Love Lessons (7 page)

‘I'll help, Mum.' I took a deep breath. ‘I suppose I can take a turn if Dad needs any nursing.' My chest was so tight I could hardly get the words out. Mum shook her head.

‘No,' she said firmly. ‘That's one thing I do know. You're still only a child, even though you're so clever. I'm not having you take on such a burden. Anyway, you won't be around during the day. You'll be at school.'

I stared at her.

‘You'll have to start school, Prue – you and Grace. Your dad won't be in a fit state to teach you, and I certainly can't. There's so much you need to know for these exams. We can't send you for tuition in all the different subjects, we simply can't afford it.'

‘I'm so sorry about taking Miss Roberts's money, Mum.'

‘Oh well. It's not as if you've made a habit of it. I've felt badly for years that you girls have so little spending money – though I wish you'd spent it on something
sensible
, rather than those lacy little bits of nothing.'

‘I know. It's just . . . I so wanted them.'

‘Yes, of course you did. Don't you think
I
ever want things?' Mum saw me staring and burst out laughing. ‘
Not
fancy underwear. Those knicks of yours wouldn't even go round my knee as a garter. No, there's all sorts of things I'd love. Not clothes, I'm not worth dressing.' Mum slapped at her thighs contemptuously, as if they were two great stupid beasts beyond her control. ‘But I'd love stuff for the house, all the laboursaving gadgets, and oh goodness, how I'd love a television just like anyone else. I've tried to get your dad to see it's educational but he won't hear of it. He's just books books books. Still, even he can see you can't learn
everything
from books. You need to go to school so you can start studying for your GCSEs. Grace can start too – she needs the extra pushing.'

I'd been begging Dad to send me to school for years and years. I'd read every school book avidly. I'd skied through all the Chalet School books, I'd sniggered at Angela Brazil's
Bosom Friends
, I'd attended St Clare's with the twins, I'd been to Hogwarts with Harry. But these were old-fashioned schools, figments of the imagination.

I thought about Wentworth High School, the grim concrete building three roads away, on the edge of the Wentworth Estate. I'd no idea what it was like inside. You couldn't even peer into the playground, because there was a high creosoted fence, with barbed wire scalloping the top in sinister fashion. I didn't know if it was to stop intruders or imprison the pupils.

I imagined myself walking into that bleak building.

‘It won't be Wentworth High, will it?' I said.

Boys from Wentworth sometimes came banging and shouting into the shop, throwing books around, asking if Dad stocked crazy rude titles. He'd order them out of the shop and threaten to call the police. He tried phoning the school to complain, but he said the teachers sounded as uncouth as the pupils.

‘Your dad would die if you went to Wentworth,' said Mum. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘No, no,' she said indistinctly. ‘We'll send you to Kingtown High. Your dad went there, when it was a grammar school. He'd like to think you were following in his footsteps. Though maybe he'd feel happier if it was an all girls' school. That's it, we'll find you a nice decent girls' school.'

She said it as if she could conjure up a demure convent directly down the road. I saw myself in a straw boater and blazer, arm in arm with my best friend Jane. We'd giggle together and share secrets. It wouldn't matter if we were the odd ones out, because we'd have each other.

I pictured Grace tagging along behind us on our way to school. I felt sorry for her, so I gave her a best friend too, a roly-poly red-cheeked little girl who loved Grace dearly and stuck up for her whenever she was teased. I even imagined Mum making friends with some of the other mums while Dad nodded benignly in the background, a gentle, frail invalid . . .

We had to go to Wentworth. All the other schools were full up, with long waiting lists.

‘We can't go to Wentworth, Mum!' I said. ‘We won't go. You need me to help out in the shop now, anyway.'

‘We can't risk it. If that education inspector chappie comes back and catches you working then we'll really be prosecuted,' said Mum. ‘No, Prue, you're starting at Wentworth next Monday, it's all fixed.'

‘But Mum, I don't
want
to go to Wentworth. Look, you
said
—'

‘I know what I said. But I can't help it. I don't know what else I can do. For God's sake, can't you try to make this easier for me? Don't you see I'm at the end of my tether?'

I wasn't sure what a tether was. I imagined a long fraying rope with Mum tied on the end, fat legs dangling.

‘OK, OK. Don't you worry, Mum, we'll go,' I said.

‘But it'll be
awful
,' Grace wept in our bedroom that night. ‘When I go to the sweet shop these girls from Wentworth are always making faces at me and whispering and giggling. I know they're talking about me. And they steal stuff, I've seen them. And the boys are worse, you know they are.'

‘Don't go
on
about it, Grace,' I said, because I wanted to drift off with Tobias into our own private world.

‘It's all right for you. You're pretty and skinny and clever. You'll make heaps of friends. But what about me? They'll all pick on me and tease me because I'm fat.'

‘No they won't. Well, if they do, I'll bash them up,' I said fiercely, though I wasn't sure I could bash so much as a boiled egg.

Grace looked a bit doubtful too.

‘Look, if it's really really awful we simply won't go,' I said. ‘We'll pretend we're going, but we'll just hang out round the town, go for walks, whatever, just like I did when I was supposed to be seeing that awful Miss Roberts.'

‘Really?' said Grace. She sat up in bed and blew her nose. ‘Oh Prue, don't let's go at all. Let's just bunk off right from the start. It will be fun!'

‘Well, you'll have to keep it absolutely quiet. No blurting it out to Mum!'

‘I'll keep my lips totally sealed, I promise,' Grace said.

Mum started fussing on Sunday night about what we were to wear.

