A Family At War, page 5
When I come in, she says, 'Is this your wee girl, Mrs Edwards?' She's got a nice soft voice and a funny way of speaking. She doesn't say 'girl' like we do but 'ge-rral' all sort of purry.
Mummy says, 'That's Beryl. She's a naughty little thing. You just tell me if she gets in your way and I'll deal with her.'
The lady says, 'Och I'm sure we'll get on just fine.'
Mr Wild doesn't say anything but he sort of stoops towards her as if he's going to.
'We'll away now,' she says. 'We mustn't keep you.' And they go upstairs.
'Well that's settled,' Mummy says to Gran, when we're back in the kitchen. 'She's agreed to feed the birds when we're away. And keep an eye on the dog.'
I don't like to ask Mummy where we're going in case it's wrong, so I ask Joan later when she's putting me to bed.
Apparently it's nearly our summer holidays and we're going to Herne Bay for six weeks. We're taking Alan with us and Daddy's going to drive us there, like he did last year when we went to Felpham.
'You're a lucky little girl,' Joan says as she folds up my clothes. 'Four nice bungalows to choose from. There's many another little girl would give her eye-teeth to live the way you do.'
I didn't know I'd got four bungalows to choose from.
'Oh yes,' Joan says. 'Two in Herne Bay and two in Felpham. Your mummy bought them with the money her Dadda threw into the air.'
'Threw into the air?'
'Oh yes,' Joan says. 'Get into bed like a good girl and I'll tell you what happened, only you mustn't let your mummy know I told you. Promise?'
I promise, licking my finger and holding it up. 'See it wet, see it dry.'
'Well,' she says, sitting on the bed beside me, 'your grandfather Parodi kept the shop in those days, and when he ran it, it was proper little gold mine. He made a lot of money out of it. Anyway he used to stop off on his way home on a Friday and have a little drink with my mum and dad. I wasn't much more than a kid then. I used to hear them laughing and singing downstairs. Anyway, when he got home he was - how shall I put it? - a bit the worse for wear. If you know what I mean. Anyway your grandmother didn't like it and she used to get cross with him and tell him off and then he'd get upset and start clowning. He used to put his hands in his pocket and pull out all the fivers from the day's takings and throw them in the air and say it was snowing. I suppose all those big white notes must have looked like snow to him when they were in the air. Anyway your grandmother and your Uncle Leslie went on being cross and they left the money on the floor and wouldn't touch it but your Mummy picked it up and kept it and by the time she was seventeen she'd bought four bungalows with it. What do you think of that?'
I can't imagine being able to pick up enough money to buy one bungalow let alone four. So that's what she meant by being lucky.
'She's very generous with them,' Joan says. 'I will say that. She lets us have a holiday in one or the other every year and we don't have to pay a penny.'
I think I can risk another question. 'Are we rich, Joan?' I ask.
'Richer than most,' Joan says, 'or you wouldn't be living in a house this size and driving around in that great car. Now let's have you lying down or your mother will come up and wonder what we've been doing.'
I lie awake for ages thinking. It's nice to know we're rich. I thought we might be because of this house being so big but Aunty Ela says the house belongs to Gran and Mummy's always saying she's not made of money, so maybe she was only rich when she bought the bungalows. I wonder whether I'll be rich when I grow up. I'm glad Mummy's generous. It's nice to have a mummy who's generous. If only she wouldn't cane me so much and if only I didn't have to not cry. I don't know how I'm going to not cry. It frightens me to think about it. I'm still feeling frightened when I suddenly wake up and I'm in the kitchen.
It makes me jump. How did I get down here? And why am I sitting at the table with my schoolbooks out? I know it isn't morning because the electric light's on and Daddy's wireless is playing and Mummy and Gran are sitting at the table too. Mummy's knitting and Gran's doing the darning and they're both looking at me in the oddest way, as if they're afraid. How did I get here? I must have come down the stairs while I was asleep. I shall get the cane now as sure as fate because this is bound to be naughty.
But they don't hit me or anything. They're both just looking. If I sit very still perhaps it'll be all right.
