WAITING FOR LILY

My Tree

I'm sitting in my tree, shaking and furious. I am so fed up and I grip the branch tighter and

tighter and the rough bark scrapes my hands. I am so pathetic, when I am like this the only

thing I can think of to do, is to climb the tree. No one climbs it but me, even my cat doesn't

come up here. Pudding is a floor cat, she doesn’t even jump on chairs which makes me think

she is afraid of heights. My mother, who occasionally does craft work as if it is a penance,

has made one of her disastrous rugs just for Pudding. Pudding hasn't peed on it, but she hasn't

sat on it much either which hurts my mother’s feelings, but then just about everything hurts

her feelings these days. Or upsets her. Or angers her. They are all good reasons for me to

climb my tree because it doesn't matter what I do, it is wrong. Up here I am motherless.

'You're far too old to climb trees, Bethany. You're a teenager, you need to be more

mature,' she says. She slams her mug onto the sink. 'I don't know what to do with you, I can't

get through to you. You have to grow up.'

'Everyone climbs trees, there's nothing wrong with it.' And I leave the kitchen and the

chaos and retreat to my tree again.

Being fifteen has absolutely nothing going for it. It really doesn't matter what I do, or what

I don't do, it is always wrong so it's good to have somewhere to escape to, to be alone. I'm

lonely, I can't do much about that, but when my mother carries on I'm glad to be able to be

alone, just me and my thoughts which whirl around and around in my head as if there is a tiny

tornado in there. My thoughts are a jumble and when I try to sort them out it is even worse so

I try and clear my head whenever I can. I recite 'The Wreck of the Hesperus' which is a poem

I found in a very old book. It is quite a sad story and the girl ends up dead and frozen. When I

say the words out loud I can't think of anything else, and that is excellent. And it's good to

think about the cold when the weather is so hot and humid.

Yesterday it rained and the branches are still wet which means my school uniform is also

wet because I forgot to change when I came home from school, but I have done my home

work so that is a good mark in my favour even if my mother is cross with me yet again

because of my tree.

Up here, up so high that if I fell I would severely injure myself, I am completely alone.

The branch is uncomfortable, I need to put on some weight, or bring a cushion up here, but it

is my place and the tree is so thick with branches and leaves that I'm quite hidden. Lily loves

it up here, but I haven’t seen her for a while. I don't think I've seen her for ages. She is the

only other person who has ever come up here.

I wouldn't mind if Jason climbed up here but that isn't likely to happen. He doesn't know

where I live, he probably doesn't even know my name. I've heard him talking to his friends

and he's so funny, but he's also mature, probably in a way I will never be. I don't even know

if I care about that, maturity isn't so great, not much to aspire to at all.

I should talk to him one day, just say hi and make some brief comment but then, me being

a perfect coward, I will probably never speak to him. And school is mostly awful, Jason is

one of the few people who doesn't frighten nor upset me.

I'm so glad to be home, to be away from school. It is a great relief for me not to be there.

I'm sure I used to love school, that's another thing, my memories are very odd and I'm not

always sure if they are real memories, or even hopeful memories. School terrifies me now

and I have to do all sorts of things to try and make the situation better.

I can't talk to Mum about my problems at school, in fact it is very difficult to talk to my

mother about anything. Sometimes she looks at me as if she doesn't know me. When she does

talk to me it is because she is angry.

I have to calm down before I go inside, but why should I? Aren't I allowed to be angry?

My mother is always cranky, the kids at school are wild and out of control, and the world is

just spinning, spinning.....

There is a twig close by that infuriates me, it is all out of shape and looks wrong. I wave

my free hand at it and it snaps right off. Jolly good, now it won't annoy me any more.

I'm really hungry, I can't stay up here any longer. As I climb down I catch my school tee

shirt on a bit of bark sticking out of the trunk but I act quickly and don't tear anything. The

grass is very thick because of the rain and it's quite high, hasn't it been mown lately? I hope

that isn't something I'm supposed to do but I have no recollection of ever mowing anything.

I test the back door gently, sometimes it has been locked and I have had to knock. It's

humiliating when you have to knock at your own back door. Mum won't give me a key

although I have asked her several times for one. She mutters about me losing it and burglars

breaking in but if I had a key I would wear it around my neck to keep it safe. In some of the

English books I used to read there were children with keys worn like that, and I think they're

called latchkey kids. I have no idea what a latch is, perhaps some sort of lock.

