by John Newman
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “What have I been thinking? The noise is terrible! Why didn’t you mention it before? I’m so embarrassed. It will stop straightaway. Don’t you worry! I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you, thank you,” muttered Mona and Brian together as they backed away from the door.
Turning on his heel, Dad marched into the living room and switched off the TV. Then he marched straight upstairs and straight into Sally’s room and yanked out the plug of her speakers. Next stop was Conor’s room; Conor’s mouth fell open when Dad grabbed the drumsticks out of his hands and marched straight back down the stairs, his neck as red as a beet.
That’s when I decided to go to bed. Twelve is enough bad things for one day. I stuck my thumb in my mouth and told my photo of Mammy that I wasn’t talking to her because it was all her fault for getting run over on the bike and leaving us to cope all by ourselves.
When I woke up the sun was streaming in through the window, and it was just lovely to lie there in my cozy little bed knowing that it was Saturday and I didn’t have to get up for school. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever woken up on a Tuesday and thought that it was a Saturday and rolled over and fallen asleep in the sun for another hour?
Well that’s what happened to me on Tuesday. And when I did finally wake up and realize — oh, my God! — that it really was Tuesday, not Saturday, and I was going to be dead late for school again, I got in an awful panic.
Where was my uniform sweater? All my clothes were in a heap all over the floor. I threw them here and there and I found my sweater in the end, only there was a big blob of tomato sauce from my pizza all down the front of it — but it would have to do. My tie (yes, we have to wear a tie in school — can you believe it, in this day and age?) was nowhere to be found, so I just said “Sod that” in a real Sally way. Sally and Conor had already gone to school without calling me, of course. They are the meanest, horriblest sister and brother in the whole wide world.
When I found Dad sitting looking out of the kitchen window at the weeds, he turned and looked at me in surprise. “I thought you had gone to school,” he said.
“Well, you thought wrong,” I nearly shouted at him. “Now drive me to school!”
Luckily there was enough gas in the car this time. Unluckily Ms. Hardy caught me trying to sneak into the classroom while she was turned to face the blackboard. I might just have gotten away with it except that Sarah called out, “Ms. Hardy, Mimi is late again.”
Ms. Hardy turned around and looked at me and then at Sarah. “Do you enjoy tattling, Sarah?” she asked her, and Sarah didn’t know what to say. Then she turned to me and said, “Go and sit down, Mimi. I’ll talk to you at recess.”
I didn’t have long to wait. I was so late that it was nearly recess already. All the other children walked out, and Sarah whispered, “You’re dead meat,” to me as she passed. I didn’t know if she meant that she was going to kill me or that Ms. Hardy was going to kill me. I think she probably meant they both were. I was all alone in the classroom with Ms. Hardy. It was then I thought that today would have been a very good day to stay at home sick in bed — pity I didn’t think about that earlier.
“So, Mimi, tell me, why were you late again today?” she asked — in quite a kind voice, but with teachers you can never be sure. They can be kind one minute and nasty as a mad dog the next, so I was careful.
“I woke up and thought it was Saturday so I went to sleep again, but it was really only Tuesday and then I couldn’t find my school sweater but it was under all the other clothes, but no way could I find my tie. And then I had to get Daddy to stop staring out of the window and drive me to school.”
Ms. Addle would have understood, that’s for sure, but Ms. Hardy just looked at the blob of tomato sauce on my sweater and then she stuck her finger into it and sniffed it. “Tomato sauce?” she asked, and then before I could answer she said I had big dark rings under my eyes and asked what time did I go to bed?
I told her that I always went to bed at twelve or eleven or one in the morning or whenever I was tired, but sometimes I would be too tired to go up the stairs so I would stay up watching telly for another hour or two until I had the energy to climb up to bed.
“Ummmmmm,” she said, “and what does your father say about that?”
I should have told her that since Mammy was killed on her bike by the 82 bus 157 days ago my daddy didn’t care about anything anymore. But for some reason I couldn’t say it. I just stood there and looked at the floor and waited for Ms. Hardy to shout at me.
