Читать книгу Passion Flower - Jean Ure, Stephen Lee, Jean Ure - Страница 6

“I HAVE SPENT sixteen years of my life,” said Mum, “coping with your dad. Sixteen years of clearing up his messes, getting us out of the trouble that he’s got us into. If it weren’t for me, God alone knows where this family would be! Out on the streets, with a begging bowl. Well, I’ve had it, do you hear? I have had it. I cannot take any more! Do I make myself plain?”

Me and the Afterthought, shocked into silence, just stared woodenly.

“Do I make myself plain?” bellowed Mum.

“Y-yes!” I snapped to attention. “Absolutely!”

“Good. Then you will understand why it is that I am relinquishing all responsibility. Because if I am asked to cope just one minute longer — ” Mum’s voice rose to a piercing shriek “ — with your tempers and your tantrums and your utter – your utter —”

We waited.

“Your utter selfishness,” screamed Mum, “I shall end up in a lunatic asylum! Have you got that?”

I nodded.

“I said, have you got that?” bawled Mum.

“Got it,” I said.

“Got it,” muttered the Afterthought.

“Right! Just so long as you have. I want there to be no misunderstandings. Now, get off to bed, the pair of you!”

Me and the Afterthought both scuttled into our bedrooms and stayed there. I wondered gloomily if Mum was having a nervous breakdown, and if so, whether it was my fault. All I’d done was just go to a party! I lay awake the rest of the night thinking that if Mum ended up in a lunatic asylum, I would be the one that put her there, but when I told Vix about it next day Vix said that me going to the party was probably just the last straw. She said that her mum had said that my mum had been under pressure for far too long.

“She’s probably cracking up,” said Vix.

Honestly! Vix may be my best and oldest friend, but I can’t help feeling she doesn’t always stop and think before she opens her mouth. Cracking up. What a thing to say! It worried me almost sick. I crept round Mum like a little mouse, hardly daring even to breathe for fear of upsetting her. I had these visions of her suddenly tearing off all her clothes and running naked into the street and having to be locked up. The Afterthought, being almost totally insensitive where other people’s feelings are concerned, just carried on the same as usual, except that she didn’t actually whinge quite as much. Instead of whining about cornflakes for breakfast instead of sugar puffs, for instance, she simply rolled her eyes and made huffing sounds; instead of screaming that “Dad would let me!” when Mum refused to let her sit up till midnight watching telly, she just did this angry scoffing thing, like “Khuurgh!” and walloped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I, in the meantime, was on eggshells, waiting for Mum to tear her clothes off. In fact she didn’t. After her one manic outburst, she became deadly cool and calm, which was quite frightening in itself as I felt that underneath things were bubbling. Like it would take just one little incident and that would be it: clothes off, running naked. Or, alternatively, tearing out her hair in great chunks, which is what I’d read somewhere that people did when they were having breakdowns.

I told the Afterthought to stop being so horrible. “You don’t want Mum to end up in a lunatic asylum, do you?” The Afterthought just tossed her head and said she couldn’t care less.

“I hate her! I’ll always hate her! She sent my dad away!”

“Your dad? He’s my dad, too!” I said.

“I’m the one that loves him best! You can have her” said the Afterthought. “She’s your favourite!”

One week later, term came to an end. The very next day, Mum got rid of us. Well, that was what it seemed like. Like she just couldn’t wait to be free. She’d made us pack all our stuff the night before, but she couldn’t actually ship us off until after lunch as Dad said he had to work. Mum said, “On a Saturday?” She was fuming! Now she’d made up her mind to dump us, she wanted us to go now, at once, immediately. The Afterthought would have liked to go now, at once, immediately, too. She was jigging with impatience the whole morning. I sort of wanted to go – I mean, I was really looking forward to seeing Dad again – but I still couldn’t quite believe that Mum was doing this to us.

As we piled into the car with all our gear, I said, “It’s just for the summer holidays, right?”

Well, it had to be! I mean, what about clothes? What about school?

“I wouldn’t want to miss any school,” I said.

“Really?” said Mum. “I never heard that one before!”

OK, I knew she was still mad at us, but I didn’t see there was any need for sarcasm. I said, “Well, but anyway, you’ll be back long before then!”

Mum had announced that she was flying off to Spain to stay with an old school friend who owned a nightclub. She’d said she was going to “live it up” It worried me because I didn’t think of Mum as a living-it-up kind of person. I couldn’t imagine her drinking and dancing and lying about on the beach.

How would she cope? It just wasn’t Mum.

“You’ll have to be back,” I said. ‘Will I?” said Mum. “Why?”

