Passion Flower

Passion Flower Jean Ure Another title in Jean Ure’s acclaimed series of humorous and poignant stories. There’s trouble ahead when Steph and Sam’s father embarks on a spot of kidnapping.Of course, Mum shouldn’t have thrown the frying pan at Dad. The day after she threw it, Dad left home…Of course, Mum shouldn’t have thrown the frying pan at Dad. The day after she threw it, Dad left home…Parents! First they’re together, then they’re apart. For Stephanie, a hip fourteen year old, and Samantha, her ten-year-old sister, being stuck in the middle of their parent’s problems is just what they need. Not. When Dad decides that what the girls really need is a summer holiday with him in Brighton, they jump at the chance. No rules, no hassle, no worries. But things never turn out the way you think, and Steph and Sam soon discover there’s a lot more to being a family than they thought…Jean Ure’s diary series includes: Pumpkin Pie, Shrinking Violet, Skinny Melon and Me, The Secret Life of Sally Tomato, Becky Bananas, This is Your Life! and Fruit and Nutcase. for Samantha and Stephanie Bond Contents Cover Page (#ueef7b973-d437-5274-9a60-59fb8e1de171) Title Page (#u792a5c32-bef1-58ae-a357-c6881a06f3b3) one (#u10d9d2cf-01c5-574a-93df-b0907586fd9b) two (#u468051fb-2d45-543c-b450-ca6440958514) three (#u9017a2fb-3ab7-5767-8cae-338231a082cd) four (#litres_trial_promo) five (#litres_trial_promo) six (#litres_trial_promo) seven (#litres_trial_promo) eight (#litres_trial_promo) nine (#litres_trial_promo) ten (#litres_trial_promo) Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) (#ulink_91dfb6ff-0087-5567-b617-f031c241fd53) OF COURSE, MUM shouldn’t have thrown the frying pan at Dad. Especially as it was full of oil, ready for frying. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if it was hot. And it didn’t even hit him. Mum is such a lousy shot! In any case, Dad deserved it. Needless to say, the Afterthought didn’t agree with me; she always took Dad’s side. But I really didn’t see what excuses could be made for him this time. Mum had been scrimping and saving for months to buy herself a new cooker. She had been ever so looking forward to it! It was really mean of Dad to go and gamble all the money away at the race track. I said this to the Afterthought, but she just said that it wasn’t Dad’s fault if his horse had come in last, and that if Mum didn’t want him to spend the money why didn’t she keep it in a separate account? I said, “Because they’re married. Being married is about sharing.” The Afterthought said in that case, Mum oughtn’t to complain. “Dad was only trying to make some money for us!” I said, “He never makes money at the races.” “He does, too!” said the Afterthought. “What about that time he took us all out to dinner at that posh place and got champagne?” “Once,” I said. “He did it once. And anyway, Mum didn’t want champagne.” “No, she wanted something boring, like a new cooker,” said the Afterthought. I have to admit that a new cooker would not come high on my list of priorities, but we are all different, and if Mum wanted a cooker I thought she ought to be allowed to have one. As she pointed out to Dad just before she threw the frying pan, she was the one who did all the cooking. “You never lift a finger!” “Why should he?” whined the Afterthought, when we were talking about it later. “Cooking’s a woman’s job!” She doesn’t really think that; she was only saying it to stick up for Dad. She was the most terrible daddy’s girl. Dad always hated it when Mum got mad at him. He would rush out and do these awful things that upset her, then grow all crestfallen and sorry for himself. That used to make Mum madder than ever! But somehow or other Dad always managed to get round her. He always promised that he wouldn’t ever do it again. And Mum always believed him … until that day when he gambled away the money for her new cooker. That was what made her finally crack. She really blew her top! “How am I expected to provide for a family of four on this clapped-out piece of junk?” screamed Mum. I remember we all turned to look at the piece of junk. Half the burners had rotted away; one didn’t work at all. The oven was unreliable. It kept burning things to crisps. Really annoying! Mum was absolutely right. But it didn’t help when Dad, with a boyish grin at me and the Afterthought, suggested that we should all live on takeaways. “Suit me! Wouldn’t it suit you, girls?” The Afterthought cried, “Yesss!” Mum snapped, “Don’t avoid the issue!” The issue being, I suppose, that Dad had gone and wasted all Mum’s hard-earned money on a horse named Toasted Tea Cake that hadn’t even reached the finishing point. “Daniel Rose, you knew I was saving up for a new cooker!” screeched Mum. That was when she reached for the frying pan. Dad backed away, holding his hands out in front of him. “You can have a new cooker! You can have one! We’ll go out tomorrow and we’ll get you one … heavens alive, woman! Haven’t you ever heard of credit?” That was when Mum threw the frying pan. We didn’t buy things on credit any more; not since the car and the video got repossessed. We didn’t even have a store card. Mum never did anything by halves. I guess I have to admit that she sometimes went to extremes. But it was Dad who pushed her! She’d probably have been quite normal if it hadn’t been for him. I don’t know whether Dad was always the way he was. I mean, like, when he and Mum first met. I think from what Mum says he was just easygoing and fun. Dad was fun! He was more fun than Mum, but then it was Mum who had to look after us and provide for us and keep things going. Dad was really a bit of a walking disaster. He liked to say he was a free spirit, by which he meant that he couldn’t be tied down to a regular job the same as other people, which meant he sometimes earned money but more often didn’t, which meant it was all left to Mum, which was why she got so mad when he did some of the things that he did. Not just losing money on what he called “the gee-gees”, but suddenly taking it into his head to go out and buy stuff that Mum said we couldn’t afford and didn’t need. Like, for instance, the time he came home with a camcorder. The camcorder was brilliant! Me and the Afterthought both sulked like crazy when it had to go back. And then there was the trampoline. That was pretty good, too! At least, it would have been if we’d