Theme Park Story

It is the third Monday in October. 1980. Half term week. I am eleven and three quarters years old. Mum left four years ago this month but I wake up happy and give her but the cursory of thoughts. Today Nana and I are taking the train to the coast to visit a theme park. At breakfast Dad gives Nana ten punds. 'Don't eat the candy floss,' he warns. 'It'll make your teeth fall out.' Nana and I pack a picnic, fold up our rain coast and catch the early train.
Starlight Theme Park has been open a year. Nana heard about it from her dentist, who recommended it as a half term treat. Nana and I get off the train. The air is salty, infused with seaweed and hot dog stands. We follow the road directions.
'It's over from the beach,' I call, swinging on the promenade rail. A large group of Indian mothers sit in deckchairs on the sands, huddled together for warmth in the autumnal chill, their eyes and noses peeping out of their saris. The children run around in swimsuits, digging holes and playing cricket. 'Day trippers from London,' Nana says. 'Rain or shine, they are on the beach.'
The entrance to Starlight Theme Park is a tunneled walkway opposite the beach leading to an expansive outdoor area. It is beyond expectations. As far as I can see, there are rollercoasters, haunted houses, food and drink stands, carousels and dodgem cars. The Big Wheel looms in the distance, a constant yardstick of bravery.
I jump up and down. 'I want to go on everything,' I say.
Nan smiles. 'We'll do our best. We've got to pay first.'
We manoeuvre our way through the swelling crowds and wait patiently in line at the ticket booth. I write a list of my favourtite rides in my diary and steal a look at the other children around me. They are as excited as me, their faces drunk with expectancy and happiness.
'I've got our tickets,' Nana says, waving them in front of my face. 'An all- day pass. We can come and go as we please. Even go to the beach later, if you want.'
A group of Mods walk past us, chatting amiably. Nana narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on her handbag. Troublemakers, she whispers, that's all we need in a place like this.
Nana and I work our way systematically through Starlight. Nana accompanies me on all the rides, except those reserved for children. 'You're at that in-between age,' she says. 'Too big for the little rides and too small for the adult rides.'
We are watching a man winning a teddy as tall as his grandson, when a voice behind me says,'Well, I never did. If I didn't believe my own eyes, I would have walked right on by. How you've grown, love! It must be four years!'
I spin around and, there, standing in front of me is Mrs Brown, Mum's old friend, smiling like I'm her long lost cousin. Her hair is red now and as short as a man's, all spiky on top, like a hedgehog. A large crucifix hangs heavily around her neck, Jesus looks across at us, dying and sad; his hands and feet nailed in ivory for all the world to see.
Her daughter, Penny, stands beside her. She had braces on her top teeth and yellow spots on her forehead. She has swapped her homemade dresses for bell bottom jeans and a t-shirt that reads 'Jesus Rocks'.
Nana hobbles over and greets Mrs Brown.
'It's lovely to see you, Cynthia. Here of all places. So, how are you, love? And your lovely daughter.' Nana peers at Penny. 'You've grown, love.'
We make our way to some wooden benches by a toffee apple stand and Mrs Brown gives us their news. The flats have gone down hill since Dad, Mum and I left, and the Council have moved in new families. 'You know the type,' Mrs Brown says, raising an eyebrow to Nana. 'Families that have been moved on. Foul mouthed kids with fat mothers who wear flipflops all winter.'
Mrs Brown's life is a living nightmare: the stairs are not safe, the yard is littered with empty cans and cigarette ends and goodness knows what. It's a wonder she hasn't been committed, her nerves are so raw. Her saving grace is Jesus; he saved her at a rally last year. Penny goes to church too, though it's not a normal church. The priest wears jeans and there is a proper band with drums and cymbals.
Penny and I smile together shyly. Two girls from the same neck of the wood. I want to ask her about Mum: have they seen her? But Mrs Brown keeps on talking and no-one can get a word in anyway.
Nana shakes her head in sympathy and lifts up her feet. They are swollen and puffy and grey with ankles as thick as my thigh. Elephant feet, Nana calls them.
'I'm not as young as I used to be, Cynthia.' Nana says, bending down and rubbing an ankle. 'Age catches up with you eventually.'
