Mummy Knew (3 page)

Mummy wasn’t the cuddly type like Nanny, and at first I was quite shy around her. She always seemed to be out working and if she was at home she would be too busy to stop and play or read me stories. One morning, I crept into her room to
watch as she got ready for work. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, cigarette balanced in the ashtray beside her, brushing her thick and unruly black hair with hard, noisy strokes.

‘What’s that at the front of your hair?’ I asked, pointing to a triangle shape that became visible when she pulled her hair back.

‘It’s called a widow’s peak.’

I didn’t know what that was but thought it was very pretty. ‘What’s that mark on the end of your nose?’ I asked next.

‘It’s a beauty spot,’ she told me, adding that it had flown up there all on it’s own. ‘It used to be on my cheek, like Liz Taylor’s, but one night while I was asleep it flew onto my nose.’

I believed her totally, and from then on I’d always think of it as Mummy’s magic beauty spot. She laughed when she saw my wide-eyed expression and helped me check up and down my arms and legs to see if we could find any on me.

‘Is this one?’ I asked, pointing at a freckle, and she agreed that it probably was.

‘Now bugger off, I’m busy,’ she said, pushing me away as if she’d suddenly had enough of me. ‘I ain’t got time for niceynicey chit-chat.’

Mummy had the same chocolate-brown eyes and dark complexion as Diane and Davie. Cheryl and I were the opposite with our rosy complexions, blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair. I’d often wish I was dark like Mummy. I liked to watch her lining her eyes in black so they looked double the size, and then slicking on a coat of rosy brown lipstick and rubbing her lips together before turning her face this way and that as she
peered at herself in the hand mirror. Every few minutes she’d reach for her cigarette, hold it to her lips and squint her eyes as she took a long deep drag. Seconds later a massive stream of smoke emerged from her mouth and nostrils. Sometimes the ash would drop on her clothes and she’d quickly rub at it until it disappeared. The brown tips left in the ashtray would be coated with rosy brown lip marks. I didn’t like the smell of the smoke, and on the rare occasion when she hugged me, I’d hold my breath until she let me go.

Before leaving for work, she’d reach into her bag and pull out a bottle of perfume to squirt behind her ears. Sometimes she even squirted it up her skirt. Once I copied her with a pretend bottle and everybody laughed, except Davie who went bright red. I’d ask if I could have some of Mummy’s real perfume but most of the time she’d say, ‘No, keep your sticky mitts off it.’ One time she sprayed a bit under my chin but it made me feel sick and gave me a headache, and she said ‘There you are, I told you it wasn’t for you.’

At the weekends I’d often sleep over at Nanny’s, but during the week it was Diane or Cheryl’s job to put me to bed while Mummy was at work. They weren’t as patient as Nanny had been when it came to the dummy hunt, and on the nights they couldn’t find one, they just let me stay up and fall asleep on the sofa in front of whatever programme they were watching.

Mummy didn’t usually get home from work until around midnight after the pub had shut, and was often tired in the mornings, but after she’d had a cup of tea and a cigarette she’d have woken up sufficiently to help me get washed and dressed. She wasn’t as organised as Nanny when it came to
doing the laundry and other household chores. It was alright for Cheryl and Diane, who were old enough to go to the launderette with their own clothes and bedding, but often Davie and I had to ask her to change our sheets or find us something clean to wear. ‘I never get any bloody time to meself,’ she’d grumble, but usually something would be done.

I don’t recall ever going to the launderette with Mummy, but I often went on Sundays with Cheryl. One day we popped into Nanny’s on the way and Nanny mentioned that Jenny was working overtime and hadn’t been able to take their usual weekly wash. This had left Nanny and Freda a bit short ‘in the underwear department’. Cheryl volunteered to take a few things to keep them going until Jenny got a chance to do the rest in the week. When Nanny handed the blue laundry bag over, it was stuffed to the gills with what can only be described as the biggest bloomers I’d ever seen. Cheryl and I exchanged a little giggle.

The bag was quite heavy, and as Cheryl was already carrying her own washing bag, I made an effort to be helpful. ‘You carry one handle, Cher, and I’ll have the other,’ I said, hauling my side up to my shoulder with both my hands. Of course the difference in our heights and my relative lack of strength made it very awkward, especially as we battled against a near gale force wind that day. Cheryl was around fourteen and going through a stage where she coloured beetroot red easily. I could see a group of boys up ahead leaning against the huge arch that led through to the high street. We had to pass them to get to the launderette. ‘Oh, no. It’s that Kenny Fisher,’ said Cheryl, her face beginning to flush pink.
Head down, she quickened her pace, almost dragging me along behind her.

