‘Are you going to Garton Road tomorrow then?’
‘No, I’ve got things to do.’ He kicks the tray of lukewarm Chinese with his foot. ‘I’ve got to go and do some shopping for a start.’
‘You’re going shopping?’
‘We’ve got to start eating some decent food – we can’t live on takeaways. And I’ve got to see if I can find someone to look after the baby.’
‘But the nurses look after him in the hospital.’
‘Yes, but he can’t stay there, not indefinitely. He’s got to come home with us, so we need a nursery or a childminder or someone to look after him during the day while I’m teaching. Mum was going to look after him herself for six months so we hadn’t got anyone lined up yet.’ He looks at me, rubbing his eyes. ‘We’ll have to find someone to look after you too whenever I have to work late. There’s so much to organize. I can’t get my head round any of it just at the moment. Anyway, off you hop to bed. And tomorrow morning I’ll drive you to school, and then come and pick you up afterwards and take you to see Mum then.’
‘No! I need to be with Mum.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ Jack snaps. ‘Will you just stop arguing! I’m trying my hardest to do what’s best for you. It doesn’t help if you argue back all the time.’
‘I don’t always argue.’
‘There you go! For pity’s sake, Ella. Couldn’t you try to be reasonable and do as you’re told just for a few days, while Mum’s so ill?’
‘Mum’s ill because of you! If you hadn’t come along, she wouldn’t have had the baby, and so she wouldn’t have got ill!’ I shout. ‘It’s all your fault, Jack.’
He stares at me, shaking his head. ‘Ella, it’s not anybody’s fault. We weren’t to know Mum would have this reaction. She was absolutely fine when she had you.’
‘Yes, we were all fine then, Mum and my real dad and me.’
‘I know you find it hard that I’m your stepdad—’
‘I wish you weren’t!’
‘I wish I wasn’t too!’ he shouts.
I run out of the room and up the stairs. There! I knew he didn’t like me. He’s as good as said so. I don’t know why it’s making me cry so much. It just feels so lonely. I haven’t got anyone else but Mum. Jack wishes I wasn’t here. Liz doesn’t want me around. Sally doesn’t understand.
I lie down on my bed and cry and cry. I keep waiting for the footsteps on the stairs – but Jack doesn’t come. So at long last I wash my sodden face and get into my pyjamas and crawl into bed.
I lie under the covers, arms wrapped tightly round myself. I haven’t got a proper mum any more, I haven’t got a dad . . . Well, I do have a dad. A real one, not a stepdad.
I screw up my face in the dark, trying to conjure up my dad. I last saw him two years ago – maybe three. He came to take me out on my birthday. Mum and I couldn’t believe it when we opened the door.
‘Surprise!’ he said.
It was such a surprise we just gaped at him. For a second or two I didn’t even guess that he was my dad. I thought he was someone else’s dad, or maybe one of Mum’s teacher friends, or a seldom-noticed neighbour. Then of course I realized. This was my dad, and he had his arms open wide and he was hugging me. I felt hot with embarrassment, my face crammed against his stripy shirt.
‘My lovely little Ella,’ he said.
I was only small then but I knew he was expecting some kind of loving reaction. I thought of Mum’s favourite old DVD, The Railway Children.
‘Daddy, oh, Daddy,’ I said in a choked voice.
He said he wanted to take me out and buy me the best birthday present in the world, whatever I wanted.
‘Come on, sweetheart, get your coat. We’re off to the shops,’ he said, spinning me round.
‘Well, that’s a lovely idea, and of course Ella is thrilled, but in half an hour’s time nine little girls are arriving for her birthday lunch,’ Mum said. ‘I think maybe you’ll have to go after the party.’
Dad looked fed up at first, and we both wondered if he was going to walk out then and there. But he stayed for the afternoon. He was actually the life and soul of the party. He played all the games with us, and jumped about when we danced, and conducted everyone when they sang ‘Happy Birthday’. He played his own grizzly-bear game with us, giving every single one of my friends a bear ride on his back. They all squealed with joy and said, ‘Oh, Ella, you’re so lucky, you’ve got such a funny dad.’
Then they all went home, and Dad was as good as his word.
