Secrets My Mother Kept (17 page)

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you like them? Are they the wrong things to take?’ I was worried now, Josie was the only sister to have been on a school trip. If she thought the things were wrong then they must be.

She just shook her head without saying anything and continued to pack. Her lips were drawn tightly together, and when the case was finally packed she said, ‘There you are, that’s everything now,’ without smiling, and put it on the floor of the bedroom and walked downstairs. I could hear her talking to Mum and their voices start to get louder. My stomach churned. I hated conflict, and I could tell by the tone of their voices that they were starting to argue. Josie stomped back upstairs into her bedroom and slammed the door shut, and I went down slowly, worried about the mood Mum would be in. Mum was sitting in her chair by the fireplace and was smoking a cigarette and looking agitated.

‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ I asked trying to cheer her up.

She nodded and then added, ‘Pat will be home soon, you can make one for her too,’ but she didn’t mention Josie.

Josie wasn’t talking to Mum. There was an awful atmosphere in the house and we were all walking around on eggshells. Part of me was glad that I was going away on my trip but part of me was terrified that something bad would happen while I was away. I couldn’t sleep that night; everything was twirling around inside my head. I knew Margaret was worried, and that I wouldn’t be here to look after her, and I knew that Josie was angry about something and that Mum was in one of her downward spirals. Would there be a big argument while I was away? Would Aunty throw things? Would Mum get ill? Would she still be here when I got back? So by the time the morning came and I walked across the road to the bus stop, I carried a heavy weight inside my heart along with the heavy weight of my little case, which I struggled to get on the bus on my own. I was still only twelve years old, but felt as though the world was weighing down on me.

The journey to Switzerland was magical, although parts of it were a bit scary. We had little couchettes to sleep in and I was on the top bunk. I was afraid that I would fall out, but managed to get to sleep in the end, and remember so clearly the smell of the air when I woke up. It was cleaner, fresher, colder and altogether different from the air in Dagenham. Looking out of the windows of the train we watched the scenery change, and saw mountains topped with snow, even though it was late springtime. When we arrived at long last at the hotel our excitement mounted. I shared a room with Anne and little Lizzie M, who was in the first year. We were very protective of her, and felt like the big girls. She would clean her teeth and look in the mirror and say, ‘I look like Alfalfa,’ and then laugh hysterically at her own joke.

Anne and I were two of the oldest girls on the trip, which was a mixture of first and second year pupils. We assumed the role of protector and guide to the first year’s and thought we were very mature. It was probably our fault, however, that we were nearly all killed! Our teachers had told us that we were going for a mountain walk. It sounded like fun, the sun was shining, and we had eaten our continental breakfast of rolls, jam and unsalted butter. The hotel made us packed lunches which we had to carry ourselves, and off we set. For the first couple of hours everyone’s spirits were very high. We knew we were going on a boat trip the next day to a place called Isola Bella, which sounded lovely. Then a bank of white cloud obscured the sun and the air turned colder quite suddenly. Anne and I were at the back of the very long and very straggly line of girls, which was beginning to slow more and more as the younger children got tired. The teachers were now a very long way ahead, and were completely out of our sight. We stopped to look at something, I can’t remember what, but by the time we tried to join the rest of the group we realised we didn’t know which path to take. Some of the younger girls started whining, ‘I’m tired, I want to go back,’ but of course we didn’t know which way back was. Then Anne had her ‘good idea’.

‘I know,’ she said authoritatively, ‘I’ll climb up on to that ridge and will be able to see over the top of the trees and bushes to where the path is.’

I was less convinced at this but as always I deferred to Anne.

She duly climbed up on to the ridge and declared loudly, ‘It’s okay – I can see the pathway. It goes down through those bushes,’ and she pointed to what seemed to me an unlikely route. But who was I to argue? One of the younger girls had started to cry and there were several others who were threatening to join them.

