box
contained grated carrots with brown lumps.
‘That’s the big
surprise. I know the recipe said to use currants but dried fruit
like that is just a parcel of sugar. So those are little lumps of
prune, to help keep you regular.’
Catherine
looked at her Mummy and smiled.
‘Thank you so
much.’
Alma beamed at
her.
‘That’s okay,
darling. Anything for you, to keep you healthy and happy. We can’t
have you getting any fatter, can we..?’
Catherine
carefully packed her bag and put her water bottle in the pocket of
her school overcoat.
Alma fussed
them into the car and drove them off to the school gates. They were
in Daddy’s big car, as Mum had said he could only smoke in the
little second-hand one. No point in smoking out a new car: it just
lost more value.
As Alma watched
Catherine disappear into the school gate she spoke out loud into
the empty car.
‘Try and swap
any of that for the crap the other girls have!’
*
‘Why can’t we
go and visit Daddy’s grave, Mummy?’
‘It makes you
too upset. You cry, and it’s pointless.’
‘But Mum, I’d
like....’
‘THAT IS
ENOUGH. Do you not think I work my fingers to the bone for you as
it is? It’s costing a fortune to keep you in that school and I’ve
had enough of this. A grateful daughter would be making her mother
a cup of tea now, not screeching on about how UNFAIR LIFE IS. LIFE
IS UNFAIR, CATHERINE, how many times have I told you about that?
It’s not as if...’
Catherine sat
very still. If she could just make herself as small and still as
possible, whilst still looking attentive...
‘And don’t you
dare give me that look! Don’t you DARE look at me like that! What
have I ever done to deserve your cheek, and your stubbornness? No
wonder you put your father in his grave...without pestering him
there as well!’
Catherine sent
herself to her room where she swallowed it all down with the
chocolate she’d stolen from the local shop.
*
‘I just don’t
see how you can do it. I just don’t know how you can get through
the day, knowing you look like this.’
Catherine was
laid out on her mother’s lap. A cushion from the couch was on her
mother’s lap and Catherine’s head was on the cushion. They’d
already done the left hand side of her face, and thus they’d moved
the end of the couch they were on, so the right side of Catherine’s
face could be presented to her mother, whilst she, Catherine, kept
her attention glued to Top of the Pops on the television in
the far corner. Alma had laid out her instruments on a cushion
beside her: a needle kit, tweezers, a match for sterilising and
cotton balls.
Catherine was
trying to listen to David Cassidy as her mother dug into her
ears.
‘How you do not
know how dirty you are, is beyond me... it’s not like I don’t make
you wash...’
The needle was
being pricked into her ear. Catherine flinched.
‘I’ve told you
not to move. I don’t want to make a red mark. I never make a red
mark.’
Catherine
remained still.
Alma’s nails
dug into the skin on the inside of Catherine’s ears.
‘Oh my god!
LOOK AT IT. It’s huge!’
Alma continued
to press down.
‘Oh, and the
smell...’
Alma made as if
to gag.
Catherine kept
staring at David Cassidy’s face, although she’d lost the ability to
hear the words. His mouth kept moving, his eyes kept shining, and
his hair kept gleaming. Catherine filled in the words under her
breath.
‘Look at it.’
Alma’s voice had dipped low, to concern and care, as she leaned her
hand over into Catherine’s vision.
On Alma’s
impeccable nail, in a long squirm of worm, was the blackhead that
had been squeezed out of Catherine’s inner ear. It was thick and
whitish.
‘Just look at
THAT!’
Alma had used
the needle to zero in on the round black plug at the end of the
string of sebum.
‘Look at that
dirt. That’s what people can see when they stand next to you. How
can you bear it? You might not be able to see into your ears, but
other
contained grated carrots with brown lumps.
‘That’s the big
surprise. I know the recipe said to use currants but dried fruit
like that is just a parcel of sugar. So those are little lumps of
prune, to help keep you regular.’
Catherine
looked at her Mummy and smiled.
‘Thank you so
much.’
Alma beamed at
her.
‘That’s okay,
darling. Anything for you, to keep you healthy and happy. We can’t
have you getting any fatter, can we..?’
Catherine
carefully packed her bag and put her water bottle in the pocket of
her school overcoat.
Alma fussed
them into the car and drove them off to the school gates. They were
in Daddy’s big car, as Mum had said he could only smoke in the
little second-hand one. No point in smoking out a new car: it just
lost more value.
As Alma watched
Catherine disappear into the school gate she spoke out loud into
the empty car.
‘Try and swap
any of that for the crap the other girls have!’
*
‘Why can’t we
go and visit Daddy’s grave, Mummy?’
‘It makes you
too upset. You cry, and it’s pointless.’
‘But Mum, I’d
like....’
‘THAT IS
ENOUGH. Do you not think I work my fingers to the bone for you as
it is? It’s costing a fortune to keep you in that school and I’ve
had enough of this. A grateful daughter would be making her mother
a cup of tea now, not screeching on about how UNFAIR LIFE IS. LIFE
IS UNFAIR, CATHERINE, how many times have I told you about that?
It’s not as if...’
Catherine sat
very still. If she could just make herself as small and still as
possible, whilst still looking attentive...
‘And don’t you
dare give me that look! Don’t you DARE look at me like that! What
have I ever done to deserve your cheek, and your stubbornness? No
wonder you put your father in his grave...without pestering him
there as well!’
Catherine sent
herself to her room where she swallowed it all down with the
chocolate she’d stolen from the local shop.
*
‘I just don’t
see how you can do it. I just don’t know how you can get through
the day, knowing you look like this.’
Catherine was
laid out on her mother’s lap. A cushion from the couch was on her
mother’s lap and Catherine’s head was on the cushion. They’d
already done the left hand side of her face, and thus they’d moved
the end of the couch they were on, so the right side of Catherine’s
face could be presented to her mother, whilst she, Catherine, kept
her attention glued to Top of the Pops on the television in
the far corner. Alma had laid out her instruments on a cushion
beside her: a needle kit, tweezers, a match for sterilising and
cotton balls.
Catherine was
trying to listen to David Cassidy as her mother dug into her
ears.
‘How you do not
know how dirty you are, is beyond me... it’s not like I don’t make
you wash...’
The needle was
being pricked into her ear. Catherine flinched.
‘I’ve told you
not to move. I don’t want to make a red mark. I never make a red
mark.’
Catherine
remained still.
Alma’s nails
dug into the skin on the inside of Catherine’s ears.
‘Oh my god!
LOOK AT IT. It’s huge!’
Alma continued
to press down.
‘Oh, and the
smell...’
Alma made as if
to gag.
Catherine kept
staring at David Cassidy’s face, although she’d lost the ability to
hear the words. His mouth kept moving, his eyes kept shining, and
his hair kept gleaming. Catherine filled in the words under her
breath.
‘Look at it.’
Alma’s voice had dipped low, to concern and care, as she leaned her
hand over into Catherine’s vision.
On Alma’s
impeccable nail, in a long squirm of worm, was the blackhead that
had been squeezed out of Catherine’s inner ear. It was thick and
whitish.
‘Just look at
THAT!’
Alma had used
the needle to zero in on the round black plug at the end of the
string of sebum.
‘Look at that
dirt. That’s what people can see when they stand next to you. How
can you bear it? You might not be able to see into your ears, but
other
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