Sometimes when Dad is sad I press our Scottish Bagpipe fridge magnet to try to cheer him up. (In our house, when anyone presses the Scottish bagpipe magnet it plays a tune, and whatever you are doing you have to stop, get up, and all do Scottish dancing in the kitchen.)
Dad doesn’t really join in properly, even when me and Mum and Lois are all shouting, “Come on, Daddy, watch us.”
All he says is, “That looks more like Irish dancing.”
“Come on, John, join in, it’s the rules,” Mum says.
“Hasn’t that bloody battery worn out yet?” Dad replies. “We’ve had the damn thing for three years.”
But it never seems to. I think it’s magic.
Lois doesn’t really notice any of this. She is only a baby, even though we all have to pretend she’s a big girl and placate her by telling her that it’s okay she’s not the baby of the family, Maggie and Bob are (they are four and a half years old).
In case you’re wondering, Bob and Maggie are our cats. Mum calls Bob her “familiar”, which is what witches have as a kind of helper. This cannot be right. Bob has never helped anyone do anything. In fact, he does the opposite. He’s very lazy, likes being cuddled A LOT, and quite often wees on the floor. He’s epileptic, so he does have a medical reason for this. Try telling yourself that though when you accidentally walk through a wee patch. Boy, cat wee really stinks!
Lois may be oblivious to what goes on, but I notice everything.
3
Me
Can you see I have quite a lot to contend with at home? A crazy Mum who’s desperate to work, a Dad who often has a raincloud above his head, a house full of bonkers witches and wizards who come and go like it’s normal, and an annoying little sister who should go in the Guinness Book of Records for her wind.
I love school. It’s my solace really. Don’t get me wrong, I do love being at home too, but since Dad started his new job we see so much less of him. He doesn’t get home till about 8 o’clock, when Lois is usually asleep and I’m upstairs reading.
He looks all stressed and we have a quick chat, but that’s it until the weekend. Sometimes I wonder how different it would have been if my parents hadn’t had me and Lois. Then they wouldn’t always be so worried about working and earning money and all that.
Maybe I could find a way of earning some money, too. I think about what I’m good at and suddenly a plan forms in my head.
So, I write to the BBC.
Rosemary Pellow
21 Arkansas Road
Liverpool
L15 7LY
September 14th, 2020
Dear Sir or Madam,
I love watching Dancing Divas! I think it would be great to have a version with kids in it. I am working on my Grade 2 ballet and my Grade 3 modern at the moment, so I think I could be one of your contestants. My mum says I’m pretty, so I would look okay in the costumes.
Also, it would be a way of earning some money for my family. I don’t need to earn loads, but a few pounds would be good.
I’m good at making dances up too, although I can’t yet do the splits even though I do practise a lot. You see, it hurts a bit.
Thank you for reading my letter and please reply.
Yours sincerely,
Rosemary Pellow, aged 9
I decide to have a rootle through my mum’s spell boxes to see if I can find any spells that might get us more money. I do think about speaking to Phyllis or Frances about spells but decide Mum might be cross if I tell them our business.
It’s quite interesting what I find in Mum’s boxes:
Some dried lavender
Two dead spiders (Yuk!)
Dried mistletoe
Dried comfrey
Dried elderberries (they stink)
Different coloured candles
Silk bags in a variety of vibrant colours
Acorns
Some old chewing gum
Lots of pretty-coloured crystals
A paper star with Mum’s handwriting on it.
I’d only got through one box when I came across the star. It was quite big, I suppose the size of a grownup’s hand, and it was green. There was a big circle in the middle with the words “Wish List” and coming off of the circle like little spikes were lines attached to other words: security, self-esteem, confidence, independence, freedom.
It was the last two words that frightened me. I wasn’t sure what “self-esteem” meant, but I knew what “independence” and “freedom” meant. It sounded like she was wishing to be on her own, free from all of us. How could this be?
I kept very still for a few moments trying to take in what I had found, trying not to panic or breathe too quickly in my anxiety. I felt scared, and I felt angry that I had snooped.
It’s true what they say, that if you are looking for things you won’t necessarily like what you find. Was our mum so unhappy that she wanted to be free to be on her own without me Lois and Dad? I scanned over the last few months quickly in my head. She was fed up with not working, yes, and she seemed exasperated with Dad. But she was always fine with me and Lois. She’d pick us up from school full of smiles. Sometimes we’d walk home and have a laugh as we went past the “bottom tree”. We’d stick our bums out to match the funny shape of the tree and she’d take a photo. She helped me with my homework and listened to me when I read to her at night. She didn’t seem to be preoccupied with wishing she had another life.
Then I thought back to Sarah Jane, one of the girls in my class. Her mum always collected her from school most days and never looked sad or unhappy with her life. Then, last Christmas, she got rushed to hospital. She hadn’t broken any bones or anything, so none of us were really sure what had happened.
I remember at school we all made a card for Sarah Jane with sunshines and rainbows on and it said, We hope your mum gets well soon.
Mr Bobbin, the religious studies teacher, patiently explained to us that sometimes people get poorly not on the outside, but on the inside, so you can’t always see their illness. Thankfully, her mum did get better in a way. She came out of hospital and still collects Sarah Jane and her little sister, Sasha, but she looks very thin and fragile, as if she might break if she’s not careful. She also has this little black dog which seems to follow her around. It waits for her outside the school gates, but it’s not always there, so perhaps sometimes they leave it at home. All these thoughts are whirling round my head. Does my mum want out? Okay, I can handle stuff, I thought, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the pain in my tummy. But what about Lois? She’s like Mum’s shadow, always wanting huggles and kisses, and if Mum ever goes away for a night to see her sister in London, Lois is inconsolable. She does the “I’m being such a brave girl” act with Dad, but with me she’s mega needy, and I can’t cope with the responsibility of having to look after her. I do love her, she’s my little sister, but she can be a royal pain in the bum sometimes.
No, I’m sure Mum wouldn’t want to run away and leave us all. I felt loved by my mum, she was a warm cuddly Mum who always had time to talk to us. I decided I had to keep a very close eye on her from now on to see if I could spot any strange signs that perhaps I had missed before.