Queenie (2 page)

‘I’m making tea tonight, Nan,’ I said quickly. ‘Go on, let me.’

‘Well, I bought some mince – I should have got it on the stove ages ago,’ said Nan.

‘Oh, don’t let’s have mince, it’s horrid. I know, I’ll cook us cheesy beanos!’

Nan had got the recipe from
Woman’s Home Companion
, and it was easy enough for me to make – just cheese on toast with a bacon rasher and baked beans, and a little tomato in the shape of a flower to top it off.

I made the cheesy beanos, complete with fancy tomato flowers, and served one up to Nan on a tray.

‘My, you’re a clever little cook, Elsie. You’ll be tackling a roast with all the trimmings before we know where we are,’ she said. ‘Mmm, this is scrumptious. You’ve grilled the cheese just right and the bacon’s lovely and crisp.’

She tried hard to eat it all up, but could only manage a few mouthfuls. I wasn’t very hungry now either. I kept glancing anxiously at Nan. She tried to smile reassuringly each time she caught me looking, but she couldn’t fool me.

‘Do you think I should try to phone Mum to tell her you’ve been taken bad?’ I asked, halfway through the long evening.

‘What? Don’t be such a silly sausage! And I’m not having you going out after dark. You get all sorts hanging round the Albion,’ said Nan. The nearest phone box was right down the road, outside the Albion pub.

‘I’m not scared of those drunk men,’ I lied.

‘Well, you should be! Steer clear of all of them.’

‘But I’m worried about you, Nan!’

‘Don’t be so daft. I’m fine, I keep telling you. And there’s no point trying to phone your mum. She’ll be on stage right now, kicking up her legs.’

‘I could phone later on, after the show.’

‘You’re not staying up past your bedtime. In fact, I think we should both go to bed now. It’s time you were off anyway, and I could do with an early night. It’ll do me the power of good.’

So we got ready for bed together. Nan started coughing badly again. She didn’t bother washing or getting undressed properly – just took off her pinny and frock and corset and got into bed in her petticoat. I didn’t go to my own little bed. I grabbed my elephant, Albert Trunk, and tried to creep in with Nan.

‘No, lovey,’ Nan said weakly. ‘You’d better stick to your own bed.’

‘Oh please, Nan! I want to give you a cuddle. Go on, you always let me sleep with you when I’m poorly.’

‘Yes, pet, and I’d truly love you to snuggle up with me, but I don’t want you catching this nasty bug,’ said Nan.

‘I’ve
had
it, Nan, don’t you remember? I got better, and we have to look after you properly and make sure you get better too,’ I said. ‘Go on, please, let me in. I’m shivering!’

‘Better not, dearie. Off you pop now.’

‘Let me tuck you up, then, and give you a kiss night-night.’

‘You blow me a kiss, pet, there’s a good girl. I’m scared Nanny might be a bit germy,’ she said, setting her alarm clock.

‘You’re not getting up at half past four tomorrow, Nan! You’re not to go out cleaning. Have a little lie in. It’ll do you good,’ I said.

‘Maybe I will,’ Nan murmured.

We blew each other kisses and I trailed back to my own bedroom with Albert Trunk. I was a bit hurt, and wondered why Nan was making excuses. My bed felt very cold and lonely. My leg ached again and I fidgeted. Nan said it was just growing pains. I didn’t know why one leg ached much more than the other. I hoped the bad leg wouldn’t grow more, so I’d end up lopsided. Nan usually rubbed it for me to make it better, but I didn’t like to disturb her again.

I fell asleep eventually, burying my nose in Albert Trunk for comfort. I woke up about six and went pattering into Nan’s room, but she wasn’t there. I wandered through the whole flat just to make sure – but she’d gone, and her corset and frock and pinny were gone too.

‘Oh Nanny, you’re so naughty,’ I scolded. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to work. You’re not well.’

I went into the kitchen. Nan had made herself a
cup
of tea, and there were two cigarettes stubbed out in the ashtray. I threw them in the bin and laid the table for breakfast, getting the bread and the butter and the strawberry jam all ready on the table. Then I washed and put on my school blouse and my tunic and my horrible boy’s shoes. I read last week’s
Girl
comic for a little while, but I couldn’t get into any of the stories this time. Even ‘Belle of the Ballet’ stayed a silly set of pictures on the page.