But all she said was, “OK, Mimi, I want you to write ten lines for me, saying, ‘I must not be late for school,’ and give them to me tomorrow. Out you go and play now. And try to be on time tomorrow, please.”
Well, ten lines wasn’t so bad. Ms. Hardy might not be such a tough cookie after all. That’s what Orla calls her — “a tough cookie.” Orla told me one of her jokes in the school yard to cheer me up: “How can you tell if there is an elephant in the fridge?”
Of course I hadn’t a clue.
“You’d see its footprints in the butter.” I must have looked puzzled because Orla started to explain. “You’d hardly need to look for footprints to spot an elephant in a fridge, would you?” she asked — but just then Sarah and her lapdogs appeared, so I didn’t answer Orla.
“So, Crybaby . . .” the big bully began, but at that moment the bell rang and Mr. Masters roared at us to line up quietly. Archibald was not in such good humor today. In fact he was looking quite tired, so everybody lined up quickly and quietly.
“Saved by the bell,” whispered Orla.
After recess, Ms. Hardy gave me thirty lines for not doing my homework and told me to do both days’ homework for tomorrow. “The homework you don’t do won’t go away, you know,” she said. “It will just pile up.” I really miss Ms. Addle.
After school me and Sally and Conor had to go to Granny’s before we went to Aunt M.’s because she was going to take us to the dentist. I don’t mind the dentist, because he always says I’ve teeth as sharp as a tiger’s and I have never had to get a filling or a tooth pulled out.
A strange thing happened when I went into Mrs. Lemon’s shop. She came around the counter and gave me a big hug and said she was sorry for tarring me with the same brush. I wish to goodness people would stop talking in riddles. I didn’t know what she was saying, but the good thing is she pressed some sweets into my hand again so she mustn’t be tarring me with the same brush anymore.
Sally was waiting for me outside, but she didn’t go in. I didn’t give her any sweets because she is going to the dentist, and I ate only four of them myself. We walked silently to Granny’s house. Conor was already there — he had gotten out of school early to go to the dentist. He wasn’t worried either; nor was Sally. We have great teeth in our family — that’s what the dentist told Mammy the last time we went.
We drove in the jalopy — Grandad at the wheel, singing at the top of his voice a funny old song about living in a yellow submarine.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” snapped Granny. But Grandad just winked at Conor and, turning around in his seat, looked in Granny’s eyes and changed his song to “You Are My Sunshine.”
“Keep your eyes on the road!” shouted me and Sally and Granny together, and Grandad turned his head forward again and nobody was killed.
“What a bunch of nervous ninnies we have in the back today!” he told Conor, and slapped him on the knee.
Conor laughed, but Granny said, “Keep your hands on the wheel, old man!”
I couldn’t help thinking that today was a much better day than yesterday. That was before I saw the dentist.
“Right, Mimi, up on that seat and open wide and let’s see how those tiger teeth are doing,” said Dr. George, the dentist.
I love the dentist’s chair. It’s longer than I am and he puts it right back almost like a bed, and then he pumps the pedal and up the chair lifts. Then he shines the big round light in my
face, and his lady assistant hands him the poky thing and he holds my mouth open and starts poking my teeth.
“Aha,” he mumbled, and poked some more. Then “Aha,” again — but he didn’t seem too happy. “When did you last brush your teeth, young lady?” he said.
Well that was a hard question, and I had no idea of the answer, so I said I couldn’t remember, only with his fingers in my mouth it came out like “Hicantrehember.”
“Aha,” he mumbled again, and then told me to rinse out.
I love that bit. The lady assistant gives me the glass with the pink water and I spit into the little basin that is attached to the chair. It really is a brilliant chair; you could nearly live in it if it had a TV attached and maybe a microwave oven.
Then came the part where Dr. George always says, “Hop down, young lady, and keep looking after those tiger teeth.” Only today he didn’t say that. He left me sitting there and went to fetch Granny and had a long conversation with her in the hall, in whispers, but I could hear most of it and I didn’t like the sound of any of it.
