Why me? Why couldn’t I have a normal child? It wasn’t fair—it really wasn’t.
At last the English lesson was over, and though Mavis had missed her favourite art class yesterday where they used oils, the next class focused on charcoal drawings and sketching. Though she preferred painting, Mavis enjoyed this class too. Her mother refused to buy not only paints, but pencils and paper too, telling her that it was a waste of time and that she had more important things to buy, food being top of the list. There had been a time when she used to grab any scrap of paper she could find to draw on, but that had annoyed her mother too. It seemed to incense her that she could draw but not write, and she would snatch the paper to tear it up. Learn to write, not draw, Lily used to scream, but always finding it impossible, and afraid of her mother’s anger, Mavis had stopped drawing at home.
Today, Mavis was unable to concentrate and her mind churned as she sketched. Why had she done it? Why had she blabbed to Sandra? Terror of her mother finding out made her hand shake and she was unaware of Miss Harwood coming up behind her. It was only when the teacher spoke that Mavis realised all she had drawn was little more than a frenzied doodle.
‘Mavis, what’s the matter with you today?’ she asked. ‘It’s unlike you to do such sloppy work.’
‘Sorry, miss.’
‘You have talent, Mavis, and you’re usually wonderful with perspective, but this isn’t good enough. Start again.’
‘Yes, miss.’
Miss Harwood had moved away out of earshot when the girl beside her hissed, ‘She’s right, Mavis. You’re usually good at art.’
Mavis smiled at Maureen, who, unlike some of the other girls, was kind to her. ‘I was miles away and wasn’t concentrating.’
‘Mavis was in cloud cuckoo land as usual,’ Patricia Fenwick hissed.
‘Leave her alone, Pat. You’re just jealous because your artwork is rubbish.’
‘Jealous of her! You must be joking.’
‘Quiet,’ Miss Harwood shouted.
Pat shot Mavis a look of disdain, but obeyed the teacher, her eyes going back to her work. Silence descended again, only broken by the sound of Miss Harwood walking along the rows between desks, commenting now and then on one of the girls’ work.
Mavis started a new sketch, but it was little better than the first one, and for the first time she was relieved when the class came to an end. She knew that Miss Harwood was disappointed in her work from her curt dismissal and, head down, Mavis left the room.
After the lunch break it would be arithmetic, another subject that was almost incomprehensible to Mavis. She had tried and tried to write the numbers down, but was told that most were backwards and in the wrong order. Mental arithmetic wasn’t too bad, but since junior school the lessons had become different, harder, with algebra, among other things, becoming impossible to learn.
‘You weren’t teacher’s pet today, Mavis,’ Pat called as she walked arm in arm with her best friend to the canteen.
Other girls were doing the same, but Maureen who lived close to school and went home for lunch, paused to say, ‘Take no notice of her, Mavis.’
‘It’s all right. I’m used to it,’ Mavis said bravely.
‘Well, I think they’re mean. See you later,’ she waved as she hurried to the gate.
Alone as usual, Mavis joined the queue in the canteen, thinking the other girls were mad to moan about the food. She didn’t always have the money for school dinners and was sometimes left hungry, so as she held out her plate Mavis looked at the ladleful of stew with relish. Next to it was placed a dollop of lumpy mash and, finding a seat as far away from Pat as possible, she sat down.
The first few mouthfuls of food tasted fine, but as her thoughts returned to Sandra, Mavis lost her appetite. She had to get to Sandra, beg her to keep her mouth shut—but what if she was too late?
‘Mum, come on, you’ve got to eat,’ Lily ordered.
‘I ain’t hungry now. I’ll heat it up later.’
‘What about the jellied eels? Do you fancy them?’
‘Nah, not really. Anyway, girl, how’s things?’
‘Mum, don’t try to change the subject. I’m worried about you.’
‘Gawd, give it a rest. I’m fine. Is Mavis at school today or have you sent her out with the pram again?’
‘She’s in school.’
‘Not for much longer. I can’t believe she’s nearly fifteen—I’ll have to think about something for her birthday. What are you getting her?’
‘I dunno. It depends on whether Ron sends me any money.’
‘Sends it. What do you mean?’
‘He’s gone to work out of London and reckons he’ll be away for at least six months.’
‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. I should think you’re glad to see the back of him.’
‘I suppose it’ll be easier with one less mouth to feed. Ron reckons that while he’s away, he and Pete are going to save up enough to start up on their own.’
‘If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.’
‘I don’t, but you never know, he might mean it this time. In the meantime things are looking up. Mavis found me a biscuit barrel that should be worth a bit, and not only that, she’s got a little cleaning job. An hour after school and two at weekends.’
‘Blimey, fancy that. See, if she’s got herself a job she ain’t as daft as you think.’
Lily ignored the comment. Mavis hadn’t found the job herself but Lily couldn’t be bothered with explanations. She still had to sort the two boys out, and talk to their mothers. Oh, if only Ron was here to deal with it, and once again Lily knew that despite everything she was going to miss him. She also had to talk to Mavis about the birds and bees, but had no idea how to broach the subject. Sex was something her own mother had never spoken about and she’d grown up in ignorance. All right, it was a bit of a shock the first time, but it hadn’t done her any harm. Maybe a stern warning to keep away from blokes would be enough to put the frighteners up Mavis, without a long-winded explanation.
‘Mum, I’d best go. Promise me you’ll eat that stew later.’
‘Yeah, I promise.’
‘I still think you should see the doctor.’
‘Look, I’ve told you, I’m fine.’
‘Why do you have to be so stubborn?’
‘Me! It ain’t me who’s stubborn, it’s you. You’re just like your father.’
Lily had no memories of her father, a man who had been killed close to the end of the First World War in the year she’d been born. Lily knew it had been hard for her mother, could remember being looked after by her grandparents when she’d been forced to take on full-time work. ‘How come you always compare me to him?’
‘’Cos you really are like him, and not only in looks.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll have to take your word for that.’
‘It must have been rotten for you, growing up without a dad.’
‘No, not really. I had Nan and Granddad, and I still miss them.’
‘Yeah, me too. I hate war, Lily. First I lost your dad, and then during the last conflict a bomb flattened