The Illustrated Mum (2 page)

“But Star's getting your birthday cake!”

“Oh!” She screwed up her face in disappointment. “Oh yes. Well, come
on
, Star. Where's she got to? Why did she have to go out now to get this cake?”

This was so unfair of Marigold I couldn't look her in the eyes. She was terrible when she twisted everything about. She always did it when she got worked up. I knew I should tell her she wasn't being fair to Star but I couldn't make myself. It was so special being Marigold and me.

Star was ages. Marigold paced the flat in her high heels, groaning theatrically and watching the clock. When Star came back at last, carefully carrying a plastic
bag on upturned hands, Marigold had to make an extreme effort.

“Star! You've been such a long time, sweetie!”

“Sorry. There were heaps of people. And I had to walk back carefully because I didn't want the cake to get bashed. I do hope you like it. I didn't know whether to pick the fruit or the sponge. I got the sponge because it was cheaper‘but maybe you like fruit more?”

“Whichever,” said Marigold carelessly. “Come on then, let's have a slice of cake.”

She was already pulling it out of the box, barely looking at it. She didn't even put it on a proper plate. She rummaged in the drawer for a sharp knife and went to cut the first slice.

“You've got to make a wish!” said Star.

Marigold raised her eyebrows but closed her eyes and wished. We didn't need to ask what she was wishing for. I saw her lips say the word “Micky.” Then she was hacking away at the cake and gulping her slice so quickly she sprayed crumbs everywhere.

“What's the big hurry?” said Star.

I stopped eating my own slice of cake.

“I'm going to try to catch Steve early, before any clients. I've just designed the most amazing symbolic tattoo,” said Marigold.

“No,” said Star. “Not another. You
promised
.”

“But this is so beautiful, darling. A cross because
I'm at the crossroads. Look!” Marigold waved her design.

“You've spoilt Dol's birthday card,” said Star.

“No she hasn't,” I said quickly.

“You said it was sick and pathetic getting yourself tattooed again and again. You said you'd save up for laser treatment to get them removed. You
said
,” Star said, her voice rising.

“I said a whole load of stuff just to keep you happy, darling. But I love all my tattoos. They're all so special to me. They make
me
feel special.”

“They make you look like a circus freak,” said Star. There was a sudden silence. We stood looking at each other in shock and embarrassment, hardly able to believe what Star had just said. Even Star seemed astonished.

“OK, so I'm a freak,” said Marigold shakily. “I don't care. I don't have to conform to your narrow view of society, Star. I've always lived my life on the outside edge.”

“Now you're sounding like some corny old film. Why can't you act
normal
?”

“I don't want to be normal,” said Marigold. “I can't figure out why you do all of a sudden. What's the matter with you, Star?”

“Maybe I'm growing up. When are you going to grow up, Marigold?” She seized her slice of cake and
crumpled it into tiny crumbs. Then she brushed her hands and ran into our bedroom.

Marigold and I looked at each other. Marigold tried to look like she didn't care. She put her hand to her head as if she was trying to hold it together.

“What should I do?” she whispered to me.

“Star didn't really mean it,” I said. “She was just upset because she thought you didn't like the cake.”

“I know she's got this thing about tattoos‘but I
want
the cross, Dol.”

I shrugged helplessly. Star was always the one who told Marigold what to do. I wasn't any good at it.

“It will look incredible, I just know it,” said Marigold. “I have to go now or Steve won't have time. Will you come too?”

I hesitated. I wasn't like Star, who had refused to set foot in the Rainbow Tattoo Studio. I found it fascinating, though I was sometimes a bit scared of some of the customers. Steve himself was kind of scary too, with his shiny bald head and his long beard and his pointed tongue with a stud through the end. I hated seeing it flash silver in his mouth. He knew this and stuck his tongue out at me whenever he saw me.

“Please,” Marigold pressed. “I'll need you. It'll hurt.

” “You said it doesn't hurt much at all.”

“It will hurt on the elbow. It's always painful on a joint.”

“Then
why …
?”

“It'll be more special if I have to suffer for it,” said Marigold.

“That's silly,” I said.