had anywhere to put it. We tried it in the garden but our garden is about the size of a tea tray and the Afterthought bounced too high and fell into a prickly bush and screamed the place down. Mum said she could have poked an eye out, so that was the end of the trampoline. These are just a few of the other things I remember Dad buying: * a night owl light, so you could see in the dark (except that we never got around to using it as it came without batteries and Dad lost interest. Anything that came without batteries ended up in a drawer, forgotten). * a microdot sleeping bag, in case one of us ever wanted to go off to camp. (The Afterthought tried sleeping out in the garden one night but got scared after she’d been there about five minutes and had to come back indoors.) * a digital car compass, which didn’t work. * an inflatable neck pillow, for Mum to use in the car. (It was supposed to give off soothing scents, only Mum said they made her feel sick. Even I thought that was a bit mean, after Dad had got it specially for her.) * a digital watch camera (sent back before we could use it). * a digital voice recorder (also sent back, more is the pity). and * a special finger mouse for Dad’s new laptop, which he said he needed for his work, whatever that was. To be honest, I was never quite sure what work Dad actually did. When people at school asked me, like my best friend Vix Stephenson, I couldn’t think what to say. Once when we were about ten Vix told me she had heard her mum saying that “What Stephanie’s dad does is a total mystery.” Vix asked me what it meant. Very quickly, I said, “It means that what he does is top secret.” Vix’s eyes grew wide. “You mean, like … he’s a spy, or something?” I said, “Sort of.” “You mean he works for MI5?” “I can’t tell you,” I said. “It’s confidential.” It was so confidential I’m not sure that even Mum knew. ‘Cos one time when I asked her she said, in this weary voice, that my guess was as good as hers. I said, “Mum, he’s not a … a criminal, is he?” It was something that had been worrying me. I had these visions of Dad climbing up drainpipes and going through windows and helping himself to stuff from people’s houses. Tellies and videos and jewellery, and stuff. I didn’t imagine him holding up petrol stations or anything like that; I didn’t think he would ever be violent. Mum was the violent one, if anyone was! She was the one who threw things. But I was really scared that he might be a thief. I was quite relieved when Mum gave this short laugh and said, “Nothing so energetic! You have to have staying power for that … you have to be organised. That’s the last thing you could accuse your dad of!” She said that Dad was an “opportunist”. “He just goes along for the ride.” I said, “You mean, he gets on trains without a ticket?” “Something like that,” said Mum. “Oh, well! That’s not so bad,” I said. “It’s not so good, either,” said Mum. She sounded very bitter. I didn’t like it when Mum sounded bitter. This was my dad she was talking about! My dad, who bought us trampolines and camcorders. Mum never bought us anything like that. I was still only little when we had this conversation, when I got worried in case Dad was a criminal; I mean, I was still at Juniors. I was in Year 8 by the time Mum threw the frying pan. I still loved Dad, I still hated it when Mum got bitter, but I was beginning to understand why she did. There were moments when I felt really sorry for Mum. She tried so hard! And just as she thought she’d got everything back on track, like paying off the arrears on the gas bill, or saving up for a new cooker, Dad would go and blow it all. He didn’t mean to! It was like he just couldn’t stop himself. The day after Mum threw the frying pan, Dad left home. The Afterthought said that Mum got rid of him, and I think for once she may have been right. Mum was certainly very fed up. She said that Dad spending her cooker money was the last straw. I don’t think that she and Dad had a row; at any rate, I never heard any sounds of shouting. I think she simply told him to go, and he went. He was there when we left for school in the morning – and gone by the time we got back. Mum sat us down at the kitchen table and broke the news to us. “Your dad and I have decided to live apart. You’ll still see him – he’s still your dad – but we’re just not going to be living together any more. It’s best for all of us.” Well! Mum may have thought it was best, but me and the Afterthought were stunned. How could Dad leave us, just like that? Without any warning? Without even saying goodbye? “It was Mum,” sobbed the Afterthought. “She threw him out!” That was what Dad said, too, when he rang us later that same evening. He said, “Well, kids —” we were both listening in, me on the extension “ —it looks like this is it for your poor old dad. Given my marching orders! Seems I’ve upset her Royal Highness just once too often. Now she won’t have me in the house any more.” Dad was trying to make light of it, ‘cos that was Dad. He was always joking and fooling around, he never took anything seriously. But I could tell he was quite shaken. I don’t think he ever dreamt that Mum would really throw him out. Always, in the past, he’d managed to get round her. They’d kiss and make up, and Mum would end up laughing, in spite of herself, and saying that Dad was shameless. But not this time! This time, he’d really blown it. “She’s had enough of me,” said Dad. “She doesn’t love me any more.” “Dad, I’m sure she does!” I said. “She doesn’t, Steph. She told me … Daniel Rose, I’ve had it with you. You get out of my life once and for all. Those were her words. That’s what she said to me. I’ve had it with you.” Oh, Dad, I thought, stop! I can’t bear it! “She’s a cow!” shrieked the Afterthought, all shrill. “No, Sam. Never say that about your mum. She’s had a lot to put up with.” “So have you!” shrieked the Afterthought. “Ah, well … I’ve probably deserved it,” said Dad. He was being ever so meek about it all. Taking the blame, not letting us say anything bad about Mum. Meek wasn’t like my dad! But that, somehow, just made it all the worse, what she’d done to him. “Dad, what are you going to do?” I said. “I don’t know, Steph, and that’s a fact. I’m a bit shaken up just at the moment. Got to get my act together.” “Shall I try asking Mum if she’ll let you come back?” “Better hadn’t. Only set her off again.” “But