‘Right, Ella, serious shopping time,’ he said.
He didn’t ask Mum to come with us. I feel so dreadful remembering. I just left her tidying up after the party. Dad and I went to a big shopping centre and he bought me a new sky-blue dress (to match my eyes, he said). He gave me a giant teddy bear with a blue ribbon round its neck, though I didn’t really want it because it had such beady eyes. But I thanked Dad very, very much all the same, and made a great show of hugging the huge bear, though it made my arms ache. Dad must have detected my lack of enthusiasm.
‘We’re not done yet,’ he said. ‘One more present to make it the best birthday ever. What would you really, really like?’
I thought hard. Martha at school had just had her ears pierced and we had all tutted and squealed enviously over her little gold studs.
‘Please can I have my ears pierced?’ I asked Dad.
I expected him to laugh at me and say, no way, not until I was a teenager. But he just shrugged and said, ‘That’s fine with me, darling. Let’s go and find a jeweller’s.’
I jumped up and down with joy, but when I was actually sitting down in the back of the jewellery shop, I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. I felt a bit faint and funny when they did my ears, and cried a little, but Dad gave me a cuddle and said I was his big brave girl. He said my new earrings looked beautiful.
When we got home hours later, Mum flew at me and hugged me tight as if she thought she’d lost me for ever. Then she saw my ears. She got really, really mad.
‘How dare you have her ears pierced!’ she screamed at Dad.
‘She wanted them pierced, she practically begged me,’ he said.
‘Of course she begged! Every little girl wants her ears pierced. But Ella’s my daughter and I didn’t want her little ears stuck all over with horrible studs!’
‘She’s my daughter too and I don’t think it matters a damn. I just want to make her happy,’ Dad shouted back.
They had a horrible row then. I crept into the kitchen, dragging my big bear along with me, and nibbled miserably at birthday-cake icing. Then Dad came in and said goodbye to me. He said I was his birthday princess and I wasn’t to listen to silly old Mummy, the earrings looked beautiful. He promised he’d come and see me again very soon – maybe the very next Saturday.
I wore my new blue dress every Saturday for the next six months, even in winter, but he never came back. He’s always sent Christmas presents though. He’s sent me several pairs of earrings, but actually they’re no use to me now. Mum made me take the first little studs out the very same day and the holes closed up.
I was cross with her for a while. I thought Dad didn’t come to see me because she shouted at him. Then I got cross with Dad instead because he broke his promise to me. But I stopped minding ages ago. I gave the teddy to my school’s jumble sale, but the blue dress is still hanging in the back of my wardrobe.
I get out of bed and search for it now. It’s weird thinking I was once that small. I can barely get my arms in the sleeves and the dress wouldn’t even cover my bottom. I thought I’d grown out of needing my dad the way I’d grown out of my dress, but now I want him so badly I start trembling.
I put on my dressing gown and go downstairs. Jack is sprawling on the sofa in the living room, empty cans of beer littering the carpet. The room smells horrible. Jack has his hands over his face.
‘You’re drunk!’ I say accusingly.
‘No, I’m not,’ he mumbles. ‘I’ve just had a bee
r.’
‘You’ve had lots and lots of beers!’
‘Well, I need lots and lots of beers,’ Jack says. ‘What is it now, Ella? I thought you’d gone to bed.’
‘I want my dad.’
‘What?’
‘I want my dad,’ I repeat.
‘Well, what do you want me to do? I can’t conjure him up right this second. According to your mum you haven’t seen him for donkey’s years.’
‘I need to see him now,’ I say, clenching my fists.
‘All right. I’ll try to find out where he is. I’ll get your mum’s address book, OK? I’ll contact him tomorrow.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘Yes I will, I promise. Now, go to bed!’
Chapter 5
Jack gets ready to take me to school on Wednesday. He hasn’t done any washing so we have to fish my grubby school blouse out of the laundry basket. I’m running out of socks and knickers too.
I struggle with my bunches myself. I don’t know what to do with my fringe. I want Mum so.
Jack makes us both toast, which we crunch in silence. We’ve barely said a single word to each other this morning. He drives me to school, but instead of stopping in the road to let me out he drives right in through the gates to the car park.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to talk to your head teacher.’
