‘But Elsie—’ Nan said urgently.
‘Look at her – she’s right as rain, aren’t you, Elsie?’ said Mum, giving me a nudge. ‘She’s always been a bit on the skinny side, it’s just natural – and she hasn’t got a cough, has she?’
‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Nan. ‘But promise you’ll take her for this test.’
‘Yes, yes, don’t fuss about it.’ Mum looked at her watch. ‘We’d better get going soon.’
‘No, Mum, we’ve only just got here!’ I protested. ‘I want to stay with Nan all afternoon.’
‘That old bag at reception said we’re only allowed ten minutes on this ward – and you’re not supposed to be here at all, Elsie. They’re just turning a blind eye as we’ve come all this way,’ said Mum.
‘All right, then. Best get going,’ said Nan. ‘But you’ll come back next Saturday, won’t you?’ She looked anxiously at Mum.
‘We’ll do our best, though those Green Line buses are only one an hour from town and they go all round the moon, and then the nearest stop is a good mile away from this dump.’ Mum peered at her shoes, frowning. ‘I’ve worn down my heels at the back, look! We need to kit ourselves out with hiking boots to get here.’
‘But we’d come even if we had five miles to walk, Nan. No, fifty miles. We’d come if we had to walk through mud up to our ankles – up to our knees – up to our chins,’ I said.
‘Button it, Elsie. You’re just being silly now,’ said Mum, standing up. ‘Right, we’ll bring you some more sweeties next time, Mum. We can all make pigs of ourselves now rationing’s over! I’d offer to do your laundry, but you’d better let the hospital boil it up, because of the germs. You take care now.’
Nan’s mouth drooped, though I could see she was struggling to control it. I wanted to throw my arms round her, but I knew it wasn’t allowed now. She looked so little and lonely in her strange neat bed.
‘Here, Nan,’ I said, bending down and then pretending to pick up a furry handful. ‘You have Snow White and Sooty and Marmalade all week. They’ll bounce about on your bed and keep you amused.’
‘You what?’ said Mum – but Nan smiled, though her eyes were watering again.
‘Thank you, darling,’ she said, stroking thin air. ‘I’ll look after them ever so carefully. Whoops! Watch it, Marmalade – don’t fall off the bed.’
‘You two are a right pair of loonies,’ said Mum. ‘OK, we’re off then. Ta-ta, Mum.’
‘Bye, Nan. Oh, I’ll miss you so. Bye-bye,’ I said.
I blew kisses to Nan – and then I had to kiss Snow White and Sooty and Marmalade. It made Nan laugh but it made Mum sigh heavily.
‘Come on, Elsie, quit acting daft,’ she said, tugging at me.
It felt terrible walking out of the ward. I kept peering round to wave to Nan. She started to cough, but she kept her mouth clamped shut, her eyes popping, so she wouldn’t have to spit again while we were watching.
I kept seeing her face all the way home. I started to cry a little – just quietly, no noise at all.
‘Stop that snivelling now,’ said Mum.
‘But I’m so sad for Nan,’ I moaned.
‘Crying in the street and making a public spectacle of yourself isn’t going to help her, is it? Now pull yourself together.’
We just missed our Green Line bus home, even though we ran for it. We had to wait a whole hour for the next. I kept trying not to cry, but I couldn’t help the odd sniff and snort.
‘Oh dear, what’s up with you, tuppence-ha’penny?’ asked a fat woman waiting with us. ‘Have you been naughty? Have you had a telling off?’
‘My nanny’s ill,’ I wailed, though Mum’s fingers dug into my shoulder.
‘Oh dear, I hope it’s nothing serious,’ said the woman. ‘You been to visit her then?’
I nodded, though Mum’s fingers pressed harder.
The fat woman paused, her beady eyes darting from me to Mum and back again. ‘She’s not in the sanatorium, is she?’ she said, nodding in that direction.
‘No, she’s not,’ said Mum forcefully.
‘That’s a relief,’ said the fat woman. ‘It’s a disgrace they built it there, right in a residential area. They say it’s not catching, but you can’t fool me. It’s a wonder we haven’t gone down with it. We all breathe the same air, don’t we? Mind you, I don’t want to sound uncharitable. I feel sorry for the poor souls stuck in there. They go in – but you never see them coming out. They say you can cure TB now, but I think they all fade away.’
