The Illustrated Mum (16 page)

“Does he?” said Marigold, looking to see if Star was listening. She stretched out on the sofa, pretending to be relaxed. “Saturday tomorrow,” she said. She paused. Star didn't react. She was staring into space.

“What are your plans, Star, sweetheart?” Marigold asked.

Star smoothed back her hair, licked her lips, pressed her knees together.

“I'm going to Brighton.”

“I thought so,” said Marigold. “You've been in touch with Micky, then?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” said Marigold. “That's just great.”

She heaved herself off the sofa and went to the kitchen. We heard the clank of the bottle on the rim of her glass. Then she came back, the glass brimming.

“Marigold. Don't!” I said huskily.

“What? It's water, darling,” said Marigold, taking several gulps. “So, Star. It looks as if it's going to be a lovely sunny day. Dolly and I might very well come too. To Brighton.” She drank again.

“Don't,” Star said. Gently.

“We'll go with you, darling. The three of us. And we'll meet up with Micky.”

“No,” said Star.

“Yes,” said Marigold. “We're coming too and you can't stop us.”

Star didn't even bother to reply. She just looked at Marigold in a pitying way.

“Don't look at me like that,” said Marigold. “I don't know why you're always looking down on me. I've tried so hard, I've done my best, I want to be a good mother’

“You are a good mother. You're the best in the world,” I said, going to her and taking her glass away so that I could give her a hug.

“S-Star?” said Marigold, her voice slurring.

Star came slowly over to the sofa. She sat down beside Marigold and put her arm round her. She cuddled
her and I cuddled in too and we stayed like that for a long time. But we were all so tense it didn't feel like a proper cuddle at all. It felt stiff instead of soft, as if we were stone statues. Then Marigold leant more heavily and started breathing deeply. She'd gone to sleep. Star slid away from her and went into the bedroom.

I eased a pillow under Marigold's head, covered her up with a blanket and followed Star.

She had her schoolbag and two carrier bags packed up, ready.

“You're really not coming back!” I said, and I burst into tears.

“Don't, Dol. Please. I can't bear it,” said Star, crying too.

“Don't go.”

“I
have
to. You can still come with me.”

“No I can't.” “Well. See what happens. I'll leave the mobile here and phone you every day to make sure you're all right. Anytime you want to come just say.”

“Let me have Micky's number.”

“I can't.” “I won't tell Marigold.”

“You might not mean to. But she'd get it out of you.”

“How are you going to stop her tagging along tomorrow?”

“That's easy enough,” said Star.

And it was. Star got into my bed and held me close until I eventually went to sleep. I woke up around six but she was already gone.

I waited for Marigold to wake up. I hoped she'd sleep half the morning. But she woke early too, in spite of her hangover.

“It's a lovely sunny morning, my girls,” she said, coming into our room.

She was knuckling her forehead, trying to ease a headache. Then she saw Star's empty bed and stopped dead, her arm still raised. She didn't say anything. She just lay down on Star's bed and started crying. These were new horrible heartbroken tears, as if she were choking. It sounded as if her serpent had coiled itself right round her neck.

I thought Marigold might rush us down to Brighton again but she seemed to have given up on that idea. Her headache was bad and the crying made it worse so she went back to her own bed. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to play in my own bedroom because it seemed so empty without Star.
I
felt empty, totally hollow, as if all my insides had been sucked out of me. I wandered round and round the living room, feeling so eerily light that I felt I'd be bobbing up to the ceiling any minute. Then I thought of Mr. Rowling stumbling about on his moldering feet directly above my head. I looked up at the grimy ceiling. It was easy to imagine the stains of grisly footprints. It got so I couldn't stand it so I woke Marigold, even though I knew she'd probably be bad-tempered.

She was mean at first. She'd got it into her head that I'd ganged up with Star and knew all about her slipping off early. This was so unfair that I started crying. Then she cried too, and we had a cuddle. She smelt bad from the drink but I didn't mind too much.

“My Dol,” she said, all safe and sweet again. “Sorry I was horrid to you, darling. I'll make it up to you, I promise. We'll have a lovely weekend, just you and me. And then Star will come home and we'll be us three girls again. That's what's the matter, isn't it? We're just missing her.”