'Best not to wake her,' Gran says. Her voice sounds a long way away and only bits of it reach me. '... shock to the system.'
'See if you can get her upstairs again,' Mummy says.
Gran stands up and puts her arm round me. 'Let's go back to bed, shall we,' she says.
So I stand up and let her lead me out. We go upstairs without saying anything and she waits while I get back into my bed and then tucks the covers round me and says, 'Night-night' as if it's an ordinary bedtime, and goes away again. How very odd. Maybe it wasn't naughty. That's the trouble. When you're at home you never know what's naughty and what isn't. It's all very puzzling.
CHAPTER 5
Mummy and Daddy are quarrelling again. They always quarrel at the weekends. I've been in the kitchen for ages, sitting in my little chair next to the parrot's cage, listening to them and trying to read my book. But I can't concentrate when Mummy might be hurt at any moment. Gran is sitting at the table shelling peas as if everything's all right, squeezing the pods with her left hand and forcing them open with her thumb and Joan's in the kitchen too, brushing little Pat's hair, as well as she can because she doesn't want it brushed and keeps running off.
I can hear Mummy yelling. 'That's right. Hit a woman. I should. You great coward.' She does that sometimes and I do wish she wouldn't, because he's bound to hit her when she says things like that. But he doesn't do it this time. He shouts so loudly it's as if he's screaming and then I can hear him rushing through the hall and out of the door. It bangs after him.
'Well that's a relief,' Gran says, putting the colander on the table.
There's a rush of air in the passage leading to the kitchen and Mummy's in the doorway. She's so hot I can feel the heat of her where I'm sitting and she looks wild. Her face is really red and her eyes are glaring.
'Did you hear him?' she shouts at Gran. 'Did you? Oh God! The things he was saying to me! He treats me like dirt. Like dirt. It's so unfair. What did I ever do to be treated like this? I've been a good wife to him. I have, haven't I? I've given him a home and children. All this great house and the garden. I let him have all his wages to spend on himself. I don't take a penny piece from him. Well you know I don't. If he'd married anyone else he wouldn't have had that for a start. He'd have had to hand over his pay packet every Friday the same as all the others. He wouldn't have liked that. And then he treats me like this. It's so unfair.' She's almost crying. I can see. But there aren't any marks on her face or anything.
And then everything goes wrong, all of a sudden, before I can stop it. While I've been looking at Mummy's face, little Pat has pulled herself up on the arm of my chair and she suddenly makes a grab at my book. I look down and her fingers are all sticky so I pull it away from her quick before she can ruin it, but I'm too quick and she's off balance and sits down hard on the floor and that makes her scream.
The cane's off the wall and swooshing down on my shoulders before I can breathe and Mummy's shouting at me, that I'm a vile horrible, nasty, jealous, beastly child, and hitting me with every word.
I try to tell her, 'I didn't mean to hurt her,' but she's not listening.
'I'll knock that rotten jealousy out of you if it's the last thing I do,' she says and she hits me again although I'm screaming at her not to. 'Please Mummy. Please don't. I'll be good. I promise. Please please.'
'Shut up!' she shouts, whacking at me. 'Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Do you want to be taken away? Do you? Do you?'
I'm so frightened I don't know what to do. If I scream they'll take me away as sure as fate. I grab the book and bolt out of the door, trying not to cry but crying just the same.
'And don't think you can run away from me,' Mummy says and she's after me like a shot, along the passage, into the hall, through the door into the dining room, whacking at me with the cane whenever she can. I know I'm caught as soon as I'm in the room. She drags me to the fireplace. 'Control yourself,' she shouts. 'Do you hear me? Stop that noise.'
But I can't although I am trying. 'Please don't,' I beg. 'I'll be good. I promise.'
'Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!' she shouts. 'I won't have you making this noise. Do you hear, you nasty rotten jealous little thing. You're just like your rotten father, rotten to the core, that's what you are. Rotten to the core. You should never have been born. Never, never, never.'
She's so hot and terrible and she hurts me so much and it's awful to know you should never have been born. 'Oh please!'
'Stop that noise!' she shouts.
