The Bad Mother's Handbook (35 page)

‘All right.’ I was laughing too, it was the nerves. ‘But
we’re not sending Nan there, are we?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas, Charlotte. Incidentally, did you
know you’ve got baby sick on your shoulder?’

From inside the depths of the pram, Will’s eyes glittered.

‘You little soiler,’ I told him.

*

I’
D MADE UP
my mind, to be honest, or at least I thought
I had; come hell or high water there was no way my
mother was going in a home. But it was Leo who said,
‘Have you investigated Mayfield?’ Apparently his father
had had a couple of weeks’ respite care there and they’d
both been impressed. ‘More like your four-star hotel,’
he told me in the Octagon bar after we’d been to see
An
Inspector Calls
. ‘Very upbeat, not at all depressing even
though some of the residents are pretty laid-up. I know
it’s further away than you’d want, ideally, but you’ve
always got the car, it’s only fifteen minutes or so. Worth a
recce, anyway, I’d have thought. I’ll come with you if you
like.’

So I took his advice but went with Charlotte. It was a
family thing, after all.

Mayfield was modern orange brick and overlooked
a superstore, but inside it was clean and airy. The only
detectable smells were furniture polish and dog.
Blossom Where Ye Are Planted
proclaimed a tapestry over the vestibule
door.

‘Mum, have you seen this?’ Charlotte pointed to a six-foot-high cage full of budgies all going berserk because a
tortoiseshell cat was lounging across the top and dangling
a paw over the side.

‘They’re the best of friends, really,’ said the Matron, a
smart woman in navy who met us in the hall. ‘They just
enjoy scolding her, but she’s too well-fed and lazy to do
any harm, even if she could get at them. Aren’t you,
madam?’ The cat flicked an ear at her but otherwise made
no movement. ‘Oh, and there’s Bertie as well.’ Bertie was a
yellow Labrador who came up to the pram and laid his
head on William’s blanket. ‘Everyone loves Bertie.’ Matron
patted his flank. ‘I have such a job trying to stop our guests
from over-feeding him.’

Charlotte stroked the dog and it wagged its tail so hard
its back end nearly went over. ‘Nan would like him,’ she
mouthed at me.

I don’t know what it was, whether the paint they
used was brighter or the windows were bigger, or perhaps
it was because we were seeing the place in the morning
rather than at dusk, but it was a different world to Bishop
House. There were still some very poorly old people there
but there seemed to be more activity. Even the television
watchers were arguing amongst themselves. How Old is
Too Old to Give Birth?

‘We like Mr Kilroy in here, don’t we?’ said Matron.
‘What is it today? “I Had A Baby At 60”? Good God. What
do you think about that, Enid?’

‘I reckon she’s mental,’ said a lady in a pink cardigan.
‘I put the flags out when I had my last one, and I were only
twenty-six. Teks me all my time t’ look after mysen, never
mind a babby.’

They all went mad over William, though. Enid wanted
him on her bony knee.

‘See the doggy? Can you see that nice doggy? That’s
my Bella, that is.’

Bertie trotted up to each outstretched hand in turn
before exiting.

‘Off on his rounds again,’ said Matron. ‘He’s everyone’s
pal. So, what else can I show you?’

‘I think we’ve seen enough, haven’t we, Charlotte?
Thanks for the tour, we’re very grateful. And you do have
a place available?’

‘At the moment.’ She touched my arm gently. ‘These
decisions are never easy, but sometimes it really is for the
best. Have a think and get back to me.’

Bertie raced past us pursued by a woman with a
zimmer frame.

‘Honey! Honey! Come back here!’ she was shouting.
‘Damn dog’s got my paper,’ she complained as she passed
Matron.

‘Never mind, Irene, gets you your daily exercise,
doesn’t it?’

She let us out and we stood on the porch for a while
looking out over Morrison’s.

‘What do you think?’ Charlotte asked me.

‘I think . . . it wouldn’t be so bad,’ I said. We walked
slowly down the path onto the main road to where the
Metro was parked. ‘I only hope Nan agrees.’

You wait for years to overtake your parents and then
when you do it’s no kind of victory. When I was little and
being told off, I’d think, Just you wait, when I’m grown
up I’ll show you. Sometimes Dad used to pull rank on
me,
Because I Say So
, and I hated it. But nothing prepares
you for the day when you realize your parents are weaker
than you. It’s like having the ground fall away from under
your feet.