you don’t want to go, do you, Dad?” “Want to? What do you think?” said Dad. “Go and leave my two girls? It’s breaking my heart, Pusskin!” He had me crying, in the end. If he’d been spitting blood, like Mum, I wouldn’t have felt quite so bad about it. I mean, I’d still have felt utterly miserable at the thought of him not being with us, but at least I’d have understood that he and Mum just couldn’t go on living together any more. But Dad still thought Mum was the bee’s knees! It’s what he’d always called her: the bee’s knees. He wasn’t the one that wanted to break up. It was Mum who was ruining everything. “Couldn’t you just give him one last chance?” I begged. “Stephanie, I have lost count of all the last chances I’ve given that man,” said Mum. “I’m sorry, but enough is enough. He has turned my life into turmoil!” It is very upsetting, when one of your parents suddenly isn’t there any more; it’s like a big black hole. The poor old Afterthought took it very hard. She went into a crying fit that lasted for days, and when she couldn’t cry any more she started on the sulks. No one can sulk like the Afterthought! Mum tried everything she knew. She coaxed and cajoled, she cuddled and kissed – as best she could, with the Afterthought fighting her off – until in the end she lost patience and snapped, “It hasn’t been easy for me, you know, all these years!” The Afterthought just went on sulking. Mum said, “Stephanie, for goodness’ sake talk to her! We can’t carry on like this.” I tried, but the Afterthought said she wasn’t going to forgive Mum, ever. She said if she couldn’t be with Dad, her life wasn’t worth living. “Why couldn’t I go with him?” I suggested this to Mum, but Mum tightened her lips and said, “No way! Your father wouldn’t even be capable of looking after a pot plant.” “It’s not up to her!” screamed the Afterthought. “It’s up to me! I’m old enough! I can choose who I want to be with!” But when she asked Dad, the next time he rang us, Dad said that much as he would love to have the Afterthought with him – “and your sister, too!” – it just wasn’t possible right at this moment. “He’s got to get settled,” said the Afterthought. “As soon as he’s settled, I can go and live with him!” “Over my dead body,” said Mum. “I can!” screeched the Afterthought. “I’m old enough! You can’t stop me! As soon as he’s settled!” Even I knew that the chances of Dad getting settled were about zilch; Dad just wasn’t a settling kind of person. But it seemed to make the Afterthought happy. She seemed to think she’d scored over Mum. Whenever Mum did anything to annoy her she’d shriek, “It won’t be like this when I go and live with Dad!” Or if Mum wouldn’t let her have something she wanted, it was, “Dad would let me!” There was, like, this permanent feud between the Afterthought and Mum. Her name isn’t really the Afterthought, by the way. Not that I expect anyone ever thought it was. Even flaky people like Dad don’t christen their children with names like Afterthought, and anyway, Mum would never have let him. Her name is actually Samantha; but I once asked Mum and Dad why they’d waited four years between us, instead of having us quickly, one after the other, so that we’d be nearer the same age and could be friends and do things together and talk the same language (instead of one of us being almost grown up and the other a child, and quite a tiresome one, at that). Mum said it was because they hadn’t really been going to have any more kids. She said, “Sam was an afterthought.” Dad at once added, “But a very nice afterthought! We wouldn’t want to be without her.” Oh, no? Well, I suppose we wouldn’t. She’s all right, really; just a bit young. Hopefully she’ll grow out of it. Anyway, that was when me and Dad started calling her the Afterthought. Just as a joke, to begin with, but then it sort of stuck. Mum never called her that. The Afterthought said she wouldn’t want her to. “It’s Dad’s name for me!” I wasn’t sure how I felt when Dad left home. I mean, like, once I’d got over the first horrible shock. I did miss him terribly, but I also had some sympathy with Mum. Mum and me had done some talking, and I could see that Dad had really made things impossible for her. So that while feeling sorry for poor old Dad, thrown out on his ear, I did on the whole tend to side with Mum. Like I would always stick up for her when the Afterthought accused her of turning Dad out on to the street – ‘cos Dad had told us that he had nowhere to go and might have to live in a shop doorway. To which Mum just said, “Huh! A likely tale. He’ll always land on his feet.” The Afterthought said that Mum was cruel, and I suppose she did sound a bit hard, but I still stuck up for her. Then one day, when Dad had been gone for about two weeks, I told Vix about it, because, I mean, she was my best friend, and she had to know, you can’t keep things from your best friend, and Vix said, “It’s horrid when people’s mum and dad split up, but I’m sure it’s all for the best. My mum’s always said she doesn’t know how your mum put up with it for so long.” I froze when she said this. I said, “Put up with what?” “Well… your dad,” said Vix. “You know?” She muttered it, apologetically. “The things he did.” I said, “How do you know what things he did?” Vix said she’d heard her mum talking about it. I said, “How did she know?” “Your mum told her,” said Vix. Suddenly, that made me lose all sympathy with Mum. Talking about Dad to other people! To strangers. Well, outsiders. I thought that was so disloyal! “Steph, I’m sorry,” said Vix. I told her that it wasn’t her fault. It was Mum’s fault, if anyone’s. How could she do such a thing? “Dad wasn’t as bad as all that,” I said. “He never did anything on purpose to hurt her! He loved her.” Vix looked at me, pityingly. “Well, but he did!” I said. “He couldn’t help it if he wasn’t very good at earning money… money just didn’t mean anything to him.” “I suppose that’s why he spent it,” said Vix. She wasn’t being sarcastic; she was genuinely trying to help. “He spent it because he wanted Mum to have nice things,” I said. “Not stupid, boring things like cookers!” “But perhaps she wanted stupid boring things,” said Vix. “Well, she did,” I said, “but Dad wasn’t to know! I mean, he did know, but – he kept forgetting. He’d see something he thought she’d like, and he couldn’t resist getting it for her. And then she’d say it was a