But, that day, I’d been feeling so happy. All the way to the library, and all the way home, the world had suddenly seemed so huge and colourful, the wind so puffy and fresh, the skies so high. To come home in such tremendous spirits and pull Dad’s heavy spade out of the shed to dig up spuds for Mum because I love her and she was happy today, too – and then to come through the door and, within seconds, find that the carping had begun again…
Well, it was all too much. I burst out crying. To be quite honest, I didn’t even burst. I just began to cry, like a baby. Tears pricked behind my eyes, and before I could stop them – before I could even spin round and rush out of the room – they’d welled up and over, spilled down my cheeks, and splashed like ink blots on my muddy shoes.
‘Kitty! Oh, Kitty! Dearest!’
Pulling herself free, Mum was across the kitchen in a flash, and had her arms round me.
‘Kitty, my love.’
I’ll say this much for him, he had the grace to disappear without a word. And as soon as the door shut behind him, Mum asked:
‘What’s up, Kits? Kitty-kat, tell me.’
I scraped huge tears away with muddy palms.
‘I’m just fed up with him,’ I told her. ‘He’s always here now, practically every day. You’re not the same. I know you try to be, but you’re just different when he’s around. And he keeps saying what he thinks all the time, and what he thinks is never what we think, and I’m just sick of him.’
The tears were making me hiccup. Mum sat down on the nearest chair, and pulled me on her knee. Tugging the bottom of my shirt out of my jeans, she used the flap of it to wipe the mudstains off my cheeks. I must have looked a total wally – I’m practically as tall as Mum – but I didn’t care.
‘I think I’ve just had enough of him for a while. I feel squashed.’
Mum patted my damp knees.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, just like she used to when I was little and lost something precious, or had a bad fight, or couldn’t go to two birthday parties at once. ‘I’ll tell you what. We’ll make a deal. You hang on through the weekend, then I won’t invite Gerald all next week. We’ll phone your dad, and maybe you can go to Berwick upon Tweed next Friday, to make a change. Then we’ll have one more quiet week at home. After, Gerald can come for lunch at the weekend, and maybe by then you won’t be feeling so squashed.’
‘Why can’t we start now?’ I snivelled. ‘Why do I have to hang on through the weekend? Why can’t we have tomorrow to ourselves?’
‘But Kitty,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday. It’s the trip to the submarine base.’
I’d clean forgotten about that. I shouldn’t have, either. I’m one of the members of the committee that arranged it. Some other local group had booked a bus, and now they couldn’t fill it. Our lot had offered to pitch in and help.
But that would be all right. The three of us have always gone on these things as a family.
‘Well, we’ll be by ourselves.’
Mum shook her head.
‘No, we won’t. Gerald’s coming.’
‘Oh, no!’ I couldn’t help it. I just started howling all over again. ‘Why is he coming? He doesn’t even believe in what we’re doing.’
Mum looked embarrassed, but she answered firmly enough:
‘Kitty, he asked if he could come along, and I said yes.’
‘Tell him you’ve changed your mind!’
Mum looked distressed too, now.
‘I can’t,’ she said at last. ‘I’m sorry. I would if I could, but I can’t. I don’t mind telling him the truth that you’d prefer it if he didn’t come; but I can’t tell him that I’ve changed my mind.’
I sat slumped on her knee with my arms round her neck. Half of me would have given anything in the world to have the three of us – Mum, Jude and me – on our own for one day. The other half was absolutely determined that Goggle-eyes should never know he could upset me so much.
I rubbed my eyes.
‘Don’t tell him,’ I said fiercely. ‘Promise me. He can come with us tomorrow. But only if you don’t tell him that I mind.’
‘I promise. I won’t say a word.’
I slid off her knee before her blood supply was cut off for so long she ended up with gangrene.
‘I’ll go and wash my face.’
I crept as silently as I could through the hall. I needn’t have worried about being overheard. The living room door was only open a crack. Jude and Gerald were sitting together on the sofa. She had her arm around his neck the same way that she used to cling to Dad, and he was reading her the Stock Market report.
‘The FTSE share index finished a volatile session nursing a 44.9 points fall at 1,658.4 yesterday,’ he droned. ‘At one time it had been down 105.3 points.’
Jude’s thumb slid in her mouth, and her eyes closed. ‘The FT 30 share index closed 33.5 points down at 1,288.5. Government stocks were firm…’
I carried on upstairs. I felt terrible. Being outnumbered is horrid at the best of times. But when you know that everyone you care about will feel dead rotten if you get your way, getting your way goes sour. Whose feelings count for most? And why? I’ll tell you one thing I’m quite sure about: things are much simpler when it’s your real dad.
‘You’re telling me.’
Whoops! Wrapped up entirely in my own brilliant story-telling, I’d clean forgotten this was her problem, too. But Helen didn’t get a chance to start telling me about it because, just at that very moment, there was a sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door.
I thought it must be Liz, nosing about again in break-time. I was about to shout ‘Go away!’ when the quite unmistakable timbre of Mrs Lupey’s voice came effortlessly through the thick wooden panels of the door.
‘Mission Control calling Lost Property Capsule. How are things going in there?’
I couldn’t think what to answer, so I shouted back:
‘Fine!’
‘Helen?’
Helen took a deep breath. I think she was testing herself with some private psychic dipstick. Then she called:
‘I’m feeling ever so much better, Mrs Lupey.’
‘What?’
(Helen’s voice just doesn’t have the same wood-penetrating qualities as mine and Mrs Lupey’s.)
‘She says she’s feeling ever so much better!’ I yelled.
‘But is she coming out?’ bellowed Mrs Lupey. ‘Intergalactic time passes. Whole lessons are being missed. What are the chances of a dual return to base?’
I peered at Helen, who shook her head like a small child who thinks it’s being a right daredevil.
‘Not yet,’ she whispered. ‘I want to hear what happened to you first.’
‘Delicate mission under way,’ I yelled. ‘Briefing not yet fully accomplished. This capsule needs more time before it’s ordered to return to base.’
(I reckon if you play along with them, you can get anything you want.)
‘Right-ho, Number Twenty-two,’ she said. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
And off she went.
5
I can’t say Goggle-eyes made the world’s greatest effort to fit in well on our trip to the submarine base. For one thing he turned up at the rendezvous wearing his best suit, a club tie and freshly polished shoes.
‘You’re going to get filthy!’ said Mum.
‘Oh, yes?’ Goggle-eyes was already eyeing our grubby anoraks and kicker boots with some disfavour. ‘Holding the demo in a pig-sty, are we?’