Fandango in the Apse! Page 3

  On a brighter note, I have to say, I was nothing if not resilient in those days. On the first morning of term, I walked the short distance to school with a light heart. The swish of my long ponytail across my back completely outweighed the embarrassment of my clod-hoppers. I didn’t have great shoes, but I didn’t have plaits either. Yay!

  I was a little less happy at first break though, when once again I became the butt of jokes from two girls that had been in my primary school. Comments like, “Has your granny lent you her shoes?” had me searching out a quiet corner of the playground. It was a few days later while I was hiding away on the bottom rung of a fire escape, that I first met Alison. I was almost crying after a particularly nasty bout of jibes.

  ‘You shouldn’t let them get to you, it only makes them worse.’

  ‘I don’t normally, but sometimes they’re just so nasty. It’s these…’ I plonked my feet straight out in front of me. The girl stared silently at my shoes for a moment and then sat beside me on the step.

  ‘They are a bit grim…’she said. I waggled my feet for a moment and then suddenly we were both laughing.

  ‘They have got to be the ugliest shoes ever,’ the girl said, between hoots of laughter.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, I know, they’re on my feet.’

  ‘I’m Alison Bunn, by the way. I think you’re in my maths and English classes.’

  ‘And French and geography, I’m Katie.’ I recognised Alison from the classes because of her bright, red hair.

  ‘I used to get teased because of this, you know,’ Alison said, motioning to the wayward curls. ‘But my sister, Lucy, told me how to deal with it and it worked.’

  ‘How?’

  Alison jumped to her feet. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

  I followed her across the playground until we were about ten feet away from the girls who had been teasing me earlier. They, as soon as they had seen our approach, huddled together and were once again pointing and laughing at my shoes.

  Alison looked at them and then whispered in my ear. ‘Laugh when I tell you.’

  ‘What?’ I whispered back.

  ‘Just do it!’ Alison pointed at one of the girls and then leaned into me and whispered, ‘Now.’ I looked at the girls and laughed. Alison repeated this a couple of times and I did my bit, that was, until my heart jerked in my chest when I saw them walking towards us.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ The biggest and meanest looking girl asked.

  I was struck dumb, but Alison managed a cheery, ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You were laughing at something, I saw you.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry,’ said Alison sweetly. ‘It wasn’t at your bandy legs or your friends’ buck teeth.’

  Both girls recoiled as if she had slapped them.

  ‘I haven’t got bandy legs,’ the biggest one said at the same time as her friend piped up that she hadn’t got buck teeth either.

  ‘Haven’t you? Well… that’s OK then,’ replied Alison, in the same pleasant tone she had used before.

  As we walked away from the girls, I couldn’t help looking at Alison in amazement. She was fearless.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that… especially as it isn’t true.’ She looked behind us and indicated for me to do the same.

  ‘Maybe not, but they’re not so sure, are they?’ We watched as both girls inspected each other for the flaws Alison had mentioned. That was the end of the bullying and the start of our friendship, and by the end of term, we were inseparable.

  By the time I was fourteen, my mother had relaxed her rigid rules enough so that I was allowed to go to Alison’s house every now and then. She still refused Alison entrance to our house, something that didn’t bother Alison in the slightest.

  ‘God, your mother doesn’t half scare me to death,’ she said, after the first time she called for me and was left standing on the step until my mother called me to the door.

  ‘She doesn’t do much for me either,’ I replied.

  Alison’s home was in direct contrast to our quiet, humourless house. Julia Bunn, Alison’s mother was a bright, happy-go-lucky woman, who seemed to thrive on chaos. Her now faded red hair, refused to be confined and shot out at all angles. It gave her a soft, feathery, mother-hen look and I loved her immediately. With two grown up sons still living at home, as well as Lucy and Alison, the house always seemed crowded with people. Mrs Bunn baked mouth-watering cakes and pies on a regular basis and I was amazed to see that nobody had to ask for anything, they could help themselves to whatever they fancied. My mother baked occasionally, but only for WI meetings or fundraisers, never for us. Occasionally I would pinch something for the sheer devilment of it, but I wasn’t fond of her baking, it tended to be heavy and a bit skimpy on the fillings.

