The Illustrated Mum (5 page)

“Surprise surprise. She's spent a fortune on that kitchen stuff.”

“Yes, I know. She shouldn't have. But it was for us.”

“You're really a fully paid-up member of the Marigold Fan Club, aren't you?” Star said spitefully.

I blinked at her in surprise. Until recently it had always been Marigold and Star‘and then me, trotting along behind, trying to keep up. They were like two lovebirds, bright and beautiful, billing and cooing, while I was a boring old budgie on a perch by myself.

“I don't suppose she's thought to buy any normal food?” said Star, running her finger round and round the bowl.

She'd been biting her nails so badly they were just little slivers surrounded by raw pink flesh.

“Who wants normal food? This is much more fun. Hey, remember that time last summer when it was so hot and Marigold told us to open the fridge and there it was simply
stuffed
with ice cream. Wasn't it wonderful?”

We ate Cornettos and Mars and Soleros and Magnums, one after another after another, and then when
they all started to melt Star mixed them all up in the washing-up bowl and said it was ice cream soup.

“We lived on stale bread and carrots all the rest of that week because she'd spent all the welfare check,” said Star.

“Yes, but it didn't matter because we'd had the ice cream and that was so lovely. And anyway, you made it a joke with the bread, remember? We broke each slice into little bits and played the duck game? And Marigold carved the carrots too. Remember the totem pole, that was brilliant. And the
rude
one!”

“And she was so hyped up and crazy she carved her thumb too and wouldn't go to Casualty like any normal person, though I suppose they could easily have committed her. And it got all infected and she got really ill, remember,
remember?
” Star said through gritted teeth.

I put my hands over my ears but her voice wriggled through my fingers into my head.

“Shut
up
, Star!”

We never ever used words like “crazy,” even when Marigold was at her worst.

“Maybe we
should
have told at school today,” Star said.

“What?”

“She's starting to get really manic, you know she is. Totally out of it. I don't know what she's going to do
next. Neither does she. She might clear off again tonight and not come back for a fortnight.”

“No, she won't. She's OK now, she's being lovely.”

“Well, make the most of it. You know what she'll get like later on.”

“She can't
help
it, Star.”

Star had impressed this upon me over and over again. It was like a holy text. You never questioned it. Marigold was sometimes a little bit mad (only you never ever used such a blunt term) but we must never let anyone else find out and we must always remember that Marigold couldn't help it. Her brain was just wired a different way from other people's.

I imagined the ordinary brain, gray and wiggly and dull. Then I thought of Marigold's brain. I pictured it bright pink and purple, glowing inside her head. I could almost see the wires sparking so that silver stars exploded behind her eyes.

“Of course she can help it,” Star said. “She could go into hospital and get treatment.”

“You're the one that's mad,” I said furiously. “You know what it's like in there. It's a torture chamber! You know they put live electric currents through your head and poison you with chemicals so that you're sick and you shake and you can't even remember your own name.”

Marigold had told us all about it. She still shook at the memory.

“She was just exaggerating all that stuff.”

“No she wasn't! Look, I can remember what she was like then. And you can remember it even better than me because you were older. She
was
sick. She
did
shake. She didn't play any games with us or make up stuff or invent things. She didn't even
look
right, she just wore old jeans and a T-shirt all the time like any old mother.”

“That's what I want her to act like. Any old mother,” said Star. She pushed the cake bowl away. “I'm fed up eating this muck. I'm going out to McDonald's.”

“You haven't got any money.”

“Half my school hang out down there. I bet one of the boys will buy me a Coke and some French fries.”

It was a pretty safe bet. All the boys thought Star was special. Even though she was only in Year Eight she had a lot of Year Nine and Ten boys keen on her.

I thought about McDonald's and my mouth watered.

“Can I come too?”

At one time Star took me everywhere with her. She didn't question it. I was just part of her routine. But now I had to beg and plead and often she said no. She said no now.

“Why don't you want me anymore?”

“It's not that I don't want you, Dol. I just don't need you to be tagging round after me all the time. No one else has their kid sister hanging around.”

