The Coming of Age. April Part 2.

18th April. I have an invitation to spend the weekend with my elder daughter and family. How nice it will be to have a change I think and have someone to talk to in the evening.

I take the train, the underground and a long walk through London to daughter’s house. It is raining. I ring the bell. There is no one there. I wonder if I have the right time, the right day, the right weekend even. Eventually Nanny arrives, out of breath, with my two grandchildren that she had had to collect from ballet, or is it music, or swimming? My grandchildren are thrilled to see me. As usual I am moved by their violent displays of affection and the opportunity to cuddle another human being.

I read to them for a couple of hours and then Sarah arrives home. Nanny goes off duty for the weekend. We have supper and put the children to bed then Sarah says ‘Mum I’m knackered. I have to go to bed.’

I clear up the kitchen and wonder what to do next. Dare I go into the parental sanctum where the television is? I decide to do this. There is a very large screen television kept discreetly in a cabinet and I know there are switches hidden underneath and behind which all have to be switched on first. Unless they are already on. I crouch down with difficulty and fumble about underneath the cabinet, find a switch and switch it. I haul myself up and then switch the one behind the set. Nothing happens. I slowly lower myself on to my knees again and reverse the lower switch. Nothing. Perhaps there is another switch somewhere that I have forgotten. I run my hands up and down, behind, below and push a few things. Still a blank screen.

I give up and decide to read a magazine. There seem to be two on the table. They are a catalogue of very expensive baby clothes and equipment and a copy of Management Today. I wish I were at home where I have a packet of liquorice allsorts tucked away in a drawer and an unread Dick Francis, my props against loneliness.

Roland arrives home at ten with a briefcase full of work that he has to get through. I decide to go to bed.

19th April. At 1a.m. Letitia begins to cry. My room is in between the two girls’ rooms but parents sleep on the floor above. Sarah wears earplugs. Letitia continues to cry. I get up and go to her. Naturally, parents do not hear due to distance, earplugs etc. I read her some more stories, dose her guiltily with Calpol that I find in the bathroom. It has a picture of a smiling baby on it so it must be all right. The name rings a bell – I am sure I used to dose Alex with it - but the instructions are in very small print and I cannot read them even though I go and get my reading glasses and put them on. I guess at the amount and pour a few spoonfuls down her. She falls asleep very quickly and I return to bed.

3.15. a.m. I jump up in terror as a cold hand touches my face. It is Alice.

‘Ganny, I all snotty.’

And so she is. I wander about the house looking for handkerchiefs (I later learn these are non-existent) and set off the burglar alarm.
The house is filled with a horrible pulsating shriek. I have never quite grasped what to do with the burglar alarm, in spite of being told many times, and rush to the control panel and press everything. The hideous noise still goes on.

Roland appears in the nude, realises I am there and dashes back to put on a dressing gown. He reappears in a frilly negligee belonging to Sarah. He looks very fetching but very cross. Alice obviously thinks this is some nocturnal party and she is determined not to miss it. Snot and all, she hurls herself into Daddy’s arms. He is putty in her hands and stops being cross with me. Letitia does not stir.

‘I going to sleep with Ganny now,’ says Alice, sweetly.

Roland looks at me doubtfully.

‘All right,’ I say. ‘You come with Granny.’

He looks very relieved and retreats to the marital bed.

For the rest of the night, Alice kicks away in the bed, at intervals demanding that I wipe her nose again.

It is 8 o’clock. Alice has fallen asleep. I am creeping downstairs. Is it safe to go into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea? Will the alarm start shrilling again? The front door opens and Sarah bounds in in full gym kit. She is bright and cheerful and has just been for a run round the park. I peer at her through half open eyes.

Standing in the doorway she starts to do what we used to call, when I was at school, running on the spot. Then she extends one leg and turns her toe up to the ceiling and leans towards it as if rehearsing for the role of Charlie Chaplin. I wish she would come inside and shut the door. I am feeling cold, hungry and tired. And old. Very old.