I got my drawing book instead and tried copying a picture of the Queen off the tea caddy. She was wearing her lacy wedding dress and looking like a fairy princess. I tried adding wings sticking out at the back, but they looked too much like umbrellas and I didn’t want Nan to think I was being disrespectful. Nan loved the royal family almost as much as she loved me.

I coloured my picture carefully, shading the wings purple to give them a regal air, but they still didn’t look right. I scribbled over them, crumpled the page up and threw it in the bin. I couldn’t get started on another picture. I kept looking at the clock instead. Nan was a bit late home.

I told myself that she was often late. It just meant she’d stopped to have a gossip with a friend, or maybe nipped into the newsagent’s for a packet of Player’s and some pear drops. I tried counting to a hundred, certain that Nan would be back before I finished.
Then
I tried another hundred.
Five
hundred.

I sat watching the minute hand tick round and round, and I could feel my heart inside my chest going
tick, tick, tick
too. It was eight o’clock now. Nan was always home by this time.

I couldn’t sit still any more. I circled the kitchen table, I traipsed in and out of the bedrooms, I paced up and down the hallway. I opened the front door to see if I could see Nan coming along the road. There was no sign of her.

I kept breaking little pieces of bread off the loaf, dipping them in the jam, and stuffing them in my mouth. I ate and ate, though I felt sick. I decided Nan might come if I made her a perfect cup of tea, so I boiled the kettle and went through the whole performance, and poured out a cup, so that Nan could burst through the door and say, ‘Oh my, I could murder a cup of tea!’ and there it would be, waiting for her.

She didn’t come. The tea grew cold. It was half past eight now, and I knew I should leave or I’d be late for school. But how could I go without knowing whether Nan was all right or not? Who was I kidding? Of
course
Nan wasn’t all right or she’d be here with me.

I started to cry, nuzzling into Albert Trunk like a little baby. His sweet dusty smell failed to soothe me.

‘Nan, Nan, Nan!’ I mumbled, at a loss to know what to do next.

AT TEN PAST
nine a police car drew up outside the house and my stomach turned over. I peered out of the window. I could see the big black boots of the policeman and a woman’s old wedge shoes with worn-down heels. I knew Nan didn’t own a pair of wedge shoes, but I ran to the door, going ‘Nan!’ even so.

It was a completely strange woman with her hair in a turban, though she was wearing a pinny just like Nan’s. The policeman stood behind her, his face very pink and shiny, like blancmange.

‘Oh dear, are you little Elsie, Vi’s grand-daughter?’ asked the woman.

I nodded.

‘Let’s go inside,’ said the policeman. ‘Is your mummy here, dear?’

‘No, she’s away. I live with my nan,’ I said.

‘Yes, well, that’s why we’re here, Elsie,’ said the policeman. He fiddled with the strap of his helmet, wobbling his chin. He looked at the woman for help.

‘Your nan’s been taken poorly, dearie,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I said. They stared at me in surprise.

‘She didn’t feel well last night. She shouldn’t have gone to work. I said so,’ I muttered.

‘Well, she keeled over at work – she gave us all such a shock. There was all this blood—’

I gasped.

‘But she’s probably going to be all right, dear,’ the policeman said quickly. ‘They called an ambulance and they’ve taken her off to hospital.’

‘Did she cut herself?’ I whispered.

‘No, she just coughed it up all over everywhere – it gave us such a fright. It was dripping all down her,’ said the friend.

I rocked on my heels, horrified.

‘We don’t need all the details,’ said the policeman, frowning. ‘Anyway, your nan’s quite poorly, Elsie, and I expect she’ll be in hospital a while.’

‘Nan hates hospitals,’ I whispered.

‘Yes, well, she’s got no choice now,’ Nan’s friend said. ‘That’s when I thought of you, dear. I knew she looked after you. Always goes on about you, she does. She loves you to bits, your nanny. And I suddenly thought, who’s going to look after you?’

I stared at her, shivering. ‘I want Nan!’ I whispered. I dodged round them and reached for my jacket.

