by L. T. Smith
Sunday night was always nit inspection night. My mum was like a woman possessed when it came to our six legged friends who liked to party in her kids’ hair. So Sunday night was known as ‘TheTreatment’ night.
Every Sunday was the same. Bath. Clean pyjamas. And a thorough grooming, ready for school the next day. Just because we had broken up for school holidays didn’t stop the de-lousing regime. Unfortunately. And let me tell you, if you have never had the ‘pleasure’ of Derbac … well … you’ve been lucky. At least it didn’t set in your hair like Suleo.
Anyway, mum would line us up in order of age and douse the louse with the most fouling smelling lotion ever invented. Even today I prefer dog farts. It wasn’t just the lotion – it was the combing. I think the person who invented the comb must have done so with the help of a microscope and evil intention. My hair tangled easily, and having something so fine scraped through was agony. The effect was tearstained cheeks, red rimmed eyes and Christopher Lee hair – the lot of us were like a band of extras in a Hammer House Production.
Over time this regime dwindled down to just Alan, Jo and me, as the others had grown and adamantly refused. And they used to sit … smugly … in the front room, when the ‘infested trio’ would have to stay in the dining room and were only allowed to go in the best room if we stayed away from everyone – especially out of line of draughts from the windows, which would waft the smell around the room. God help us if we sat on the furniture. We could have been hired out on Safaris – elephants would have been stunned at twenty paces.
This Sunday was no different. The agony … the screaming … the pleading for mercy. And that was just my brother. He was such a boy sometimes. It was funny … in retrospect, obviously. Especially watching my mum crack the little critters between her nails when she had caught them in the comb. Word of warning – never struggle with your mother when she is de-lousing you – there is only ever one winner, and it sure isn’t you. And … and this is a biggie … always be ready to run in case her cig sets your head on fire. No. That’s a lie. She always made sure it never went near enough to actually catch alight, properly balancing it on top of the gas fire.
But Alan …Alan was a mard-arse – always was, and most certainly still is.
It still makes me smile to remember him in the throws of a rain dance, wailing to the gods, informing everyone and everything he hated them … with all his heart. He was always the main attraction on Sundays … we could have charged admittance, but we were used to it. Every week the same.
Then the doorknocker went. The insurance man had dropped by for mum’s contribution … and we didn’t even have time to hide behind the furniture. Not that we could have got away with it, as Alan was in the midst of his jungle fever. Only now I realise my mum was embarrassed by the smell and the noise. No one else actually paid any attention to what was going on – in a household our size it was very unusual to have quiet time.
All the time the insurance man was there, Alan danced. Every question the man asked my mum had to ask to be repeated because of Alan’s rantings. Jo and I just sat on the floor, quietly doing Christopher Lee impressions, but inside laughing our asses off. Alan was a knob head – still is.
I still believe this episode scarred my brother. Mainly because he had the lotion on longer than the thirty minutes – I don’t know. All that medication soaking through his scalp, breathing in all those fumes whilst screaming must have taken its toll. Definitely the reason why he has never intellectually advanced – or maybe it’s because he was always a wanker. Who knows?
After the insurance man had gone, and Alan had been thoroughly dealt with, Jo and I were sent to bed to meet Donny et al. Fucking Osmonds.
It was only after mum had gone back down to give Alan another pasting to stop his crying (go figure) that Jo asked me where I had got my bruises from. Her eyes held concern … and I knew she must have been worrying about this since bath time, as the bruise started at the base of my spine and curved itself around one cheek. There is no way she wouldn’t have noticed it … although Angie hadn’t. She was too busy trying to get us sorted so she could get up the park with her mates.
Donny was smiling at me as I turned to Jo, ‘I was standing under the tree …’
‘What have I told you about climbing that tree? I’ll tell mum if you go up it again.’
‘I didn’t fall out of it. Ash did.’
‘How on earth can ash cause a bruise like that?’ And I started laughing. ‘It’s not funny, Lou. You’ll end up killing yourself or worse.’ Nope. I didn’t get it either … killing yourself or worse? Never mind.
‘Not ash! Ash!’ She looked at me like I was an idiot, ‘Ashley … Ashley Richards from down the Avenue?’ Still a vacant look. ‘Moved in a couple of weeks ago.’ Realisation broke out and I could see it take over the blank expression from earlier.
It was short lived.
‘What do you mean Ash fell out of the tree?’
I loved my sister, but sometimes she was too overprotective. It was a full twenty minutes later before she was satisfied I had not been ambushed.
As I snuggled into bed, the big dilapidated double I shared with both Jo an Angie, I smiled to myself.
‘I’ve got a friend.’ Then silently wished Donny goodnight.
And I couldn’t wait to see what the next day would bring.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WASN’T LONG before we were firm friends, although Ash was Jo’s age. As for Jo … well … she wasn’t too pleased my affections for her had been split. But being her, she took it on the chin and allowed me some semblance of freedom.
Days were spent in childish adventure. Ash was so much fun, although she barely said a word to anybody else. Mum nicknamed her my ‘shadow’, as she was always standing quietly behind me whenever she was in the company of any of my family.
