Megan 3 (5 page)

With three chocolate buttons placed along my tongue, I started back down the road. As I neared the flats, though, my feet began to drag. Everyone else in the world was looking forward to the weekend, but all the weekend meant to me was a trip into town to buy
the biggest batch of disposable nappies for the smallest possible price.

A red BMW was parked outside our flats. I might not have noticed it except that when I got closer I saw that the registration number was LET 2, and wondered vaguely whose it was and why it had that on it.

I then noticed Mum was in the passenger seat.

I stopped, pretending to examine one of the dusty bushes on the pavement. What was she doing? We didn’t have a car of our own and she always went to work by bus. Then I thought: LET 2 –
estate agents
! It had to be someone from work who’d given her a lift. Was this the man, then? Was this the mysterious George Simpson and his car?

I climbed over the low wall that led into the flats and walked up towards the fire escape. Mum –
with a boyfriend
. I just couldn’t imagine it. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just someone giving her a lift home from work.

Half-hidden behind the fire escape stairs, I watched their heads in the car. His was moving around a lot, as if he was talking animatedly. Then I saw that he was laughing, and so was Mum. After a moment his head tipped sideways towards hers, as if he was resting his cheek on her head.

I stared disbelievingly. It
wasn’t
just a lift home; I could see that even from a distance. As I watched, their heads moved towards each other: they were talking quietly and intimately. Closer … closer … my eyes nearly popped out of my head… don’t say they were going to kiss! I couldn’t believe it. Mum and snogging – the two words just didn’t go together. First Ellie, then her. Everyone in my family was snogging except me.

I didn’t want to see any more. I nipped up the fire escape and into the flats, bursting in on Ellie and telling her what I’d seen.

‘I don’t believe it!’ she said, and we ran into the kitchen to see if we could glimpse any bit of the car out of the window. ‘Why doesn’t she bring him in? Why hasn’t she said anything to us about him?’

‘Dunno,’ I said. I shook my head wonderingly. ‘Is it serious, d’you think?’ I went back into our bedroom and grabbed Jack, who was quietly sorting out the contents of the wastepaper bin. I brought him into the kitchen and found him Josie’s toy duck to play with. Jack beamed at me, pleased. The duck was a treat – I usually tried to hide it because its quacking drove me mad.

‘Maybe it’s just a casual date,’ Ellie said.

‘Mum –
snogging
,’ I said. ‘She wouldn’t do that unless it was serious.’ I flicked the switch on the kettle again for a cuppa and looked round the kitchen. It
was
a mess, but if I let Jack keep the duck and if Mum could just stay outside in that car for about another twenty minutes, I reckoned I could fix it.

She was half an hour, as it happened, and by this time the kitchen was reasonably clear, one load of washing was on and there were potatoes in their jackets ready to cook in the microwave.

I thought I’d say straightaway that I’d seen her. ‘Nice car,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw you in that Beamer,’ I said casually. ‘Someone give you a lift home, did they?’

‘What d’you mean, you saw me? Have you been spying on me?’

‘Don’t get paranoid,’ I said. ‘I was just coming back from the shop and I saw you sitting in there. I wondered who you were with, that was all.’

‘None of your business,’ she said, but then after a moment added, ‘Well, I suppose I might as well tell you. It’s a friend of mine from work. His name’s George – George Simpson.’

‘Oh,’ I said. Ha! I thought. It
was
him. ‘Is he nice, then?’

‘Very nice indeed,’ she said crisply. ‘And that’s all you need know about him.’

An hour later we’d eaten our potatoes, the place was looking like a rubbish dump again and Jack was sitting under the table wailing. I’d put him to bed once and he’d screamed and screamed as if he had a pain, so I’d had to get him up again. I’d tried to sit him in his high chair while we ate, but he’d cried so much that Mum had told me to get him out of it and let him do what he wanted for ten minutes, just so we could eat in comparative peace. Being under the table and playing with our shoes had amused him for two minutes, then I’d got the quacking duck out again which had given us another couple of minutes, but now he was full-on wailing, tired and miserable, rubbing his face with his blanket.

I looked at him. His face was red and the whole of the front of his sleeping suit was wet with dribble, which meant he was teething. The health visitor had told me he was probably going to cut several teeth at once and I should be prepared for some disturbed nights.