‘Did you have a good night? You should get up early like me and go for a run.’

She bounds into the kitchen and drinks two glasses of cold water. This is the latest thing. We should all drink more water. At least a gallon a day, I think she said. Or was it a litre? I must remember to tell Mavis the next time I see her. Whether she will be more thrilled than I am at the thought of getting up four times in the night instead of once, I am not sure.

Alice and Letitia are still asleep.

She continues ‘Roland is not very well this morning so you and I will take the children out and he can catch up on his sleep. I thought we could go swimming.’

I smile wanly. It will be good for me, won’t it?

‘Where are the girls, they are usually awake by now.’

I think suddenly and guiltily about the Calpol.

‘I expect they are tired’ I say, meekly, ‘they were awake quite a lot in the night.’

‘Oh, I didn’t hear them. But then I never do.’ Sarah says.

I decide not to confess to the rather large dose of medicine I gave Letitia and say instead,
‘What is for breakfast? Shall I get it?’

I think hopefully of toast and butter, with lots of energy boosting marmalade, cereal, even eggs and bacon, stimulating coffee.

‘There are some prunes and fat free yoghurt in the frig and I think we’ve got some bread. We don’t eat butter any more but there’s organic fat free spread. No coffee, we never drink it now but there is some herbal tea.’ Oh, well, it will be good for me.

Eventually Alice wakes up. Letitia sleeps on. I keep pretending that I must go to the loo so that I can have a surreptitious check that she is still alive. By the time she does wake up, it is too late to go swimming, for which I am thankful, and we go to the nearby park instead.

They have one doll’s pram to push on the way there and one trike to ride. Alice would like to have both but can’t quite work out how this can be effected so she grabs each from Letitia in turn. There is a lot of screaming.

When we get back to the house we have lunch.
Afterwards, Sarah says ‘Mum, I’m knackered, would you mind looking after the girls while I have a nap?’

Roland has risen, but, like a man of importance, has retired to the television room – where the girls are not allowed – with a bottle of wine and a glass. He has to watch the football and is soon asleep.

I read several stories over and over. I long to read The Owl and the Pussy Cat or enjoy the pictures while reading Each Peach Pear Plum and Beatrix Potter but they only want me to read Sesame Street or Dr Seuss which I hate. Letitia decides she wants to ride the little trike round the room. Alice too wants to ride the trike. I persuade Letitia to play with her little pram. Alice wants to play with the pram. Letitia goes back to the trike. Alice tries to squeeze on behind her. There is not enough room. They scream and push. The bike falls over and they both hit their heads on a kitchen unit. There is more screaming, louder. Letitia uses her secret weapon. She grabs Alice’s longer hair – her own hasn’t grown yet – and hangs on, smiling demonically. A large lump comes out in her hand. Alice’s screams get louder.

Oh dear. If they were mine I would give them sweets and put them in front of the television. But they aren’t and in this house neither sweets nor television are allowed. In desperation I offer to do a puppet show for them. This is very popular.

Two hours later I am still crouched behind a chair, with a stuffed hippopotamus in one hand and Fairy Twinkle Toes in the other. The Hippopotamus is threatening to eat Fairy Twinkle Toes all up, while roaring horribly. The little girls love it. Again, Again they shout.

Sarah appears refreshed at 5 o’clock. ‘Oh Mum, you are a star. I’ll put the kettle on.’

The weekend continues in similar vein and then I return to my lonely house, now not lonely any more but blessedly peaceful. I think guiltily of Letitia and the several spoonfuls of Calpol I gave her. What if..?. Letitia dead. Myself arrested. Weeping in the dock. Imprisoned. My family never forgiving me. Then I take myself in hand. I will not start making up disaster scenarios. Everything was perfectly all right.
Instead I comfort myself with thickly buttered hot toast followed by liquorice allsorts, hot chocolate and the Dick Francis. After a few pages, I am just beginning to wonder if I have read this one already, but it doesn’t matter since I am falling asleep.