The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘Marigold?’

  She opened her eyes. They looked glazed.

  ‘Marigold, please.’ I struggled out of the bath and took hold of her white shoulders. ‘Are you asleep?’

  Her eyes blinked but she didn’t focus on me.

  ‘Let’s get it all off you now,’ I said.

  It looked much worse in the daylight. Even her eyelashes were painted like snowy mascara and there were swirls of it inside the delicate skin of her ear.

  ‘Oh Marigold, what have you done? It’s gone all over. What if it makes you go blind or deaf? It’s dangerous. Oh please, let’s get it off you quick.’

  I was shaking, wondering how I could have been so stupid just to leave her like that half the night. It had been almost like a dream but now it was horribly real. I was so scared I had to use the loo right in front of her because my whole insides had turned to water. She didn’t seem to notice.

  As soon as I could I ran the bath again. She was still so stiff I couldn’t make her step inside. I scrubbed at her where she stood but it was useless. I only got rid of a few flakes of paint.

  I scrabbled desperately in the cupboard under the sink and found an old bottle of turpentine. I poured some on a cloth and started scrubbing at her foot. She flinched at each stroke. The white still wouldn’t come off properly but where some of it was streaking her own skin was burning scarlet. I didn’t know if it was because of the turpentine. I could be hurting her even more.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘Tell me what to do, Marigold. Please, please.’

  Her lips moved as if she was whispering but no sound came out.

  ‘Does it hurt? Look, I’ll wash the turpentine off. I’m so scared it’s burning you.’ I washed her foot over and over again, until she was standing in a large puddle. The paint was still an ugly white smear, the skin very red underneath apart from a dark patch by her toe. I started, terrified it was something awful like gangrene but then I saw a tiny webbed hand and I remembered the little green frog tattooed between her big toe.

  She quivered when I touched it. Her lips moved again.

  ‘What? I can’t hear you. Can you try louder?’

  I straightened up and stood on tiptoe, trying to get up to her level. I stared at her mouth but it didn’t make any recognizable shapes of words. I looked at her eyes. I saw how frightened she was too.

  ‘I’m going to get help,’ I said. ‘You come and lie down in bed.’

  She still wouldn’t move so I wrapped her up in a towel. Then I kissed her poor crazy white face and ran out of the room. Out of the flat, down the stairs. Not Mrs Luft. No. Out the front door, down the road, to the corner and the shops. Any of the shopkeepers? No. All the way to school – and Oliver? Maybe Mr Harrison? No.

  ‘What am I going to do? Oh Star, why aren’t you here, you mean hateful pig. I need you so. I don’t know what to do.’

  I knew what to do. I knew it was the only thing to do. But I felt I was betraying Marigold as I stood in the phone box and dialled the three numbers.

  ‘Emergency?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is an emergency,’ I said. ‘I think I need an ambulance.’

  I was connected to someone else who started asking me questions.

  ‘This person’s covered in paint,’ I said. ‘It won’t come off. No, it’s not my little brother or sister. It’s my mum. No, she can’t come in herself. She . . . she can’t move. She’s sort of stuck. And she won’t speak to me any more. I’m scared she maybe can’t hear because the paint’s in her ears and everywhere. We live at Flat B, 35 Beacon Road. Please. Will you come?’

  I put the phone down and then raced back home. I pounded up the stairs and through the door. Marigold was in the bathroom, standing like a marble statue. I threw myself at her, nearly toppling us both onto the floor.

  ‘Oh, Marigold. Quick, we have to get you dressed. They’re coming. I’m sorry, I know you’ll be so mad at me, but the paint’s all over you and it’s got to be cleaned off. Look at your poor eyes, your poor ears. But once they’ve done that it’ll be all over and you can come back and I’ll look after you. We’ll be OK, you and me, but you just have to go to get the paint off. Please don’t be cross with me. I know you hate hospitals.’

  As soon as I said the word she started quivering. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t push me away, she didn’t try to get dressed. She just shook all over.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I sobbed. I ran to get clothes for her but it was going to be too much of a struggle to get her arms and legs in and out of things so I ended up manoeuvring her trembly arms into her dressing-gown and tying it tight round her painted body. I knew she wouldn’t be able to manage her own high heels so I got an old pair of trainers of Star’s. They were a size too small but I managed to wedge Marigold’s smeared white feet into them.

  Then, before I had time to make any kind of proper plan, there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘I’ll have to go to let them in. We don’t want Mrs Luft gawping,’ I said. ‘Oh, Marigold. Don’t shake. It will all be all right, I swear it will. They’ll just get the paint off and then you can come back home.’

  Marigold looked into my eyes. I felt as if I’d stabbed her through the heart.

  ‘I had to,’ I said, and then I ran to open the door. There were two ambulance people, a man and a woman.

  ‘She’s upstairs,’ I whispered, but as they came into the hallway Mrs Luft opened her door and peered out, curlers clamped to her head like little metal caterpillars. Her mouth opened when she saw the uniform.

  ‘Oh my lord, what’s that crazy woman done now?’ she asked the air in front of her.

  The ambulance people took no notice. As we went up our flight of stairs the woman patted me on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry, poppet,’ she said cheerily.

  She didn’t start when she saw my poor mad mother covered in paint.

  ‘Right, dear. We’ll soon get you cleaned up. You come with us. Would you like to walk? We can carry you in our chair if you’d sooner?’

  Marigold’s eyes swivelled but she said nothing. The woman put her hand gently on her elbow. She tried to urge Marigold forward. Nothing happened.

  ‘Come on, now. We don’t want to have to haul you about, my love, especially not in front of your little girl.’ The ambulance lady looked at me. ‘What about you, chum? Is there anyone to look after you?’

  I thought quickly. If I said no then she’d get in touch with the Social Services and I’d be put in a home.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, there’s someone to look after me.’

  I didn’t sound terribly convincing. The ambulance people exchanged glances.

  ‘My dad,’ I said.

  They looked relieved.

  ‘Where’s Dad now?’ the woman persisted.

  ‘Oh, he’s at work. On his shift. He’ll be home any minute,’ I said, the lying getting easier.

  I looked at Marigold. I wasn’t sure she was taking in what I was saying. She was still shaking badly. Her face twitched when I reached up to kiss her.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

  I wanted her to say it back. I wanted her to put her painted arms round me and hug me tight. I wanted her to step out of her sickness and tell them that I’d never so much as set eyes on my father. I wanted her to tell them that she couldn’t leave me all on my own.

  Her green eyes looked at me but she didn’t say a word.

  The ambulance people gave up trying to coax her and strapped her into the chair. Her dressing-gown fell apart so that her white breasts shone in full view.

  ‘Let’s get you decent, dear,’ said the ambulance lady, tucking the dressing-gown over her and up round her chin. It was as if Marigold had shrunk into babyhood.

  They carried her out of the room, down the stairs, along the hall. I followed them to the front door. Mrs Luft was still lurking. When she saw the state of Marigold she hissed with excitement.

  ‘Can the little girl stay wit