Still, I decided I might as well make the most of this opportunity and I clamoured straight away to go on the really scary famous Red River Run.
‘Let’s go a bit gently first,’ said Jo. ‘Robin still looks a bit pale. What would you like to go on, Robin?’
He twittered and skittered and eventually decided he wanted to try the Treetops ride because Birdie might see a lot of big birds up there. I was getting heartily sick of all this twee Birdie nonsense by now. I wished Birdie would flap his wings and fly away, sharpish.
We went on this Treetops ride and it was a bit babyish because you rode round this aerial scenic railway ever so slowly, absolutely no swooping up and down or looping-the-looping. Big birds were very few on the ground too. Well, few in the air, shall we say. I’d have stuck stuffed parrots to every branch and dangled a few eagles in the air just to make the view a bit livelier. You couldn’t rely on the real birds to put on an entertaining aerial display. A few sparrows flapped far away and that was our lot.
It was all very tame. For me. Not for Robin. He went a familiar pale green.
‘Put your head over the side of the truck,’ I said quickly.
But when he did as he was told he looked down through the treetops and got so scared he couldn’t even be sick (which was just as well for all the unsuspecting folk wandering around underneath!) Robin just opened his mouth and screamed.
‘Hey, Robin! It’s OK, son. Don’t yell like that. It’s meant to be fun,’ said Mark, turning round and trying to put his arms round him.
‘Don’t look down, Robin. Look up at the trees. Look, there’s a pigeon,’ said Jo.
‘Can’t anyone shut him up?’ I said. ‘Robin, you’re giving Birdie a headache. Look, he’s had to put his head under his wing. Shut up, OK?’
It wasn’t OK. He didn’t shut up until we’d finished the ride and hauled him off. Mark picked him up and he buried his head in his shirt and gradually adjusted the scream to an intermittent sob.
‘Well, he’s having a whale of a time,’ I said.
Jo gave me a shove. ‘Will you stop being so hateful?’ she hissed. ‘Poor little Robin.’
‘Yes, poor little wimpy-pimpy,’ I said. ‘Come on, Jo. He’s not a baby. He’s five, for goodness’ sake. In Victorian times he’d be old enough to shove up a chimney.’
‘I wish I could shove you up a chimney,’ said Jo. ‘Look, he acts like a baby because his mum’s cleared off and he feels like his whole world has fallen apart. Can’t you understand?’
I was starting to feel that way myself. Like my own mum had cleared off. Jo turned her back on me and started fuss fuss fussing over Robin, and all the time Mark was looking at her with this sickening soft expression so that now I was the one who felt like throwing up.
Robin wouldn’t go on any other rides, apart from a twiddly little roundabout for tiny tots. He sat bolt upright in a little car and held on to that steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were practically bursting out of his skin. Jo and Mark waved like crazy every time he came round but he never once looked at them. He stared straight ahead, as if he were watching the road.
He wanted another go. And another.
‘Look, this is loopy,’ I pointed out. ‘It costs a fortune to get in and you’re supposed to go on all these incredible rides and all we’re doing is watching Robin go round and round a roundabout that would only cost fifty pence at a summer fête.’
‘At least he’s liking it,’ said Jo.
‘But this is his last go. I agree with you, Charlie. Hey, we’ll go on the Red River Ride, eh, you and me?’ said Mark.
I couldn’t stand the way he was trying so hard to get on with me.
‘I’ll go on my own, thanks,’ I said.
But for some infuriating reason they didn’t let kids under twelve ride on their own.
‘You come, Jo. Go on. Please,’ I said, practically begging.
But it was no use. I ended up surfing the Red River with Mark. It spoilt it all utterly. People seeing us together might have thought he was my dad. I sat as far away from him as I possibly could. He kept yelling, ‘Isn’t this fun! Isn’t this great!’ though he’d gone almost as green as his son. When we lurched up to the very top and then swooped down like crazy he screamed so that I could see the fillings in his back teeth. When we got to the last and largest hill of steel before the watersplash he actually tried to put his arm round me.