‘I phoned up on Friday and explained it might be a problem getting both of you kitted out for uniform. I hoped I'd find something in BHS but no one does that green, and even so, the prices are ludicrous. They told me there's a second-hand school uniform shop open every Friday. It's meant to be very reasonable, so you'll be able to get yourselves sorted out. Meanwhile you'll just have to wear your dresses and cardies and explain if anyone asks.'

‘Yes, Mum,' we said meekly.

‘You've to be at school at quarter to nine tomorrow, to see the headteacher. I expect she's going to give you a little pep talk. There's no need to be nervous. Don't worry, I'll come too.'

We blinked at her.

Mum smoothed down her skirt and then looked at it properly. It wasn't really a proper skirt at all; it was a length of chintz curtain material Mum had hastily stitched together in a depressing dirndl shape. She'd put on even more weight meanwhile. She stared at the big red roses stretched to the limit around her vast thighs.

‘Oh dear,' she said. ‘I wonder if my good suit still fits.'

‘You don't have to come to Wentworth with us, Mum,' I said quickly.

‘Of course I do,' said Mum. ‘Your dad can't go, obviously, so it's down to me.'

‘
No
, Mum. We'll look stupid, going with you,' I said.

Mum looked at me, her face flushing as red as her roses.

‘Look, I didn't mean because you're
you
,' I said hurriedly. ‘We just don't want to walk in with our
mum
. The other kids will laugh at us.'

‘Then they'll have to laugh,' said Mum, her chin up. ‘I'm coming, Prudence. I need to be there. I've got to make sure you
go
there for a start.' She looked me straight in the eye. It was my turn to blush.

‘Oh Mum, we don't want to go,' Grace wailed, and started howling.

Mum sat down on the sofa and pulled Grace onto her lap. ‘There now, baby,' she said, rocking her.

‘Everything's so horrible and scary and different,' Grace wept.

‘I know, I know,' said Mum, rubbing her cheek across the top of Grace's mousy hair. ‘I don't want you to go to school, poppet. Heaven knows, I hated it myself. But now your dad's not able to teach you we'll just have to give it a go. And maybe . . . maybe it's time you two learned to fit in more. I just want you both to be happy.'

We looked the picture of misery the next morning, walking to Wentworth in our ridiculous home-made clothes. Mum's suit wouldn't fit her so she was squeezed back into the red rose number, with a red knitted jumper rammed down over her big bosom. Grace was wearing her pink pandas. I told her it maybe
did
look babyish, which hurt her feelings, but she insisted on wearing it because it was her favourite frock.

I cordially hated
all
my frocks, but chose the red and white check as the least offensive. I wore my new black and pink lace underwear underneath, for courage. I hoped it might make me feel like one of the Wentworth girls, confident and sexy and streetwise.

As soon as we set foot inside the great gates everyone stared at us. We trekked across the playground. It seemed as large as the Sahara Desert. I realized that two little strips of hidden lace weren't going to make the slightest difference. Some of the kids had big grins on their faces. It was as if a circus had stopped at their school. We were the clowns.

The girls stood in little groups, giggling. The boys started jostling each other and shouting. Mum looked at Grace and me anxiously and then reached out to hold our hands. She was trying to reassure us but this was a
big
mistake. I snatched my hand away immediately but Grace clung to Mum. That made their jeers increase.

‘Let go!' I hissed.

They took no notice, clutching each other. I sighed and marched ahead. I kept my head up and didn't look round, no matter what they shouted. Now I'd jettisoned Mum and Grace I imagined Jane on one side of me, Tobias the other. We didn't care what they called. We were a threesome, cool, aloof, artistic . . .

‘God, what do they
look
like? Mum's a walking sofa, the little blobby one's a duvet and the skinny stuck-up cow's a tablecloth!' someone yelled.

I couldn't stay cool. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I turned round and stuck my finger up at them. They all shrieked delightedly. Mum looked shocked.

‘Prudence! Don't do that.'

‘What did she do, Mum? Prue, what does it mean, doing that with your finger?' said Grace.

‘I don't know,' I lied. I'd seen the boys from the estate gesture to each other and worked out exactly what it meant. Grace didn't seem to have any idea at all. She was looking younger than ever, and very frightened.

‘I want to go
home
,' she said, hanging back from the school door.

Mum looked as if she might relent. ‘I don't see you two learning much in this sort of environment,' she whispered. ‘Your dad's going to kill me when he finds out.'

‘Let's just leg it back across the playground,' I said.

We looked at Mum pleadingly. She bit her lip, swaying from one Scholl sandal to the other, plucking helplessly at the roses on her hips. ‘I don't know what to do for the best,' she said.

Then a man with black hair and a little beard came up to us. He was wearing a denim jacket and black jeans, and he had a diamond earring in one lobe. We looked at him uncertainly. He seemed very young but the beard surely meant he couldn't be one of the pupils.

‘Can I help?' he said.

‘My girls are starting at the school. Well, I
think
they are,' said Mum.

He smiled at Grace and me. I usually couldn't stick men with beards but his was small and trimmed and looked cool, especially with the earring.

‘I hope you'll be very happy here. Don't look so worried. It's always a bit weird starting at a new school.'

‘They've not been to any school, not for years and years,' said Mum, starting to launch into a long and unnecessary resumé of our lives.

He listened politely while Grace and I rolled our eyes at each other, agonized.

‘Well, I'm sure everything will be fine,' he interrupted eventually. He nodded at Grace and me. ‘I'll maybe see you in the art room sometime. I'm Mr Raxberry. I'm one of the art teachers here.'