Queenie (27 page)

‘You could always wear them Stephanie Beauman knickers. Nurse Johnson wears them,’ I said.

‘No blooming fear!’ She sat up straight, sticking out her chest, smoothing her hands over her stomach.
‘
Am
I getting fat?’ she said again, glancing coyly at Martin’s dad.

He looked eager to reassure her, but one glance at his own wife made him keep quiet.

‘Your mum!’ said Martin, when visiting time was over.

‘What
about
my mum?’

‘Showing all her chest like that!’ he said.

‘It’s the fashion,’ I said fiercely.

‘That’s not fashion,’ Gillian muttered to Rita. ‘That’s dead common.’

‘Yeah,
my
mum calls her the blonde floosie,’ Rita whispered.

‘I
heard
that! You shut up about my mum.
Your
mums are just jealous because she’s so pretty,’ I said, burning.

I wouldn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the day. I called for Queenie, but she was out hunting in the grounds. I tried to pretend her, but it wouldn’t work. I was so used to her soft warm weight that I couldn’t conjure her up convincingly. I tried imagining Snow White and Sooty and Marmalade, but I hadn’t played with them for a while and they suddenly seemed like a baby game. I was so jangled up inside I couldn’t play
anything
. If only Nan could visit me instead of Mum.

I almost wished Mum wouldn’t come visiting at all –
but
when she didn’t come the next Saturday, I was devastated. I craned my neck for two whole hours, until I felt my head would snap right off and roll under the bed. I couldn’t help thinking something bad had happened and it was all my fault for being ashamed of her.

I plucked up the courage to ask Nurse Curtis if Mum had sent a message to say she couldn’t come.

‘I’m sorry, dear. Maybe she’ll come tomorrow,’ she said, and she sat beside me and chatted for five minutes, telling me silly stories to distract me.

Even Nurse Patterson wasn’t quite so cool when she washed me ready for bed that night. She didn’t comment on my tear-stained cheeks, but when she’d finished me, patting me drier than the Sahara, she said, ‘Chin up, chicken.’

I kept my chin right down on my chest until Queenie came to see me. I’d been too distracted to save her any titbits, but she was very forgiving. She walked all round me, purring, and then curled up beside me, nestling into my neck.

‘Oh Queenie, what’s happened to my mum?’ I whispered.

‘Nothing’s happened to her, dearie,’ Queenie purred. ‘You know what your mum’s like. She’s a busy lady, especially now she’s got this new job with old Mr Perkychops.’ She yawned, clearly bored silly just at
the
mention of his name. ‘Tell you what, Elsie! I expect she went shopping. Yes, she’ll have gone to Woolworths and bought you another pair of cat pyjamas – very fetching, those jim-jams, with all those beautiful white cats.’ She preened herself, knowing that if there were a talking mirror in Cat Land, it would declare that
she
was the most beautiful of them all.

‘Do you
really
think she went to get me new pyjamas? So will she come with them tomorrow?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, of course,’ Queenie purred. ‘Now lie still and stop fussing so we can both go to sleep.’

I woke up convinced that Queenie was right – but I started to doubt as Sunday morning moved on. I was in a terrible state by visiting time. I so hoped Mum would be first in the queue of visitors, rushing out onto the veranda the moment the bell rang – but she wasn’t there.

I had to lie trapped in my bed all alone for the next two hours while all the other parents chatted to their children.

‘Where’s your mum this weekend then?’ asked Martin’s dad.

‘Oh, she’s – she’s had to work this weekend. She’s a top secretary, you know, and her boss is very demanding,’ I said.

‘I’ll bet,’ he said. ‘Here, our Martin, give us that Mars bar back. We need to share it with the little lass.’

I thought Martin would object, but he didn’t even murmur when his dad broke it in half. I usually thought Mars bars a great treat. I liked to nibble along the top until I got to the wonderful sticky caramel part – but this time I ate it properly. It tasted of cardboard. I was glad to brush my teeth that night to get rid of the taste.

I didn’t want to talk to anyone again. I pretended to be asleep when Nurse Gabriel and Nurse Johnson came on duty – but my dear Nurse Gabriel wasn’t fooled. We were friends again now, though neither of us risked referring to Nurse Patterson.

