Lottie Project (15 page)

I did not risk taking so much as one tiny teacup for Jessie’s present. I cut up one of my old black stockings that had worn away to holes and sat up sewing half the night, turning it into a little toy monkey like the one that sits on the organ-grinder’s shoulder. I wanted to give him a little jacket and cap too, so I cut a square out of my red flannel petticoat. It will not show, after
all
. The monkey looked splendid in his fine red clothes. My eyes were red too the next day from sewing by candlelight and I was desperately tired, but I did not care for once. I wrapped the monkey in a piece of last week’s newspaper and tied it with string and inked the address really large and clear upon the front and posted it off in plenty of time.

I felt happy for the first time since I have been working here. But now I feel sad, because I cannot see Jessie opening her present. I cannot give her a birthday kiss. I am so scared Jessie might forget all about me as I can only go home one day a year, on Mothering Sunday. Baby Ada-May will think me a total stranger. It makes my heart break.

The Mistress came into the nursery unexpectedly and found me weeping with my head in the wardrobe.

‘Whatever is the matter, Charlotte?’ she said. ‘You are not ill, are you?’

‘No, Madam.’

‘Then why are you crying? Make haste with Miss Louisa’s dress, or the child will get a chill.’

‘Yes, Madam. Sorry, Madam. I’m just sad because I miss my family so.’

‘You are part of
this
family now,’ said the Mistress.

She said it as if she were granting me an immense
privilege
. But I do not care for this family. How can I be part of it when I can never answer back or say what I really think? How can I feel really close to these children when I have to call them Miss and Master? I have to look after them all the time but there is no-one to look after me.

COURTSHIP

‘I LOOK SUCH
a mess,’ Jo wailed.

‘You look fine,’ I said. Though she didn’t. She had two spots and her hair needed washing and her sweater had shrunk and her leggings were all baggy at the knee.

‘I’m going to have to change,’ said Jo, diving into the bedroom. ‘Keep an eye on Robin for me.’

I frowned after her. I went and fetched a drawing pad and felt tip pens. I put them in front of Robin on the kitchen table.

‘Right. You can do a drawing with my own personal set of super felt tip pens – so long as you promise not to press too hard on the points, OK?’

‘OK,’ said Robin eagerly, because I didn’t often let him borrow them. He was used to making do with his own little-boy wax crayons.

He picked up the red, ready to draw his usual neat square house.

‘Don’t draw any of that boring old house and mummy and daddy stuff. Why don’t you pretend
Birdie
’s grown ginormous and you get on his back and you both fly away to a Magic Land where anything can happen. Draw that.’

Robin blinked at me doubtfully.

‘Go on,’ I said, giving him a little nudge. ‘I’m just going to go and have a talk with my mother, OK? Do not disturb us unless it’s a dire emergency like you’ve been seized with an uncontrollable desire to stick two felt tips simultaneously into your eyes and you need immediate medical attention.’

Robin nibbled his lip, glancing nervously at the tin of felt tips as if they might spontaneously attack him.

I sighed and marched into the bedroom. Jo had pulled off her old cleaning clothes and was standing in her underwear, making faces at her clothes in the wardrobe.

‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘They’re all old and grotty and rubbish.’ She scratched her head. ‘Double yuck. So am I. I’ve
got
to wash my hair. I was going to do it yesterday but I was so blooming tired and then there wasn’t time to do more than splash my face this morning. Oh God, I think I’ll climb into the washing machine at the Rosens’ tomorrow morning and give myself a good soaping . . .’ She went burbling on like this, to herself rather than me, as she made for the bathroom in her knickers, remembered Robin, went back for her tatty old dressing gown, and then stripped off and stepped into the bath. ‘Do you think we’ll ever have enough spare cash to have a shower installed?’ she shouted over the roaring taps. ‘Pass us that Snoopy mug, Charlie –
and
the shampoo. What is it, eh? ’Cause I’m in a tearing hurry.’

‘Why are you fussing about what you look like?’ I said, sitting on the loo.

‘What?’ Jo said, tipping water over her head.

