The Illustrated Mum

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Weeks!’

  ‘I think you are very young, dear. Where are you ringing from? Do you have an adult with you? Listen, dear—’

  I didn’t dare listen any more. I slammed the phone down. I shut my eyes to try to blot everything out. It was very silent in the corridor because everyone else was at dinner. I could just hear Oliver breathing heavily beside me.

  ‘Weeks?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes.’ I opened my eyes. It was no use trying to kid him. ‘She’s in the nutty ward. I expect she’s locked up. Oh, Owly, what am I going to do?’

  He didn’t blink at the unintentional Owly.

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring.

  ‘I can’t stay at home by myself for weeks. Mrs Luft will phone the welfare. And I haven’t got any money. I won’t be able to go down the post office for the Giro because it’s Marigold who has to collect it, kids aren’t allowed, I know, because Star tried once.’ I started shaking when I said Star’s name.

  ‘Can’t you go and live with Star and her dad?’ said Oliver. ‘You said she asked you to come too.’

  ‘But they don’t really want me. And anyway, I don’t know where they are. She’s meant to be sending me a new phone. I could ask her then. She might come back if she believes me. Oh I wish she was here.’

  ‘I’m here,’ said Oliver, patting my arm nervously, as if he was trying to make friends with a snappy little dog.

  I looked at him.

  ‘Oliver? Could I . . . could I come and live with you and your mum?’

  Oliver’s eyes widened.

  ‘Not for good. Just for a few days. Until I can get in touch with Star. Oh please, Oliver, say yes.’

  ‘I – I don’t . . .’

  ‘I’ve had you to tea at my house and you can stay over any time you want. So can’t I come to your house? Maybe just for tonight?’

  ‘I wish you could, Dolphin,’ said Oliver. ‘But it’s my mum. She doesn’t want anyone to come round. She just wants it to be her and me. I asked her if I could have you for tea and she just said not at the moment, she wasn’t up to it. She’s gone a bit funny since my dad left.’

  ‘Look, my mum’s seriously bananas. I’m used to mums being odd. I won’t laugh or anything. I’ll be ever so good. I’ll take my own sleeping bag so I won’t even need a bed. Please, Oliver.’

  ‘Well, I’ll phone and ask. But I don’t think she’ll say yes.’

  Oliver phoned. I could hear his mum’s startled tone.

  ‘Oliver darling? Oh my goodness, what’s the matter? Why are you phoning? What’s happened? Have you hurt yourself?’ She asked dozens of questions without letting him answer. He had to blurt it out while she was saying stuff herself so she didn’t even hear first time round. Then he had to repeat it.

  ‘Mum. Please. Can my friend Dolphin – you know, I went to tea at her place – well, can she come to tea tonight, please?’

  ‘And to stay over?’ I mouthed.

  But Oliver’s mum wouldn’t even consider tea.

  ‘It’s out of the question, darling, you know it is, especially today. I’ve got another migraine. I’ll have to make a doctor’s appointment. I just can’t go on like this.’

  ‘But Mum, Dolphin needs to stay somewhere tonight. Please can’t she come?’

  ‘Oliver, what on earth’s got into you? I’ve told you what I think about this weird little girl and her bizarre family. Why you had to get mixed up with her I can’t imagine.’

  Oliver wriggled, his eyes swerving past me. He tried again, several times, but it was obvious it was pointless. There was a brief silence after he put the phone down.

  ‘I’m afraid Mum says you can’t come,’ he said eventually in a tiny voice.

  ‘I know. I heard. It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s not all right,’ said Oliver. ‘Oh, Dolphin. Look. Maybe we should tell a teacher?’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Perlease. Tell Miss Hill!’

  ‘No. Not her. What about Mr Harrison. He’s nice. He’d help.’

  ‘He’s nice, yes. But how could he help? He’s not going to say “OK Dolphin, come and kip down at my house for a few weeks until your mum’s better”.’

  ‘No, but maybe he’d know what to do.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what he’d do. Call the Social. And I’d be shoved into a home.’

