‘I think you’re being the irresponsible mother to Jo, telling her off and being so horrible when Jo’s tried so hard to sort things out. I think she’s wonderful to get up so early and trudge off like that. I’m OK, I’m still in my bed. Jo has to get up early every single morning except Sunday, and she should be having a lovely long lie-in today, but she couldn’t, because we had to get the train and the bus right over to your place to wish you a Happy Anniversary – two ‘n’s – only you’re just mucking it all up.’
They were all staring at me. ‘That’s quite enough, young lady!’ said Grandma.
‘You’re not my mother so you can’t tell me off,’ I said. ‘Jo? Do you want me to shut up?’
‘Yes!’ said Jo. ‘Come on, Charlie, we’d better go home.’
‘Now don’t be ridiculous. We haven’t even started on pudding yet,’ said Grandma.
‘Why don’t you all do a lot more chewing and a lot less yapping,’ said Grandpa, calmly working his way through his second helping of roast beef.
So we sat still and no-one said anything. Jo and I left a lot on our plates. So did Grandma. But Grandpa didn’t even leave a glisten of gravy.
I didn’t think I’d be able to eat pudding. It was pineapple upside-down cake and my own stomach felt upside-down too. But I tried a tiny bit and it was actually good, so I ate a bit more, and then a bit more still, until I’d finished it all up.
Grandpa nodded in approval. He finished his last mouthful too.
‘Now that you’ve all calmed down, perhaps we ought to discuss your financial situation, Josephine,’ he said.
I wanted to tell him it was none of his business. But even I didn’t quite dare cheek Grandpa.
Jo stammered a little as she told him that we were managing, and she’d sorted things out with the building society to give us a little leeway, and she didn’t just have the one job, she had three, and she was still looking for another supervisory position all the time. She said it all as if he was giving her a formal interview. Grandpa nodded, occasionally easing the collar of his shirt where it rubbed his neck. He never wears casual clothes, not even at weekends. I couldn’t remotely imagine him in something like a T-shirt. I can’t even picture him in his underwear. I don’t think Grandpa has an ordinary body at all, he’s just hard smooth plastic underneath like a Ken doll.
Grandma wanted to know all about the other cleaning jobs. She raised her eyebrows and looked pained when Jo told her about the Oxford Terrace job, but she actually leant forward and looked interested when she heard about Robin, the little boy Jo picks up from school.
‘So what’s his father like?’ said Grandma, suddenly all ears. I could actually see them getting pink underneath her neat grey curls.
I sighed and flopped back in my chair. This was so typical Grandma. She can’t even get it into her head that Jo likes being a single mum and isn’t remotely interested in meeting any men. Grandma used to keep trying to introduce Jo to all these creeps, and she nagged her to join a Singles club and she even once advertised Jo in a Lonely Hearts column. She did, I kid you not. She thinks if she can only get Jo married off then she won’t have to be ashamed of us any more.
I waggled my eyebrows at Jo, expecting her to wink back. But she wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t looking at anyone. She was staring at the shiny yellow pudding on her plate as if Robin’s father was reflected there.
‘He’s very nice,’ she said. Her tone was brisk – but she blushed.
I stared at her. Grandma was staring too.
‘Very nice?’ said Grandma impatiently.
‘What sort of very nice? What job does he do? What does he look like? What’s happened to the boy’s mother?’
‘He’s very nice – what more can I say?’ said Jo. ‘He’s something in the Civil Service.’
‘Which grade?’ said Grandma.
‘As if I know!’
‘Is he good looking?’
‘I suppose so. In a kind of lean, lost sort of way,’ said Jo.
‘Mmm!’ said Grandma. ‘And is he a widower?’
‘No. His wife left him. She had custody of Robin at first, but he didn’t get on with the boyfriend, so now he’s back with his dad.’
‘And Dad doesn’t have a girlfriend?’
‘No. Well. He could have. But he hasn’t mentioned one,’ said Jo.
‘She’s just his cleaner,’ I said crossly. ‘She doesn’t have anything to do with him, do you, Jo?’