“I'll need you there so I can hold your hand to be brave,” said Marigold. “If you don't come I might go really mad and get Steve to do the cross on my face. Up the forehead, down the nose, across both cheeks.” She shook her head at me. “Oh, Dol, I'm
joking
.”

I wasn't sure. When Marigold was in this sort of mood she could do the craziest thing on a sudden whim. Maybe she really did need me to go with her. I was worried but I also felt very grown-up and special. It was me she needed, not Star.

I still felt bad about Star, though.

“Come on, Dol,” said Marigold, desperate to be off.

“Wait a second,” I said, and went to our bedroom.

I hesitated and then knocked on the door in case Star was crying and didn't want me to see. She didn't answer. I timidly peeked round the door. She was sitting on the end of the bed, her fists clenched in her lap. Her face was hidden by her long hair.

“Star? Star, she wants me to go with her.”

Star shrugged as if it was nothing to do with her.

“Maybe Steve will have an early customer,” I said. “Then he won't be able to do it. Or maybe she'll change her mind again. You know what she's like.”

“I know what she's like,” Star said slowly. Her teeth were clenched too.

“Star?”

“Stop bleating my name like that, it's so
irritating
.”

“Do you mind if I go with her? I'd better, hadn't I?”

“You do what you want.”

“Can't you come too?”

Star looked at me witheringly. “I'm not going near that stupid place.”

I waited, trying to think of some way to make everything better.

“It's a great birthday cake, Star.”

I wasn't getting anywhere. I suddenly heard the front door bang. I had to leave Star. I ran hard after Marigold. She was halfway down the stairs.

“Wait for me!”

“I thought you maybe weren't coming,” said Marigold. She laughed. “But you are, you are, you are!” She caught hold of me on the first-floor landing and swung me round.

“What a racket!” Mrs. Luft was down at the front door sorting through the post. She seemed to be addressing an invisible audience. “Do they have to be so noisy on the stairs? Up and down, late at night, first thing in the morning. Some people have no consideration.”

“Any post for me?” Marigold asked. She always got extra hopeful on her birthdays and Christmas, just in case Micky decided to get in touch. Ever since we'd
been given the Housing Trust flat she'd renewed the postal forwarding service every three months. It was the one thing she never forgot.

“Electricity bill,” said Mrs. Luft, handing it over. “Well, I don't think I'll bother with that,” said Marigold, tossing the unopened bill onto the old table in the hallway.

I looked at it anxiously. Mrs. Luft sniffed.

“That's a very responsible attitude, I must say,” she announced. “Some people take pride in paying their bills on time. Others are downright feckless. Spend, spend, spend‘and lets the state fork out for her and her children.”

Marigold told Mrs. Luft to go away and mind her own business. She didn't say it politely. She used short sharp words.

“Yes, that's just the sort of language I'd expect from
her
,” said Mrs. Luft. She shuffled into her flat, her backless slippers slapping the floor at each step.

“Mad old bat,” said Marigold, taking my hand. “Come on, let's see if we can run all the way.”

She was faster than me at running even though she was wearing high heels. I hung back and had to stop and gasp for breath at every new street, a stitch in my side. It was still hurting when we got to the Rainbow Tattoo Studio. The Closed sign was on the door but when Marigold tapped the opaque glass with her long fingertips Steve came to the door.

“Uh-oh,” he said, giving her one glance. “I'm not starting any long customized job now, Goldie. I've got a guy coming in at ten.”

“Oh, Steve, be a honey. Which guy? If he's a biker he won't make it in till eleven at the earliest. And if he's a first-timer then it's odds on he won't even turn up.
Please
, sweetheart. It's my birthday. And it's just this
gorgeous
design. You'll love it. Look!”

She waved my card at him.

“Bit intricate, isn't it?” he said, looking at my birthday drawing.

I blushed, not wanting him to laugh at me.

“Steve!” said Marigold impatiently.

“Nice drawing,” Steve said to me. Then he turned the card over. “Ah.”

“It's great, isn't it. I thought right here.” Marigold tapped her left elbow.

Steve tutted, the silver flashing in his tongue.

“You're paying, I take it?”

“Out my wages,” said Marigold.

