The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘Weeks!’

  ‘I think you are very young, dear. Where are you ringing from? Do you have an adult with you? Listen, dear—’

  I didn’t dare listen any more. I slammed the phone down. I shut my eyes to try to blot everything out. It was very silent in the corridor because everyone else was at dinner. I could just hear Oliver breathing heavily beside me.

  ‘Weeks?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes.’ I opened my eyes. It was no use trying to kid him. ‘She’s in the nutty ward. I expect she’s locked up. Oh, Owly, what am I going to do?’

  He didn’t blink at the unintentional Owly.

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring.

  ‘I can’t stay at home by myself for weeks. Mrs Luft will phone the welfare. And I haven’t got any money. I won’t be able to go down the post office for the Giro because it’s Marigold who has to collect it, kids aren’t allowed, I know, because Star tried once.’ I started shaking when I said Star’s name.

  ‘Can’t you go and live with Star and her dad?’ said Oliver. ‘You said she asked you to come too.’

  ‘But they don’t really want me. And anyway, I don’t know where they are. She’s meant to be sending me a new phone. I could ask her then. She might come back if she believes me. Oh I wish she was here.’

  ‘I’m here,’ said Oliver, patting my arm nervously, as if he was trying to make friends with a snappy little dog.

  I looked at him.

  ‘Oliver? Could I . . . could I come and live with you and your mum?’

  Oliver’s eyes widened.

  ‘Not for good. Just for a few days. Until I can get in touch with Star. Oh please, Oliver, say yes.’

  ‘I – I don’t . . .’

  ‘I’ve had you to tea at my house and you can stay over any time you want. So can’t I come to your house? Maybe just for tonight?’

  ‘I wish you could, Dolphin,’ said Oliver. ‘But it’s my mum. She doesn’t want anyone to come round. She just wants it to be her and me. I asked her if I could have you for tea and she just said not at the moment, she wasn’t up to it. She’s gone a bit funny since my dad left.’

  ‘Look, my mum’s seriously bananas. I’m used to mums being odd. I won’t laugh or anything. I’ll be ever so good. I’ll take my own sleeping bag so I won’t even need a bed. Please, Oliver.’

  ‘Well, I’ll phone and ask. But I don’t think she’ll say yes.’

  Oliver phoned. I could hear his mum’s startled tone.

  ‘Oliver darling? Oh my goodness, what’s the matter? Why are you phoning? What’s happened? Have you hurt yourself?’ She asked dozens of questions without letting him answer. He had to blurt it out while she was saying stuff herself so she didn’t even hear first time round. Then he had to repeat it.

  ‘Mum. Please. Can my friend Dolphin – you know, I went to tea at her place – well, can she come to tea tonight, please?’

  ‘And to stay over?’ I mouthed.

  But Oliver’s mum wouldn’t even consider tea.

  ‘It’s out of the question, darling, you know it is, especially today. I’ve got another migraine. I’ll have to make a doctor’s appointment. I just can’t go on like this.’

  ‘But Mum, Dolphin needs to stay somewhere tonight. Please can’t she come?’

  ‘Oliver, what on earth’s got into you? I’ve told you what I think about this weird little girl and her bizarre family. Why you had to get mixed up with her I can’t imagine.’

  Oliver wriggled, his eyes swerving past me. He tried again, several times, but it was obvious it was pointless. There was a brief silence after he put the phone down.

  ‘I’m afraid Mum says you can’t come,’ he said eventually in a tiny voice.

  ‘I know. I heard. It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s not all right,’ said Oliver. ‘Oh, Dolphin. Look. Maybe we should tell a teacher?’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Perlease. Tell Miss Hill!’

  ‘No. Not her. What about Mr Harrison. He’s nice. He’d help.’

  ‘He’s nice, yes. But how could he help? He’s not going to say “OK Dolphin, come and kip down at my house for a few weeks until your mum’s better”.’

  ‘No, but maybe he’d know what to do.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what he’d do. Call the Social. And I’d be shoved into a home.’

  ‘Well . . . they’d look after you OK, wouldn’t they? And it might even be fun. You could be fostered for a bit.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too much Home and Away. Look, my mum was in and out of homes and foster places all her life. She said it was the absolute pits. Some of the things she’s told Star and me . . . Well, you’d never believe it, Oliver.’

  ‘But if it was just for a week or two?’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be, would it? If they’ve got my mum locked up in the nutty ward they’re going to say she’s an unfit mother. The Social will do this investigation, see, and if they find out that Marigold often goes a bit weird and likes to go out for a drink or two or three, and she sometimes has boyfriends, and – and there’s all the credit card stuff she pulls too. They’ll never let me go back and live with her ever. And I need to be with her, Oliver. She’s my mum.’

  Oliver blinked at me. His eyes went all wavery the way they do when he’s thinking hard. I could almost hear his brain going tick-tick-tick inside his head. Then he started as if an alarm had suddenly gone off.

  ‘I know. It’s obvious. Your dad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your dad. Star’s with her dad. Can’t you get in touch with yours?’

  ‘I told you. I haven’t got a dad.’

  ‘You must have had one once.’

  ‘Look. My mum had this quick thing. She hardly knew him. He can’t count as a dad.’

  ‘So she didn’t even know him?’

  ‘She knew his name. Which is why she went out with him. He was called Micky, too.’

  ‘She went out with him just because he was called Micky?’ Oliver repeated.

  ‘Yes. So? You know she’s weird.’

  ‘That’s all you know about your dad? His name’s Micky?’

  ‘So I can’t exactly track him down, can I? Would all the Mickys in the world who might have had a little fling eleven years ago please step forward! I think not.’

  ‘Your mum hasn’t ever told you anything else about him?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever ask? He is your dad.’

  ‘He’s not, I keep telling you. Not like Star’s dad. Marigold and Micky, that Micky, they were crazy about each other. It was mad passionate love, they were together ages . . .’ I faltered, suddenly remembering that Micky said it had only been a few weeks. So how long had Marigold spent with my Micky? Half an hour?

  ‘Where did they meet?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes I do. Swimming. I think this Micky’s a good swimmer because I’m not. I hate swimming and Marigold once said that was funny because this other Micky was a brilliant swimmer. I think he even taught swimming.’

  ‘Did he teach your mum?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I tried to remember what Marigold had said. It was ages ago, when I was first taken swimming by the school, the school before this one. I was scared of putting my head under the water and the other kids laughed at me and then one of the boys ducked me. Marigold was very kind when I told her and said she’s always been scared of swimming too but she’d learnt as an adult and now she could swim all sorts of funny strokes and maybe one day I’d be a good swimmer too because my Micky had been . . .

  ‘Maybe he was the guy who taught her,’ I said.

  ‘So maybe he still teaches swimming. Hey, we could go to the leisure pool and find out!’

  ‘No, we couldn’t. It wasn’t this pool. We didn’t live round here. We lived . . .’ I tried to work it out. We’d lived in so many different places. ‘I can’t remember. Anyway, what does it matter?’

  ‘We’ll track hi