Lemonade Sky by Jean Ure

Don’t keep on!”
    Slowly, as we ate our pizzas, I began to cheer up. It is very difficult to be cheerful when your stomach is flapping. But now that Cal was here, and now that I was getting all nicely filled up with pizza (followed by ice cream, followed by milkshake) I was starting to feel a bit braver. Mum would come back. Of course she would! And in future I would take better care of her. I would be the keeper of the medicine cabinet! I would make sure that she really did take her medicine every day. I wouldn’t let her wriggle out of it! When she tried saying, “Oh, Ruby, later,” or, “Yes, yes, darling, just leave it there,” I would stand firm. I wouldn’t move till she’d swallowed it.
    I announced this as Cal was drinking his coffee and we were slurping our milk shakes. Cal said, “Way to go! You gotta be firm.”
    “This is it,” said Tizz. “You’ve let her get away with things.” And then, maybe sensing that I was about to clonk her on the head with the tomato sauce bottle, she quickly added, “When Mum gets back we’ll both look after her.”
    “Right. Shared responsibility,” said Cal. “Who, by the way, is this Upstairs person you were talking about?”
    “Her Upstairs,” said Tizz. “She’s a mean, spiteful, nosy old woman that’s always poking and prying and complaining about Mum borrowing stuff and not giving it back and not putting the rubbish out properly. Like it matters!”
    “Ruby?” Cal turned to me. “Is she really that bad?”
    “She’s a bit interfering,” I said. “She keeps wanting to know where Mum is.”
    “What have you told her?”
    “Just that she’s out. But I don’t think she believes it. She wants to come and complain about something and she’s getting, like, really suspicious? Like she thinks Mum is hiding from her.”
    Cal nodded. “I get the picture. I guess your mum does have a bit of a knack for upsetting people.”
    “She does not!” roared Tizz; but I knew that Cal was right. Not that Mum wants to upset anyone. When she’s on what she calls an even keel, like when she takes her meds and doesn’t get hyper or sink into depression, she’s really very considerate.
    “I guess tomorrow,” said Cal, as we left the restaurant, “we’re going to have to work out what to do.”
    “’Bout what?” said Tizz.
    “About you. About your mum. You can’t go on living here on your own.”
    “But we’re not on our own,” said Tizz. “You’re here!”
    “And what do you imagine Her Upstairs would have to say about that?”
    “Don’t see why she should say anything! Don’t see it’s any of her business.”
    “What, with no sign of your mum and a strange man suddenly appearing?”
    “We could say you’re our dad!” said Tizz.
    There was a pause.
    ”You could say it,” agreed Cal.
    But who would believe it?
    Rather desperately Tizz cried, “Our adopted dad! You could be our adopted dad!”
    I slipped my hand into Cal’s. “I wish you were,” I whispered.
    I was so relieved when I went to bed that night, knowing that Cal was going to be there, just a short distance away, in Mum’s room. For the first time in ages I fell asleep the minute I closed my eyes. I slept all through the night! I think Sammy must have done, too, cos she actually stayed in her own bed. And she didn’t make any damp patches.
    I had a bit of a panic when I woke up next morning, thinking that Cal might not still be there. Suppose his itchy feet had made him suddenly take off?
    I went tiptoeing out in my nightie. The door of Mum’s room was ajar. I could tell the bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Cal. And then I heard the sound of the fridge being opened and went rushing into the kitchen to find Cal peering in dismay at the empty shelves.
    “You really are out of everything, aren’t you?” he said.
    Anxiously, cos I didn’t want him thinking I’d let Tizz and Sammy starve, I pointed out that we did still have a few tins left.
    “Yeah, I saw.