Now, my family were friendly, don’t get me wrong. They were just … big. There were loads of us. The only person Ash hadn’t met was my dad. And come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him myself for quite a while. He was a long distance lorry driver and spent a lot of time on the road; the time not on the road was spent in the pub.
I remember when I was about four, my mum had got me up in the middle of the night, or so it seemed, to introduce me to him. Years later I realised they had been in the middle of an argument. To put it mildly, my father was a tosser. He didn’t give two shits about his family. All he cared about was himself and the pub. I can still remember him sat there in the front room, sunglasses on (at night time) listening to Dean Martin’s Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime, and singing really badly.
Mum had ushered both Jo and me into the room and it was like the rabbit incident all over again. Who was this man sat in the chair singing whilst wearing sunglasses? Even to this day I read people’s eyes – I don’t trust people if I can’t see their eyes. I learned that the hard way.
It was only because Jo seemed to know him that I let down my guard.
I wish I hadn’t bothered.
Enough about him for now … you’ll hear more about that tosser later.
Ash. I wanted to skip every time I thought of her. She was a lot taller than me even though she was nearly eight (well … seven and three quarters– eight in October) – but she appeared bigger. Black hair cascaded down her back; her face was slightly tanned through all the outdoor activities we shared. But the most striking thing about her was her eyes. Blue, a light blue, a twinkling blue that captured the sun’s rays and made them dance.
It wasn’t long before she became the centre of my world. Everything I did I wanted her to be a part of it. Everything I saw I wanted her to see.
We were inseparable. It was fantastic.
Jo backed off from me and spent more time with Tina, telling me I was always welcome to hang about with her anytime. I don’t know why, but she didn’t really take to Ash … but at the time I didn’t give it much thought.
Summer days were spent in play … in adventure. Things I had done
a thousand times on my own seemed to take on a different meaning when I did them with Ash.
She even showed me how to climb that damned tree properly, although I still had the memory of her plunging down from quite a height.
I trusted her.
Completely.
I fit quite nicely into her family too. She had two brothers, Stephen and Anthony, one older, one younger. Her dad used to torment her, saying it was an Ashley sandwich. I could tell she was their pride and joy.
It was strange to watch her family together. Her parents were so interested in what they all were doing, taking time to chat to them, ask how their day had been. Her mother was a full time mum, always there for them. Her father was a policeman, and he made my brothers nervous – especially Sniffer’s girlfriend.
It made me reflect, in my childish way, about my own parents. I loved my mum so much … she tried as hard as she could to provide for us, considering my dad was AWOL most of the time. Now I’m an adult I fully realise what she had to go through. Eight children and barely two pennies to rub together. No wonder she had to work at a night club to earn enough to clothe and feed us. A man can’t support both the pub and his family, and my father preferred to support the local brewery.
Ash’s family semi-adopted me. I spent most of my free time there, reading her books – especially loving it when she read to me. This treat sometimes followed us up the tree where we would sit, hidden from view and she would read to me. I had to be careful I didn’t relax too much and fall backwards … again.
Ash, her two brothers and me used to perform Abba’s Waterloo in her bedroom. I don’t think Stephen and Anthony really wanted to be Benny and Bjorn – but they didn’t really have a say in the matter. Ash could be quite forceful when the mood took her.
We practised for days trying to get the moves right, turning our heads at just the right moment. I still haven’t got the hang of coordination, but that’s beside the point.
When we thought we had perfected it, we put the single on the small box record player and performed our masterpiece to her parents. I followed her every move … like usual … and shrilled out ‘My my … At Wa-ter-loo Na-po-le-on did surrender …yeh yeh …’ The applause from her parents was deafening … nearly as bad as our singing.
I felt on top of the world.
Again.
I should have sung the Carpenters.
One of my favourite memories was the day we went to Concroft Park. It was the day I realised Ash was everything I would ever want or need in my life.
It was quite a walk from our house, and we were toting carrier bags full of sandwiches and pop to eat on our day out. Inside the bags were also two books, Ash’s jumper, an old blanket and a ball. It was going to be a good day.
And it was.
The very first thing we did was feed the ducks. We stood there, side by side, looking for all the world like a pair of ragamuffins, not speaking in our task but fully content just … to just … be. I think we gave them nearly all our sandwiches but we didn’t care.
Swings, slides, roundabouts and reading. In that order. Then, we did it all again, but this time we had a game of catch before we lay back on the grass and just read.
I didn’t know how long I had been asleep, I suddenly felt the splodge of rain hit my skin like an ice cube. And again … and again … until it was constant. I felt Ash looming above me, her shadow blocking my view, her body sheltering me from the downpour.
‘Lou … come on, Lou. We need to go.’ Her voice seemed echoey, distant. The chill from the rain made me shiver. I had only a t-shirt and shorts on and I was freezing. I could see Ash shaking with cold too. Her hand was trembling as it reached down to me, rivulets of water running down the bare flesh.
‘We need to get back.’ I grabbed her hand and with one deft movement she pulled me to my feet. ‘Here.’ A jumper was shoved in my direction. My eyes looked into blue, which were clouded with worry. ‘Put it on … you’ll catch your death …’
‘But …’
‘But nothing. Put it on … no arguments.’ I watched her as I pulled the jumper over my head, missing the sight of her as the thick red material fell over my eyes. The jumper was barely on my skin before she grabbed my hand and began to pull me along.