She sat on my bed and held my hand.

‘My mum didn’t come!’ I mumbled.

‘Yes, I saw the visitors’ book.’

‘And she didn’t come yesterday either.’

‘Poor Elsie.’

‘Do you think she’s . . .all right?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I’m sure she is. You mustn’t fret, Elsie. But listen, why don’t you write
her
a letter? I’ll post it for you.’

‘Oh,
would
you? Can I write it now?’

‘If it’s just a little letter and you’re very quick.’

‘And can I write to Nan again too?’

‘You can write to your nan tomorrow.’

‘Do you think she really got my last letter? She hasn’t written back.’

‘I don’t think she’ll be allowed to, not if she’s really poorly,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘Now, let’s get this letter written, lickety-spit.’

Dear Mum
,

I hope you are all right. I missed you on Saturday and Sunday. Please come to see me
.

Love from Elsie
.

P.S. And please could you bring me some new cat pyjamas as I hate the hospital nighties
.

‘There now,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘I’ll fetch you an envelope and you can write the address. Better print it to make it really clear.’

‘I’m not a very good writer, am I,’ I said, looking at my scrawl. My letters were wobbly and tipped uncertainly backwards and forwards.

‘Maybe you’re not so hot at writing things down – but I know you’re very good at making up stories in your head. I hope you’ll carry on with your storytelling, Elsie. The other children are missing their night-time treat. Poor Angus is quite upset.’

‘I’ll tell a story again tomorrow,’ I said.

‘That’s a good kind girl. Now, let me settle you
down
for the night.’ She turned my pillow over so I could have the cool side and plumped it up carefully. She smoothed my hair out of my face and tucked the sheets under my chin.

‘Night-night, sweetheart,’ she said softly, stroking my cheek.

‘Oh Nurse Gabriel! I wish
you
were my mum,’ I whispered.

She seemed startled, but she smiled at me sweetly. ‘And I wish you were my little girl, Elsie,’ she said.

I tried to dream that Nurse Gabriel really was my mum and we lived in a lovely house with a special bed for poorly Nan, and Queenie came to live with us too, and we all lived happily ever after. But when I fell asleep, everything got mixed up and terrible. Nurse Gabriel ran away and didn’t come back, and Queenie hissed at me, and poor Nan lay very still and grey in her bed, and she wouldn’t open her eyes no matter how hard I tried to wake her . . .

I didn’t get a letter back from Mum – but she came the next Saturday. She was right at the front of the queue in her pink blouse and tight white trousers, flip-flapping her way down the veranda in new high-heeled mules – and she had a carrier bag in her hand.

‘Oh Mum!’ I said, and I burst into tears.

‘Well,
there’s
a nice greeting! Come on, stop that silly bawling. Look, I’ve got a present for you.’

‘Is it – oh, is it new cat pyjamas?’ I said.

‘You have a little look,’ said Mum, thrusting the carrier bag at me.

There was a flat box tied with ribbon and the name of a fancy department store written again and again, the way I scrawled
Elsie Kettle
hundreds of times on my school jotter.

‘But this isn’t a Woolworths box,’ I said.

‘This is none of your Woolworths rubbish, silly. Take a look!’ said Mum.

My hands trembled as I undid the ribbon and opened the box. I had to scrabble amongst the tissue paper before I brought out my surprise. It didn’t seem to be pyjamas after all, just a blouse top with puff sleeves and yet another pair of terrible frilly knickers.

‘Well?’ Mum demanded. ‘Aren’t they absolutely darling?’

‘Yes, but – but I can’t wear proper clothes while I’m in hospital.’

‘They’re pyjamas, silly! Baby-doll pyjamas. They’re the latest thing. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve bought a pair for myself! As soon as I saw them I knew they’d be perfect for you. I
had
to buy them even though they cost a fortune.’

‘Are you
sure
they’re pyjamas, Mum?’