Why? What kind of a question was that?

“You have to work,” I said.

Mum had this job in the customer service department of one of the big stores in the centre of Nottingham. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just disappear for months!

“Actually,” said Mum, “I don’t have to work… I jacked it in. I’ve left.”

I said, “What?”

“I’ve left,” said Mum. “I gave in my notice.”

“Gave in your notice?” I was aghast. Mum couldn’t do that!

“You can’t!” I bleated.

“I have,” said Mum. “I gave it in last week… I’m unemployed!”

I shrieked, “Mum!”

“What’s the problem?” said Mum. “It never seemed to bother you when your dad was unemployed.”

“That was because he couldn’t be tied down,” said the Afterthought, in angry tones.

“Well, I’ve decided… neither can I!” Mum giggled. I don’t think I’d ever heard Mum giggle before. “Two can play at being free spirits.”

“But what will we live on?” I wailed.

“Ah!” said Mum. “That’s the question… what will we live on? Worrying, isn’t it? Maybe your dad will provide.”

I glanced at the Afterthought. Her lip was quivering. She wanted to be with Dad OK, but only so long as Mum was still there, in the background, like a kind of safety net. We couldn’t have two parents being free spirits!

“As a matter of fact,” said Mum, “I’m thinking of going in with Romy.”

I said, “Romy?”

“Yes!” said Mum. “Why not? Do you have some objection?”

“You’re not going to marry him?” I said.

“Did I say I was going to marry him?”

I said, “N-no. But —”

“She couldn’t, anyway!” shrilled the Afterthought. “She’s still married to Dad!”

Yes, I thought, but for how long? I remembered when Vix’s mum and dad split up. Vix had been so sure they would never get divorced, but now her dad was married to someone else and had a new baby. I didn’t want that happening with my mum and dad! And the thought of having Jerome as a stepfather… yeeurgh! He has ginger hairs up his nose.

“Don’t get yourselves in a lather,” said Mum. “It’s purely a business arrangement.” Dreamily, she added, “I’ve always been interested in antiques.”

“Romy doesn’t sell antiques!” said the Afterthought, scornfully. “He sells junk. Dad says so!”

I said, “Shut up, you idiot!” But the damage had been done. We drove the rest of the way to the station in a very frosty silence. Mum parked the car in frosty silence. We marched across the forecourt with our bags and our backpacks in the same frosty silence. I thought, this is horrible! We weren’t going to see Mum again for weeks and weeks. I didn’t want to leave her all hurt and angry. Mum obviously felt the same, for she suddenly hugged me and said, “Look after yourself! Take care of your sister.”

I promised that I would. The prospect didn’t exactly thrill me, since quite honestly the Afterthought, in those days, was nothing but one big pain. She really was a beastly brat. But Mum was going off to Spain, and I was starting to miss her already, and I desperately, desperately didn’t want us to part on bad terms. So I said, “I’ll take care of her, Mum!” and Mum gave me a quick smile and a kiss and I felt better than I had in a long time. She then turned to the Afterthought and said, “Sam?” in this pleading kind of voice, which personally I didn’t think she should have used. I mean, the Afterthought was behaving like total scum. For a moment I thought the horrible brat was going to stalk off without saying goodbye, but then, in grumpy fashion, she offered her cheek for a kiss.

We settled ourselves on the train, with various magazines that Mum had bought for us (Babe, unfortunately, not being one of them).

“Mum,” I said, “you will be all right, won’t you?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Mum. “Don’t you worry about me! You just concentrate on having a good time, because that’s what I’m going to do. And you, Sam, I want you to behave yourself! Do what your sister tells you and don’t give her any trouble.”

I smirked: the Afterthought pulled a face. As the train pulled out, Mum called after us: “Enjoy yourselves! Have fun. I’m sure you will!”

“I’m going to have lots of fun,” boasted the Afterthought. “It’s always fun with Dad!” She then added, “And you needn’t think you’re going to boss me around!”

“You’ve got to do what I tell you,” I said. “Mum said so.

“Mum won’t be there! So sah sah sah!”

The Afterthought pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. So childish. I turned to look out of the window. Why was it, I thought, that our family always seemed to be at war? Mum and Dad, me and the Afterthought…

“It’s like the Wars of the Roses,” I said.

“What is?” said the Afterthought.

“Us! Fighting! The Wars of the Roses.” Personally I thought this was rather clever, but the Afterthought didn’t seem to get it. She just scowled and said, “It’s Mum’s fault.”