Mrs Brown offers to take me around the rest of Starlight, so Nana can rest, but Nana won't have it. 'Anyone would think I'm past it,' Nana says. 'I'm fine, really. Nothing a tablet can't ease.'
We decide to go our separate ways as we have approached the rides from different entrances. We will meet up in two hours and catch the train home together. Mrs Brown and Penny link arms and head for the dodgems. We watch them disapppear into the crowd, until all we can see are Mrs Brown's red spikes bopping up and down in the distance.
Nana and I take a deep breath and join the queue for Starlight's scariest rollercoaster ride. We choose seats in the middle carriage. Behind us, a granddad eases himself into his seat and fumbles with the safety strap. His tiny grandson is wide-eyed and fidgety.
'Who would have thought people do this for fun?' Nana says. She zips up her handbag and tucks it beside her, under her coat.
A tattooed man with a roll-up poking out of the corner of his mouth walks up and down the carriage, checking we are all strapped in properly. 'Last chance to get out,' he says wryly, looking straight at Granddad behind us. His roll-up wobbles when he talks.
Granddad chuckle. 'I'm alright, son. After the war, this is child's play.'
'Right you are.' Tattoo man pulls down a lever, and we start to move.
I am screaming, stretching my arms above me, enjoying the weight of my body, so heavy against the padded jacket. Grandson screams, 'I want to get out'; Granddad shouts, 'Hold on, son.' Then I grip the bar for dear life: we loop the loop and plunge back down to the ground, splashing, as a finale, into a pool of water.
'Let's do that again,' I shout, when we stop.
Something is instantly wrong. Nana's head lies slumped forward, tilted slightly to one side against her jacket. Wake up, Nana, we've finished now.
I do not remeber the rest of the day. If I think hard enough I have a few snapshots of memory, but most of the time they are buried deep in my mind, fragments of reality, fuzzy around the edges, confused in black and white. A Mod shouting, 'I'm a doctor,' and attending to Nana. Crowds gathering, heads craning; a man shouting ,'Is she dead?' Mrs Brown collecting ten pence pieces for the telephone box. Granddad pushing back the crowd. Sitting between Penny and Mrs Brown in the police car, leaving Nana behind on a strecher with a blanket over her head.
Dad waits for us outside Nana's house. He is in his suit leaning against the wall. He weeps when we enter the house. I sit on the settee with Penny. Mrs Brown makes us all a cup of tea and says a prayer. She puts an extra spoonful of sugar in my cup 'to give you strength, love.' Dad stands in the kitchen with the two policemen, filling out forms in shaky handwriting.
Penny and Mrs Brown leave reluctantly at teatime. Mrs Brown hugs me tightly, tears choking her throat. She looks squarely at Dad. 'If there is anything I can do, anything.'
The telphone rings at exactly eight o'clock. Dad and I are eating crusty bits of bread that taste of nothing. Dad swigs from a can of lager.
'Hello?' Dad answers.
Someone is chatting on and on. I glance over. Dad hunches his shoulders into the wall and says, 'This is not the time.'
I know it is Mum, just like I knew Nana was dead, slouched and silent in that rollercoaster seat. 'I know it's Mum,' I tell Dad. 'Let me talk to her.'
Dad hesitates, but passes over the telephone receiver. He flops backwards on to the settee.
'What the bloody hell is going to happen next?' he says.
'Alison, look, I'm sorry. About Nana. I just heard. I can't believe it. I loved her too,' Mum says. She talks fast. I know that she is nervous. She sounds far away. I imagine her as a little dot in a big foreign picture.
'Are you in Spain, Mum?'
'What?' I hear her drawing on a cigarette. 'What do you mean? I'm in Wimbledon. Just up the road.' She lowers her voice. It crackles faintly with excitement. 'In fact, I'm living with a very nice man. A Professor at a University.' There is a pause. 'Maybe you can visit me, honey.'
Dad is pacing by the fireplace, up and down, making me giddy.
'You there, Alison?, Mum calls. 'Say something.'
'I'll pass you over to Dad.' I hand the receiver to Dad and go to my room.
Dad's angry, exhausted voice bounces off the walls and up the stairs. What the hell did you expect? RInging up today of all days. Her Nana not cold in the morgue. You're kidding, right? Just keep your distance, Sandy.

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