Part 17 (1/2)

The air went different. She turned and stared. I went over, in my head, what I just said. Her eyes squinted and her teeth opened. ”I do not believe what I just heard. Can you have the money? Is that what you just said to me? You want the money? You ... have got to be the nosiest, most money-grubbing, intolerable child I ever-Your poor mother. How she ever managed to put up with you. Where you get the nerve is beyond my comprehension-that you dare!” She turned and yanked open the stove door, then went back for her cookie sheet, slammed it inside and banged the door shut. ”That's it. I've had enough. I'm through dealing with you and I'm calling Todd this afternoon. Maybe your mother could do it for nine years, but I can't. I can't stomach this another day,” and she left the kitchen.

s.p.a.ce.

Eilleen Twelve.

DECEMBER 1974.

IT'S SAt.u.r.dAY AFTERNOON and you're doing your roots, naked from the waist up, stained towel round your neck, plastic gloves on, covered in nut red goop, consistency of egg white, toothbrush in hand, bristles slimed and ready for the next parting of the h.o.a.ry sea. You've just started working your way towards the back-hate the back, can't see a b.l.o.o.d.y thing-when the phone rings. s.h.i.+t. There's c.r.a.p on your ears and on your neck. And it's ringing again. s.h.i.+t. Drop your toothbrush in the goop cup. Oh, forget it, just let it ring. n.o.body important ever calls you anyway. And you pick up the brush again, but the phone keeps ringing. Thing's already rung half a dozen times; if you grab it now, they'll hang up for sure.

Well, c.r.a.p, hang up!

So you start pulling at the tips of the gloves-and then rinse them off instead. Swish them around and listen to the phone scream fire. Scream fire; does that mean someone's being raped?- what is that thing again, if you're on fire (dry your hands on your neck towel)-if you're being towelled, scream rape. If your towel's screaming-h.e.l.lo!?

Mummy?

Oh! Grace! For goodness' sake, didn't even occur to me it might be you. h.e.l.lo, angel, where are you?

Sadie and Eddy's.

Oh, because I'm just doing my roots. Can I call you back? Asia there's a pause while your child hums like she hasn't heard a word. Sweety, what's going on? anything wrong? And she pauses from the not-tuneful melody and says Huh?

I said, what's wrong, you sound funny.

Yeah. Mm.

Grace?

And she's humming again.

Grace, what the heck's going on? Alice said you were over there the other night and you didn't know whether you were coming or going, you could hardly put a sentence together. What's wrong?

Pause. Yeah. um. I think I have to go?

What?

I think Mrs. Hood is going to tell Todd I have to go cuz, um, she doesn't want me there any more. And then she starts something close to singing, can't figure out what. Sounds like the radio is on in the background.

What do you mean, she doesn't want you there? What's going on, what did she say?

She said, um, I asked if I didn't go with them to Harrison, could I have the money that the Welfare was giving for it, and she said that I was nosy and money-grubbing and how could you have ever put up with me for nine years. And more singing-sounded like she said ”They're searching for us everywhere, but we will never be found, na-na-na ...”

Grace! Stop it-what are you singing?

Just this song-and she said she couldn't stomach me any more. And then your child sings, ”Band on the run, na-na-na, band on the run ...”

Grace! Listen to me, stop singing! Stop it.

And it's quiet, just music in the background and one of Alice's brats screaming its smelly head off in the distance. Then small and gravelly, I'm scared to go home.

Miss Clairol Flame is dripping down your neck, which has heated up to your ears.

Bulls.h.i.+t! Your kid is your kid, and that's the bottom line-G.o.dd.a.m.n b.i.t.c.h. Swallow hard and say up-your-a.s.s to the system: So don't go.

What? The voice is bug-sized with tiny paper wings.

Don't go. Come home. To me.

Grace Fourteen.

DECEMBER 1974.

THE CLOSEST BUS STOP was three blocks away, on Main Street. I sat on the bench breathing into my mittens, watching all the cars for Mrs. Hood or Todd Baker. They knew for sure I wasn't just late. I stomped my feet on the ice and pulled my scarf higher up my face and walked back and forth in front of the bench.