I cried harder. I didn't know what Marigold would do when she found out Star was gone for good. I didn't know how I was going to cope. I felt emptier than ever, a balloon girl with a trailing string lost in the emptiness of the sky. I clung to Marigold and she rocked me. I mumbled something about feeling empty. Marigold thought I meant I was hungry.

“I'm hungry too. Starving. We'll go out for lunch, right, and then we'll do a big big shop. Yes, we'll buy lots of goodies. We'll make sure there's a special tea for Star when she comes back‘and just in case Micky comes in with her we'll get some beer in for him. We could make it like a little party. …”

She was off again. There was no way I could stop her. She wanted to take me to McDonald's and I couldn't stop that either’Don't be so silly, Dolly, you
love
McDonald's'‘but to my great relief there was no sign of Mark and his mates, it was just crowded out with mums and kids.

Marigold hardly ate anything herself even though she said she was starving. She bought lots for me, even selecting two butterscotch sundaes just the way Star had done. It made me miss Star terribly.

Did she really really mean it? Wasn't she ever going to come back? How could she leave Marigold? How could she leave me?

My tummy went tight. Sour ice cream suddenly hurtled backward from my stomach and I had to dash to the toilets. I felt emptier than ever afterward.

Marigold took me on the promised shopping spree, using the credit card I was so worried about. We bought food, we bought drink‘too much drink‘and we bought clothes, new black jeans and a long-sleeved black satin shirt for Marigold, new blue jeans and blue shirts for Star and me. New nighties too, black lace for Marigold, blue and white gingham check with white lace trim for Star and me. Marigold even bought blue and white paint to brighten up our bedroom, though I tried to stop her.

She was tired when we got home and she had a drink or two. Then the phone rang. I only got to talk to Star for two seconds because Marigold grabbed the phone from me. She tried so hard to sound sweet and
mumsie and normal that the veins stood out on her white forehead.

“You're having a lovely time, darling? Good! Hey, bad girl, you shouldn't have left early like that. Slipping off to the station yourself! I don't know. But Micky met you OK? Can I have a little word with him, sugar bunch? I just want to check how things are, see what time you're both coming back. Hey, we're going to have a little party for you. You'll make sure Micky comes, right? Star?
Star?
”

She drank quite a lot after Star rang off. I didn't mind quite so much because she'd bought me one more present, new felt-tips and a big drawing book. I drew me in my witch's black velvet, with a special silver glitter outline all round me to make me extra powerful and totally protected. Then I drew me walking along and exercising my witchly powers on anyone who got on my nerves. I redrew Miss Hill, tattooing her even more inventively. It started to look a bit like a comic strip. I decided to show it to Oliver in the library on Monday. I could maybe draw speech bubbles and tell him what to put and then he could write the words in for me.

I drew Oliver but this time my witchly powers waxed white instead of black and he grew taller and tougher and his eyes became laser-powerful, so they could sizzle straight through his specs, searing every-178
one in sight. I gave him a haircut too, snipping off his long lank bangs and wispy strands until he just had a butch bristle left, transforming his face.

I drew Star and I gave her a haircut too. I gave her a terrible unflattering bob that left her neck long and awkward and her face too exposed. I dotted spots all over her skin and bloated her body so that she was so fat she bulged right out of her clothes. She waddled desperately after a stick-man Micky. He was running hard from this horror of a daughter. I drew tears and snot dribbling down Star's face‘but her expression looked too real. I suddenly felt frightened. I tore the page out and shredded it into little pieces.

I started to draw Star again but I didn't trust my pen. I tried Marigold instead, but I was too tired, and I couldn't be bothered to ink in all her tattoos. She looked really odd without them, the way most people look in their underwear.

“Look, Marigold,” I said.

She was asleep, her head on the table.

“That's beautiful, Dol darling,” she whispered, and then I went to bed.

Marigold was up before me the next morning. She woke me with a breakfast tray. I blinked at it in astonishment. I stared at Marigold. She'd tied her hair up in an old chiffon scarf and was wearing an old shirt and a pair of knickers.

“Come on, sleepyhead, eat up,” said Marigold. “You need a big breakfast. We've got work to do.”

“Work?” “Yes, work, Dolly Daydream. Why do you think we bought the paint yesterday? We're going to transform your bedroom. Star doesn't like all the stars and stuff, she thinks it's childish. She wants a pretty, conventional bedroom.”

