Haddock Bone.

 by Pat Hillyer

The haddock bone was stuck in my throat, the pain was excruciating and tears blinked in my eyes as I hurried up the hill, late, as usual, for afternoon school.  School was a mile away from home and lunch-break, an hour and a half.  The mile took twenty minutes on a concentrating day – which was rare, very rare.

     To day, I had been playing marbles in the gutter and my very best’est marble, red and white opaque swirls, had gone down the grid.  Noel, my companion, pulled out his boot laces and tied them together – men are practical creatures – tying the joined laces round the centre iron, he heaved – but boys haven’t much strength; the grating, held fast by cement-like mud and leaves, wouldn’t budge.

     I didn’t want to walk with Noel anymore.  I dawdled and let him go on ahead.  He’s a weak, silly boy; but I’ll probably marry him when I’m grown up.

     “Where the devil have you been?”

     Ma usually blamed the devil and it was nearly always Noel’s fault if I was late.  I thought of him with horns.  His ears did stick out a bit.  I grinned.  Ma’s eyes widened.  They did when she was put-out.

     “You’ll smile on the other side of your face when you have to run all the way back.”

     I tried to think what the ‘other side’ of my face would look like.  Sort of pink and squashy.  I felt sick.

     “I was sick with worry.”

     The hot, fishy smell was making me sick.

      “It’s been waiting for over twenty minutes.”

      Simmering away for forty minutes, not twenty, the poached haddock had gone dry.  Trying to gulp it down, a spiteful bone anchored itself in my left tonsil. 

       Holding my breath and doing my best not to swallow, I marched up the hill back to school – Wellington would have been proud of me. 

     The station was at the top and then the shops.  The turning to school was just after the station; a long flat road that went on for ever if your were late.  I’m sure the devil stretched it. 

     The bone hurt and tears rolled down my cheeks.  Mrs. Mottersthrope stopped, eyeing me thoughtfully.  “Late, I suppose,” and frowning at the tears – not due to lateness – shook her head.  “What’s a matter luv?”

     “I got a fish bone stuck.”

     Mrs. Mottersthorpe was a neighbour.  Ma had lots of neighbours, no friends.  No one ever popped in.  Ma didn’t condone people coming in without an invitation.  It’s rude to invade someone’s privacy she said.  Ma said one must always be polite.  I’d been taught to stay on the door-step when I went to call for a friend.  Even when they said, “come in”, I didn’t.  I was not a rude sort of girl.  Noel’s mother got quite cross one day; it was winter time and very cold.  She said I was letting all the heat out, just standing there.  I didn’t mind.  My front felt quite warm and it was nice to breathe in some hot fuggy air.  But it was very fuggy and I was glad I wasn’t going in.  

     Ma had neighbours, seen and spoken to on the way to and from the shops, twice a week, and just occasionally over the side fence if she misjudged a hurried trot to the bin; disposing of rubbish was not something one did in public.  She said we were middle-class and had to keep up appearances.  I always liked sitting at the back of the class.

     The first trip to the shops, on a Tuesday, was to deliver the orders; all written up in an order book and delivered the next day by a whistling lad on a bike.  Piercing and out of tune, the whistling sank to through-the-teeth while standing on the back step with his hand held out, until ma gave in. 

     The second shopping trip, on a Friday, was to arrange for the weekend joint and to pay and in ma’s case, complain.  She always found something – not quite nice.

     Mrs. Mottersthorpe was two doors down opposite and the subject of hushed conversations.  She pulled a loaf from her basket and tearing a chunky end off, handed it to me.  I was appalled at the ruination of a fresh crusty cottage-loaf.

     “There luv, that’ll help.  Have a good chew.”

     I stuffed it in my mouth.  It blocked any thanks, and I spat it out as she waddled on down the hill, planting large flat feet firmly on the even bits of the uneven paving slabs.  Mrs. Mottersthorpe was with child.  She was fat.

     I knew all about babies. 

     My little sister was a few months old.  Before she came, ma let me put a hand on her stomach to feel it kicking.

     I soon had it all worked out.

     When ma got fat enough, dad rushed her to the hospital. I suppose he thought she might burst.  There in the antiseptic surroundings – I’d been there with a cut finger and I knew all about the smells that went up your nose, tiled walls and green paint – dad would pee in ma’s knickers and the baby would come out.

     At night, lying on my lumpy mattress, I would think about it.  With the nurses crowding round, whether as cheerleaders or out of circumspection, I wasn’t too sure, dad would unbutton his trousers and do a long pee in ma’s knickers; the big pink ones with elasticated legs I’d seen hanging on the washing line.

     “Jenny May, stop snivelling and get on with your tables.”

     We were writing out our three-times and four-times and the haddock bone was still stuck on my left tonsil.  I wrote, 3 x 3 poached haddock bones hurt.  I don’t think the spelling was right; I wasn’t much good at spelling and my d’s usually turned out to be b’s.   I slammed my pencil down on the desk to show I wasn’t doing any more because I wasn’t in a fit state.  The pencil rolled off my desk and silly Shirley nearly fell off her chair trying to reach out for it.

