Passion Flower. Jean Ure

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      I smirked: the Afterthought pulled a face. As the train pulled out, Mum called after us: “Enjoy yourselves! Have fun. I’m sure you will!”

      “I’m going to have lots of fun,” boasted the Afterthought. “It’s always fun with Dad!” She then added, “And you needn’t think you’re going to boss me around!”

      “You’ve got to do what I tell you,” I said. “Mum said so.

      “Mum won’t be there! So sah sah sah!”

      The Afterthought pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. So childish. I turned to look out of the window. Why was it, I thought, that our family always seemed to be at war? Mum and Dad, me and the Afterthought…

      “It’s like the Wars of the Roses,” I said.

      “What is?” said the Afterthought.

      “Us! Fighting! The Wars of the Roses.” Personally I thought this was rather clever, but the Afterthought didn’t seem to get it. She just scowled and said, “It’s Mum’s fault.”

      She really had it in for Mum. She wouldn’t hear a word against Dad, but everything that Mum did was wrong. Even now, when we weren’t going to be seeing her for months. Poor old Mum!

      Actually I couldn’t help feeling that Mum and the Afterthought were quite alike. Neither of them ever did anything by halves. They were both so extreme. I like to think I am a bit more flexible, like Dad. Only more organised, naturally!

      I tried to organise the Afterthought, on our trip down to London. It was quite a long journey, nearly two hours, so Mum had given us food packs in case we got hungry. I told the Afterthought she wasn’t to start eating until we were halfway there, but she said she would eat when she wanted, and she broke open her pack right there and then and had scoffed the lot by the time we reached Bedford.

      “You’re not going to have any of mine,” I said.

      “Don’t want any of yours,” said the Afterthought. “We’ll be in London soon and Dad will take us for tea.”

      This was what he had promised. He was going to be there at St Pancras station to meet us, and we were all going to go and have tea before we got on the train to Brighton. I had never made such a long train journey all by myself before. It was quite a responsibility, what with having to keep an eye on the Afterthought and make sure she didn’t wander off and get lost, or lock herself in the toilet, or something equally stupid. But I didn’t really mind. Now that we were on our way, I found I was quite excited at the prospect of staying with Dad. I’d never been to Brighton. I’d only been to London once, and that was a school trip, when, we went to visit a museum. School trips are fun, and better than being in school, but you are still watched all the time and never allowed to go off and do your own thing, in case, I suppose, you get abducted or find a boy and run away with him. I wish!

      I didn’t think that Dad would watch us; he is not at all a mother hen type. And Brighton sounded like a really wild and wicked kind of place! Vix had informed me excitedly that “things happen in Brighton” When I asked her what things, she didn’t seem too sure, but she said that it was “a hub” Nottingham isn’t a hub; well, I don’t think it is. And outside of Nottingham is like living in limbo. Just nothing ever happens at all. Vix had made me promise to send her postcards every week and to email her if I met any boys. I intended to! Meet boys, that is. Mum, meanwhile, said that Brighton was “just the sort of place I would expect your dad to end up in.” She said that it was cheap, squalid and tacky. Sounded good to me!

      Just after we left Bedford (and the Afterthought finished off her supply of food) my mobile rang. It was Mum, checking that we were still on the train and hadn’t got off at the wrong station or fallen out of the window, though as a matter of fact the windows were sealed, so that even the Afterthought couldn’t have fallen out.

      “Stephie?” said Mum. “Everything OK?” I said, “Yes, fine, Mum. The Afterthought’s eaten all her food.”

      “Well, that’s all right,” said Mum. “I’m sure your dad will get her some more. Don’t forget to give him the cheque. Tell him it’s got to last you.”

      I said, “Yes, Mum.”

      “Tell him it’s for you and Sam. For your personal spending.”

      “Yes, Mum.”

      “I don’t want him using it for himself.”

      ‘No, Mum.” We had already been through all this! Plus I had heard Mum telling Dad on the phone.

      “Oh, and Stephanie,” she said.

      “Yes, Mum?”

      “I want you to ring me when you’ve arrived.”

      “What, in London?” I said.

      “No! In Brighton. When you get to your dad’s place. All right?”

      I said, “Yes, Mum.” I thought, “Mum’s getting cold feet!” She’d gone and packed us off and now she was starting to do her mumsy thing, worrying in case something happened. I said, “We’re only going to Brighton, Mum! Not Siberia.”

      “Yes, well, just look after your sister,” said Mum.

      “I’ve got to look after you” I said to the Afterthought.

      “I don’t want to be looked after,” said the Afterthought.

      We reached London nearly ten minutes late, so I expected Dad to already be there, waiting for us. But he wasn’t! We stood at the barrier, looking all around, and he just wasn’t there.

      “Maybe he’s gone to the loo,” said the Afterthought, doing her best to sound brave.

      “Mm,” I said. “Maybe.”

      Or maybe we were looking in the wrong place. Maybe when Dad had said he’d meet us at St Pancras, he’d meant… outside. So we went and looked outside, but he wasn’t there, either, СКАЧАТЬ