‘What are you doing, little ’un?’ asked the policeman.

‘I’m going to the hospital,’ I said. ‘I need to see Nan.’

‘No no, dear, you can’t go and see her, not just yet. She’s too poorly. She needs to rest,’ he told me.

‘She needs me,’ I said. ‘I look after her when she’s poorly.’

‘Aaaah!’ said Nan’s friend. She nodded at the policeman. ‘Isn’t she a little love? Ever so old-fashioned!’

‘Can she maybe stay with you then, just till we find out how her nan’s doing?’ said the policeman.

‘What? Oh no, all my kiddies are long since grown up. I wouldn’t know what to do with her,’ said the friend, looking appalled.

‘Just for a couple of days, maybe, until we can get something sorted?’ said the policeman.

‘I haven’t got anywhere to put her. No, sorry, I’m afraid it’s out of the question,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’ve got to get back home now. My hubby’s got a bad back. I need to fetch and carry for him.’

The policeman looked at me in alarm. ‘Well, what are we going to do with her then?’ He lowered his voice and tutted. ‘You say there’s no dad, and Mum’s not part of the picture . . .?’

‘Yes she is!’ I said. ‘I’ve got a mum, a
lovely
mum.’ I didn’t like Nan’s friend any more.

‘Where is she then?’ asked the policeman.

‘Vi says she comes and goes,’ said the friend. ‘It’s more going than coming, if you ask me.’

‘Nobody
is
asking you,’ I said, which made her suck her teeth. ‘My mum’s very busy. She’s a showgirl on the stage.’

‘There!’ said the friend, clearly disliking me back. ‘No better than she ought to be!’ she hissed.

‘I’d better go and phone,’ said the policeman. ‘How can we get in touch with Mummy?’ he asked me.

‘I have her phone number,’ I said, running to get Nan’s little notebook. ‘But you can’t call her just yet. She’ll still be asleep. She never gets up early.’

‘Well, she’ll just have to stir herself,’ said the policeman. ‘Is that her number, dear?’ he asked me when I came back.

‘I’ll do it,’ I said, but he wouldn’t let me.

He turned to Nan’s friend. ‘Keep an eye on the kiddie while I go and give her mum a bell.’

‘Look, I’m not a babysitter,’ she said, but she sat down on Nan’s chair, sighing, as the policeman
went
back out of the front door.

I waited, gnawing my thumb tip, while he went to phone Mum. I so hoped she wouldn’t be too cross when she answered.

I stood staring at Nan’s friend. She fidgeted uncomfortably, digging her elbows into Nan’s special velvet cushion.

‘That’s my nan’s chair,’ I said.

‘Yes, well, she’s not here to sit in it, is she?’

I started crying.

‘Oh don’t. I’m sorry, lovey. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sure your nan will get better, pet. She gave us all such a nasty shock, keeling over like that, and then bringing up all that blood. I thought she was . . .Well, never mind. Don’t look so worried. There’s worse things happen at sea. I’m sure the doctors will make your nanny better.’

I nibbled harder, biting at a hangnail.

‘Don’t do that now, you’re hurting yourself.’

I sat down at the table, fingering the green chenille cloth instead. Nan’s friend started making laborious conversation, asking me about school and which lessons I liked the most. I mumbled brief answers, barely listening. I kept thinking about Nan, picturing her lying on the floor in her pinny. She sometimes went out with her hair curlers still in place, hidden by a turban. She’d hate everyone seeing
her
with her curlers in, especially at the hospital.

She’d be calling for me now, I just knew she would.

I’m coming, Nan
, I whispered inside my head.
I’m coming as soon as I can, and I’ll comb your hair out for you and make you look pretty. You’ll get better soon. You’re going to be as right as rain, like you said
.

‘Nice little flat you’ve got here,’ said the friend. ‘Cosy.’ She looked around at the twin china crinoline ladies curtseying on the mantelpiece and the baby photos of Mum and me in matching silver frames. Mum was smiling, all over curls and dimples. I didn’t have much hair at all, and I was scowling. ‘Sweet,’ she commented.

I scowled in real life.

‘Ooh, there’s a face! Watch the wind don’t change, you’ll be stuck like it,’ she said.