  ‘Well . . . they’d look after you OK, wouldn’t they? And it might even be fun. You could be fostered for a bit.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too much Home and Away. Look, my mum was in and out of homes and foster places all her life. She said it was the absolute pits. Some of the things she’s told Star and me . . . Well, you’d never believe it, Oliver.’

  ‘But if it was just for a week or two?’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be, would it? If they’ve got my mum locked up in the nutty ward they’re going to say she’s an unfit mother. The Social will do this investigation, see, and if they find out that Marigold often goes a bit weird and likes to go out for a drink or two or three, and she sometimes has boyfriends, and – and there’s all the credit card stuff she pulls too. They’ll never let me go back and live with her ever. And I need to be with her, Oliver. She’s my mum.’

  Oliver blinked at me. His eyes went all wavery the way they do when he’s thinking hard. I could almost hear his brain going tick-tick-tick inside his head. Then he started as if an alarm had suddenly gone off.

  ‘I know. It’s obvious. Your dad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your dad. Star’s with her dad. Can’t you get in touch with yours?’

  ‘I told you. I haven’t got a dad.’

  ‘You must have had one once.’

  ‘Look. My mum had this quick thing. She hardly knew him. He can’t count as a dad.’

  ‘So she didn’t even know him?’

  ‘She knew his name. Which is why she went out with him. He was called Micky, too.’

  ‘She went out with him just because he was called Micky?’ Oliver repeated.

  ‘Yes. So? You know she’s weird.’

  ‘That’s all you know about your dad? His name’s Micky?’

  ‘So I can’t exactly track him down, can I? Would all the Mickys in the world who might have had a little fling eleven years ago please step forward! I think not.’

  ‘Your mum hasn’t ever told you anything else about him?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever ask? He is your dad.’

  ‘He’s not, I keep telling you. Not like Star’s dad. Marigold and Micky, that Micky, they were crazy about each other. It was mad passionate love, they were together ages . . .’ I faltered, suddenly remembering that Micky said it had only been a few weeks. So how long had Marigold spent with my Micky? Half an hour?

  ‘Where did they meet?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes I do. Swimming. I think this Micky’s a good swimmer because I’m not. I hate swimming and Marigold once said that was funny because this other Micky was a brilliant swimmer. I think he even taught swimming.’

  ‘Did he teach your mum?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I tried to remember what Marigold had said. It was ages ago, when I was first taken swimming by the school, the school before this one. I was scared of putting my head under the water and the other kids laughed at me and then one of the boys ducked me. Marigold was very kind when I told her and said she’s always been scared of swimming too but she’d learnt as an adult and now she could swim all sorts of funny strokes and maybe one day I’d be a good swimmer too because my Micky had been . . .

  ‘Maybe he was the guy who taught her,’ I said.

  ‘So maybe he still teaches swimming. Hey, we could go to the leisure pool and find out!’

  ‘No, we couldn’t. It wasn’t this pool. We didn’t live round here. We lived . . .’ I tried to work it out. We’d lived in so many different places. ‘I can’t remember. Anyway, what does it matter?’

  ‘We’ll track hi
m down, you’ll see. Think, Dolphin.’

  ‘How can I think my way back before I was born?’

  I knew we lived somewhere near London when I was born. South of the river. But I wasn’t sure where.

  Oliver started suggesting names. He was into trainspotting – typical! – and chanted his way through all the suburban stations from Waterloo. Some sounded familiar, some didn’t.

  ‘It’s hopeless, Owly.’

  ‘Oliver. No, it isn’t. We could try them all. See if there’s a Micky working at their swimming pools.’

  ‘What? Go to all these places?’

  ‘Phone! Directory Enquiries will give us all the numbers.’

  ‘And then what?’ I said. ‘Suppose we did find him? What’s he going to do then?’

  ‘Well. He’s your dad. You said Star’s dad was over the moon when he met her. He was desperate to look after her.’

  ‘Yes. Because she’s Star. Who’s going to want to look after me? And anyway, like I said, he didn’t even know Marigold properly. He’s probably forgotten all about her.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly forget your mum even if you met her for five minutes,’ said Oliver.

