Mimi (7 page)

That evening was not great.

Granny and Grandad had a long talk with Dad, and I wouldn’t have needed to listen outside the living-room door to know what they were discussing.

Granny said something about her having lost a daughter, too, and us children having lost a mother, and that it was time for Dad to pull himself together and be a proper father again. Grandad didn’t say a lot, and Dad didn’t say much either, but Granny was in full flight.

She told him that our teeth were falling out of our heads, and pizza every night was not in any way a proper diet for growing children, and that we needed fruits and vegetables and meat and all sorts of stuff like that. She didn’t stop there, either: she told him the house was a disgrace, that I was walking around in a sweater covered in ketchup, that Sally needed a strong hand or she would go completely off the rails, and that Conor was going more and more into himself . . . and were any of the children doing any schoolwork at all? And what was going to happen when Dad went back to work?

“Dad’s getting an earful,” whispered Sally, who was listening outside the door with me. Conor was back upstairs banging his drums; he must have found his drumsticks again. Then we had to scurry into the kitchen because Granny was finished and heading for the door.

“Bye, kids,” she shouted as she and Grandad left.

Dad didn’t come to the front door. He just sat in the living room for a few minutes with a very red face and a very cross mouth.

“Right!” he said all of a sudden, jumping up out of his armchair. He pushed right past me at the door and charged up the stairs two steps at a time. “There are going to be some changes around here!” he shouted as he burst into Conor’s room. “Did I or did I not say no more drumming?” he roared, and grabbing the two drumsticks from a startled Conor, he broke them both across his knee and flung them into the corner.

Poor Conor was speechless.

Then without another word to him Daddy charged down the stairs again, shouting at me and Sally, “Up to your rooms, you two, and do your homework. And don’t let me hear the telly or your music, Sally. Dinner will be in half an hour!”

And I thought yesterday was bad. I sat in my room for the whole half hour and cried. After a while Sally came in quietly and put her arm around my shoulders and told me not to worry, that Dad would get over it soon and calm down and everything would be back to normal again. But that only made me cry more because I didn’t want things to go back to the way they were with Dad all sad about the place. I wanted things to go back to the way they were before Mammy got run over by the 82 bus, when our house was a nice place to live.

But just then my cell phone beeped and it was a text from Orla — one of her stupid jokes, of course — and Sally made me read it out to her:
What is the best way to catch a rabbit? Hide behind a bush and make a sound like a carrot. Lol Orla X X X
.

Even though it was a very silly joke I started giggling and crying at the same time, and so did Sally, and soon we were rolling on the bed in fits — and I can’t explain why we were laughing so much because we were both so sad.

“Dinner’s ready. Get down here now,” called Dad, and his voice still sounded as angry as before.

“Let’s go and see what five-star meal our father has cooked up for our delight,” said Sally.

The table was set and there was a lot of smoke in the kitchen and a bad smell of something burning. Sally made a face at me behind Dad’s back, and I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop laughing.

The dinner was disgusting. I thought Sally might like it, because nearly everything was black. Dad was obviously not the best cook in the world. There was a pile of soggy green stuff on each plate that was supposed to be peas, beside this hard black thing that curled up at the edges, which apparently was a pork chop. The potatoes — well, at least you could recognize them.

“Nobody leaves the table until every bit of that dinner is eaten,” said Dad.

“You can’t be serious. A dog wouldn’t eat this!” said Sally, and pushed her plate into the middle of the table.

“You will do as you are told, miss,” snapped back Dad. “There are going to be some changes around here, young lady.”

It was as if the words that Granny had said to him had lit a fuse in Dad, and all his hanging around with a sad face was blown away and replaced by this really cross Dad, and I didn’t like it one bit. Sometimes I just wish Granny would mind her own business.

Well, Conor ate the meal because he has a stomach like a trash bin, but he did not say a word to anyone and his eyes looked red and puffy. When he was finished he went straight back to his room and banged his door shut so hard that the plates on the table jumped.

Eventually I managed to finish my dinner, even though I felt like throwing up a few times. The meat had to be chewed about five hundred times before it would go down, and I found it helped if I closed my eyes when eating the peas. The potatoes were OK . . . ish.

Sally ate nothing. She just sat there with her mouth shut while her dinner got colder and colder and Dad got madder and madder. He ordered me to go to my room and get ready for bed and said he would be up later to see me brush my teeth. It was only seven o’clock, but going to bed sounded like a good idea.

In twenty minutes Dad came up to make sure I brushed my teeth properly. Sally was still at the table, I supposed, because she hadn’t appeared. Dad stood with his arms folded and his face very red while I brushed my teeth for three minutes. I don’t think he heard the back door opening, but I did and it wasn’t hard to guess what Sally was up to. I had had enough upset for one day, so I hopped into my bed and closed the door after Dad had given me a quick kiss and a stern “Good night.” Even with the door closed I could hear Dad roaring at Sally for giving her perfectly good meal to Sparkler. It was the end of a lousy day, so I just pulled my pillow tight over my head to block out all the shouting, put my thumb in my mouth, and went to sleep without even saying good night to Mammy or Socky.

It was probably because I went to bed so early, or else it was the bright sun shining in my window, but whatever the reason I woke up bright and early. I knelt on my bed and pulled the curtains back and looked out into the back garden. We have a big back garden; the grass is very long, but even so it would have looked lovely in the sunshine if Sparkler hadn’t been squatting in the middle of it doing her morning poop. The garden must be full of dog poop by now because nobody cleans it up.