“I like the stars,” I said, fidgeting anxiously. “And all the dolphins.”

My orange juice tipped and spread a gaudy stain across the sheets.

“Clumsy,” said Marigold, but she wasn't cross. “Still, it's time they had a good wash.” She was already getting to work scrubbing down the walls.

“Please, Marigold. I want it to stay the way it is. It's my bedroom too.”

“Oh, darling, we're going to make it so much prettier. Star will love it. Blue‘such a beautiful blue‘with a white gloss surround. It'll be such a surprise for her. If we really get cracking it'll all be done when she gets back.”

“What if …” I couldn't finish it.

I tried to eat my cornflakes, spooning in several mouthfuls. The mush stayed in my mouth. I pushed it in one cheek and then the other. It wouldn't go down. I gave up and spat it back into the bowl when Marigold wasn't watching.

I helped her all day long, scrubbing down, covering up all our clutter with old sheets and newspapers, and then painting. I was scared she'd see some of Star's stuff was gone but she didn't notice. Star hadn't taken much, just her favorite jeans, her boots with heels, her sneakers, her best skirt, several tops, her jacket, a couple of books, her hairbrush, her nail varnish, and her new teddy bear. Maybe she didn't mean it. She'd come back this evening.

But she didn't. Marigold started to get the tea ready as soon as she'd finished painting. She hummed as she arranged little tidbits prettily on plates. She was still in her shirt and knickers, dancing around to Emerald City, playing the fool. She saw me staring at her.

“What? OK, OK, I'd better get some proper clothes on. Before they come.” She frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that, Dol?” She peered down at herself. “Do I look awful? I don't look all old and scraggy, do I?”

“No, of course not. You look young. And pretty.”

“Pretty awful, do you mean?” Marigold looked down at herself anxiously. She peered at her long thighs. A flock of bats flew upward, their wings outstretched, the largest no bigger than my thumbnail, the smallest not much more than a black dot. “I got such dreadful stretch marks when I was expecting you. I got so sick and fat, yet with Star I hardly showed right up until the end.
Look
at these marks!” Her long nails
scrabbled at them as if she could scratch them straight off her skin. “Maybe if I had a cover-up tattoo over the bats? But it upsets Star so.”

“Star Star Star,” I said. “Why do you have to keep going on about her all the time?”

“Oh, Dol, don't be so silly,” Marigold said, pulling her jeans on and covering up her legs. “Does this shirt look OK? There's little painty spots but that maybe makes it look homey?”

“You love Star more than you love me,” I said. “I love you both,” said Marigold. She hesitated. “But Star is Micky's child.”

“Yes, and she's with him now,” I said. “She's gone to him. I've stayed with you. Why can't you love
me
best?”

“Don't start a stupid scene, Dol,” Marigold said briskly, stepping into her high strappy sandals. “Star and Micky could come back any minute. Now stop the nonsense and help me get everthing ready.”

I went and sat on my bed in the newly painted bedroom. All the stars were lost under a blur of blue. I cried.

“Cheer up, silly crybaby,” said Marigold.

But as the hours went by Marigold grew shrill.

“Where
are
they? What's happened? Oh God, you don't think there's been a crash, do you?”

The phone suddenly rang, startling her so that her
arms flew up in the air. I reached for it but she was there first.

“Star, darling! Oh, thank God! You're all right? And Micky? Why are you so
late
? Where are you? What? What did you say? I don't understand. What do you mean? You're still in Brighton? But you're not going to be back till late.
What?
You're not making sense, sweetie. You're not going to be back? What do you
mean
?”

Marigold babbled on and on into the phone, clutching it so tight she embedded it into her head.

“What do you
mean
?” she repeated again and again.

Then her whole stance changed as if an electric shock had gone through her.

“Micky! Look darling, what is Star
on
about? Why are you still in Brighton? It's going to take you
hours
to get here. No.
No!
Look, she's not staying with you. Not even overnight. For God's sake, put her in the car and come here. We can talk it over then. She can't stay. She hasn't got any of her
things
. What? Look, there's school. She can't miss school. Wait till the summer holidays, it's not long now. Then she can stay a few days, that's a lovely idea. But she can't stay now. I won't allow it. I'm her mother. Micky. Micky, please.”