Passion Flower

“Nothing to it! Think you can manage?”

What I actually thought was no! But I said yes because it didn’t seem like I had any alternative. I mean, if I had said no, what was Dad supposed to do about it?

“He could have come and fetched us,” whimpered the Afterthought.

“That would take for ever,” I said. “Just stop being such a baby! There’s nothing to it.”

It was, however, quite scary. There were so many people about! All going places. All in such a rush. Also, just at first I couldn’t see any signs that said Thameslink, and then when I did I couldn’t make out which road we had to go down and had to ask someone. That was quite scary in itself because St Pancras station is right next door to King’s Cross, and I had heard bad things about King’s Cross. I had heard it was where all the prostitutes were, and the drug dealers, and the child molesters. I mean, they probably didn’t come out until late at night, under cover of darkness, but you just never know. I didn’t want us being abducted! Fortunately the person I spoke to (while I held tightly on to the Afterthought’s hand in case they tried to snatch her) didn’t seem to be any of those things, but just told us which road to take and went on her way.

I said, “Phew!” and tried to unhook myself from the Afterthought’s hand, which had become rather hot and clammy, but the Afterthought went on clutching like mad.

“I don’t like this place!” she said.

I said, “Neither do I, that’s why we’re getting out of it. Just come on!” And I dragged her all the way down the road until we came to the Thameslink station where an Underground man (he was wearing uniform, so I knew he was all right) told us which platform to go to. I felt quite pleased with myself. I felt quite proud! Dad had trusted me to get us on the right train, and I had. Mum wouldn’t have trusted me. She still treated me as if I were about ten years old. (Not letting me read my magazine!) Dad was prepared to treat me like I was almost grown up. He knew I could handle it. I liked that!

Now that I had got us safely under way and hadn’t let her be abducted, the Afterthought had gone all bumptious and full of herself again. She went off to the buffet car and came back with a fizzy drink which she slurped noisily and disgustingly through a straw. It really got on my nerves. I was trying to behave like a civilised human being, for heaven’s sake! I was trying to have a bit of style. I didn’t need this underage mutant showing me up. I tried telling her to suck quietly, but she immediately started slurping worse than ever. I mean, she did it quite deliberately. Defying me.

“Did you know,” I said, “that your teeth have gone all purple?”

“So what?” said the Afterthought.

“So they’ll probably stay like it… you’ll probably be stained for life!”

I thought it might at least shut her up, but she just pulled her lips into this hideous grimace and started chittering like a monkey. Well over the top. In the end I moved to the other side of the carriage and let her get on with it. At least I didn’t have to hold her horrible sticky hand any more.

Dad was waiting for us when we got to Brighton. I was so pleased to see him! He was looking just fantastic. He had this deep, dark tan, and his hair had grown quite long. Dad’s hair is very black, and curly. It suited him long! I could suddenly understand how Mum had fallen for him, all those years ago. I could understand how it was that he could always get round her, and make her believe that this time things were going to be different, that he had mended his ways, he was going to behave himself. Dad wasn’t capable of behaving himself! Once when Mum was in a good mood, I remember she said that he was “a lovable rogue” (More often, of course, she was in a bad mood, and threw things.)

“Dad!” I galloped up the platform towards him.

“Girls!” Dad threw open his arms and we both hurled ourselves into them. “Oh, girls!” cried Dad. “I’ve missed you!”

I thought, this is going to be the best holiday ever.

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THE FIRST THING we did was go back to Dad’s place to dump our bags. Very earnestly, with her hand tucked into Dad’s, the Afterthought said, “I’m glad you didn’t have to go and live in a cardboard box. I was really worried about that.”

Dad said, “Were you, poppet? That’s sweet of you. I bet your mum wasn’t!”

“I think she was,” I said.

“She wasn’t!” said the Afterthought. “She didn’t care!”

I said, “She did! But she thought you’d be all right, because she said you always landed on your feet.”

“Oh, did she?” said Dad. “And I suppose she thinks that you don’t have to work, to land on your feet. I suppose she thinks it just happens?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Why are we talking about Mum?” shrilled the Afterthought.

“Good question,” said Dad. “Your mum’s gone off to Spain to enjoy herself, we’ll enjoy ourselves in Brighton. Let’s get shot of these bags, then we can go out and paint the town!”

Dad was living in a tiny little narrow street near to the station. The houses were little and narrow, too. All tastefully painted in pinks and lemons and greens, with their doors opening right on to the pavement.

“Oh! They’re so sweet,” crooned the Afterthought. “Like little dolls’ houses!”

“Better than a cardboard box, eh?” said Dad.

Better than the house we had at home! Our house at home was on an estate that belonged to the Council, and wasn’t very nice. I mean, it was actually quite ugly. Mum had always hated it. Dad’s house was palest pink with red shutters at the windows and a red front door. Really pretty!