. It would be really mean of God to take me away from him, because he’s already lost his wife and his brother – and his nephew, but maybe he wouldn’t mind if he lost me. He wouldn’t have to worry about me any more, or tell me off for getting into trouble, or put up with my cheek when he won’t let me wear minis or make-up. I think I probably deserve to die, so that’s why it’s happening.

  I have another look under the sheets and start to cry. There’s blood everywhere. I haven’t cut myself or anything, it’s coming out from between my legs, lots and lots of it, all over my nightie and the sheets.

  ‘Susan! Are you awake?’ Auntie Kath knocks on my door, and when I don’t answer she puts her head in. She’s a little woman with wiry ginger hair, a long freckled face and quite big teeth. Gary and I like her a lot. She’s very kind and down to earth and is a champion dart player at her local pub.

  I look at her with only my eyes showing above the sheets, because I make an ugly face when I’m crying.

  ‘Oh, my love, what is it?’ she says, coming to sit on the bed. ‘What’s got you all choked up?’

  I can’t answer straight away because I’m sobbing too hard. In the end, I manage to say, ‘I’m – I’m dying.’

  She takes a drag of her cigarette and the smoke comes out of her nose and mouth in little white curls as she says, ‘Well, that sounds like a load of old nonsense to me. Why do you say that?’

  I’m still trying to catch my breath. ‘Because – because I’m bleeding.’

  She looks a bit puzzled at first, then resting her cigarette on the edge of my dressing table, she asks, ‘How old are you again?’

  ‘I’m twelve next week.’

  She nods. ‘And where are you bleeding?’

  ‘Down – down there.’

  I can hardly believe it when she starts to laugh. ‘Oh, my love,’ she says, smoothing my hair, ‘didn’t anyone tell you about that? No, obviously not. It’s nothing to be afraid of. It happens to everyone … Well, girls, anyway. That blood is your periods starting.’

  I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  ‘It’ll happen every month for about a week,’ she goes on, ‘well, maybe not as regular as that at first, but it’ll settle down after a while. You might get some bad stomach aches when it’s about to happen, or headaches, but they’re nothing to worry about, it’s perfectly normal.’

  ‘But why does it happen?’ I want to know, wishing it would go away.

  She laughs again. ‘It’s all a part of growing into a woman and having babies,’ she explains. ‘When you bleed, it’s your body washing away the egg that hasn’t been used that month.’

  ‘What egg?’

  ‘The one you make so you can have children.’

  I’m feeling quite confused, thinking she might have something wrong, but I’m not sure what. ‘So was I pregnant?’ I ask, feeling quite doubtful, but excited.

  She laughs again. ‘I should hope not,’ she says, ‘but now your periods have started you can get in the family way – that’s a phrase they use for getting pregnant – or up the spout, or in the pudding club … But you’re still a bit young for that, so we won’t want it happening just yet, will we?’

  I shake my head.

  She peers at me closely. ‘Do you know what goes on between a man and a woman to make a baby?’

  I swallow and shake my head again.

  ‘It’s when a man puts his dicky-dye-doh, as Gary calls it, inside a woman’s private parts. That’s how babies are made.’

  She’s blushing, and so am I, so I’m glad when she gets up saying, ‘Well, we’d better get you sorted out, hadn’t we? I don’t suppose you’ve got any Dr Whites, so stay where you are. I’ll fetch some toilet paper to pad between your legs, then I’ll go round the shop to get what you need. Poor love.’ She strokes my hair again. ‘When I come back I’ll run you a nice warm bath so you can clean yourself up, then I’ll sort out the sheets. OK?’ She gives a happy little chuckle. ‘There’s a thing, Susan Lewis is a young lady already. It doesn’t happen to everyone as young as you, my girl, so that makes you quite special, you know.’

  I’ve always felt quite special, actually, so I’m not really very surprised when she says that.

  Ever since my period started last week I’ve been feeling quite mature, and I’m sure people are noticing. I haven’t told Dad, I just couldn’t, but I think he knows, because I forgot to put my packet of Dr Whites away yesterday, so he probably saw them next to my bed when he came to tuck me in last night. He might not know what they’re for though, unless Mum used to use them, but I’ve never seen any in our house before, so maybe she stopped having periods after she had Gary. I expect that’s what happens when you decide you don’t want to have any more children.