As we drew level with the boys, a fierce gust of wind knocked me off my feet, causing me to drop my side of the bag and to Cheryl’s great embarrassment, Nanny’s underwear spilled out onto the pavement. The boys could barely contain their amusement at the sight of Nanny’s bloomers, which were now blowing along like tumbleweed.

‘Fuck me, look at the size of them drawers!’ shouted one of the boys as the wind twirled them round.

Cheryl’s face had turned puce. She was mortified. It wasn’t until later that evening that she saw the funny side. I heard her telling the story to Diane and Mummy, and they all laughed until they cried.

One morning I woke up to hear Diane and Cheryl talking. Diane was getting dressed and Cheryl was sitting up in bed, a pillow propped behind her.

‘Mum’s got some geezer in there,’ said Diane, lifting her long dark hair out of the back of her jumper. ‘Made a right racket when they came in last night.’

‘I know,’ said Cheryl, blushing.

‘What geezer?’ I asked, suddenly embarrassed and self-conscious because I’d never said the word ‘geezer’ before. I knew it was a grown-up word, but I didn’t have a clue what it meant.

Diane laughed, but Cheryl looked a bit panicked and said, ‘Shush, Lisa.’

We sat still for a few minutes, nobody speaking. Diane walked over to the window and stared down at the grass
below where I could hear dogs barking. Cheryl lay back down in her bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Then the noises started–a squeaking and rhythmic tapping, which seemed to get faster and louder. They were coming from Mummy’s room next door. Diane’s and Cheryl’s expressions were a mirror of each other’s, with wide eyes and mouths.

‘What’s that noise, Diane?’ I asked, confused. I could hear whimpering noises now. ‘Has Mummy hurt herself?’

‘Look, just be quiet, Lisa!’ Diane snapped. And then, to Cheryl, ‘I can’t believe they’re at it again!’

Then the noises stopped and the momentary silence was punctuated by a loud male groan.

‘Is that Uncle Jimmy?’ I asked.

‘I should bloody well hope not!’ said Diane, making Cheryl burst into a fit of giggles that she attempted to silence by pressing her hands to her face.

It must have been the weekend because there was no school that day. Mummy was acting strangely. She remained in her bedroom for most of the day, with the door firmly shut. I could hear someone talking and laughing. It was a man. I’d seen a leather coat hanging on the back of the kitchen door with a newspaper rolled up in the pocket. It had a photo of a racehorse on the front.

Diane and Cheryl went out with their friends, and Davie went to play outside. I felt lonely and decided to knock on Mummy’s bedroom door, but before I had a chance to ask her anything, she shouted at me to go and watch telly or something. When I knocked for the third or fourth time to ask if I could go over to Nanny’s, she lost her temper.

‘For fuck’s sake, Lisa,’ she shouted through the door, ‘You know you’re not to cross the bloody road on your own. Go and play out the front if you want but stop being a bleedin’ nuisance.’

I did go and play downstairs, walking along the edge of the pavement with my arms outstretched for balance, but I didn’t stay long. A boy ran over, egged on by his friends, and pulled my knickers down to my ankles. I was so shocked that I stood there frozen for what seemed like the longest time, my arms still outstretched for balance. It was the first time in my life I felt a sense of shame. My face burned, just as Cheryl’s did sometimes. I looked up towards Nanny and Freda’s balcony and felt relieved they weren’t sitting outside that day to witness my humiliation.

The man began to visit Mummy in her bedroom regularly, but I still hadn’t actually seen him. Heard him yes, smelled him too–he was a heavy smoker, like Mummy–but I’d never set eyes on him. Everybody seemed to be creeping around the flat. Things felt different now.

One day I heard the man in the bathroom. He gave a deep rattling cough and then spat something out. I was just working out that he must have spat in the sink and not on the floor when Mummy came up behind me. Without a word she took my hand and led me into the bathroom. Suddenly frightened, I tried to pull away but she gripped my hand tighter and glared at me. Once inside the poky little room I tried to wriggle behind her legs to hide from the man who stood directly in front of her. I could see he was wearing the same leather coat I’d noticed hanging on the back of the kitchen door.

