Invisible Child

by Mary Hayward

  “Do you want a chip love?” he baited, holding one out teasingly.

  I brushed passed as quickly as I could, but the others followed. I spun round to avoid them, but it was no use and eventually they all herded me in, like cattle. I reached out for the chip in his hand and he snatched it away. A big cheer went up.

  “Want a chip love?” They all stood there laughing and joking at me.

  I tried to push my way through them, but I didn’t have the energy and they jostled me back. It was now dark and I was frightened they might turn on me.

  “Go on Tommy, give ’er a chip then,” one shouted from the back of the crowd.

  Tommy came over to me and pushed ‘white scarf’ away. He put his arm around my shoulders as if to take possession, then he started chatting me up.

  “Where are you going love?” He put his face so close to mine that I could smell the vinegar on his breath.

  “To the hospital to see my mum.” I pushed him away.

  “Why don’t you come with me then?” He pulled me back.

  “Why, what do you want?” I pushed him away.

  “He wants to give you something love,” one of the lads shouted. I flicked my head round nervously snatching a glance. I wanted to find out where they were in case I had to make a run for it.

  “Do you want me to come to the hospital with yer?” He pushed me up against the wall.

  “No—now leave me alone.” I shoved him away.

  “What’s the matter with yer mum then?”

  “She’s got this illness that spreads awfully quick. Leave me alone otherwise you might catch it. I’m not very well myself.”

  That was it. He didn’t want to tease me anymore and suddenly he backed off and turned away.

  “Come on,” he rounded them up. “There’s Jimmy over there with a bottle of beer.”

  Soon they disappeared into the night chasing after some old drunk, and I was left with a feeling of relief.

  Now I was safe again I started to count the paving stones on the street, setting little targets for myself, and promising rewards. If I got to the bus stop I would stop for a minute, and at other times I would set a target for the telephone box. They were my favourite because I could sit inside and rest, and with the light switched on, it was warm, draught-free and a momentary escape from the cold night air.

  I kept thinking of just how far I had come. It had taken me over two and a half hours so far, and it seemed an awful lot further than I remember on the bus. My pace was painfully slow.

  I collapsed on the pavement by the side of the fence, exhausted, and impatiently chewed another Spangle until all the flavour had gone. Then, taking the empty sweet wrapper, I put it up to my mouth and licked every last drop of flavour until my tongue could lick no more.

  As I stood up I caught the attention of a postman walking towards me. He looked smart in his uniform and neat cap.

  “Excuse me Mister, could you tell me where St Ann’s Hospital is please?”

  “Yes Miss.” He stopped and pointed. “It’s just round the corner there.” A white sign stood on the corner.

  I couldn’t see it because it was partly hidden by the trees. I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t far.

  I walked into the hospital grounds, followed the signs, past the mortuary, and down the long corridor leading into Mum’s ward. I just sat down beside her bed, exhausted.

  “Hello Mar, are you all right love?” She called me Mar as if she couldn’t be bothered to pronounce my name properly. For a moment I thought she was caring about me.

  “Hello Mum.”

  “Yer Father was up the other day. Yeah?” She seemed all excited. “He brought me up that long box of fake pink pearls. You know?” She nudged at me with her elbow.

  “Yes Mum.” I was hoping she would hurry up.

  “The one from the drawer at home. So as he could pretend to everyone he gave me a present for my birthday. Bloody cheek!” She shook her head.

  I didn’t comment.

  “Brought a card with it. That was something. Thought he was doing me a favour, he said. Bloody cheek.”

  “Yes Mum.”

  “You know that young girl of twenty-one, two rooms down, with the dark hair I pointed out to you last time?”

  “Yes Mum, I remember.”

  “Well, she just haemorrhaged.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “It reminds you just how fragile life is, yeah.”

  What I struggled to understand was why she had to unload all that on me? It scared me. I knew full well how fragile life was and I wondered why I had come.

