The Bad Mother's Handbook (2 page)

I wasn’t that fussed, though. I knew it was Martin Hedges
who’d made him do it.

I was more upset when he didn’t dance with me at the
leavers’ disco. We knew we were off to different schools,
him to the comp and me to the grammar, so I thought he
might be up for a kiss, but he never came near me, just
raced around hitting his mates with balloons and stuffing
streamers down their backs. I told my mum about it afterwards
(we got on in those days). She said, ‘Well, what can
you expect, he’s a little boy.’ It made me wonder when
he’d be grown up.

Luckily it’s impossible to avoid anyone on a place as
small as Bank Top. We’d meet at the bus stop, blank each
other out and sit as far apart as possible on the red
leatherette seats, so I knew there was a chance he was
interested. When he was with his friends he’d spread
himself out over the back of the 214 to Wigan and talk
loudly and swear a lot, writing on the windows and
converting the sign EMERGENCY EXIT to VIRGIN
EXIT by scratching off bits of the lettering. Then the boys would say to each other, ‘That’s
your
door, that is. That’s
the door
you
should use.’ Such a stigma.

Now neither of us would be able to use it.

I thought it would make me feel different, not being a
virgin, but mainly it’s made me feel scared.

‘Have you done this before?’ he asked as he unzipped
his jeans.

We knew what was going to happen. It was my New
Year’s resolution and I’d told him. I don’t think he could
believe his luck.

‘No. Have you?’

‘Does it matter?’

I didn’t trust myself to answer so I took my skirt off.
Like we were changing for PE; hand your valuables over.
I was sure we should be undressing each other, or at least
kissing, but that seemed too intimate. I started to shiver
with nerves and the cold. ‘Can you stick the heater on?
You’re nearest.’

CLICK went the thermostat and we got into bed.

Then time seemed to hang for a moment and I was
back at last August’s carnival, sitting on our front wall
watching the streamered floats go past and waving at
toddlers dressed as bees, when he came sauntering over
with his bucket of coins. He was wearing a pirate costume
and he’d drawn a black curly moustache over his soft top
lip, but the skin only looked more smooth and bright,
almost girlish. ‘It wrecks, this eyepatch,’ he said, peeling
it off and rubbing at the red mark on his cheek. ‘I’m sure
I’m doing myself damage. And these boots are killing me,
an’ all.’

So he sat down and we chatted shyly, then we walked to the field together to hear the judging and watch the
endless teams of high-stepping knee-socked majorettes
waving giant pompoms about. The megaphone squawked
the names of princesses and queens. ‘Why is there always
a fat one in every troupe?’ he’d said, and the brass band
played ‘Oh When the Saints’ while the air glittered
around us. Little children ran about screaming, teenage
girls lay on the grass and exposed their midriffs to the
sun. Before he went home he said, ‘You’ll have to come
round some time and we’ll listen to some CDs or
summat.’ The sun flashed on his dagger. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘All
right.’

CLICK.

He was fumbling between my legs and pushing a
finger inside me then, Christ, two, stabbing and rotating
clumsily. (Wasn’t that what the boys boasted about, the
girls at school said, how many
fingers
they’d managed?)
No. I’d changed my mind. This was a bad idea. Stop. I
looked for his gaze to tell him to slow down, to abandon
the whole thing and go downstairs and watch
The
Simpsons
. But the fierce desire in his eyes paralysed me.
I’d heard of people’s eyes burning, but I’d never seen it in
real life. It was like all his maleness concentrated there,
shocking.

Suddenly he paused and half turned away. My heart
lurched, then I realized he was rolling on a condom. His
vertebrae were clear through his skin and I followed their
curve down to the shadow at the base of his spine. Were
all men so angular?

CLICK.

Then he turned back to me, grasped his cock like he meant business and forced his way in. Ow ow OW it
stung so much it was all I could do not to cry out. A
football in the face was nothing compared to this. I held
myself rigid and clung on to his back, wondering why
something so universally billed as brilliant could be so
awful. Why didn’t they warn us at school? I’m sure if
some teacher had said, ‘Oh and by the way, it feels like
someone sandpapering your cervix,’ they needn’t have
bothered with all the Aids warnings and morality stuff.
I’d certainly have thought twice. He came quickly with
a series of great shudders and then collapsed into me,
hiding his face against my neck.

It was at this point that Nan walked in, so all credit to
him really that he managed anything coherent at all.

Afterwards it was embarrassing. Even though I ran
over and locked the door I still felt the horror of Nan’s
blank stare and half-smile. Neither of us knew what to
say and there was blood and we were still naked. Down
the landing we could hear Nan singing:

‘You know last night, well you know the night before
Three little tom-cats come knockin’ at the door
One had a fiddle, another had a drum
And the third had a pancake stuck to its bum.’

‘Don’t put that in the bin!’ I shouted as he scooped up
the condom and neatly tied a knot in it. ‘Hell’s bells, if my
mother finds that in with the tissues . . .’

‘So what am I supposed to do with it? Do you not
want to keep it forever?’