I feel a sudden clutch of fear. Mrs Raynor is very strict and shouts a lot. I once dared shout back and she got furious.
‘Are you going to tell on me?’ I whisper.
‘Tell on you?’ Jack says, looking puzzled.
‘That I shouted at you.’
Jack blinks at me, and then gives a silly laugh. ‘No, of course not. I’d have to tell on myself too. I did my fair share of shouting. I’m going to tell Mrs Raynor about Mum – explain that things might be difficult for you for a while.’
‘I don’t want you to talk about Mum to Mrs Raynor,’ I say, shocked.
‘I think it’s the best thing to do. We’ll tell your form teacher too. What’s she called?’
‘Miss Anderson.’
‘She’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, I like her lots, she’s ever so kind.’
‘Great. Well, you sit outside Mrs Raynor’s door while I have a little chat, and then I’ll take you to your classroom.’
‘You don’t have to take me! I’ll look like a baby,’ I say – but I actually feel like a baby.
It suddenly seems so loud and noisy in school. Some boys run down the corridor, and one knocks me with his school bag. I don’t think he did it on purpose and it didn’t really hurt, but I have to screw up my face to stop myself crying.
I sit on the chair outside Mrs Raynor’s room while Jack is in there. Everyone going past stares at me as if I’ve done something really bad. I wait, kicking my legs against the wall. Jack’s inside for an age. Mrs Raynor’s usually so busy you’re in and out in a flash. I try hard to catch what they’re saying but I can’t hear a word. When the door opens, there’s Jack, red in the face, eyes all teary – and Mrs Raynor’s got her arm round him! She gives him a pat on the shoulder and then turns to me. She reaches out and pats me too.
‘I’m so sorry about your mother, Ella. It must be dreadful for you. I do hope she recovers soon,’ she says.
I can’t believe she’s being so nice. Then she comes with us to Miss Anderson’s class. Everyone stares at us, sitting up straight. Even Miss Anderson flushes pink.
‘Hello, everyone,’ says Mrs Raynor. ‘I’d like you all to be especially kind to Ella. Her mother’s very ill in hospital.’
She pushes me gently towards my desk beside Sally and I sit down, burning. Sally reaches out and squeezes my hand. Dory mouths, Poor you! Even Martha nods at me sympathetically. Joseph, the boy behind me, gently pats me on the back. Mrs Raynor whispers to Miss Anderson. Jack catches my eye and waves goodbye to me.
‘Is that your dad?’ Dory asks.
‘No! He’s my stepdad,’ I say wearily.
Sally sighs and squeezes my hand again. After Mrs Raynor goes out, Miss Anderson comes up to my desk and squats down beside me so that her face is very close to mine.
‘Chin up, Ella,’ she says softly. ‘You’re a good brave girl to decide to come to school.’
I didn’t do the deciding at all, but I smile in a good brave way.
‘Don’t worry if you find it hard to concentrate in lessons.’ Miss Anderson is so close I’m breathing in her rosy soap smell, and her long hair lightly brushes the backs of my hands.
‘You tell me if you want anything,’ she says, getting to her feet.
I really want a cuddle with Miss Anderson because she’s so soft and warm and gentle, but I’m not an infant, so I nod and smile instead.
The first lesson is maths and we’re doing division. I’m a bit rubbish at maths, especially division. I write down all the numbers but they stay squiggles on the page. I mutter my way through my times tables, but I can’t remember my seven times, so I have no idea how many times they’ll go into twenty-eight. Sally obligingly writes ‘4’ as an answer, so I copy her. I draw four stick people in the margin – a lady, a man, a girl and a blobby little baby. Then I draw a safe line all round the lady, and sun rays. I put the girl inside the safe line too, joining them together. I give the lady big, wide-open eyes with long lashes.
Miss Anderson walks past and peers at my notebook. ‘It’s a maths lesson, Ella, not art,’ she says quietly, but she doesn’t tell me off!
Sally has worked her way through a whole page of long division now, but I can’t be bothered to copy her any more. I sit and sigh and yawn because this division is a very l-o-n-g lesson, but at last it’s over and play time.