I open the back door carefully and see Mum standing in the middle of the kitchen staring

into space. She's wearing her floral pyjamas which she had on when I left for school, and

when I came home. At least she hasn't gone back to bed. I think her bed is her equivalent of

my tree.

‘What’s for dinner?’ I'm careful what I say to her because she often takes offense but I

don't think I can go wrong with that question. It's quite a normal question, asked, I am sure,

by many normal children after their day at school. It should prove to her that I am a perfectly

normal fifteen year old. She doesn't need to know I have been up my tree yet again.

She jumps as if I have frightened her and she looks at me yet again as if she has forgotten

who I am and maybe she has. I might as well be a ghost for all the attention she pays me. She

shakes her head and blinks rapidly. She has very pretty eyes, they are big and blue, and she

has long eyelashes too, but she hasn't worn makeup for ages and she seems to live in her

pyjamas. Her hair looks awful, I don't think she has brushed it for days. And that is typical,

she is always telling me to take care of my appearance yet she doesn't give a damn.

‘Okay, dinner,' she speaks slowly, 'why don’t we have sandwiches, we can pretend we’re

camping. It will be fun.’ Mum puts on one of her cheesy fake smiles that irritate the hell out

of me.

We’ve been pretending to be camping for weeks now. The first few times it was okay but I

am desperate for red meat. I open the freezer and it is chock-a-block with chops and steaks

and roasts. I'm even interested in the frozen bags of vegetables which must be proof I am

really hungry. Or perhaps I am becoming an adult because teenagers don't like vegetables.

‘I can defrost something,’ I say. ‘The chops won’t take long.’

‘It’s too late,’ says Mum.

She always says things like that. It doesn't matter what time we have dinner, it's not as if

there is some television program we can watch.

'I know you used to cook roasts,' I say, a faint memory of beef and potatoes and pumpkins

reaches me. 'They were wonderful. Why did you stop?'

And I remember apple tarts and sponges. We haven't had anything sweet for a long time.

The kitchen is very clean, quite sterile, as if nothing has ever been cooked in here. Perhaps I

am remembering wrongly, perhaps we have always lived on sandwiches, but if we have only

ever had sandwiches why is there so much meat in the freezer?

Mum doesn't answer my question about her cooking. She often does that, just ignores me

as if I haven't even spoken but I remember my lips moving. I think it is quite rude when she

does that. I wonder how she would like it if I did that to her. I suppose then I would be a rude

and ignorant child, can a mother be rude and ignorant? Mine certainly can.

Mum reaches over to the bread bin. She throws up her hands when she realises it is empty.

The bread thieves have been at it again or perhaps there is no bread because as fast as a loaf

appears, it is eaten during fun camping expeditions. And what fun they are! I learned about

sarcasm at school and I'm getting quite good at it.

‘You'd better go down to the shop.’ Mum does that awful smile again. 'It won't take you

long.'

I stand in the middle of the kitchen like a log. If I remain still for long enough she might

forget about me but she doesn’t, instead she picks up her purse from the counter and hands

me some money.

‘We could have something from a tin,’ I say but she pushes me, suddenly quite angry, and

pushes me again. I stumble and hold on to the counter. My heart is beating fast, I want to

vanish. Pudding is hiding under a chair, her heart is probably beating very quickly too.

'Just go,' she shrieks. 'Why do you make my life so difficult?' Her face is red and she

shakes her fists at me. 'Go and get the bread, Bethany. For once in your life do as I ask. Why

do I always have to repeat myself?'

I run out the back door and race halfway down the garden to the little gate in the side

fence. I am very careful about where I look. The garden has changed and it bothers me. It

takes me a while to get out of the gate because there are loops of wire I have to undo, then of

course I have to put them all back again. I am so angry my hands shake which makes the task

even more difficult.

My life isn’t fair, she knows I hate going to the shop, but I'm really hungry. I'm sure Mum

used to make marvellous meals and I suddenly remember dumplings in a thick meat stew.

Surely I can't remember things that aren't real?

What happened to our meals and why do we live on bread? Bread is the staff of life, it's

the only thing between me and starvation, but it is not very exciting. Actually it is extremely

boring especially when the only things that go on it are spreads. It's not as if we have salad

sandwiches, or ones filled with curried egg. We don't even have them toasted.

