Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [24]
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Now, when I come here again, that’s your job, okay?’
I nodded. It had been fun. He seemed nice.
The next time I saw Mark he was with two different guys. Once again he dispatched me to the kitchen with his little bag of herbs. This time, though, he had something else for me. It looked like something from one of the Saturday morning science-fiction films I’d seen.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a bong,’ he said.
‘What’s it for?’
‘It’s for smoking. This is going to be another of your jobs.’
Rolling a cigarette that doesn’t look too much like a trumpet is one thing. Getting your head around this glass contraption, with its arms and tubes, was something else. But Mark showed me what needed to be done and off I went. Once again, I had a puzzle and I was determined to solve it.
Mark and his friends came round quite a lot, probably about once or twice a week. I couldn’t put my finger on who they were because Mum never looked overjoyed to see them, but she never made any attempt to get rid of them either. So one or two guys would arrive, followed by another pair and another couple, and before you knew it the lounge was chockablock with men – and us.
I was kept busy rolling cigarettes – or ‘joints’ as they called them – and keeping the bong operational. I liked it. Anything to make Mum’s friends happy. But if I’m honest, I seemed to enjoy it more than Mum did. Every time I looked at her she would be smoking and smiling, occasionally inhaling from the glass tubes. But she never looked me in the eye. Her mind always seemed to be someplace else.
Usually everyone just sat around in a huge cloud of smoke, talking and laughing. If I wasn’t in the kitchen, I would try to squeeze up close to Mum, but the sweet-smelling fog made me cough. Mark or one of the others would sometimes suggest I go out to play. If Mum agreed, then I would. And Mum always agreed.
When Mark and his mates weren’t clogging up the flat, and when Mum was awake, we still had a lot of fun together. In the past every day with her had been an adventure. Those days were fewer and further between now, but when Mum was in the mood it was the best feeling in the world.
Sometimes, after the men had been, Mum had a bit more money than usual. Whenever there was a pound or two in her pocket she liked to go out to a café. So, after one impromptu party that had ended in the early evening, off we went. Mum was in a giggly mood all night, which of course was contagious. On the way home we were like a couple of young friends, not mother and daughter. Whatever the other said seemed to be the funniest joke in the world. It was a brilliant night. Then, about five minutes from our house, the night got even better.
‘Look at that!’ Mum said, stopping suddenly outside a beautiful terraced house.
I followed her gaze to the front door, outside of which stood a terracotta pot containing a sumptuous, colourful trailing plant. I had no idea what it was, but I knew it was stunning. Mum did too. But whereas I was about to consign it to memory and move on, she a better idea.
‘Come on,’ she whispered, desperately trying not to laugh. ‘Let’s get it.’
So that’s what we did. The pot was heavy and it took the pair of us to lift it. Then we staggered home like a pair of drunken sailors, weaving all over the pavement until we reached the flat. Once inside, Mum put it next to the fireplace, then collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
What a night, I thought, still smiling. Brilliant.
Unfortunately, it was about to take a turn for the worse. We’d been in about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. I’d managed to get the fire going and our new acquisition looked stunning in the flickering light. I was thinking of joining Mum and going to sleep when there was a knock at the door.
Not those men again. They’ve only just left.
Mum was sound asleep, so I opened the door. But it wasn’t Mark and co. It was the police.
‘Hello, miss,’ the officer said. ‘Is there a grown-up at home?’
I must have instinctively