Part 11 (1/2)

Yeah, giant super-huge creep. I hate her guts. You should've seen her today, she was in fine form-she's a big hag and I bet she has warts on her b.o.o.bies, and she blushes and ducks her head into the baby as she giggles. Charlie giggles back. Why shouldn't she. She's practically her mother.

You bring two cups of tea with milk and sugar to the table, tell Grace one's for her, knowing she'll want it because she's such a big tea-hound. She says maybe she should put the baby in his chair so she doesn't burn his b.u.m or something. Charlie laughs and helps her put the baby in his seat, adjusts his soother, and he's asleep before they can get back in their chairs. Hey, I almost forgot, and Charlie goes into her diaper bag, I pa.s.sed by a bookstore this morning and I saw something in the window you might like; I think you're old enough now.

You're just settling into your chair as Charlie pulls out a thin green and white children's book that says, Where Did I Come From, Anyway? on the cover. It's about how babies are made, she tells her. Grace snaps it up before you get near it, flips it open and fans through pages of line drawings and thick print until she gets to one of a man lying naked between a woman's spread legs and stops dead, scanning the text till her cheeks flush again and she turns the page fast to a giant egg with dozens of sperm zipping toward it. Charlie giggles.

You pluck the book. Anyone mind if I take a look at this first?

Grace yaps a Mummy! at you and swings a paw to get it back, catches a page and you know she's not going to let go and this is not a fight you want to have in front of Charlie, who has just said, Well, Mum, she's almost nine, it's probably time she started learning the facts of life now. Better than finding it out the hard way in five years!

Exactly! her little sister says.

You let the book go, afraid it'll rip and all h.e.l.l will break loose. Yes, well. Honestly, and you try to keep the tone playful. I don't see Grace running the streets at that age. Charlie's face drops, edges toward a glare. You say, Well for G.o.dsake, I mean I've never kept any secrets from you kids, I answer every question she has as they come up and I just think, well, I just think I should be the judge of what she reads about this subject, that's all. I'm not being a prude, I'm just-I am her mother, after all.

Well, I've read it and I think ... I think it's comprehensive and progressive, really. And I think it's cool.

You glance at the back of the book in your child's paws and see A comprehensive and progressive look at basic s.e.xuality as told by Doctor ...

Well, be that as it may ... you say, and the two of you lock eyes. Unbelievable-who the h.e.l.l-Grace is back to staring at the naked couple, sees she's been caught again and flips to the front of the book.

Well, I wanna read it, it's my present, Charlie gave it to me, not you. Anyway, why shouldn't I read it, everybody's doing it-you, you had s.e.x before! and she cackles and brings the book over the lower half of her face.

Charlie looks at you. Look, see, she's curious, and now you've made her all embarra.s.sed.

Oh, for G.o.d's sake, Charlie, I didn't make her embarra.s.sed, she's embarra.s.sed because all her friends are embarra.s.sed. Quit making everything about me.

She gives an exasperated sigh. I just meant you won't let her see it. And anyway. I'm not making this about you, you're making it about you. I didn't make you feel guilty, you did. Because you don't want her to read a normal book about the birds and the bees. I bought it so she could just read it and you wouldn't have to feel all weird talking to her about sperm or whatever.

Isn't this charming: your judgment usurped by a recently knocked-up, all-of-eighteen-year-old tramp, posing as a-as a what-an all-knowing earth mother. And you're supposed to keep your mouth shut. That's the beauty of it. You have to be civil and maintain decorum while she casts her eyes like aspersions and dares you to just try it, pick another fight in front of Grace-tell your children how you know best, as evidenced by your fabulous track record.

Grace gives you her cartoon smug-face. So you say, Go ahead, read it, see if I care, I'm sure there's nothing there you don't already know. And you do for Charlie your best imitation of Grace smuggery. And the tone of your voice is echoing in your head, are you talking too loudly? But Charlie's laughing some kind of laugh, the nervous hollow one the family uses for certain situations; can't remember which ones just now.

Grace Eight.

OCTOBER 1974.

I WAS IN GRADE 4 probably around two months when Charlie told us her and Ian, the albino guy, were going to move to the States. Ian's dad was American and worked with a sportswear company in Portland, Oregon-he said he could get Ian a real job, not just hustling in pool halls-Ian said he was going to take care of Charlie and her baby, Sam, even if Sam wasn't his. Charlie made it sound kind of fun in a way, like everything would be different once Ian got with his family. And he had a big family, a real one with a mum and dad and aunts and uncles and cousins.

The night after I heard, I laid awake trying to picture Portland. It sounded like Vancouver but better; people would live in sunny houses and have tans and boats and yellow jackets and good jobs with sportswear companies. I wished she could take us with her.

