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Authors: Susan Barker
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blouse was missing a button or two, the heart-shaped pendant of her nine-carat Argos necklace visible against her breastbone.
‘Julia,’ I said, ‘you were supposed to be home an hour ago. Your supper is ready.’
‘I don’t want any,’ she replied.
‘Whether you want any or not is beside the point. I go to a lot of trouble to make supper for you and Adam. And why is your shirt torn? They cost eight pounds each, those shirts. Where are the buttons?’
‘Dunno,’ she said.
The teenage ghost of Frances Milnar rolled her eyes.
‘From now on you are to come straight home from school. Do you hear me? No more dilly-dallying on the estate.’
I made up a plate for Julia and put it on the sideboard, but she ignored my calls and stayed in her room. If the girl is this disobedient at twelve, I shudder to think what she’ll be like at sixteen. Marjorie the caseworker says I must persevere, that the most important thing is for a family to stay together. But I am no good with children. It was the same story with her mother.
By the time I got back to my dinner Adam had nearly finished , and was mopping up the leftover gravy on his plate with his bread. The boy was not alone, for mad Grace, sister of my beloved Evangeline, was dancing in front of the fireplace. Grace was dressed up in her finest cheongsam, the ribbon in her hair like a roosting butterfly with scarlet wings. I sighed. After my tiff with Julia, a visit from the village idiot was the last thing I needed. A daft smile on her pretty moon-shaped face, Grace reached down and lifted the hem of her cheongsam. Back in The Village of Everlasting Peace Grace took up her skirt for any man – Muslim, Buddhist, Christian or Sikh. Evangeline couldn’t leave her sister alone for one minute, as Grace hopped into the jungle scrub with any fella who winked or whistled. Lecherous baying followed her wherever she went. The village children pelted Grace with stones, and women spat at her for encouraging their husbands to philander. Only the God-botherers Blanche Mallard and Marina Tolbin could find it in their hearts to be nice to her, babysitting Grace while Evangeline helped out in the medical hut, grooming her hair with the nit-comb and reciting prayers. Whether Grace’s harlotry was playful innocence or sex-crazed lunacy, I couldn’t tell. But my living room is not a go-go dancing club, and such lewd exhibitionism isn’t allowed. As her skirt went higher I was irritated to see Grace had neglected to wear knickers.
‘Stop that, Grace!’ I scolded. ‘For heaven’s sake, behave yourself! Put your skirt back down.’
The silly goose ignored me, dancing to the jaunty dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dah of
The Archers
’ theme tune, lifting her skirt and wiggling her bottom, as if to warm it by the fire. Adam stood up.
‘Do you know what Julia gets up to after school?’ I asked him. ‘Do you know who her friends are? I’m going to telephone their parents and find out what’s going on.’
Blank-faced, Adam clattered up his empty plate and cutlery. The boy does a good impersonation of a deaf mute when it suits him.
I wanted to shake him, but instead I lowered my fork and said: ‘It won’t do for you to be this way, Adam. I won’t be here for ever, and you must look after your little sister when I’m gone. You must look after her and love her. If you do one thing in your life, Adam, you must love someone. Love is the only thing that matters.’
No sooner had I said the words than I was ashamed. They must have seemed insincere to a boy to whom I so seldom spoke. I think my candour was inspired by mad Grace, flaunting the sacred flower of her femininity by the fireplace. She reminded me of Evangeline and her daily battle to keep her younger sister out of the scrub. The strength of her devotion.
Adam looked me in the eye and spoke for the first time in weeks, the donkey bray of adolescence catching me unawares. ‘Like you loved my mum?’
Then he left, and I heard the
‘Julia,’ I said, ‘you were supposed to be home an hour ago. Your supper is ready.’
‘I don’t want any,’ she replied.
‘Whether you want any or not is beside the point. I go to a lot of trouble to make supper for you and Adam. And why is your shirt torn? They cost eight pounds each, those shirts. Where are the buttons?’
‘Dunno,’ she said.
The teenage ghost of Frances Milnar rolled her eyes.
‘From now on you are to come straight home from school. Do you hear me? No more dilly-dallying on the estate.’
I made up a plate for Julia and put it on the sideboard, but she ignored my calls and stayed in her room. If the girl is this disobedient at twelve, I shudder to think what she’ll be like at sixteen. Marjorie the caseworker says I must persevere, that the most important thing is for a family to stay together. But I am no good with children. It was the same story with her mother.
By the time I got back to my dinner Adam had nearly finished , and was mopping up the leftover gravy on his plate with his bread. The boy was not alone, for mad Grace, sister of my beloved Evangeline, was dancing in front of the fireplace. Grace was dressed up in her finest cheongsam, the ribbon in her hair like a roosting butterfly with scarlet wings. I sighed. After my tiff with Julia, a visit from the village idiot was the last thing I needed. A daft smile on her pretty moon-shaped face, Grace reached down and lifted the hem of her cheongsam. Back in The Village of Everlasting Peace Grace took up her skirt for any man – Muslim, Buddhist, Christian or Sikh. Evangeline couldn’t leave her sister alone for one minute, as Grace hopped into the jungle scrub with any fella who winked or whistled. Lecherous baying followed her wherever she went. The village children pelted Grace with stones, and women spat at her for encouraging their husbands to philander. Only the God-botherers Blanche Mallard and Marina Tolbin could find it in their hearts to be nice to her, babysitting Grace while Evangeline helped out in the medical hut, grooming her hair with the nit-comb and reciting prayers. Whether Grace’s harlotry was playful innocence or sex-crazed lunacy, I couldn’t tell. But my living room is not a go-go dancing club, and such lewd exhibitionism isn’t allowed. As her skirt went higher I was irritated to see Grace had neglected to wear knickers.
‘Stop that, Grace!’ I scolded. ‘For heaven’s sake, behave yourself! Put your skirt back down.’
The silly goose ignored me, dancing to the jaunty dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dah of
The Archers
’ theme tune, lifting her skirt and wiggling her bottom, as if to warm it by the fire. Adam stood up.
‘Do you know what Julia gets up to after school?’ I asked him. ‘Do you know who her friends are? I’m going to telephone their parents and find out what’s going on.’
Blank-faced, Adam clattered up his empty plate and cutlery. The boy does a good impersonation of a deaf mute when it suits him.
I wanted to shake him, but instead I lowered my fork and said: ‘It won’t do for you to be this way, Adam. I won’t be here for ever, and you must look after your little sister when I’m gone. You must look after her and love her. If you do one thing in your life, Adam, you must love someone. Love is the only thing that matters.’
No sooner had I said the words than I was ashamed. They must have seemed insincere to a boy to whom I so seldom spoke. I think my candour was inspired by mad Grace, flaunting the sacred flower of her femininity by the fireplace. She reminded me of Evangeline and her daily battle to keep her younger sister out of the scrub. The strength of her devotion.
Adam looked me in the eye and spoke for the first time in weeks, the donkey bray of adolescence catching me unawares. ‘Like you loved my mum?’
Then he left, and I heard the
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