suppose you are a grown-up – almost. And let’s just say, the lads will also be noticing how grown up you’ve become. They’ll start staring at your chest whenever they speak to you for a start (I’ll give you a few seconds to pick your jaw up from the floor in total embarrassment)…
Yes, I did feel a little flushed with embarrassment, but read on.
Actually, I’ll come back to the boy bit later. (This is hard for me too, you know.)
Right now, let’s go back to another subject.
Friends.
They’re becoming more important to you now and you probably hate your mother.
Give her a break, though. Please. It couldn’t have been easy picking up the pieces when I left. She’d never much liked being alone. It wouldn’t surprise me if by now she’s found another bloke to spend time with. I expect that. Please don’t give her a hard time for it, though, cut her some slack, Lowey. She’s a good woman.
I slapped the manual shut, remembering Mum’s sudden bout of flu during my birthday party. I was still angry with her and no amount of words from Dad could change that. Part of me was pleased to know he forgave her for hooking up with the Bingo Caller, though, and perhaps I could try to like him… even if I did think the man was a Tosser.
During the next few weeks, I attempted to be civil towards the Bingo Caller.
‘Thanks for trying with him,’ said Mum, who’d obviously noticed the change in me. General politeness, helping to wash his car; I became the model stepchild.
‘Thanks, Lois,’ he said one Saturday afternoon, right after I’d helped clear the shed – a job I’d been putting off for weeks.
‘For what? It’s only a shed.’
‘The effort you’ve made. Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed, because it hasn’t.’
I wasn’t about to move in for a hug but did manage a quiet ‘Thanks’.
But, of course, in true Mum fashion she had to go and spoil things one Sunday, right after I’d just reread some of Dad’s entries.
Strike one: She entered my room without knocking.
‘I’m really, really pleased you’re both getting on!’ she squealed as I discreetly slid The Manual under my bed.
Strike two: She sat on my bed – again, uninvited, and almost squashing the one-eyed teddy.
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she said.
She had a strange, overly smiling face that reminded me of those loonies outside the mental hospital two streets away from the dentist.
‘Okay…’ I urged.
‘Things are a lot better between us all…you know…?’
‘They’re all right,’ I replied, as my mind shifted to more important things, like whether Carla and Corey wanted to go down to the rec.
‘That’s what I thought. So I wondered if…’
‘What?’
‘If you should think about calling him Dad?’
Strike three.
‘Lois?’
Silence.
‘Lois?’
‘I heard, Mum.’
‘How about it, then?’
Tempted to pour a whole tub of washing-up liquid into my ear just to check I’d heard right, I replied with a calmness that contradicted the rage fizzing up inside of me. ‘I already have a dad.’
‘I know.’
‘Well then…’ I jumped off my bed, not wanting to be involved in any segment of this pointless discussion.
‘I know, but…and nothing would change that, I just think it would be nice.’
My mother was obviously sick in the head. ‘Nice for who?’
‘For you!’
‘No, Mum!’
‘But why?’
‘I told you, I already have a dad!’ I didn’t want to shout at her, but she kept pushing. My stomach felt like a kettle just about to whistle. I needed her out of my room.
‘Lois, no one’s taking that away from you.’ Mum dropped her gaze. ‘But you were only little when your father…’
‘Died. And I was five. So?’ I stared at Dad’s picture on my side table.
‘So, I think it’s important you have a father figure in your life like –’
‘NO!’ I roared, unable to take this rubbish any more. I soooo wanted to tell her about The Manual’s existence in my life. How I was able to talk to my dad whenever I wanted. Have him beside me, just before I drifted to sleep, and under my pillow as I slept. He spoke to me through those pages, told me he loved me over and over again. I JUST WANTED TO TELL HER I STILL HAD MY DAD!
‘Lois…’
‘You think I don’t know my dad, but I do.’
‘Lois, look –’
‘I know him more than you think. We speak every day…’
As I trailed off, her eyes widened in disbelief.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing,’ I replied, my body language willing her to get out of my room, my sanctuary, and away from any proximity to my dad’s special manual.
‘We’ll talk about this another time,’ she said, calmly shutting the door behind her. I located The Manual, opened it, and swore as a stray tear plopped onto a page, blotting and smudging two precious letters of a word my dad would never, ever be able to write again.
I tried to ignore Mum and the Bingo Caller as much as possible while the weeks dragged by, only communicating by the absolute essential of words. So, for once, it was an unusual but welcome relief when the annual trip to see Granny Bates came around.
I used to enjoy spending time with my mum’s mum, but that had been impossible since she’d moved into sheltered housing. Granny Bates, however, lived in Sussex and insisted I spent a week of my summer holidays with her at a bleak seaside house, with furniture more at home in a museum and surrounded by pictures of my dad, his school reports, football medals and any scribbles he’d presented her with as a child. What struck me was the absence of anything belonging to his sisters, my aunties Philomena and Ina. I never asked Granny Bates about this, though. In fact she hardly spoke to me at all, and I found the whole experience a bit like having a filling put in. I also missed Carla and Corey so much, especially as Granny’s surrounding area was surrounded by sheep and old people! Luckily I had my Walkman and Corey’s tape, which kept me sane while I sat opposite Granny Bates as she munched on the ginger snaps Mum always insisted I brought for her.
When I was younger, as long as I took my dolls or some books I could get through the experience without screaming, but since hitting my teens I was finding it increasingly harder to be around Granny Bates. I just wanted to spend time hanging around the rec with Carla and a few of my new friends from school. Sussex and Granny Bates now signified a total waste of my life, and I hated it.
‘Gran, can we watch something else?’ I asked. A tiny bit bored with the news programme. Carla’s mum had just got cable installed and I longed to flick onto something worthwhile, like Yo! MTV Raps.
‘Your dad always loved watching the news.’
Here we go again, I thought. That was another thing.