The Illustrated Mum

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Marigold?’

  She opened her eyes. They looked glazed.

  ‘Marigold, please.’ I struggled out of the bath and took hold of her white shoulders. ‘Are you asleep?’

  Her eyes blinked but she didn’t focus on me.

  ‘Let’s get it all off you now,’ I said.

  It looked much worse in the daylight. Even her eyelashes were painted like snowy mascara and there were swirls of it inside the delicate skin of her ear.

  ‘Oh Marigold, what have you done? It’s gone all over. What if it makes you go blind or deaf? It’s dangerous. Oh please, let’s get it off you quick.’

  I was shaking, wondering how I could have been so stupid just to leave her like that half the night. It had been almost like a dream but now it was horribly real. I was so scared I had to use the loo right in front of her because my whole insides had turned to water. She didn’t seem to notice.

  As soon as I could I ran the bath again. She was still so stiff I couldn’t make her step inside. I scrubbed at her where she stood but it was useless. I only got rid of a few flakes of paint.

  I scrabbled desperately in the cupboard under the sink and found an old bottle of turpentine. I poured some on a cloth and started scrubbing at her foot. She flinched at each stroke. The white still wouldn’t come off properly but where some of it was streaking her own skin was burning scarlet. I didn’t know if it was because of the turpentine. I could be hurting her even more.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘Tell me what to do, Marigold. Please, please.’

  Her lips moved as if she was whispering but no sound came out.

  ‘Does it hurt? Look, I’ll wash the turpentine off. I’m so scared it’s burning you.’ I washed her foot over and over again, until she was standing in a large puddle. The paint was still an ugly white smear, the skin very red underneath apart from a dark patch by her toe. I started, terrified it was something awful like gangrene but then I saw a tiny webbed hand and I remembered the little green frog tattooed between her big toe.

  She quivered when I touched it. Her lips moved again.

  ‘What? I can’t hear you. Can you try louder?’

  I straightened up and stood on tiptoe, trying to get up to her level. I stared at her mouth but it didn’t make any recognizable shapes of words. I looked at her eyes. I saw how frightened she was too.

  ‘I’m going to get help,’ I said. ‘You come and lie down in bed.’

  She still wouldn’t move so I wrapped her up in a towel. Then I kissed her poor crazy white face and ran out of the room. Out of the flat, down the stairs. Not Mrs Luft. No. Out the front door, down the road, to the corner and the shops. Any of the shopkeepers? No. All the way to school – and Oliver? Maybe Mr Harrison? No.

  ‘What am I going to do? Oh Star, why aren’t you here, you mean hateful pig. I need you so. I don’t know what to do.’

  I knew what to do. I knew it was the only thing to do. But I felt I was betraying Marigold as I stood in the phone box and dialled the three numbers.

  ‘Emergency?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is an emergency,’ I said. ‘I think I need an ambulance.’

  I was connected to someone else who started asking me questions.

  ‘This person’s covered in paint,’ I said. ‘It won’t come off. No, it’s not my little brother or sister. It’s my mum. No, she can’t come in herself. She . . . she can’t move. She’s sort of stuck. And she won’t speak to me any more. I’m scared she maybe can’t hear because the paint’s in her ears and everywhere. We live at Flat B, 35 Beacon Road. Please. Will you come?’

  I put the phone down and then raced back home. I pounded up the stairs and through the door. Marigold was in the bathroom, standing like a marble statue. I threw myself at her, nearly toppling us both onto the floor.

  ‘Oh, Marigold. Quick, we have to get you dressed. They’re coming. I’m sorry, I know you’ll be so mad at me, but the paint’s all over you and it’s got to be cleaned off. Look at your poor eyes, your poor ears. But once they’ve done that it’ll be all over and you can come back and I’ll look after you. We’ll be OK, you and me, but you just have to go to get the paint off. Please don’t be cross with me. I know you hate hospitals.’