“I wouldn't get in the way. I wouldn't even speak to your friends.”

“No, Dol,” Star said. “You should try to find your own friends.”

So Star went out and I stayed in with Marigold and ate raw cake and unrisen cake and burnt cake until I felt sick.

“There! It's been a lovely treat, hasn't it?” Marigold said anxiously.

“Absolutely super-duper,” I said.

“I could make some more. There's still heaps of stuff.”

“No, I'm really really full. I couldn't eat another thing,” I said, wiping crumbs from my greasy lips. My tummy bulged over the top of my tight knickers. I was quite a skinny girl and small for ten but it said 6—8-year-old on the label and the elastic made red ridges on my skin. It looked like I was wearing a transparent pair of pants for ages after I'd taken them off.

“I've saved a slice of each cake for Star, in case she changes her mind,” said Marigold. “I thought she'd love a cake treat.”

“Don't worry,” I said quickly. “She's just being a bit moody.”

“She takes after me,” said Marigold.

I tried to smile.

“Cheer up, little Dol,” said Marigold. “Have some more … No. Shut up, Marigold.”

She hadn't eaten any cake herself, but she'd drunk several small tumblers of vodka. She poured herself another. She saw my face.

“It's OK, I promise. Just one little weeny drink, that's all. To cheer
me
up. Only maybe we won't tell Star when she comes back,” she said, hiding the bottle back in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. The tap was still dripping.

“Stop dripping,” said Marigold.

She tried to turn it off more tightly and hurt her hand.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, you poor thing. Don't try anymore. It won't stop. Star says it needs a new washer.” I cradled her sore hand in the grubby kitchen towel.

“That's nice, sweetie,” Marigold suddenly chuckled. “Look!” She clenched her fist, turning her finger and thumb into a mouth. “It's a little baby. Shhh, little baby.” She made the mouth open and wail, and then rocked the towel baby. “It wants something to suck.”

I put my finger in the mouth and it smiled convincingly and made little gurgly sounds.

“You're such fun to play with, Marigold.”

“Star doesn't play with you much now, does she?”

I sighed. “Not really. She's got her own friends. She says I should get some friends too.”

“Maybe she's right,” said Marigold. “Would you
like to have some friends round to play, Dol? They could eat up some of the cake.”

“No! No, I don't want anyone round.”

“Haven't you got a special friend at the moment?”

“Well, I've got lots of friends,” I lied. “But no one special.”

I'd never been very good at making friends. I had a special friend way back in Year One at Keithstone Primary, a little girl called Diana who had bunches tied with pink bobbles and a Minnie Mouse doll. We sat together and shared wax crayons and plastic scissors and we played skipping in the playground together and we visited the scary smelly toilets together too, waiting outside the door for each other. I get an ache in the chest when I remember Diana and her soft bubble-gum smell and her pink flowery knickers and the way her feet stuck out sideways in her red sandals, just like her own Minnie Mouse. But then we moved, we were always moving in those days, sometimes several times a year, and I never found another Diana. All the children had made their friends when I got to each new school and I was always the odd one out.

Star could arrive in a class and have a whole bunch of kids hanging on her every word by morning break‘ but she was different. She was born with the knack.

We hadn't moved for ages now, because the Housing Trust found the three of us this flat. We thought at first
they were letting us have the whole house because it wasn't really that big, but Mrs. Luft lurked below in the basement flat and Mr. Rowling lived up above us in a studio until he died.

We'd never had such a good home but it meant I was stuck in the worst school I'd ever been at, where they nearly all hated me.

“Who would you
like
to have as your special friend?” Marigold persisted.

I thought it over carefully. I couldn't stand some of the girls, especially Kayleigh and Yvonne. And then there were a lot of girls I didn't even think about much. But I did think about Tasha sometimes. She looked a little like Star, only not quite as pretty of course, but her hair was blond and even longer, way down past her waist. I stared at Tasha's hair when the sun shone through the window and made it gleam like a white waterfall. My hands got sweaty, I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair so much.

“I'd like to be friends with Tasha,” I said.

