The Illustrated Mum

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I was starting to feel a bit sick when we got to New Barnes.

  ‘I’m not sure Mars Bars really go with crisps,’ I said. ‘Especially not with Coke on top.’ I burped miserably.

  ‘You’ll be all right in a minute,’ said Oliver. He asked a lady the way to the leisure pool. She said it wasn’t far and we couldn’t miss it. We set off walking in the direction she sent us. We walked for quite a bit, not saying much. It seemed far. It looked like we had missed it.

  I didn’t mind.

  Oliver asked again and then we doubled back on ourselves and saw a big modern white building at the back of the street.

  ‘That looks like it,’ said Oliver.

  I said nothing.

  ‘You’re ever so quiet,’ said Oliver.

  ‘I feel sick. I told you.’

  ‘It’s probably because you’re scared about meeting your dad.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I said, irritated. ‘Stop being such a know-all. You don’t know anything.’

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Oliver softly. ‘Scaredy-cat.’ But he laced his bony little fingers through mine as he said it.

  I glared at him but I gripped his hand hard. I hung on tight as we got nearer and nearer the leisure pool. The smell of the chlorine was so strong as we went through the entrance that I wondered if I really was going to throw up.

  ‘Take a deep breath,’ Oliver advised.

  I stood still and gasped like I was making a dirty phone call.

  The woman at the reception desk eyed us up and down.

  ‘Are you both over ten?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ said Oliver. ‘But we don’t actually want to go for a swim.’

  ‘Well, the café’s over there.’

  ‘No, we don’t want the café either.’

  ‘Well, if it’s the toilets you’re not allowed to use them if you’re not using the leisure centre premises, but your friend looks a bit dodgy, so if she needs to dash into the Ladies I’ll turn a blind eye.’

  ‘It’s kind of you, but she doesn’t need the toilet,’ said Oliver.

  ‘I do,’ I said truthfully. I did have to make a dash for it.

  When I returned, white and trembling, the lady and Oliver looked shocked.

  ‘You look awful,’ said Oliver.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better come into the office and sit down,’ said the lady. ‘I’ll ring your mother.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I said, and I started crying.

  There was a lot of fussing after that. I was led into the office, Oliver holding my hand again, which was kind of him though it meant I couldn’t wipe my nose properly. A thin man with big black glasses and a grey tracksuit shook his head at me.

  ‘Dear, oh dear, you look a bit woebegone,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘She’s not well at all. Can I leave the kids with you a minute, there’s a queue at the desk. Thanks, Michael.’

  I stared at him. Michael. My dad.

  I’d never had any clear idea what he looked like. Marigold had always described him as nothing special, which wasn’t helpful. Then I’d rearranged my ideas over the last couple of hours and pictured him as a brawny bronze hunk in lycra shorts.

  This Michael was a shock.

  ‘You’re Michael!’ said Oliver.

  He stopped looking at me. He stared at Oliver. His face went white.

  ‘You’re the kid who phoned,’ he said.

  Oliver nodded.

  ‘You asked if I remembered Marigold.’ He said it oddly, as if it was a magic name and saying it out loud would make all his wishes come true.

  ‘What’s your name, son?’ he whispered.

  ‘Oliver,’ said Oliver.

  Michael bent down and clasped Oliver gently by his narrow shoulders.

  ‘I knew it,’ said Michael. ‘I knew it as soon as I heard your voice. And now look at you. A real chip off the old block. Oh, Oliver. I’m your dad, aren’t I?’ He pulled Oliver closer to hug him.

  ‘No!’ said Oliver, wriggling out of his grasp.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ said Michael, setting him free at once. ‘I know I can’t rush things. This is probably very difficult for you. But ever since Marigold left I’ve been haunted by the thought of you.’

  ‘No! Not me,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ve got my own dad. I’m just her friend. It’s her.’

  He took me by the wrist and yanked me upright. I was still feeling so weak I went dizzy. Oliver and Michael started multiplying and spinning round me.

  ‘Sit down and put your head between your legs,’ said Michael.

