Mountains of the Moon (4 page)

“Just ring the doorbell and wait on the doorstep.”

The hospital shaved a lump of her hair off, stitches looks like done by a learner.

“What if they don’t know who I is?”

She can’t hear me cos the car’s Big N’s start knocking. She’s going to a battered house what’s halfway to Chiswick, case the baby comes. I close the car door and go up the path and presses the bell. I wave to Mum as she pulls way but she int looking. Then the car backfires a cloud of black smoke and stops dead where it is. I see the light go on in the hall and the shape of Nanny and Grandad through the bobboldy glass. Nanny’s got giant boobies. When she hugs me the whole world goes deaf. Grandad squeezes me so hard I int got breath, has to hold on to the wall in the hall til I come back into view.

“Where’s your mum, pet?” Grandad says.

I point to Mum’s car smoking outside Mr. and Mrs. Pennywells’. The lorry coming out of Nestles factory honks at Mum. Lorries always honk at Mum.

“Bastards,” she says.

Grandad holds my hand cos of the traffic. Nanny walks side to side; she needs a hand behind her for going forward. We go long the pavement to where Mum’s under the bonnet. I wait for her to say f-off. She don’t say nothing. Airplane goes over and we all has to duck cos they uses Grandad’s chimney for finding the runway. Car int starting.

“Have you any oil in it?” Grandad says.

“I can’t tell, Dad, there isn’t a dipstick,” Mum says.

Nanny’s voice goes up and down like a siren.

“Bill, wiilll this do, Biiiiiilllllllll?” She’s waving a snapped-off branch of privet.

“Nay, Roose,” Grandad says. Nanny’s name is Rose, that’s how come there’s a rosebush in the middle of the concrete garden, cept Grandad says it Newcastle. Mum gets back in the car, next thing it goes bang and she roars off down the road in a cloud of black smoke.

“Head gaskit,” I says.

I’m having poor man’s oysters with Grandad. First you cut the white off the fried egg. Then you get the yellow balanced on your knife and tip it in your mouth, you has to let it slide down your throat. Mine falls off the knife and drops splat on the plate, me and Grandad got some on us and Nanny’s dress hanging on the back of the door.

“Oh Biiiiiiiiiillllllll. Biiiiiiiiiilllllllllllll.”

Mum says Nanny was an opera singer once but now she’s a steric.

“Roose,” Grandad says, “we can get the dress cleaned.”

Nanny does her crying in the front winder so the Pennywells can see she int happy.

“Sorry, Nanny,” I says.

She dries her eyes on the curtains. I got egg on my eyelashes; Grandad says I got the touch of Juncty-Vitis; African Voodoo Doctor gives people eye infections when they don’t look at things proper.

After we cleaned everything up Grandad goes in the sideboard.

“We’ve been saving your presents for you, pet.” He puts them on the table all wrapped up in Christmas paper. I arsts him if I has to wait til Christmas.

“Nay, pet, these are from last Christmas and the one before.”

I open the big heavy one first. Africa it says. I turn the pages over, looks at the land and the animals in big shiny colors, and then comes the tribe peoples. On
page 156
there I is,
got red cloth, spear and everything.
One time I seen a Masai on Grandad’s television.

“Grandad,” I says, “when the new baby comes, spects I can carry him on my back.”

I show him the African lady on
page 205
.

“Is Mummy having a baby, pet?” Grandad says.

“Uh-huh. I arst Jesus for another brother, now Pip’s gone, don’t know if I’ll get one, Grandad.”

“Isn’t Philip at home with Bryce?”

“Pip’s gone.”

“Where, pet, where has Philip gone to?”

“France. A new baby is coming.”

“Champion,” Grandad says. He looks sad about Pip.

“Oh Biiiiiiilllllll,” Nanny says.

So busy with my Africa book I forget to open the other presents. We save them til tomorrow. When I go to the toilet there is some newspapers there, so I tear some up and pack it in my pants. I know that Grandad pisses a lot, down the drain and up the wall, don’t know if he’s thought of using newspapers. The box room at the front int friendly, case an airplane comes in, so I sleep on a camp bed long side Nan and Grandad. They pile up so many coats on me I’m like a jumble sale.

“Did you ever hear the story about Hiawatha?” Grandad says.

“No,” I says. “Is Hiawatha in Africa?”

“Yes,” he says. Tells me how things is with that little African girl. In my Africa book he finds me where Hiawatha lives. There’s rainbows and Living Stones and Victorian water falls off the edge of the world. Hiawatha is brave, wonders if she does handstands on the edge.

When I hear Nanny and Grandad snoring loud like hogs chewing, I creep out on the landing with my book. In the box room there’s junk and might be mice and lights from Nestles lorries come in. Auntie Valerie’s bedroom is locked. One time I arst Mum where Auntie Valerie was.

“Same place as your father,” she said. Normal she does me with words, but slaps is better cos over quicker. I int never to say “Auntie Valerie” gain. In the bathroom I read the pictures in my book.
I need a shield, more clay and beads. Patterns is what I need.
When I hear
the milkman out the front, I go back to bed and put my legs down in the arms of coats.

In the morning I get in bed with Nanny and Grandad. I does a run and jump to get up. We has tea from the Teasmade and wait for it to cool down fore we put the milk powder in. They does the crosswords and I sit tween them with my book. When they get dressed I rummages in the box room, finds a moldy handbag with raffle tickets and a pearl necklace. I make the pearls double and put them on with my conkers. In the kitchen I sit on the draining board and help Grandad shave, case he misses a bit. The razor blade int sharp so we has to put a new one in. Conkers is like my eyes, Grandad says, and pearls is like my teefs.