I sat by Mum’s bed holding her hand for a long time
before I spoke. I was talking to her, though.

Mum
, I said,
I wanted to tell you something, a secret
you should know
. She breathed evenly in her sleep.
It’s
something I’ve only just found out
. The funny thing was,
in profile she did look a bit like me. We had some of
the same lines and wrinkles, anyway.
Listen, Mum, you
know when I got pregnant? I think
– the idea formed
itself properly into actual words –
it might have been
Freudian
. The way she was lying made her skin smooth
out and she seemed years younger lying there next to
my face.
Do you understand what that means? What I’m
trying to say is, deep down, part of me was too scared to take
exams and go off to university, start a new life away from
everything I’d ever known. I didn’t know it then, it wasn’t
conscious, but I can see quite clearly now. I think falling
pregnant was a way of avoiding all that risk. So I would never
have got rid of Charlotte, for all I moaned on at the time. And
I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. It’s the way life works
out.

When she woke up I was going to tell her about
Mayfield.

*

There were
little yellow chicks all over the house suddenly.

‘What’re these in aid of?’ I asked Mum, who was
producing them at fantastic speed. ‘I didn’t even know
you could knit.’

‘Nan taught me years ago, you don’t forget. You can
knock these off in an hour. Ivy showed me. Then they fit
over a Cadbury’s Creme Egg, can you see?’ She put her
fingers inside the chick’s body and filled it out. ‘If you’re
not doing anything you could sew some eyes on those two
over there. There’s black wool in the basket.’

‘I’ve got to change Will, he stinks. Anyway, what are
you making them for?’

‘The NSPCC. I talked it over with Leo, we’re going to
have a big drive at school next term and see how much we
can raise with lots of different events. I thought we could
have an Easter fair and sell these, say, a pound a time?
Or could we get away with charging more, what do you
think?’

‘I think you’re bonkers,’ I said, hoisting Will onto his
plastic mat and undoing his poppers. ‘We’re in the middle
of Christmas, never mind Easter. I don’t know how you’ve
got the time.’ I undid the nappy. ‘Oh, God, look at that.
It’s gone up his back.’

‘Well, I thought if I did two or three a week from now
till March, and buy a couple of eggs every time we go
shopping . . .’

Will chortled with delight as I wiped him down. ‘It’s
not funny and it’s not clever,’ I told him. He grabbed his
genitals and grinned. ‘Perv,’ I said and strapped him
back up.

‘Then I was wondering about a duck race on the
canal at Ambley, and a sponsored walk, and maybe cake
sales every Friday by the back doors, because if we have
them outside then the cleaners won’t complain about
crumbs . . .’ Mum’s needles clicked busily.

‘You’re turning into Nan, you are,’ I joked.

‘Don’t even think it,’ she said.

I presume it’s her way of coping. Apparently it was
really hard to get through to Nan about not coming back
here, and whenever Mum thought she’d finally broken the
awful truth, Nan would gaze up at her and say something
like, ‘I can’t wait to get home to that baby.’ In the end she
gave up.

Oh, another funny thing I found: talk about turning
into Nan, she left some papers on the cistern, of all places;
a pack from the DFEE about Returning to Education.
I wonder what’s going on there, and if Leo Fairbrother
put her up to it. He seems to be behind a lot of stuff
these days. I won’t say anything, though, I don’t think I
was meant to see it. I left the pack where it was and it was
gone next time I looked, anyway.

On Christmas Eve
Daniel came round to have A Talk.

‘What’s going on here?’ he said, surveying the chaos
in my bedroom. ‘Is this really the best time for a major
clear-out?’

‘Mum’s idea. She wanted me to move into Nan’s
room, but I don’t want to, so we’re setting it up as a
study-cum-nursery type thing. If you think it’s bad in here
you should see next door. Come and have a look, it’s so
weird.’

Mum had pushed Nan’s wardrobe against the chest of
drawers to clear a wall, and the bed was piled high with
old-lady underclothes and spare bedding. The carpet was
darker in an oblong where the wardrobe had been and
there were some spectacular cobwebs across the newly
revealed wallpaper. God knows what kind of tarantula
hybrid had been sharing Nan’s room for the last few
years.