“But we only need you here the odd day or so when someone needs a custom job.”

“I'll come in and do flash work‘whatever.”

“I don't trust you to do flash work properly, Goldie. Remember that guy who wanted the samurai arm piece and you did the mouth all smiley instead of sneering?”

Marigold was smiling herself. She bent over to Steve and put her arms round his neck, whispering in his ear.

I turned my back on her and looked at the wall of flash. They had all the usual designs on display, most of them pretty boring stuff, dragons and tigers and skulls and basic Celtic designs. I could understand why Marigold got so sick of tracing out the same designs again and again. No wonder she sometimes gave the dragon flame-breath or the tiger a little cub or placed a perky little wig on top of the skull.

She was still wound round Steve. He soon weakened.

“OK, OK, I'll do your cross. Only no shrieking the place down. I don't want you frightening away any potential customers.”

“I won't even whimper,” she promised.

Steve tinkered with his needle bar, bunching the needles at various angles.

“You're a genius, Steve,” Marigold said, tracing her cross design onto duplicating paper. “No one can ink like you.”

“Flattering witch,” he said, wiping her arm with alcohol and then spraying it with soap and water. He carefully stuck the duplicating paper down, rubbed it all over and then left the picture in place.

“You're sure, Goldie?”

“Surer than sure,” she said, taking my hand with her free right arm.

Steve rubbed Vaseline over the design, poured out a capful of color, put on his rubber gloves and started the machine.

I couldn't look for a long time. I held Marigold's hand tight as tight, while her nails dug a deep groove in my palm. Her eyes were watering and she bit hard on her bottom lip, but she was as good as her word, not making a whimper.

The machine buzzed loudly. Steve whistled tune-lessly through his teeth, his way of concentrating. He stopped every now and then and sprayed Marigold's arm and dabbed it dry.

I dared look. I saw the black line of the cross taking shape. It took well over an hour before it was finished. Two customers were kept waiting but Steve let them see what he was doing and they watched, fascinated.

“Right. Done!” Steve said at last.

Marigold got up very slowly, straightening her arm with extreme caution. The front of her shirt was damp with sweat. Her face was chalk white but when she saw the new cross tattoo in the mirror it flooded pink.

“Oh, Steve, it's going to look wonderful!”

“It's your design, babe,” said Steve, coating it with special ointment.

He went to wrap it in a bandage but Marigold stepped aside.

“Let me look a minute more.” She craned round to examine every detail.

“That's a truly cool tattoo,” said one of the customers. “I reckon it would look great on my lady. Will you do a cross on her exactly like that?”

“I'll design her own personal cross, if that's what she'd like,” said Marigold. “But this one's mine.”

She let Steve put the bandage on and then grinned at me.

“This one's mine too,” she said, ruffling my hair. “Come on, Dol. See you, Steve, darling.”

He was busy breaking the used needles off the bar and putting the equipment in the sterilizer.

“Don't forget this,” he said, pointing to my card.

“I don't need the design. It's permanent now,” said Marigold, tossing it in the bin.

“It's on the back of your birthday card,” Steve reminded her.

“Whoops!” said Marigold, retrieving the card. “Sorry, Dol.”

“It's OK,” I muttered.

“Hey, you're not going to go all sulky on me too, are you? It's my
birthday
. We're going to have
fun
,” said Marigold.

It didn't really work. Star was barely speaking
when we got back. When she saw Marigold's bandage she screwed up her face in disgust.

We had the rest of the birthday cake for lunch. Marigold bought wine for herself and juice for Star and me.

“So we can all drink to the birthday girl,” she said. She drank her wine in less than half an hour and then said she felt a little sleepy. She curled up on the sofa, her arm carefully out to one side. She fell asleep in the middle of a sentence.

Star stared at her.

“She only drank so much because her arm hurts,” I said.

“So whose fault is that?” said Star.

But with Marigold out of it Star was much better company. She'd done all her boring old weekend homework so now she was free to play with me.

“I wish we could watch television,” I said.

The rental firm had taken our television and video recorder away the past week because Marigold hadn't kept up the payments. She promised she'd see about getting us a new set but she hadn't done anything about it yet.