  I’ve asked a couple of my friends in the street if t
hey’ve started their periods yet, and no one has, which only goes to show how immature they are. I wonder if anyone my age at school has, but I don’t think they can have, because I’m sure they’d have told me. I can hardly wait to get back to tell everyone. I don’t want to be big-headed or anything, but I’ve always felt more grown up than them, especially Peg, and this just goes to prove that I am.

  I must admit, I don’t like the stomach ache much, and it feels strange trying to walk with a thick pad between my legs. I keep thinking people can see it under my shorts, but Auntie Kath swears they can’t. I wonder what I’m going to do when I need some more pads, where I’ll get the money from? I suppose I’ll have to ask Dad. That’ll be really really embarrassing, so maybe I should borrow the money from Auntie Kath.

  I really want to tell Robert, even though I know I wouldn’t if he was here. I just can’t stop thinking about him, even when I’m doing something else, and I get so angry inside about what happened to him that I want to scream and hit out at someone. Dad says we’ll never be able to make any sense of it, and that we shouldn’t try because ours is not to reason why. Well I think it is, because I don’t care what anyone says, it was wicked to make Robert die like that, and to take my mum and Uncle Bob. And the fact that God never shows Himself to us just goes to prove that He doesn’t love any of us at all, especially not me, because He keeps punishing me for things I didn’t do by taking away the people I love. I’m really scared He’ll take Dad or Gary next. If He does I’ll kill myself.

  Oh yes! I found out something extremely interesting yesterday. The reason I can never see Linda Watkins’ suspenders under her short dresses is because she’s wearing tights. Not the thick woolly sort that children wear, but ones made of stockings. They go all the way up the legs and have knickers at the top, just like, well, tights. I have to get some and take them back to school to show everyone how with-it I am. They’ll all want some, I know, but I’ll be the first to have them, or I would be if I could afford them, but I don’t have any money, and I can’t see Dad giving me any for something like that. He’ll say they’re indecent, the way he does about everything, but I think they’re much better than stupid stockings and suspenders. I’m going up Kingswood with Auntie Nance tomorrow, so I might ask if she’ll get me some and I’ll pay her back as soon as I can. I need some new brassieres too, because my old ones are much too small, but I don’t want to ask her for them. She teased me about my bosoms when we went swimming last week, which I really hated.

  ‘Oh, look at the big bosoms she’s got,’ she laughed, reaching in through the cubicle curtain like she was going to grab them. The next minute she was really angry, because I thumped her hand away and hurt her. I’m glad, because it was a stupid and childish thing to do, and she has no business even coming into my cubicle when I’m changing, let alone looking at my chest.

  I hate everyone so much sometimes I could scream.

  I saw Mandy Hughes yesterday walking across the top with her mum. She was wearing a really lush psychedelic minidress and white sling-back shoes with heels. She didn’t see me, because I was in our garden playing rounders with Gary and she wasn’t looking our way. I’m hoping I might bump into her up the shows again, because they’re up Siston Common for the summer. As it’s not too far Dad’s promised to let me walk up there without him when we come back from our holiday in Bowleaze Cove.

  We’re supposed to be going tomorrow, but the car’s playing up so Dad’s taken it to someone he knows to see if they can mend it. Gary’s gone fishing somewhere with his friends Geoffrey and Nigel, and I’m over by the brook with Diane and Carol, two girls who live right up the top of our street, and don’t seem to mind about me being posh. They’re the same age as me, and we always went to the same school until last year, so I’ve known them since I was five, just not all that well. My other friends in Greenways are all either on holiday, or have gone off without me as usual. I don’t care, they’re just stupid and childish anyway – and thick. (I wish they wouldn’t leave me out really, because I’d rather have them as friends than anyone else.)

  Diane and Carol haven’t started their periods yet, they tell me. Diane’s sister Jane has, but she’s fourteen, so that’s not very surprising. Carol’s really jealous.

  ‘I can’t wait till I’m grown up and able to have babies,’ she says. ‘You’re really lucky, Sue.’

  I think I am too, apart from the stomach ache, and I hope I never get one of those migraines again.

