A Hopscotch Summer (10 page)

‘You get yourself off to school today.’

Em had stared warily at her father that same morning as he came into the bedroom to wake his three drowsy children.

‘Why – is our mom better?’

‘Don’t keep pestering me with questions,’ he growled. ‘Just do as yer told and get yourself ready.’

Em didn’t argue. She never knew what mood Dad’d be in these days. She was still smarting from the way he yelled at her the other night when Mom had blood all over her face.

He looked in at the door again. ‘And you can play out tonight, there ain’t no hurry to come home.’

Em frowned, her feelings a mixture of excitement and dread. Of course she wanted to go to school and to play tipcat and tag and all the other games, and no more dodging the wag man! But school was not the reliable thing it used to be. What if none of her friends wanted to know her any more, and she couldn’t keep up with any of the lessons?

Heavy-hearted, she got ready. Sid roared off out of the front door as usual, to find the other lads, but Em followed at a much more cautious pace, with butterflies in her tummy.

‘Em!’ Katie was coming along as Em came out of her door. ‘You coming to school?’

Em’s spirits lifted immediately as Katie linked her arm through hers and chatted away to her about school gossip. She was hurt that Katie had never come to see her again in all this time, but she told herself it was better that way. Mom hadn’t wanted anyone else in the house and Em would have been ashamed to let her in. Em glanced at Katie’s dark-eyed, pretty face as she chattered away. Katie seemed distant, as if from another world, and she never asked Em another thing about herself. But it would be all right later, Em thought, when she’d been back a while. It was just that they hadn’t played together for a long time. She laughed at Katie’s tales of the classroom, trying to join in.

It was lovely to be out amid the bustle of the morning street, Mrs Button’s door already open and the aroma of fresh bread drifting into their nostrils, delivery boys out on their bicycles, the milk dray arriving and all the children heading for school. The sun was trying to peep out from behind the clouds and she was arm in arm with Katie, even if she couldn’t join in any of the school gossip. They didn’t run into Molly Fox so she didn’t have to try and pretend to be nice to her. As they turned the corner of Kenilworth Street and walked along towards the school Katie was telling her all about a new girl called Lily Davies who’d arrived in their form, and about Lily’s older sister, Jessie, and how pretty she was.

Just before they reached the school gates, Katie interrupted herself and called out, ‘Lily, over here!’

Em saw a girl with frizzy ginger hair and a pale, oval face turn round and smile shyly. Katie loosed Em’s arm and ran to the girl, linking arms with her instead. Em thought she was going to bring the new girl back to meet her and that they’d all walk to school together, but instead Katie forgot all about Em and marched in through the gates still arm in arm with Lily, chattering away to her. Em watched them, cut to the quick. Dragging her feet, she followed, her hope shrinking away. Some other girls from their class came along and said, ‘Hello, Em – you back, then?’ They seemed happy to see her but they were all in their little world, giggling together.

Em trailed into the school in their wake. When she got to the classroom, she found that Lily Davies had been given her place in the desk beside Katie, another reason why they were becoming such bosom pals. The only spare seat, up until then, was in the desk next to Molly at the front on the left and Miss Lineham ordered her to sit there.

Molly beamed with delight and made a great show of welcoming Em into her seat and leaning close to her. Em’s nose wrinkled at the smell.

‘It’s nice, you’re sitting by me,’ Molly said fawningly. ‘We can play out after, can’t we? And I can help you if you can’t do the sums.’

Em nodded, a lump in her throat. She had realized, to her surprise, that Molly was quite good at sums, better than her these days, in fact. The morning only got worse. She loathed sitting beside Molly, assailed by the smell of urine and Molly’s constant fidgeting as she scratched her scaly, eczema-scarred arms under her blouse. So many of the lessons felt hard now and she was slipping right down the class. Though Em escaped a caning, Miss Lineham was mean and sarcastic to her and she felt outside everything that was going on. In the playground the people it was easiest to play with were Molly, who of course homed in on her immediately during the morning break, and a timid little girl called Doris, with a bad squint and bluish lips, who’d also been absent for a time, suffering from severe asthma.