  ‘Put my head where?’ I mumbled.

  ‘To stop you fainting.’ He took hold of me by the elbows and sat me back down. He gently pressed my head down until my knees nudged my ears.

  ‘There!’ he said, as the black whirling slowed down. ‘OK. You can try putting your head up now.’

  ‘Up and down, up and down. I feel like a yo-yo,’ I said shakily.

  ‘Now,’ said Michael, sitting on the arm of my chair. ‘Are you telling me you’re Marigold’s baby?’

  ‘I’m not a baby. I’m nearly eleven.’ Then I realized what he meant. ‘How did you know she was having a baby?’

  ‘It was why she left. I was so thrilled, but she didn’t know if she could cope. Star was only little. Marigold didn’t want—’ He stopped suddenly.

  I stared at him, rubbing my eyes, trying to get him properly in focus.

  ‘You mean, you and Marigold, you lived together for a bit?’

  ‘Eleven months.’

  I must have looked astonished.

  ‘I loved her so much,’ said Michael. ‘I knew she didn’t really care about me. She wanted that Micky. But he didn’t want her.’

  ‘She’s the same now,’ I said.

  ‘Does she know you’re here?’ He looked painfully eager.

  ‘She’s not waiting outside, is she?’

  ‘No. She’s – she’s in hospital.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s not very well. Sort of . . . mentally.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And Star’s with Micky now.’

  ‘Is she? How did that come about? He left long before she was born.’

  ‘Well, he came back. And he’s taken Star.’

  ‘So Star’s got her dad. And – and you came looking for your dad. Me.’

  I felt myself going bright red. Michael had gone through an overly emotional scene with Oliver. It would seem so daft if he repeated it with me.

  The weird thing was that Michael and Oliver really did look like they were related. Michael and I didn’t look at all alike. He was dark, I was mousey. He had vague brown eyes, mine were sharp green. He had pink cheeks and I was always white unless I was blushing.

  ‘Maybe you’re not my dad,’ I said. ‘We don’t look like each other.’

  ‘You look like Marigold.’

  I stared at him. My dad was pretty stupid.

  ‘Marigold’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘I’m ugly.’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re very like her. Your hair, your skin, your eyes.’

  ‘Marigold’s got red hair,’ said Oliver.

  ‘It was pale brown when she was with me,’ said Michael. He smiled at me, his eyes big and blinking behind his black glasses.

  ‘Do you swim wearing your glasses?’ I asked.

  ‘I have prescription goggles,’ he said. ‘Though I look a bit like a frog in them.’

  I thought.

  ‘Marigold has a frog tattoo.’

  ‘Between her toes. I know. I held her hand when she had it done.’

  ‘I have to hold her hand too.’

  ‘Has she got a lot more now?’

  ‘She’s practically covered up!’ said Oliver. ‘She looks amazing. Like a comic. I’d give anything to have a mum who looks like that. Oh, my mum! Do you think I could possibly make a quick phone call?’

  ‘Of course.’

  While Oliver was dialling and then spinning his mum some long
involved story Michael and I looked at each other. Then we looked away. Then we looked at each other again.

  ‘I don’t know your name!’ he said suddenly.

  ‘It’s Dolphin.’

  ‘Dolphin,’ he said slowly, trying it out.

  ‘It’s a stupid name.’

  ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘The kids call me Bottle Nose at school.’

  ‘Well, they’re stupid. Dolphins are beautiful animals anyway.’

  ‘Fish.’

  ‘No, they’re mammals. Highly intelligent. And amazing in the water. Do you like swimming, Dolphin?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can’t swim?’ He’d taken on board a bogus son and a probable daughter without turning a hair but now he sounded genuinely astonished. ‘I don’t believe it. Didn’t Marigold teach you? I taught her.’

  ‘We don’t ever go swimming. I did with the school, but it was mostly just messing about.’

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ said Michael.

  I swallowed. The swirling feeling was starting up again.

  ‘So can I come and stay with you? Just for a bit? Till Marigold gets better?’