‘Do you mind?’ I said, and I wriggled as far away as I could just as we went over the top. My head jerked forward as I hurtled down and I banged my nose hard on the safety bar. Pain exploded in my head as water splashed right over us and soaked us to the skin.
‘Wow!’ said Mark. ‘Hey, Charlie, what’s up? Did you bump your head? Your poor nose is all red.’
‘No. I’m fine,’ I said thickly, trying to blink my tears back.
I didn’t want his soggy sympathy. Even though it was all his fault. Him and his silly snivelly son.
Jo was still so busy fussing over Robin that she didn’t even notice that my nose had suddenly turned into a tomato. So I decided I wouldn’t bother to tell her. Even though it was more than likely broken, and my looks would be marred for all time.
We went to the picnic area but I wasn’t really hungry. My nose throbbed so much and chewing aggravated it. The picnic wasn’t up to much anyway. The sandwiches had gone limp inside and hard out because Jo had made them the night before. She’d packed the crisps under the cans of Coke so that they were all broken into little bits. The grapes had got so squashed that one more trample would have turned them into wine.
The only good part of the picnic were my fairy cakes which I’d packed myself in a nest of paper tissues inside a big tin. They were delicious. And carefully iced with witty messages. I handed them round so that everyone got the right one.
Mine said HEY, BEAUTIFUL.
Jo’s said TRAITOR.
Mark’s said DEADLY POISON.
Robin’s said GET LOST.
‘What does it mean, g-e-t l-o-s-t?’ said Robin, licking his message tentatively.
‘Oh, it’s just Charlie being silly,’ said Jo, glaring at me. She didn’t even touch her cake. Mark gave a great false roar of laughter and ate his in two gulps.
‘Yum yum, delicious,’ he said, and then he gasped and pretended to choke.
‘Daddy?’ said Robin.
‘It’s OK, Daddy’s just dying,’ I said.
‘It’s a silly joke, Robin,’ said Jo, cramming the lid back on the rest of the cakes. She looked like she wanted to cram me inside too. Without any airholes. ‘How would you like another go on that little roundabout, Robin?’
He had many more goes. And I went on some other rides too, but somehow they all seemed a waste of time. My whole head was hurting now, not just my nose. Sometimes I went on the rides with Mark while Jo looked after Robin. Sometimes I went on the rides with Jo. That wasn’t any better, because we weren’t speaking.
Then we got to the Stardust Sparkle ride. It was all pink glitter and hearts and flowers outside.
‘That’s pretty,’ said Robin.
‘Pretty yucky,’ I said.
‘Would you like to go on the Stardust Sparkle ride, Robin?’ said Jo. ‘We could all go on it, eh?’
Robin watched the ride warily. A couple got into a pink pretend Cadillac and it drove through a door in the shape of a big heart. You couldn’t see inside the door. It was all dark.
‘No,’ said Robin. ‘Too dark. I don’t like the dark.’
‘Surprise surprise,’ I said. ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to go on the Stardust Sparkle ride either, if anybody’s interested. Not that anyone is.’
‘I’d like to,’ said Mark. ‘Come on, Jo.’
I stared at her. But she didn’t even look at me.
‘Look after Robin, Charlie,’ she said, and she rushed off with Mark.
The two of them together. In a pink Cadillac. Disappearing through a big heart into the dark.
‘They’ve gone,’
said Robin.
‘Too true,’ I said.
‘They’ll be back soon?’ Robin asked.
‘How should I know?’ I said.
The ride was mostly enclosed, but the first couple’s Cadillac suddenly shot through a door overhead and rode through the air in full view of everyone for several seconds. The couple didn’t seem to realize. They were kissing.
‘Look!’ said Robin, giggling.
The first couple disappeared through another dinky door. We waited for the second couple. We waited a long time, and then suddenly they burst through the overhead door. They rode through the air in full view of everyone. They didn’t realize either. They were kissing.
‘Look!’ said Robin, giggling again. And then he realized. ‘It’s Daddy and Jo!’
I didn’t say anything. My nose was still hot but the rest of me had turned icy cold.