“Has you got any string, Grandad?”

“Why-eye, pet.”

“Eight conkers is too tight.”

In the back room downstairs I find an instant shoe shiner with a dabber on the end. I get to work. It dries nice on my legs. I has to do three coats on my face and keep my teefs smiling so it don’t crack. Then I polishes me up with a pair of tights. I int got my red cloth, weren’t time, so I has to do it with a tablecloth. Good cos done me a spear with cardboard and a bamboo cane. I take them by surprise in the front room.

“Oh Biiiiiiillllllll, Biiiiiiiiiillllll.” Nanny hides behind the curtain.

“Make way, make way,” Grandad says. “For an African queen.”

He bows down but his back gets stuck and I has to lend him my spear to lean on.

“I int a queen, I’m a warrior,” I says. I has to get the book to show him.

“Ooga mooga wonga donga,” Grandad says.

“Wonga jonga longa,” I says. Teefs clacking cos cold.

“You come, we go jungle,” Grandad says.

We run down the hall and through the kitchen and down the garden
path into the greenhouse. It int green, it’s blue. It int cold, it’s all steamy and jungle grows like heaven.

“Remember the seeds you and Philip sowed when you were here last?” Grandad arsts.

I nod even though I forgot.

“This is them,” he says, smiling up.

They climb all cross the roof. He lifts a little pot down from the shelf.

“See this one here,” he says. “I grew it specially for you, pet.”

The leaves is tiny, it looks all trembly like a bird what is caught.

“What’s it called?” I arsts.

He writes it for me on the newspaper and I write it on the stick with big fat perm-nant ink.
Sensitive Plant.
I kisses it gentle and it curls all up. That’s how come it protects itself, mustn’t kiss them more than once cos they get wore out. All long one side is plants what I done called Coleus, they got patterns, red and pink and yellow, minds me of paisley and Auntie Fi. Nanny comes like a weeble down the path; she gets scared at all the cracks.

“Bill, Biiiiiiilllllll, it’s Bryce on the telephone, wants to know where Joan is. Oh Biiiiiiillllll.”

I looks up, wonders who Joan is. Surprises me, my mum’s name is Joan. Mum says her name is Vivienne but it int, it’s Joan.

“Bryce wants to speak to Luuuu-luuuu.”

I feel sick. I stop smiling and my African face cracks.

“Did you want to speak to Bryce, pet?” Grandad arsts.

I reckon he int phoned for nothing.

“Best had,” I says. Don’t know if my mum is dead. Grandad puts his coat on me. In the hall cold blows under the front door. I take the phone, it’s cold.

“Hello.”

“Hello, it’s Daddy,” Bryce says. “Do you know where Mummy is?”

I int forgot my lesson.

“No,” I says.

“Do you want to come home?”

I don’t know what the proper answer is. I go from feets to feets. Nanny and Grandad is watching me, standing in the front-room doorway.

“Sheba misses you. You can come home and go to school.”

“Can’t,” I says. “I got tonsillitis.”

“You had your tonsils taken out when you were five.”

“I still got tonsillitis.”

“I can come with Sheba and fetch you, would you like that?”

Even if I wants to talk, can’t, tonsils is too big.

“We could go in the car and visit Philip.”

Don’t know how come I starts crying. I put the phone down and swallow my tonsils.

“Cold,” I says.

Int sure if I done a disloyalty. Nanny’s in the curtains crying.

“Wicked,” she says.

Don’t know if she means me.

“Roose,” Grandad says, “best we have a cup of Special African Warrior Tea.”

“I…” She’s all sniffling. “I don’t think we’ve got any, Biiiiiiiiilllllll.”

“Well, FIND some, Roose,” Grandad says.

I sit at the table on my cushions with Grandad. Warrior Tea turns out black with four sugars. The phone rings sudden and we all slops our Warrior Tea. Grandad goes, closes the door behind him. When Grandad comes back in the room his face is red, with blue worms under his skin. Looks like his tonsils is up. He sits down next to me but he can’t pick up his cup cos his hands is shaking and his knee goes knocking like a Big N under the table. Nanny’s sitting in the corner; her rocking chair keeps bashing gainst the wall and her knitting needles is clacking.

“Roose,” Grandad says, “you haven’t got any wool attached.”

She starts gain. Then I see she int crying but laughing stead. Her big boobies bounce up and down, false teefs drop down and she pushes them back up with her tongue. Then her face goes like Coleus and she starts to
cry. Grandad and me holds our heads. He turns the telly on. It takes up nearly all the table. Horse racing is on; he finds the list of the horses in the paper.

“Pick one out, pet,” he says.

I read the list, pick a name can say.

“Open See Same.”

“Open Sesame,” Grandad says.

When the race is on I watches the oringe hat with the yellow star on it. It comes from the back and wins easy. Grandad tears a piece of white bread and squashes it with his finger and thumb. The bread turns back to dough, gray with sweat and finger skin as he learns me what an outsider is.

Turns out I’m good at horses. I sit on the crossbar of Grandad’s bike and we go to Ladbrokes. After we made our bets we ride long side the Grand Union Canal and talks to boat people and gypsies and fishermen. Big horse with hairy feets has got its head over the fence, int scared cos I kisses its nose. Girl comes long with steps to brush it, lets me give it one of her carrots.

“What’s it called?” I arsts.

“Grand Union Hayes,” she says.

I reckon it’s a good name.