‘Say hello to Frank, there’s a good girl,’ said Mummy trying to drag me out from behind her.

I daren’t look up, overcome by shyness and, for some reason, fear. I felt the need to pee and crossed my legs to stop myself. I stared straight ahead resisting the urge to look up. My eyes were level with the man’s hands. He was holding a cigarette the same way as Uncle Jimmy did, between a yellow-stained thumb and index finger, cupped inside his palm.

‘She’s shy,’ Mummy explained, an underlying note of annoyance in her voice.

Suddenly the man sank down to my level, so his face was inches from mine. I stepped back slightly and felt a trickle of wee slide down my leg. I looked into his face for the first time and saw that he had light brown hair that hung down over his collar. Two giant strips of hair ran down in front of his ears to meet the dark stubble on his chin. He smiled at me, showing a mouthful of bunched-up teeth, and his breath smelled all smokey and horrible.

‘Hiding behind yer mum, are yer?’ he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he stood up again and said to Mummy, ‘I bet she’ll break some hearts.’

They kissed then for a moment, making sounds as if they were chewing soft sticky toffees. They left their cigarettes to burn behind each other’s backs as they wrapped arms around each other.

‘Frank’s coming to live with us,’ said Mummy with a laugh as they parted. ‘He’s gonna be your new dad.’

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I let my bladder go, and felt my red buckle shoes fill with warmth. Since I’d moved in
with Mummy I’d started wetting the bed every night, but it had been ages since I’d had an accident during the day. I could tell she was very annoyed by the way she angrily threw her cigarette into the bath and yanked my arm so that I felt it click.

‘Naughty girl! It’s all in your shoes–look.’ She turned to the man. ‘Sorry, Frank, she’s not normally like this.’

The man called Frank didn’t seem to mind. He just laughed and pulled Mummy towards him for another noisy kiss.

A
lthough I was still only four, my new dad’s arrival in my life made such an impact that the memories are burned indelibly into my mind. They play like short films complete with sound and colour, disjointed in places but vivid nonetheless. Before he came I was relatively carefree and settling into my new routines with Mummy and the family, adjusting to life without Nanny twenty-four hours a day–but that was all to change very quickly.

As ‘Dad’, as I was told to call him, made the sudden progression from simply being the stranger with the black leather coat who groaned in Mummy’s bedroom a few nights a week into living with us permanently, he appeared, initially at least, to make an effort to be friendly, and we thought maybe things were going to be OK.

He brought us sweets and a kite, which he promised to help us fly on the green when it was windy enough. It sat in the packet in the corner for weeks and never got flown, but at least the thought was there. He also taught us loads of jokes, with naughty words in them. One was about a lady who gave birth to a head, which she kept on a red velvet pillow.

‘The mother said, “Fuck me, I’ve just given birth to a head”, and when it was the head’s birthday, the mother said, “Guess what I’ve got for your birthday?” and the head said, “I don’t care what it bleedin’ is, as long as it’s not another fucking hat!”’

Dad thought this was hilarious, and so did Davie, but when he repeated it to Nanny she got very annoyed.

‘Fancy teaching that to a child!’ she exclaimed. ‘What sort of heathen has Donna moved in over there?’

One evening Dad splashed out on a meal of Kentucky Fried Chicken as a treat for everybody. I remember us all gathered in the front room. It was dark outside. The glow from the coal fire and the flickering TV provided the only light in the room. The fried chicken was laid out on a low coffee table in front of the sofa, where Mummy and Dad sat side by side. Davie, Cheryl and I sat on the floor. Diane wasn’t there because she had gone to her boyfriend’s. Dad was talking and laughing, and Mummy’s adoring eyes never left his face. We were all smiling.

Suddenly Dad reached for a piece of chicken and realised that somebody had eaten the last drumstick. His face clouded over and his small dark eyes narrowed as he yelled at us.

‘You greedy fuckers! Who the fuck has eaten all the chicken?’

We froze and looked round at each other, taken aback by the anger in his voice.

‘Was it you?’ he asked each of us in turn, jabbing with his finger.

I whispered ‘No’ when it was my turn, terrified of his aggressive tone of voice and the furious way he was staring at
us. He looked as if he might murder the person who owned up, so no one did.