I gave a little gasp.
‘Do you mind? You’re upsetting my little girl,’ said Mum, and she steered us several paces up the pavement.
I shook with suppressed sobs while Mum dabbed at my face with her hankie.
‘Don’t take any notice of that nosy old biddy,’ she muttered.
‘But she said—’
‘Yes, and I say she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s just making mischief. Don’t take any notice.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. You take note of what I say. I’m your mother, aren’t I?’
I knew she was my mother whether I wanted her to be or not. I snuffled against her and she patted me, the two of us together, united against the fat woman. Mum even started up a game of I Spy to pass the time. We had M is for Mum and T is for tree and N is for nylons and BS for bus stop and NV for nail varnish, and then I spied something beginning with VFL and Mum was stumped. I whispered, ‘Very fat lady,’ and we both got the giggles.
We were getting on famously, but then I spoiled it all on the long bus journey home. The driver kept stopping and starting, jolting us backwards and forwards.
‘Mum, I feel sick,’ I whispered.
‘Don’t you dare!’ said Mum, but I couldn’t help it, and we didn’t have a carrier bag with us either.
I MISSED MY kittens badly on Sunday. I had their picture on the chocolate box but they wouldn’t come alive for me. Of course, I knew they weren’t real, but they’d been real in my head, and they left a big gap. Still, I was happy they were playing with Nan now. They’d be romping all over her bed with their little paddy paws, and then diving under the covers whenever a nurse came near. They’d curl up on Nan, one round her neck, one tucked into her armpit and one on her tummy, and then they’d all three go to sleep. Nan could stroke their soft fur – oh, they’d be better than furry mittens.
I was glad I’d given them to Nan, but my own little couch felt cold and empty without them – and I had no one to play with all day. Mum slept late and I had to creep about the flat so I wouldn’t disturb her. I made myself some bread and jam and didn’t put the kettle on because it had a noisy whistle. I tried to make a pot of tea using hot water from the tap but it didn’t work properly, and I had to pour it all away.
I read my old Girl comic, though I’d read it from cover to cover already. I liked ‘Belle of the Ballet’ best. I tried tying my hair back like Belle’s and pretending it was blonde instead of brown. I wished I had real ballet shoes. Laura Totteridge went to ballet classes. She changed into her special ballet outfit in the girls’ toilets before she went off to her after-school class. She wore a black tunic, with matching black satin knickers, and an angora bolero – pink to match her ballet shoes.
I wished I could be Laura. Well, I wanted to keep my own nan, but apart from that I wanted to swap. Laura had a big brother who watched out for her and gave her piggybacks, and she had a little sister who hung on her hand and giggled at everything she said. She had a kind soft mother who came to meet her from school every day, and I’m sure she had a gentle big father who told her she was his pretty princess.
I’d told Nan all about Laura.
‘Why don’t you make friends with her, Elsie? She sounds such a nice girl,’ she suggested.
I loved Nan more than anyone else ever, but sometimes she made me sigh and roll my eyes. As if a girl like Laura would ever be friendly with a girl like me.
‘Go on, try to make friends with her
,’ Nan urged.
‘I don’t know how,’ I said pathetically.
‘Give her that lovely smile.’
I had tried flashing my teeth at Laura when we were in the toilets together – but she stepped back nervously as if she thought I was going to bite her.
The next day Nanny gave me a tuppenny bar of chocolate for playtime. ‘Share it with Laura,’ she said.
It was hard work tracking her down this time. I eventually spotted her over by the bicycle sheds with Melanie and Pat and Joan, all of them practising handstands. You can’t give someone a piece of chocolate when they’re upside down. I lurked nearby, wanting to get Laura on her own. I was so anxious I nibbled the chocolate for comfort, and then realized I only had one piece left to offer her. I wrapped it up quickly and hung onto it. I waited until the bell went, and Laura and the other girls righted themselves and untucked their skirts from their knickers. Then I went charging up to Laura.
‘This is for you,’ I said, thrusting the piece of chocolate into her hand. I’d been clutching it so hard I think it might have melted. It was certainly unpleasantly warm.
