The Illustrated Mum (13 page)

“I'm not too sure. If you could drive us around for a bit I'm sure I'll recognize it.”

“Have you got cash, lady?”

“Of course I have. Well, credit card.”

“No, thanks. Out you get. And you, little girl. I'm not taking you on a tour round blooming Brighton. You're crazy.”

“What did you call me?” said Marigold.

I had to haul her out of the cab quick. We walked after that. Down to the seafront. There was no sand but the sea was a bright turquoise blue and the pier had a huge glitter ball that sparkled in the sunshine. Marigold started to sparkle too. She caught my hand and we went on the pier and she found a booth where they do astrology charts to see if you're compatible with your partner. She knew Micky's birth date even though she didn't know his phone number or address, so she used up the last of our cash seeing if they were soul mates.

The computer printout reckoned they were 75% compatible, much higher than average. Marigold read it three times, a huge smile on her face. Then we went through the amusement arcade to the end of the pier and back. I wished she'd left some cash so we could have a go at grabbing a bright green teddy or a fluffy panda with a spotted bow tie out of the machine. I'd have loved an ice cream too. It was way past lunchtime. Marigold rarely got hungry when she was in one of her states.

There was a fish and chip place in the middle of the pier. The smell made me suck in my cheeks. There were people sitting in a long line of deck chairs nibbling bits of batter and chomping chips. One thin girl barely touched her polystyrene platter, just throwing the odd
chip to the seagulls. Then she went off with her boyfriend. I stared after them. I stared at her fish and chips. There were seagulls with beady eyes and sharp orange beaks perching on the pier railings, waiting. I got there first, snatching the platter up and tucking in.

“Dol!” said Marigold, but she didn't stop me.

She stared way into the distance, eyes narrowed. Every time she spotted anyone with fair hair she tensed up, her hand clasping my greasy fingers, but so far we hadn't caught a glimpse of Micky and Star.

“But we
will
find them,” said Marigold.

We walked and walked and walked. Marigold had such bad blisters she stuffed old tissues between her straps and her feet. We went all over a big modern shopping center asking in all the jewelry shops, but no one knew Micky or his work.

“They're all too modern, too tacky, too chain store,” said Marigold.

We went round and round little winding lanes full of antique jewelry shops.

“Too old,” said Marigold, after we'd gone in and out of every one.

We walked further and found small lively streets with people plaiting hair and playing penny whistles and selling amber off stalls.

“This is more like it,” said Marigold.

We went into several jewelry shops. We couldn't see any rings like the one he'd been wearing and there
were no necklaces like ours. No one knew Micky‘or if they did, they weren't letting on to us.

“We're not going to find him, Marigold,” I said, undoing my shoes and arching my poor sore feet.

“Of
course
we're going to find him,” said Marigold, pulling me after her before I'd even got my shoes back on properly.

We tramped round all over again, until the shops started shutting.

“Can't we go home now?”

“We're not going home until we join up with Micky and Star,” said Marigold.

She seemed to think if she said it enough times it would somehow come true. She kept slowing down when we went past pubs. I knew she was longing for a drink. I was terribly thirsty myself. I tried drinking from the cold water tap in a ladies' loo but it was hard gulping it down. Most of the water splashed my front, making my T-shirt uncomfortably sodden. It was starting to get cold, the wind blowing off the sea.

“
Please
let's go home,” I begged.

“Just stop it, Dol. You've got to stop being so negative. Maybe it's your fault we've not found them yet.”

I was scared she was starting to get angry again. I was tired and hungry and cold and my feet hurt. I just couldn't hold on anymore. I burst into tears, great gulpy sobs like a baby.

“Stop it,” said Marigold.

I couldn't.

“Stop it!”
she said. “Look, it'll be all right when we find them. Micky will take us out for a meal and we'll have such a great time. It will be beautiful, I promise. But you've got to shut up now, Dol. People are staring at us. We'll just walk a little further. I bet we suddenly stumble on them in the next street. I just know we'll find them if we only try hard enough.”

“That's crazy,” I sobbed.

Marigold slapped me hard across the cheek. I reeled back, catching my breath. Marigold seemed stunned too. She looked at her own hand as if she couldn't believe what she'd done.

