Queenie (3 page)

I turned my back on her. We waited and waited.

‘He’s a long time, that bobby. Maybe he can’t get hold of your mum. You sure you gave him the right telephone number?’ she said.

I nodded. I was feeling sick with worry though. Mum’s phone number kept changing. I thought I’d got the right one, but perhaps she’d moved on. She lived in so many digs while she was touring. Or she might be living with an uncle. I wasn’t sure she had one at the moment, but you could never tell with Mum.

What if he really couldn’t get hold of her? What would happen to me?

Sour water spurted into my mouth. I had to make a run for it.

‘Hold on – where are you going?’ Nan’s friend asked.

‘The lav,’ I said tersely.

I only just got there in time. I threw up down the pan and then stood there trembling, blinking away the tears. I blew my nose on the toilet paper and took a gulp of water from the cold tap. I didn’t want to go back and face the friend, so I sat on the edge of the bath, snivelling into a flannel.

After a little while there was a knock on the door. ‘Elsie? Are you all right?’ she called.

I didn’t bother answering. Of course I wasn’t all right! Nan was in hospital and I wasn’t sure about Mum and I knew all too well what might happen to me. It had happened once before, long ago. I couldn’t really remember it properly. It was when I was really little and living with Mum. I think she went out and left me and some landlady heard me crying. I ended up in a big Home that wasn’t a bit like a home at all, with a lot of other children, and I didn’t know anyone and I had to eat cabbage and I got smacked for wetting the bed. I still had nightmares about it, though I think I was only there for a few days. Nan came to get me and I went to live with her.

I was so scared I was going to have to go back to that Home. But then I heard the front door and the
policeman’s
voice, and I went dashing out of the bathroom.

‘Hey, hey,’ he said when he saw my red eyes and wet cheeks. ‘It’s all right. Your mum’s coming.’

She didn’t come straight away. She couldn’t come till the evening. She sent a message to say I should go to school, just like normal, but I didn’t want to go. In the end I went to the police station with the policeman. I was scared he’d lock me in a cell, but he was very kind and sat me on his desk and took my fingerprints, and even let me play with a pair of handcuffs. Lots of the policemen came and talked to me and called me funny names like Tuppenny and Dandelion-and-Burdock. They gave me steak and kidney pie and chips for lunch, which was much nicer than school dinners. Then they gave me a newspaper with lots of photos, and I inked moustaches and beards on everyone, even the ladies. They played games with me too – Noughts and Crosses and Hangman. If I hadn’t felt so anxious about Nan I’d have had a lovely time.

Then Mum arrived – and she wasn’t cross at all. She looked beautiful in her best red coat, with her hair all loose and blonde and fluffy on her shoulders. All the policemen looked at her as if she were a film star.

‘My poor little girl,’ she said to me, and she gave me a big cuddle right in front of everyone.

We even got a lift home in a proper police car. I wanted to hear the siren, and they played it just once, as a treat. I thought we’d be going straight to the hospital to visit Nan, but we went back home instead.

‘But we have to see Nan!’ I said.

‘It’s too late now,’ said Mum, putting the kettle on. ‘Visiting hours are in the afternoon, two till four. I phoned and checked.’

‘Oh, we’ve missed it! Nan will be so sad and lonely by herself! Did you speak to her, Mum? Is she all right? When can she come home?’ I gabbled.

‘Ssh now, calm down. I don’t think she’s staying in that hospital. They’re talking about moving her tomorrow,’ said Mum.

‘Oh, she’s coming home tomorrow!’ I said, clapping my hands.

‘No, she’s got to go to a special blooming sanatorium.’ Mum leaned against the wall, rubbing her forehead, her eyes closed.

‘A sanatorium?’ I said. ‘What’s that? What’s wrong with Nan?’

‘They think she’s only gone and got TB,’ said Mum, lowering her voice when she said the two initials, as if it were somehow shameful.

I’d vaguely heard of TB but didn’t know much about it.

‘Nan will get better though, won’t she?’ I whispered.