Mum cleared her plate and got up. ‘I’m going out
tonight,’ she announced. ‘So I’m going to put the water on and have a bath.’

Ellie and I looked at her in astonishment.

‘Mum! Have you got a date?’ Ellie asked.

‘Is it George Simpson?’

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ she said to us. ‘I’m not completely over the hill, you know. People of my age are allowed to go out on dates.’

‘Where you going?’ I asked.

‘Just out in the country for a drive and a drink,’ she said. ‘Can you clear up in here, Ellie?’

‘I’m going out too!’ Ellie said. I shot a look at her – not with that boy again, surely. She knew exactly what the look meant. ‘I’m only going over to Neema’s to watch a video,’ she added.

‘That’s not fair!’ I said immediately. ‘I’ve already cleared up once today.’

Mum got up. ‘I don’t care who does it. Sort it out between you,’ she said, going into the bathroom.

‘I’ll do it tomorrow!’ Ellie disappeared into our bedroom at the speed of light and seconds –
seconds
– later I heard a carefree ‘Bye, everyone!’ and the front door close behind her.

There was a moment’s silence while I looked at the amount of washing-up I had to do, and then Jack
started wailing again. A sort of tired and moany wail that, I knew from bitter experience, could go on for hours.

Friday night, I thought. The weekend starts here. Yippee.

It was Sunday evening, Jack was in bed, Mum and Ellie were both out again and I was bored.

Yawning heavily, I flicked from channel to channel on the TV. Nothing! I had homework to do but I’d started reading it – ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ by T. S. Eliot – and couldn’t work out what was going on. What did it all mean? It didn’t seem much of a love poem to me. And apart from old Prufrock I had washing, cleaning, ironing and washing-up to do and I didn’t feel like doing them, either. OK, at least Mum was out with George Simpson and so off my case, but with Ellie out as well it was deadly dull. There was no one to talk to – no one, even, to moan with about the stuff on the telly. It was all very well Ellie growing up and Mum going off and having a life of her own, but it didn’t seem fair that they both had to do it at the same time.

I wondered if it had been like this for Mum after Dad had left. Ellie had been a baby, then, and I’d been
about five, so until she’d started work she’d had no one grown-up to talk to for years and years. And no social life to speak of either – not until now, when this George person had turned up. But that, said a little voice inside me, was what happened when you had children. You had to put them first; make
them
your life. Everyone said so.

Sometimes, though, it didn’t seem enough. Sometimes? Mostly.

I flopped down on the sofa and stared across at the horrible yellow-gold curtains, which had been hanging there ever since I could remember. The flat was not only a mess, it was a dump. We hadn’t had any new furniture or carpets or anything for years.

I tried to buck up. OK, I had a spare evening, what could I do with myself? All the magazines tell you that an evening in on your own is something special, a treat. You’re supposed to have a manicure and pedicure, then put bits of cucumber on your eyelids and have a face pack, then relax in a bubble bath with scented candles. I had no money for things like face packs or nail varnish or foot lotion, though, and anyway, the bathroom had peeling wallpaper and was crammed with plastic toys and baby stuff. If I wanted a bubble bath I’d have to use washing-up liquid, and
there certainly weren’t any scented candles around. That was
that
, then.

I closed my eyes. What would I like to be doing tonight? The answer was, I’d like to be going out somewhere for a meal, with someone I really fancied. Jon? Yes, Jon would do. I could quite easily work myself up into a Class A fancy for him. And if I wasn’t with Jon, I’d like to be going out to a club. Or to
California’s
, with Claire and without Josie. Or a disco where I could spend the entire night dancing – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out dancing. I’d like to go out without having to leave bottles of milk and teething stuff and careful instructions about the bye-byes blanket, and without having to get back at a certain time.

I flicked through the TV channels again. ‘Antiques Roadshow’ was on.
Still
. It had been on for hours. All day, it seemed. I switched the set off and as I did so I heard a wail from the bedroom. I glanced at my watch disbelievingly: he’d only been in bed forty-five minutes! He’d been in a bad mood all afternoon, rubbing at his cheeks and dribbling, and though I’d been dying to get him to bed, I’d hung it out as long as possible hoping that he’d sleep right through the night. Forty-five minutes! How could he only sleep
that long when he’d been so tired?

