Mummy Knew by Lisa James Read Free Book Online Page A

big and too grown-up with their scooped necklines. Somehow I always seemed to be wearing T-shirts in winter and itchy sweaters in summer, but some things were constant regardless of season, such as my smelly knickers and odd grey socks.
    We did P.E. in our underwear and I used to watch all the other children. Compared to me they looked like catalogue models. Everything matched: bright white vest tucked into knickers I just knew were clean on that morning. I had reached the age where I was self-aware enough to feel embarrassed about my own underwear. Some of the other kids would snigger and whisper about me behind my back and my friend Claire would tell them to shut up. I knew they had all noticed I was wearing the same knickers as last week, and I felt the odd one out. School wasn’t as much fun as I’d thought it was going to be.
    As I got a little older, I tried to help myself a bit more. I’d ask Mummy if she could give me some money so I could take my clothes to the launderette with Cheryl, but she would usually forget so I’d attempt to wash some things under the tap in the kitchen instead. If there was any washing-up liquid, I’d use a bit of that then spend ages trying to rinse the bubbles out. In the end, I’d give up and just squeeze the rest of the suds out before leaving the clothes in the airing cupboard. They’d dry stiff as a board and I’d have to crunch them up in my hand a few times before I could wear them.
    Occasionally Nanny or Jenny would buy me some new clothes. For a few days I could pretend to be like one of the kids at school, with their coordinating outfits, but soon my lovely new blouse or trousers would be as grubby as everything else I owned.
    I remember being particularly proud of a little woollen dress Jenny bought me from the market. It was pink with multicoloured flowers. After wearing it every day for a week,I reluctantly took it off. Every few days I’d ask Mummy if she’d washed it yet, and she would say ‘No, I bleedin’ well haven’t. Now bugger off out of it.’ I came across it a few weeks later still buried at the bottom of the laundry bag. It had been there so long that the pretty flowers were blackened with mould. Mummy did eventually wash it, but not only did the black mould not wash out, but it also shrank so much that only my favourite dolly, Jemima, could wear it.
    Around this time Aunt Freda had a heart attack and died. Mummy didn’t bother to explain what had happened so it came as quite a shock to visit Nanny one day and find Aunt Freda’s armchair empty.
    ‘She’s with the angels, pet,’ said Nanny, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her apron.
    Freda was the eldest of Nanny’s four girls, and losing her so suddenly hit her hard. ‘I can’t believe Donna didn’t even come to the funeral,’ I heard her say to Jenny. ‘How could she be so uncaring?’
    ‘It’s him, Mum,’ said Jenny, trying to console her.
    ‘I’m not sure it is,’ Nanny replied. ‘He’s scum, there’s no doubt about that, but Donna’s always been a cold fish. Look how she left the little ’un like that.’
    My visits to Nanny and Jenny remained intermittent but during the periods I was allowed to visit them, I’d spend most weekends there. In contrast to our flat, their place was always clean and tidy. Carpets were hoovered, floors swept and every surface dusted. The kitchen was pristine, without so much as a speck of dirt. Every night after dinner Jenny wouldn’t sit down until every dish and pot was washed, dried and putaway. I’d usually arrive on Friday evening in time for dinner. I especially loved Jenny’s spaghetti bolognaise, which tasted a thousand times better than the orange tinned stuff I had at home. I used to laugh as I watched her throw a strand of spaghetti at the wall to test if it was cooked. If it stuck, it was ready to drain.
    After dinner, Jenny would run me a lovely warm bubble bath. The carpet was pink and so soft I could wiggle my toes into it, in