beautiful and large and shining on us, turning her nightdress to white sand, her skin to millions of pearly shells. The air was thick and warm and smelt of salt. It was safe up there. Downstairs Peter would be into something he shouldn’t be or scoffing sweets. Dad would be working, stocking shelves and ordering, and then cooking our tea with the TV blaring out, but in Mum’s room it was peaceful.
Dad didn’t go up to Mum anymore, but slept in a chair in the lounge, and I thought it must be normal, mustn’t it? Since Mum was ill and Dad worked so hard. But I worried about the pretty laughing ladies and wondered if he would fly away if he could, leaving Peter and me alone in the nest.
I thought he was a good man, but I couldn’t be sure. I had no comparison.
10
Black Book Entry
My Dad’s shop was so small that even three customers made it seem packed, and it was always busy after school, when the bell above the door rang over and over like the collar bell on a cat that won’t go away, but stays at the door waiting for milk. There were quiet times during the day, but after school the shop was busy with children in blue and white gingham dresses, or grey trousers and navy blazers, swapping silver coins for sherbet fountains or strawberry laces. The women squeezed the bread, sniffed the cheese, tested a grape. Dad smiled at them, ran a hand through his blue-black hair, shiny with wax.
Dad liked Mrs Carron. He stroked his hair even more when she was around, and she was always running out of things and having to pop in. If Mum asked who’d been in the shop that day I knew better than to say Mrs Carron’s name. Not since the time Dad had to tell Mrs Carron to fasten her blouse because a button was undone, and she looked but the button was gone. Her blouse was gaping open at the neck and I even saw her red bra! I thought it was funny, and Dad laughed, and so did Mrs Carron, but when I told Mum about it she frowned, and her hands started to pluck at the sheet. I said, “but a red bra, mum!” thinking it was a funny thing, because I’d only seen them in white or fleshcolour. Mum didn’t smile. She asked where Dad had been just before Mrs Carron noticed her button was gone. That was easy, since I knew he’d been in the storeroom out back to see if he had any Earl Grey tea that Mrs Carron said was the best. I’d stayed in the shop, watching the till. Mum asked where Mrs Carron was, and I said she’d gone out back to make sure Dad knew which tea to look for. She came back to the shop all smiles so they must have found what she wanted.
Mum cried then, and I never mentioned Mrs Carron again, but I took it upon myself to watch her and Dad. To make it safe for Mum to come out of her nest, and be well again.
I used to go to the blackbird’s nest every morning before breakfast, and every afternoon, so I could let Mum know how the birds were doing. It was the only thing she seemed to care about. When I told her the eggs had hatched she was so pleased. I told her about the three chicks with thin scrawny necks and hardly any feathers. I felt like I’d given her a great gift, and we watched from our duvet-den, the parent blackbirds to-ing and fro-ing with their worms and grubs, happy, knowing the little ones were safe.
But you can’t know anything for certain.
The day after I’d counted the three chicks, about a week after I saw Mrs Carron’s red bra, I put on my blue gingham dress and went to see Mum before school. She was awake, but lying very still, and she gave me a little smile, then asked me to pass her pills.
“I think I might get up today, Rose,” she said.
I jumped in the air, whooping with joy. The spell was broken, and today she would be back to normal. I knew from all the times it had happened before that when the bad ‘loony’ days had passed she would be lovely. She would take me to the beach and buy me ice cream, and make up for all the days she’d stayed in bed.
I ran outside and tagged Peter on
Dad didn’t go up to Mum anymore, but slept in a chair in the lounge, and I thought it must be normal, mustn’t it? Since Mum was ill and Dad worked so hard. But I worried about the pretty laughing ladies and wondered if he would fly away if he could, leaving Peter and me alone in the nest.
I thought he was a good man, but I couldn’t be sure. I had no comparison.
10
Black Book Entry
My Dad’s shop was so small that even three customers made it seem packed, and it was always busy after school, when the bell above the door rang over and over like the collar bell on a cat that won’t go away, but stays at the door waiting for milk. There were quiet times during the day, but after school the shop was busy with children in blue and white gingham dresses, or grey trousers and navy blazers, swapping silver coins for sherbet fountains or strawberry laces. The women squeezed the bread, sniffed the cheese, tested a grape. Dad smiled at them, ran a hand through his blue-black hair, shiny with wax.
Dad liked Mrs Carron. He stroked his hair even more when she was around, and she was always running out of things and having to pop in. If Mum asked who’d been in the shop that day I knew better than to say Mrs Carron’s name. Not since the time Dad had to tell Mrs Carron to fasten her blouse because a button was undone, and she looked but the button was gone. Her blouse was gaping open at the neck and I even saw her red bra! I thought it was funny, and Dad laughed, and so did Mrs Carron, but when I told Mum about it she frowned, and her hands started to pluck at the sheet. I said, “but a red bra, mum!” thinking it was a funny thing, because I’d only seen them in white or fleshcolour. Mum didn’t smile. She asked where Dad had been just before Mrs Carron noticed her button was gone. That was easy, since I knew he’d been in the storeroom out back to see if he had any Earl Grey tea that Mrs Carron said was the best. I’d stayed in the shop, watching the till. Mum asked where Mrs Carron was, and I said she’d gone out back to make sure Dad knew which tea to look for. She came back to the shop all smiles so they must have found what she wanted.
Mum cried then, and I never mentioned Mrs Carron again, but I took it upon myself to watch her and Dad. To make it safe for Mum to come out of her nest, and be well again.
I used to go to the blackbird’s nest every morning before breakfast, and every afternoon, so I could let Mum know how the birds were doing. It was the only thing she seemed to care about. When I told her the eggs had hatched she was so pleased. I told her about the three chicks with thin scrawny necks and hardly any feathers. I felt like I’d given her a great gift, and we watched from our duvet-den, the parent blackbirds to-ing and fro-ing with their worms and grubs, happy, knowing the little ones were safe.
But you can’t know anything for certain.
The day after I’d counted the three chicks, about a week after I saw Mrs Carron’s red bra, I put on my blue gingham dress and went to see Mum before school. She was awake, but lying very still, and she gave me a little smile, then asked me to pass her pills.
“I think I might get up today, Rose,” she said.
I jumped in the air, whooping with joy. The spell was broken, and today she would be back to normal. I knew from all the times it had happened before that when the bad ‘loony’ days had passed she would be lovely. She would take me to the beach and buy me ice cream, and make up for all the days she’d stayed in bed.
I ran outside and tagged Peter on
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