  There were times when I found it difficult to leave the Bunn household. Going home to my mother’s cold house and her colder demeanour depressed me, and that had become more apparent now as I learned how other people lived. When Alison had gone on a four-day school trip to France, which my mother had refused to allow me to go on, I was so bereft, I went to see Mrs Bunn on my own.

  ‘Come in, Katie, this is a surprise,’ she said, as she opened the door. ‘I’ve just taken some scones out of the oven, would you like one before the boys come home and scoff the lot?’

  For some unknown reason while sitting in the warm kitchen, watching Mrs Bunn knead the dough for a second batch of scones, I felt an uncontrollable need to cry. I had no idea why this was, because Mrs Bunn’s kitchen was my most favourite place to be.

  ‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’ Mrs Bunn asked a moment later. To my horror, I felt huge tears tumbling down my cheeks.

  Alison’s mother wiped her floury hands on her apron and came round the table to sit next to me. ‘What is it, dear? Are you missing Ali?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, honey, she’ll be back soon enough. Here,’ she said, handing me a tissue from her apron pocket. ‘Wipe those eyes and have another scone. You are a silly goose.’

  But now the tears had started, I couldn’t get them to stop and finally Mrs Bunn put her arms around me and held me while I sobbed my heart out.

  ‘What is it, Katie, this is not just about missing Alison, is it?’

  ‘No.’ I snivelled.

  ‘Then tell me what’s upsetting you so, I can’t help if you don’t.’

  I looked into Mrs Bunn’s concerned eyes and blurted out what was in my heart. ‘Sometimes I really wish I could live here with you.’

  There was a moment’s pause as I watched the expression in her eyes turn from concern to sadness. She didn’t say a word but suddenly swept me up in a tight hug.

  ‘Now… what sort of talk is that?’ she said, a moment later. ‘Your poor mother would be ever so lonely if you left her. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’

  To avoid answering, I blew my nose loudly and tried to apologise for my outburst.

  ‘No, we’ll have none of that here. If you feel the need for a good old blub, then I don’t mind a bit.’

  Once the tears had finally stopped and I was in possession of the large mug of hot chocolate Mrs Bunn had placed in front of me, I was a little embarrassed about my behaviour.

  ‘I think I must be getting a cold,’ I said, by way of an excuse.

  ‘Yes, that’ll be it,’ Mrs Bunn assured me.

  A couple of months later, just two weeks before Christmas, I was surprised to hear Mrs Bunn’s voice when my mother answered a knock on the door. I poked my head into the hallway and was mortified that my mother hadn’t invited her in. I rushed to explain who Mrs Bunn was. Her innate good manners were the only reason my mother opened the door and invited Mrs Bunn into the hall. Even though it was freezing outside, she didn’t close the door, thus, letting Mrs Bunn know she had only a minute or two to state her business and go just as clearly as if she had actually said the words.

  Mrs Bunn brushed off the slight as if it had been no more than one of the snowflakes falling outside.

  ‘Mrs
Hessey, I’m delighted to meet you at last.’

  My mother inclined her head. ‘Likewise, how may I help you, Mrs Bunn.’ There was no softening of my mother’s stance as she said this, and I could see Mrs Bunn begin to droop under the thin veneer of my mother’s forced politeness.

  ‘Please, call me Ellen and I do apologise for calling on the off chance, but my husband and I were passing and saw that you were in.’ My mother shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Those two gestures were meant to convey her impatience and they did the job perfectly. Mrs Bunn blushed underneath her overlarge woolly hat.

  ‘I… we – that is, Alison and I, were wondering if Katie would like to come to tea on Christmas day – if you are agreeable, of course, Mrs Hessey?’

