Friday 14 March
Kitchen, 10 p.m.
Mother came back earlier than usual today with a big bag under her arm and a big grin on her face. She’d bought herself a new dress ‘to wear tonight’. It’s been raining since four o’clock – big wet horizontal rain that drenches you in seconds. She came in the front door bedraggled, like a half-drowned black cat, but she was laughing and singing, ‘I am singin’ and dancin’ in the rain.’ Her eyelashes sparkled with raindrops. She dipped her head forward and shook it, so that droplets ricocheted on to the floor. She didn’t stop laughing until she’d stripped off all her clothes and got into her big towelling dressing gown. Then she hugged me. ‘Cheer up, chicken,’ she said.
‘Going somewhere special?’ I said, gesturing at the bag.
She dragged the chair into the middle of the sitting room and stood up on it, holding the garment in front of the dressing gown and preening. She got down and sat on the edge of the sofa, folding the dress on to her knee.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Yes, maybe.’
She looked at me and gave a little smile. Then she patted the seat next to her. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘chérie.’
‘What?’ I said in a sulky voice. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
‘I am feeling happy,’ she said, once I’d sat down. ‘I have a date tonight and I am excited.’
‘Is it Bert?’ I said.
She laughed. ‘Bert? No. That was nothing. It was French lessons. Bert! No.’
I should have felt relief, but I didn’t. ‘Victor Savonaire?’ I said, clutching at straws.
She shook her head and frowned.
‘Who, then?’ I said, my tongue heavy in my mouth.
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘You haven’t guessed?’
‘No.’
‘It’s someone you know,’ she said teasingly. ‘The other night, your little supper, it triggered –’
‘So it’s John?’ I said.
There was a pause before she answered. A dreamy look came into her eyes, rather like Delilah when she’s imagining Mr Right. Then she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is.’
Well, I didn’t feel the need to say anything else. I nodded and said, ‘Have a nice time,’ and stomped up here.
I shut my door and threw myself on the bed. It was as if all the blood in my body had rushed up to my head. I wanted to open the door and slam it again, so hard that it came off its hinges and the whole house rocked.
I should be delighted. She isn’t seeing Uncle Bert. She is seeing John Leakey. I have arranged it all. But I’m not delighted. I feel sick and… and… and what? I feel sick and jealous. There. I’ve said it. I know what the problem has been all along. John Leakey belongs to me. I want him for myself. I am in love with John Leakey the chemist. Me. Not Mother. Me.
And there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all.