‘The desk’s going along there, and the bookcase. And
Will’s moving in the New Year, I thought he could have
his cot under the window.’ I squeezed round the bed and
looked out over the frosted Working Men’s. It would
have been nearly beautiful, but for the fact that two
lads were going from one vehicle to another inscribing
rude messages on the sparkling windscreens. I opened
the window catch and shouted down, ‘There’s two Gs in
BUGGER, you know. What’s Santa Claus bringing you?
Lobotomies?’ They whipped their heads up, saw me and
gave me the finger. I gave it back and shut the window
again. ‘Nice to see community spirit’s alive and well.
Christ, it’s bloody freezing out.’ I pulled the curtains shut
quickly and hugged myself warm. ‘Don’t know what’s
going to happen to the bed, though. It seems really disrespectful
to start messing about with Nan’s stuff when
she doesn’t even know she’s not coming back. Like she
was dead, only she’s not.’

‘Maybe your mum could put it in storage.’

‘Maybe.’ I perched on one side of the mattress and
Daniel perched on the other. ‘It’s what we’re doing to
Nan, after all.’

He reached across and squeezed my hand. ‘Hey up,’
he grinned, in a pathetic attempt at a northern accent.

‘Watch it, you.’

‘By ’eck.’

‘Bugger
off
.’

He pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Ooh,
Mr ’Igginbottom, is that a ferret down your trousers or
are you just pleased to see me?’

I picked up some big ecru knickers and threw them
at him. ‘Stop it, will you? I want to be miserable for a
minute. You don’t understand, Nan’s always been here.’

‘You said.’

He held out his arms and I crawled across the bedspread
to him. He pulled me against his chest and I found
I was shivering.

‘Well, she has. And I never really took her on. I
thought she was a nuisance half the time. It’s too late.’
I sagged my shoulders and exhaled slowly. ‘I’ve been a
rubbish granddaughter. Why don’t we ever say the things
we should to the people we care about?’

‘Like you said, she’s not dead yet. Sort it out, if that’s
the way you feel. Look, I’m not trying to be unsympathetic,
but simply by producing Will you’ve probably
done as much for her as any doctor. Go and see her.
Talk to her.’ He gave me a squeeze, then took my face
between his hands. ‘And listen, there’s one thing you
should know that’s more important than anything else
right now.’

I searched his eyes. ‘What?’

‘That there’s a damn great spider on your shoulder.’

I yelped and shot off the bed, pulling at my jumper
and staggering into the wall.

‘Hold it!’ shouted Daniel and launched forward,
clapping his hand over the dark shape that squatted
between the tufts of the candlewick bedspread. ‘Gotcha!’
He held it up as if for inspection. ‘Oh no, it’s got away!’
he yelled as the black blob leapt out of his hands and at
my feet. I screamed at the top of my voice and threw
myself against the wardrobe. The hairy mass flopped onto
the floor. And lay still.

‘You total bastard,’ I said, and picked it up.

Mum appeared in the doorway, the old cross expression
back on her face, like it had never been away. She
wears it well.

‘Will you two make a bit less noise? I’ve just this
minute got the baby down—’ She wiped her brow with
the back of hand like a poor woman in a Victorian melodrama.

‘Sorry—’

‘Sorry, Mrs Cooper.’ Daniel cocked his head on one
side and raised his eyebrows earnestly; it made him look
about twelve.

Mum huffed.

‘It’s all my fault I’m afraid, Mrs Cooper, I was being
very immature.’ Daniel’s neck craned into an even more
humble posture.

‘Yeah, he was, Mum, actually, it was his fault, he
threw this – God, it’s not funny! – fake moustache at me.’
I held it up for her to see. ‘What’s it doing in here? I don’t
remember having any pirate costumes as a kid.’

‘Let me see.’ She held out her hand and I placed it in
her palm. ‘Oh.’ She smiled, turning the moustache over
in her fingers so it was tape-up. ‘You’d never believe it,
this was Nan’s.’

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. I snorted. ‘Get away.’

‘No, honestly. She used to do a lot of plays for the
Mothers’ Union, comedy ones, in dialect. She was always
the man, for some reason.’

‘But she’s such a midget!’

‘I think that was part of the joke. She’d be paired up
with some hefty woman as the wife; hen-pecked husband,
that sort of thing. Seaside postcard couple. They used to
perform over at the Working Men’s, in the days when it
wasn’t quite so seedy.’