“M-u-u-u-um,” she goes, “it’s not fair! She hasn’t any right!”
The really irritating thing is that Mum agrees with her. That is what is NOT FAIR. Mum always takes her side! She is so spoilt it is just not true. I was never spoilt like that.
Old Tubbo goes on wailing and moaning. “She made us run round the garden, Mum! She kept us out there for HOURS.”
So Mum then tells me to “just let them be. Let them do their own thing.”
I snap, “I thought I was supposed to be keeping an eye on them! How can I keep an eye on them if they’re locked away upstairs?”
Mum says, “You wouldn’t do anything naughty, would you, Annie? You know Megan’s mum doesn’t want her going into chatrooms?”
To which Tub, all big-eyed and positively OOZING virtue, goes, “Mum, I KNOW. And I wouldn’t, EVER. I wouldn’t, Mum! HONESTLY.”
And Mum believes her! Quite extraordinary. She never believed ME. She still doesn’t. It always, like, the third degree when I’ve been anywhere.
“Are you SURE you didn’t? Are you SURE you haven’t? Are you telling me the truth?”
But with old Tub, it’s like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She’s such a sly boots! I wouldn’t trust her further than I can spit.
“SEE?” She’s all gloating and full of evil triumph. She doesn’t actually say it out loud; she just mouths it at me. I mouth back at her. Something really rude, behind Mum’s back. Fatso sticks her tongue out.
So childish! She then rushes across the room and twines herself round Mum, all cute and little-girly. Totally SQUIRM making.
“Tell her, Mum! Tell her she’s not to boss us!”
“I’m sure she won’t,” says Mum, “so long as you behave yourselves.”
“Mum, we do!”
Huh! is all I say to that. Huh huh HUH. But Mum accepts it. She says all right, that’s all she wanted to hear. Later she gets me on my own and tells me to cool it.
“Give them a bit of leeway. They’re not bad kids. You get on and do your thing, and let them do theirs.” She then adds that, “You’re not in the police force yet, you know!”
I tell her that it’s the police SERVICE, not the police FORCE, which in fact I have already told her about two dozen times before, but Mum just waves a hand, like it’s not important, and says, “Whatever! Go easy on them.”
It’s absolutely no use looking to Dad for support; he keeps well out of it. Bringing up girls is a woman’s job. It’s always “Ask your mum. See what your mum says.” What a cop out! But then Dad is a bit of a throwback. Not a modern man at all.
Anyway, that has done it, as far as I am concerned. I wash my hands! They can stay upstairs and moulder all day long. What do I care if Little Goody Two-Shoes is led astray?
Besides, I have other things to think about. Well, one other thing, basically. TYRONE! Tyrone Patrick O’Malley. He’s far more gorgeous than anyone I met on holiday. Mum can keep her Spanish boys! Jem says if it weren’t for having Kieron, she would quite fancy him herself. But she has promised me faithfully not to do any ogling! I am still consumed with jealousy as they are still stacking shelves together.
Oh, I can’t bear it! The thought of Jem actually standing next to him – maybe even TOUCHING him!!! It is agony. She says they’re both on early shift next week, which means they finish at one, so if I go down there I can join them in the canteen for lunch. THEY get to eat free, but Jem says loads of people just drop in for a quick bowl of soup and a roll and butter. I can afford that! I could afford a whole three-course meal if it meant being with Ty!!!
The dear little girls will just have to get on by themselves. After all, it’s only a couple of hours.
On Sundays me and Mum always go off to visit my gran. It’s a really long journey, as we have to catch a bus into town, then another bus out of town. It takes over two hours and is quite boring. Unfortunately, it is equally boring when we get there, as Gran’s home where she lives is full of old ladies (and a few old men, though not very many) and there is absolutely nothing whatever to do. We can’t even talk to Gran any more, as her mind has wandered and she doesn’t know who we are. Sometimes she calls Mum “Molly”, which we think was a friend of hers when she was young. Other times she calls her “Kathryn”. We don’t know who Kathryn was. She doesn’t call me anything at all, which is sad, ’cos me and Gran were the hugest of friends when she lived with us.
In those days I didn’t have to go round to Annie’s in holiday time, as Gran was always there to look after me. We used to have such fun! We used to play board games, and word games, and read things to each other. Sometimes Annie would come and spend the day, and then we’d have even more fun! Gran used to laugh at Annie and the things she got up to. That was when she called her doolally.
“That girl is completely doolally!”
I can’t remember when Gran stopped laughing; when I was about ten, I think. Now she just sits there, staring. I don’t really enjoy going to visit her. I don’t mind so much about being bored, as I can always take a book to read, but it makes me unhappy to see Gran just sitting staring. And I hate that she doesn’t know who I am! Mum says maybe she does know, somewhere deep inside. She says that is why we have to keep visiting.
“Imagine how hurt she’d be if there’s a little part of her which can still recognise us, and we didn’t come any more.”
I couldn’t bear for Gran to be hurt! Once or twice, when I’ve been really upset, Mum has said that perhaps she ought to leave me behind. Except that who could she leave me with?
“I can’t keep parking you at Annie’s.”
Annie wouldn’t mind; but when I think about what Mum said, that maybe there is a little part of Gran, somewhere deep down, that still recognises us, I know that I can’t let Mum go by herself. I have to go with her; just in case.
To make myself a bit braver I always remember Clover in Daisy and Clover. Clover has to go and