‘But they were kissing. Why were they kissing? They don’t kiss,’ said Robin, sounding perplexed. He rubbed Birdie’s wing against his cheek like a cuddle blanket.
‘Looks like they certainly do kiss,’ I said. ‘So there you go, Robin. Your dad. And my mum. Well, he’s not going to be my dad. And she’s not going to be your mum.’
‘I’ve got a mum,’ said Robin.
‘Yes, but she doesn’t want you any more, does she?’ I said.
‘Yes, she does,’ said Robin uncertainly. ‘Daddy said. It’s just her new man who doesn’t want me.’
‘Well, my mum’s obviously got herself her new man. So she doesn’t want me. And your dad’s got himself his new lady. So he won’t want you either now. Tough, isn’t it?’
It made the pain ease just a little if I made Robin smart too. His face crumpled as he clutched Birdie. I started to get scared.
‘Hey, don’t cry again. I was only joking,’ I said.
But we both knew I’d been serious.
SUNDAY
Sunday is meant to be a day of rest. Well, ha ha. There’s no rest as far as I’m concerned. Baby Freddie wakes up screaming just the same as always and I have to crawl out of my warm bed and change his napkins and give him his bottle, and by the time he’s settled Louisa comes trailing in clutching her doll and Victor leaps up and starts bouncing on his bed in his nightgown and I have to do my best to quieten them, because it’s Sunday.
They have to wear their Sunday best, even the baby, and by the time I’ve got all three laced and buttoned and booted, my chilblains throb so bad I can barely do up my own clothes. It’s my Sunday best too, though my hideous servant uniform is nothing to show off about. We all have to go to church after breakfast. Louisa and Victor are supposed to sit still in the pew, but of course they swing their legs and nudge each other and giggle and I get the blame. If Freddie cries the Master and Mistress glare at me and expect me to stop him – but if he really gets going then I’m allowed to take him out of the church to carry him around outside. When the Vicar is droning on and on I sometimes feel like giving baby Freddie a sly pinch just to escape!
We were never really church folk at home. When Father was alive us children were sent off to Sunday School every week – but I think that was just so Mother and Father had a bit of peace and quiet without us. I liked Sunday School well enough, because you were given a book every year if you attended regularly. I liked singing the hymns too, though the words sometimes made me ponder. ‘All things bright and beautiful’ is pretty enough, but I do not care for the part where it says God made us high or lowly and each to our estate. In other words, us servants must know our place. Fiddlesticks!
I talked about this with Mrs Angel and Eliza when we were having a cup of cocoa together at the end of the long day. Eliza giggled but Mrs Angel was shocked. She said I was being bad and blasphemous and shooed me out of her kitchen. But Mrs Angel was in a bad mood anyway because she was so tired. Sunday is such a long boring day that everyone wants to eat all the time and she is forever serving meals, her huge roast beef and Yorkshire, with three puddings to follow, and scarcely have they eaten the last morsel than they’re ringing the bell for afternoon tea.
The children are bored silly too, because they are not allowed to play with their usual toys. I am supposed to lock away Louisa’s favourite doll and bring out her grand Sunday doll with her golden curls and cream silk clothes from France. Louisa admires this doll but does not dare carry her around for fear of mussing her. Victor is not allowed to play any rumbustious boys’ games. He is supposed to occupy himself with a suitable Sunday story book, all instruction and no adventures. Victor finds this very dull fare.
It is usually easy to get the children to go to bed on Sundays because they are so eager for it to change to Monday!
I have been tormented these last few Sundays thinking of Mother Mr Higgins closes the Dog and Duck on a Sunday. I have a terrible feeling that they might be stepping out together. I shall not be able to bear it if Mr Higgins becomes my new father I did not care for my old father, but I shall care for this one even less.
LAW AND ORDER
We were all very quiet in the car going home. Jo and Mark kept giving little quick glances at each other. I couldn’t stand it. They both seemed to have forgotten that there were passengers in the back.
I started singing stupid songs as loudly as I could.
‘Charlie!’ said Jo. ‘For heaven’s sake, you can’t even sing in tune.’