‘What shall we play?’ Molly demanded aggressively, vying for Em’s attention. ‘We’ll play pretend – you can be the mom, Em, and I’ll be the dad.’ Molly organized them, bossing them around. But then she changed her tone completely and became fawning again. ‘
You
be in charge, Em,’ she said. ‘You’re better at everything. Tell us what to do!’

Em’s heart was heavy as lead. ‘Go on, then,’ she shrugged, one eye watching Katie and Lily, thick as thieves over on the other side of the playground. Unshed tears sat like a lead weight in her chest. Behind them somewhere, a chant had started up:

‘You be the dad,’ Molly was saying to Em. ‘I don’t wanna be the dad.’

Em thought of Molly’s father, sitting there helplessly by the fire.

‘Nor me, and I don’t wanna be the mom neither,’ Em said. ‘You be the dad, Doris.’

‘I ent got a dad,’ Doris whispered.

‘I’ll tell you a secret instead,’ Molly whispered, beckoning them to her. She seemed to be bursting with the news. ‘I’ve got a little kitten. I’m keeping it in the brew house.’

Doris, who also lived on a yard, looked unimpressed.

‘You can’t do that. Someone’ll let it out.’

‘No they won’t,’ Molly said triumphantly. ‘I’ve hidden it.’

By the end of the school day Em was utterly dejected. The only good thing she could think was that at least maybe Mom was getting better and that’s why she was at school. Dad had given them the money for school dinner so she had not been home. As soon as the last bell rang to release them in the afternoon, Katie went off with Lily Davies and she was left to walk along with Molly. She was even grateful to find Molly at her side outside the school gates. At least someone wanted to be her friend. Even Joyce spent most of her time with Nancy Wiggins these days. Molly prattled at her all the way along the road about the kitten.

‘I found her, see. She’s called Sooty, cos she’s black, ’cept for a little white patch by her nose. Our mom wouldn’t ’ave it in the ’ouse. She says cats are dirty but I don’t think so.’ She spoke very fondly. ‘D’yer wanna come and see her?’

‘All right,’ Em said. She might as well.

They walked along Kenilworth Street, dodging out of the way of a flying tipcat from the games already in progress along the street. As soon as they turned down the entry into the back court where Molly lived, Em wished she hadn’t come. There were the slimy green walls of the entry, then the cheerless yard where the high wall of the cycle works reared up on the right, dwarfing the decrepit-looking cluster of houses. Scummy puddles lay in dips in the uneven blue bricks and the whole place was filthy.

‘Come on,’ Molly whispered, pulling on Em’s arm. ‘We don’t want my mom seeing us.’

Ducking past the windows of number four, they dashed to the brew house at the end of the yard, next to the row of toilets.

‘Phwoor,’ Em said, before she could help herself.

‘Yeah, they’m stink, don’t they?’ Molly agreed mat-ter-of-factly. Cautiously she tried the handle of the brew house, opening the door a crack. Immediately Em heard a pitiful mewing.

‘Where is it?’ She waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. Little bits of coal crunched under their feet and the place smelled of a mixture of smoke and soap.

‘In the copper!’ Molly announced excitedly. ‘I knew no one’d use it today! But I’m gunna put her in a box for tomorrow.’

She lifted the heavy wooden lid off the copper and the mewing grew louder. Upturning a pail, Molly stood on it and reached down inside.

‘There yer go, no don’t wriggle. I can’t pick yer up if yer carry on like that!’

The cat was panicking and Molly just managed to hold on to it. She got down off the bucket, hugging the scrawny little scrap to her chest.

‘See – ain’t she lovely? She’s my little poppet.’ Molly kissed the cat’s head, squeezing her tightly until she mewed even more pitifully. ‘I’m gunna dress ’er up and look after her . . .’

‘You can’t just keep her in there, though, can yer?’ Em objected. ‘It ain’t nice for her, and anyway, someone’ll find her.’

‘I’ve got an orange box,’ Molly said dreamily. She obviously hadn’t thought this through; she was just besotted with the cat. ‘She can ’ave scraps from my dinner and from the miskins, and most of the time I’ll—’

‘Molly!’

