Lottie Project Read online

  ‘I think you’re being the irresponsible mother to Jo, telling her off and being so horrible when Jo’s tried so hard to sort things out. I think she’s wonderful to get up so early and trudge off like that. I’m OK, I’m still in my bed. Jo has to get up early every single morning except Sunday, and she should be having a lovely long lie-in today, but she couldn’t, because we had to get the train and the bus right over to your place to wish you a Happy Anniversary – two ‘n’s – only you’re just mucking it all up.’

  They were all staring at me. ‘That’s quite enough, young lady!’ said Grandma.

  ‘You’re not my mother so you can’t tell me off,’ I said. ‘Jo? Do you want me to shut up?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Jo. ‘Come on, Charlie, we’d better go home.’

  ‘Now don’t be ridiculous. We haven’t even started on pudding yet,’ said Grandma.

  ‘Why don’t you all do a lot more chewing and a lot less yapping,’ said Grandpa, calmly working his way through his second helping of roast beef.

  So we sat still and no-one said anything. Jo and I left a lot on our plates. So did Grandma. But Grandpa didn’t even leave a glisten of gravy.

  I didn’t think I’d be able to eat pudding. It was pineapple upside-down cake and my own stomach felt upside-down too. But I tried a tiny bit and it was actually good, so I ate a bit more, and then a bit more still, until I’d finished it all up.

  Grandpa nodded in approval. He finished his last mouthful too.

  ‘Now that you’ve all calmed down, perhaps we ought to discuss your financial situation, Josephine,’ he said.

  I wanted to tell him it was none of his business. But even I didn’t quite dare cheek Grandpa.

  Jo stammered a little as she told him that we were managing, and she’d sorted things out with the building society to give us a little leeway, and she didn’t just have the one job, she had three, and she was still looking for another supervisory position all the time. She said it all as if he was giving her a formal interview. Grandpa nodded, occasionally easing the collar of his shirt where it rubbed his neck. He never wears casual clothes, not even at weekends. I couldn’t remotely imagine him in something like a T-shirt. I can’t even picture him in his underwear. I don’t think Grandpa has an ordinary body at all, he’s just hard smooth plastic underneath like a Ken doll.

  Grandma wanted to know all about the other cleaning jobs. She raised her eyebrows and looked pained when Jo told her about the Oxford Terrace job, but she actually leant forward and looked interested when she heard about Robin, the little boy Jo picks up from school.

  ‘So what’s his father like?’ said Grandma, suddenly all ears. I could actually see them getting pink underneath her neat grey curls.

  I sighed and flopped back in my chair. This was so typical Grandma. She can’t even get it into her head that Jo likes being a single mum and isn’t remotely interested in meeting any men. Grandma used to keep trying to introduce Jo to all these creeps, and she nagged her to join a Singles club and she even once advertised Jo in a Lonely Hearts column. She did, I kid you not. She thinks if she can only get Jo married off then she won’t have to be ashamed of us any more.

  I waggled my eyebrows at Jo, expecting her to wink back. But she wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t looking at anyone. She was staring at the shiny yellow pudding on her plate as if Robin’s father was reflected there.

  ‘He’s very nice,’ she said. Her tone was brisk – but she blushed.

  I stared at her. Grandma was staring too.

  ‘Very nice?’ said Grandma impatiently.

  ‘What sort of very nice? What job does he do? What does he look like? What’s happened to the boy’s mother?’

  ‘He’s very nice – what more can I say?’ said Jo. ‘He’s something in the Civil Service.’

  ‘Which grade?’ said Grandma.

  ‘As if I know!’

  ‘Is he good looking?’

  ‘I suppose so. In a kind of lean, lost sort of way,’ said Jo.

  ‘Mmm!’ said Grandma. ‘And is he a widower?’

  ‘No. His wife left him. She had custody of Robin at first, but he didn’t get on with the boyfriend, so now he’s back with his dad.’

  ‘And Dad doesn’t have a girlfriend?’

  ‘No. Well. He could have. But he hasn’t mentioned one,’ said Jo.

  ‘She’s just his cleaner,’ I said crossly. ‘She doesn’t have anything to do with him, do you, Jo?’

  ‘No. That’s right. Yes,’ said Jo, sounding muddled.

  I frowned at her. What was she on about? And why did she have that stupid little smile on her face? I suddenly got terribly anxious. What was going on?

  Jo hadn’t ever said anything about this man to me. Well. She’d said he was nice. Very nice. But that’s such a limp nothing sort of comment that I didn’t even notice it at the time.

  I didn’t have a clue what he was really like. I’d never met him. I had met Robin. It was easier for Jo to bring him round to our place after she’d met him from school.

  ‘It’s so I can be here for you too, Charlie. We can all have a snack together,’ said Jo. ‘Then I can take him home and do a spot of cleaning before his dad gets back.’

  I wasn’t at all keen on this idea, but I couldn’t really object much to Robin. He wasn’t like an ordinary boy of five at all. He was very little, with a long thick fringe and huge dark eyes in a white face. He gnawed nervously at his bottom lip all the time, and he trembled for the first few visits. He was like one of those small furry nocturnal creatures you see in the zoo, hunched at the bottom of their cage.

  He certainly didn’t run amok, messing up all my things. He sat where he was put, picking anxiously at the scabs on his bony bare knees, going nibble nibble nibble at his lips. Jo brought him books and he looked at them obediently. Jo found him paper and crayons and he drew neat square houses with a mummy on one side and a daddy on the other and a very tiny Robin in the middle, under the house. He wasn’t any good at perspective so it looked as if the house was falling on him, about to crush him completely. Or maybe that was really how he wanted it to look, I don’t know. I asked him but he wouldn’t talk properly. He’d just nod if I said, ‘Is this your mum?’

  I’d only got him going once. I noticed he had a little pocket in his school sweatshirt that he patted every now and then. I thought he was checking up on his handkerchief. Robin was the sort of little boy who always breathes heavily and has a runny nose. He kept sniffling one afternoon so I told him rather sharply to use his handkerchief.

  He looked stricken. He didn’t move.

  ‘Your hankie! Your nose is running. Yuck!’ I said.

  He shrivelled away from me, practically going inside the neck of his sweatshirt.

  ‘Stop nagging him, Charlie. Here, we’ve got some tissues somewhere,’ said Jo.

  ‘But look, he’s got his hankie with him,’ I said, putting my hand in his pocket and pulling something out.

  It wasn’t a hankie. It was a little fluffy toy.

  ‘That’s mine! Give him back!’ said Robin, and he darted forward, grabbing.

  ‘Hey, OK! Don’t get in such a flap. Here’s your little toy. What is it?’ I said, peering.

  Robin held it tight against his chest.

  ‘Is he shy, your little animal?’ I said. ‘Oh yes, he is, isn’t he? Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten him. He’s looking at me with one big beady eye. I think he really wants to make friends. Are you going to get him to say hello to me, Robin?’

  Robin didn’t seem sure. He fidgeted, not meeting my eyes – but he seemed almost to be joining in the game.

  ‘Hello, little shy animal,’ I said into Robin’s clasped hands.

  ‘He’s not an animal,’ said Robin. ‘He’s a bird. He’s Birdie.’

  Birdie edged his beak into the air so that I could see.

  ‘Oh, so he is! Hello, Birdie. Can you fly?’ I said.

  Robin nodded, and made Birdie nod too.

  ‘I don’t belie