“Five fillings . . . early signs of gum disease . . . teeth totally neglected . . .”
Sally and Conor didn’t do so well either. We all needed a pile of fillings, and the lady assistant made appointments for us. Then Dr. George gave us a big lecture about dental hygiene, and brushing our teeth morning and evening, and cutting down on sweets and eating raw carrots and apples and vegetables and stuff like that, and Granny stood there and listened to everything with her lips zipped.
The drive back to Aunt M.’s was a very quiet journey. When we passed the supermarket Granny told Grandad to park the jalopy. Then she went in and bought three new toothbrushes and three tubes of toothpaste and dental floss and mouthwash and a box of red tablets called disclosing tablets. She said the first thing that we would be doing at Aunt M.’s apartment was brushing our teeth . . . properly!
Aunt M. had her usual pile of bars and sweets and fizzy drinks spread out on the table. It was a mouthwatering spread. I reached out and took a Spiff bar.
“Well, that lot can go, for starters,” said Granny to Aunt M., taking the bar out of my hand and dropping it in the trash can.
Aunt M.’s eyes narrowed — but before she could explode, Grandad jumped in, “Might be a good idea, Marigold. These guys have just got a pretty bad report from the dentist. No more junk food for a while.”
I could see that Aunt M. wasn’t too pleased that all her treats had to go back in the cupboard, and I wasn’t too pleased either, but at least she didn’t start arguing with Granny. When Aunt M. and Granny start screaming at each other all hell breaks loose.
Instead of getting mad, Aunt M. took me and Sally to her tiny bathroom and showed us how to use the disclosing tablets. “Suck ’em and see,” she said, and we sucked a red tablet each. So did Aunt M.
Well, my teeth and Sally’s went all red but Aunt M.’s stayed white and shiny.
“You look like vampires!” she laughed. “Maybe Mum is right and you need to start eating properly.” Aunt M. calls Granny Mum because she is her mum. Then she explained that the disclosing tablet showed all the dirty bacteria and rotten gunk on our teeth, and she didn’t have any because she flossed and brushed her teeth properly for at least three minutes twice a day and she used mouthwash, and we’d better start doing the same or we would have false teeth before we were twenty. So we had to brush our teeth the way she showed us, up and down and forward and back and in and out until all the red had gone, and we had to floss with the string stuff and rinse and gargle and use the mouthwash. The flossing really did make my gums bleed, but Aunt M. said they would harden up soon enough. Then Conor came in to have a laugh at us, but Sally grabbed him and Aunt M. tried to shove a disclosing tablet in his mouth and he pulled backward and fell out of the bathroom onto his bum. When he looked up, Granny was standing over him with her arms folded and she told him to get in there and brush those teeth or she would sit on him.
“And you wouldn’t like that!” laughed Grandad, his head in the newspaper, so Conor had no choice but to take the disclosing tablet.
“Your teeth are a disgrace, Conor,” Sally told him, so he punched her arm. But Aunt M. said, “Stop that, you two!” and ordered Sally out of the bathroom because she was finished. Conor wanted to know where Nicholas was, but Aunt M. just said she didn’t know and she didn’t care, which meant that they had had another fight, I suppose.
Granny raised her eyes to heaven, but Grandad started chuckling behind the newspaper. “What’s the boy done to you now, Marigold?” he asked.
“You won’t believe it, Dad, but do you know what he wants to do? He wants us to go on his dirty old motorbike from the church to the hotel after the wedding. Can you believe that?”
“It sounds cool,” said Conor. “I’d love that!”
“Oh, I know you would, Conor,” blustered Aunt M., “but you are not the one getting married! Think of how it would look — me in my white wedding dress on the back of a motorbike with a helmet on my head! If he doesn’t start having a bit of sense soon, he can marry somebody else!”
“Really!” said Granny. “That boy is so immature sometimes.”
“How dare you say that about my Nicholas?” shouted Aunt M., turning on Granny.