I usually just hang out with Sally: we swap snacks and play drawing games and giggle together. Jack forgot to give me a little box of juice and my mini pack of raisins, but it doesn’t matter. Sally hands me half her Twix bar, Dory gives me a handful of crisps, Martha offers me a bite of her apple, Joseph gives me a carrot stick, and I get sweets and orange slices and peanuts and a quarter of a Marmite sandwich from people who aren’t even my friends.
I stand in a great cluster of children, Sally’s arm round me because she’s my best friend.
‘Tell us about your mum then, Ella!’
So I tell them about the hospital with the special room, and the nurses and the doctors and Mum’s tubes and her closed eyes. My heart’s thumping as I speak because I feel this might be a bad thing to do. It’s as if I’m taking them all into hospital with me to gawp at Mum, to peer in her face and poke her still body. I try to stop, but my mouth keeps on saying stuff. I start crying, but no one sneers and calls me a baby. They pat me and hug me and offer me paper hankies.
I’m treated in this special way all day long. I can’t help wallowing in the attention. When one of the dinner ladies at lunch time tells me to hurry up because I can’t choose whether I want spaghetti or fish and chips, a whole chorus of voices defends me.
‘You mustn’t pick on Ella, miss!’
‘Ella’s mum’s dangerously ill in hospital.’
‘Ella can’t think straight because she’s so worried about her mum.’
‘We’ve all got to be kind to Ella, miss.’
The dinner lady looks really sorry and upset, and gives me spaghetti and fish and chips. I only pick at them, still not really hungry, but I feel proud she let me have a heaped plate.
I think about Mum, who hasn’t eaten for days and days. They drip liquid food into her tubes. She can’t even suck from a bottle like Samson.
I don’t like to think of him all lonely in the nursery with no mummy to cuddle him. It’s horrible for me but perhaps it’s even worse for him. I wonder if he’ll think of her soft chest and cry to be lying there again. Maybe he’ll struggle up in his cot, slide down to the floor and toddle along on his bandy little legs, looking for her, wailing, ‘Mama, mama, mama.’
I wonder when babies can really walk, really tal
k. I wonder what he’ll be like, this little brother of mine. Will he stay fair like me and keep his blue eyes? Will he like all the things I used to like? Will he love spaghetti, especially if he can suck each strand up into his mouth? Will he like those big fat wax crayons? Will he cut pictures out of magazines with little plastic scissors? Will he watch Charlie and Lola on the television? Will he love Thomas the Tank Engine? Will he like to cuddle up in bed with a teddy guarding him on either side?
I think of this future fantasy brother and I want to rush to the hospital to start looking after him right this minute.
But he’s Jack’s little boy, not Dad’s. I imagine a little Jack, showing off, telling silly jokes, picking his nose, doing daft monkey imitations. No, I don’t want a baby brother like that. He’d be far worse than Sally’s brother, Benjy.
I leave nearly all my spaghetti and fish and chips. I want to go off somewhere secret with Sally, but half the class are still hanging around with us. Dory and Martha even trail with us to the toilets. I sit in the cubicle and have a little private cry. I try to do it very quietly, but I must have made a sniffing sound because Sally’s hand comes under the partition from next door. I bend down and cling to her hand for comfort.
Then the bell goes and I’ve still got the rest of afternoon school to get through. It’s science, and Miss Anderson starts talking about food chains.
‘From the tiniest shrimp to the biggest whale, all living things play roles in the food chain,’ she says.
I draw a tiny shrimp on the back of my rough-book. It’s hunched up and wrinkled, a bit like Samson. Then I draw an enormous mouth and huge teeth. It’s open wide, ready to gobble up the shrimp. The rest of the class are writing but I keep on drawing great pointy teeth. Then Sally gives me a nudge. Miss Anderson is walking towards me. I freeze. She’s already told me once.
She shakes her head. ‘You’re meant to be taking notes, Ella,’ she says quietly. ‘What’s that you’re drawing?’
‘It’s a tiny shrimp, Miss Anderson. And the biggest whale.’ I give a little nod. ‘I was listening.’