  It’s very hot today, which is why we decided to come over to the brook so we can paddle in the water to cool down our feet. I thought Gary and his friends might be here with their fishing nets and jam jars trying to find sticklebacks, but they must have gone over Hanham. There are some other boys here though, who are about the same age as us and who live along Champion Road. We’ve seen them lots of times before, mainly in the park around the corner, and they’re all right, I suppose. One of them’s called Bruce and he’s probably the best, apart from his great big ears; the other two are twins called Anthony and Alan. They’re sitting a bit further along the bank, closer to the bridge, where they’ve left their bikes propped against the wall, and they keep shouting things out to us like ‘Got any sweets?’ or ‘Want to come over here?’

  None of us has answered yet. We just giggle and pretend to ignore them, even though we all want to go really.

  ‘I dare you to go first,’ Diane whispers to me.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ I cry, giving her a push.

  ‘You go,’ she says to Carol.

  ‘Get lost, you’re the one who wants to.’

  ‘I’m not going on my own.’

  One of the boys shouts out, ‘Anyone fancy a snog?’

  We all gasp, then burst into giggles. The boys are grinning, and slapping each other on the back, obviously very pleased with themselves.

  ‘I’ve never snogged anyone, have you?’ Diane whispers.

  Carol shakes her head.

  They look at me.

  I flick back one of my bunches and say, ‘Quite a few times, actually.’ I suddenly think of Robert and the fact that I’ll never really kiss him now, and my heart gives such a horrible twist that I nearly start to cry.

  ‘Who?’ Carol demands.

  ‘No one you know,’ I answer shortly. I’m not going to tell them about Robert. It’s none of their business anyway. ‘He comes into the back lane at school sometimes,’ I tell them. ‘I meet him there.’

  Their eyes grow wider still. ‘What’s his name?’ Diane asks.

  ‘His real name’s Steven, but everyone calls him Slash.’

  Diane and Carol look at one another, then at me. ‘What’s it like?’ Carol wants to know.

  I’m starting to wish they’d shut up, but I don’t want to argue with them, so I say, ‘Really lush.’

  ‘Come on!’ Bruce shouts. ‘Or are you too scared?’

  ‘They’re just babies,’ Alan jeers. ‘Let’s go and find someone else.’

  ‘It’s you who’s a baby,’ Diane tells him. ‘I bet your mum still tucks you in at night.’

  We all laugh. ‘Diddums,’ Carol says. ‘Little baby Alan.’

  I can see he’s getting angry, but then Bruce says, ‘If they were so grown up they wouldn’t be afraid to come over here, so just ignore them, Al. They’re only kids.’

  ‘Look who’s calling who a kid,’ I sneer. ‘I bet you’re not even twelve yet.’

  ‘That’s just where you’re wrong, because I’ll be thirteen next month.’

  ‘So what? It still doesn’t make you a grown-up. I know boys who are much more mature than you.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet, locked away in that posh school for stuck-up girls.’

  ‘She meets boys in the back lane,’ Diane informs him snootily, ‘and she’s started her periods, which makes her much more mature than you.’

  I pull myself upright, wishing I’d thought of that blinder myself.

  The boys are looking puzzled.

  ‘What is it?’ we he
ar one of them whisper. They go into a huddle, and when they come out again Bruce’s grin seems to be hooked on to each of his great big ears. ‘We don’t believe you,’ he says.

  ‘It’s true!’ I shout.

  ‘Liar. You’ve got to be fourteen or fifteen before you have them.’

  ‘No you haven’t, and I can prove it.’

  His grin gets even wider. ‘Go on then,’ he says.

  They all fall about laughing and I want to hit them.

  ‘See, you can’t, because you’re lying,’ Anthony jeers.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Then show us.’

  So I tug down the waistband of my shorts, hike up my sanitary belt and the top of the pad and let them see it.

  They all hoot with laughter, then suddenly they’re jumping on their bikes and pedalling away like the wind.

  Diane and Carol are looking a bit stunned.

  I wish I hadn’t done it then, but it’s too late to take it back, and I’m afraid they’re going to tell everyone, and if Dad ever finds out … Why does everything always keep going wrong? I don’t want to be here any more, I want to go home, so I climb the bank and step out onto the pavement.

  ‘They’re really stupid,’ Diane says, coming after me. ‘You shouldn’t let them upset you.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘It was a good job you shut them up,’ Carol says, ‘they were really getting on my nerves.’

  ‘Ssh, quick, look who’s coming,’ Diane suddenly hisses, putting her head down and stamping her feet in excitement.