The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘I wish I was,’ said Michael.

  I stared at him. Maybe it had been hard for him being second best too.

  ‘So who are you?’ said the nurse.

  ‘He’s my dad,’ I said.

  The nurse told us Marigold was in a bed at the end of the ward.

  ‘She’s still feeling a bit groggy because they had to give her quite a going-over to get all the paint off. And she’s still very high too.’

  ‘High?’ said Michael.

  ‘She means drunk,’ I said.

  ‘No, no. High, manic, deluded, agitated. But don’t worry. She’ll respond to the lithium we’re giving her.’

  ‘She won’t want to take it,’ I said.

  ‘We know that all right! There’s been a little battle,’ said the nurse. ‘But if she keeps on her lithium she’ll soon get used to the side effects and it’ll be such a help. Many manic-depressives lead perfectly normal lives.’

  ‘My mum’s never been normal in her life,’ I said, and I set off to look for her.

  Most of the beds were empty. I could see a big room off to the side where people were gathered together in a circle, someone talking, someone else crying. She wasn’t there. She didn’t seem to be in the ward. Then I thought about the drawn curtains at the end. I put my eye to the crack. I saw a flash of colour.

  ‘Marigold!’ I stepped inside.

  She was lying on the bed in a strange white nightie. She was no longer white herself. Her skin still had a raw pink scrubbed look in between her tattoos. One of her arms was nearly covered now, a full sleeve. She was inking in all the gaps with a biro. It was the same tattoo over and over again, like a wallpaper design. A weird woman cowering, her mouth open wide in an awful scream.

  ‘Marigold?’ I whispered.

  She didn’t react.

  ‘Marigold!’ I said, louder.

  She went on drawing. She finished one screamer and immediately started on another.

  I wondered if the paint had done serious damage to her hearing.

  ‘Look who’s here,’ I said.

  She looked, her head swivelling round. It was obvious who she wanted it to be. When she saw the man behind me wasn’t Micky she turned back straight away and went on inking. She could hear all right. She just didn’t want to hear me. Or Michael.

  ‘Hello, Marigold. It’s me, Michael. Well, you called me Micky. I’m . . . Dolphin’s father?’ He said it with a question in his voice.

  Marigold wasn’t prepared to give him an answer. She went on inking.

  ‘You shouldn’t do that. Your skin’s sore from scrubbing the paint off. You’ll hurt yourself,’ I said.

  Marigold stabbed at her skin with the biro point. It looked like that was the whole idea. Maybe she wanted to hurt me too. I was the one who put her in the place she hated most.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘You had to go into hospital. I didn’t know what else to do. Please don’t be so cross with me.’

  I felt a hand pressing my shoulder.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Dolphin,’ said Michael. ‘It’s not Marigold’s either. She’s very sick at the moment. But she’ll get better. Do you hear that, Marigold? You’ll get better and you’ll be able to look after your girls, but until then I’ll keep an eye on Dolphin, so you needn’t worry about her.’

  Marigold didn’t look as if she was doing any worrying about me whatsoever. Michael gave my shoulder a final squeeze and then bent towards the figure on the bed.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t run away from me,’ he said. ‘Especially when you know yourself how much it hurts. But I’m so glad you kept Dolphin. I know you’ve got your life and I’ve got mine but we are both her parents and I hope one day we can be friends.’

  Marigold made an odd little sound. It could have been a snort or a sob.

  ‘I’ll bring Dolphin to see you soon,’ he said. ‘She’s missing you very much. Maybe you’ll try to get better quickly for her?’

  It didn’t look to me as if Marigold could ever get better. I cried when we came out of the ward.

  ‘You’ll think I blub all the time and yet I hardly ever cry,’ I sniffed.

  ‘I know,’ said Michael. ‘You’ve had a really tough day. Anyone would cry.’

  His hands flapped towards me. I wanted a hug but he ended up giving my shoulders another fierce squeeze. I felt like I was being pegged on a clothes line.

  ‘Now. What are we going to do with you?’ he said.

  Guess what. I ended up in a foster home.

  ‘It’s just a temporary thing, until we get everything sorted out,’ said Lizzie, the social worker.

  ‘I’ll come and see you as often as I can,’ said Michael. ‘Don’t look so frightened. And when I’ve talked things over with Meg and the girls you can come and visit, stay overnight, maybe stay a while longer if that’s what you’d like.’

  ‘I want to stay now,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Dolphin, it’s too soon. We’re still total strangers. And both Meg and I are out all day. It’s too far for you to travel backwards and forwards to your school and the hospital.’

  ‘Michael’s right, Dolphin. This is the only way to do things. I know your sister went off with her dad but we badly need to get in touch with her too so we can keep an eye on things.’

  ‘You won’t be able to track her down,’ I said.

  There was a parcel from Star waiting at home for me. We went there so I could get my nightie and toothbrush and stuff.

  I opened up the big cardboard box and saw the mobile phone. There was a note inside to say it had been charged and that I was to switch it on straight away. I didn’t see the point. She probably wouldn’t believe me if I told her the absolute truth now. And I wanted her to feel bad and worry about why she couldn’t ring me. It was all right for her, living her fairy tale life with Micky. I was the one about to be locked up in a witch’s dungeon and fed bread and water.

  ‘What about a special toy?’ said Lizzie. ‘Oh, how about this lovely dolphin!’

  ‘I hate it,’ I said, throwing it hard against the wall. I snatched up my silk scarf instead, hoping they’d think it was just a hankie.

  ‘What about your jeans and trainers? Leggings and T-shirts? Clean socks? A woolly cardi?’ said Michael, looking round my bedroom sadly.

  I pictured his girls, Grace and Alice, in their jeans from Gap and Nike trainers, their flowery leggings and cute emblem T-shirts, their clean white socks, their cuddly cardigans knitted by their mum . . .

  ‘I don’t wear those sort of clothes. This is what I wear,’ I said, crossing my arms and hugging my black witch dress.

  ‘Right. Yes. Well, it’s very . . . attractive,’ Michael said, trying hard. He obviously thought my dress hideous.

  Maybe I did too. It didn’t seem to have any witchly power left whatsoever.

  ‘OK then. We’d better make a move,’ said Lizzie. ‘We can pop back in a couple of days if there’s anything else you need.’

  She let me lock the flat up and keep the key.

  ‘It’s your home, Dolphin, not mine,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to come back really soon,’ said Michael. ‘Well. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, OK? Lizzie’s given me the address. Dolphin? You’re not really scared about the foster home, are you?’

  I didn’t bother replying. We both knew just how scared I was.

  ‘I’ll say goodbye then,’ said Michael, dithering. He looked at Lizzie as if he were asking her permission to clear off.

  ‘Right. Don’t worry. Off you go,’ she said.

  Michael stayed a further five minutes, fussing about this and that, checking phone numbers and addresses, asking me three more times if I was all right when I was all wrong wrong wrong.

  Then he said one final goodbye, poking his head through Lizzie’s car window. He aimed clumsily at my cheek, giving it a dry kiss. I didn’t make any attempt to kiss him back. After all, he was abandoning me. He didn’t want me even though he was my dad.