Both of them froze as a rough, blaring voice interrupted from outside. Em went cold with fright at the sound of Iris Fox’s bullying tone. Molly went to fling the cat back into the copper but it was too late. Iris was already opening the door, blocking out the light with her ample body.

‘I saw yer go ducking past the winder! What’re yer playing at, yer sneaky little cow? And who’s that with yer?’ Iris’s eyesight wasn’t the best even in full daylight when she was sober. ‘Get out ’ere where I can see yer!’

Em went out, followed by Molly. Iris was a massive, big-boned woman. She was wearing a tight black dress which hugged her rolls of fat and accentuated a vast, aggressively jutting bosom. On her feet were sloppy old black shoes, collapsed at the back, and her tar-coloured hair was scraped up, as usual, into a little topknot. From her puffy, narrowed-eyed face her gaze bored down into her daughter.

‘What’re yer doing? You’re up to no good if yer creeping about . . .’ It was then she noticed the cat. ‘WHAT’S THAT THING?’ she roared. Most of her communications were at full volume.

Em had been surprised at Iris noticing anything Molly was doing. Mostly she didn’t seem to care. But she could smell the fumes of alcohol coming to her from Iris and realized she was spoiling for a fight, even if she had to box her own shadow.

‘What’re yer doing with that filthy bloody vermin?’ Iris shouted. Em saw another woman come and stand at her doorway, watching.

‘It’s not filthy,’ Molly said, hugging the poor cat even more tightly. ‘It’s my little cat. Oh, can I keep ’er, Mom, please? I won’t bring ’er in the house. ’Er can stay out ’ere and I won’t give ’er any of our food . . .’

‘NO, YER WON’T!’ Iris bawled. ‘Cos it ain’t gunna be anywhere near the place.’ She advanced on Molly, who was cowering, and whipped the cat away from her by the scruff of its neck.

‘Don’t, Mom!’ Molly started to sob. ‘Don’t hurt her!’

‘Don’t hurt her!’ Iris mocked her daughter, her face creased with malice in a way that made Em’s blood turn cold.

‘No – don’t,
don’t
, Mom!’ Molly shrieked as her mother strode over to the wall where the yard tap was dripping into a fetid puddle. Iris turned the tap on and thrust the limp little body underneath until it was a pitiful soaked rag of fur, mewling in terror.

‘Right – let’s see the back of yer, yer little rat!’ Iris swung her arm back and lobbed the pathetic, bony body over the wall.

Molly and Em were both sobbing helplessly by now. Iris turned to them in contempt.

‘What the ’ell’s the matter with you whining little buggers?’ And she stormed away like a great battleship, into her house. A few seconds later she opened the door and shouted, ‘And don’t you go next door looking for the ruddy thing. I’ll drown it next time.’

Molly was crying pitifully. ‘My little cat,’ she wept. ‘My poor little Sooty . . . What d’yer ’ave to go and do that for?’ she yelled in her mother’s direction. ‘Why d’yer do that? I hate yer . . .’ Her hands went over her face. ‘I hate yer,’ she cried brokenly, her voice shrinking to a despairing whimper. ‘I
hate
yer so much, I just hate yer.’

Em didn’t know what to say or do. She squeezed Molly’s arm for a moment, then fled out of the yard.

‘Mom?’ She ran into number eighteen, just wanting her own kind, sweet mother, forgetting she was poorly, forgetting everything about the rest of the day. Iris Fox’s cruel brutality drove everything out of her mind.

Neither Sid nor Joyce was there. She ran up the stairs to look for Cynthia in her bedroom and burst through the door. The bed was empty.

She ran halfway down the stairs. ‘Mom?’

There was no reply. No one was in the house. Sinking down onto the staircase in the silent house, she could hear the distant voices of the other children playing outside. She was shaking all over.

‘Your mother’s gone away for a few days.’

The three children stood looking up at their father, round-eyed with shock.

‘Where?’ Em asked. ‘Why’s she done that? Where’s Violet?’

‘Her sister, your aunt Olive, said she could stop there for a bit, with the babby,’ Bob said brusquely. ‘Until she’s feeling better.’