I turned the TV back on, found a wildlife programme and turned the sound right up. Every time there was a pause, though, I could hear Jack crying in the background. I left him about fifteen minutes, until I knew from the rattling of the bars of his cot that he’d pulled himself out of the bedclothes and was standing up.

I opened the bedroom door a tiny bit. If he didn’t look too distressed then I’d leave him to it. He saw me first, though.

‘G’bye,’ he said in a little quavery voice and I immediately felt
terrible
. I picked him up and hugged him, and found he was damp right through his nighttime nappy and sleep suit, and the bottom sheet was soaked. Sighing, I tugged at the sheet to pull it out and put in the wash. Ellie had got him ready for bed and she’d obviously done up the nappy wrongly. If you didn’t get them just right then they leaked.

I changed him and took him into the sitting room. His tears had dried by now, there was just the occasional shuddering intake of breath to remind me that I’d been a cruel mummy and left him to cry. Immediately cheered up at the sight of his toys, he found Josie’s duck and began to push it at speed up
and down the room –
quack-quack-quack-quack
.

I let him play for ten minutes or so, and then tried to take him back into the bedroom. Realising he was about to be banished, he started crying as soon as I picked him up. I carried him in, though, arranged all his toys and his piece of blanket around him and said, ‘Time to sleep. Night night!’ very firmly. This is what the health visitor had instructed. Of course, he was roaring before I’d even closed the door.

I went into the sitting room and, to occupy myself, rang Claire. To my surprise, she was in – although she didn’t exactly sound thrilled to hear from me. ‘April brought over
Men in Black
,’ she said. ‘We were just about to start watching it.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Who’s April?’

‘She’s a girl in my tutor group at school,’ Claire explained. ‘She’s really nice. She’s got the most fantastic red hair right down her back!’ Then she said, ‘Oh dear, can I hear someone crying?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Guess who?’

‘Aaahh,’ she said insincerely. ‘Sweet!’

‘I’m about to chuck him out of the window, actually,’ I said. ‘I’ve had just about enough of him.’

There was a pause. ‘Aaahh,’ she said again, obviously not knowing what else to say.

In her background I could hear someone – the fantastically red-haired April, I supposed – saying, ‘Who’s that? Come
on
, Claire!’

‘You’d better go,’ I said. ‘Your friend wants you.’ You’re supposed to be my best friend, I thought. Why can’t you drop everything – drop April – and come over and cheer me up? ‘Bye,’ I said coldly. ‘See you.’

She might have detected the icy tone in my voice.

‘Megan – can’t you get someone to babysit for you?’ she said. ‘You could come over here and watch the video with us.’

‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘Mum’s out and Ellie’s out.’

‘Well, couldn’t you pop over anyway?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you get Jack off to sleep and then come round. If I know you’re coming we won’t start the film till you get here.’

I was tempted. Claire’s flat was only a block away. I calculated in my head: two minutes to get down our stairs, two minutes along the road, two minutes up her stairs. If I ran I could probably do it in five altogether.

‘Go on,’ Claire said. ‘You’ll like April. She’s a laugh.’

‘Well …’ I said. If I gave Jack another bottle it would send him to sleep, and then I’d have at least an
hour before he woke up again. ‘I don’t know,’ I said uncertainly.

‘He’ll be all right!’ Claire said. ‘If he’s in his cot what can happen to him?’

Although I’d been thinking that myself, when she said it I immediately took the opposite stand. ‘Loads!’ I said. ‘Suppose someone breaks into the flat? Suppose he climbs out of the cot? Suppose there’s a fire? Suppose he coughs or chokes on his own sick?’

‘Please!’ she said, giggling. ‘We’ve just eaten.’

‘No, I’d better not,’ I said.

‘We’ve got popcorn!’ she said persuasively.

‘No, it’s OK. Perhaps I’ll see you in the week instead.’

‘Yeah. Sure. Come round!’ she said. ‘My mum would like to see Jack.’ I waited for her to say a day, or a time, but she didn’t. Funny that, because when I’d been pregnant she’d promised that having a baby wouldn’t change things between us, that we’d still be best friends,
always
be best friends. She was going to be Jack’s fairy godmother, she’d said.