     “Jenny May, stay after school.”

     “I’ve got a bone in my tonsil.”

     I knew all about tonsils. 

     They were flappy things that made you swallow.  If you can’t swallow, you could drown in your saliva.  I was beginning to drown.  Last year, my brother had his out.  He’s had a runny nose ever since.  They tried to take mine out, but I ran away.  Finding me shivering with fear and cold on the allotments, I had allowed to keep my tonsils.  I was beginning to wish I hadn’t.  A runny nose, even perpetual dribbling, would have been better than the stabbing pain every time I couldn’t stop a swallow.

     “My brother takes me home.  He won’t let you keep me in.”

     At lunchtime, I made my own way back and forth.  It was daylight and safe.  After afternoon school, it might get dark and be unsafe and I had to wait around for Henry.  He kept me waiting longer on purpose – he was that sort of boy – “Girls are a pain in the arse”.  I threatened to tell ma he was swearing, but I only did it when there was room to run, or his pals were looking on.  Henry wouldn’t strike a girl with them watching; he said so.  Hitting me was something done in private and a confined space.  He was fat, but he wasn’t having a baby.  And I could always out run him, given a chance.

     I told her.  “My brother’s eight and big for his age and he always takes me home in the afternoon.”  I fixed an eye on her.  She was not keeping me in.  “It’s a haddock bone.”

     “You’d better come to the front.”

     What good would going to the front do?  Standing there with them all looking at me, hoping one of my knicker legs would drift down.  I went to the front, thinking of ma’s pink ones on the line.  Mine were navy blue. 

     Thinking of ma’s pink ones made me think of baby Alice.  “Anyway,“ I said, “I’ve got to get home on time to feed the baby.”

     I’m not too sure why I said that, but it caused instant interest.  Much quicker interest than the haddock bone had.  Miss Quincrest knelt down in front of me, peering into my face. “You feed it?”

     “Yes.  And ma says it’s not an ‘it’.  It’s rude to call it an it, It’s Alice, a girl.”

     “How old is Alice?”

     I had to do a bit of times tables: on my fingers behind my back.  It worked out four.  I thought it was more than that, I did it again; still four.  “Four - months.”  I knew it couldn’t be years.

     Miss Quincrest seemed very impressed.  She was sucking in her lips.

     It seemed an opportunity to enlarge.  “ I look after her.  I do other things.”

     “Other things?”

     “Yep!”  I thought quickly.  “I change her.”  Sometimes, I wished I could.  I’d wanted another brother, something a bit smaller and not quite so fat and bossy.  Because Alice was a girl, ma said when she got a bit bigger she would be in my room.  That wasn’t fair.  I wanted my room to myself.  Henry could share.  Perhaps he wouldn’t hit a baby brother like me hit me.  “I don’t hit her.”

     “I should hope not.” 

     Miss Quincrest had gone all hoity-toity.

     “Where’s your mother?  Why doesn’t she look after your baby sister?”

     “Alice.”  It was just as rude to call it baby, when it had a name.

     “Alice.”

     “She’s around.” 

     Ma always was; I couldn’t get away with anything.  She said she had eyes in the back of her head.  “Now be quiet, Alice is sleeping”.  “You can’t go in there, Alice is sleeping”.  “Don’t do that, you’ll wake Alice up”.  “Go away, I’ve just put Alice to sleep”.   And that’s how it was.

     “She puts her to sleep.  She gets very cross if she wakes.”

     “You mean your mother, does things, to make your baby sister sleep?”

     I nodded my head enthusiastically.  I was out there in front of the class and Miss Quincrest was on her knees in front of me, hanging onto my every word, giving me all her attention; and the class, they were sitting ever so quietly, no chatting, not even whispering.  I was the centre of attention.  I nodded my head.  “She says she doesn’t want her ever to wake up”.

      “But you do your best to look after her.”

      I felt myself swelling up with importance.  “I do my best.”

      It was one of ma’s favourite sayings, ‘do your best.  You can’t do more than that.’  I smiled, bowing my head, involving the whole class and especially Miss Quincrest.  An extra big swallow I couldn’t stop made me sob, but it dislodged the haddock bone – I felt it going down, and then it was fine; just a little sniff and a big smile of relief.

     I was allowed to go early.  It was okay because Henry was allowed out early.  At the same time actually.  He tweaked my ear on the way home, at least three times.  He said I was a brat.  And that he wanted to be with his mates.  He said he hated me.  I told him it didn’t matter because the teacher liked me.  She might even love me.  She’d put her arms round me and cuddled me and let me off doing my times tables.

     But I think ma might hate me.  She was very upset when the inspector came.  I kept asking what N.S.P.C.C meant.  She just went into a rage and said that if I ever said such terrible things again, she’d kill me with her bare hands. I don’t suppose putting gloves on would have made much difference.  I could see by the look on her face, she really meant it. 

     1996

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