My trip to the shops is the same as it has been for a long time. I run down the lane which is

my choice for a route as it is usually deserted. This lane is really a drain. There is a big

concrete thing in the middle. Sometimes it's almost empty but I don't like it then because all

the thrown away stuff is revealed and some of it is definitely not nice. There is grass on both

sides and a few roads bisect it. I hardly ever see anyone and if I do I just turn around and run

back the other way.

I slow down at the end of the lane, slow my mad running, and change to a slow walk. I

peek into the street and, apart from a few cars which are going much too fast, it is empty of

people. I walk across the road to the corner shop which really is on a corner. There are other

shops around here called corner shops, but they aren't, they're midway down the block. That's

just wrong, it's false advertising which we have studied in school, and which fascinates me.

The shop is very old but it has been done up as a mini supermarket and has new paint and

new flooring. The door is original and the chime rings as I walk into the shop. Perhaps this

time it will be different. Although I have been walking, my heart is racing so hard I wonder if

I might faint. Mr Boardman, who is hulking behind the counter, gives me the evil eye. He has

a great deal of very white hair and a pallid moustache and has looked the same for as long as

I can remember. I have no idea how long that is, perhaps I've only known him for a few

weeks? I go over to the stand and pull out some bread, I don’t care what sort it is, and I don't

care if the plastic tears, and take it over to the cash register. I can hear muttering in the

background and I draw in some quick breaths and bounce the bread in my hands.

Mr Boardman just stands there, unmoving, like a giant Redwood tree, and almost as tall.

My English teacher would say his posture is intimidating, and it is. He is a large man, with a

thick neck, and he has rolled his lips together so they have vanished. He glares down at me

and blows up at the ends of his moutache so they flutter. I put the money on the counter next

to the bread.

‘You want bread do you? You think you deserve bread? You think you deserve any food?’

'Please,' I say but it is hard to keep the tears out of my voice. 'My mother..........'

'Your mother!' he shouts.

There’s a swish of air and Mrs Boardman stalks out from the cold room. ‘Just give it to

her, Fred, the faster you serve her the faster she is out of here. We don't want people like her

in here polluting our shop.’

Her mean little eyes become even smaller when she screws up her face. She waves her

skeletal arms in the air as if to push me out. I'm sure if I was closer to her she would

physically eject me from her horrid shop. They might have done it up with white paint and

floor tiles but the shop has an awful ambiance and the background sounds make me feel sick..

I glance over to the shelves which hold biscuits and tins and then they are all over the

floor. The noise is stupendous and Mrs Boardman screams and runs over to the wall.

'You little bitch,' says Mr Boardman, 'you'll pay for that!' He throws my change on the

counter and hits it with his fist.

'I was nowhere near! Your wife was closer than I was! Don't you dare blame me!' I shout

as loudly as I can and stamp my foot.

I grab the bread and my change and walk as slowly as I can to the door. I open it gently,

glance briefly back at the wonderful mess, and leave their awful shop. Mr and Mrs Boardman

scream out after me but their voices are muffled by the door.

And as I walk out into the street I have a sudden clear memory that Mrs Boardman used to

give me sweets when I was smaller, and she’d smile, and Mr Boardman would make really

terrible jokes. I remembered all that very clearly so why did things change? Now they

consider me an evil person and I don't understand why. The whole world has changed and no-

one has told me what is going on.

I've run over the road without even thinking about cars and that frightens me. If I died

what would happen to my mother? Would she even realise I was dead? She'd starve for sure

because I wouldn't be around to buy the bread.

What has Mum done to make the Boardmans hate her so much? And even if they hate her

why do they take it out on me? I am so angry at the unfairness of it that my head feels as if

there is a tight band around it. I can't breathe properly. If I was a truly violent person I would

smash their shop to bits. I would not only swipe all the groceries off the shelves, I would

throw the icecream on the floor and trample in it. I would throw metho everywhere and I

would watch it burn. No, you need kerosene, I remember then...

I would do many awful things but I'm not a violent person. I've been brought up to be

considerate of other people, to try and always do the right thing, but it's so hard to keep

wicked thoughts out of my head when the whole world hates me and when my mother forgets

she has a daughter.

I run down the lane, gulping down tears, and crash through the side gate. I push the gate

shut but don't give a toss about the wire, it wouldn't keep anyone out anyway. If I can get

through it a blind person could.