  “How are things at home then?” she asked.

  The question woke me up.

  “There’s nothing Mum—I haven’t had anything to eat.” I felt myself getting upset. I looked away and swiped away my tear.

  “Hasn’t yer father cooked anything for you?”

  “No—nothing,” I said. “Not for over two weeks now, and Dad isn’t giving me any money,” I went on. “I’ve been doing all the cooking, cleaning and looking after Jane, and he’s out of it. Sits down the pub, or betting shop all of the time.”

  For a moment we sat there in silence. I didn’t know how she would react. I was scared.

  She looked puzzled.

  I looked at the floor.

  She reached over and took a sip from the glass of water on her bedside cabinet. “So how did you get here then?” She glanced round to see if anyone had noticed.

  I glanced up at her. “Walked all the way.”

  “Walked all that way!” She had to catch her breath. “You couldn’t have done! It must be about four miles. What? All that way? Didn’t you have anything for the fare? You... you must have had something!”

  I took my shoes off and showed her my feet, all red and blistered, and then lifting my skirt I showed her my knee, all grazed from the fall I had at the traffic lights. She could see that my clothes hung from me, my little face listless.

  “No Mum—nothing. There’s nothing at home.” I paused. “No porridge, no cheese, nothing.”

  “Nothing?” She didn’t believe me. “What about gas and electric?” she asked again.

  “Nothing,” I shook my head, “no food, no gas, no electric and...” I stopped myself at the last minute. I was going to give her the notices to quit, but I changed my mind. “I haven’t had anything to eat for the last two weeks and there’s nothing in the cupboards. I come home from school each lunchtime, and go back hungry.”

  “What’s happening to Jane then?”

  “I give her money for her school dinners from the money I get for my jobs,” I said. “The lady who I do the laundry for, Mrs Wilderspoon, has gone away for a week’s holiday to her sister’s. That’s why I’ve had to come here to see you.” I took off my coat and laid it on the bed.

  Her face changed, her eyes wide and mouth frozen open. She didn’t say anything.

  She looked down at me, my skin all dry, and my hair scraggy. My skirt was all dirty from the tumble I took with the lorry, and my face had lost its fullness; my legs were like cricket stumps and my arms as thin as bamboo canes.

  She reached over to the cabinet beside her bed.

  “That’s my last half crown. So you get a loaf of bread, eggs and some jam and get the bus home. Now be careful,” she said. “My nurse was run over on the way to work tonight and has died, so be careful.”

  “Thank you Mum. When are you coming home?” I scratched my head nervously.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think it will be long now as I am up, and walking each day. They were giving me some pills at the start. Made me sick all the time, so I didn’t take them.”

  “So what did the doctors do when they found out?”

  “They were all puzzled, then they gave me different ones, antibiotics or something with a long name.”

  “Did you take them?”

  “No, I hid them under the pillow. That is, until some young nurse, nosey parker, came and found them.”
>
  “So what happened?”

  “She told the doctor, and he came down with all his mates. Gave me a telling off, he did. All that nurse’s fault, bloody nosey cow.” Mother didn’t like taking pills.

  “So are you taking them now?” I worried that she wouldn’t get better if she didn’t take the pills.

  “Where’s yer Dad then?” She wouldn’t tell me.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “He just comes home sozzled and sleeps. I keep searching through his pockets but he doesn’t have anything.” I hoped that she would tell me some other way of getting money out of him, but she didn’t—she just glanced out of the door into the corridor. She seemed to be worried in case someone had heard.

  “All right—well, there’s nothing much that I can do for you until I can get out of here.”

  As I went to leave, she turned to me and said quietly, “I will try and come home as soon as I can.”

  I could see a look of worry on her face and she gave me a drink of orange juice in a glass. I took a sip or two but I just couldn’t drink too much without feeling sick. I had lost a lot of weight, and I think she was genuinely shocked, but didn’t want to overreact in case I got upset.