The day before she left, she brought me early birthday presents: Winnie the Pooh and Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little, all hardcovers, she said, patting them like kittens, and held me in her lap on the edge of Mum's bed. Mum was propped up on pillows. Sam was in his baby seat on the floor watching us. Charlie's chest shook against my back and her arms wrapped around my ribs while she looked over my shoulder, keeping her cheek on the side of my head. Tears wheezed through her nose and she stuffed her face in my neck. My own throat was strangley and burning and I told her not to get snot on me. She giggled and wiped her cheeks and started to make scared-voice promises: she was going to start a new life in the States. She didn't have a phone number or an address or stuff yet, but as soon as she was settled I could visit her. She hugged my back to her front and whispered that everything would be different.

After Charlie left, I went back and sat on the bed, my feelings all mangled so I had no words, and weaved my toes in and out of each other. Hairs on my arms stuck up like cat whiskers testing for close stuff, but it was getting so hollow where we were. If we could just take off, go to some other city, Mum'd get better again, get a job again. And maybe George would come back and come with us.

Mum groaned and reached for her bottle of 222s. This was her best in three days of lying there; she was sitting up some and talking a little. ”Well, that's that,” she said, and she dropped her hands on the bed and stared at the ceiling. ”She hates my guts, doesn't she?”

I said no, but I kind of wasn't sure. Charlie seemed like she wanted Mum to say something before she left, beg her out of it or tell her to come live with us again. But Mum couldn't take living with Charlie any more. Mum couldn't take anybody but us two.

”I love her, I do. I just can't stand her,” and her chin and lips wobbled. We sat quiet like that a couple minutes, her wiping her eyes and me just staring at the air. Like a brain cloud, like Sheryl said.

Mum tried to sit up. ”Oh s.h.i.+t.” She ducked her head down and held on to her forehead with one hand. ”Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph,” then ”Will you go in my top drawer and find my yellow pills-um, in the left corner,” and she fell back into her squashed pillow.

I put her last yellow one in her mouth and she jerked her head to help it down. She stared at the ceiling a second, then said, ”What about dinner, have something good for you, have a carrot and some meat and-uh. Christ, my stomach feels like the bottom of an old birdcage.”

”Theres nothing hardly left, just, well, there's Jell-O, but it's kinda crusty at the top now. And there's cake, I made chocolate cake. And I was going to go to the store but there's no money in your purse and um-” I'd put ten of the secret emergency money in a bank account Mum started for me a few months before and the rest I spent on a new Danskin like Sadie's and a baton. I was going to start baton lessons next Sat.u.r.day morning.

I picked at the Explorers badge on my blouse. I'd started another group the week before, kind of like Girl Guides, where we wore uniforms (a white blouse and navy blue skirt) and sat in a circle singing campfire songs with good manners and stuff. Today was my second once-a-week meeting. I got Mum to sew the badge on my blouse before she got sick, and it turned out we put it on the wrong pocket. I started to ask the leaders why it mattered, but they gave me the a.n.u.s look, the one about how unmanageable I was. Felt like all the girls looked at me that way-a whole circle of a.n.u.s faces. I figured I'd probably quit. Maybe after the Halloween party.

Mum moaned again. ”Oh. I feel like a big pizza.”

I was still depressed about Charlie. ”We don't have any money.”

”Where's-did we give Charlie her Family Allowance cheque?” My sister's cheques were still getting mailed to our place and I forgot all about the last one, which made me feel even more bad. ”Sweety, come on, don't be sad, Charlie's not gone forever, you know she always comes back and she'd want to cheer you up if she could. So why don't we cheer ourselves up. It's the least she could do, walking out of your life yet again.” I decided Mum was right, Charlie was the one who left and besides, we couldn't get the cheque to her before she went away anyhow.

Mum ripped open the envelope while I looked up Pizza in the Yellow Pages. I wrote down all the stuff we wanted and Mum signed the back of the cheque and ”extra cheese,” she said, ”I feel gooey tonight.” I dialled Gigi's Pizza-the trick was to not ask if they took welfare cheques until they showed up with a large with everything on it.

We polished off everything except one piece and sat on the bed, brus.h.i.+ng off our hands over the box and laughing at what good scammers we were. Mum told stories about when she was young and I screened phone calls. She also let me take her old nail polish off and paint on new stuff. Her hands were mostly stopped shaking, but I liked to be the one to paint her. I had to get rid of two phone callers before I got a coat of Peach Caravan on every nail.

Being Mum's secretary was practically my favourite thing to do. You had to have a good ear-memory and be able to tell who the voices were plus remember if Mum liked them right now or not. She was sick of most men and some women and my job was to say she was out and have no idea where she was and then pretend to take a number and hang up. I could tape-record almost the whole conversation in my brain, so after I hung up I could tell her the words exactly and how they said them. Once in a while I got to tell a guy to get lost, she didn't want to hear from him again; that hardly ever happened, but it was the best.

