A Hopscotch Summer (17 page)

Em sat in her desk beside Molly, a bright beam of winter sunshine slicing in through the classroom windows and lighting up their ink-stained desk. She was used to sitting next to Molly now, and tried not to look in Katie’s direction. In any case, once again this morning her thoughts were far away from school.

‘Now,’ Miss Lineham turned from writing on the blackboard, pulling her cardigan more tightly round her rather plump frame, ‘can anyone tell me what new season has just begun?’

Hands went up. ‘Winter, miss?’

‘Yes – but I meant another,
Christian
season.’ Miss Lineham was obsessively religious.

No hands went up. Miss Lineham’s eyes roved round the room. Em felt a sudden sharp jab in her side from Molly’s elbow and a warning glance. Jarred, but grateful, Em tried to pay attention. Fortunately Miss Lineham had stopped picking on her for the moment and mostly ignored her.

‘Can
no one
tell me?’ Their silence seemed to be a personal disappointment. ‘Well, it’s
Advent
, because last Sunday was the fourth Sunday before Christmas.’

Em drifted off again as Miss Lineham droned on about waiting for Jesus and coloured candles. Religion always seemed to mean waiting for something. In her head the teacher’s grating tones were drowned by the echo of Dot’s words, overheard on Sunday when Dot hadn’t known she was within earshot.

After Sunday dinner the children had all been playing out as it was dry. A group of them, Em and Joyce, Nancy, Molly and some others were out at the front. Sid had his go-cart and they were taking it in turns to whiz each other along the street. Em had suddenly needed to go to the toilet, so she ran down the entry to the privy in the yard, pushing the rusty bolt across to secure her privacy.

While she was on the toilet she could hear raised voices. She knew it was her dad and Dot, in the house, though she couldn’t make out their words. She flushed the toilet and crept to the back door; pushing it open she stood just inside, shoving her hands down into the pockets of her old brown coat. It was too short for her now and barely reached her knees. The two of them were in the front room. Dot had caught Bob before he disappeared out, as usual.

‘Just leave us alone – I’ll sort it out,’ Bob kept saying, very irritably, like someone batting away a fly.

‘What d’you
mean
you’ll sort it out?’ Dot’s temper was already getting well out of hand. ‘It’s no good saying you’ll “sort it out” and then buggering off out again while I look after your kids. You never cowing well
do
sort anything out – that’s your trouble!’

‘I gave yer some money, dain’t I?’ Bob said indignantly.

There was an outraged silence. ‘Money,’ Dot said quietly, then, with her voice rising, ‘Yes – you gave me a pay-off. Bloody decent of yer, I must say, when I’m bringing up your family! D’you think that’s it – you can just pay me a pittance and then swan off and do what you like? What d’yer think you’re doing, carrying on with that woman?’ For a moment her voice sounded tearful. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself with poor Cynth in that place. And d’you think no one’s noticed?’

‘Oh, leave off, yer bloody interfering nag! Get out of my way!’ Em heard a chair scrape on the floor as if he was trying to get out past her.

‘You’re not going nowhere, matey – not till I’ve had my say. What’s come over you, Bob? You used to be a decent man, not carrying on like this with that painted-up slut . . .’

‘Don’t you call Mrs Dawson that – she’s a respectable widow and she gets lonely, that’s all,’ Bob flared up. A door opened and, thinking they were coming out to the back, Em got ready to run away, but then they carried on.

‘Huh, won’t she let you ’ave any of what you’re after, then, Bob?’ Dot said disgustedly.

‘You’re a bloody fine one to talk, you ain’t always been so good at keeping yer legs together, ’ave yer?’

‘Don’t you dare start on me!’ Dot’s voice sank to a venomous hiss for a moment. ‘Whatever I’ve done I’ve paid the price and faced up to things. Not like you, running scared at the first hint of trouble. What about Cynthia? Your wife, remember her? You going to just leave her in there to rot? I’m going to go and see her, Bob – this Sat’dy . . .’

‘You won’t say anything?’ She had punctured his anger.

‘No, Bob. I won’t say anything. D’you think she needs to know what a spineless bastard you are the minute she’s poorly and can’t help herself? And what about your kids?’

‘What about ’em? They’re all right, ain’t they, for now – it won’t hurt.’ His voice was uncertain now, then desperate. ‘I don’t know what it is, Dot, it’s summat about the woman. I just can’t seem to help myself.’