‘No. That’s right. Yes,’ said Jo, sounding muddled.
I frowned at her. What was she on about? And why did she have that stupid little smile on her face? I suddenly got terribly anxious. What was going on?
Jo hadn’t ever said anything about this man to me. Well. She’d said he was nice. Very nice. But that’s such a limp nothing sort of comment that I didn’t even notice it at the time.
I didn’t have a clue what he was really like. I’d never met him. I had met Robin. It was easier for Jo to bring him round to our place after she’d met him from school.
‘It’s so I can be here for you too, Charlie. We can all have a snack together,’ said Jo. ‘Then I can take him home and do a spot of cleaning before his dad gets back.’
I wasn’t at all keen on this idea, but I couldn’t really object much to Robin. He wasn’t like an ordinary boy of five at all. He was very little, with a long thick fringe and huge dark eyes in a white face. He gnawed nervously at his bottom lip all the time, and he trembled for the first few visits. He was like one of those small furry nocturnal creatures you see in the zoo, hunched at the bottom of their cage.
He certainly didn’t run amok, messing up all my things. He sat where he was put, picking anxiously at the scabs on his bony bare knees, going nibble nibble nibble at his lips. Jo brought him books and he looked at them obediently. Jo found him paper and crayons and he drew neat square houses with a mummy on one side and a daddy on the other and a very tiny Robin in the middle, under the house. He wasn’t any good at perspective so it looked as if the house was falling on him, about to crush him completely. Or maybe that was really how he wanted it to look, I don’t know. I asked him but he wouldn’t talk properly. He’d just nod if I said, ‘Is this your mum?’
I’d only got him going once. I noticed he had a little pocket in his school sweatshirt that he patted every now and then. I thought he was checking up on his handkerchief. Robin was the sort of little boy who always breathes heavily and has a runny nose. He kept sniffling one afternoon so I told him rather sharply to use his handkerchief.
He looked stricken. He didn’t move.
‘Your hankie! Your nose is running. Yuck!’ I said.
He shrivelled away from me, practically going inside the neck of his sweatshirt.
‘Stop nagging him, Charlie. Here, we’ve got some tissues somewhere,’ said Jo.
‘But look, he’s got his hankie with him,’ I said, putting my hand in his pocket and pulling something out.
It wasn’t a hankie. It was a little fluffy toy.
‘That’s mine! Give him back!’ said Robin, and he darted forward, grabbing.
‘Hey, OK! Don’t get in such a flap. Here’s your little toy. What is it?’ I said, peering.
Robin held it tight against his chest.
‘Is he shy, your little animal?’ I said. ‘Oh yes, he is, isn’t he? Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten him. He’s looking at me with one big beady eye. I think he really wants to make friends. Are you going to get him to say hello to me, Robin?’
Robin didn’t seem sure. He fidgeted, not meeting my eyes – but he seemed almost to be joining in the game.
‘Hello, little shy animal,’ I said into Robin’s clasped hands.
‘He’s not an animal,’ said Robin. ‘He’s a bird. He’s Birdie.’
Birdie edged his beak into the air so that I could see.
‘Oh, so he is! Hello, Birdie. Can you fly?’ I said.
Robin nodded, and made Birdie nod too.
‘I don’t belie
ve you,’ I said.
‘He can!’ said Robin, and Birdie’s beak went up and down.
‘No. I’m sure he can’t possibly fly,’ I said. ‘Yes, he can, I’ll show you,’ said Robin, and he unclenched his fist so that Birdie’s woollen wings flapped free. Robin stood up and skipped round the kitchen, making his arm swoop up and down. Birdie flew along with him. He had two black bead eyes, a yellow beak, and big brown wings, carefully scalloped at the edge. He wore a bright-red knitted waistcoat.
‘I get it! Birdie’s a Robin, like you,’ I said.
Robin nodded happily, and Birdie flew faster.
‘Did your mum make him for you?’ I said without thinking.