Someone said loudly, “Fancy slapping your child like that!”

“She ought to be reported,” said another.

Then someone tugged at my arm.

“Are you all right, dear?”

I stared at them. I stared at Marigold.

“Quick, Dol,” said Marigold, catching hold of my hand.

She started running, pulling me with her. Someone shouted after us but no one tried to follow. When we were halfway up the street Marigold pulled me into a shop doorway.

“I'm sorry, Dol, I'm so sorry,” she said, starting to cry herself. “I didn't mean to hit you. Oh God, I can't
see in this light. Is your cheek all red? You poor poor little thing. I was so mean to you. Here, hit me back. Really slap my face. Go for it!”

She picked up my hand and tried to make me hit her. My arm flopped back to its side.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I said, sniffing.

“Oh, don't. That makes me feel worse,” said Marigold, crying harder. She cried like a little girl, her mouth open, snot running down her nose.

I fumbled in her bag and found a tissue.

“Here,” I said, wiping her face carefully.

“It's like you're the mum,” Marigold wept.

It was a game she sometimes liked to play. I decided it was my best chance of getting us home.

“Yes, I'm the mum and you're my little girl Marigold. Dear dear, you've got yourself in such a silly state, darling. Let Mummy wipe your nose again,” I said. “Now, come along with me, there's a good girl. I'll tell you a story as we go, right, precious?”

“Yes, Mum,” said Marigold in a little girl's voice.

“OK then, darling. Well. Once upon a time there was a little baby girl called Marigold and she had eyes the color of emeralds and hair the color of the setting sun, and she got stolen away by evil people …”

It was an old old story, one that Marigold had made up herself, but she listened as if she were hearing it for the first time. We walked on uphill, and I hoped and
hoped we were going in the direction of the station. Marigold stumbled once and twisted her ankle. I put my arm round her. She snuggled in. I felt as if I really were the mother and she were my little girl. I wished I could lift her right up in my arms and carry her. She was crying again, tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“We're giving up, aren't we?” she said.

“No, darling, of course we're not giving up. We'll come back lots and lots and we'll find them and it'll be lovely, like you said. But we're tired now, you're very very tired, so Mummy's going to get you home and put you to bed and cuddle you to sleep.”

Marigold stopped. I thought she was going to stop the game, stop me. I waited for her to get angry. She looked at me and it was as if she were looking right through my eyes into my head at all the worries inside.

“Oh, Dol,” she said. She sighed as if all the breath had been kicked out of her. “Oh, Dol, why do I do this to you?”

She came to the station and we caught the train. She fell asleep. I put my arm round her and let her rest her head on my still-damp chest. The ticket man came and I had to wake her, but she was OK with him, even chatting him up a little bit. He had tattoos on his arms, simple heart and dagger flash work. He looked at Marigold's skin with awe.

When we got back home at long last the phone was ringing. Ringing and ringing.

Star sounded frantic when I spoke.

“Oh Dol, I've been so scared! Why didn't you
answer?”

“We've been out.”

“Didn't you take the phone with you?”

“We didn't think about it.”

“That was the
point
. It's a mobile, right? Oh God, you're so stupid. Are you all right? Is Marigold OK? Where have you
been
?”

Star paused. I paused too. Marigold stood watching, biting her finger.

“Oh no. You haven't been to Brighton looking for us, have you?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly.

“Yes, you have! You should have stopped her. Look, Dol, even if she found him it wouldn't be any use. Micky's got Sîan. He doesn't want anything to do with Marigold anymore anyway. Listen, he thinks she needs treatment. He says it isn't all horrible and electric shock stuff like Marigold goes on about. He says she can just take this drug and it'll calm her down. But he says she shouldn't be looking after us when she can't even look after herself.”

I was holding the phone so hard against my ear that I was making grooves in my skin. Star's voice still leaked out of a corner. Marigold could hear every word.

“Shut up, Star!”

“Micky's dead worried about you, Dol. You should
have come with me. I'm telling you, he thinks she's really crazy.”