  As soon as I said the word she started quivering. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t push me away, she didn’t try to get dressed. She just shook all over.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I sobbed. I ran to get clothes for her but it was going to be too much of a struggle to get her arms and legs in and out of things so I ended up manoeuvring her trembly arms into her dressing-gown and tying it tight round her painted body. I knew she wouldn’t be able to manage her own high heels so I got an old pair of trainers of Star’s. They were a size too small but I managed to wedge Marigold’s smeared white feet into them.

  Then, before I had time to make any kind of proper plan, there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘I’ll have to go to let them in. We don’t want Mrs Luft gawping,’ I said. ‘Oh, Marigold. Don’t shake. It will all be all right, I swear it will. They’ll just get the paint off and then you can come back home.’

  Marigold looked into my eyes. I felt as if I’d stabbed her through the heart.

  ‘I had to,’ I said, and then I ran to open the door. There were two ambulance people, a man and a woman.

  ‘She’s upstairs,’ I whispered, but as they came into the hallway Mrs Luft opened her door and peered out, curlers clamped to her head like little metal caterpillars. Her mouth opened when she saw the uniform.

  ‘Oh my lord, what’s that crazy woman done now?’ she asked the air in front of her.

  The ambulance people took no notice. As we went up our flight of stairs the woman patted me on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry, poppet,’ she said cheerily.

  She didn’t start when she saw my poor mad mother covered in paint.

  ‘Right, dear. We’ll soon get you cleaned up. You come with us. Would you like to walk? We can carry you in our chair if you’d sooner?’

  Marigold’s eyes swivelled but she said nothing. The woman put her hand gently on her elbow. She tried to urge Marigold forward. Nothing happened.

  ‘Come on, now. We don’t want to have to haul you about, my love, especially not in front of your little girl.’ The ambulance lady looked at me. ‘What about you, chum? Is there anyone to look after you?’

  I thought quickly. If I said no then she’d get in touch with the Social Services and I’d be put in a home.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, there’s someone to look after me.’

  I didn’t sound terribly convincing. The ambulance people exchanged glances.

  ‘My dad,’ I said.

  They looked relieved.

  ‘Where’s Dad now?’ the woman persisted.

  ‘Oh, he’s at work. On his shift. He’ll be home any minute,’ I said, the lying getting easier.

  I looked at Marigold. I wasn’t sure she was taking in what I was saying. She was still shaking badly. Her face twitched when I reached up to kiss her.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

  I wanted her to say it back. I wanted her to put her painted arms round me and hug me tight. I wanted her to step out of her sickness and tell them that I’d never so much as set eyes on my father. I wanted her to tell them that she couldn’t leave me all on my own.

  Her green eyes looked at me but she didn’t say a word.

  The ambulance people gave up trying to coax her and strapped her into the chair. Her dressing-gown fell apart so that her white breasts shone in full view.

  ‘Let’s get you decent, dear,’ said the ambulance lady, tucking the dressing-gown over her and up round her chin. It was as if Marigold had shrunk into babyhood.

  They carried her out of the room, down the stairs, along the hall. I followed them to the front door. Mrs Luft was still lurking. When she saw the state of Marigold she hissed with excitement.

  ‘Can the little girl stay wit
h you till Dad gets back?’ said the ambulance woman.

  Mrs Luft made a little chew-swallow-murmur, as if she was snacking on her own false teeth.

  The ambulance people took this for a yes. They lifted Marigold out of the doorway. When she saw the white ambulance her face screwed up. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her eyes stared at me as they put her in the back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  It was such a silly small word for what I felt.

  They shut her inside. The ambulance man gave me the thumbs up sign.

  ‘Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be all right. We’ll soon get Mum sorted out,’ he said.

  He got into the ambulance and drove off.

  ‘You won’t get that one sorted out, not in a month of Sundays,’ Mrs Luft snorted.

  ‘You shut up, you nasty mean old moo!’

