The Illustrated Mum Read online

  ‘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 was 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.

  ‘Dol! Dolly, hi! Yoohoo!’

  Now they weren’t just staring at Marigold. They were staring at me too.

  I felt as if I were on fire. I tried to smile at Marigold as I walked towards her. My lips got stuck on my teeth. I felt like I was wading through treacle.

  ‘Dol, quick!’ Marigold shouted.

  I got quicker, because she was making such a noise.

  ‘Which one’s Tasha?’ Marigold asked.

  I felt sick. No. Please.

  I glanced at Tasha as she crossed the playground, tossing her beautiful hair. I saw her mother, elegant and ordinary in a T-shirt and flowery skirt, her own blonde hair tied up in a topknot.

  ‘I can’t see her. Maybe she’s gone,’ I gabbled, but Marigold had seen my glance.

  ‘Isn’t that her? The one with the hair? Hi, Tasha! Tasha, come over here!’

  ‘Marigold! Sh! Don’t!’ I said in agony.

  ‘It’s OK, Dol,’ said Marigold.

  It wasn’t OK. Tasha stood still, staring. Tasha’s mother was frowning. She hurried to Tasha and put her arm round her protectively.

  ‘Hey, wait!’ Marigold shouted, rushing over to them. I had to follow her.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Tasha’s mother.

  Her alarm and hostility were so obvious that Marigold couldn’t ignore it.

  ‘It’s OK, no worries,’ said Marigold. ‘I just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Dolphin’s mother. She and Tasha are friends.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Tasha.

  ‘We’re not,’ I hissed to Marigold.

  ‘Kids!’ said Marigold, laughing. ‘Anyway, we’ve got a special tea, lots of cakes, all sorts, and we’d like Tasha to come round and play, wouldn’t we, Dol?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Of course she does,’ said Marigold. ‘What’s your favourite cake, Tasha? I’ll make you anything you fancy.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you but I’m afraid Tasha can’t possibly come to tea tonight, she has her ballet class,’ said Tasha’s mother. ‘Come along, Tasha.’

  ‘Tomorrow then? How about tomorrow?’ said Marigold.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Tasha’s mother, not even bothering to find another excuse.

  She hurried Tasha away as if they’d just witnessed an appalling accident. Marigold stared after them, biting on the back of her hand.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t like her any more.’

  ‘OK, who else shall we ask?’ said Marigold.

  ‘No-one! Let’s go home and eat lots of lovely cake, just us,’ I said, putting my hand in Marigold’s.

  We walked away hand in hand, half the school still staring. I blinked my eyes, wishing them greener and greener, real witch’s eyes so that I could cast spells with just one flash of my glittering green orbs. Flash. Tasha and her mother lost all their hair and they ran home hiding their pink bald heads. Flash. Kayleigh and Yvonne wet their knickers in front of everyone and waddled away, dripping. Flash. Ronnie Churley tripped over and cried like a baby, boo hoo, and he had to wear a dinky little baby suit, a pink one with frills. Flash.

  But when I looked at Owly Morris his own glasses flashed back at me.

  Marigold wanted us to go to meet Star but I talked her out of it. I knew Star would die if all her new High School friends saw Marigold, especially in her wound-up state.

  ‘No, don’t let’s hang around Star’s school. She’s maybe got netball practice today, anyway. Let’s just go home.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home. Boring! Let’s have some fun,’ said Marigold. She put her arm round me, her beautiful bright hair brushing my cheek. ‘Let’s go shopping, eh? Star’s been niggle-naggling me about your clothes, telling me you need T-shirts and jeans and trainers.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I don’t like those sort of clothes, you know I don’t,’ I said, swishing my dusty black velvet skirt and pointing my toes in their 1950s glittery dancing sandals.

  ‘Then let’s buy you new clothes you really like. How about your very first pair of high heels?’ Marigold suggested.

  The idea of owning real high heels dazzled in my head like a firework. But then common sense doused it. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to wear high heels to school. Miss Hill had made enough fuss about my dancing shoes.

  ‘They’re not really suitable for school wear. Too . . . flimsy. Can’t you wear ordinary sandals?’

  I’d looked her straight in the eye.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t afford new shoes for me just at the moment, Miss Hill,’ I said. ‘We had to buy these ones second hand.’

  I wasn’t really lying. The dancing shoes were second hand, but they’d cost a tenner because they were genuine Fifties and in beautiful condition.

  ‘Yes, high heels. I’ll have some new shoes too. What’s Star’s size? We’ll all have new shoes,’ Marigold said happily.

  ‘Marigold. We haven’t any money. Not till the next Giro.’

  ‘Aha!’ said Marigold, and she whipped a shiny plastic card out of the pocket of her shorts.

  ‘But I thought . . . Star said you couldn’t use your credit card any more.’

  ‘I got another one, didn’t I?’ said Marigold, kissing the plastic edge of the card. She tucked it back in her pocket before I could see the name on it. ‘Let’s go shopping, Dolly. Please cheer up. I want to make you happy.’

  I dithered helplessly. I wanted to go shopping. I knew I only had to mention something casually and Marigold would buy it for me when she was in this mood. It wouldn’t just be high heels. It would be strappy shoes too, patent party shoes, ballet shoes, leather boots. Then we’d get on to clothes and I’d end up with a magic wardrobe. Maybe if I wore designer T-shirts and the right jeans then Tasha would suddenly want to be friends after all.

  But I knew Marigold had no money in the bank to pay a credit card bill. If it was her credit card. She’d sort of borrowed them from people once or twice before. Star said she could end up in prison. Then what would happen to us?

  ‘I don’t want to go shopping. Shopping’s boring. Let’s . . . let’s . . .’ I tried desperately to think of something we could do that wouldn’t cost any money. ‘Let’s go for a walk along Beech Brook.’

  ‘The brook?’

  ‘Yes. You used to take us down by the river when we were little.’

  ‘Which river?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember the place. But we used to feed the ducks, you and me and Star. Remember?’