said the Poll-woman. ‘I suggest you stay here and rest up for now. There’s nowt to go out for, and it’s piddling down anyway. Get yourself settled.’
‘I’ve got to go to school,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve got exams. Have I got exams?’
‘Put your feet up, I’ll bring you some Ovaltine. Roger gets through a tin a week.’
‘I need my books. I’ve got to revise.’
‘Look,’ said Poll, ‘you’ve missed ’em. Th’ exams are finished. You weren’t fit to do ’em. It’s no good crying, that chapter’s over. Do you tek sugar, or not?’
When Roger came back from town he’d bought me a bunch of pinks.
‘That’s bad luck, that is,’ said Poll.
Roger laughed in her face. ‘How are pinks bad luck? You’re soft, Mum.’
‘Pink’s for a girl,’ she said darkly. I swear she looked more pregnant than me.
Vince sat at the dinner table and studied the coaching inn on his place mat. He had thin cheeks and comb-over hair, Brylcreemed down.
‘Is your dad a mute?’ I asked Roger that night, after Poll and Vince had gone up.
‘No. He’s just lost the will to live,’ said Roger.
‘You won’t leave me here, with them, will you?’ I said.
‘We’ve got to think in the long term now,’ he said, which was ironic really as he only had another seven months to live.
Chapter Nine
‘I’m going to get a summer job,’ I announced to Poll across the bed we were making.
‘Ooh, hark at her,’ said Poll, even though there was nobody else in the house.
‘Well, I need some money, and you’ve none to spare, so I don’t see any alternative.’
I snatched the sheet out of her hands viciously and pulled her off balance. She toppled forwards onto the mattress, swearing.
‘Oops, sorry,’ I chirped. ‘I thought you had hold of it. Are you all right?’
‘No thanks to you.’ She struggled to her feet again and glared. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did that on purpose. I don’t know what’s got into you recently; you used to be so meek and mild. Bad blood coming out. What sort of a job had you in mind?’
‘Whatever I can get, after the exams have finished. Secretary, maybe.’
‘You can’t type.’
‘Shop assistant.’
‘You’d never manage. All them strangers, you’d have a fit. You’ve to look people in the eye when you serve ’em.’
I took in a good breath and let it out again, slowly. ‘There’s girls at school have got jobs selling tickets in a booth. You just sit there, take the money and hand over the ticket. It’s a piece of cake. You’d be able to sit there with a book, read all day if you wanted to.’ I thought I could cope with that.
‘What sort of tickets?’
‘Charity. Registered, all legit. You don’t get much for it but it’s cash in hand, the girls say.’
Poll pulled a face. ‘Oh aye, and think how vulnerable you’d be. In a booth on your own; you’d be a sitting duck for all kinds of funny characters. You attract that sort, you know you do. You’d have hooked yourself a stalker before you could say Prime Suspect .’
One of these days, one of these days Poll’ll say to me, Oh, that’s a good idea, I agree. Then I’ll faint dead away. In fact I’ll be in a coma for weeks and they’ll have to play tapes of Carol Ann Duffy’s poetry to bring me round.
I stood up straight while I rammed a pillow down into a clean pillowcase. ‘I’m going to have to do something , at some point. In three weeks the exams’ll be over. Then what am I going to do with my life?’
Poll opened her mouth to speak and I waited. ‘You’ve years yet—’ she began, but suddenly there was a terrible squeak of pain down by her feet. ‘Oh, hell fire,’ she gasped, ‘I’ve trod on Winston.’
I crawled across the mattress and hoiked him up. He weighs nothing these days.
‘Did I tread on your paw? Eeh, poor love, are y’ awreet?’ Poll stroked his yellowing head tenderly while I lifted one paw for inspection after another. There didn’t
‘I’ve got to go to school,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve got exams. Have I got exams?’
‘Put your feet up, I’ll bring you some Ovaltine. Roger gets through a tin a week.’
‘I need my books. I’ve got to revise.’
‘Look,’ said Poll, ‘you’ve missed ’em. Th’ exams are finished. You weren’t fit to do ’em. It’s no good crying, that chapter’s over. Do you tek sugar, or not?’
When Roger came back from town he’d bought me a bunch of pinks.
‘That’s bad luck, that is,’ said Poll.
Roger laughed in her face. ‘How are pinks bad luck? You’re soft, Mum.’
‘Pink’s for a girl,’ she said darkly. I swear she looked more pregnant than me.
Vince sat at the dinner table and studied the coaching inn on his place mat. He had thin cheeks and comb-over hair, Brylcreemed down.
‘Is your dad a mute?’ I asked Roger that night, after Poll and Vince had gone up.
‘No. He’s just lost the will to live,’ said Roger.
‘You won’t leave me here, with them, will you?’ I said.
‘We’ve got to think in the long term now,’ he said, which was ironic really as he only had another seven months to live.
Chapter Nine
‘I’m going to get a summer job,’ I announced to Poll across the bed we were making.
‘Ooh, hark at her,’ said Poll, even though there was nobody else in the house.
‘Well, I need some money, and you’ve none to spare, so I don’t see any alternative.’
I snatched the sheet out of her hands viciously and pulled her off balance. She toppled forwards onto the mattress, swearing.
‘Oops, sorry,’ I chirped. ‘I thought you had hold of it. Are you all right?’
‘No thanks to you.’ She struggled to her feet again and glared. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did that on purpose. I don’t know what’s got into you recently; you used to be so meek and mild. Bad blood coming out. What sort of a job had you in mind?’
‘Whatever I can get, after the exams have finished. Secretary, maybe.’
‘You can’t type.’
‘Shop assistant.’
‘You’d never manage. All them strangers, you’d have a fit. You’ve to look people in the eye when you serve ’em.’
I took in a good breath and let it out again, slowly. ‘There’s girls at school have got jobs selling tickets in a booth. You just sit there, take the money and hand over the ticket. It’s a piece of cake. You’d be able to sit there with a book, read all day if you wanted to.’ I thought I could cope with that.
‘What sort of tickets?’
‘Charity. Registered, all legit. You don’t get much for it but it’s cash in hand, the girls say.’
Poll pulled a face. ‘Oh aye, and think how vulnerable you’d be. In a booth on your own; you’d be a sitting duck for all kinds of funny characters. You attract that sort, you know you do. You’d have hooked yourself a stalker before you could say Prime Suspect .’
One of these days, one of these days Poll’ll say to me, Oh, that’s a good idea, I agree. Then I’ll faint dead away. In fact I’ll be in a coma for weeks and they’ll have to play tapes of Carol Ann Duffy’s poetry to bring me round.
I stood up straight while I rammed a pillow down into a clean pillowcase. ‘I’m going to have to do something , at some point. In three weeks the exams’ll be over. Then what am I going to do with my life?’
Poll opened her mouth to speak and I waited. ‘You’ve years yet—’ she began, but suddenly there was a terrible squeak of pain down by her feet. ‘Oh, hell fire,’ she gasped, ‘I’ve trod on Winston.’
I crawled across the mattress and hoiked him up. He weighs nothing these days.
‘Did I tread on your paw? Eeh, poor love, are y’ awreet?’ Poll stroked his yellowing head tenderly while I lifted one paw for inspection after another. There didn’t
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