I cut off the call. Marigold stared into space. Then she dragged herself into her room and fell on her bed. She wept into the pillow where Micky had lain, her skirt rucked up, her poor sore heels blistered and bleeding. Her hair straggled down from its clasp, but the third eye peeped out between the red wisps, dry and unblinking.

I found my silk scarf and got into bed with Marigold. We didn't bother to get up in the morning. I fixed us some cornflakes and toast about midday and then she huddled back down again while I drifted round the flat.

I drew for a bit. I tried to do a picture of Natasha on the back of the empty cornflake packet. I colored her and cut her out so that I could hold her in my hand. Then I stole a sheet of paper out of Star's school notebook and invented all these new outfits for Natasha. I drew big tags on the shoulders and cut them all out slowly, careful not to snip off a single tag. But the dresses and the coat and the frilly nightie didn't fit. The arms were in the wrong place so that Natasha's own pink cardboard arms waved about behind the empty
sleeves and even the necks weren't right, so the clothes hung stiffly at odd angles.

I realized I should have lain the cardboard Natasha down on paper and drawn round her to get an exact fit for the clothes but I was too disheartened to give it another go. I tried to pretend Natasha instead, inventing all sorts of games for us. Marigold must have heard me muttering because she came into the room rubbing her eyes.

“Is Star back?”

“No.”

“She didn't say when she was coming?”

“No.”

“It could be anytime, I suppose,” said Marigold. “Micky might drive her back. And come up. Hey, we'd better get the place tidied up a bit, Dol. Oh God, I look such a sight‘bath time! You come too. You look a bit grubby round the edges.”

I loved sharing a bath with Marigold because her body looked so bright in the water, a living picture book to gaze at. I liked seeing all the tattoos that usually got covered up. There was a green and blue serpent that wiggled all the way down her spine, twisting first this way and then that, its long forked tongue flickering between her shoulder blades, the tip of its tail way down at the crease where her bottom began.

I traced the first few coils, and Marigold wriggled
her shoulders so that the serpent writhed convincingly. I'd never been all that sure about the serpent. It had tiny hooded eyes that looked sly and scary. Suddenly the serpent seemed too real, as if it were about to wriggle right off Marigold's back and slide up my own skin. I got out of the bath quick.

Marigold took ages. She was even longer getting dressed, trying on and discarding practically all her clothes. She ended up choosing an oldish pair of jeans and a pale pink T-shirt that belonged to Star. She wore pale pink lipstick too, and brushed her hair back behind her ears, which didn't suit her. If she hadn't had her vivid tattoos she'd have looked almost ordinary. I got it. She was trying to show Micky she wasn't crazy.

I didn't dare point out that Star had her train ticket back so Micky wouldn't be coming anywhere near our house. I didn't want Marigold to get mad at me again for being negative. And I was wrong. When Star came back at long last, not till the evening, she went straight to the window and waved. We heard the car start up and drive away.

Marigold dashed to the window too but Micky had gone.

“He drove you all the way from Brighton?” I mouthed.

“He wanted to make sure I was OK,” said Star, showing off. “And that you were too.”

“Of course we're OK,” I said crossly.

Marigold was still pressed flat against the window. We both watched her anxiously. She looked as if she were going to step straight through it.

“Marigold?” said Star.

Her shoulders straightened. She turned, blinking hard, her eyes brimming. I could see the pulse flickering at her temple. She took a deep deep breath. Then she forced her pale pink lips into a silly smile.

“Did you have a good time, darling?” she asked.

“Yes, I did,” said Star defiantly.

“Good. I'm so glad,” said Marigold. “I think it's quite wonderful that you have this chance to know your father. Micky drove you all the way back? Why didn't you ask him up for a drink, sweetie?”

“He had to get back.”

“Right,” said Marigold. “Well. Did he say anything about seeing you again?”

“Next weekend,” said Star.

“That's lovely,” said Marigold, and she went to put her arms round Star.

Star stiffened at first but then she suddenly put her arms round Marigold's neck and hugged her hard.

“I did ask him to come in. And I told him how much you care about him. Oh, Marigold, I wish it could work out the way you want, you and him and Dol and me. I'm
sorry
. I felt so bad going. But I
had
to see him.”