‘Bob.’ Dot’s voice lowered and she spoke carefully, as if trying to hammer some sense into him. ‘Listen to me. You’ve got to help yourself. It ain’t my job to bring up two families. The only thing that keeps me from going to the Welfare people and saying they’re being neglected is that I couldn’t do it to ’em – I love the poor little buggers like my own. And Cynth is my best friend. I don’t want to do it to any of ’em, but they’re your job, not mine. I swear to God, this can’t go on. If you don’t start facing up to things and looking after them, I’ll report you. And they’ll come and take ’em away and put them in a home . . .’

The words clanged in Em’s head like the clapper of a doom-laden bell. She didn’t stay to hear any more. Tearing out again along the entry she wanted to scream out what she had heard to Sid and Joyce, to anyone, to burst the bubble of terror that was building up inside her. But her feet slowed. She couldn’t say anything – not about Dad, or about the men who’d come to take them away to the home. She couldn’t. It was all locked up inside her and she couldn’t go scaring the little ones. Talking about it might make it happen!

She straightened her coat and went out into the street again as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

‘Come on, Em, your turn!’ Molly shouted. ‘We was waiting for you!’

She hardly slept that night. She was disturbed by dreams of men with giant hands coming and dragging her off and locking her away, and Dot’s voice echoing, echoing in her mind.

After playtime it was PT. Playing at the back of Em’s mind was the fact that as she came into school that morning, she had crossed paths with Katie O’Neill. Katie didn’t seem quite so thick with Lily Davies as she had been, and as they passed each other earlier, Em thought she had seen Katie smile at her, a quick, darting smile, but at least Katie had been looking in her direction. In her sad, frightened state, it had raised a little glow of hope. Perhaps she could have her friend back again? Katie might regret what she’d said before, might miss her and really want to be friends again. And in any case, Lily Davies was absent today.

Their breath blew out in white clouds as they stood shivering in the school yard, but the sun was out, shining so brilliantly that they had to screw up their eyes. Miss Lineham strode out, a thick, moss-coloured coat belted tightly round her solid form, carrying a stack of wooden hoops. She put them down, grunting with the exertion, and clapped her hands.

‘Right, children! Line up in twos, please. I said twos, Maggie Minchin, not sixes! That’s better, come along. We’re going to work with hoops today. One between two! You must share nicely.’

As the children scrimmaged to find a partner, Em knew Molly would make straight for her and, though she was ashamed to do it, she edged away, trying to separate herself from her. In those seconds, her little pilot light of hope that Katie might want to be her partner again burst into a bright flame as Katie seemed to be heading towards her. In those seconds there came a glimpse of past happiness, Katie’s pretty, dark-featured face and swinging plaits making for her and her only, the whispered secrets, the games – everything from before, when things were good. Em found a smile of welcome rising on her lips, but then Katie, with a kind of half smile, half smirk, passed her by and paired up with Gladys Day, who looked as pleased with herself as anything and went smugly to Miss Lineham to collect her hoop.

‘You gunna be my partner?’ Molly was beside Em again immediately, always there, always willing, like a puppy that wants its tummy tickled.

‘All right,’ Em said crossly, stinging with hurt. She felt bad about Molly. She
ought
to like her. Molly was kind. Once, Em had woken from the nightmare delirium of the fever and she had been glad to see Molly beside her then. Now, though Em was grateful, Molly still had her irritating effect on her and she wished someone else was so keen to be her friend. She’d have to make the most of it.

The next half-hour passed busily. To keep them warm, Miss Lineham got the children running up and down the yard pushing the hoops. They had to get in a big circle and roll them to each other, and the ones who had no hoops were expected to run round the edge of the yard to keep warm. She got them standing in the hoops, circling them round their hips, trying to keep them twirling off the ground as long as possible.

‘The girls will probably find this easier,’ Miss Lineham said, giving one of her very rare smiles. This immediately sent the boys into a fever of competition, furiously snaking their bodies in their long shorts and shirts to keep the hoops spinning.

Em enjoyed rolling and catching the hoop but she was soon exhausted. Even now she still felt weak after her illness. Running round the yard made her feel hot and shaky, but she kept forcing one foot in front of the other so as not to attract Miss Lineham’s attention.

At last the bell rang to end the lesson and the children gathered up the hoops and went to the door in a knot. Em found herself towards the back of the crowd, and seeing Katie O’Neill even further behind, she hung back. Even pride couldn’t prevent her. She so longed for things to be right, back how they were before when she and Katie were friends and cock of the walk at school. Surely Katie couldn’t really have meant what she said before about them not playing together?