waste of money, or stupid, or useless, or she’d make him take it back… poor Dad! He was only trying to make her happy.” “This is it,” said Vix. What did she mean, this is it! “It’s what people do,” said Vix. “When they’re married… they try to make each other happy, but sometimes it doesn’t always work and they just make each other miserable, and – and they only get happy when they’re not living together any more. Maybe,” she added. Mum ought to have been happier, now she’d got rid of Dad and could save up for new cookers without any fear of him gambling her money away on horses that didn’t reach the finishing point. You’d have thought she’d be happier. Instead, she just got crabbier and crabbier, even worse than she’d been before, when Dad was turning her life into turmoil. At least, that’s how it seemed to me and the Afterthought. She wouldn’t let us do things, she wouldn’t let us have things, she wouldn’t let us buy the clothes we wanted, we couldn’t even read what we wanted. “This magazine is disgusting!” cried Mum, slapping down my latest copy of Babe. Babe just happened, at the time, to be my favourite teen mag. I’ve grown out of it now; but at the age of thirteen there were things I desperately needed to know, and Babe was where I found out about them. I mean, you have to find out somewhere. You can’t go through life being ignorant. I tried explaining this to Mum but she had frothed herself up into one of her states and wouldn’t listen. “DO BLOKES PREFER BOOBS OR BUMS? At your age?” “Mum,” I said, “I need to know!” “You’ll find out quite soon enough,” said Mum, “without resorting to this kind of trash… what, for heaven’s sake, is Daddy drool supposed to mean?” Again, I tried explaining: “It means when people fancy your dad.” But again she wouldn’t listen. “This is just so cheap! It is just so tacky! Where did you get it from?” I said, “The newsagent.” “Mr Patel? I’m surprised he’d sell you such a thing!” “Mum, everybody reads it,” I said. “Does Victoria read it?” said Mum. I said, “No, she reads one that’s even worse.” I giggled. “Then we swop!” It was a mistake to giggle. Mum immediately thought that I was cheeking her. Plus she’d actually gone and opened the mag and her eye had fallen on a rather cheeky article (ha ha, that is a joke!) about male bums. Shock, horror! Did she think I’d never seen one before??? “For crying out loud!” Mum glared at the offending article, bug-eyed. Maybe she’d never seen one before… “What is this? Teenage porn?” I said, “Mum, it’s just facts of life.” “So is sewage,” said Mum. Was she saying male bums were sewage? No! She’d flicked over the page and seen something else. Something I’d been really looking forward to reading! “This is unbelievable,” said Mum. “Selling this stuff to thirteen-year-old girls! I’m going to have a word with Mr Patel.” “Mum! No!” I shrieked. I wasn’t worried about Mr Patel, I was worried about Babe. How was I going to learn things if he wasn’t allowed to sell it to me any more? “Stephanie, I don’t want this kind of filth in the house,” said Mum. “Do you understand?” I sulkily said yes, while thinking to myself that I bet Dad wouldn’t have minded. Mum had just got so crabby. “She’s an old cow,” said the Afterthought. Mum and the Afterthought were finding it really difficult to get along; they rowed even worse than Mum and me. The Afterthought wanted a kitten. A girl in her class had a cat that was going to have some, and the Afterthought had conceived this passion. (Conceived! Ha! What would Mum say to that!) Every day the Afterthought nagged and begged and howled and pleaded; and every day Mum very firmly said no. She said she was sorry, but she had quite enough to cope with without having an animal to look after. “Kittens grow into cats, and cats need feeding, cats need injections, cats cost money …I’m sorry, Sam! It’s just not the right moment. Maybe in a few months.” “That’ll be too late!” wailed the Afterthought. “All the kittens will be gone!” “There’ll be more,” said Mum. “Not from Sukey. They won’t be Sukey’s kittens. I want one of Sukey’s! She’s so sweet. Dad would let me!” roared the Afterthought. “Very possibly, but your dad doesn’t happen to be here,” said Mum. “No! Because you got rid of him! I want my kitten!” bellowed the Afterthought. It ended up, as it always did, with Mum losing patience and the Afterthought going off into one of her tantrums. I told Vix that life at home had become impossible. Vix said, “Yes, for me, too! Specially after your mum talked to my mum about teenage filth and now my mum says I’m not to buy that sort of thing any more!” I stared at her, appalled. “What right have they got,” I said, “to talk about us behind our backs?” The weeks dragged on, with things just going from bad to worse. Mum got crabbier and crabbier. She got specially crabby on days when we had telephone calls from Dad. He rang us, like, about once every two weeks, and the Afterthought always snatched up the phone and grizzled into it. “Dad, it’s horrible here! When are you going to get settled?” I tried to be a little bit more discreet, because I could see that probably it was a bit irritating for Mum. I mean, she was doing her best. Dad was now living down south, in Brighton. He said that he missed us and would love to have us with him, but he wasn’t quite settled enough; not just yet. “Soon, I hope!” Triumphantly, the Afterthought relayed this to Mum. “Soon Dad’s going to be settled, and then we can go and live with him!” I knew that Mum would never let us, and in any case I wasn’t really sure that I’d want to. Not permanently, I mean. I loved Dad to bits, because he wasn’t ever crabby like Mum, I couldn’t remember Dad telling us off for anything, ever; but I couldn’t imagine actually leaving Mum, no matter how impossible she was being. And she was being. Running off to Vix’s mum like that! Interfering with Vix’s life, as well as mine. I didn’t think she ought to have done that; it could have caused great problems between me and Vix. Fortunately Vix understood that it wasn’t my fault. As she said, “You can’t control how your mum behaves.” But Vix’s mum had been quite put out to discover that her angelic daughter was reading about s.e.x. and gazing at pictures of male bums. It’s what comes of living in a grungy old place way out in the sticks where nothing ever happens and s.e.x. is something you are not supposed to have