One
A week before Lisa and Beth’s tenth birthday, Beth came down with an ear infection and was confined to bed. Her nanna popped in often to give her extra special cuddles or to bring her comics and cool drinks. Due to various quirks of fate, the twins only had one grandparent to speak of. Their mum’s parents had moved hundreds of miles away, in search of the sun, and rarely made the journey back to visit. And their dad’s dad had sadly passed away. He’d died of a heart attack in the final minutes of the 1966 FIFA World Cup. When Kenneth Wolstenholme had uttered those immortal words, ‘They think it’s all over – it is now!’ Nanna’s husband, Malcolm, had punched the air and promptly died. Nanna had never known if he’d been excited or angry. Unlike her, Malcolm wasn’t English. He was a proud Scotsman, who, regardless of moving down south and marrying Nanna, had never lost his accent. Of course, his death had taken place fourteen years before the girls had even been born and Nanna was over the shock now. But occasionally, when she was having an off day, she’d still blame Geoff Hurst for her husband’s death.
Even though she was only one person, Nanna managed to be better than everyone else’s grandparents put together. On the outside, she appeared for all the world like an ordinary, sensible woman who was approaching old age, but she was, in fact, utterly fantastic. She would think nothing of joining in when the neighbourhood kids played run-outs on the green, she threw herself into games like your average six-year-old, always prepared to embrace whatever imaginary scenario the girls had thought up. Plus, she carried a never-ending supply of goodies in her handbag. In short, she just had a way of making everything a little more fun. But make no mistake, she could be strict if need be. Growing up in poverty and losing her husband way too soon into her marriage, had given her a tough exterior, and you messed with her at your peril.
The weather soared. All the adults seemed to want to talk about was the temperature.
Beth spent the week in a sweaty haze, desperate to be well again. Sometimes the pain in her ears, coupled with the humid nights, meant she couldn’t sleep, so her sister, Lisa, would try to send her off by telling her her favourite story.
One of the times Nanna came in to check on her, Beth cried, ‘I have to be better for the party. I really, really do.’
‘Of course, you do, and you will. Provided you take your medicine and get lots of sleep, you’ll be fine.’
‘You know Dad’s making a paddling pool, don’t you?’
Nanna laughed. ‘Yes, cheeky man. What a rebel my son is.’
‘I can’t miss out on a paddling pool party. I just can’t.’
‘You’ll be fine. Like I say, just make sure you get lots of sleep for now. I know it’s hot, but you must try.’
‘But I keep having horrible dreams? Sometimes I can’t wait to wake up.’
‘Oh, darling, it’ll be your high temperature. Having a fever always makes your dreams strange,’ Nanna tried to reassure her. ‘Would it help if you told me about them?’
‘I don’t know what to say. They’re just … odd.’
‘Arriving at school with no skirt on? Can’t find a toilet? That kind of thing?’
‘No.’ Beth gave a giggle, but found it hurt her ears. ‘Not those sorts of dreams. These are just weird … and … um, I’m trapped and scared.’
‘You poor thing.’ Nanna gathered her up in a hug. ‘How about I hold you like this, and you try and have a wee nap now.’
‘But ‒’
‘And I promise,’ Nanna interrupted, ‘I won’t leave. I’ll stay right here and watch you sleep.’
Beth leant into Nanna. Just knowing she was there seemed to work wonders. She dreamed of pick ’n’ mix and her neighbour’s dog, Dylan.
Within minutes, Nanna was sweltering and desperate for a cup of tea, but she was true to her word and didn’t move a muscle.
Fortunately, Beth was well enough to get out of bed for the party. As promised, her dad, Don, had knocked up a large wooden frame at his garden bench, and lined it with clear polythene. As the party began, he attempted to silently fill the ‘pool’ with cold water, using the hose attached to the garden tap. It was the kind of beautiful sunny afternoon they’d all become accustomed to, in this gorgeous summer. The guest list was short, just a couple of the neighbourhood kids, and, as the pool began to fill, they started whooping and cheering and asking incriminating questions in their loud, squeaky voices, such as, ‘When can we get in the water?’ Being children, they had no idea why all the adults were banging on about droughts, hosepipe bans and water shortages. All they knew was; it was incredibly hot and they fancied a dip.
Don turned scarlet, glanced over the fence to see if their neighbour, ‘Grumpy Jack’, was watching, and demanded, ‘Will you lot shush, you’ll get me shot. We’re not meant to use the hosepipe. I told you that before.’
‘Beth, your dad’s brilliant. My mum would never let us do this.’ Michelle from number twelve was Beth’s best friend.
‘Don’t forget though, it’s illegal or something. Dad said you can’t tell anyone.’
‘That’s tragic. Why not?’ Michelle was bewildered.
‘I don’t know.’ Beth shook her head passionately; to demonstrate the fact she was as clueless as her friend. ‘He just said we’re only supposed to use water for special things.’
‘Oh … right … but?’
‘I know! What could be more special than a birthday paddling pool?’
‘Exactly! This is going to be such fun. I’m glad your ears got better.’
‘Me too. Mum says I have to keep these bits of cotton wool in, so the water doesn’t get inside, but apart from that, I’m OK.’
Beth was sorry when, only moments later, her dad dramatically turned the tap off and announced, ‘We just can’t chance any more water.’ With a theatrical gasp, he declared, ‘I swear to God, this is too risky. That’ll have to do, girls,’ then, turning to Charlie Morris, who lived at number forty-six, and was the owner of Dylan the dog, he added, ‘Sorry, and you, lad.’