  Visiting time soon came to an end and I had to leave. We didn’t touch and she quietly waved goodbye.

  There was something very comforting about a London bus on a cold night. I indulged myself and soaked it up as I lay out on the back seat. As soon as I got to Langhedge Lane I dashed into the shop to get some bread, jam, a large potato and packet of Spangles. I didn’t get any eggs because I didn’t have a way to boil them. I had some coal and that meant I could put the potato in the ash tray of the open fire and that would give me a much needed hot meal. But one thing was certain—I was determined that Dad wouldn’t have any of it.

  I crept into the kitchen with the food and tucked it out of sight in the cupboard and then cautiously checked to see where Dad was. As it happened I needn’t have bothered—he was asleep in his chair.

  Quietly I dashed back into the kitchen and splashed the jam generously onto a couple of slices of bread and wolfed it down with a glass of water—something I later learnt to regret.

  15

  Coming Home

  MUM HAD BEEN AWAY for over two months and during that time it continued to be a battle of wits, what with the juggling of money, the notices to quit and dodging the rent man.

  Walking all the way to see Mum the last time, I was determined to be self-sufficient. I started to hoard food, hiding a little each time until I had a little stock squirreled away, like a refugee in a war camp. Not to keep it for myself and Jane, but to make sure that Dad was hungry. I thought that if I could keep him hungry, then he would be forced to get food for himself, and therefore us kids as well.

  Things began to improve. Mrs Wilderspoon had returned from her week away from her sister’s, and perhaps she had noticed how thin I had become; I didn’t know, but she carried on giving me a shilling each time I took her laundry. It was such a relief to get my earnings back. I could keep my independence, and I could pay for Jane’s school dinners and still manage something for myself.

  Dad continued to roll in drunk. I had given up nagging him; I just went through his pockets each night extracting what cash he had. I started to notice he didn’t have much money on him, as if he were making sure he spent it all. Even my little slush pile was starting to get smaller, and the food supply slithered to a halt. I needed a new approach.

  We were sinking again so I took to going to the Coach and Horses. That was his favourite pub. If I went there late at night and stood outside the door I would be trampled by the drunks; occasionally some would vomit over me, and at other times they might flick their cigarette into my hair. It was safer to go just after evening opening time. Dad would have moved from the betting shop to the pub and would still have money in his pocket.

  I came home as usual after school, and sat around at home until pub opening time. Then I got Jane ready in her coat, wrapped her up with a blanket and got her into the pushchair. Giving her a sticky bun I had bought earlier, we set off up Langhedge Lane to the Coach and Horses.

  I crossed the road and then stood outside the door, and patiently waited for someone to go in. An old chap in a cloth cap and tweed jacket brushed past me. He grabbed the handle and went to push the door, but I spoke to him.

  “Please Mister,” I shouted. He pushed open the door then turned to look in my direction. The cigarette smoke billowed out, filling the air with the drunken talk of unemployed men arguing over points that didn’t matter.

  “Yeah, what’s the matter love?”

  “My dad. He’s up at the bar.” I pointed.

  He looked down at me, followed my finger’s direction and nodded.

  “Okay love,” he said.

  “We don’t have anything to eat at home. Can you send him out to give me some money?”

  It was another way of putting pressure on Dad.

  “All right love.”

  I jammed my foot in the door.

  Bottles clanked amongst the chatter. Two men were sitting playing dominoes in the corner, another two sitting up at the bar to the right.

  Jane sat kicking her heels in the pushchair at the front of the pub.

  I watched as the man in the cloth cap walked over to Dad. He spoke to him, then turned, pointing at the door. Dad glanced round, and leaving his half finished pint of beer on the bar, he tottered over to see me.

  One of his cronies, as Mother used to call them, shouted out: “Who’s that Jimmy, yer girlfriend then?”

  He spun round, raising his left hand as if to take an oath on the bible, and then let it fall forward from the elbow, flicking the finger forward as if to throw their remarks away.