heard of, let alone think about. Vix agreed with me that in Brighton people probably thought about it all the time, even thirteen-year-old girls, and no one turned a hair. I said to Mum, “When I am fourteen,” (which I was going to be quite soon), “can I think about it then?” “You can think about it all you like,” said Mum. “I just don’t want you reading about it in trashy magazines. That’s all!” It was shortly after my fourteenth birthday that Mum finally went and flipped. I’d been trying ever so hard to make allowances for her. I’d discussed it with Vix and we had agreed that it was probably something to do with her age. Vix said, “Women get really odd when they reach a certain age. How old is your mum?” I said, “She’s only thirty-six.” I mean, pretty old, but not actually decrepit. “Old enough,” said Vix. “She’s probably getting broody.” I said, “Getting what?” “Broody. You know?” “I thought that was something to do with chickens,” I said. “Chickens and women… it makes them desperate.” “Desperate for what?” “Having babies while they still can.” “But she’s had babies!” I said. “Doesn’t make any difference,” said Vix. “Don’t worry! She’ll grow out of it.” “Yes, but when?’ I wailed. “Dunno.” Vix wrinkled her nose. “When she’s about… fifty, maybe?” I thought that fifty was a long time to wait for Mum to stop being desperate, but in the meanwhile, in the interests of peaceful living, I would do my best to humour her. I would no longer read nasty magazines full of s.e.x., at any rate, not while I was indoors, and I would no longer nag her for new clothes except when I really, really needed them, and I would make my bed and I would tidy my bedroom and I would help with the washing up, and do all those things that she was always on at me to do. So I did. For an entire whole week. And then she went and flipped! All because I’d been to a party and got home about two seconds later than she’d said. Plus I’d just happened to be brought back by this boy that for some reason she’d taken exception to and told me not to see any more, only I hadn’t realised that she meant it. I mean, how was I to know that she’d meant it? “What did you think I meant?” said Mum, all cold and brittle, like an icicle. “I told you I didn’t want you seeing him any more!” “But why not?” I said. “What’s the matter with him?” “Stephanie, we have already been through all this,” said Mum. “But it doesn’t make any sense! He’s just a boy, the same as any other boy. It’s not like he’s on drugs, or anything.” Well, he wasn’t; not as far as I knew. It’s stupid to think that just because someone has a nose stud and tattoos he’s doing drugs. Mum was just so prejudiced! But I suppose I shouldn’t have tried arguing with her; I can see, now, that that was a bit ill-judged. Mum went up like a light. She went incandescent. Fire practically spurted out of her nostrils. I couldn’t ever remember seeing her that mad. And at me! Who’d tried her best to make allowances! It didn’t help that the Afterthought was there, leaning over the banisters. The Afterthought never can manage to keep her mouth shut. She had to go starting on about kittens again. “Dad would have let me have one! You never let us have anything! You’re just a misery! You aren’t any fun!” She said afterwards that she thought she was coming to my aid. She thought she was being supportive. “Showing that I was on your side!” All it did, of course, was make matters worse. Mum just suddenly snapped. She raised two clenched fists to heaven and demanded to know what she had done to get lumbered with two such beastly brats. “Thoroughly unpleasant! Totally ungrateful! Utterly selfish! Well, that’s it. I’ve had it! I’m sick to death of the pair of you! As far as I’m concerned, your father can have you, and welcome. I’ve done my stint. From now on, you can be his responsibility!” Wow. I think even the Afterthought was a bit taken aback. (#ulink_0e7a5d2c-23c0-5a24-bdbe-67edea765275) “I HAVE SPENT sixteen years of my life,” said Mum, “coping with your dad. Sixteen years of clearing up his messes, getting us out of the trouble that he’s got us into. If it weren’t for me, God alone knows where this family would be! Out on the streets, with a begging bowl. Well, I’ve had it, do you hear? I have had it. I cannot take any more! Do I make myself plain?” Me and the Afterthought, shocked into silence, just stared woodenly. “Do I make myself plain?” bellowed Mum. “Y-yes!” I snapped to attention. “Absolutely!” “Good. Then you will understand why it is that I am relinquishing all responsibility. Because if I am asked to cope just one minute longer — ” Mum’s voice rose to a piercing shriek “ — with your tempers and your tantrums and your utter – your utter —” We waited. “Your utter selfishness,” screamed Mum, “I shall end up in a lunatic asylum! Have you got that?” I nodded. “I said, have you got that?” bawled Mum. “Got it,” I said. “Got it,” muttered the Afterthought. “Right! Just so long as you have. I want there to be no misunderstandings. Now, get off to bed, the pair of you!” Me and the Afterthought both scuttled into our bedrooms and stayed there. I wondered gloomily if Mum was having a nervous breakdown, and if so, whether it was my fault. All I’d done was just go to a party! I lay awake the rest of the night thinking that if Mum ended up in a lunatic asylum, I would be the one that put her there, but when I told Vix about it next day Vix said that me going to the party was probably just the last straw. She said that her mum had said that my mum had been under pressure for far too long. “She’s probably cracking up,” said Vix. Honestly! Vix may be my best and oldest friend, but I can’t help feeling she doesn’t always stop and think before she opens her mouth. Cracking up. What a thing to say! It worried me almost sick. I crept round Mum like a little mouse, hardly daring even to breathe for fear of upsetting her. I had these visions of her suddenly tearing off all her clothes and running naked into the street and having to be locked up. The Afterthought, being almost totally insensitive where other people’s feelings are concerned, just carried on the same as usual, except that she didn’t actually whinge quite as much. Instead of whining about cornflakes for breakfast instead of sugar puffs, for instance, she simply rolled her eyes and made huffing sounds; instead of screaming that “Dad would let me!” when