I make a great effort, gulping the sobs back down my throat before they can get out and panting to keep them there - 'Oh, oh, oh!'- trying to make my voice smaller and smaller.
'You see,' she says and she puts the cane down at last, on the table next to my book. When did I put that there? 'You can do it if you try. You don't have to make an exhibition of yourself. Now come here and let me talk to you.'
She's quite calm now I've stopped screaming. She sits down in the armchair and pulls me towards her until I'm standing between her knees. I'm shaking all over. They'll take me away now. Someone will have heard me and the doctor will send them to get me as sure as fate. What will I do then? She’s talking to me in a quiet voice on and on and on but my throat's so sore with not crying and my arms and my back are so sore where the cane's hit them that I can't hear her. I can hear her voice but not the words. Sometimes she stops and I have to say 'yes' because that's what she expects, sometimes I hear a whole chunk - 'I have to punish you otherwise you'll grow up nasty and nobody will love you'- sometimes I look at her face, because she's telling me to and she's looking at me as if she loves me and that's awful because it makes me want to cry and I have to gulp and gulp so as not to. But most of the time it just goes on and on, until she suddenly lets go of me and says I'm to go and wash my face and put a cardigan on to cover my arms. 'You don't want everyone to see what a naughty girl you've been.' She's right. I don't. It would be awful. Then she picks up the cane and walks out of the room.
I can't go up and wash yet. I feel too awful. So I sneak into the drawing room, where nobody goes and hide behind the sofa. I'm still shaking, in fits and starts as though I'm shivering but at least I can cry now, if I don't make any noise. After a while I find it's possible to let the tears run without sobbing if I breathe hard. It's so awful to know you should never have been born. And it must be true. She wouldn't have said it otherwise. But you can't not be born. And what will happen if somebody's heard me and they come to take me away? Oh please God don't let them take me away. I'll be good. I promise.
When I've cried until the crying's all over, I sit up and wipe my eyes with my fingers. There are two big black patches on the back of the sofa where I've cried into it. They make me feel quite pleased. Even if I can't make a noise they can't stop my tears making a mark.
Mummy's bought a monkey. She's just come in with it and she's so excited her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes are really shiny. I was walking downstairs from the library when she came in, so now I'm stuck and I shall have to stay where I am and admire the monkey until she goes into the kitchen. I've kept out of her way since she caned me and made me not cry so it's bad luck to be caught coming downstairs.
Aunty Ela's in the hall adjusting her hat. She came to see us half an hour ago to bring Gran her envelope and now she's going home to get Uncle Leslie's dinner. I heard her say so as I reached the little landing. When she catches sight of the cage she stops looking at herself in the mirror and turns round to give Mummy a really funny look.
'What on earth have you got there?' she says.
'It's a spider monkey,' Mummy tells her. 'Isn't it just diddy. Look at its pretty little face. It's like velvet. I had to have it. I just couldn't resist it.'
'Well I hope you're going to get another cage for it,' Aunty Ela says. 'It's much too big for that one.'
Which is true. It's hardly got room to turn round.
'Oh I shan't bother with cages,' Mummy says. 'It's perfectly tame. I shall let it run about.'
'It'll wreck the house,' Aunty Ela warns. 'But it's your lookout. If you want something, you usually have it.'
'Actually,' Mummy says, 'I bought it for Beryl. She's so fond of monkeys.'
I don't want a monkey. I think they're horrible. I had to have my picture taken with one at Chessington Zoo last summer and it was really nasty. It chewed all the time the man was taking the picture and then spat all over everything. But I can't say anything. Not now I have to not cry.
We've had the monkey for a fortnight now and the dining room stinks of it. It's worse than the bird-room. Gran keeps saying it'll have to have a new cage bought for it and be kept in one place but Mummy says it's no trouble and we can't cage the poor little thing now it's used to a bit of freedom. But it's tearing the curtains to shreds, and it eats all the fruit out of the bowls and drops banana skins and bits of peel and chewed-up cores all over the carpet, and it leaves its poo in the corners and does its wee-wee over everything, all up the wallpaper and down the curtains and everywhere. Gran and Joan and Barker hate it. Mummy says it's cute and wants Daddy to take a photograph of it, but I think it's disgusting. I can't say anything though. Maybe she'll get fed-up with it and put it in the attic. Or maybe it'll die while we're away on holiday. That horrible smelly dog died while we were away at Easter and that was a good riddance. Barker said so.