  Michael swallowed too. His Adam’s apple bobbed about in his throat.

  ‘Well, yes. Of course. But there’s all sorts of things that will have to be sorted out first.’

  It was simple when it came to Micky and Star. It was very very very complicated with Michael and me.

  ‘We’ve got to do things properly, Dolphin.’

  ‘Properly’ meant he had to take us back to school, go to the hospital, see a social worker there, see another special children’s social worker, see the entire Social Services to sort out what was going to be done.

  ‘No!’ I wailed. ‘No, please don’t. Not the Social.’

  ‘We’ve got to do things the right way. I can’t just take you out of the blue. We’re strangers, even if we are father and daughter.’ He said the words stiltedly, going a bit pink.

  ‘Micky just took Star.’

  ‘Yes. That figures. But Micky seems to have a habit of rushing in – and then rushing off, leaving all kinds of havoc behind him. I want to do this my way.’

  ‘But it’s not my way. I’m not seeing any social workers. They’ll just take me into care and they don’t care. They smack you and they tell you off and if you wet the bed they put the sheet over your head.’

  ‘Do you wet the bed, Dolphin?’ Oliver asked with interest.

  ‘No! But that’s what it’s like in homes. Marigold said. And she should know, she’s been in heaps.’

  ‘But that was a while ago. Things have changed. And anyway, you’re not going to end up in a home. You can stay with me if the social workers think it’s suitable and I’ll have to discuss it with my family too, of course.’

  The word family hit me like a pile of bricks.

  ‘Family?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got a wife, Meg, and two daughters, Grace and Alice.’

  The words struck me on the head. Wife, bang. Daughters, bang bang.

  That was why he was so thrilled when he thought Oliver was his son. He didn’t need another daughter.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It was a mad idea coming here. Not my idea. We don’t need you to take us back. We’ve got return tickets, haven’t we, Oliver?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Oliver. ‘And actually I’d sooner we didn’t go back to school because I’ve just told my mum this long story about a school trip to a leisure centre – it wasn’t exactly a lie – and how the coach would drop me off right at the end of our street but they couldn’t say the exact time and she only half seemed to believe me and she gets very upset. You know what she’s like, Dolphin.’

  Oliver rambled on about his mum. I didn’t take much of it in. Michael wasn’t listening either. He was fumbling through a little plastic wallet.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and he showed me this photo of him in some silly cycling stuff and a blonde wife in pink shorts and two fair girls with big eyes and pointy chins in T-shirts and flowery leggings.

  ‘Here they are. Grace is seven and Alice is five.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘They’re your half-sisters.’

  I looked at these strange girls. They didn’t really look anything to do with me.

  ‘This was taken when we were on this crazy camping holiday last year. We all took our bikes and went all over the place, even Alice.’

  ‘I can’t ride a bike,’ I said.

  ‘I could teach you. Hey, you could maybe come camping with us some time.’

  ‘Meg won’t like that idea.’

  Michael looked me straight in the eyes.

  ‘It might be a bit difficult at first. Meg knows all about Marigold but she’s always felt . . . worried about her.’

  I suddenly saw Marigold, lots of Marigolds. Marigold painted white like a ghost, Marigold all dressed up and going out on the town, Marigold wincing in pain as she got herself tattooed, Marigold yelling at me, Marigold hiding under the sheets, Marigold making the cake house in the field, all my Marigolds.

  ‘I want Marigold,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll go and see her,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll tell them that I have to get off work now. I’ll take you both back. Don’t worry, son, I’ll drop you off at your home.’

  I still thought he said the word ‘son’ wistfully, as if he wanted to pop a ‘my’ in front. He’d have sooner had Oliver than me. I didn’t ever come first with anyone. I was always second-best.

  When Michael went off to tell some colleagues he was leaving work early Oliver gave me a quick hug.

  ‘He’s nice, Dolphin, he really is. He’ll look after you. It’s going to be all right. It was a good idea of mine to find him, wasn’t it?’

  ‘OK, OK, it was a great idea,’ I said, and I hugged him back.