Rain lashed against us as we struggled against the downpour. There was no point looking for shelter, as the rain looked as if it would be with us for quite a while.
Ash had the blanket and books (the ball long forgotten) shoved under her arm, her other arm occupied with pulling me along, my short legs struggling to keep up.
We had gone a little way before she pulled me under the bus shelter just outside the park. ‘We can’t get the bus, Ash, we haven’t any money.’
‘Shhuuusssshh. We’re not getting the bus … here … hold these.’ She thrust the books into my hands and started fluffing out the blanket. Her face was filled with concentration as she struggled with the chequered cloth, her black hair sticking to the side of her face. I was freezing, and by the looks of her shaking body, so was Ash.
‘Come here.’ Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. But I went without question. ‘I’m going to try a stop us getting completely soaked.’ I looked up at her, forever in awe of my older friend. She made me feel so protected. I knew she would take care of me whatever happened. ‘I’m going to hold the blanket over us. Here … put your arm round my waist and hold on.’
As soon as I slipped my arm around her, which was quite an effort because of our height difference; we were off, the slick and slippery pavement almost a blur.
Ash was determined we wouldn’t get any more wet than we already were. The books I held were becoming soggy and heavy, and my grip tightened about them with grim determination. I wanted to keep my part of the bargain.
It seemed like forever. The rain really held us back, but I didn’t feel frightened or worried. The presence of Ash calmed me. The feeling of her guiding me both with her body and the top of her arm made me feel secure … and, strangely enough, happy.
When we got outside her house I fully expected her to dash in and send me on my way, but no, she insisted she saw me to my front door, with a mumbled ‘That’s what friends are for.’ Secretly, I was pleased.
The front door loomed ahead of us, and I could feel her slowing down. It wasn’t until we reached the gate that she stopped. ‘Go on … you get in.’ Impulsively, I threw my arms around her neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. I think I surprised her because she dropped the blanket to her shoulders and looked me squarely in the face. ‘What was that for?’ Her voice was quiet, but I heard every word as if it has been shouted.
‘For taking care of me.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ But I could see she felt pleased with my words. ‘Go on … get gone.’ And she planted a little kiss on my forehead, before she gave me a gentle shove.
I raced towards the door and hammered the knocker, turning to face Ash whilst I waited for someone to let me in.
The image of her standing there will forever be etched into my mind. Rain pummelled down on her, but she just stood there, staring right back at me. Her hair was a tangled mess of wetness, clinging to the side of her face, her fringe dripping water into her eyes. The pale cream t-shirt was like a second skin, transparent and heavy. Rivulets of water raced down her legs and collected at the tops of her ankle socks. Splodges of dirt coated her calves and knees, but they were beginning to become washed away.
‘Bloody hell, Lou! You’re pissed wet through!’ Mum’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to face her. ‘Get in and get those clothes off before you catch your death.’
Ash’s jumper! I still had it on. I turned to speak to her but she was on her way out the gate, the blanket covering her shoulders. ‘Ash!’ She stopped, and turned towards me, a question in her eyes. ‘Your jumper!’
‘Keep it … I’ll get it later.’ Her face broke out into a dazzling smile and I forgot about the rain, forgot about the jumper, forgot how cold I was. That smi
le lit up everything and made me feel warm inside.
‘Come on, Lou … in!’
‘Laters, Ash.’
‘Laters.’ And she was gone. Racing through puddles, water splashing up her legs, the blanket billowing out as only soaked blankets could do.
But there wasn’t going to be any ‘Laters’. ‘Laters’ had to wait for another ten years.
My father made sure of that.
Bastard.
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER A HOT BATH, shared with Jo of course, it was tea and an early night. I felt so happy going to sleep, but the happiness didn’t last long.
Voices woke me. Not gentle voices … by any stretch of the imagination. These voices were raised in argument, words spewing forth that no child should ever hear.
It was my parents.
Funny thing is, even though my mum and dad didn’t get along as well as other parents, they rarely argued. So, this was a surprise to say the least.
Honestly speaking though, surprise was the last emotion I was feeling at the time.
Fear was top of the list.
‘You all right, Lou?’ Jo’s voice filtered through the darkness, a small hand came and landed on the top of my arm, stroking up and down.
The shouting was getting closer, the anger more evident. I could feel the tears welling up and slipping from my eyes. I began to shake – couldn’t stop it – I was scared and confused. I could hear Jo trying to comfort me, but I could hear the fear in her voice also. This must be bad if she was scared.
Raised voices were right outside our door now, the words clear to everyone.
We were leaving. Tonight. Mum had obviously found out about all the affairs my father had been having, and the child his girlfriend from Scotland was carrying.
Only later did I understand the full concept of these revelations. Only later did I overhear my mum telling one of her sisters of a letter she had found, addressed to her, in his work bag. A letter from a seventeen year old girl who was three and a half months pregnant. Only later did I fully understand this man was a total wanker, although I’d always had my suspicions.