‘Yes, silly. Jayne Mansfield’s wearing a pair in my latest copy of
Picture Show
. And they’re ideal for you
because
they’ve got the panties, see. I know you can’t get pyjama legs over that awful brace thing. How is your leg? Let me have a look.’ She peered under the blanket, tutting.

I stared at the baby-doll pyjamas. ‘They’ve got little red hearts on,’ I said flatly.

‘Yes, aren’t they cute?’ said Mum.

They might be cute, but they weren’t
cats
. I wondered if I dared beg Mum to return the baby-dolls and buy the right pyjamas – but I was pretty sure I knew what her reaction would be. I bit my lip instead.

‘I don’t know how that leg’s going to get any better if they don’t give it any treatment. It’ll wither up if you stop using it altogether. I think you’d be much better off hobbling around to make it work again. I need you to get better and be a good strong girl. I want to show you off to Mr Perkins, and he’s very particular. He’s got a horror of hospitals and cripples. He says it makes his stomach turn over. He can’t even look at that little plaster boy with a surgical boot that stands outside the chemist’s shop – you know, the one where you put your money in the slot in his head and it goes to some sick kiddies’ charity.’

I knew and loved that plaster boy. Nan always let me put a penny in him when we went to buy cough sweets and milk of magnesia and sticking plasters. I called him the Penny Boy and pretended he was real.
He
stumped along beside me when we went to Woolworths, and I let him choose a toy from the penny counter and shared my packet of lemonade dip with him.

Now I burned with indignation on his behalf as much as my own. ‘Mr Perkins sounds silly,’ I muttered.

‘What was that? Don’t you go bad-mouthing him! He’s my boss and he’s a very important man,’ said Mum.

I looked at her. ‘He
is
your boyfriend now, isn’t he?’

‘Stop that cheek or I’ll give you a good slapping,’ said Mum indignantly. Her cheeks were as pink as her lipstick. Who did she think she was kidding? Of course he was her boyfriend.

‘Where were you last Saturday?’ I asked. ‘Why didn’t you come to see me?’

‘Gawd, another Spanish Inquisition! I was
busy
last weekend. I had to do overtime. We had a sudden big order and it was all hands on deck.’

‘So you were with Mr Perkins?’

‘There’s no need to say it in that way. I
told
you, he’s just my boss and I’ve got to do my best to keep in with him. He’s not a bit like the sleazy riff-raff you get in show business. You should see his suits! They’re all bespoke, Savile Row – and his shoes are so highly polished you can see your face in them. He wouldn’t
be
seen dead in suede. Now listen, I’ll do my best to trail over here to visit you—’

‘And Nan.’

‘Well, she’s not up to visitors, so stop giving me your orders, Miss Saucebox. Apparently she’s taken a turn for the worse,’ said Mum.

‘Oh no!’

‘Now now, no need to act like a little tragedy queen. They’ve collapsed her lung.’

‘What? Why did they do that?’

‘
I
don’t know. All these medical experts do this and that, but none of it seems to make any sense. All I know is she’s got to have complete rest and peace and quiet and no visitors. Maybe it’s just as well. TB is very catching. She’s already given it to you.’

‘No she
didn’t!
Nurse Gabriel said—’

‘Oh, I know, but nurses will say any old thing. Fancy coming out with that cow fairy story! As if you could catch TB from a glass of milk! If Mr Perkins knew that, he’d never have a cup of tea again, which would make my life a lot easier. I have to make him a fresh cup at least five times a day.
Anyway
, we can’t afford for me to catch it too, else we’d all be in Queer Street. Do stop looking at me like that, with those big eyes. You’re starting to
look
like a cow now. You’ll be mooing next.’

I shut my eyes tight.

‘And don’t go to sleep on me either! I thought you were desperate for me to visit you, writing me little letters! You love your mummy really, don’t you, you funny little kid?’

I nodded obediently.

‘I can’t wait to see you in your new baby-dolls. You’ll look so sweet,’ said Mum.

I saved wearing them till the next Saturday, so they’d be clean and uncreased. Nurse Curtis cut the ribbon round the box in half and tied each piece round the end of my plaits.

‘There, you look as pretty as a picture,’ she said.

But our efforts were wasted. Mum didn’t come at all that weekend.