“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