‘How on earth do I know? Oh God, I could weep. Why didn’t she go to the doctor’s when she first started coughing? Maybe it wouldn’t have turned into full-blown TB then! Oh Lordy, how are we going to manage now? We’ll have to keep this quiet. I’ll never get another job if it gets out there’s TB in the family. They’re ever so particular when you’re in theatrical digs – you nearly always have to go for an X-ray to prove you haven’t got it.’

‘TB means she’s really, really ill, doesn’t it?’ I said, and started crying again.

‘Oh God, don’t start that grizzling. My head’s splitting as it is,’ said Mum. ‘What did Nanny do with that Christmas sherry? I need a tot of something to buck me up.’

‘I can go and see her tomorrow, can’t I?’ I said urgently.

‘What? No, you’ve got school. I’ll go,’ said Mum. ‘I need to see how long this is going to take. I can’t just walk out on my job, you know. I’ve got a pal to cover for me this week, though she doesn’t really fit into the costume – but I have to get back as soon as possible.’ She opened up all the cupboards and found the Bristol Cream.

I watched as she had first one tot, then another. ‘That’s
Nan’s
sherry, Mum. She’s saving it for Christmas,’ I said.

‘Mmm, well, Merry Christmas and ho ho ho,’ said Mum. ‘Now, make yourself useful, Elsie, and run down to the chippy for two fish suppers. I’m starving.’

I could see there was no point arguing. I kept as quiet as I could all evening. I slipped into Nan’s room and wrapped myself up in her old bobbly dressing gown and then buried my head in her pillow, snuffling up the sweet Nan smell. I found a hankie tucked under the pillow, the one I’d bought last Christmas with N for Nan stitched in one corner. I folded it tight in my hand, fingering the stitches.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Mum when she found me. She sounded horrified. ‘Get up, you stupid girl. Go to your own bed if you’re sleepy. Come on, I need to strip that bed.’

‘Why? Don’t take Nan’s sheets off!’ I said as she started pulling them onto the floor.

‘They’ll be crawling with germs! I’m sleeping in with you tonight!’ said Mum, pulling at the sheets viciously.

I hoped she’d leave them in a pile in a corner of the bedroom, but she took them to the bath and put them to soak in soapy water. She even washed Nan’s dressing gown. I clung tightly to the hankie, hiding it as best I could.

When Mum had scrubbed and pummelled the sheets and gown and strangled the water out of them,
she
hung them up over all the doors, so that it rained inside for hours, the whole flat a fug of damp that made my nostrils hurt.

She wasn’t finished even then. She washed all the curtains too, swept all the floors, polished all the windows, moving round the flat like a whirlwind, her beautiful hair tied up in a turban and her dress tucked up out of the way in her knickers as if she were a little girl about to do a handstand.

She toiled madly far into the night, and then came crawling into my little bed. There was hardly room for one, let alone two, and neither of us slept properly.

She insisted on me going to school the next day.

‘I
can’t
, Mum! I’ve
got
to go and visit Nan!’ I said.

‘You’re not staying off school and that’s that. Hospitals are no place for kiddies,’ said Mum.

‘Oh Mum, please, I can’t bear it if I can’t see Nan!’ I said, starting to sob.

‘Now cut that out! Haven’t I got enough to cope with? Look, I’ll take you to see Nanny on Saturday –
if
you’re a good girl.’

There was no arguing with her. I trailed to school wishing Mum were in hospital instead of Nan. Marilyn Hide and Susan Bradshaw kept picking on me, mocking my hairstyle and my old tunic and my boy’s shoes, but for once I just stared at them deadpan, not really bothering. Then they started saying
horrible
things about my mum. I didn’t really care, because I didn’t like Mum that much either, but then they said something about my
daft, smelly old nan
. I kicked them hard with my boy’s shoes and they ran off screaming to tell our teacher, Miss Roberts.

I did get a bit worried then, because I liked Miss Roberts a lot. I loved her fluffy hair and her even fluffier angora jumpers. She was usually very kind to me, and once she gave me a gold star for one of my stories. I didn’t want her to be cross with me.

My heart thumped when she beckoned to me from the other side of the playground. Marilyn and Susan sauntered off smugly arm in arm, nodding their heads at me.

I trailed miserably over to Miss Roberts.

‘Oh dear, Elsie. I hear you’ve fallen out with Marilyn and Susan again,’ she said.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘They said you kicked them?’