“OK, fine, you can be Tasha's friend,” said Marigold, as if it were as simple as that.

“No, I can't. Tasha's got heaps of friends already. And she doesn't even like me,” I said, sighing.

“How could anyone not like my little Dol,” said Marigold, and she pulled me on her lap and rocked me as if I were a big towel baby. I cuddled up, careful not
to lean on the new cross tattoo, which still looked very red and sore. I fingered the blue curve on her bicep.
My
tattoo. It was a beautiful turquoise dolphin arching its back as it skimmed a wave.

“Make her swim,” I begged.

Marigold flexed her muscles and the little dolphin swam up and down, up and down.

“I'll make you swim too,
my
little Dolphin,” said Marigold, and she rocked me up and down, up and down.

I closed my eyes and imagined cold sea and rainbow spray and dazzling sun as I surfed the waves.

Star came back when we were still cuddled up together. She looked a little wistful.

“Come and join in the cuddle, even though you look too gorgeously grown-up to be true, Star of my heart,” said Marigold.

“You've been drinking,” Star said coldly, though Marigold's voice wasn't really slurred. “Dol, you should go to bed.”

Marigold giggled. “It's like you're the mummy, Star. Should I go to bed too?”

Star ignored her and sloped off to our bedroom. I followed her. She was sorting through her schoolbooks.

“Are you doing
more
homework? You're already top of your class, aren't you?”

“Yeah, and I'm going to stay top, and pass all my exams and clear off to university as soon as possible. I can't wait to get out of this dump.”

“This isn't a dump, it's a
good
flat. It's a posh road. It's the best we've had, you know that.”

“It's the best we're ever going to get, with
her
.”

“Oh Star, don't. Hey, did you get French fries?”

“Yep. And ice cream.”

“Not the sort in the plastic cup, with butterscotch sauce?” I said enviously.

“Yes, it was yummy,” said Star. She looked at me. “Look, I'll siphon off some of the money when she gets her next check and I'll take you to McDonald's, OK?”

“Oh, Star, you are kind.”

“No, I'm not. Look, it's nothing to get excited about. It's what any other kid takes for granted. You're so weird, Dol. You just accept all this stuff. It's not like you
mind
.”

Star never used to mind either. She used to love Marigold, love me, love our life together. She thought everyone else was gray and boring then. We three were the colorful ones, like the glowing pictures inked all over Marigold.

“I wish you were younger again, Star,” I said. “You're changing.”

“Yes, well, that's what I'm supposed to do. Grow up. You will too.
She's
the only one who won't do anything about growing up.”

Star jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen. Marigold was playing an old Emerald City tape too loudly while she clattered kitchen pans, making yet more cakes.

“I hate her,” Star whispered.

It was as if she'd spat the words.

“No you don't,” I said quickly.

“Yes I do.”

“You
love
her.”

“She's a lousy useless mother.”

“No she's not. She loves us. And she's such fun. She makes up lovely games. And look at her now, she's sorry about last night so she's making us all these cakes.”

“Which we don't want. Why can't she make
one
cake, like anyone normal? Why does she go crazy all the time? Ha ha. Easy. Because she
is
crazy.”

“Stop it, Star.”

“She doesn't love us. If she did, she'd try to get better. She doesn't give a damn about either of us.”

Star was wrong.

I came out of school the next day and there was Marigold, waiting for me. She was standing near the other mothers but she stuck right out. Some of the kids in the playground were pointing at her. Even Owly Morris blinked through his bottle-glasses and stood transfixed.

For a moment it was as if I'd borrowed his thick
specs and were seeing Marigold clearly for the first time. I saw a red-haired woman in a halter top and shorts, her white skin vividly tattooed, designs on her arms, her shoulders, her thighs, one ankle, even her foot.

I knew several of the fathers had tattoos. One of the mothers had a tiny butterfly on her shoulder blade. But no one had tattoos like Marigold.

She was beautiful.

She was bizarre.

She didn't seem to notice that none of the mothers were talking to her. She jumped up and down, waving both hands when she saw me.