“No. Obviously not. But I have got coins,” I said. I pulled them out of my pocket and held them right up to her face.
“Who’d you nick them off, then?” she asked.
“No one. Got given them,” I said.
“By who?”
I thought of Da, staggering out of the pub as I walked toward the house, taking hold of my elbow with a hot hand. He had reached into his pocket and taken out the clatter of coins, pressed them into my palm, and said, “Here, take this, it’s all I’ve got, take it and get yourself something to eat.” When he staggered back into the pub I heard him go to the bar and ask Ronnie for another drink. So it wasn’t all he had. It was all he had left over after he paid for the things he actually cared about.
“No one,” I said to Mrs. Bunty. “I didn’t pinch them, though. They’re mine. And I want to buy some sweets.”
She would have liked to tell me I wasn’t allowed, but then the vicar came in to buy a newspaper and she had to pretend to be nice so she wouldn’t go to hell. I took the big jar of lollipops off the counter and tried to twist off the lid. It was stiff and my hands kept slipping.
“You want some help with that, lass?” asked the vicar, reaching out.
“No,” I said. I gave it one last tug and it moved.
“My,” said the vicar. “Strong hands you’ve got there, eh?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got very strong hands.”
I bought a lollipop and a bag of jelly babies, even though I didn’t like lollipops or jelly babies. Mrs. Bunty took my coins as if I had peed on them. I wished I had peed on them.
When I got to Ruthie’s house I went up the garden path and rang the bell underneath the door number. No one answered at first, so I rang again and again until the beautiful woman came. She wasn’t looking her most beautiful. She was still in her nightie and dressing gown even though it was past breakfast time, and her hair was coming out of its curlers in yellow worms. Her face was the color of old washing-up water.
“Oh, hello, Chrissie,” she said. Ruthie came out of the lounge and ran into the back of her legs, hitting her so hard she nearly fell on top of me. That was typical Ruthie, I thought. Always making the beautiful woman’s life worse. She was dressed in a puff-sleeved cotton dress patterned with red and white checks, and her feet were stuffed into frilly white socks and red leather shoes. Her doctor’s case was red too, and she was carrying it by the handle, so she matched from head to toe. There were even red ribbons in her orange hair, making her head look like fire.
“Can I take Ruthie to the playground?” I asked. When Ruthie heard “playground” she clapped her fat little hands together and pulled on the beautiful woman’s arm. Every time the beautiful woman wriggled away Ruthie got hold of her again and pumped her hand up and down.
“Please, Mammy! Playground, Mammy!”
“Get off!” she nearly shouted, wrenching her hand out of reach. Ruthie looked shocked, and I was shocked too. It was the first time I had ever heard the beautiful woman even nearly shout. Pink rose in her cheeks and spread down her neck.
“Sorry, Ruthie,” she said, stroking her hair. “Sorry, angel. Naughty Mammy getting cross. Naughty, shouty Mammy.”
“Can she come, then?” I asked. The beautiful woman looked out into the street, at the cars whirring along the road and the beer bottle shards glittering in the gutters.
“It’s sweet of you to ask, but I’m afraid Ruthie hurt her knee this morning. While she was playing in the garden. It’s quite a nasty scratch. I think perhaps she’d better stay inside today.”
The beautiful woman did that quite a lot: made up stories about why Ruthie couldn’t come out to play. Ruthie’s knees were bare under her dress, and we all stared at them. On the left one there was pink line the size and shape of a paper cut. Even Ruthie looked at the beautiful woman like she was mad.
“We’re only going to the playground,” I said. “I’ll hold her hand. There’s no roads to cross.” The beautiful woman peered out of the door again. I thought she was probably wishing for a clap of thunder or a small earthquake—some proper reason to keep Ruthie in. The sky overhead was sea-glass blue and the earth wasn’t at all quaky, and as the beautiful woman looked at the beautiful sky she shuddered, bent forward, and made a gagging sound. When she straightened she was even more dishwater-colored. She pushed Ruthie toward me.
“Yes. Yes. Of course. Do take her. Have a lovely time, Ruthie. Be careful. See you soon.” She ran up the stairs and into the bathroom. We heard her being sick. I thought if I had had to look after Ruthie every day I would probably have been sick too.
When we passed the playground Ruthie pushed the gate, but I pulled her back by the collar of her dress. “Come on,” I said, taking her wrist in my hand. “We’re not going there.”
“Playground!” she whinged. She tried to wriggle free, but I was too strong for her.
“No. No playground,” I said. She looked like she was revving up to scream loud enough that the beautiful woman would hear it from four streets away, so I stuffed a jelly baby into her mouth like a stopper. She was so surprised she didn’t do anything for a minute. Then she chewed and reached out her hand for another.
“More,” she said. I showed her the bag.
“Only if you keep walking and don’t make a noise,” I said.
The alley houses looked even more half there than usual against the perfect sky. When