‘Okay,’ I replied. ‘Let’s go,’ and I began to usher the group towards the tiny gap in the shrubbery which opened onto a narrow, steep track.

‘Down here,’ Anne shouted leading the way with confidence. I carried on at the rear of the group, desperately trying to encourage the others to keep up. I took their bags from them and carried them myself, as all the while the bushes got thicker and the track got steeper, until it was obvious that this couldn’t possibly be the right way. Many of the younger girls were almost hysterical by now, as they slipped and slid downwards often losing their footing to be hauled back to their feet by Anne or me. Finally Anne called a halt. We sat everyone down and told them to eat their lunch. No one felt much like it but we insisted. We thought it would be good to have a rest and it would also make the bags lighter to carry. Anne then told me to stay with the others while she went to scout out a way back. After what seemed like a very long time she returned.

‘Listen,’ she whispered to me. ‘I don’t want to worry the others but we need to go back up. Just the other side of that slight ridge there is a steep drop. There is no way we can carry on this way.’

My heart sunk. It had been hard enough travelling downwards, but to go all the way back uphill was going to be horrendous! But there was no other way, so after picking everything back up we broke the news to the others that we would have to retrace our steps. They were not happy, but they didn’t have much choice. They trusted us to keep them safe, and we were determined to do just that. It took us at least two hours to reach the proper pathway again, and it was with much relief and anger that we spied the teachers and the rest of the group standing at the top waiting for us and laughing. No one had been in the least bit worried or showed the slightest concern that we could have fallen off the mountainside!

Our next destination Isola Bella, or ‘beautiful island’, was just that. It was a tiny Italian island where there were no cars or buses, no traffic of any description apart from the odd donkey and a few cycles. We reached it by ferry and the first thing that struck me as we got off the boat was the silence and the freshness. It was spring and there was blossom everywhere. Beautiful flowers already tumbled out of the window boxes that seemed to hang on every wall. The houses were all painted white, and the Mediterranean light made them sparkle in the sun. The smells were intoxicating and assaulted our senses with a mixture of heady perfumes from the flowers and aromatic herbs and spices that flowed freely from the open windows as the inhabitants cooked their exotic food. Anne considered us to be the sophisticates of the group and suggested we left the main party to wander around. Our teacher had said we were allowed an hour to explore the island and that we would meet back at the ferry. So off we went, my friend Anne and I, walking through narrow cobbled streets that threaded backwards and forwards across the island like looped ribbons. Finally as we climbed down a sloping path that led towards the shore, we saw a tiny local bar. We went in, full of confidence and were directed towards a beautiful balcony that looked out to sea. It was such a clear blue that it hurt my eyes to look at it and made me think it couldn’t be real. The sea in England never looked like this. A young waiter came over with a kind smile on his face, probably surprised at the youth of his customers.

I hesitated. ‘Um, well . . .’

‘Two Pepsis with ice and a slice of lemon please,’ Anne ordered confidently.

It was the best drink I had ever tasted.

We left for England the next day and only then did I begin to wonder what I would find on my return, and whether or not all would be calm in the Coates household. When I got back to Barking station with Anne, her sister was waiting to meet her. She ran up, taking her case from her as they walked towards home. I, on the other hand, had no one to meet me. I knew that I would need to get the 62 bus, but didn’t have any money. I’m sure that if Anne’s sister had realised that I didn’t have any way of getting home she would have given me the bus fare, but I was too ashamed to ask.

I stood at the bus stop outside the station and wondered what to do. We didn’t have a phone so there was no way of ringing anyone, and I certainly didn’t think I would be able to walk all the way home with my suitcase, which was now even heavier than when I left home, filled up now with the little bits and pieces I had bought as gifts for my family. I stood watching several buses come and go, knowing that they could take me home, take me to the family who I had missed desperately for the ten days I had been away. I came to the conclusion that the only way I could get home to them was to try to ‘hop’ my fare; that is to get on without paying and hope the conductor didn’t notice. Sure enough when the next 62 arrived I got on. Luckily there were several people who got on with me, and the bus was already quite crowded. I sat down near the front next to an old lady and looked down at the ground when the conductor shouted, ‘Any more fares? Any more fares please?’ I felt hot and ashamed and looking down, almost held my breath the whole way home.

