Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [22]
Not every flat we lived in had an indoor toilet, but May Road did, which was lucky because Mum spent a lot of time in there being sick. Sometimes her illnesses came out of the blue. On other occasions they followed a night out. Either way, I would stand next to her with a cold flannel or just hugging her or sometimes crying to see her in distress. I didn’t like it.
Mum’s nights out weren’t as regular as they had been when she was working, but they were a lot more random. They went on for longer too. I watched her dabbing some perfume on one night and studying her face in the mirror, and guessed something was going on. I caught her eye in the mirror.
‘Am I going to Granny’s?’ I asked.
Bending down, she gave me a squeeze. ‘You’re a big girl now. You’ll be all right.’
Yes, I thought proudly, I will.
I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t disappointed. I certainly didn’t feel abandoned or anything like that. As much as I loved staying at Granny’s bungalow, with all its home comforts, nothing beat the thrill of just being at home. Everything I had – and it wasn’t much – was here. Most importantly, though, I wanted to be there when Mum came home. Just in case she needed my help.
So Mum went out and I collected kindling and lit the fire as normal. I promised myself I’d stay awake until she got in, but of course I fell asleep. When I woke, at about five in the morning, she still hadn’t returned.
I hope she’s all right.
Then I rolled over and didn’t wake again till noon.
Sometimes Mum stayed out all night, sometimes she didn’t come home for a day or two. I wasn’t unduly bothered. It just meant more opportunities to play with friends during the day and more time spent cleaning the flat, crocheting pom-poms or beating myself at solitaire at night. And there was always Mushka to play with in my little cupboard room.
Mum never apologized when she came in, but then I never expected her to. She was the boss. If she popped out for five minutes or five days, that was up to her. It was my job to be there when she returned, to have the place looking as welcoming as I could muster. And besides, she was often so poorly when she came home that no one would have had the heart to be cross with her. I’d just help her undress, whatever time of day or night it was, guide her to her little sofa bed and tuck her in. Then I’d kiss her forehead, wish her sweet dreams and get on with my day. Perfectly fine. And perfectly normal.
Mum never told me not to mention her comings and goings to Granny, but instinctively I didn’t. If she called round with food and Mum wasn’t in I’d say she’d nipped to the shops. If Granny wanted to hang around I’d say I wanted to play with friends so we’d both leave together. It’s not that I thought Mum was doing anything wrong; I just sensed that Granny had her way of thinking and Mum had hers.
One of the things I really loved about Mum, I now realize, was that she treated me like a grown-up. I wasn’t, of course. I was six. But every kid thinks they know it all, even the ones who can’t tie their own shoelaces. They all dream of killing dragons, flying to the moon and bossing large numbers of people. I was no different. So when Mum let me clean the kitchen, I was delirious. When she allowed me to tidy the hearth and the toilet, it was an honour. Anything I wanted to do, she’d just look at me, smile and say, ‘Go ahead.’
Sometimes there were problems even I couldn’t fix. Every so often, thanks to Granny’s generosity, Mum had enough money to put coins in the meter for a month or two. We didn’t have central heating, but suddenly we were able to turn the oven on for a bit of warmth or, best of all, actually play music on Mum’s record player. I’d never seen her happier than when she was listening to her music. On nights when she didn’t come home, as long as we had power, I’d just play records till I fell asleep. I loved Mum’s Bay City Rollers and