Mum refused to let her sit up till midnight watching telly, she just did this angry scoffing thing, like “Khuurgh!” and walloped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I, in the meantime, was on eggshells, waiting for Mum to tear her clothes off. In fact she didn’t. After her one manic outburst, she became deadly cool and calm, which was quite frightening in itself as I felt that underneath things were bubbling. Like it would take just one little incident and that would be it: clothes off, running naked. Or, alternatively, tearing out her hair in great chunks, which is what I’d read somewhere that people did when they were having breakdowns. I told the Afterthought to stop being so horrible. “You don’t want Mum to end up in a lunatic asylum, do you?” The Afterthought just tossed her head and said she couldn’t care less. “I hate her! I’ll always hate her! She sent my dad away!” “Your dad? He’s my dad, too!” I said. “I’m the one that loves him best! You can have her” said the Afterthought. “She’s your favourite!” One week later, term came to an end. The very next day, Mum got rid of us. Well, that was what it seemed like. Like she just couldn’t wait to be free. She’d made us pack all our stuff the night before, but she couldn’t actually ship us off until after lunch as Dad said he had to work. Mum said, “On a Saturday?” She was fuming! Now she’d made up her mind to dump us, she wanted us to go now, at once, immediately. The Afterthought would have liked to go now, at once, immediately, too. She was jigging with impatience the whole morning. I sort of wanted to go – I mean, I was really looking forward to seeing Dad again – but I still couldn’t quite believe that Mum was doing this to us. As we piled into the car with all our gear, I said, “It’s just for the summer holidays, right?” Well, it had to be! I mean, what about clothes? What about school? “I wouldn’t want to miss any school,” I said. “Really?” said Mum. “I never heard that one before!” OK, I knew she was still mad at us, but I didn’t see there was any need for sarcasm. I said, “Well, but anyway, you’ll be back long before then!” Mum had announced that she was flying off to Spain to stay with an old school friend who owned a nightclub. She’d said she was going to “live it up” It worried me because I didn’t think of Mum as a living-it-up kind of person. I couldn’t imagine her drinking and dancing and lying about on the beach. How would she cope? It just wasn’t Mum. “You’ll have to be back,” I said. ‘Will I?” said Mum. “Why?” Why? What kind of a question was that? “You have to work,” I said. Mum had this job in the customer service department of one of the big stores in the centre of Nottingham. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just disappear for months! “Actually,” said Mum, “I don’t have to work… I jacked it in. I’ve left.” I said, “What?” “I’ve left,” said Mum. “I gave in my notice.” “Gave in your notice?” I was aghast. Mum couldn’t do that! “You can’t!” I bleated. “I have,” said Mum. “I gave it in last week… I’m unemployed!” I shrieked, “Mum!” “What’s the problem?” said Mum. “It never seemed to bother you when your dad was unemployed.” “That was because he couldn’t be tied down,” said the Afterthought, in angry tones. “Well, I’ve decided… neither can I!” Mum giggled. I don’t think I’d ever heard Mum giggle before. “Two can play at being free spirits.” “But what will we live on?” I wailed. “Ah!” said Mum. “That’s the question… what will we live on? Worrying, isn’t it? Maybe your dad will provide.” I glanced at the Afterthought. Her lip was quivering. She wanted to be with Dad OK, but only so long as Mum was still there, in the background, like a kind of safety net. We couldn’t have two parents being free spirits! “As a matter of fact,” said Mum, “I’m thinking of going in with Romy.” I said, “Romy?” “Yes!” said Mum. “Why not? Do you have some objection?” “You’re not going to marry him?” I said. “Did I say I was going to marry him?” I said, “N-no. But —” “She couldn’t, anyway!” shrilled the Afterthought. “She’s still married to Dad!” Yes, I thought, but for how long? I remembered when Vix’s mum and dad split up. Vix had been so sure they would never get divorced, but now her dad was married to someone else and had a new baby. I didn’t want that happening with my mum and dad! And the thought of having Jerome as a stepfather… yeeurgh! He has ginger hairs up his nose. “Don’t get yourselves in a lather,” said Mum. “It’s purely a business arrangement.” Dreamily, she added, “I’ve always been interested in antiques.” “Romy doesn’t sell antiques!” said the Afterthought, scornfully. “He sells junk. Dad says so!” I said, “Shut up, you idiot!” But the damage had been done. We drove the rest of the way to the station in a very frosty silence. Mum parked the car in frosty silence. We marched across the forecourt with our bags and our backpacks in the same frosty silence. I thought, this is horrible! We weren’t going to see Mum again for weeks and weeks. I didn’t want to leave her all hurt and angry. Mum obviously felt the same, for she suddenly hugged me and said, “Look after yourself! Take care of your sister.” I promised that I would. The prospect didn’t exactly thrill me, since quite honestly the Afterthought, in those days, was nothing but one big pain. She really was a beastly brat. But Mum was going off to Spain, and I was starting to miss her already, and I desperately, desperately didn’t want us to part on bad terms. So I said, “I’ll take care of her, Mum!” and Mum gave me a quick smile and a kiss and I felt better than I had in a long time. She then turned to the Afterthought and said, “Sam?” in this pleading kind of voice, which personally I didn’t think she should have used. I mean, the Afterthought was behaving like total scum. For a moment I thought the horrible brat was going to stalk off without saying goodbye, but then, in grumpy fashion, she offered her cheek for a kiss. We settled ourselves on the train, with various magazines that Mum had bought for us (Babe, unfortunately, not being one of them). “Mum,” I said, “you will be all right, won’t you?” “I’ll be fine,” said Mum. “Don’t you worry about me! You just concentrate on having a good time, because that’s what I’m going to do. And you, Sam, I want you to behave yourself! Do what your sister tells you and don’t give her any trouble.” I smirked: the Afterthought pulled a face. As the train pulled out, Mum called after us: “Enjoy yourselves! Have fun. I’m sure you will!” “I’m going to have lots of fun,” boasted the Afterthought. “It’s always fun with Dad!” She then added, “And you needn’t think you’re going to boss me around!” “You’ve got to do what I tell you,” I said. “Mum said so. “Mum won’t be there! So sah sah sah!” The Afterthought pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. So childish. I turned to look out of the window. Why was it, I thought, that our family always seemed to be at war? Mum and Dad, me and the Afterthought… “It’s like the Wars of the Roses,” I said. “What is?” said the Afterthought. “Us! Fighting! The Wars of the Roses.” Personally I thought this was rather clever, but the Afterthought didn’t seem to get it. She just scowled and said, “It’s Mum’s fault.” She really had it in for Mum. She wouldn’t hear a word against Dad, but everything that Mum did was wrong. Even now, when we weren’t going to be seeing her for months. Poor old Mum! Actually I couldn’t help feeling that Mum and the Afterthought were quite alike. Neither of them ever did anything by halves. They were both so extreme. I like to think I am a bit more flexible, like Dad. Only more organised, naturally! I tried to organise the Afterthought, on our trip down to London. It was quite a long journey, nearly two hours, so Mum had given us food packs in case we got hungry. I told the Afterthought she wasn’t to start eating until we were halfway there, but she said she would eat when she wanted, and she broke open her pack right there and then and had scoffed the lot by the time we reached Bedford. “You’re not going to have any of mine,” I said. “Don’t want any of yours,” said the Afterthought. “We’ll be in London soon and Dad will take us for tea.” This was what he had promised. He was going to be there at St Pancras station to meet us, and we were all going to go and have tea before we got on the train to Brighton. I had never made such a long train journey all by myself before. It was quite a responsibility, what with having to keep an eye on the Afterthought and make sure she didn’t wander off and get lost, or lock herself in the toilet, or something equally stupid. But I didn’t really mind. Now that we were on our way, I found I was quite excited at the prospect of staying with Dad. I’d never been to Brighton. I’d only been to London once, and that was a school trip, when, we went to visit a museum. School trips are fun, and better than being in school, but you are still watched all the time and never allowed to go off and do your own thing, in case, I suppose, you get abducted or find a boy and run away with him. I wish! I didn’t think that Dad would watch us; he is not at all a mother hen type. And Brighton sounded like a really wild and wicked kind of place! Vix had informed me excitedly that “things happen in Brighton” When I asked her what things, she didn’t seem too sure, but she said that it was “a hub” Nottingham isn’t a hub; well, I don’t think it is. And outside of Nottingham is like living in limbo. Just nothing ever happens at all. Vix had made me promise to send her postcards every week and to email her if I met any boys. I intended to! Meet boys, that is. Mum, meanwhile, said that Brighton was “just the sort of place I would expect your dad to end up in.” She said that it was cheap, squalid and tacky. Sounded good to me! Just after we left Bedford (and the Afterthought finished off her supply of food) my mobile rang. It was Mum, checking that we were still on the train and hadn’t got off at the wrong station or fallen out of the window, though as a matter of fact the windows were sealed, so that even the Afterthought couldn’t have fallen out. “Stephie?” said Mum. “Everything OK?” I said, “Yes, fine, Mum. The Afterthought’s eaten all her food.” “Well, that’s all right,” said Mum. “I’m sure your dad will get her some more. Don’t forget to give him the cheque. Tell him it’s got to last you.” I said, “Yes, Mum.” “Tell him it’s for you and Sam. For your personal spending.” “Yes, Mum.” “I don’t want him using it for himself.” ‘No, Mum.” We had already been through all this! Plus I had heard Mum telling Dad on the phone. “Oh, and Stephanie,” she said. “Yes, Mum?” “I want you to ring me when you’ve arrived.” “What, in London?” I said. “No! In Brighton. When you get to your dad’s place. All right?” I said, “Yes, Mum.” I thought, “Mum’s getting cold feet!” She’d gone and packed us off and now she was starting to do her mumsy thing, worrying in case something happened. I said, “We’re only going to Brighton, Mum! Not Siberia.” “Yes, well, just look after your sister,” said Mum. “I’ve got to look after you” I said to the Afterthought. “I don’t want to be looked after,” said the Afterthought. We reached London nearly ten minutes late, so I expected Dad to already be there, waiting for us. But he wasn’t! We stood at the barrier, looking all around, and he just wasn’t there. “Maybe he’s gone to the loo,” said the Afterthought, doing her best to sound brave. “Mm,” I said. “Maybe.” Or maybe we were looking in the wrong place. Maybe when Dad had said he’d meet us at St Pancras, he’d meant… outside. So we went and looked outside, but he wasn’t there, either, so then we went back to where the train had come in. Still no sign of Dad. “He must have been held up,” I said. “We’d better just wait.” “Ring him!” said the Afterthought. “Ring him, Stephie, now!” “Oh! Yes, I could, couldn’t I?” I said. I called up Dad’s number, but nothing happened. “He must have switched his phone off,” I said. “Why would he do that?” said the Afterthought, fretfully. “I don’t know! Maybe he’s… in a tunnel, or something, and it’s not working.” The Afterthought was already sucking her thumb and looking tearful. I thought that if Dad hadn’t arrived by four o’clock I would have to ring Mum. Ringing Mum was the last thing I wanted to do! She would instantly start fretting and fuming and saying how Dad couldn’t be trusted and she should never have let us go. She might even tell us to jump on the first train home. How could I face Vix if I ended up back in Nottingham without having gone anywhere? I was still dithering when my own phone rang, and there was Dad on the other end. Relief! I squealed, “Dad!” and the Afterthought immediately attempted to snatch the phone away from