She looked at it as if I’d slipped a slug into her hand. ‘What’s this?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘It’s a present,’ I said.
‘Well . . . thank you,’ she said, because she was really a very nice girl, but when we went into the classroom I saw her throwing it in the wastepaper basket.
I lied to Nan and said Laura had eaten up all her share of the chocolate and said ‘Yum yum,’ and then shared her own banana sandwich with me. Nan usually knew when I was lying. Perhaps she believed me simply because she wanted it to be true so badly. I kept up the pretence for weeks, inventing all sorts of best-friend scenarios for Laura and me. I even had us swapping desks so we could sit together in class. We exchanged books and comics, we told each other secrets, we went around arm in arm together at playtime. I invented so many telling details I almost started to believe it myself. Then Nan unnerved me utterly by suggesting I invite Laura home for tea.
‘No! No, I don’t want her to come!’ I said, panicking.
‘But she’s your friend. I’m sure you’d both have a lovely time together. I’ll do you a slap-up tea, darling. We can have tinned peaches and evappy milk.’ This was our favourite tea-time treat, which we usually only had on Sundays.
‘I still don’t want her to come, Nan,’ I said.
Nan looked at me carefully, her eyes squinting. ‘You’re not ashamed of us, are you, Elsie?’ she asked.
I was a little ashamed, because we lived in a rented basement flat that smelled funny, whereas Laura lived in Elmtree Road, where all the big black and white houses had neat little hedges and geranium, alyssum and lobelia in their front gardens in a patriotic red, white and blue floral display.
I was ashamed because I was Weird Elsie, the girl with a home-made tunic and boy’s shoes, the girl who muttered to herself when she played games, the girl who didn’t have a dad.
‘I’m not ashamed of you, Nan,’ I said. ‘But please please please, don’t make me ask Laura to tea.’
I should have realized Nan wouldn’t let it alone. She went right up to Laura and her mother after school one day, while I was still only halfway across the playground, doing up one of my wretched laces. I saw her and charged over, but I didn’t get there in time. I saw Laura and her mum walk away from Nan. Laura peered round worriedly.
Nan was looking puzzled. ‘That is Laura, isn’t it – the dark girl with the pink ribbons?’ she said.
I thought of lying again, but then Nan might interrogate every girl in my class, trying to find the right Laura. I nodded miserably.
‘The Laura who’s your best friend?’
‘Well, she’s not actually my best friend,’ I mumbled.
‘Her mum says you’re not friends at all. You don’t ever play together,’ said Nan. ‘You don’t even sit together in class.’
‘Well . . . I did give her some chocolate,’ I said madly.
‘Oh Elsie,’ said Nan. ‘Was it all a story then? Have you been fibbing to your old nanny?’
I nodded, not daring to say any more in case I burst out crying. Marilyn and Susan were standing nearby while their mothers were chatting. If they found out they’d have a field day.
I must have been going red in the face.
‘Come on home then, ducks,’ said Nan.
I was scared she might be cross with me for fibbing, but she didn’t tell me off at all. We had tinned peaches and evaporated milk for tea, just the two of us. Nan didn’t mention Laura again, so neither did I.
I waited in suspense the next few days at school, but Laura didn’t tell anyone. She gave me nervous little smiles when we passed each other in the corridor. Once she dropped a Merry Maid Caramel on top of my desk. I wasn’t sure if it was an accident or not. I wondered if she could possibly want to be friends after all, but she never made any other overtures and I didn’t dare.
Now, while I waited for Mum, I drew a picture of Laura and me in a dancing display, both of us wearing white tutus. I copied our ballet positions from the ‘Belle of the Ballet’ strip.
When Mum got up at last, I showed her my drawing and she nodded and said, ‘Very good’ – but she didn’t really look at it properly. I asked if we could go to see Nan again that afternoon, but Mum sighed at me.
‘We’ve just this minute seen her! We’ll go again next week. Now stop hanging around with those big moony eyes – you’re getting on my nerves. Go and play.’
