pleaded for a new school coat or skirt and always got the same reply. 'I'm a bit short now, darling. Next week maybe!'
So many excuses. She was going for an audition. This job interview was important. But mostly, 'He adores me, darling. I have to look right, just think how good it will be to have a new father.'
Who was the man she went to meet in London?
Camellia had long since given up questioning Bonny about her boyfriends, because all her relationships ended the same way. One moment she was talking of flats in London, holidays in the sun and her belief their luck was changing, then the next it was all over. Bonny was like a fisherman, idly dreaming away her life on a sunny river bank, catching one, playing with him for awhile, then throwing him back, always looking for the illusive big catch.
Yet she had been unusually secretive about this last man. She'd made long phone calls late at night, her eyes glowing as if he really was important, and kept hinting that something wonderful was around the corner for both of them. Just a few days earlier she had spoken of getting them both a passport. Why hadn't she ever said his name or brought him back here?
'I suppose he was married,' Camellia sighed.
As she flicked through dresses, tears welled up in her eyes, splashing down her cheeks unheeded. A memory of an evening some four weeks earlier sprang into her mind, a good memory that softened some of the anger.
Bonny was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair over her sun-kissed shoulders, wearing just her bra and panties. Her stomach was as flat as a board. She smiled as Camellia held out dresses for her to choose from.
'That one's too dressy for drinks.' Bonny rejected the emerald green one with beading on the shoulder. 'I don't feel like wearing black tonight. Get me out the pink crepe!'
'I wish I had a dress like this one.' Camellia held the pink one up to her and looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection made her cry. She was a fat lump with piggy dark eyes, lank hair, sallow greasy skin and she felt she would never look good in anything.
She didn't hear her mother move, but suddenly she was there behind her, rubbing her soft perfumed cheek against Camellia's.
'You won't always be tubby, darling,' she said so very gently. 'One day you'll wake up and find it's all gone and you are beautiful.'
'How do you know?' Camellia sniffed back her tears. 'You've never been fat in your life.'
Bonny laughed, but this time there was no sarcasm in it.
'Because I had a good friend once who was every bit as plump as you. She turned out be one of the most gorgeous women anyone has ever seen. Besides you've got a lovely nature, darling, when the fat drops off, as it will, you'll be twice the woman I am.'
Camellia lifted out that pink dress and held it to her face and sobbed. She could smell her mother's perfume, feel that smooth cheek pressing against her own.
That night she'd gone to bed full of optimism. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in herself recently, perhaps she might have noticed something wasn't right with her mother.
All at once Camellia felt the full force of what Bonny's death really meant. She didn't care about the bad memories, the slights and humiliations. She just wanted her mother back, anyhow, anyway.
'Why Mummy? Why?' she whispered. 'If things were so bad why couldn't you have just come home and told me? You were always telling me to hold my head up and ignore spiteful people. I'm not a child any longer, I could have helped.'
It was a mixture of anger and grief that made her search through everything. Somewhere here she might find an explanation or at least a clue. She turned out everything: shoe boxes, old handbags,even coat pockets. She found almost a pound in change, but nothing else.
Next the dressing table, flicking aside the silky underwear with its waft of Chanel perfume, but still nothing.
A few photographs in an envelope of her father made her cry again. In the pictures he was just a
So many excuses. She was going for an audition. This job interview was important. But mostly, 'He adores me, darling. I have to look right, just think how good it will be to have a new father.'
Who was the man she went to meet in London?
Camellia had long since given up questioning Bonny about her boyfriends, because all her relationships ended the same way. One moment she was talking of flats in London, holidays in the sun and her belief their luck was changing, then the next it was all over. Bonny was like a fisherman, idly dreaming away her life on a sunny river bank, catching one, playing with him for awhile, then throwing him back, always looking for the illusive big catch.
Yet she had been unusually secretive about this last man. She'd made long phone calls late at night, her eyes glowing as if he really was important, and kept hinting that something wonderful was around the corner for both of them. Just a few days earlier she had spoken of getting them both a passport. Why hadn't she ever said his name or brought him back here?
'I suppose he was married,' Camellia sighed.
As she flicked through dresses, tears welled up in her eyes, splashing down her cheeks unheeded. A memory of an evening some four weeks earlier sprang into her mind, a good memory that softened some of the anger.
Bonny was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair over her sun-kissed shoulders, wearing just her bra and panties. Her stomach was as flat as a board. She smiled as Camellia held out dresses for her to choose from.
'That one's too dressy for drinks.' Bonny rejected the emerald green one with beading on the shoulder. 'I don't feel like wearing black tonight. Get me out the pink crepe!'
'I wish I had a dress like this one.' Camellia held the pink one up to her and looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection made her cry. She was a fat lump with piggy dark eyes, lank hair, sallow greasy skin and she felt she would never look good in anything.
She didn't hear her mother move, but suddenly she was there behind her, rubbing her soft perfumed cheek against Camellia's.
'You won't always be tubby, darling,' she said so very gently. 'One day you'll wake up and find it's all gone and you are beautiful.'
'How do you know?' Camellia sniffed back her tears. 'You've never been fat in your life.'
Bonny laughed, but this time there was no sarcasm in it.
'Because I had a good friend once who was every bit as plump as you. She turned out be one of the most gorgeous women anyone has ever seen. Besides you've got a lovely nature, darling, when the fat drops off, as it will, you'll be twice the woman I am.'
Camellia lifted out that pink dress and held it to her face and sobbed. She could smell her mother's perfume, feel that smooth cheek pressing against her own.
That night she'd gone to bed full of optimism. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in herself recently, perhaps she might have noticed something wasn't right with her mother.
All at once Camellia felt the full force of what Bonny's death really meant. She didn't care about the bad memories, the slights and humiliations. She just wanted her mother back, anyhow, anyway.
'Why Mummy? Why?' she whispered. 'If things were so bad why couldn't you have just come home and told me? You were always telling me to hold my head up and ignore spiteful people. I'm not a child any longer, I could have helped.'
It was a mixture of anger and grief that made her search through everything. Somewhere here she might find an explanation or at least a clue. She turned out everything: shoe boxes, old handbags,even coat pockets. She found almost a pound in change, but nothing else.
Next the dressing table, flicking aside the silky underwear with its waft of Chanel perfume, but still nothing.
A few photographs in an envelope of her father made her cry again. In the pictures he was just a
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