Robin stopped. Birdie lost height rapidly and landed. Jo frowned at me from across the kitchen. Robin went and sat on a chair without saying another word. I didn’t know whether his mum had made Birdie or not. ‘I’m sorry, Robin,’ I muttered.
I wondered what it would feel like if your mum didn’t really want you. I knew what it felt like not to have a dad, but then that was OK. I didn’t want one. Certainly not one like mine. When I was really little, younger than Robin, Jo used to tell me all these fairy tales about a lovely daddy who was so sad he couldn’t see me, but I soon twigged she wasn’t telling the truth. I asked her straight and so she told me straight. My dad was Jo’s first boyfriend. She loved him like crazy but he was never so keen on her. Then when she found out she was going to have me she told him and he didn’t want to know. ‘That’s your problem,’ he said. I’ve been Jo’s ‘problem’ ever since but we manage just fine.
Robin doesn’t look like he’s managing very well, even if he’s still got this very nice dad. If he is very nice.
I don’t like the sound of him.
FAMILY
It is our Jessie’s birthday today. She is five years old, quite the little lady. I have been fretting over what to send her for a birthday present. Louisa has so many discarded toys in her trunk. There’s a little china tea-set our Jessie would adore. Louisa packed it away so carelessly all the little teacups fell out of their cardboard setting and the lid of the sugar pot seems to be lost for ever:
‘I don’t care about that old tea-set, not now I have my new willow-pattern set,’ said Louisa.
I very nearly asked her if I could have it for my little sister Louisa might have said yes, but I didn’t think the Mistress would like it. There are many many many things the Mistress doesn’t like!
I did not risk taking so much as one tiny teacup for Jessie’s present. I cut up one of my old black stockings that had worn away to holes and sat up sewing half the night, turning it into a little toy monkey like the one that sits on the organ-grinder’s shoulder I wanted to give him a little jacket and cap too, so I cut a square out of my red flannel petticoat. It will not show, after all. The monkey looked splendid in his fine red clothes. My eyes were red too the next day from sewing by candlelight and I was desperately tired, but I did not care for once. I wrapped the monkey in a piece of last week’s newspaper and tied it with string and inked the address really large and clear upon the front and posted it off in plenty of time.
I felt happy for the first time since I have been working here. But now I feel sad, because I cannot see Jessie opening her present. I cannot give her a birthday kiss. I am so scared Jessie might forget all about me as I can only go home one day a year, on Mothering Sunday. Baby Ada-May will think me a total stranger. It makes my heart break.
The Mistress came into the nursery unexpectedly and found me weeping with my head in the wardrobe.
‘Whatever is the matter Charlotte?’ she said. ‘You are not ill, are you?’
‘No, Madam.’
‘Then why are you crying? Make haste with Miss Louisa’s dress, or the child will get a chill.’
‘Yes, Madam. Sorry, Madam. I’m just sad because I miss my family so.’
‘You are part of this family now,’ said the Mistress.
She said it as if she were granting me an immense privilege. But I do not care for this family. How can I be part of it when I can never answer back or say what I really think? How can I feel really close to these children when I have to call them Miss and Master? I have to look after them all the time but there is no-one to look after me.
COURTSHIP
‘I look such a mess,’ Jo wailed.
‘You look fine,’ I said. Though she didn’t. She had two spots and her hair needed washing and her sweater had shrunk and her leggings were all baggy at the knee.
‘I’m going to have to change,’ said Jo, diving into the bedroom. ‘Keep an eye on Robin for me.’
I frowned after her. I went and fetched a drawing pad and felt tip pens. I put them in front of Robin on the kitchen table.
‘Right. You can do a drawing with my own personal set of super felt tip pens – so long as you promise not to press too hard on the points, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Robin eagerly, because I didn’t often let him borrow them. He was used to making do with his own little-boy wax crayons.
He picked up the red, ready to draw his usual neat square house.
‘Don’t draw any of that boring old house and mummy and daddy stuff. Why don’t you pretend Birdie’s grown ginormous and you get on his back and you both fly away to a Magic Land where anything can happen. Draw that.’
Robin blinked at me doubtfully.
