Mum, no matter how impossible she was being. And she was being. Running off to Vix’s mum like that! Interfering with Vix’s life, as well as mine. I didn’t think she ought to have done that; it could have caused great problems between me and Vix. Fortunately Vix understood that it wasn’t my fault. As she said, “You can’t control how your mum behaves.” But Vix’s mum had been quite put out to discover that her angelic daughter was reading about s.e.x. and gazing at pictures of male bums. It’s what comes of living in a grungy old place way out in the sticks where nothing ever happens and s.e.x. is something you are not supposed to have heard of, let alone think about. Vix agreed with me that in Brighton people probably thought about it all the time, even thirteen-year-old girls, and no one turned a hair.
I said to Mum, “When I am fourteen,” (which I was going to be quite soon), “can I think about it then?”
“You can think about it all you like,” said Mum. “I just don’t want you reading about it in trashy magazines. That’s all!”
It was shortly after my fourteenth birthday that Mum finally went and flipped. I’d been trying ever so hard to make allowances for her. I’d discussed it with Vix and we had agreed that it was probably something to do with her age. Vix said, “Women get really odd when they reach a certain age. How old is your mum?”
I said, “She’s only thirty-six.” I mean, pretty old, but not actually decrepit.
“Old enough,” said Vix. “She’s probably getting broody.”
I said, “Getting what?”
“Broody. You know?”
“I thought that was something to do with chickens,” I said.
“Chickens and women… it makes them desperate.”
“Desperate for what?”
“Having babies while they still can.”
“But she’s had babies!” I said.
“Doesn’t make any difference,” said Vix. “Don’t worry! She’ll grow out of it.”
“Yes, but when?’ I wailed.
“Dunno.” Vix wrinkled her nose. “When she’s about… fifty, maybe?”
I thought that fifty was a long time to wait for Mum to stop being desperate, but in the meanwhile, in the interests of peaceful living, I would do my best to humour her. I would no longer read nasty magazines full of s.e.x., at any rate, not while I was indoors, and I would no longer nag her for new clothes except when I really, really needed them, and I would make my bed and I would tidy my bedroom and I would help with the washing up, and do all those things that she was always on at me to do. So I did. For an entire whole week. And then she went and flipped! All because I’d been to a party and got home about two seconds later than she’d said. Plus I’d just happened to be brought back by this boy that for some reason she’d taken exception to and told me not to see any more, only I hadn’t realised that she meant it. I mean, how was I to know that she’d meant it?
“What did you think I meant?” said Mum, all cold and brittle, like an icicle. “I told you I didn’t want you seeing him any more!”
“But why not?” I said. “What’s the matter with him?”
“Stephanie, we have already been through all this,” said Mum.
“But it doesn’t make any sense! He’s just a boy, the same as any other boy. It’s not like he’s on drugs, or anything.”
Well, he wasn’t; not as far as I knew. It’s stupid to think that just because someone has a nose stud and tattoos he’s doing drugs. Mum was just so prejudiced! But I suppose I shouldn’t have tried arguing with her; I can see, now, that that was a bit ill-judged. Mum went up like a light. She went incandescent. Fire practically spurted out of her nostrils. I couldn’t ever remember seeing her that mad. And at me! Who’d tried her best to make allowances! It didn’t help that the Afterthought was there, leaning over the banisters. The Afterthought never can manage to keep her mouth shut. She had to go starting on about kittens again.
“Dad would have let me have one! You never let us have anything! You’re just a misery! You aren’t any fun!”
She said afterwards that she thought she was coming to my aid. She thought she was being supportive.
“Showing that I was on your side!”
All it did, of course, was make matters worse. Mum just suddenly snapped. She raised two clenched fists to heaven and demanded to know what she had done to get lumbered with two such beastly brats.
“Thoroughly unpleasant! Totally ungrateful! Utterly selfish! Well, that’s it. I’ve had it! I’m sick to death of the pair of you! As far as I’m concerned, your father can have you, and welcome. I’ve done my stint. From now on, you can be his responsibility!”
Wow. I think even the Afterthought was a bit taken aback.
“I HAVE SPENT sixteen years of my life,” said Mum, “coping with your dad. Sixteen years of clearing up his messes, getting us out of the trouble that he’s got us into. If it weren’t for me, God alone knows where this family would be! Out on the streets, with a begging bowl. Well, I’ve had it, do you hear? I have had it. I cannot take any more! Do I make myself plain?”
Me and the Afterthought, shocked into silence, just stared woodenly.
“Do I make myself plain?” bellowed Mum.
“Y-yes!” I snapped to attention. “Absolutely!”
“Good. Then you will understand why it is that I am relinquishing all responsibility. Because if I am asked to cope just one minute longer — ” Mum’s voice rose to a piercing shriek “ — with your tempers and your tantrums and your utter – your utter —”
We waited.
“Your utter selfishness,” screamed Mum, “I shall end up in a lunatic asylum! Have you got that?”
I nodded.
“I said, have you got that?” bawled Mum.
“Got it,” I said.
“Got it,” muttered the Afterthought.
“Right! Just so long as you have. I want there to be no misunderstandings. Now, get off to bed, the pair of you!”
Me and the Afterthought both scuttled into our bedrooms and stayed there. I wondered gloomily if Mum was having a nervous breakdown, and if so, whether it was my fault. All I’d done was just go to a party! I lay awake the rest of the night thinking that if Mum ended up in a lunatic asylum, I would be the one that put her
