Hey! I am really sorry for not uploading in a very long time but I didn't had time with all the homework. I want to say thank you to everybody who reviewed. Also I want to give a shout out to smillingatthetv and randomsmileyperson. Thank you for reading this story. Ok enough of me talking. Enjoy!

SPOW

I was in such a strop by the time I got home, I forgot to be relieved at the sight of my mother, alive and well and painting the kitchen window. Slamming my bag down on the table I asked what time dinner would be ready. Mum didn't turn around. She was in a precarious position, kneeling on the worktop, trying not to fall into the sink. 'It'll be ready when you've make it. Hello to you, too.'

'When I've made it?' I asked in disbelief. Had she felt the weight of homework in my bag?

She didn't turn around. 'I want to finish this. If I stop now I'll have to wash the brash out and I've hardly any turps left. It doesn't have to be anything special; chicken dippers and oven chips will do.'

That was it, then. We'd turned into a chicken dippers and oven chops mid-week, not just Fridays, family. I couldn't remember the last time we'd had something home baked and wholesome. It was all: 'get the economy brand' and 'put those back, we can't afford them' when we shopped now.

I couldn't stand it. 'Can I go phone Selena first?' I pleaded.

She sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping from somewhere within Dad's denim shirt. 'Can't it wait two minutes? You've been with her all day and the girls are hungry.'

'Even Zora could do oven chips,' I pointed out.

'Zora could, but I've asked you.'

'I won't be long. I promised I'd phone.'

Mum slapped some paint on to the sill. 'Go,' she said, 'just bloody go.'

I registered the 'bloody'. Chicken dippers, oven chips and a foul- mouthed mother. The slippery slope. I bloody went.

There's a double payphone on Newstead Road. I liked the one facing away from the road because I could see fields and woods behind the house roofs. It reminded me that there was another world out there, away from the empty cans of Coke at my feet. I gazed at the fields as I waited for Selena to answer but I just got the engaged tone all the time. I tried Tawni, who told me she'd heard Mrs Gomez's tests had gone OK but she would have to wait two weeks for the results. We both agreed we'd hate to wait that long and then chinned about other stuff until I'd run out of money and had to go back to The Close. I felt better after my talk with Tawni, though; more sociable.

'OK, Miss can't cook won't cook's here,' I announced on my return.

Mum was slamming the oven door shut. 'Don't bother, I'll do it,' she said off- handedly.

I glanced across at the window frame, half shiny white, half tobacco yellow. The brush was upended in a jam jar nearby, immersed in a half an inch of cloudy liquid. 'You don't have to,' I said.

'Peas or beans?' she asked through gritted teeth.

'Whatever's easier,' I replied, not flinching. You must never give in when they're guilt- tripping you.

'Peas it is, then.' In one swift movement she swivelled round and opened the freezer compartment, grabbed the Bird's Eyes and slammed the freezer door shut again. I put my hands on my hips and looked down at her over my imaginary varifocals. ' Young lady, if you have to be bad tempered don't take it out on my oven. Do you know how long it took your father and I to save up for that Zanussi?'

My imitation of Dad's mum, Margaret, never failed. Finally mum smiled , encouraging more mickey – taking. 'And what on earth have you done with your hair, Connie? You haven't had one of those tints on it, have you? Because you know you'll get alopecia, don't you? Remember Noel's Auntie Janet.'

Mum's hand automatically went to the bandana holding back her hair, patting it flat. I noticed her roots were showing, and looking nearly as bad as Portlyn Madison's. Mum hated root growth, and it dawned on me she couldn't even afford to go to the hairdresser's now. It was then it hit me just how bad things were. We'd lost our house, we were on Income Support, and we couldn't afford a telephone but it took Mum's root growth to finally bring it home to me. As for going to France: I didn't have a rat's chance and, like Demi's porridge this morning, I could like it or lump it.

I looked closely at my mum's face for the first time in ages; saw how she looked forty now but never had before, saw the brave flicker of her smile betrayed by the hurt in her eyes. 'Seriously, mum, I'll finish making the dinner,' I offered. It was all I could think of saying.

She shook her head. 'It's ok, I've started now. Get changed and then come and set the table. Tell Demi and Zora to wash their hands.'

'I love you, mum,' I said but kind of mumbling it under my breath. I think she heard but she'd already gone rummaging in one of the unloaded boxes for something and didn't reply.

Dad was working late, making it just the four of us for dinner. Zora and Demi were wolfing down their meal as if they'd just ended a twenty-four hour fast for Oxfam. 'These are cool,' Demi said, gnawing at the edges of her last dipper, then sticking it in ketchup, before nibbling again. ' Can we have them tomorrow?'

'It's my turn to choose tomorrow. We're having spaghetti,' Zora pointed out. 'Aren't we, mum, we're having spaghetti?'

Mum pointed to her mouth, indicating she couldn't talk because it was full. She had almost finished her meal, ahead of even speedy-guts Zora. That was another change; mum had gained weight over the last few months and it was beginning to be noticeable round her chin and hips and stomach. She'd taken to wearing baggy shirts and jogging bottoms all the time. Not that it mattered, it was just not like her. Dad had done the opposite – he'd lost weight, so that his trousers hung baggily round his bum and his neck had that scraggy turkey look.

'Selena's worried about her mum,' I revealed, knowing I was free of dad's not-women's-things-please look. 'She's found a lump in her breast.'

Mum's eyes filled with concern instantly. 'Oh, poor Mary. Has she been to the hospital?'

'She's been today to have it checked out. A biopsy or something?'

'Is a lump bad?' Zora asked.

'Course it is!' I replied sharply. 'Why don't you go watch TV?' I wanted to be alone with mum for once, to talk properly to her without sisters and dads butting in.

'Why is it bad?' Zora pursued.

'It's not something you need to know about,' I said.

Mum leaned across, gathering the empty plates. 'It's not necessarily bad news. Often lumps are just cysts or bits of fatty tissue that go away or can be taken out.'

'Taken out?' Zora persisted.

'By a doctor,' mum added.

'With a big, rusty carving knife,' I drooled.

That got rid of her. Middle sister slid from her chair and legged it, knocking her glass of squash over the table as she did so. Immediate red alert. Demi passed the dishcloth to mum, then scarpered. Mum began dabbing furiously at the orange liquid as it escaped in all directions over the precious heirloom's surface. Of course it was me who got it in the neck. 'I wish you wouldn't tease Zora, Sonny. She's growing up too, you know- you could take her a little more seriously,' mum snapped.

'Ok, ok, I'll go talk to her.'

She dabbed away without looking at me, mumbling about the table being 'the only decent thing we'd got'. I suppose that was my fault, too.