‘Go on,’ I said, giving him a little nudge. ‘I’m just going to go and have a talk with my mother, OK? Do not disturb us unless it’s a dire emergency like you’ve been seized with an uncontrollable desire to stick two felt tips simultaneously into your eyes and you need immediate medical attention.’
Robin nibbled his lip, glancing nervously at the tin of felt tips as if they might spontaneously attack him.
I sighed and marched into the bedroom. Jo had pulled off her old cleaning clothes and was standing in her underwear, making faces at her clothes in the wardrobe.
‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘They’re all old and grotty and rubbish.’ She scratched her head. ‘Double yuck. So am I. I’ve got to wash my hair. I was going to do it yesterday but I was so blooming tired and then there wasn’t time to do more than splash my face this morning. Oh God, I think I’ll climb into the washing machine at the Rosens’ tomorrow morning and give myself a good soaping . . .’ She went burbling on like this, to herself rather than me, as she made for the bathroom in her knickers, remembered Robin, went back for her tatty old dressing gown, and then stripped off and stepped into the bath. ‘Do you think we’ll ever have enough spare cash to have a shower installed?’ she shouted over the roaring taps. ‘Pass us that Snoopy mug, Charlie – and the shampoo. What is it, eh? ‘Cause I’m in a tearing hurry.’
‘Why are you fussing about what you look like?’ I said, sitting on the loo.
‘What?’ Jo said, tipping water over her head.
‘Why are you washing your hair now?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. My hair’s all lank and disgusting, that’s why,’ said Jo, exasperated. She lathered shampoo in and then wiped the bathroom mirror clear of steam and looked at herself. ‘Look at me. Spots all over the place. And huge great bags under my eyes. It’s not fair. I thought all this hard work would make me super fit at the very least and yet I look a wreck.’
‘Why does it matter so much?’ I said sternly.
‘Of course it matters,’ Jo snapped, rinsing. ‘I haven’t quite given up on myself yet. I don’t want to go round looking so dirty and disgusting that people in the streets run away from me screaming.’
‘You don’t mind what you look like when you go out to the supermarket,’ I said.
‘Well at that time most people have their eyes tightly closed – even the ones that are up,’ said Jo, sluicing more water over herself and then getting up. ‘Pass us that towel and stop being so stupid.’
‘You’re the one that’s being stupid in my opinion,’ I said. ‘You don’t care what you look like when you go to the Rosens’ either, you just w
ear any old gungy thing. You don’t care what you look like when you go and collect Robin from school and bring him back here. But suddenly, when it’s time to take him home to his dad, it’s flap and fuss and you getting worked up into a right flap-doodle.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ said Jo, towelling herself dry.
‘Yes you do. What’s the matter with you, Jo? Why are you trying to impress that wimpy little kid’s father, eh?’
‘I’m not. I just want him to see he’s got a competent and reasonably clean person looking after his son. Stop looking so fierce, Charlie.’
‘But you like him, don’t you?’ I asked.
‘I don’t even know him properly. He’s just my employer.’
‘You’re not going to do anything really gross and go out with him, are you?’ I said.
‘Oooh, now, that’s a great idea,’ said Jo. ‘And you and your Jamie could come too on a double date, how about that?’
‘You shut up teasing me. I’m serious!’ I said. ‘I’m having grave doubts about you, Loopy Mum. We don’t like men, remember?Especially the lean lost ones. Honestly! What a description. You are a fool.’
‘Don’t you tell me I’m a fool. I’m your mother!’ said Jo, trying to act all dignified. ‘Now go and keep an eye on poor little Robin and stop bugging me. Do as you’re told!’
‘Who’s going to make me? You and whose army?’ I said, standing my ground.
‘Go!’ said Jo, giving me a push.
‘No!’ I said, giving her a push back.
‘You do as I say,’ said Jo, pushing with both hands.
‘I don’t want to,’ I said, pushing back.
We went on pushing and shoving and Jo’s towel fell off and she tried to grab it and I snatched it first and slipped on the bath mat and Jo fell on top of me and we rolled around, starting to giggle as we wrestled.