Jacky Daydream Read online

  My dad never read on into David’s adult life. Perhaps he thought I’d lose all grasp of the story. Perhaps I simply got better. It left a deep impression on me though. I still can’t read those early chapters without hearing my father’s calm quiet voice saying the words – such a different voice from when he was in one of his rages.

  When I’d stopped whooping, I was still so weak that Biddy had to borrow a baby’s pushchair to wheel me around in. I went back to school eventually but it was hard going. I’d missed so many lessons. There are still black holes in my basic knowledge. They’d learned the alphabet when I was away. To this day I find it hard to remember whether ‘f’ comes before or after ‘h’, and what about ‘o’ and ‘s’, and where does ‘q’ fit in? I have to sing the alphabet song inside my head to work it out.

  I missed the rudiments of maths too. I’ve never quite understood sums. When I’m calculating, I still frequently use my fingers.

  Biddy didn’t worry that I’d fallen behind at Lee Manor. We were about to move so I’d be going to a brand-new school. We were going to get our own home at last.

  * * *

  Which sisters have a father as irritable and unpredictable as Harry?

  * * *

  It’s Prudence and Grace in Love Lessons.

  ‘Oh, Miss Know-It-All! Only you know damn all, even though you think you’re so smart. You need to get to grips with maths, even if you’re just going to waste your time at art college. Remember that, missy. You thought you could swan off and do your own thing, tell bare-faced lies to your own father, waste everyone’s time and money—’

  He stopped short, his mouth still working silently though he’d run out of words.

  ‘Bernard? Do calm down – you’re getting yourself in such a state. You’re making yourself ill!’ said Mum, catching hold of his arm.

  He brushed her away as if she was some irritating insect. He focused on me. His face was still purple. Even his eyes were bloodshot with his rage.

  Harry wasn’t really a bit like Prue’s father – but they certainly ranted in a similar manner!

  12

  Cumberland House

  MY PARENTS HAD had their name down for a council flat for years. They’d given up on the whole idea when a letter came. Three new six-storey blocks of flats had been built on Kingston Hill. My parents were offered number twelve, on the first floor of the south block.

  Cumberland House looks a bit of an eyesore now, three well-worn square blocks with satellite dishes growing out of the brickwork like giant mushrooms. In 1951 they seemed the height of luxury. There was central heating! No more huddling over a smoking fire in the living room and freezing to death in the bedroom, having to dress under the eiderdown in winter. There was a fireplace just for show in the living room. We used it as a centrepiece. The Peter Scott print of wild birds hung above it, with our three painted plaster ducks flying alongside.

  We had constant hot water. This meant we could have a bath every single day. No waiting for the boiler to heat up and carting tin baths around. We could have a bath first thing in the morning or last thing at night. Biddy could wash our clothes whenever she wanted. Well, she didn’t ever want to wash them, though she did so diligently. She was a feminist long before the word was invented. When I asked her about washing some PT kit one time, she snapped, ‘Why should I have to wash it?’ I said without thinking, ‘Well, it’s your job, isn’t it?’

  I wasn’t meaning to be cheeky, but Biddy was outraged. It made me rethink the whole concept of what a mum was supposed to do. Jo and Bessie and Fanny’s mum cooked and cleaned and washed the clothes – though David Copperfield’s mother lay limply on her chaise longue while the servants did the chores. My mum, with her smart clothes and her lipsticks and her cigarettes, wasn’t anything like their mums.

  There was a communal laundry room for each block of flats. There were no washing machines, just big sinks in which you scrubbed the clothes using a wash board, and then you squeezed the water out using a big mangle. Biddy seldom fancied carting our clothes downstairs and chatting to the other women. She washed at our kitchen sink, wringing the clothes out fiercely and spreading them out on the dryer. She ironed everything with elaborate care. She even ironed Harry’s socks, spreading them out and ironing up to the heel, and then neatly tucking them into paired balls for the airing cupboard.

  The best thing of all about Cumberland House was the fact that it had two bedrooms! My parents had the biggest bedroom, of course, but I still had a whole room all to myself. I was six years old and I had my own space at last. It wasn’t decorated as a little girl’s room. I’d read about Ellie’s pink and white bedroom in an abridged version of The Water Babies and I’d felt as awestruck as sooty Tom, but it didn’t occur to me that I could ever have a room like that. We had very little money, and Biddy and Harry weren’t the sort of parents who made frilly curtains or wooden furniture.

  My bedroom had a built-in wardrobe so I could hang up my favourite dresses in a row: my rainbow party frock; my white dress with the cherry print and little cherry buttons; my blue and green flowery dress with puff sleeves; my pink dress with the fruit pattern and the white collar; my sundress with frills at the shoulders like little wings. There were also the clothes I didn’t like. I detested my navy pleated skirt, which was stitched onto a white bodice. The pleats stuck out at the front. Biddy was forever telling me to pull my stomach in. I also hated my good Harella coat, fawn with a fancy velvet collar. I was supposed to wear it with a pale brown velour hat. I had to wear both the coat and the hat to my new school and got horribly teased. The boys adopted my velour hat as a new football. I can’t say I blamed them.

  I had my own proper big bed, brand new, but I had to make do with my parents’ old brown eiderdown. It had a gold-thread pattern and it felt silky to the touch, but it was a hideous colour. I had a brown ottoman too, an ugly piece of furniture from Ga’s junk room, hard as a rock to sit on, but the seat lifted up like a lid and I could store all my drawings and paper dolls and notebooks inside, plus all my ‘sets’. I had a doctors and nurses set, a red plastic case containing various odd instruments and a toy thermometer and stethoscope. I also had a nurse’s apron and cap marked with a red cross. I was therefore the doctor and the nurse, so all my dolls got first-class medical attention when they were poorly.

  My toys all seemed career-orientated. I also had a bus conductor’s set with a dinky little ticket holder and a machine to punch the ticket; a small grocery shop with tiny jars of real sweets and little cardboard boxes labelled Daz and Omo and Persil; and a post office set with a rubber stamp and pretend postage. I politely played with these a few times, but if I wanted to play buses or shops, I found it easier imagining it. These little props always reminded me that I was simply playing a game. Still, they were useful when the little girl next door, Suzanne, came in to play with me. It gave us something to do together. I liked playing with Sue but if I was truthful, I preferred playing by myself.

  I had a second-hand chest of drawers. The drawers all stuck so you had to jiggle them around and tug hard at the handles. Once I pulled a handle right off and got severely told off. It might be an old junk-shop piece of furniture but it was all we had.

  I kept jumpers and cardigans in one drawer. Biddy hadn’t inherited Ga’s sewing skills but she liked to knit. She made me jumper after jumper, using her favourite ‘rabbit-ears’ stitch. Biddy said they looked ‘jazzy’, and used very bright contrasting colours. They were tight and itchy, and although they were beautifully knitted, Biddy never quite mastered the knack of stitching the sleeves onto the main garment. I always had odd puckers on my shoulders. Sometimes the sleeves were so tight I held my arms out awkwardly to ease the tension. We didn’t wear uniform at Latchmere, my new school. I wished we did.

  I kept my Viyella nighties and my vests and knickers and socks and pocket handkerchiefs in the bottom drawer, all jumbled together. Biddy wanted to keep them neatly separate, using the two half drawers at the top, but I wan