Our garden is bisected by a big new fence halfway down, just past the little gate. It is a

very strange fence, it hurts me to see our garden cut up like that. I can't remember why it's

there but it makes me feel sick. I run over to my tree and hug it. The tree is my only friend. If

it could move I know it would hug me too. I've seen adults hug trees so my behaviour is

probably quite normal. I stay there until I have my tears under control, wipe my face with my

school tee shirt, and go inside.

‘Peanut butter,’ says Mum in a bright voice as though it is the best thing in the world.

‘You get out the plates and we’ll eat on the back steps.’

As if that was exciting, as if we no longer owned a kitchen table. We have a dining room

table too but neither of them has been used for eating meals for what seems like a long time.

It is too dark to read so we sit there, on the concrete steps, and eat the horrible sandwiches.

We don’t speak. Ages ago I told Mum about the way Mr and Mrs Boardman acted toward me

but she had got so angry I never said anything again. I think about them now and wonder

what would happen if I asked them to explain why they hate me so much. Of course they're

hardly likely to speak with me ever again after the mess with the shelves.

Now that is going to be a problem because if I have to buy bread again I'll have to go to

the other corner shop which is a lot further away. But that might be a good idea anyway, I

don't know the people there, they might be nice to me.

When we go inside the house is silent. Mum lights the candles. I'm not allowed to turn on

the computer, the television, or the radio, and although the candles are pretty, the light is

tiring to read by. The only place I am allowed to have a candle is at the kitchen table so that is

where I read, sitting on the hard chair opposite Mum who is sewing something.

We don't talk, the silence is so loud I feel uncomfortable when I swallow as though it is

illegal to make a sound. I have no idea what I'm reading. Mum's needle goes in and out of the

material and I wonder if she knows what she is doing. I go to bed early with Pudding who

immediately has a panic attack and jumps off. In the books I often read, the heroines take cats

to bed with them, cats who purr and snuggle up, but then I’m not a heroine am I?

I lie stretched out under the sheet. I am so still I could be a corpse. If I died no one would

miss me. My mother never comes into my room, my body would lie here and rot.

At School

A lot of my life is a complete blur and it's probably better that way because sometimes I

have the edge of a thought and I feel like throwing up. Oddly enough I clearly remember the

day I began high school, four years ago. It was one of the most exciting days of my life. Lily

and I spent days looking at our exercise books and covering them, and reading some of the

text books and playing school. We tried on our uniforms so often our mothers had to wash

them and then they refused to let us wear them again until our first day.

At primary school we’d been the big kids, it felt like we were looked up to, and perhaps

we were, but at high school we suddenly became the babies. One of the year 12 boys had a

moustache but I don't know if he was able to keep it, and the senior girls looked like adults

with very curvy figures. It was a new world, a strange new world, and, on our first day we got

lost, we weren’t used to having to change rooms every time we had a new subject, and the

school was huge. I was so glad I was with Lily. We had a map as if we were explorers but we

couldn't always work out where we were. We were terrified of being late for classes so we

ran everywhere and, being summer, it was very hot.

Our bags were heavy and we weren't used to having to carry all our books around with us.

At primary school we each had our own desk and only needed to carry a few things home so

we could do homework.

I loved the new subjects, I even enjoyed homework. I did my neatest writing and I looked

up extra stuff on the internet. Many things amazed me and then I'd research them which

would lead to other things and before I knew it a lot of time would have whizzed by. I can

only use computers at school now. We still have a computer at home and as far as I am aware

it works because I think that is how Mum pays bills, but I'm not allowed to touch it. Once I

brushed my hand over the top of the monitor and Mum threw a fit. You would have thought I

was going to smash it up. I often want to smash things but so far I haven't been cruel to a

single material object.

I don't know what to do about my mother. Should I talk to someone? But what would I

say? I think my mother has been taken over by an alien? That would go down well, I'd

probably be put in a children's home. I don't even know if we have a children's home here in

Mackay but I don't think they'd put me in jail. The trouble is I don't have anyone I can discuss

my problems with. My mother has become a weird life form, Lily has vanished, and I've

never said a word to Jason and if I suddenly started pouring out my problems to him he

would run for cover. I have a feeling boys don't like to talk about personal feelings and

problems.

Perhaps if I still had Facebook I could ask for advice but I can't touch the computer at

home and we can't access Facebook at school. If I had any friends I could ask to use their

phones. I don't have any friends, I don't have anyone. It hurts to be this lonely, to have

problems, and not be able to get any help. It is like a physical pain but there isn't any point

taking pain killers because they don't touch the huge rock in my chest.