  “It’s me daughter, ain’t she pretty?”

  Then, turning back to face me, he held the door open.

  “I need some money Dad, can you let us have half a crown?” I held out my hand.

  “Here you are.” He dropped half a crown in my hand. He rubbed my head with his rough hand and returned to the bar, letting the heavy pub door close behind him.

  Got him! Delighted, I pushed Jane gleefully along Fore Street to the shops. I needed a bar of soap, some deodorant, and some food. What I wasn’t going to do was stock the shelves of the cupboards at home. I was determined he would find nothing until he learned to bring some food home himself.

  He seemed to be proud that he had a daughter and how pretty she was, but that didn’t stop him neglecting me or Jane and I am sure his mates would have given him a good beating if they had known how we all lived. Getting him when he was drunk was good for me on the one hand, but on the other, it highlighted his problem; he didn’t seem to have any priorities. He would give money to anyone.

  I would have to tell him I needed money for food or for school or something, and he would give me what he could and I recall that he was very generous in that respect. It was such a shame he couldn’t do it when he was sober, because I could cope with the drinking if he brought in enough money for us to live on.

  After the first week of my new approach I managed to do quite well. I was eating again, although I found I could live on less, probably because my tummy had shrunk so much and I found that even a small amount of porridge was enough to make me full. Sometimes I would have a craving for butter or cheese, and then it would make me feel sick, and I would have to rush to the toilet and throw up.

  After a few days I began to get better. As we approached the weekend I was determined to wash my bed linen and clothes properly. I got up bright and early on Saturday. Leaving Jane happily playing in her room, I rushed up to the Laundrette. I sat there amongst all the other ladies, watching my washing and having a laugh and joke with them. They never asked why I was doing all the washing, or wondered what was happening in my life. It didn’t seem odd to anyone that I was doing this on my own. Nevertheless, we had clean linen again—such a treat!

  Of course I was only young and despite all
my efforts at budgeting, I could not make it stretch to the weekend and soon the cupboards were bare again. What money I got from Mrs Wilderspoon I put aside for Jane’s dinner money and I couldn’t use that.

  Dad hadn’t come home, and I started to get tummy pains that appeared to hurt more than before. I was worried for my own heath. I was either dashing to the toilet, or bunged up, or a mixture of both, and sometimes I just felt sick. I didn’t know what was happening to me, when Dad rolled in with a whole basket of food. He had been down to see his sister, Auntie Alice, and managed to scrounge it all from her.

  She was a real switched on businesswoman, and didn’t suffer fools lightly, but she couldn’t see us all go hungry. I didn’t know what he said to her, but whatever it was I was just grateful that I would have something on the table to eat.

  I didn’t know if Auntie Alice had given him a good talking to or not, but he got a job and things got better. We had the electric and gas switched on and at long last we could stop using candles.

  Although the job wasn’t a proper job, in the sense of forty hours per week Monday to Friday and all that; no, that would be too much commitment for him, and wouldn’t fit in with his casual lifestyle. It would be temporary work, hourly paid factory shift work.

  On some occasions Dad got casual work with Lyons, the bakers. He would have to go there at nighttime, queue up and wait in line to see if there were any jobs for the night shift. Sometimes he would be lucky and get a job for the whole shift. The downside was that we were alone in the house all night, but the upside allowed us to return to some sort of normality. It didn’t always work, of course, despite all his hanging about in line, and we would all suffer again.

  I think the idea was to confuse Mum as to what he actually got paid. In his mind if Mum could figure out what he got paid, then she might demand a proportion of it, rather than accept whatever she was given. But as it was, he was able to convince her that he had no money, and she simply had to live with what she was given.

  Mum finally came home from the hospital after three months, and with her return a final end to the starvation. I never did tell Mum what fully happened whilst she was in hospital and I didn’t know why; perhaps I just wanted to forget it and, besides, I didn’t want her and Dad to have any more arguments.