It was hard finding something to do with Mum glaring at me. She hated it when I played pretend games. She said I looked gormless gesturing to myself and mouthing words. She didn’t like me playing with my paper dolls either. She didn’t mind so much when I was cutting out their clothes, snipping carefully round every white tag, but when I’d got them all dressed up and chattering happily, ready to go out, Mum said I looked loopy shaking bits of paper about. She was even less thrilled when I took Albert Trunk for a trundle across the carpet. Once she caught him doing a little pile of red plasticine dung and smacked me for being dirty.
‘Play a proper game, Elsie,’ she said, tapping the sideboard where Nan kept the Ludo and Snakes and Ladders and our pack of Happy Families.
‘Will you play too, Mum?’
‘I’ve got too much to do. I’ve got to mend the armpit of my best silk blouse and press my suit,’ she said.
‘Why?’ I said, not really concentrating.
‘Why?’ Mum said, taking hold of me and shaking me hard. ‘Because I can’t go back to my job up north on account of the fact I’ve got to look after you.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum!’ I stuttered, my teeth rattling. ‘Look – you go back to your dancing job. I’ll be fine. I can look after myself, really. I can make tea and cheesy beanos and all sorts.’
‘Oh yes – if I leave you for just one blooming evening, then someone will blab and you’ll be whipped into care quick as a wink. And if you don’t stop annoying me I’ll start to consider it a tempting option,’ said Mum.
I clamped my mouth together, and when she let me go I ran outside. I found a stump of chalk in my pocket and played a game of hopscotch on the pavement. I hummed under my breath, pretending I was feeling just fine, though my heart was hammering inside my chest.
Mrs Brownlow from next door came bumbling along, her massive bulk squeezed into her huge scarlet coat. She looked like a London bus and certainly seemed intent on running me over.
‘What are you doing, Elsie Kettle?’ she asked.
‘Playing,’ I mumbled.
‘On a Sunday?’ she said, sniffing. ‘You been to Sunday School today?’
‘We don’t go to church, Mrs Brownlow,’ I said, hopping. My right leg was aching so I had to hop with my left and I was much clumsier.
‘I know that mother of yours wouldn’t set foot in a church,’ she said. ‘She’s no better than she ought to be.’
That was what Nan’s work friend had said. Mrs Brownlow ofte
n used this mysterious phrase when she talked about Mum.
‘I feel sorry for poor Mrs Kettle, her Sheila bringing shame on the family,’ Mrs Brownlow went on.
I knew I was the shame. I turned my back on her, trying not to care.
‘Where is your grandma, Elsie? I nipped round to borrow half a pint of milk for a custard the other day and I couldn’t get any answer.’
‘She’s poorly,’ I said warily.
‘Oh dear. In bed, is she? I’ll pop round tomorrow then, see if she needs any shopping.’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I said.
‘And I’ll bring her my Woman’s Home Companion. It’s a good read, that,’ said Mrs Brownlow. ‘I’ll fetch it now.’
‘No, you can’t come in. Nan isn’t here.’
‘What? She’s never in hospital, is she?’ said Mrs Brownlow.
I nodded.
‘What’s wrong with her then? It’s nothing really serious, is it? Elsie, I’m talking to you. What’s the matter with your nanny?’
‘I’m not allowed to say,’ I mumbled.
Mrs Brownlow looked even more interested. ‘Is it women’s troubles?’ she hissed.
I didn’t have a clue what she meant, but it seemed a good idea to nod.
‘Oh, the poor thing. She’ll never be the same again,’ said Mrs Brownlow.
‘Yes, she will. She’s going to get better. She said,’ I retorted, turning my back on Mrs Brownlow and hopping. I used my right leg and staggered a little.
‘What’s up with your leg then?’ she asked.
‘Nothing!’ I said, and hobbled indoors.
It did ache a lot though. I knew it irritated Mum when I limped – but perhaps if I exaggerated it, she might take it more seriously. She might even let me stay off school.
Mum was in her petticoat in the living room, ironing all her clothes, humming along to Family Favourites on the wireless. She had an insistent, high-pitched hum, almost as if she were playing a tune on a comb with a piece of toilet paper. I wondered if she was trying to be brave too.
‘Mum?’
She frowned at me, mid-hum.
‘Mum, my leg hurts really badly. Look, I’m limping,’ I said, parading around the living room.