‘It’s fun to sing in the car,’ said Mark. ‘Let’s all have a sing-song, eh? What about “Ten Green Bottles”? We know that one, don’t we, Robin?’
Robin didn’t reply. He was scrunched up with Birdie’s wing right over his face.
‘Are you feeling sick again, Robin?’ Jo asked, peering round at him.
No response.
‘Is he asleep?’ she whispered to me.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, taking a deep breath for my next song.
‘Shut up,’ said Jo. ‘Don’t you dare wake him up.’
He wasn’t actually asleep. Whenever we were on a brightly lit road I could see the gleam of his eye. And when I went quiet I could just hear his snuffling above the car engine.
I should have reached out and given him a cuddle. I should have told him that he mustn’t worry, of course his dad would still want him. I should have told Mark and Jo that he was crying.
I didn’t. Oh, how I wish I had. But I didn’t. I stayed hard and hating.
Mark dropped me and Jo off outside our flats.
‘Thank you for a fantastic day out,’ said Jo, putting her head so close to his that I thought she was going to kiss him again right in front of me. But she straightened out and he started to wind up his window.
‘Say thank you, Charlie,’ said Jo.
‘Thank you,’ I said, with absolutely no expression, total Dalek daughter.
‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ Jo exploded, the moment we were inside our own front door. ‘You’ve been foul the entire day.’
‘I’m surprised you noticed. You’ve only had eyes for one person all day long. Oooh Mark, how lovely, what a treat, gee-whizz how fantastic,’ I said, imitating her gushing tone.
She blushed, but she tried to stare me out.
‘Grow up a bit,’ said Jo. ‘You’re acting like a toddler whose mum has started to talk to someone else. Surely you don’t seriously mind that I’ve made one nice friend all by myself? You’ve got hundreds of friends, you always have done, and I’ve been thrilled you’ve got such a good independent social life. I’ve always been useless at making friends. And now for the first time ever I’ve found someone I get on with, why do you have to make all this fuss?’
‘But he’s not just a friend, is he?’ I said.
‘Yes, he is!’
‘Don’t give me that rubbish. I don’t go round snogging my friends.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. I saw you. On that stupid Stardust ride.’
She went redder than ever, and now she couldn’t meet my eyes.
I couldn’t stand to look at her either.
She looked so stupid and flushed and girlie, like Angela swooning over her beloved rock group or Lisa dithering over Dave Wood. But she was Jo. She was my mother. She was mine.
I didn’t say another word to her all evening. We both went to bed early but we didn’t sleep. We tossed and turned separately, a great gap in the middle of the bed.
It still seemed like night-time when the phone rang. Jo sat up, looking dazed. ‘Have I slept in for work?’ she said.
I peered at the alarm clock. ‘It’s only three o’clock. So who on earth’s phoning . . . ?’ I said, as I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room. ‘Hello?’ I said, as I snatched up the phone. ‘Hello, who is it?’
‘It’s Mark here, Charlie.’
I couldn’t believe it!
‘Can I speak to Jo, please? It’s urgent.’
I dropped the receiver as if it were burning me. Jo came rushing into the room.
‘Who is it? What’s going on?’
‘It’s only your friend,’ I said. ‘And he says it’s urgent. Well, would you mind asking him to save his urgent little lovey-dovey messages till it’s actually daylight. I’d like to get some sleep before I go to school, if it’s all the same to you two lovebirds.’
‘Do shut up, Charlie,’ said Jo, picking up the receiver. ‘Mark? What is it?’ She was silent for a few seconds.
I started to do a mime of exaggerated kissing and then pretended to puke. But then I saw the shock on her face and I stopped the pantomime.
‘What’s happened?’ I said.
‘It’s Robin,’ said Jo. ‘It’s little Robin, he’s gone missing.’
The words sizzled in my brain like an electric shock.
‘Missing?’ I whispered.
Jo was asking Mark heaps of questions, and I could hear the frantic tone of his answers.
‘You’re sure he’s not just hiding somewhere? Under his bed? In one of the cupboards? Let me come over and search,’ said Jo.