No such luck. We were away for six whole weeks but it was still here when we got back. I'm really glad I'm going to school and I shan't have to be here with it. We're going to learn French this year and Sister Sebastian says we'll like that a lot.
The newspaper keeps talking about the war that’s coming. It's on the way, they keep saying so, but it hasn't come yet. I know what it's going to be like because I heard it on the wireless yesterday. I was sitting under the table because it's safer there, and Daddy was tuning the wireless trying to find Radio Hilversum, and suddenly it gave a screech, the way it does when he's tuning it, and there was a man shouting in a very high voice and people yelling and screaming. They were really frightened. I could tell. It made me feel frightened to hear them. Then there was an awful crashing sound that the man said was an explosion. It went on and on like an echo and then there was another one even louder. 'It's a stick of bombs,' the man shouted and his voice was even higher. 'I can see them falling. Three, four, five, six. Oh my God! This is terrible. Terrible. There are houses here being blown to pieces. Blown to pieces. There's nothing left of them and the people...' And then Mummy said, 'We don't want this rubbish.' And the wireless started making tuning noises again.
So now I know. They're going to drop bombs on us and blow the houses to pieces. I wish there was someone I could ask about it. I tried Gran, but she put on her stone face and said she didn't know and I tried Dardy but she said it was politics and not to bother my little head. Mr Garnsworthy was the best. He said it was that bloody Hitler and someone ought to go over there and sort him out or we'd have another war as sure as fate and we'd had quite enough with the last one.
But Dardy made a face at him and said, 'We don't want that sort of talk.' So I couldn't ask him any more. I wish I could. I don't like to think of it coming and not being able to do anything about it. What if they bomb this house? What will we do? Will it blow us to pieces as well as the house? Not knowing makes a sort of niggling in my mind and then I can't stop thinking about it.
There’s always something happening in this house. Mrs Wild's got a new baby. It's a little girl and her name's Edelweiss and she was born on February the 12th, a fortnight after my seventh birthday. Mrs Wild is letting me hold her. I have to sit right back in the chair so as to make enough of a lap and put my arm ready to support her head, because you have to be very careful with babies' heads, and then Mrs Wild lowers her until she's in position. It's lovely holding a baby. She smells gorgeous, all soft and powdery and a bit milky, and she's got the dearest little face with the tiniest mouth and a little snub nose and enormous blue eyes. And she looks right at you as if she's going to say hello.
Mrs Wild says, 'How's that?'
I say 'Lovely.' I hope I can hold her lots because it's ever so nice holding a baby.
Mrs Wild says when the warm weather comes, she's going to put the pram out in the garden so that the baby can have a bit of air, and I can keep an eye on her if I like. I hope the war doesn't come before then. I'd like to keep an eye on her.
We're driving down to one of Mummy's bungalows in Daddy's car. The war hasn't come, although people keep saying it's going to and there are pictures in the paper of troops marching and sailors on battle ships and Germans in horrible black boots up to their knees and swastikas on their arms. They've been digging trenches on the common and we've all been given gas masks in case it starts and they drop gas on us. We've got cardboard boxes to carry them about in and when the war starts we've got to take them with us everywhere we go. But we're not taking them to Herne Bay. Mummy says we're going to have six weeks away from it all and get our holiday in while we can. She's bought a cage for the monkey and drowned the new kittens and cleaned out the parrot's cage and left feed for the foreign birds and the budgerigars and now we're off.
I have to sit in the passenger seat next to Daddy because Mummy and Gran and Pat are in the back but I don't mind because you can see ever so well in the passenger seat and Mummy can't say I'm annoying Pat because I'm nowhere near her. It's a nice day and we've got the road to ourselves. All the trees are shining and when you look through the windscreen at the road ahead of you it looks as if there's a pool of water on it. Daddy says it's a mirage because it's so hot.