Grandad jumped up and clapped his hands, then declared that it was time to go and headed straight for the door, just in time to stop another great fight between Granny and Aunt M.
On the way back to our house, Granny stopped off at the supermarket and bought a big bag of fresh fruit and vegetables for Dad to cook.
“I wonder what Dad will say about that?” Sally whispered to me in the back.
That evening was not great.
Granny and Grandad had a long talk with Dad, and I wouldn’t have needed to listen outside the living-room door to know what they were discussing.
Granny said something about her having lost a daughter, too, and us children having lost a mother, and that it was time for Dad to pull himself together and be a proper father again. Grandad didn’t say a lot, and Dad didn’t say much either, but Granny was in full flight.
She told him that our teeth were falling out of our heads, and pizza every night was not in any way a proper diet for growing children, and that we needed fruits and vegetables and meat and all sorts of stuff like that. She didn’t stop there, either: she told him the house was a disgrace, that I was walking around in a sweater covered in ketchup, that Sally needed a strong hand or she would go completely off the rails, and that Conor was going more and more into himself . . . and were any of the children doing any schoolwork at all? And what was going to happen when Dad went back to work?
“Dad’s getting an earful,” whispered Sally, who was listening outside the door with me. Conor was back upstairs banging his drums; he must have found his drumsticks again. Then we had to scurry into the kitchen because Granny was finished and heading for the door.
“Bye, kids,” she shouted as she and Grandad left.
Dad didn’t come to the front door. He just sat in the living room for a few minutes with a very red face and a very cross mouth.
“Right!” he said all of a sudden, jumping up out of his armchair. He pushed right past me at the door and charged up the stairs two steps at a time. “There are going to be some changes around here!” he shouted as he burst into Conor’s room. “Did I or did I not say no more drumming?” he roared, and grabbing the two drumsticks from a startled Conor, he broke them both across his knee and flung them into the corner.
Poor Conor was speechless.
Then without another word to him Daddy charged down the stairs again, shouting at me and Sally, “Up to your rooms, you two, and do your homework. And don’t let me hear the telly or your music, Sally. Dinner will be in half an hour!”
And I thought yesterday was bad. I sat in my room for the whole half hour and cried. After a while Sally came in quietly and put her arm around my shoulders and told me not to worry, that Dad would get over i
t soon and calm down and everything would be back to normal again. But that only made me cry more because I didn’t want things to go back to the way they were with Dad all sad about the place. I wanted things to go back to the way they were before Mammy got run over by the 82 bus, when our house was a nice place to live.
But just then my cell phone beeped and it was a text from Orla — one of her stupid jokes, of course — and Sally made me read it out to her: What is the best way to catch a rabbit? Hide behind a bush and make a sound like a carrot. Lol Orla X X X.
Even though it was a very silly joke I started giggling and crying at the same time, and so did Sally, and soon we were rolling on the bed in fits — and I can’t explain why we were laughing so much because we were both so sad.
“Dinner’s ready. Get down here now,” called Dad, and his voice still sounded as angry as before.
“Let’s go and see what five-star meal our father has cooked up for our delight,” said Sally.
The table was set and there was a lot of smoke in the kitchen and a bad smell of something burning. Sally made a face at me behind Dad’s back, and I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop laughing.
The dinner was disgusting. I thought Sally might like it, because nearly everything was black. Dad was obviously not the best cook in the world. There was a pile of soggy green stuff on each plate that was supposed to be peas, beside this hard black thing that curled up at the edges, which apparently was a pork chop. The potatoes — well, at least you could recognize them.
“Nobody leaves the table until every bit of that dinner is eaten,” said Dad.
“You can’t be serious. A dog wouldn’t eat this!” said Sally, and pushed her plate into the middle of the table.
“You will do as you are told, miss,” snapped back Dad. “There are going to be some changes around here, young lady.”
It was as if the words that Granny had said to him had lit a fuse in Dad, and all his hanging around with a sad face was blown away and replaced by this really cross Dad, and I didn’t like it one bit. Sometimes I just wish Granny would mind her own business.
