Fruit and Nutcase (8 page)

And it was fun, to begin with. It always is, to begin with. I always hope that it will go on being, and sometimes it does and that is wonderful. I mean, that is just absolutely THE BEST.

I kept my fingers crossed that that was how it would be that night.

Just at first, I thought it might. Dad picked
up the menu and said, “Now, Mand, you can have just whatever you like.” So I started off with poppadoms and chutney, and then I had samosas, with mint sauce, and then I had a biryani, and then I had an ice cream, bright green with little coloured bits all over it: only by the time I got to the ice cream, things weren’t being such fun any more as Mum and Dad were having one of their rows.

Dad accused Mum of being a misery and a killjoy, and Mum accused Dad of being irresponsible. She said that it was Nan’s fault, she said she’d spoilt him, and Dad said, “You leave my mum out of this!” and before I knew it they were at it hammer and tongs.

They say such terrible things when they get angry. Like, “I don’t know why I ever married you” and “You’re nothing but a millstone round my neck.” The sort of things that make me terrified they won’t want to go on living together. I couldn’t bear it if my mum and dad split up! I know Nan says they’re useless, the pair of them, but they’re my mum and dad and I love them!

What made things worse was that Mum was drinking too much wine. She’s all right if she
just has one glass, but if she has more than one it makes her tearful. And if she has more than
two
it makes her tipsy. She doesn’t get drunk or throw up or anything horrid like that. She just gets a bit wobbly and out of control and then the wine gets spilt and the glasses get smashed and Dad says she’s a liability and that he can’t take her anywhere.

I tried to stop her. I said, “Mum, if you have any more you’ll only get tipsy,” but she wouldn’t listen to me. She was going on about the telephone bill and how the telephone people had sent a nasty letter saying they were going to cut us off and how she wasn’t going to go to Nan for help, not this time, not ever again, “Because she’s so hateful to me, she always seems to think it’s my fault!”

Dad said well, it was. He said Mum was the one who was supposed to buy the stamps for the telephone bill; why hadn’t she bought them? And Mum poured another glass of wine and started crying and saying how could she buy them when Dad insisted on throwing money away on Indian meals when he could have stayed at home and had fish fingers?

To which Dad snarled that he couldn’t stand
another day of Mum’s cooking, she couldn’t even cook a fish finger without ruining it.

And I knew what was going to happen, so I just took out my pen and some paper, which I always carry with me, and started doing some drawings and tried not to listen.

But you can’t not listen as they always drag you into it.

It’s always like this. It’s very embarrassing, in the middle of a restaurant. Both of them wanting to know that I love them best. I love them equally! I love them both
so much.
I wish they wouldn’t fight! I really really do!

It is a good thing that Balji, who owns the restaurant, is used to my mum and dad. When Dad went storming off to the loo and Mum reached out a hand and sent her wine spilling all over the table and just sat there weeping, he came over immediately with a
cloth and very calmly began to mop it all up.

I said, “I think we’d better have the bill, now, Balji,” and Balji nodded and said, “And a cab?” I said, “Yes, please. And a cab.”

He always gets us a cab. Well, I mean, not
always.
Mum and Dad don’t
always
have rows in his restaurant. Mum doesn’t
always
start weeping. But it has happened quite often. I always pray that it won’t, but Mum does worry so about how the bills are going to be paid and Dad does so hate to be nagged. If we just had a bit more money, things would be all right.

By the time we got home Mum had stopped crying and Dad had stopped threatening to walk out and they were both sitting there in front of the telly so I thought it would be safe to leave them. So I went to bed and said my special prayer and I had just about fallen to sleep when I was woken by the horrible voice of old Misery Guts shrieking up the stairs.

Mum and Dad were at it again. Bickering and bawling at each other in the sitting-room.

I threw back the duvet and went tearing into the sitting-room. I was in such a rush I forgot all about the broken floorboard on the landing. My foot went right through it.

At least it stopped them fighting. So I guess it was worth it.

Cat’s mum has typed out the whole of my first tape! She must type incredibly fast. About 100mph, I should think.

Phew! I can’t imagine how anyone could move their fingers that quick. And no crossings-out, or anything. It’s as neat as neat, just like a real book.

I wonder who will publish it? If anyone! I can’t think who would be interested in the life story of someone like me. Cat says, “People who have the same sort of problems, that’s who.”

What does she mean, problems? I don’t have problems! Cat seems to think that Mum and Dad are a problem, but they are not. Only when they quarrel, because that is upsetting, but they have promised they will not do it any more.

They
say
they have turned over a new leaf.

It would be nice if they didn’t – quarrel, I mean – but I expect they will. It’s when things get on top of them and Dad spends all the money and Mum does something daft. But so long as I am there to keep an eye on them they will always, hopefully, kiss and make up.

Cat says it must be a great responsibility for me. She says, “It’s a very grown up sort of thing to do, Mandy.” Well, so maybe I’m a very grown up sort of person! I don’t see what’s wrong with that. Cat says what’s wrong is that I should be enjoying myself and doing all the things that other kids do. I say, suppose I don’t want to do the things that other kids do? I can still enjoy myself! It’s not a problem for me to keep an eye on my mum and dad. It would only be a problem if we stopped being together as a family. But that is why I say my special prayer every night.

When I tell this to Cat she says, “That’s what I mean about people who would be interested in reading about you. You’re not the only one who worries about their mum and dad getting divorced. I’m afraid it happens all the time.”

I said, “I’m not really worried.” Not if I go on saying my prayer. My mum and dad couldn’t get divorced! How would one of them manage without me?

All the same, it did make me stop and think. Imagine if there are thousands of other people just like me, all worrying –
really
worrying – and saying their prayers. Perhaps they would read my book and think, “Oh, that girl is just like me. I know just how she feels.” And it would be a comfort to them to know that they are not the only ones. That is what Cat says.

So maybe somebody
will
publish it, after all! And then I will be famous and make lots of money, which I will give to Mum and Dad so that we can move to a proper house where the floorboards don’t collapse and there is a bathroom all of our own and they will not quarrel any more. That, at least, is my dream. Tracey Bigg will be just so-o-o-o jealous!

Oh! I have just had a thought. Suppose she tries to sue me for that thing that people are always suing the newspapers for? When they say things that aren’t true?
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