The two of them were at the back, in their little gymslips. Katie looked lovely in hers, of course. She was the sort who looked nice wearing anything. Em seized all her courage.

‘Hello, Katie,’ she said, blushing and her heart pounding with fear but determined to take her chance. ‘Will you come and play out later? I haven’t seen you for ages.’

Katie looked down for a second, biting her lip. When she looked up there was a hard, impatient expression in her eyes.

‘I
told
you, didn’t I? How many more times? My mom says I shouldn’t have anything to do with you, with your mother being funny in the head and in the asylum. And cos you play with Molly Fox. Mom says I should keep away from both of you. We thought you were from a nice family – but you’re not. Sorry, Em.’ And she moved away.

Em stood as if glued to the spot. The children in front of them had heard every word of Katie’s clear tones and had turned round to stare. None of the sharp retorts she thought of later came to her mind then. Instead she simply froze under this icy blast of cruelty. The others went on inside, leaving her behind.

‘Come along, girl!’ Miss Lineham was shouting angrily at her. ‘Move! Whatever’s the matter with you?’

Somehow she unstuck her feet from the surface of the yard and followed them inside, moving dazed, like a sleepwalker.

The next Saturday afternoon, a knock at the door made Em jump violently. She started at the slightest thing since she’d heard Dot saying they might all be taken away to the Home.

Bob hurried through to the front to open up. Em stood by the stairs and saw Dot on the doorstep in her hat and coat, ushering Nancy inside for Bob to look after her.

‘Right – I’m off now,’ Dot said. Her face wore a grim, challenging expression. ‘You are staying in with ’em, ain’t yer? You’d better be. If I hear different . . .’

Bob held his hands up as if Dot was brandishing a gun. ‘I’m staying in. I told yer.’ He lowered his hands. ‘Send her my love,’ he said, very quietly. ‘If you can get through to her.’

Dot gave a nod, backing away. ‘See yer later.’

Bob closed the door, pausing next to it for a few seconds, his head bowed. Unaware that Em was watching, he moved to the window and peered out, leaning first to one side, then the other as if he was looking for something along the street. Whatever it was failed to appear and he sighed.

‘Where’s Dot going?’ Em asked. Bob didn’t turn to look at her.

‘To visit your mother.’

She felt a glimmer of excitement. ‘Is Mom coming home?’

Bob made a bitter sound. ‘Don’t think so, love.’

‘Are you looking for Mrs Dawson?’

He swung round then, moving from the window.

‘Course not. Don’t talk daft.’

It started snowing as Dot made her way to Hollymoor Hospital. There had been a sudden slight warming of the air and the expectant stillness which precedes a fall of snow. As she walked to the tram stop in the middle of Birmingham, the first dry flakes were beginning to drift down from an iron-coloured sky, frosting hats and shoulders. By the time she reached Hollymoor the flakes were larger. The long drive was dark and silent, but suddenly she met her first view of the imposing hospital buildings with their lights on early in the gloom, looking something like a palace in a fairy story. Except, of course, it was not a palace.

‘God Almighty,’ Dot murmured under her breath. ‘Are you really in there, Cynth?’ It gave her the creeps just looking at the place. All the associations and fears connected with the asylum rose up in her mind and she had to keep a tight grip on herself not to turn round and run. After giving herself a stern talking-to she took in a few breaths of the sharp air, stamped the snow from her boots and stepped inside, out of the darkening afternoon.

During the wait in the main hall, she sat with her hat in her lap, her hands clenched into fists underneath it. It felt wrong to her to keep the hat on indoors, though some of the other visitors did, as if they were in church. The high electric lights made the sky outside the long windows look even blacker, making her feel shut in, as if she might not be allowed to leave, and she had to keep taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. The sight of the inmates shuffling in on the arms of the young nurses did nothing to reassure her. What was Cynthia going to be like? From what Bob had said, she had been in a very bad way when he visited. So much so that he had not been able to face coming back since.

She recognized Cynthia immediately, yet part of her mind was telling her no, it couldn’t be! It was the chopped hair, the slow, laborious gait and deadened expression. Her eyes focused on the face. Surely not? Yes – it was her . . . Dot forced her legs to stand, her lips to attempt a welcoming smile.

‘Here we are,’ the nurse said brightly. To Cynthia she added with loud optimism, ‘You sit down there and you can both have a nice chat.’