‘Why are you washing your hair
now
?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. My hair’s all lank and disgusting, that’s why,’ said Jo, exasperated. She lathered shampoo in and then wiped the bathroom mirror clear of steam and looked at herself. ‘
Look
at me. Spots all over the place. And huge great bags under my eyes. It’s not fair. I thought all this hard work would make me super fit at the very least and yet I look a wreck.’

‘Why does it matter so much?’ I said sternly.

‘Of course it matters,’ Jo snapped, rinsing. ‘I haven’t quite given up on myself yet. I don’t want to go round looking so dirty and disgusting that people in the streets run away from me screaming.’

‘You don’t mind what you look like when you go out to the supermarket,’ I said.

‘Well at that time most people have their eyes tightly closed – even the ones that are up,’ said Jo, sluicing more water over herself and then getting up. ‘Pass us that towel and stop being so stupid.’

‘You’re the one that’s being stupid in my opinion,’ I said. ‘You don’t care what you look like when you go to the Rosens’ either, you just wear any old gungy thing. You don’t care what you look like when you
go
and collect Robin from school and bring him back here. But suddenly, when it’s time to take him home to his dad, it’s flap and fuss and you getting worked up into a right flap-doodle.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ said Jo, towelling herself dry.

‘Yes you do. What’s the matter with you, Jo? Why are you trying to impress that wimpy little kid’s father, eh?’

‘I’m not. I just want him to see he’s got a competent and reasonably clean person looking after his son. Stop looking so
fierce
, Charlie.’

‘But you like him, don’t you?’ I asked.

‘I don’t even know him properly. He’s just my employer.’

‘You’re not going to do anything really gross and go out with him, are you?’ I said.

‘Oooh, now, that’s a great idea,’ said Jo. ‘And you and your Jamie could come too on a double date, how about that?’

‘You shut up teasing me. I’m serious!’ I said. ‘I’m having grave doubts about you, Loopy Mum. We don’t like men, remember?
Especially
the lean lost ones. Honestly! What a description. You are a
fool
.’

‘Don’t you tell me I’m a fool. I’m your mother!’ said Jo, trying to act all dignified. ‘Now go and keep an eye on poor little Robin and stop bugging me. Do as you’re told!’

‘Who’s going to make me? You and whose army?’ I said, standing my ground.

‘Go!’ said Jo, giving me a push.

‘No!’ I said, giving her a push back.

‘You do as I say,’ said Jo, pushing with both hands.

‘I don’t want to,’ I said, pushing back.

We went on pushing and shoving and Jo’s towel fell off and she tried to grab it and I snatched it first and slipped on the bath mat and Jo fell on top of me and we rolled around, starting to giggle as we wrestled.

‘Oh!’ said a little voice.

We looked up and there was Robin at the bathroom door, his mouth open in astonishment.

‘Sorry, Robin!’ said Jo, grabbing the towel back and wrapping it round herself.

‘Are you fighting?’ Robin enquired timidly.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘No, of course we’re not,’ said Jo. ‘Take no notice of Charlie, Robin. She’s a wild child, totally out of my control.’

‘Grrrrrr!’ I said, baring my teeth dramatically.

‘Will she fight me?’ Robin asked.

‘No, of course she won’t, she’s only teasing,’ said Jo.

‘Yes, I will,’ I said, and I swooped on him and picked him up under his armpits and swung him round wildly so that his spindly legs kicked in the air.

He squealed noisily but he seemed to be enjoying it.

‘Stop being so rough with him,’ Jo called, pulling on her clothes in the bedroom.

‘Is he lean and lost like his daddy then?’ I said, setting Robin back on his feet. His face was flushed robin red, his eyes dark with excitement. He took a step and staggered. I caught hold of him.

‘It’s OK, you’re just giddy,’ I said as he clung to me. His hands were like little monkey paws. I wondered if he’d ever clung to his mum the way he was clinging to me.

‘Giddy,’ Robin repeated. This was obviously a new experience for him. He moved tentatively.

‘There, it’s getting better, isn’t it? Hey, did you put all the tops back on my felt tip pens, yeah?’

‘Oh yes. Honest,’ said Robin.

‘Did you do a drawing?’

‘I started.’