“You can’t go in places you’ve not been invited.”
“Who says?”
“Mammy.”
I rolled my eyes right back into my head. “Honestly, Linda,” I said. “Your mammy’s not God, you know.”
I went the rest of the way up the path and knocked the door very loudly. Vicky’s mammy opened it with a jug of squash in her hand and a flustery look on her face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You left us behind,” I said.
“What?” she said.
“We were doing the marching as well. Everyone else came in here but we got left behind. On an accident,” I said.
“I don’t think that’s really what happened,” she said.
“Well don’t worry,” I said. “We’re here now.” I stepped forward so she had to let me past, and Linda scuttled in after me, staring at the floor. Everyone was in the lounge, the mammies on couches and chairs and the kids in a clump by the window. The mammies all looked round when we came in. Donna’s mammy said, “Oh, hello, you two,” and Vicky’s mammy said, “They just turned up,” and Mrs. Harold said, “Nice to see you girls, come on in and get something to eat,” and Vicky’s mammy looked like she was going to scream.
It had definitely been a good idea to come in. Vicky’s mammy had laid out cakes and sausage rolls and corned beef sandwiches and lemonade on a table in the corner. It was one of the best party teas I had ever seen, like the ones Steven’s mammy used to do for Susan’s and Steven’s birthday parties. I suddenly thought that if Steven’s mammy never stopped being sad about Steven she might never do a party tea for Susan ever again. I hadn’t thought of that before. It made me feel very cross about everything. I filled my plate so full that Vicky’s mammy tapped me on the shoulder and told me off for being greedy, and then me and Linda sat on the floor with the other kids, eating the food and drinking the lemonade. Steven’s mammy was sitting on the couch with Vicky’s mammy on one side and Donna’s mammy on the other. As I watched, Vicky’s mammy rubbed her arm and said, “How are you doing, love? You’re being ever so brave.”
“Yes,” said Donna’s mammy, putting her tea down so fast the cup nearly tipped over and curling her whole arm around Steven’s mammy. “You poor, poor dear. Such a hard day for you.”
Steven’s mammy nodded and said, “Mmm,” and looked as if she wanted to hit them. I knew how she felt. When bad things happened to you, people always said things like “Poor you” and “You’re so brave,” and it was meant to make you feel better but usually it just made you feel worse, because you didn’t want to be brave and poor, you just wanted the bad thing not to be happening. It was like when I was the only one in Class Four who didn’t have their mammy or da come to watch the assembly, and Miss White said, “Mammy and da not here, Chrissie? Poor old you,” and I kicked her shin so hard she got a hole in her tights. She wanted to stop me being in the assembly after that, but she couldn’t because then there would have been no one to say my lines. Or Linda’s.
The mammies were just doing their normal gossiping when Steven’s mammy made a splutterish crying noise and suddenly everyone was flapping. I leaned around Donna to see.
“What’s the matter, Mary?” asked Mrs. Harold.
“It’s not him,” she said.
“What’s not?” asked Vicky’s mammy.
“It’s not him,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Donna’s mammy.
Steven’s mammy lurched forward and pulled a newspaper from the shelf under the coffee table. I stood up on my knees to see, but the stupid mammies were crowded around in a thick clump that blocked my view, so I had to go and stand on the other side of the table and look over. The newspaper had a picture of a little boy on the front, and above him it said, MONTHS AND NO ARREST: BABY STRANGLER STILL AT LARGE. Steven’s mammy was batting the page but she had her head twisted away, her chin digging into her shoulder. A vein in her neck stuck out like a purple worm.
“It’s not him,” she said.
“Oh God, it’s Robert,” said Robert’s mammy. She put her hand on her chest and panted. “That’s my Robbie.”
“How the hell did they manage that?” said Vicky’s mammy.
“They were in the photo together,” said Robert’s mammy. “It was at the school fete. There. You can see Steven’s arm. People said they looked like twins.”
“So they cut it in half and used the wrong boy?” said Donna’s mammy.
“Lazy sods,” said Vicky’s mammy. “How long would it have taken them to check?”
“They were probably rushed,” said Mrs. Harold.
“That’s my Robbie,” said Robert’s mammy.
Steven’s mammy was making a wheezing noise. She had let go of the paper but her hands were clawed like she was still holding it, and tears were coming down her cheeks in sheets. I went to the tea table, picked up a fairy cake and a napkin, went back to the space in front of the mammies, and held the napkin out to her. The mammies stopped twittering. Steven’s mammy looked at me, took the napkin, and pressed it against her face.
“Thank you,” she said.
“That was nice of you, Chrissie,” said Mrs. Harold. Everyone seemed quite surprised that I had done something nice. I put the whole fairy cake into my mouth and tried to swallow but it wouldn’t go down. Vicky’s mammy had to come and slap me on the back. It came unstuck from my throat and I spat it into my hand, mushed up and gluey. I held it out to her.
“I don’t really want this anymore,” I said.
“Oh, Chrissie,” she said, screwing up her nose. “That’s horrid. Go and throw it in the bin.” She pushed me into the kitchen. I didn’t like her calling
