Passion Flower

“Got it,” I said.

“Got it,” muttered the Afterthought.

“Right! Just so long as you have. I want there to be no misunderstandings. Now, get off to bed, the pair of you!”

Me and the Afterthought both scuttled into our bedrooms and stayed there. I wondered gloomily if Mum was having a nervous breakdown, and if so, whether it was my fault. All I’d done was just go to a party! I lay awake the rest of the night thinking that if Mum ended up in a lunatic asylum, I would be the one that put her there, but when I told Vix about it next day Vix said that me going to the party was probably just the last straw. She said that her mum had said that my mum had been under pressure for far too long.

“She’s probably cracking up,” said Vix.

Honestly! Vix may be my best and oldest friend, but I can’t help feeling she doesn’t always stop and think before she opens her mouth. Cracking up. What a thing to say! It worried me almost sick. I crept round Mum like a little mouse, hardly daring even to breathe for fear of upsetting her. I had these visions of her suddenly tearing off all her clothes and running naked into the street and having to be locked up. The Afterthought, being almost totally insensitive where other people’s feelings are concerned, just carried on the same as usual, except that she didn’t actually whinge quite as much. Instead of whining about cornflakes for breakfast instead of sugar puffs, for instance, she simply rolled her eyes and made huffing sounds; instead of screaming that “Dad would let me!” when Mum refused to let her sit up till midnight watching telly, she just did this angry scoffing thing, like “Khuurgh!” and walloped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I, in the meantime, was on eggshells, waiting for Mum to tear her clothes off. In fact she didn’t. After her one manic outburst, she became deadly cool and calm, which was quite frightening in itself as I felt that underneath things were bubbling. Like it would take just one little incident and that would be it: clothes off, running naked. Or, alternatively, tearing out her hair in great chunks, which is what I’d read somewhere that people did when they were having breakdowns.

I told the Afterthought to stop being so horrible. “You don’t want Mum to end up in a lunatic asylum, do you?” The Afterthought just tossed her head and said she couldn’t care less.

“I hate her! I’ll always hate her! She sent my dad away!”

“Your dad? He’s my dad, too!” I said.

“I’m the one that loves him best! You can have her” said the Afterthought. “She’s your favourite!”

One week later, term came to an end. The very next day, Mum got rid of us. Well, that was what it seemed like. Like she just couldn’t wait to be free. She’d made us pack all our stuff the night before, but she couldn’t actually ship us off until after lunch as Dad said he had to work. Mum said, “On a Saturday?” She was fuming! Now she’d made up her mind to dump us, she wanted us to go now, at once, immediately. The Afterthought would have liked to go now, at once, immediately, too. She was jigging with impatience the whole morning. I sort of wanted to go – I mean, I was really looking forward to seeing Dad again – but I still couldn’t quite believe that Mum was doing this to us.

As we piled into the car with all our gear, I said, “It’s just for the summer holidays, right?”

Well, it had to be! I mean, what about clothes? What about school?

“I wouldn’t want to miss any school,” I said.

“Really?” said Mum. “I never heard that one before!”

OK, I knew she was still mad at us, but I didn’t see there was any need for sarcasm. I said, “Well, but anyway, you’ll be back long before then!”

Mum had announced that she was flying off to Spain to stay with an old school friend who owned a nightclub. She’d said she was going to “live it up” It worried me because I didn’t think of Mum as a living-it-up kind of person. I couldn’t imagine her drinking and dancing and lying about on the beach.

How would she cope? It just wasn’t Mum.

“You’ll have to be back,” I said. ‘Will I?” said Mum. “Why?”

Why? What kind of a question was that?

“You have to work,” I said.

Mum had this job in the customer service department of one of the big stores in the centre of Nottingham. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just disappear for months!

“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?”