  ‘Well!’ She drew herself up, her nostrils pinched white as if I was a bad smell. ‘There’s gratitude! When I’ve agreed to keep my eye on you until someone comes to look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need looking after. I can look after myself,’ I said fiercely.

  ‘Oh yes, little Miss Spitfire. Very funny. How old are you? Ten? Don’t be so silly. We’d better phone the welfare people.’

  ‘No! No, don’t.’ I swallowed. ‘Please don’t. Look, my mum will be back by the time I get home from school, and anyway, there’s my dad. Yeah, my dad.’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no sign of this dad of yours all the time you’ve been living here. Lots of uncles, of course, flitting in and out, but the less said about that the better. I suppose your dad is the one that fancies himself with the pretty-boy hair and silly clothes. I saw you all. Is he the one?’

  I nodded, wishing Micky really was my dad. Then he’d be looking after me and telling me what to do about Marigold. I had to get away from Mrs Luft before 1 started crying again.

  ‘I’m going to school,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve got to go, I’m ever so late. I’ll get into trouble.’

  I did get into trouble too. Miss Hill was halfway through the first lesson when I got there.

  ‘For goodness sake, Dolphin! Why are you so late?’

  I stood still, wondering what I could possibly say.

  ‘This really isn’t good enough. Did you oversleep?’

  This seemed the best option so I nodded.

  ‘Then you must go to bed earlier. What time did you go to bed last night?’

  I thought about it. I couldn’t remember exactly. Half the night I wasn’t even in bed, I was curled up in the bath trying to keep a watch over Marigold.

  I could see a pale ghost of her even now in the classroom. I could feel my eyes watering. I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

  ‘Really! Don’t you have a tissue? Look at the state of you. You look as if you’ve tumbled straight out of bed. You haven’t even brushed your hair or washed your face, have you?’

  Yvonne and Kayleigh started sniggering as she got stuck into me. I held my face tight to stop myself crying. I fingered my witchy black velvet, trying to summon up evil powers, but I couldn’t make anything work. Miss Hill went on and on, telling me it just wasn’t good enough, I was a dirty lazy girl without any sense of pride and if I didn’t wipe that insolent smirk off my face she’d send me straight to the headteacher.

  I swivelled my head to try to change my expression. I saw a blurry view of the class, lots of them grinning and giggling, but then I saw a flash of glass. I blinked and saw Oliver clearly, his face white and tense, his eyes big behind his specs. He looked so sorry for me that I couldn’t bear it. I suddenly started howling.

  ‘Really, Dolphin! There’s no need for tears,’ said Miss Hill. She was still scornful, but she sounded a bit scared too, as if she realized she’d gone too far. ‘Stop that silly crying now.’

  I couldn’t stop. I snorted and sobbed, my nose running.

  ‘Here.’ I felt a hankie being pressed into my hand. I opened my teary eyes. It was Oliver.

  ‘Sit down, Oliver. And you, Dolphin. Shall we get on with our work, everybody?’

  I squeezed Oliver’s hand and then went to sit down, mopping my face.

  Kayleigh and Yvonne whispered all sorts of stuff about me being a baby and dirty and snotty.

  ‘Snottle Bottle Nose,’ Kayleigh said and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘That’s enough, Yvonne and Kayleigh. Settle down at once,’ said Miss Hill.

  I didn’t even turn round to stick my tongue out at them to show I was glad they’d got into trouble. I couldn’t be bothered with any of this school stuff any more. I just kept thinking of Marigold and wondering what they were doing to her. Why hadn’t I gone with her to the hospital?

  At morning break I shot off quickly, not wanting to be with anyone, not even Oliver. But he caught up with me and cornered me.

  ‘I didn’t think anyone could make you cry,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, well, they can’t. Especially not hateful Bumface Hill. I was crying about something else, OK?’ I said, clenching my fists.

  ‘What else?’ said Oliver. ‘Don’t get mad at me, Dolphin. I’m your friend.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . oh, Owly, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Oliver!’

  ‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s my mum.’

  ‘I thought it was.’