Life has changed. Instead of hurrying to school, although I leave home at the same time, I

go via the lanes over to the park which backs onto the school. Sometimes there are joggers

but they don't pay any attention to me, they are too busy listening to their earphones. I could

run up behind them with a knife and stab them in the back and they wouldn't know I was

there until it was too late.

In the park I hide on a seat which is partly ringed with bushes and practice deep breathing

which is supposed to calm you down. I don't think it helps, usually I just feel breathless. My

heart races a lot too.

I have to leave home early because otherwise my mother would think there was something

wrong and even if I told her what happens she would only get angry. I'm sure she never used

to be such an angry person or am I remembering wrongly?

So I sit in the bushes, watch the joggers go past, and breathe deeply and keep a close eye

on my watch. My grandparents gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday, at least I can

remember that okay. It is lovely, it has a narrow gold band with a pretty face with some little

roses on it. I wish they were lillies but I don't really need that kind of reminder, I can still see

Lily's face in my head. Sometimes it is the only memory that is clear.

A few minutes before the bell is due to ring I begin my trek over to the school. I don't run,

I think what I do is trudge because I really don't want to go to school any more but I must

because my mother expects it of me and because it is the right thing to do. There has to be

balance in life, there has to be some good to balance the bad.

Walking through the park is okay but once I pass through into the school grounds I am in a

state of terror. I keep my eyes down, I often trip, and sometimes people put their school bags

in my way on purpose.

'Bethany is so unco!' they say.

'Here comes that slut!' they shout.

I keep walking and go straight into my first class where I sit at the front near the door.

Early on I made the mistake of sitting at the back of the room. I thought I would be safe but

when it was time to change classrooms everyone between me and the door prodded me, or

pushed me, or muttered horrible things. It was such a dreadful time that now I sit right at the

front. I know everyone is glaring at my back and thinking horrible things but at least I can't

see them and I can get out of the classroom easily.

My English teacher, Mrs Reynolds, is okay. She knows I love the subject and she is calm

and at the same time she is quite strict. Once or twice some of the students whispered things

but she came down on them like a great big rock and they shut up. If she had been a real rock

their brains would have spattered all over the room. I picture that and I smile which is really

wrong of me. I try so hard to be good but sometimes the hatred others feel for me really gets

to me and I think awful awful things. And sometimes the thinking is not enough.

I know everyone thinks awful awful things about me. But why? I have a very good reason

to think of violent deeds but why do they say and do such hateful things? I don't understand

and I want to cry but I mustn't. I have to be strong and calm and it is so hard and I don't have

anyone to talk to.

The librarian, Mr Jones, is nice too. He lets me sit in the library during morning break and

as soon as I’ve eaten my lunch, sandwiches of course, I can go in there and read. I'm usually

alone, not many people want to sit among the books when they could be out in the sun. When

they could be out in the fresh air passing the time with their friends. It isn't so bad being alone

when you have a book. It is better to be alone with a book than to be out in the schoolgrounds

being hated.

I have a new system in the library now. I began it a little while ago. I am reading the books

alphabetically and although some are rubbish it feels good to have some order in my life. I

don't think the cleaners come in here very often because a lot of the books have dust along

the top of them. When Mr Jones is deep into working on his laptop, I do a little flutter with

my fingers and whoosh, all the books in the first section are now dust free. That probably

counts as a good deed.

I glance out the windows just in time to see Jason stroll by. If I hadn't dusted I would still

have my head down over my book and I wouldn't have seen him. I pretend he comes into the

library and I smile..

'Are you all right, Bethany?' says Mr Jones. 'Are you in pain?'

I shake my head and go back to my book. I realise it would not be a good idea for me to

smile at Jason. I remind myself to check out my smile in the bathroom mirror when I go

home.

I nibble on a fingernail. I'm hungry, I should have made more sandwiches to bring to

school with me. Sometimes my mother asks if I would like tuckshop and I always say no. I

can't think of a worse horror than being tightly surrounded by starving mobs of students

whose sole aim is to hurt me and break me, whose aim in life is to slash me with sharp words

from their tongues.

I leave the sanctuary of the library and slowly walk to my next class. I look up and see two

stuck up bitches who are clearly thinking about upsetting me. A mini tornado whirls by and

they are shrieking as their bags rise up in the air and their brilliantly styled hair flies into

knots.

I keep walking.