  ‘Oh, I see, well as it happens, I usually have Christmas tea with a friend, so I’m sure that would be acceptable, Mrs Bunn.’

  If Mrs Bunn noticed my mother’s refusal to call her by her first name, she politely chose to ignore the further slight. I was almost quivering with excitement as I listened to the conversation. I couldn’t believe my luck – tea with the Bunn’s on Christmas day!

  ‘Oh, good, that’s settled then. Shall I ring you nearer the time to make the arrangements?’ Mrs Bunn asked.

  ‘Please do,’ my mother stated, as she reached for the door handle.

  ‘Right, well I’ll be on my way then. Good night, Mrs Hessey and you too, Katie.’ She peered around my mother’s stiff frame to wink in my direction. I grinned back.

  Christmas afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for me. I’d opened my presents, all except the one from by father, which had gone up in flames a few days previously. I’d had the usual from my mother – slippers, pyjamas and a dressing gown, followed by a box of chocolates and a book. We had eaten lunch and I was clock watching, waiting for the moment the Queen’s speech was over. As soon as the last note of the National Anthem died out, I was on my feet and rushing to get my coat on. My mother followed suit, but at a much slower pace. I was almost bursting with agitation by the time she handed me a foiled wrapped plate of mince pies, and a gift-wrapped set of handkerchiefs that she had won in a raffle the year before, for Alison.

  The volume of noise coming from the Bunn household was amazing as I entered by the back door; everyone seemed to be chattering at once and jingly Christmas tunes were playing in the background. Mr Bunn was the first to notice me, and his booming voice above the din alerted Alison to my arrival. She scooted into the kitchen, followed her mother and I found myself swamped in hugs.

  ‘My mother sent these,’ I said, holding out the plate, as soon as I was free. Mrs Bunn took it and unwrapped the foil. I was embarrassed by the minutely filled, mince pies, with their thick pastry and unappetizing appearance.

  There was the tiniest of pauses as she looked at my mother’s offering before she recovered herself. ‘Oh, that was nice of her. Please thank her for me, will you, Katie?’

  ‘I will, but I don’t mind if you throw them in the bin, they’ll taste awful anyway.’

  ‘Katie! That’s a terrible thing to say,’ she laughed. ‘I would never do such a thing.’

  They may not have gone in the bin, but they didn’t arrive on the heavily laden tea table either, I noticed later.

  Once tea was over, everyone, including both sets of Alison’s grandparents, headed into the sitting room.

  ‘Right,’ said an excited Alison. ‘It’s time for your presents.’

  I was astonished when Alison reached under the Christmas tree and pulled out four gaily-wrapped presents.

  ‘For me?’ I asked.

  Alison nodded. ‘Go on, open them then.’ She thrust a parcel in my hands. ‘This one first – it’s from Mum and Dad’.

  I opened the present and found the most beautiful pair of black-patent leather shoes. They were square-toed and had a small heel.

  ‘Do you love them?’ Alison asked. ‘I have exactly the same pair.’

  ‘They’re… Oh, Mrs Bunn, they’re gorgeous, thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure, love. They should fit, Ali checked your size.’ I felt a lump in my throat and let my hair fall over my face as I examined the shoes, in case I made a show of myself by crying.

  ‘Now this one, it’s from Nana Betty,’ Alison said, handing me another present.

  Nana Betty’s present was a soft pale blue sweater and without doubt, it was the nicest jumper I had ever owned. Nana Greta’s present was a pair of fur-lined leather gloves. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of these two ladies, considering I had only met them once or twice previously.

  ‘Now mine!’ Alison said, as soon as I had thanked her grandmothers.

  Alison’s gift was in a small box and before I could open it, she’d told me it was a joint present for the two of us. Inside, were two halves of a silver heart, each with its own chain.

  ‘Look,’ she said, as she picked up one half. ‘Yours has my name on it and mine has yours. It’s a friendship locket.’ I was so touched I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I replied before giving her a hug. ‘It’s beautiful, we’ll wear them always.’