He dangled it from his finger then made as if to throw
it at me. I screamed and flinched. He lunged and we rolled about on the bed, then somehow it became a pillow
fight. I bet that never happens in my mother’s Aga Sagas.
His ribs moved under his pale skin and his blue eyes
shone, and I thought, He’s still just a boy really. He was
panting and smiling, and I knew then I’d done the right
thing.

At last we rolled into the bedhead. He banged his chin
and I knocked a picture off the wall which fell down the
back.

‘Aw, shit, sorry. I’ll get it.’

He dived under the bed, all sharp shoulder bone, and
brought out the photograph; two hand-tinted ginger
kittens in a basket above the legend
Happy Hours!.

Hoping always for a meeting
With a friend I love so true
Dear I send this simple greeting
May the world deal well with you

‘The frame’s a bit jiggered.’

He handed it over. The thin black wood was split at
the corner and the glass was cracked.

‘I can get a new one. Best not let my mother see,
though.’ I opened the bedside cupboard and slid the picture
in under some magazines. ‘I know it’s naff but it’s got
sentimental value. It’s one of Nan’s birthday cards from
when she was little, she used to have it in her room and I
always wanted it. I nabbed it when her mind began to go.
Sort of a way of preserving a piece of my childhood, do
you know what I mean? Against all the change . . . She’s
never noticed.’

‘Very nice. Do you want to come round on Saturday? Everyone’s out so, only I’ve got to get back to let Darren
in now. Sooner he gets his own key the better.’

He was pulling on his sweater as he spoke.

‘Can you not stay just a bit longer?’

‘Sorry. Little brothers and all that. Have you seen my
sock?’

I scrambled to put something on, we found the sock
and then he went home. I lay on the bed wishing he’d
kissed me goodbye instead of ruffling my hair. Should’ve
asked. Or maybe that’s not cool. What are the rules,
anyway? Perhaps some men just aren’t all that demonstrative;
it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, it’s the way
they are.

So there it is, the great seduction. I suppose I’ve made
the whole thing sound pretty gross. Some of it was. But
the point is, the point is, I’m a woman now, an adult.
Perhaps people will be able to tell just by looking at me
(God, I hope not! The girls at school used to say you
walked funny afterwards). But the point is I have a life
that is not my mother’s and it is the beginning of some big
changes round here.

I know things are going to be different from now on.

*

I’D MET Billy when he ran across the street to help me
carry a basket of washing. It was blowing about, a great
white sheet on the top, and I knew if it hit the ground and got
dirty my mother would chow. It happened once before when
I was little and Jimmy had hold of one handle and I had the
other. We were staggering down the street to Dr Liptrot’s
with his week’s wash when a big gust of wind took two or three shirts right off and they fell in t’ road. We were two-double
laughing as we picked ’em up, but when we got
home and showed my mother she laid her head on the table
and wept.

Billy had been courting a girl he’d met in the TB sanatorium,
a bonny woman but it made no difference. We had ten for
the wedding tea, then caught the train to Blackpool. At Chorley
some lads got in and saw all t’ confetti in my hair so they
started singing, ‘We have been married today, We are on our
honeymoon all the way.’ When we got to the bed and breakfast
I gave a fish to the landlady so she could cook it for our supper.
The next evening she said, ‘Mrs Hesketh, are you ready for
your fish now?’ And I never took her on because I wasn’t used
to the name.

When I got back to the mill I had such a colour all the girls
said I must be pregnant.

*

W
HERE
’
S
C
HARLOTTE
? Gone to Wigan for the afternoon,
no doubt to spend money she hasn’t got on crap she
doesn’t need. Nan? Asleep in the chair, legs apart, mouth
slightly open. God, if I ever get like that. And why are there
never any pens in this house? You put them down and they
walk. Useful Drawer; what a flamin’ mess, I don’t know
why we keep half this rubbish. Sandpaper, candles, napkin
rings – like we’re ever going to use
those
– Stain Devil’s
leaked all over the clothes brush now. Had a big row with
the hoover and a table leg today; broke one of the attachments,
so that’ll be something else to sort out. Bingo! Black
biro, bit fluffy round the nib, still, be all right. Here goes
nothing.

Love’n’ stuff

Finding You a Partner for Life’s Adventure

Outline Questionnaire

Please try to answer as honestly as possible

Name
Karen Cooper

Status
Very low actually
. Divorced.

Address
21, Brown Moss Road, Bank Top, Nr Wigan,
Lancs WI24 5LS.
Moving in with my mother was supposed to
be a fresh start.

Age
33.
Feel about 60 sometimes.

Children
One.
17-year-old madam.

Occupation
Teacher
. Part time classroom assistant.
At my
old primary school! My life’s just gone round in a big loop.

Educational Qualifications
10 ‘O’ levels.
Yes, 10. I could
have had a degree if I’d wanted. What the hell does it matter
anyway? I’ve been to the University of Life (though I had
originally set my sights on Leeds).

Salary (approx)
Crap.
Funded this caper out of Nan’s present
(I just withdraw it from her savings account, Merry Xmas
Happy Birthday etc, even buy my own damn card).

Do you consider yourself to be

working class	middle class
upper class	not sure