Of course, the children grumbled under their breath. After all, the water was no more than three inches deep. But Don couldn’t be persuaded. Jack was prowling around his garden and Don knew he would be more than happy to dob them all in!
‘Wimp!’ Nanna laughed.
As the children stepped into the pool, all the breath was drawn from their bodies. The contrast between the heat of the blazing sun on their backs and the toe numbing water, left them speechless for a few seconds.
Charlie was the first to make a sound, squeaking, ‘Bloody hell!’ which caused Don to give him an old-fashioned look.
As chilly as the water was, they were determined to enjoy it, and soon their young bodies had adapted, and they could be seen lounging on their bottoms as happy as Saint Tropez holidaymakers. In actual fact, it was pitifully shallow, barely reaching halfway up their thighs. But even though this home-made ‘paddling pool’ was crummy, it still knocked spots off anything Michelle or Charlie could come up with.
The next hour or so was spent running around the garden in their swimwear, jumping in and out of the pool. Beth was pleased to watch the water drip off their bodies and provide the yellow, parched grass with a rare drink.
Charlie’s favourite song was ‘Street Tuff.’ He’d first heard it the year before and it was well and truly stuck in his head. As always, he drove the girls mad, singing the chorus repeatedly.
‘Charlie, please shush. I’ve told you before to stop singing that song. You’re about as tough as …’ Michelle gave it some thought. Momentarily stumped for an answer, she shook her head. ‘As … um?’
‘As your mum?’ Charlie volunteered.
‘Yes.’ Michelle laughed. ‘As my mum.’
‘Or my nanna.’ Beth joined in.
‘No way. Your nanna’s way tougher than him!’ Michelle plunged her hands into the pool and flicked cold water into Charlie’s face.
Flinching, he retaliated with a splash towards Michelle. ‘Piss off. You don’t scare me.’
Beth sat back and watched them play fight. They’d all been friends since they were little. Charlie and Michelle always fought, but it was never nasty. As always, the fight was soon over, and Charlie began running around the garden again. The girls lay back in the pool, chatting, no longer at all bothered by the temperature of the water.
Suddenly, Charlie shouted, ‘Geronimo. I’m gonna do it, watch me.’
The girls watched.
He ran at the pool, a determined look on his face. His small, pink tongue sticking purposefully out of the corner of his mouth. At the last possible second, he stopped abruptly, shook his head, and backed away.
‘He’s such a wally,’ Lisa said.
Beth agreed. She called out to Charlie, ‘That wasn’t very impressive.’
For the next few minutes, he continually boasted and called out to the others that he was going to do it. Beth had no idea what the it was that he was preparing to do. Knowing Charlie, nothing worth all this fuss, that was for sure!
Indoors, the girls’ mum, Pat, and Nanna were making sandwiches and checking on the solidity of the jelly, whilst in the garden, Don snoozed in a deckchair, keeping half an eye on the kids, as they dipped in and out of the makeshift pool.
By the time Pat called the children in for tea, they were all lying on the grass, panting.
Charlie shouted, ‘I’m flippin’ knackered!’ His hair was soaking wet and plastered to his head, making it plain to see where his mum had given him a dodgy home haircut.
Don gazed down at him. ‘Nice fringe. I see stocks are rising.’
Charlie gave a sigh. ‘I don’t think I can do it.’
‘Sorry. I’ve no idea what you’re on about, lad.’ Don offered the boy his hand and pulled him up from the grass.
The birthday tea was laid out on the dining room table: ham and cheese sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate Digestives (which were always known as Suggestives in their house because that was what Beth had called them until she was about six). There was also jelly and ice cream, marshmallows and grapes. And the pièce de résistance ‒ a wonky, homemade birthday cake.
Thirsty, after all the running and shouting, Beth and Michelle headed straight for the squash. ‘Orange or blackcurrant?’ Beth asked.
‘Blackcurrant, please.’
‘Charlie?’ Beth waited. ‘Charlie, what squash do you want?’
There was no answer. She poured her own drink and replaced the jug, waiting for him to return from the toilet, where she assumed he’d gone.
‘Shall we light the candles?’ Pat appeared with a large box of matches.
Lisa seemed keen. Beth wasn’t sure. ‘Um … I guess so. But …’
Pat struck the first match and began to light the ten silver candles that nestled in their plastic holders around the edge of the cake. ‘What’s up?’ She shook out the match as it burnt close to her fingers, and prepared to light another.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Charlie?’ It seemed a bit mean not to. It was possible the candles would be blown out before he returned and he’d miss it. Beth loved to watch her friends make a wish on their birthday.
Pat considered her daughter’s request. ‘Well, I’ve started now. He’ll not be long, I’m sure. Where is he?’
‘Toilet, I think.’
Don remarked, ‘Boys don’t take long in the lavatory.’
With that discussion well and truly complete, Pat continued to light the remaining candles.
The small group began to sing, ‘Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear …’
Beth couldn’t say what made her glance back into the garden, why she chose to look away from the delicious cake that was lovingly, if imperfectly, coated in homemade pink icing. Maybe Lisa noticed first. Whatever her reason for looking, what Beth saw made her scream. Even at the tender age of ten she knew, as she squinted into the sunlight, what she was looking at was wrong.