  A short while later I went into the kitchen to get Alison’s gifts that I had left there when I arrived. I shoved the hankies from my mother into the dustbin and covered them with the wrapping paper I’d brought in from the living room. There was no way I was handing over such a miserly present from my mother. I went back in and gave my present to Alison.

  ‘It’s not as nice as yours to me, but I hope you like it.’

  Alison unwrapped the present and squealed with delight at the leather purse she had admired when we were window-shopping in town a few weeks before.

  ‘Katie, it’s exactly what I wanted, thank you.’

  Do you know, I think even to this day, that’s still the best Christmas I have ever had.

  By Easter of the following year, I had begun to notice a change in myself. Having been exposed to what family life should be, I felt myself growing increasingly angry with my mother. I wanted to know why, after fifteen years, she still seemed unable to stand my presence. It all finally burst forth one evening as we were sitting in the kitchen eating our dinner.

  ‘Why do we never talk, Mum?’ I asked. The question, voiced into the silence of the room, startled my mother; she placed her cutlery on her plate.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I asked why we never talk, do you realise we never actually have a conversation?’

  She seemed taken aback and it took her a moment or two to recover.

  ‘But what would we talk about?’ she asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘You have no interest in what I do and I have even less in you.’

  ‘Anything. The weather, school… just normal stuff people who live together talk about.’

  ‘Katie, this is a ridiculous conversation and I have no intention in carrying on with it. Get on with your meal,’ she said, picking up her knife and fork again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pardon? Did you just say no to me?’

  ‘Yes, I did. I want to know things.’

  My mother’s cutlery hit the plate with a crash. ‘Just who do you think you’re talking to, girl? How dare you speak to me in that manner?’

  ‘I dare because it’s the only way to actually communicate with you. Unless you’re telling me off, it’s as if I don’t exist.’

  She was silent then, she sat across the table from me, and for the first time in years, I had her full attention. Her pale grey eyes were like chips of ice, I couldn’t see the tiniest spark of warmth in them, they appeared soulless, dead.

  ‘So what are these things you want to know? You have my attention, although you don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Why do you hate me so much?’

  Her eyes didn’t flinch, her expression didn’t change. ‘Because you ruined my life.’

  I stared at her. ‘So you don’t deny you hate me?’

&n
bsp; ‘Is there anything else you’d like to know, Katie?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Exactly, so now, get out of my sight and if you ever again cheek me the way you have done this evening, make very sure you are ready for the consequences’.

  As I trudged upstairs to my room, I was aware my world had just tipped on it axis. The strange thing is: I’m only realising now, that it has probably never righted itself since.

  Two months after my sixteenth birthday, I left school. My exam results were decent enough to get into college, but I wanted to get out into the world, earn money and get some independence. However, I wasn’t expecting the haste at which my wishes were granted. I arrived home after a weekend camping on Bodmin Moor with Alison and a group of our friends, which incidentally, I’d been amazed my mother agreed to let me to go on. As you know, she had an aversion to allowing me do anything I might enjoy.

  She was sitting on the sofa with a number of items neatly stacked beside her. The first things my eyes latched onto were a pair of suitcases. For one glorious moment, I thought my mother was off on holiday for the first time in memory. My euphoria lasted about two seconds.

  ‘Sit down, Katie, I want a word with you.’ Her voice was unusually pleasant, which gave me the first inkling that something was definitely amiss.

  ‘You are sixteen now and I have done my duty by you as far as I am concerned. You are old enough to make your own way in the world. However, I have made every effort to help you on your way,’ she said, pointing to the array at her feet.

  ‘I have found you a bed-sit in town and paid the first month’s rent. I have also collected a few items you may need.’

  For the first time I took notice of what was in the plastic-wrapped bundles. By the looks of it, there was a neatly piled selection of sheets, blankets and towels. Next to these was a box of newspaper-wrapped items, which I assumed to be crockery.