Every time I pushed my mitt down to check my watch, my stomach crittered up my ribs. It was after four o'clock and getting darker. Someone pulled on my coat and whispered ”Grace”-I spun around, and smashed down on the ice. No one was there, just one of those big rusty bench screws caught on the hem of my coat. I looked around again to make double sure they weren't there and, before I could get up, the bus splashed up to the curb and slushed me all over. The doors opened and the driver chuckled, watching me stomp up the steps. ”Sorry, kid-what the heck were you doing on the ground?” and his neck jiggled like his belly. I was crabbed and thought of mean fat stuff, but I was too scared to look at him in case he recognized me. Maybe the police were looking for me. I dumped my money in the box, then went and found a window seat so I could see them before they saw me.

When Mum opened the door, we stood there a second with our eyes sticking on each other. She grabbed me and pulled me to her stomach. ”Quick, get inside,” and she slammed the door closed behind me, ”it's cold.” She straightened up and put her hands on my shoulders, then put one hand on her hip and the other one on her forehead, then dropped both by her sides. She pulled my toque off and patted my head cuz of it being sweaty. ”Well, actually, no. Here,” and she pushed the toque back on, looked over her shoulder to the living room. ”I'm packing the couple things you left here and I called Stewart. Remember Stewart? I thought maybe we better get out of here, and stay the night there. I don't think it's a good idea if we're here tonight-OK? Are you OK, sweety, you look a little peaked?”

I nodded. ”Did they call here? They're probably gonna come. Should I phone and make something up or something? Or-did Todd Baker call?”

”No, but I'm sure we'll hear from him. I should threaten to turn the b.u.g.g.e.r in if he doesn't mind his own G.o.dd.a.m.n business. I s'pose he's got some kind of asylum here, though. Come on, come in the bedroom while I get our things together-oh s.h.i.+t, I suppose I should call a cab.”

I followed along behind her. ”Did you say he's in an asylum?”

Mum giggled a scared laugh. ”You're a dandy, MaryAnne. It-I'll tell you later. Now ... there's a bag on the bed with underpants and pyjamas and a pair of slacks, and that crummy yellow dress that Mrs. Hood got you-don't worry, I'll call her myself later and let her know where you are, and I'll call Baker too-don't worry, angel,” she did her accent like Carol Burnett being The Queen. ”Darling, don't let's get in a tizzy, it'll all come out in the wash.”

”I'm just scared they'll come.”

”No one's coming-they'll just think you're late. You're a kid, kids do that. OK, OK, hmm, OK, I think that's it, go call six-six-nine, seven-triple-seven and ask for a taxi. You know the address?”

We took the elevator up to floor seventeen in Stewart's building. When the door opened, he had a drink in his free hand. ”Wellll! ...” His voice was so low and big, it rumbled. ”Look at you! look at you, Gracey! Jesus Christ, you're big. Last time I saw you, you were like this-” he brought his hand way down as if the last time he saw me I was as big as a cat, ”and now look atcha! Growin' like a weed!” He chuckled and nodded, and he was really bald. I noticed cuz he took his hand off the door to scratch some hair still at the back.

Mum and I stood in the hall; I looked at Stewart's belly and she patted it, then pulled me past him inside. ”Oh, Stewart, you silly old thing. Have you got anything in the fridge, I'd like to make Grace something for dinner. We've been rus.h.i.+ng around so much, we haven't really had time to eat.”

Stewart hung on to the door, smiling still, after Mum dropped our tote bag on the floor and started looking through the cupboards in his kitchen. ”Oh,” he swung it closed, ”uh, hmm uh yeah, well something, yeah, there must be something. Maybe Kraft Dinner or something.”

Mum stared into a cupboard. ”Hey kiddo, you want some Kraft Dinner for a treat, or what? Or-r-r, here, hey, here's some corned beef-I could make you a corned beef sandwich. Stewart? Bread? Have you got any bread? and mustard?”

Stewart closed the door and went and leaned on the counter-top that was between the puny kitchen and the living room. He squished his fingertips in his forehead and looked at Mum's b.u.m.