  I supposed that made some kind of sense. I wondered if this idea of his made sense too. Deep deep down I’d always had this dream that one day I’d meet my dad, my Micky, and he’d be almost as good as the real first Micky and he’d love me because I was his little girl, his Dolphin . . .

  It was such a deeply embarrassing dream that I hardly ever dared think it. I could feel my face going red. I knew it was sad and pathetic. Star had always sneered at the idea of either of us meeting our dads. That was why it was so unfair when she met her dad and he was like a prince in a fairy tale and she was his long-lost princess. My dad wouldn’t be like that. He’d be a frog who never turned into a prince even after a hundred kisses.

  No. I was the frog child, the sad ugly one no dad could ever want.

  ‘We wouldn’t ever find him. It’s a chance in a million. And if we did, he wouldn’t want me anyway.’

  ‘Let’s try,’ Oliver persisted.

  He dialled 192 and started asking for swimming pool numbers, lots and lots of them. He didn’t have any spare paper so he wrote them all the way up his arm. Then when he had a full sleeve of blotchy blue figures he went to the school secretary and got her to change the secret five-pound note in-case-of-emergency he kept in a little purse in his pocket into ten and twenty pences.

  ‘Right, here goes,’ said Oliver, squinting at his arm and then dialling the first number.

  ‘What are you going to say?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to say it?’ said Oliver.

  ‘I don’t know how to put it. I can’t just say, “Hello, are you Micky? Great, well guess what, I’m your long-lost daughter”.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Oliver, but he agreed to do the talking.

  He did a lot of talking. We got through the pile of silver at an alarming rate because there were so many stupid prerecorded messages about swimming times and you had to hang on for ages before they put you through to the main office.

  We were down to the last few coins when Oliver tensed and grabbed my arm with his sweaty hand, but it was a Nicky, not a Micky, and it turned out she was a girl.

  ‘This is crazy. We’ve just wasted all your emergency money mucking about like this,’ I said.

  ‘This is an emergency,’ said Oliver. ‘One more.’

  He dialled again. He listened to all the recorded messages while the minutes ticked away. I started biting a hangnail, tearing at it with my teeth until a long shred of skin ripped off and I started bleeding.

  ‘Don’t, Dolphin!’ said Oliver primly.

  I licked the blood.

  ‘Yuck, you vampire.’

  I pulled back my lip to make vampire teeth and pretended to bite his neck. And then the voice started speaking. A man.

  ‘New Barnes Leisure Pool. How can I help you?’

  ‘Oh, hello. Look, this sounds a silly question but can you tell me if there’s anyone called Micky working as an instructor at your pool?’

  ‘No Mickys,’ said the voice.

  ‘See,’ I mouthed at Oliver.

  ‘None at all?’ Oliver persisted.

  ‘Well. I’m Michael. I did get called Micky once. But that was ages ago.’

  ‘Oh gosh!’ said Oliver. ‘Look, do you mind my asking how long have you worked at the pool?’

  ‘That’s easy. Fifteen years, ever since it opened.’

  ‘Oh gosh, oh gosh!’ Oliver squeaked. ‘And do you ever remember meeting a lady, a very pretty lady with red hair and lots of tattoos?’

  ‘You mean . . . Marigold?’

  Oliver held the phone out to me. I backed away.

  ‘It’s him,’ Oliver hissed.

  I knew it was him. I took the phone from Oliver and held it to my ear. I heard his voice properly for myself. It sounded so close it tickled.

  I slammed the phone back down. Cutting him off. Cutting me off.

  Oliver’s mouth hung open.

  ‘No, no! It was him, I know it was. He said the name Marigold.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So he must be your dad.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So why didn’t you speak to him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want to. Oh shut up, Owly.’

  ‘Oliver! And don’t tell me to shut up. I’m trying to help.’ Oliver’s lip trembled.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t understand. We tracked him down.’

  ‘Look, I just didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t think in a million years we’d ever find him. Well, maybe we haven’t. My mum isn’t the only Marigold in the world.’

  ‘Oh come on, Dolphin.’

  ‘And anyway, so what if he did know her? It doesn’t prove he’s my dad. Maybe Marigold was just making it up about him. She makes up all sorts of stuff. I wonder what they’re doing to her—’

  ‘Look, Dolphin. You’ve got to think about you for a bit. If you don’t want to see your dad—’

  ‘I’ve no idea if he is my dad.’