  He was quite a bit smaller than me so his fluffy hair got up my nose.

  ‘Your hair’s tickling, Oliver!’

  Oliver dodged away, smoothing his hair self-consciously. His fringe was so long now, it hung over his glasses.

  ‘Why don’t you get it cut?’

  ‘I know. I keep telling my mum, but she can never get it organized.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she cut it?’

  ‘Her hands are so shaky I’d end up with the fringe all zig-zag and my ears snipped off.’

  ‘I’ll cut it for you sometime,’ I offered. ‘I’m good at cutting hair, honest.’

  I picked up a lock of his hair and made professional scissor movements with my fingers.

  ‘Playing hairdressers?’ said Michael, coming back into the office. ‘Meg’s a hair stylist, Dolphin.’

  ‘Is she?’ I said it flatly, as if I wasn’t the slightest bit interested.

  There was no point hoping she’d take me along to her salon and show me stuff. Even Michael had agreed there would be problems with Meg. I was sure she’d hate me.

  It was quite a long drive back. Oliver was in the front with Michael. They chatted away endlessly. They were both computer freaks and so they went on about the Internet and all these different games and systems. I got so bored I huddled up in the back and pretended to be asleep.

  ‘Dolphin’s nodded off,’ said Oliver after a while.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Michael.

  ‘It’s so great she’s found you. It was all my idea.’

  ‘I know it was, Oliver. A very good idea.’

  ‘You are pleased, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m very pleased. Of course I am. Though it’s all a bit hard to take in. I mean, I hadn’t properly thought about Marigold in a long while. After she left I did nothing but search for her, but then after a year or so I knew I had to make a new life for myself or I’d go crazy. I met Meg and we got together and had the girls. And now it turns out I’ve got three girls.’

  ‘Dolphin’s a very special girl,’ said Oliver. ‘You’ll like her lots and lots. I do.’

  I felt tears pricking inside my eyelids. Maybe I came first wit
h Oliver.

  I had to open my eyes when we got back to our town and Oliver started directing Michael to the road where he lived. I didn’t want him to go. I felt worried about it being just Michael and me.

  ‘Bye-bye then,’ said Oliver, as he got out the car. ‘It was very nice to meet you, Michael. Maybe I could have some swimming lessons too?’

  ‘You bet, son.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right now, Dolphin?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, though I’d never felt less sure about anything.

  ‘Oh well. I’d better get going. I’m not sure my mum’s going to believe a word of my story. So. I’ll see you at school, Dolphin?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Right.’

  He still dithered, peering at me through the window. Then he waved wildly, though the car wasn’t moving. I waggled my fingers back at him, and Michael drove off.

  ‘We’ll go to the hospital first. Any idea where it is?’ said Michael.

  I was glad I had to direct him. It meant we didn’t have to try to make conversation. I was also getting worried about the trip to the hospital.

  ‘What’s it like?’ I said. ‘You know, the loony ward.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think we should call it that.’

  ‘Will everyone be in those white strappy things like corsets?’

  ‘Strait jackets? No, I’m sure they won’t be. It’ll probably be like an ordinary hospital ward.’

  ‘Only everyone will be mumbling and staring and doing stupid stuff.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. But if you’re really worried you don’t have to come in. You can stay in the car. Maybe children aren’t allowed on the ward in any case.’

  ‘No, I’d better come. I want to see Marigold,’ I said, though I was sure she wasn’t going to want to see me.

  It took us ages to find the right ward and then when we got there at last, a nurse bustling past frowned at me.

  ‘I’m not sure about the little girl,’ she said. ‘We tend to stick to over-fourteens, unless there’s a very special reason.’

  ‘Oh, there is a special reason this time. Dolphin’s mother was taken into hospital this morning and she’s been very worried about her. She badly needs to see her,’ said Michael.

  ‘Ah. We’re talking about Marigold, right? The lady with . . .’ She gestured to her arms and legs as if inking instant tattoos in the air. Then she suddenly smiled at Michael. ‘Hey, you’re not the Micky she keeps going on about?’