  ‘I phoned the ambulance to come and get her. I had to, because of all the paint, in her ears and eyes and everywhere, but now she’ll never forgive me.’

  ‘What?’ said Oliver, blinking behind his glasses.

  I explained.

  ‘I feel so terrible. She hates hospitals.’

  ‘But you had to. You did the right thing, Dolphin, honestly.’

  ‘Do you think I should bunk off school and go to the hospital now, to be with her?’

  ‘Maybe they wouldn’t let you see her. If they’re scrubbing off all the paint. Wait a bit. Let me think. Here, have you still got my hankie? I think you need to use it again.’

  ‘Oh Oliver.’ I hung on to him because there was no-one else.

  ‘Yuck! Look! Bottle Nose and Owly are snogging again!’ Yvonne and Kayleigh and a whole little gang of girls were fast approaching.

  ‘You shut up, you stupid Piddle Pants,’ I yelled. ‘If you say one more thing I’ll smash your stupid teeth in – and then no-one will ever want to snog you.’

  I rounded on them so determinedly that they scattered.

  ‘You are fierce, Dolphin,’ said Oliver. ‘I’m glad you’re on my side.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re on mine,’ I said. ‘You’ll help me sort out what to do?’

  ‘Well . . . I’ll try.’

  ‘You’ve got the mega-whizzo brainpower, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Oliver. ‘OK. Leave it to me.’

  The rest of the morning went so s-l-o-w-l-y it seemed like it was already the summer holidays when the bell rang for dinner time. I looked at Oliver expectantly.

  ‘We’ll phone the hospital,’ he said.

  It didn’t seem much of a solution to all the black worries buzzing in my head, but it seemed like a good starting point. I didn’t have any money but Oliver had a good supply of ten and twenty pences. I needed most of them too, because the hospital switchboard kept me waiting ages while they looked up Marigold’s name and tried to track her down. They put me through to Casualty and they checked and eventually said she wasn’t there any more.

  ‘So she’s home already!’ I said. I felt the tight band round me loosen so that my heart gave a happy thump.

  ‘No . . .’

  My heart clamped.

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘She’s been admitted to Tennyson.’

  ‘Tennyson?’

  ‘I’ll put you through.’

  So I waited again, wondering what had gone wrong now. Maybe Tennyson was a special ear nose and throat ward and they were checking in case the paint had done any damage. Or maybe Tennyson was the eye ward and
they were using special eyebaths to get the paint off her lashes?

  Maybe.

  Maybe I knew perfectly well what sort of ward it was.

  ‘Tennyson Psychiatric Ward. How can I help you?’

  I pressed the phone hard against my ear. I didn’t want Oliver to know.

  ‘I think – there’s this lady, she’s called Marigold, Marigold Westward. She – she might be having treatment?’

  ‘Ah! Yes. Yes, we admitted a Ms Westward to the ward this morning.’

  ‘And – and will she be better soon?’

  ‘I think it might take a while. Who’s speaking, please? Are you Ms Westward’s little girl?’

  ‘No. No, I’m grown up, I just sound young,’ I said, trying to deepen my voice.

  I turned my back on Oliver because he was putting me off.

  ‘Well, we need to speak to an adult family member about Ms Westward,’ the voice said gently.

  ‘I’m adult. And family. I’m – I’m her sister. Is she going to be able to come home tonight? I can look after her and give her any medicine she needs. But she really hates it in hospital, you see. It’s actually bad for her to be in hospital. So if you’ve got all the paint off, can’t she come home? Now?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, dear. Ms Westward is really quite seriously ill at the moment.’

  ‘What has she got? Is it poisoning from the paint?’

  ‘No, no. I really don’t think I should discuss this on the phone. Perhaps you could come and have a chat with us?’

  ‘I . . . Please! Can’t you just tell me when she’ll be home? Tomorrow? The day after? When?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say. We can’t make any predictions. But I shouldn’t imagine it will be too long. A matter of weeks.’