  ‘All right. But if you don’t get in touch with him then what are you going to do? Who’s going to look after you?’

  ‘I shall look after myself,’ I said. ‘If – if you could maybe lend me a little bit of cash, because I don’t think we’ve got much food in, then I’ll be fine. I’ll stomp about in heavy shoes so that Mrs Luft thinks I’ve got someone with me. I’ll be OK for a few days and then maybe Marigold will be able to get out of hospital.’ I tried to make it sound as simple and ordinary and everyday as I could but my voice was getting higher and higher as I thought of staying in the flat all by myself with Mrs Luft lurking underneath me and the ghost of Mr Rowling slithering up above.

  I stopped. Oliver was looking at me sadly. I couldn’t even kid him.

  ‘Haven’t you got a granny or aunty or anyone?’

  ‘No. Well. Maybe I have. But Marigold was taken into care, see, so she didn’t see her family after that. She’s just my family. Her and Star.’

  ‘And your dad. I could phone him again, Dolphin.’

  ‘No. I can’t . . . you can’t just blurt out stuff on the phone.’

  ‘Then see him.’

  ‘See him when?’

  ‘We could go there. On the train.’

  ‘We haven’t got any money.’

  ‘Aha!’ Oliver delved inside his shoe and came up with another five-pound note, tightly folded and a little smelly. ‘This is my extra emergency money in case I lose my emergency money.’

  ‘You’re nuts!’

  ‘No, I’m not! Come on. Let’s go. Now.’

  ‘You mean bunk off school?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oliver. ‘Let’s. Come on.’

  I was so startled that goody-goody wimpy little brainbox Oliver was prepared to do such a momentous thing on my behalf that I found myself nodding.

  ‘Right. OK.’

&nbs
p; So we walked straight out of school. No-one said a word as we walked down the corridor, out the entrance, across the playground and out the gate. It was so simple. I wondered why I’d never done it before. Oliver’s walk was a bit wobbly, but he grinned at me through gritted teeth.

  ‘This feels so peculiar,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe we’re really doing this. It’s like a dream. Maybe it is.’

  ‘Shall I pinch you?’ Oliver gave me a delicate pinch on the back of my hand.

  ‘Did you feel it?’

  ‘Barely. You’re not a very vicious pincher, Oliver.’

  ‘Not like Ronnie Churley. He’s horrible at pinching.’

  ‘Yeah. And his Chinese burns!’

  ‘He kicked me once in the boys’ toilets. Right in the stomach. I cried and he called me a baby.’

  ‘He’s a baby though, trotting to school with his mum.’

  ‘I go to school with my mum. Oh. I’ve just thought. She’ll be coming to meet me at school at half past three.’

  ‘Oh. Well. Look, you go back.’

  ‘No, I’m coming with you. I can maybe get back in time. Or – or I’ll phone her so she doesn’t worry. Well, she will worry, but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘She’ll say it’s that weird little girl’s influence.’

  ‘Oh. You heard.’

  ‘Yep. Never mind. Everyone thinks I’m weird.’

  ‘I think you’re weird but I like it.’

  ‘You’re actually pretty weird yourself, Oliver. Hey, we’re the wondrous weirdos, right?’

  ‘Yes, OK. Dolphin, what if someone stops us and asks us why we’re not in school?’

  ‘Easy. We’re going to the dentist’s.’

  ‘What about at the station?’

  ‘They won’t ask. Why should they?’

  ‘Well, because we haven’t got a grown-up with us. It does feel funny.’ Oliver swung his arms to show how odd it felt.

  ‘I’m often out without an adult.’

  ‘I’m not. In fact, don’t laugh, but this is the very first time.’

  ‘Now that is weird. Well, don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’

  It was Oliver however who worked out the train journey because it wasn’t as simple as I’d thought. We had to change at Wimbledon and I’d have jumped on the wrong train if Oliver hadn’t hung on to me. He bought us two Mars Bars and two packets of crisps and two cans of Coke which used up every last penny of his emergency money.