She really had it in for Mum. She wouldn’t hear a word against Dad, but everything that Mum did was wrong. Even now, when we weren’t going to be seeing her for months. Poor old Mum!

Actually I couldn’t help feeling that Mum and the Afterthought were quite alike. Neither of them ever did anything by halves. They were both so extreme. I like to think I am a bit more flexible, like Dad. Only more organised, naturally!

I tried to organise the Afterthought, on our trip down to London. It was quite a long journey, nearly two hours, so Mum had given us food packs in case we got hungry. I told the Afterthought she wasn’t to start eating until we were halfway there, but she said she would eat when she wanted, and she broke open her pack right there and then and had scoffed the lot by the time we reached Bedford.

“You’re not going to have any of mine,” I said.

“Don’t want any of yours,” said the Afterthought. “We’ll be in London soon and Dad will take us for tea.”

This was what he had promised. He was going to be there at St Pancras station to meet us, and we were all going to go and have tea before we got on the train to Brighton. I had never made such a long train journey all by myself before. It was quite a responsibility, what with having to keep an eye on the Afterthought and make sure she didn’t wander off and get lost, or lock herself in the toilet, or something equally stupid. But I didn’t really mind. Now that we were on our way, I found I was quite excited at the prospect of staying with Dad. I’d never been to Brighton. I’d only been to London once, and that was a school trip, when, we went to visit a museum. School trips are fun, and better than being in school, but you are still watched all the time and never allowed to go off and do your own thing, in case, I suppose, you get abducted or find a boy and run away with him. I wish!

I didn’t think that Dad would watch us; he is not at all a mother hen type. And Brighton sounded like a really wild and wicked kind of place! Vix had informed me excitedly that “things happen in Brighton” When I asked her what things, she didn’t seem too sure, but she said that it was “a hub” Nottingham isn’t a hub; well, I don’t think it is. And outside of Nottingham is like living in limbo. Just nothing ever happens at all. Vix had made me promise to send her postcards every week and to email her if I met any boys. I intended to! Meet boys, that is. Mum, meanwhile, said that Brighton was “just the sort of place I would expect your dad to end up in.” She said that it was cheap, squalid and tacky. Sounded good to me!

Just after we left Bedford (and the Afterthought finished off her supply of food) my mobile rang. It was Mum, checking that we were still on the train and hadn’t got off at the wrong station or fallen out of the window, though as a matter of fact the windows were sealed, so that even the Afterthought couldn’t have fallen out.

“Stephie?” said Mum. “Everything OK?” I said, “Yes, fine, Mum. The Afterthought’s eaten all her food.”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Mum. “I’m sure your dad will get her some more. Don’t forget to give him the cheque. Tell him it’s got to last you.”

I said, “Yes, Mum.”

“Tell him it’s for you and Sam. For your personal spending.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“I don’t want him using it for himself.”

‘No, Mum.” We had already been through all this! Plus I had heard Mum telling Dad on the phone.

“Oh, and Stephanie,” she said.

“Yes, Mum?”

“I want you to ring me when you’ve arrived.”

“What, in London?” I said.

“No! In Brighton. When you get to your dad’s place. All right?”

I said, “Yes, Mum.” I thought, “Mum’s getting cold feet!” She’d gone and packed us off and now she was starting to do her mumsy thing, worrying in case something happened. I said, “We’re only going to Brighton, Mum! Not Siberia.”

“Yes, well, just look after your sister,” said Mum.

“I’ve got to look after you” I said to the Afterthought.

“I don’t want to be looked after,” said the Afterthought.

We reached London nearly ten minutes late, so I expected Dad to already be there, waiting for us. But he wasn’t! We stood at the barrier, looking all around, and he just wasn’t there.

“Maybe he’s gone to the loo,” said the Afterthought, doing her best to sound brave.

“Mm,” I said. “Maybe.”

Or maybe we were looking in the wrong place. Maybe when Dad had said he’d meet us at St Pancras, he’d meant… outside. So we went and looked outside, but he wasn’t there, either, so then we went back to where the train had come in. Still no sign of Dad.

“He must have been held up,” I said. “We’d better just wait.”

“Ring him!” said the Afterthought. “Ring him, Stephie, now!”

“Oh! Yes, I could, couldn’t I?” I said. I called up Dad’s number, but nothing happened. “He must have switched his phone off,” I said.

“Why would he do that?” said the Afterthought, fretfully.

“I don’t know! Maybe he’s… in a tunnel, or something, and it’s not working.”

