Secrets My Mother Kept by Kath Hardy

two, you have to go to school early today.’
    We grumbled down the stairs; going to school was bad enough without having to get there early. As we reached the kitchen we were shocked to see Aunty still at home. She usually left for work at Plessey’s at about 6.30 each morning so wasn’t usually around by the time we rolled out of bed.
    ‘Tell your Aunt that Julie is picking us up in the car at half past,’ Mum said. We flicked our eyes at Aunty. We were so used to this way of theirs of talking through us children that we sometimes didn’t even bother to repeat the words, because it was blatantly obvious that they had heard what each other were saying, but I was shocked. Mum and Aunty never went out together.
    Aunty sniffed ‘Tell your mother that I’m ready now,’ and she went out into the passage to get her coat, even though it was promising to be a warm day. We were ushered out of the door even though it was only 8.15 and were left to wonder where they were going that was so important that they were going together – and with our Aunty Maggie’s daughter Julie.
    Margaret looked at me as we wandered slowly towards Becontree Avenue. ‘Where is Mum going today?’
    ‘I don’t know. I expect they’re going to Aunty Maggie’s house.’ I didn’t really believe that was where they were going; social visiting wasn’t something that Mum and Aunty ever did together, and anyway they would have gone on the bus, not been picked up in a car.
    ‘They might be going to the shops,’ Margaret suggested as we carried on walking. This again was highly unlikely, as the only shops Mum ever went to were the local ones, or occasionally to Green Lane. She rarely even went as far as Ilford or Barking and again she would have gone by bus. It was a puzzle.
    School dragged on throughout that day. I was in junior 4 now and we were knee-deep in spelling tests, comprehension and maths, question after question, tables after tables. Outside the sun was shining, which only heightened our wish to escape. By playtime, when we were released from the confines of the classroom, it was as though the top had come off the pressure cooker. The boys in particular would go wild, tearing madly around the playground.
    By the end of the day I had almost forgotten about the puzzle of Mum and Aunty’s trip out, so when Margaret mentioned it on our way home, I didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy thinking about the homework Miss E had given me, which I really didn’t want to do. When we arrived at our front door we gave the usual family knock and waited for Mum to open the door as always.
    No one came.
    Margaret looked at me worriedly. ‘Why isn’t Mummy opening the door?’
    I knocked again, louder this time, ‘She might be upstairs,’ I said, trying to hide my concern from Margaret as I always did. Still no reply. I knocked again, and this time we opened the letter box to look inside. Pongo was barking and jumping up at the door but there was no other movement. I waited for a few minutes and then tried once more.
    ‘What shall we do?’ Margaret started to cry.
    ‘Don’t worry, they’ll be home soon.’ But it felt strange and uncomfortable to be standing outside our own front door desperate to get in. Suddenly I had an inspiration. ‘I know, we can go and knock at Mrs Timberlick’s house.’ Margaret agreed it was a good plan so off we walked. We opened the front gate and walked up the path. I knocked and waited. We heard a sound from inside and the door slowly opened. ‘Hello my dears,’ said Mrs Timberlick kindly. ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘No one’s home,’ I answered carefully. The kind old lady ushered us into the front parlour where she told us to sit ourselves down.
    ‘Would you like a drink? Orange squash?’ she offered, but we both declined politely even though we were incredibly thirsty. There we sat for what seemed like an age until finally Mrs Timberlick suggested we pop down to see if Mum was home. I held my