‘I . . . I couldn’t help it,’ I said. I looked down at my shoes as if they had a will of their own.

‘Did they kick you first?’ asked Miss Roberts. ‘You were limping as you walked across the playground.’

I tried to stand up properly. ‘Sorry, miss.’

‘You’re the one who’s hurt, Elsie, not me,’ said Miss Roberts. ‘I know full well Marilyn and Susan tend to gang up on you, dear.’

‘Well, they didn’t exactly
kick
me, Miss Roberts,’ I said, hovering near the truth.

She thought I was protecting them and gave me a little pat on the head. ‘Are you all right, Elsie?’ she said. ‘You’ve been a bit dreamy in class and you’re looking a bit peaky. Weren’t you very well yesterday?’

I fidgeted uncomfortably. I so wanted to tell her all about Nan and how worried I was, but Mum said I wasn’t to breathe a word.

‘There’ll be hell to pay if they find out about the TB. We don’t want anyone poking their nose into our affairs,’ she’d said. ‘You don’t need to blab about Nan.
I’m
your mum – and don’t you forget it.’

There wasn’t much chance of that. I decided I couldn’t risk telling Miss Roberts, so I said I’d just had a tummy ache yesterday. She didn’t look as if she really believed me, but she patted me on the head and said I could go indoors for the rest of playtime and read a comic.

Marilyn and Susan were lurking nearby, and they nudged each other in triumph when they saw me go in the girls’ entrance, thinking I was in disgrace. I knew it was a privilege, not a punishment, to sit peacefully in the classroom reading ‘The Bash Street Kids’ and sucking at an old toffee paper. But I couldn’t feel happy. My stomach was in knots and I thought of Nan with every beat of my heart.

‘
DID YOU GO
to see her, Mum?’ I asked, the minute I’d got indoors from school.

‘Yes, yes, of course I did. I took her a clean nightie and dressing gown, and her hair rollers and brush, and a stick of 4711 eau de cologne – I bought it specially,’ said Mum. ‘I packed up a little case for her. They were taking her in an ambulance to the sanatorium this afternoon.’

‘Will she get better there? Can she come home soon?’ I gabbled desperately.

‘No, of course not. She’s still very poorly and she’s got to stay in bed there and not budge for weeks,’ said Mum. ‘She has to get that cough better. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. Who’s going to look after you? You can’t come and live with me – they don’t take kiddies in theatrical digs, and anyway, there’d be nobody to keep an eye on you. Oh Gawd, what a shame you’re not a bit older, eh?’ She sucked in her breath through her teeth.

‘Mum?’

‘Shut it now, Elsie. I’m trying to think.’

‘Mum, Nan isn’t going to . . . to die, is she?’ I whispered.

‘What?’

‘She promised me she wouldn’t, but
can
you die of TB?’ I persisted, starting to cry.

‘Stop that,’ said Mum, but then she put out her arms and gave me a hug. I breathed in her Coty L’Aimant talcum smell and sobbed harder.

‘Nanny’s a fighter, you know that. Of course she’ll get better. Look, we’ll go and visit her at the weekend, and you’ll see for yourself,’ said Mum, pulling me properly onto her lap.

‘I’ll be able to see her on Saturday? You promise, Mum?’ I said, sniffing.

‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, wipe that nose. I don’t want snot all over my best blouse.
Yes
, I promise,’ she said.

* * *

So on Saturday I marched along beside Mum, and inside my head I chanted,
See Nan, see Nan, see Nan
, as I put my left foot down and then my right, determinedly marching.

‘Stop limping, Elsie!’ said Mum.

I stared down at my skinny legs. I pulled a face at my grey socks and brown Clarks lace-ups. ‘It’s these shoes,’ I said. ‘They’re too small now. They’re hurting my toes.’ I wanted new shoes – shiny black patent ones, or bright scarlet with a strap.

Mum bent over and prodded my feet through the ugly brown leather. ‘Nonsense, you’ve got heaps of room.’

‘Couldn’t I have them anyway? I hate these. They’re boy’s shoes!’

Nan had found them for a shilling at a jumble sale, barely worn and my size, worst luck.