Mammy was an “avid” gardener, which I think means that she was very good at it. She certainly spent a lot of her time gardening, and our garden was full of flowers. But she always left room for us to play, so there was plenty of grass and a swing and a big slide and a real tree house with a little wooden ladder up to it. Sally and I used to spend a lot of time in the tree house. We always had a bucket of water up there to throw down onto Conor and his friends when they decided to attack us. Nobody plays in the garden now — except Sparkler, who has turned it into a big toilet.

I was just thinking about all this when Dad burst in, which was a big surprise because he hardly ever comes into my room now. The other big surprise was that he wasn’t tired and sad. “You’re up early,” he said cheerfully. “Now get dressed quickly, have your breakfast, and brush your teeth. And while you’re doing all that I’m going to wash this lot, and then I’ll take you to school.” And with that he scooped a load of my clothes up off the floor and headed downstairs to throw them in the washing machine.

It was only when I was half dressed that I realized he had taken all my uniform except the tie. “Dad!” I yelled. “My uniform!”— but it was too late. It was already sloshing around in the washing machine. I wasn’t too pleased.

“Oh, it’s not the end of the world, Mimi. Put on something else and stop making a fuss!”

He was cross again, but it wasn’t my fault. Sally wouldn’t get out of bed and Conor had spilled milk all over the kitchen floor — by accident on purpose, I think. Dad was doing his best to do everything, but his mood was not getting any better.

“Brush your teeth, Mimi,
now,
” he barked at me, which was just so unfair because I was the only one doing what she was told. “One, two, three . . .” He was counting now at the top of his voice, and if Sally wasn’t up by the time he got to ten he was grounding her for a week.

Sally got up exactly on ten and gave poor Dad one of her I-so-hate-you looks. By the time she was dressed it was nearly time to go.

“Eat your breakfast quickly. And brush your teeth,” ordered Dad.

“I don’t eat breakfast, which is something you would know if you showed any interest in us at all,” Sally told him.

Conor and me were standing at the door, but Dad wouldn’t go until Sally ate some breakfast.

Sally hates being late for school, so she shoveled down about three spoonfuls of cereal and looked as if she was going to throw up. “Satisfied?” she screamed at Dad, and grabbed her schoolbag. Black mascara was running down her nose where she hadn’t had time to put it on right — or maybe she was crying.

“No,” said Dad. “Go and brush your teeth . . . for three minutes.”

“I hate you!” she screamed, and raced up to the bathroom. Dad timed her to make sure that she did the full three minutes. She nearly broke the car door, she slammed it so hard.

“Thanks, Sally,” said Conor. “Now we’re all going to be late!”

“Shut up, Conor!” she yelled, and started punching him. Luckily I was in the front.

“Stop it, you two, this minute!” roared Dad, and I wondered if things could get any worse.

Yes, things could get worse. The whole class was working really quietly when I came in — dead late, of course, thanks to Sally. Twenty-seven heads turned to look at me, and I felt my face go red like a beet, although it didn’t look a beet. Because I have brownish skin nobody can see when I blush, but I was blushing inside.

Ms. Hardy looked at her watch. “You are very late, Mimi,” she said.

“I . . . I . . . I know,” I faltered, and I could hear some children giggling.

“Quiet!” said Ms. Hardy. “Go and sit down, Mimi, and take out your homework. By the way, where is your uniform?”

“In the wash, Miss,” I whispered. “Daddy threw it all in the washing machine this morning before I could stop him.”

Again I heard children giggle.

“Just bring me up your homework, Mimi,” said Ms. Hardy, kindly enough — but how I wished that Ms. Addle was back teaching us again.

Of course I had no homework to show Ms. Hardy, so I just looked down at my desk. I didn’t feel so well and I had to swallow hard not to cry.

“Your lines?” asked Ms. Hardy — and that was too much. I started blubbering like a baby. I tried to wipe away my tears with the back of my hand, which only spread snot all over my face. Orla put her arm around my shoulders.

“Mimi’s mother was run over by a bus so she doesn’t do any homework, Miss, except on Wednesdays,” called out Sarah.

“Did I ask you, Sarah?” snapped Ms. Hardy, and glared at her.

“No, Miss,” muttered Sarah, and her face went bright red.

Then Ms. Hardy crouched down in front of my desk and talked quietly to me. I sniffed and sobbed but her voice, though soft, was firm. Ms. Addle would have hugged me and said never mind. “Mimi, I’m very sorry about your mother,” Ms. Hardy said, “but that is not a reason to neglect your work. I expect you to do your homework every night and to come to school on time, in your full uniform, every morning. Pass in the missing homework and the lines tomorrow, please. Now, what is your home phone number?”

“Twoeightthreesevensixfournine,” I called out in a rush.

“A little slower, Mimi,” said Ms. Hardy, smiling.

“Two”—
sniff
—“eight”—
sniff
—“threeseven”—
sniff, sniff
—“sixfournine”— big
sniff.

“Thank you,” said Ms. Hardy when she had written down the number. “I think I’ll have a little chat with your dad. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“‘I think I’ll have a little chat with your dad. Nothing for you to worry about,’” sneered Sarah in the school yard, and pushed me over. “You’re a pathetic loser and a Crybaby,” she jeered, and her gang laughed like drains before they all walked off.