As the bus stop outside my house came into view, I started to relax a little and looked towards the platform where you could wait to get off. Again I was lucky, as there were three others getting off at the same stop and one of them rang the bell. On hearing this I quickly jumped up and hopped off the bus as soon as it stopped, without the conductor realising that I hadn’t paid my fare, and quickly walked across the road, dragging my suitcase in both hands, feeling as though I were a hardened criminal now and carrying the burden of guilt that all Catholics are born with. I knocked on the front door and heard Pongo barking and Mum coming to open it.

‘Hello,’ I said, almost shyly. It seemed strange being back home, seeing Mum standing there. I felt as though I had been away forever. Mum stood back smiling; taking my case, she ushered me into the kitchen. She didn’t hug or kiss me, and I didn’t hug or kiss her. We just didn’t do that sort of thing, but I knew she was pleased to see me.

‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ she said as she bustled out into the scullery to put the kettle on. Margaret was sitting on the settee looking very happy, but everyone else was out at work. I looked around at my home. It was tidy but rather dishevelled and the air was permeated by the heavy smell of cigarettes, dog, and cooking fat that I had never really noticed before. The furniture was old and worn and there was only a threadbare rug on the floor. The walls, ceiling and net curtains that hung at the window were a dirty yellowish colour, stained from the nicotine of three heavy smokers, Mum, Pat and Aunty. At least the damp clothes were hanging on the line in the garden instead of around the walls, as the sun was shining. Pongo was jumping up at me, happy that I was home, and I could hear the kettle whistling as it began to boil. I knew then with a sudden intensity that this was where my family lived, where I belonged. Here was my home, and despite the fear and the secrets and the lies, I was glad to be back.

24

Visiting Mary

Mary had a baby boy! She and Dave had recently moved to a modern house on a new estate in a place called Rainham in Kent. Mum said we could go and visit them. It was coming up to the summer holidays and Margaret, Anne and I were going to spend two weeks with Mary and Dave, and we would be able to help with their new baby Tony. As the day to leave drew closer we started to get more and more excited. Mum packed some groceries in a bag and we put a few items of clothing together and they were loaded into Ron’s car. He was going to drive us to Kent with Marge and Mum. We all squeezed into his little car and started off. It wasn’t too far, but the difference in what we saw around us was amazing. As we left Dagenham behind us and drove through the tunnel, the houses spread out and the landscape became more and more rural. When we arrived, Mary showed us all around the house. It was very neat and clean but Mum didn’t look very impressed.

‘It’s very small isn’t it?’ she noted, and I saw Mary’s face fall.

‘Are you staying for lunch?’ Mary asked, but Mum shook her head.

‘No, we need to be getting back, we’ll have a cup of tea though.’

She seemed keen to be on her way and, after saying goodbye to us, left with Marge and Ron. Mary didn’t seem that pleased to see us, although she was kind and showed us where we would sleep in a little bed settee all together like sardines.

It was going to be fun. ‘We can have midnight feasts!’ suggested Anne.

Of course what we didn’t realise was that poor Mary and Dave were finding it hard to feed themselves and the thought of another three mouths to feed was very worrying for them. Mary encouraged us to go out every day, so we wandered along the country lanes, going into the farms to look at the animals. Most people were surprisingly kind and usually didn’t mind us. One day we visited a pig farm. The smell clung to us, but then we spied an enclosure with a huge sow lying on her back and a multitude of piglets fighting to suckle from her.

‘What are you up to over there?’ we heard from the inside of a nearby barn. A heavily built bald-headed man emerged holding a pitchfork in his hand.