As soon as the final bell rings I grab my bag and hurry out of the room. I am first out of

the door, first down the stairs and I can race off past the manual arts block without being

bothered by anyone. I run down to the back of the school yard, away from the buses and cars

and parents. There's a big paddock down the back for the cattle, and I sit there, against the

fence, until I am sure it is safe to leave. It's pretty here with lots of eucalyptus trees lining the

mesh fences and large white birds which I think are called ibis spend their days wandering

around near the cattle. To make life more interesting I help the ibis to fly up onto the backs of

the cattle. They look gorgeous sitting there and the cattle couldn't give a damn.

The cattle are quite calm about me sharing their space. They are very large and white and

really quite boring but boring can be good sometimes. The groundsman even waved at me

once in a very friendly manner. I was so excited because he smiled too, like a real person. So

in a way I feel at home sitting by the fence with the cattle, who do cattle-stuff and with the

possibility of the groundsman coming by and perhaps waving to me again.

It takes me ages to get home, although I run a lot of the way, because I have to go by the

back lanes to make sure I don't meet up with anyone. My school bag is very heavy and it

thuds against me as I run. When I am sure I am quite alone I slow down and try and catch up

on my breathing. I think I see Lily but when I blink she has vanished. I meet two small dogs

but they ignore me which is fine because I don't like dogs very much, I prefer cattle. It would

be marvellous to walk up the lanes with cattle trailing behind me.

I walk more and more slowly as I get near home. I don't want to be at school, but I don't

much want to be at home either. I could run away but I have nowhere to run to and I don't

think Mum would manage on her own.

Because of our candle situation I have to do my homework as soon as I get home. Mum is

usually lying down. I think she used to sleep in a room at the front of the house but the door

is shut and once, very quietly, I tried to open it but it was locked. These days she sleeps in a

little bedroom which doesn't belong to anyone. It is a very small room, far smaller than my

room and I haven't even been in it for a long time. I wouldn't dream of going in and waking

her, she would be so cross and I have no other reason to go in. The door is always half shut. I

have peered through the crack between the door and the wall and there seem to be a lot of

boxes in there.

I change out of my school uniform and hang it up. If I have been tripped over, and if my

clothes are dirty, I handwash them in the bathroom and hang them on the line. I have two lots

of uniform so it doesn't matter if they don't get dry quickly. Once upon a time I could have

used the dryer but it just sits, a great white lump, next to the washing machine which I haven't

used in forever. I suspect my mother might use it though because otherwise how would she

wash the sheets and towels which I sometimes see on the line? But then she is rather odd,

perhaps she puts them in the bath with soap and tramples about on them.

I eat an apple and put my books out on the dining room table. Pudding usually pads in so I

have to feed her. This is not difficult because we have hundreds of little tins of cat food and

the tops just pull off. What a wonderful invention, I hope whoever thought of it made lots of

money. The only difficulty is that sometimes Pudding absolutely takes against her current tin

and I have to open another. Some days there is quite a lineup of half eaten tins in the

refrigerator and on rubbish bin night I have to do a real clean-out. Such a waste of cat food

but when Pudding hates something nothing will make her change her mind. My mother never

says anything. I have watched her stand with the refrigerator door open and just stare inside.

She never asks me about the tins.

Before I sit down to my homework, and after feeding Pudding, I open the freezer and stare

inside while the air around me turns white. I can't work out my mother's thinking, it is okay to

have some things turned on, like the fridge and freezer, yet the lights and television and

computer and radio are banned. Are there rules about this? Are we living sustainably? Half

sustainably? Why hasn't she explained this to me?

I look at all the meat and take out some chops. I am so desperate for meat that I almost

don't care if my mother yells at me. There is plenty of choice for green and gold stuff because

half the freezer is piled with frozen vegetables. We’ll have a proper meal even if I have to

cook it. My cooking is a bit like Mum’s craft work, absolutely awful, but even horrible

cooking will be better than sandwiches. If the chops thawed fast enough I could eat them raw.

I finish my homework and the meal is almost ready when Mum appears. She stands at the

doorway. I feel sad looking at her because she is so thin, and her hair is straggly. She is

wearing a long blue nighty with bears on it.

‘I’m a failure,’she says, looking at the stove, and she begins to cry. The tears just leak out

of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. ‘I can’t even look after you properly.’

For a long time she has pushed me away when I try to approach her but this time she lets

me put my arms around her and I cry too.