Free Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma by Kerry Hudson Page A

old woman wearing round pink-framed glasses.
    â€˜Be good and I’ll be back later.’
    She left quickly with her head down and didn’t turn to look again.
    â€˜Janie, I’m Mrs Walker. Are you excited about your first day?’
    I didn’t answer the woman. I was too shocked by Ma’s quick exit; she couldn’t wait to get away.
    She took my hand and led me through to a room scattered with toys and pictures, all fighting for eye space. The only colours and shapes that weren’t crowding my vision were the ones I wanted. My eyes didn’t rest on Nell’s shining skin or clicking green beads. The collection of upturned noses, freckles and shin bruises on the red carpet did not belong to any of the kids I knew and I couldn’t see a Connect 4 box anywhere.
    I bit into my top lip with my bottom teeth. Ma had said so, she’d promised. I felt the prickle behind my eyes, the swelling inside my chest. I tugged Mrs Walker’s sleeve.
    â€˜Do you have Connect 4 for me tae play with?’ I asked in a low whisper.
    Kids froze with fingers up noses, they pulled their hands from inside their shorts, a sea of squirming limbs on the carpet stilled; these kids knew the build-up to a tantrum when they saw one. At the front of the carpet a boy with dark shadows under his eyes breathed noisily though his mouth.
    â€˜Oh, well, I’m not sure. Connect 4 you say?’ She rolled the name around her tongue. She’d never even heard of it. ‘Anyway, we play together here, Janie, in a nice big group.’
    I began to match the boy’s noisy breaths with my own until the tight pain in my chest exploded and I started to howl. The kids watched me as my mouth gaped with strings of saliva and rivulets of snot pooled above my upper lip. They watched, wide-eyed, as I turned pinker and pinker and I threw myself down into a ball on the floor. Mrs Walker clucked around me, first trying to calm me and then eventually trying to pull me away from my audience, some of whom were threatening their own tears. As she lifted me I shouted: ‘Get off me, yeh . . . yeh fuckin’ fat old bitch.’
    The whole carpet gasped. The boy with the dark circles under his eyes started to cry.
    â€˜Don’t hit her!’ I never knew if he was worried about me or Mrs Walker because she was pulling me across the room, my plimsolls squeaking against the yellow lino.
    I spent the rest of the day in ‘the quiet room’, taking out my temper on innocent crayons. I scratched scribbles onto sugar paper and made sure that every crayon in the box was snapped and crushed. If I saw a bit of crayon on the floor, I stamped my heel on it to make bright waxy streaks.
    By the time Ma arrived there was a firework explosion of colour on the floor and I was sleeping on a stuffed monkey. She bent down and shook me gently.
    â€˜Janie?’
    From her crouched position she looked up at Mrs Walker and then down at the crayon hate on the floor.
    â€˜Did she have a nice time? I mean, was she good?’
    Mrs Walker pursed her lips and sighed through her flat nose. ‘Well, to be honest we’ve had smoother starts, but I’m sure things will be better tomorrow.’
    But Ma was already hoisting me up distractedly and I breathed in her roll-ups and coffee smell. ‘Aye, well, see yeh tomorrow then.’
    Mrs Walker reached out her hand and touched Ma’s arm. ‘A few other things; children pick up all sorts of things these days. Will you have a word to Janie about swearing? Maybe explain why we don’t swear, especially at nursery?’
    Ma looked at me and then Mrs Walker with a squint expression.
    â€˜And does Janie have the game Connect 4 at home? Is she particularly fond of it?’
    Ma’s squint deepened, her expression vague. ‘Connect wha’? No, Mrs Walker, not that I can think of. I’ve never heard her talk about it even, but I’ll ask her the night.