me. I kept her off with my elbow. “Stephie?” said Dad. “That you?” I said, “Yes, we’re at St Pancras. I tried to call you but I couldn’t get through!” “No, I know,” said Dad. “The thing’s stopped working, I think it needs a new battery. Now listen, honeysuckle, you’re going to have to make your own way down to Brighton. I’ve been a bit tied up, business-wise, and I couldn’t get away. I’ll meet you at Brighton, instead. OK?” I gulped and said, “Y-yes, I s-suppose. But I don’t know how to get there!” “Not to worry,” said Dad. “I’ll give you directions.” Dad told me that we had to turn left out of St Pancras and follow the signs to the Thameslink. Then all we had to do was get on a train that said Brighton. “Nothing to it! Think you can manage?” What I actually thought was no! But I said yes because it didn’t seem like I had any alternative. I mean, if I had said no, what was Dad supposed to do about it? “He could have come and fetched us,” whimpered the Afterthought. “That would take for ever,” I said. “Just stop being such a baby! There’s nothing to it.” It was, however, quite scary. There were so many people about! All going places. All in such a rush. Also, just at first I couldn’t see any signs that said Thameslink, and then when I did I couldn’t make out which road we had to go down and had to ask someone. That was quite scary in itself because St Pancras station is right next door to King’s Cross, and I had heard bad things about King’s Cross. I had heard it was where all the prostitutes were, and the drug dealers, and the child molesters. I mean, they probably didn’t come out until late at night, under cover of darkness, but you just never know. I didn’t want us being abducted! Fortunately the person I spoke to (while I held tightly on to the Afterthought’s hand in case they tried to snatch her) didn’t seem to be any of those things, but just told us which road to take and went on her way. I said, “Phew!” and tried to unhook myself from the Afterthought’s hand, which had become rather hot and clammy, but the Afterthought went on clutching like mad. “I don’t like this place!” she said. I said, “Neither do I, that’s why we’re getting out of it. Just come on!” And I dragged her all the way down the road until we came to the Thameslink station where an Underground man (he was wearing uniform, so I knew he was all right) told us which platform to go to. I felt quite pleased with myself. I felt quite proud! Dad had trusted me to get us on the right train, and I had. Mum wouldn’t have trusted me. She still treated me as if I were about ten years old. (Not letting me read my magazine!) Dad was prepared to treat me like I was almost grown up. He knew I could handle it. I liked that! Now that I had got us safely under way and hadn’t let her be abducted, the Afterthought had gone all bumptious and full of herself again. She went off to the buffet car and came back with a fizzy drink which she slurped noisily and disgustingly through a straw. It really got on my nerves. I was trying to behave like a civilised human being, for heaven’s sake! I was trying to have a bit of style. I didn’t need this underage mutant showing me up. I tried telling her to suck quietly, but she immediately started slurping worse than ever. I mean, she did it quite deliberately. Defying me. “Did you know,” I said, “that your teeth have gone all purple?” “So what?” said the Afterthought. “So they’ll probably stay like it… you’ll probably be stained for life!” I thought it might at least shut her up, but she just pulled her lips into this hideous grimace and started chittering like a monkey. Well over the top. In the end I moved to the other side of the carriage and let her get on with it. At least I didn’t have to hold her horrible sticky hand any more. Dad was waiting for us when we got to Brighton. I was so pleased to see him! He was looking just fantastic. He had this deep, dark tan, and his hair had grown quite long. Dad’s hair is very black, and curly. It suited him long! I could suddenly understand how Mum had fallen for him, all those years ago. I could understand how it was that he could always get round her, and make her believe that this time things were going to be different, that he had mended his ways, he was going to behave himself. Dad wasn’t capable of behaving himself! Once when Mum was in a good mood, I remember she said that he was “a lovable rogue” (More often, of course, she was in a bad mood, and threw things.) “Dad!” I galloped up the platform towards him. “Girls!” Dad threw open his arms and we both hurled ourselves into them. “Oh, girls!” cried Dad. “I’ve missed you!” I thought, this is going to be the best holiday ever. (#ulink_cf7442c9-db26-5986-91b1-a172ff4b1ab0) THE FIRST THING we did was go back to Dad’s place to dump our bags. Very earnestly, with her hand tucked into Dad’s, the Afterthought said, “I’m glad you didn’t have to go and live in a cardboard box. I was really worried about that.” Dad said, “Were you, poppet? That’s sweet of you. I bet your mum wasn’t!” “I think she was,” I said. “She wasn’t!” said the Afterthought. “She didn’t care!” I said, “She did! But she thought you’d be all right, because she said you always landed on your feet.” “Oh, did she?” said Dad. “And I suppose she thinks that you don’t have to work, to land on your feet. I suppose she thinks it just happens?” I didn’t know what to say to that. “Why are we talking about Mum?” shrilled the Afterthought. “Good question,” said Dad. “Your mum’s gone off to Spain to enjoy herself, we’ll enjoy ourselves in Brighton. Let’s get shot of these bags, then we can go out and paint the town!” Dad was living in a tiny little narrow street near to the station. The houses were little and narrow, too. All tastefully painted in pinks and lemons and greens, with their doors opening right on to the pavement. “Oh! They’re so sweet,” crooned the Afterthought. “Like little dolls’ houses!” “Better than a cardboard box, eh?” said Dad. Better than the house we had at home! Our house at home was on an estate that belonged to the Council, and wasn’t very nice. I mean, it was actually quite ugly. Mum had always hated it. Dad’s house was palest pink with red shutters at the windows and a red front door. Really pretty! Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jean-ure/passion-flower/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.