Cynthia obeyed, head bowed, taking an age to settle her scrawny frame on the chair as if it was a puzzling, even painful activity. Once the nurse had moved away she looked up in a dazed way. It was only then that Dot was completely sure they had brought her the right patient. She felt tears prickle her eyes at the wretched sight of her friend, but she made herself smile.

‘Hello, Cynth,’ she said, leaning towards her.

‘Hello, Dot,’ Cynthia whispered. Her lips tried to smile but the attempt quickly faded. She seemed to have shrunk right into herself, helpless and like a very small child. What on earth could they talk about, Dot thought, panic rising in her. Then she admonished herself. This is Cynth, silly, your old pal – just talk like you normally would!

‘How are you?’ she asked gently.

‘All right.’ Cynthia shrugged. It seemed hopeless to say anything further. Her eyes were stretched wide, as if in constant appeal.

‘Are they taking care of you all right?’

‘Yes. All right.’

There was no sign of the distress Bob had described, the need to harm herself. Not at this moment anyway. It felt more as if she was a candle with a faulty wick, guttering and struggling to burn. Dot longed suddenly to reach out and hold her, as if by embracing her she could pour her own warmth and vitality into her friend.

‘Bob sent his love to yer,’ she said.

‘The kids . . . How are they?’ The eyes wider, wilder now.

‘They’re all right, love. Em was a bit poorly a few weeks ago, but she’s back to normal now. We had a little tea party on her birthday. Joyce and Sid are well . . .’ She wasn’t going to mention about Sid’s feet, which had only just healed, or the big gash Joyce had on her chin from falling off the back wall in the week. Certainly not that their father spent every daily moment he could manage – and, for all she knew, some of the nightly ones too – at the house of a certain Mrs Flossie Dawson. None of this would help Cynthia now. ‘They all sent their love and they hope you’ll soon be feeling better.’

‘My babby – how’s my little Violet?’ She never spoke above a whisper, those eyes wide and apprehensive as if she expected someone to tell her off at any moment.

‘Oh, doing well. She’s still with your sister.’ Dot thought guiltily that she should go and see, check how Violet was. Whatever else she thought of Olive, she did appear to be caring well for the baby.

‘I miss them so much.’ Cynthia looked up towards the windows for a moment, as if trying to see their faces. Her eyes began to stream and she looked down. Dot reached out and took her hands, unable now to stop her own tears.

‘They miss you too, bab. But they’re all right. They’re looking forward to you coming home.’

Cynthia was shaking her head hopelessly. ‘No. I shan’t go home.’ She gazed across at the dark windows again. ‘No, I can’t do that.’

‘You will – of
course
you will!’ Dot squeezed her hands more tightly, trying to pacify her as if she were a child. Where had her bubbly, loving, best pal gone, leaving only this whispering shell?

‘It’s all right, Cynth. Look, you’re just feeling a bit low at the moment and everything seems bad. But you’ll get better, course you will! You’ll come home and be with them all again.’

Cynthia raised her tearful face, clutching at Dot’s words. ‘Will I? No.’ More head shaking. ‘I can’t. I
won’t.
I can’t even make a cup of tea for myself any more. I can’t do anything . . . I don’t know what’s happened to me. I feel so lost, so
bad
. . .’

Dot leaned close and took Cynthia in her arms, feeling the coarse material of the dress which was draped over her bones. The material seemed indestructible, as it was no doubt intended to be. A sour, sweaty smell came from her friend and made Dot’s spirits sink further, but she felt overwhelmingly that she must hold Cynthia like one of her own children, while her friend sobbed in her arms.

‘Just hang on.’ She had no reference or authority for her words, apart from a desperate hope that Cynthia’s sickness was like any other – something that could, in the end, heal. ‘If you hang on, and rest, and let yourself get better, it’ll all be all right. It
will
, love! I’m helping your Bob look after the kids – they’re all right – and my Nance loves it. It’s like having more brothers and sisters for her! We all love you and we’re waiting to have you back. But you just take your time, Cynth. You’ll get better – you
will
. One day the sun ’ll come out and you’ll be able to see it proper, like.’

‘Oh God!’ Cynthia fell into sudden sobbing and, to Dot’s astonishment, she burst out, ‘I want, oh, I want my mom! I want her, I want her . . . She shouldn’t have died . . . I just wish she’d been here sometimes!’

‘There, oh, poor little lovey, there, there . . .’ Dot held her, rocking her gently. There seemed nothing else to do except hold her and help her grasp on to some kind of hope.

By the time Dot walked out of the hospital into the whitening world beyond, she felt sad and drained beyond belief.