Lemonade Sky

I said this to Tizz.

“But it’s just babble,” said Tizz. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“That’s cos she’s confused.” It was what had happened before. Mum had become so hyper that her brain had run out of control. She’d told us, later, that she couldn’t remember anything about where she’d been or what she’d done.

“I was just buzzing with all this energy, you know? Like my head was full of bees.”

“At least this time,” I said, “we know she’s thinking about us.”

Tizz said, “Huh!”

She didn’t say it in her usual scoffing Tizz-like fashion. I had this feeling she was desperately trying not to show that she was every bit as scared as Sammy. I was scared, too, and I was desperately trying not to show it. With Tizz it was a matter of pride. Nothing frightens Tizz! With me it was more like one of us had to stay on top of things, and as I was the oldest, I didn’t really have much choice.

“We should have known,” said Tizz.

She meant we should have known that Mum was in danger of going over the edge. She’d been wound up, tight as a coiled spring, for days. She’s OK if she takes her meds, but sometimes she forgets. Or sometimes she doesn’t take them cos she reckons she can do without. It’s up to us to keep an eye on her. She’s our mum, we’re supposed to look after her.

I said, “Omigod!”

I raced through to the bathroom and flung open the door of the bathroom cabinet. There, on the shelf, were Mum’s pills. My heart went into overdrive, thumping and banging in my chest.

“What is it?” Tizz and Sammy had followed me in. Tizz peered over my shoulder.

“Mum’s pills.” I held up the bottle. “She’s gone off without them!”

“Gimme!” Tizz wrenched the bottle away and wrestled with the top. I watched her with growing impatience.

“Here!” I snatched it back. “Let me.” It was supposed to be child proof, but I knew how to open it. Tizz was too impatient. I got the top off and stared in dismay. The bottle was full! I held it out to show Tizz. Her little pinched face turned pale beneath its freckles. We both knew that Mum had got a new prescription from the doctor over a month ago.

“She hasn’t been taking them,” I whispered.

There was a long silence, broken only by a plaintive wail from Sammy, “I want my breakfast! I’m hungry!”

“Oh, will you just SHUT UP!” screeched Tizz. “Don’t be so selfish all the time!”

Sammy’s face crumpled. Tears welled into her eyes. I screwed the cap back on Mum’s pills and shut the bottle away again in the cabinet. Then I sat on the edge of the bath and pulled Sammy into my arms.

“Don’t cry,” I said. “It’ll be OK. I’ll take care of us!”

“It’s all very well saying that,” said Tizz. “We don’t even know if—”

“Stop it!” I begged. “Please!” I took a breath, trying to make myself be calm. “Mum will come back. She came back last time, she’ll come back this time. But one thing we’ve not got to do, and that’s fight!” I wiped Sammy’s eyes with the edge of my T-shirt. “We’ll be all right,” I said, “so long as we look out for each other.”

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“What’s important,” I said, “is keeping things normal.”

“Normal?” Tizz gave me this look, like, are you out of your mind? “How can things be normal, without Mum?”

“Normal as possible,” I said. “For Sammy.”

I’d sent her off to watch telly while I rooted about in the kitchen to see what I could find for breakfast. There had to be something! But there wasn’t.

“I don’t believe this,” I said.

Tizz said, “What?” in this rather grumpy tone.

“There’s nothing in the fridge!”

Grudgingly, she came over to look.

“What’s that?” She pointed to a carton of milk. I picked it up and shook it.

“It’s empty, practically. And there’s only a tiny bit of butter, and the bread’s almost gone.”

Tizz marched across to a cupboard and yanked it open.

“Cereal.” She banged the packet down on the table. “Marmalade.”

But the cereal packet was only a quarter full, and the marmalade jar, like the fridge, was almost empty. When Mum stopped taking her meds, she didn’t always notice that the cupboards were getting bare. Just like she didn’t sleep much, she didn’t eat much, either. If she’d been at home she’d have sent us up the road to the corner shop.

Me and Tizz stood, looking at each other. I knew that we were both thinking the same thing: how were we going to feed ourselves?

Tizz ran her fingers through her hair, sticking it up on end.

“D’you think she’s left any money?”

“Dunno.” I picked up the cereal packet and shook it, helplessly. “Let’s at least give Sammy something to eat.”

Well! We ran into trouble straight away. Sammy didn’t want cereal, she wanted a boiled egg.

“Bald egg and fingers!”

When I said we didn’t have any eggs and she should just eat what she was given, she complained because there wasn’t any juice.

“Mum gives me juice!”

We didn’t have any juice. I found a tiny dribble of squash, which I made up for her, but she spat it out, saying it was watery.

“Just think yourself lucky you’ve got anything at all,” scolded Tizz. “We haven’t got anything.”

Only tea bags, and we both hate tea. ’Specially without milk. We had to keep the milk to go with the cereal. There was just enough for Tizz and Sammy, but then we couldn’t find any sugar, so that got Sammy going again.

“I can’t eat Krispies without sugar!”

Tizz said, “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She picked up the marmalade jar, spooned out a dollop and dumped it on top of Sammy’s bowl.

“There! Stir that in.”