Her nails were still wet from the second coat when her friend Doreen called. I held the phone to her ear while she drooped her hands out like rained-on flowers and told Doreen that her manicurist was on a tight schedule so be quick about it. I could hear Doreen's loud gravelly voice from the earpiece.

I don't know why they suddenly got to be friends, but it seemed like they liked each other best when they were drinking. Doreen was a friend of Alice and Ray's, Sadie and Eddy's parents, and I saw her around their house or sometimes at Rays used-furniture store. She was usually drunk and swearing and laughing at all the wrong times and wearing too-small clothes in super-bright colours that kept almost showing something every time she moved. She was around Mums age with long black hair, high on top like a country singer, bright blue eyelids and frosty pink lips. Doreen was the only one lately who could get my mum out of bed by just talking on the phone a little. Mum talked a lot of pig Latin with her and the ee-iz language.

After three or four minutes she said goodbye and I hung up the phone. Mum stretched. ”Well, I'm feeling not-too-baggy now.”

”Wanna piece of chocolate cake? Actually, never mind, this one's no good, it's all salty, I think I must've put salt instead of sugar or something or maybe I put a tablespoon instead of a pinch or something.”

”Yick. Why do you keep making chocolate cakes anyway? Seems like you've made about ten in the last month.”

”I don't know. It's fun. I like measuring the stuff and I like icing it afterwards, making all those swirly-doos with the knife. And plus, it's nice to offer cake to guests when they arrive.” I did like doing all the cookbook steps, but it was also because I kept hearing them say, ”Tastes as if it was made from scratch,” on cake-mix commercials and when I found out what it meant, I never wanted to buy another cake mix. I wanted to make my own just so I could say, ”Here, would you like some Scratch Cake?” whenever I could. It sounded cool.

Mum snorted. ”Guests! Well, la-dee-dah. Like who? Who comes over here?”

”Like. Well, guests! Like Josh maybe, or like Sadie and Eddy. Or Doreen even.”

”You're one wacky dame, kiddo.”

I cackled at her. I liked it when she called me a dame or a broad and I was just about to say we should pack up her pillows and blankets and go watch TV in the living room when she told me she was meeting Doreen in a while.

”Why! You're sick.”

”Well, I'm not doing too bad now and I need some fresh air and the thing is, we haven't got a dime in the house.” She sat up and pulled off her nightie and held it in front of her b.o.o.bs. ”Can you pa.s.s me my bra hanging on the doork.n.o.b there?-and a friend of mine owes me some money, so we're going to go over and say hi and maybe I can get us a little moolah.”

I pa.s.sed her her bra. She looked tired, her eyes were deep in her head and the skin was drooping off her arm-bones. It took ages for her to get her bra on and I didn't help, just told her, ”Be careful of your nails.” She asked me to grab her a pair of underpants from her drawer. She wanted a good pair and I couldn't see much difference. I said that and ”Who's going to see them anyway?” ”Well, I might get in a car accident.” Then she got up and went to her closet, turned back around and went through the stuff tangled in sheets at the foot of her bed. She found her baby blue sweater and held it up in front of her, looking for dirt. She sat at the foot of the bed to scratch off some crusty yellow gook on the sleeve, then pulled it over her head and did a fast makeup job before the garter belt, stockings, skirt and shoes came on. Then more scrounging in her dresser while she tried to bribe me-she said, ”How 'bout tomorrow night we get some junk food and play switcheroo-it's a good TV night, isn't it, isn't tomorrow night when Happy Days and Good Times are on?” She dropped a string of beads over her head. Switcheroo was what we called it when we couldn't decide what to watch and one of us jumped up and switched fast to the other show during the commercials or when we got bored. It was fun and there was action, but I was crabbed at her right now. I shrugged and looked at a hunk of pizza crust on the floor. I knew I should clean up a little, at least my own stuff, at least change the litter box, but I didn't feel like it. I figured most of it was hers anyway-the bottles, and they were mostly her clothes chucked around the room. A lot were probably mine too, but I made chocolate cake yesterday, I cooked; my work was done. The sink was full of cake dishes and Strawberry Quik milk gla.s.ses and they were starting to stink, but I was more in the mood to bust them all and make her get new ones. I thought about going downstairs and remembered Josh had some hockey-thing tonight. He decided lately that he wanted to try and be a jock-guy. Which reminded me about my baton lessons starting and I figured maybe I should just stay in and practise. Last time I'd tossed my baton I busted a vase, so I definitely wanted to practise tonight.

It was getting light out when Mum came in the next morning. She stunk when she kissed me and I couldn't get back to sleep. There was another hour before I had to get up and my eyes were stinging from staying awake to watch a horror movie.