The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘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 colour of emeralds and hair the colour 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 was 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 like I really was the mother and she was 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. 1 waited for her to get angry. She looked at me and it was like she was looking right through my eyes into my head at all the worries inside.

  ‘Oh Dol,’ she said. She sighed as if all the breath was 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 Siân. He doesn’t want anything to do with Marigold any more 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 coloured 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 book 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 any time, 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 was 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 like she was 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