The Afterthought was already sucking her thumb and looking tearful. I thought that if Dad hadn’t arrived by four o’clock I would have to ring Mum. Ringing Mum was the last thing I wanted to do! She would instantly start fretting and fuming and saying how Dad couldn’t be trusted and she should never have let us go. She might even tell us to jump on the first train home. How could I face Vix if I ended up back in Nottingham without having gone anywhere?

I was still dithering when my own phone rang, and there was Dad on the other end. Relief! I squealed, “Dad!” and the Afterthought immediately attempted to snatch the phone away from me. I kept her off with my elbow.

“Stephie?” said Dad. “That you?”

I said, “Yes, we’re at St Pancras. I tried to call you but I couldn’t get through!”

“No, I know,” said Dad. “The thing’s stopped working, I think it needs a new battery. Now listen, honeysuckle, you’re going to have to make your own way down to Brighton. I’ve been a bit tied up, business-wise, and I couldn’t get away. I’ll meet you at Brighton, instead. OK?”

I gulped and said, “Y-yes, I s-suppose. But I don’t know how to get there!”

“Not to worry,” said Dad. “I’ll give you directions.”

Dad told me that we had to turn left out of St Pancras and follow the signs to the Thameslink. Then all we had to do was get on a train that said Brighton.

“Nothing to it! Think you can manage?”

What I actually thought was no! But I said yes because it didn’t seem like I had any alternative. I mean, if I had said no, what was Dad supposed to do about it?

“He could have come and fetched us,” whimpered the Afterthought.

“That would take for ever,” I said. “Just stop being such a baby! There’s nothing to it.”

It was, however, quite scary. There were so many people about! All going places. All in such a rush. Also, just at first I couldn’t see any signs that said Thameslink, and then when I did I couldn’t make out which road we had to go down and had to ask someone. That was quite scary in itself because St Pancras station is right next door to King’s Cross, and I had heard bad things about King’s Cross. I had heard it was where all the prostitutes were, and the drug dealers, and the child molesters. I mean, they probably didn’t come out until late at night, under cover of darkness, but you just never know. I didn’t want us being abducted! Fortunately the person I spoke to (while I held tightly on to the Afterthought’s hand in case they tried to snatch her) didn’t seem to be any of those things, but just told us which road to take and went on her way.

I said, “Phew!” and tried to unhook myself from the Afterthought’s hand, which had become rather hot and clammy, but the Afterthought went on clutching like mad.

“I don’t like this place!” she said.

I said, “Neither do I, that’s why we’re getting out of it. Just come on!” And I dragged her all the way down the road until we came to the Thameslink station where an Underground man (he was wearing uniform, so I knew he was all right) told us which platform to go to. I felt quite pleased with myself. I felt quite proud! Dad had trusted me to get us on the right train, and I had. Mum wouldn’t have trusted me. She still treated me as if I were about ten years old. (Not letting me read my magazine!) Dad was prepared to treat me like I was almost grown up. He knew I could handle it. I liked that!

Now that I had got us safely under way and hadn’t let her be abducted, the Afterthought had gone all bumptious and full of herself again. She went off to the buffet car and came back with a fizzy drink which she slurped noisily and disgustingly through a straw. It really got on my nerves. I was trying to behave like a civilised human being, for heaven’s sake! I was trying to have a bit of style. I didn’t need this underage mutant showing me up. I tried telling her to suck quietly, but she immediately started slurping worse than ever. I mean, she did it quite deliberately. Defying me.

“Did you know,” I said, “that your teeth have gone all purple?”

“So what?” said the Afterthought.

“So they’ll probably stay like it… you’ll probably be stained for life!”

I thought it might at least shut her up, but she just pulled her lips into this hideous grimace and started chittering like a monkey. Well over the top. In the end I moved to the other side of the carriage and let her get on with it. At least I didn’t have to hold her horrible sticky hand any more.

Dad was waiting for us when we got to Brighton. I was so pleased to see him! He was looking just fantastic. He had this deep, dark tan, and his hair had grown quite long. Dad’s hair is very black, and curly. It suited him long! I could suddenly understand how Mum had fallen for him, all those years ago. I could understand how it was that he could always get round her, and make her believe that this time things were going to be different, that he had mended his ways, he was going to behave himself. Dad wasn’t capable of behaving himself! Once when Mum was in a good mood, I remember she said that he was “a lovable rogue” (More often, of course, she was in a bad mood, and threw things.)

“Dad!” I galloped up the platform towards him.

“Girls!” Dad threw open his arms and we both hurled ourselves into them. “Oh, girls!” cried Dad. “I’ve missed you!”

I thought, this is going to be the best holiday ever.