‘Oh god, no,’ agrees Nat, keen to win back her best friend status with Lauren. ‘He’s nothing compared to Dom.’
‘He obviously fancies you, though, Erin.’ Lauren’s voice is almost accusing and I wish she’d shut up. It’s ridiculous to compare Frog to Dom – it’s like trying to compare a pizza with a giraffe. They have no similarities so you can’t figure out which one is better. They’re just a pizza and a giraffe.
‘Do you fancy him?’ Nat is back to using the cutesy voice that she employs when she’s talking about boys. For a second I want to ignore her but then I remember that she’s my friend. That they’re both my friends and that they have generously forgiven me for my antisocial behaviour at the barbecue party.
So I walk to science, trying to reply to their incessant questioning and wishing that I knew the answer to at least one of them.
Life Death, Knows Doesn’t Know*
The only thing that has kept me going all week is the thought of going back to Oak Hill and the surprise that Frog and I have planned for Martha. It’s Saturday morning and Dad nearly chokes on his cornflakes when I emerge into the kitchen, dressed and ready to go.
‘Off somewhere?’ he asks.
‘Gross, Dad,’ I say, pulling out a chair and pouring myself some cereal. ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full!’
He swallows in an over-the-top, dramatic way and grins at me. ‘Sorry, it was just the shock of seeing you up before lunchtime! I thought you’d be desperate for a lie-in today, especially when you knew I’d be doing overtime at Oak Hill.’
‘I’m meeting Martha and Frog,’ I tell him and he nods. That’s the great thing about my dad. He doesn’t feel the need to pry into every single thing that I do. He knows that I’m friends with Frog and that we’ve been spending loads of time with Martha but he never asks me about it. Mum wouldn’t have stopped quizzing me about what I was getting up to and if Frog was my boyfriend. And as I don’t exactly know the answer to that last question then I’m grateful that Dad just lets me get on. It feels like he’s starting to trust me and I won’t let him down again.
As soon as I’ve finished eating I grab my iPad and sketchbook and pack them into my rucksack. I wanted to leave the iPad with Martha but she wouldn’t let me. She told me that it wouldn’t be right but that she wouldn’t mind borrowing it when I was visiting.
The drive to Oak Hill takes ages today. First we’re stuck at a red traffic light for AGES and then we have to take a detour because there are roadworks or something. I beg Dad to drive as quickly as he can and by the time we pull up outside the house I’m feeling really impatient.
The second the van stops I open the door. I’ve got one foot outside on the gravel when Dad stops me.
‘Erin,’ he says, putting his hand on my shoulder.
‘What?’ I ask, reaching down for my bag.
‘Just wait a second.’ His voice sounds odd and I turn back to face him. He’s not looking at me, although his hand has tightened its grip on my shoulder. I follow his gaze and stare out of the front windscreen.
Frog is standing on the steps to Oak Hill with his grandad. Beatrice is standing behind him and the look on her face makes my stomach flip over. I can’t see Frog properly for a moment because his grandad has pulled him into a tight hug – but then he must realize that I’m there and he lifts his head.
Frog looks utterly miserable. He’s obviously waiting for me because one hand is clutching a CD player and I wonder if we’re ever going to actually need it now. I have a sudden memory of Frog gently wiping the water from Martha’s chin with a tissue and I hope that one day, when he is old, someone will do the same thing for him.
‘Erin,’ starts Dad and I know. I know that it’s happening all over again. It was just the same when Mum left. One day she was there and the next she was gone. Boom. A bit like a magic vanishing trick. It seems unfair – surely we’d be able to cope a bit better if someone gave us a bit of warning. It makes me wonder if there’s something about me that makes people want to leave.
I get out of the van and look over at Frog. He says a few words to his grandad and then walks down the steps and across to where I’m standing.
‘She’s gone,’ he tells me.
I don’t know what this even means. Gone? Gone where? I know that I should be feeling scared or upset or something but I’m really not. I’m mostly feeling angry. We had a plan and now it’s pointless, which pretty much makes the entire summer a waste of time.
‘They’ve sent her away. Got rid of her.’ Frog sounds angry too but I think his anger is for different reasons to mine.
‘Now then, it’s not quite like that.’ Beatrice has followed Frog down the steps and is standing behind him.
‘What is it like, then?’ He rounds on her and she looks at him with a slightly surprised expression on her face. ‘Because she’s not here, is she? Grandad told me all about the stupid “three strikes and you’re out” system.’
I look from one to the other. Beatrice looks upset and I think that Frog is getting cross with the wrong person. It isn’t her fault. It wasn’t her that chose to behave in a totally inappropriate way for an old person. There are rules. Martha knew what she was doing.
‘Martha wasn’t sent away because she did something wrong,’ Beatrice tells us. ‘It was just time for her to move on. She needed a different kind of care – more than we can give here at Oak Hill.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Frog. ‘What kind of care?’
Beatrice looks at us and I can see the kindness in her eyes. ‘Martha is very old. She needs to be somewhere that can look after her and keep her out of pain for these last few weeks. She asked me to say goodbye to you both and to thank you for a wonderful last summer.’
I’ve heard quite enough. I turn round and I start walking across the car park and I ignore Dad calling me, and as soon as I reach the trees I start running. It feels good and I don’t stop until I reach the secret hideaway. Then I collapse on to the grass and listen to my heart going crazy. I like it – it’s hard to think of anything else when you believe you might actually be having a heart attack.
Eventually, though, my breathing slows down and the sounds of the real world float back in. I can hear the wind rustling in the trees and the stream trickling over the stones. And footsteps coming towards me and a voice calling my name.
I knew that he’d find me here. I wanted him to. He’s the only person who can possibly know how I’m feeling right now.
The grass is so long that he almost treads on me, stopping just before he crushes my fingers under his foot. He sinks down beside me and reaches out for my hand and we lie on the slightly damp grass. We don’t talk but I’m pretty sure we’re thinking the same thoughts.
After a while, Frog sits up and pulls me with him.
‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ he tells me. ‘It’s not going to be the same around here without her.’
‘I wish we’d done more fun things with her,’ I say. ‘Really made the most of the summer. And I wish she’d cared enough about us to let us know that she was leaving. Given us a chance to say goodbye.’
And as I say it I remember Martha telling me, just last week, that we have to live in the now. That one summer will be our last summer. I thought that we had a lifetime of summers ahead of us but I was wrong.
We sit quietly for a while and then I think about something Frog said to Beatrice.
‘What were you on about when you said, “three strikes and you’re out”?’ I ask him.
He sighs. ‘Grandad told me. Apparently, Martha was on a warning. You know, like at school. She did something wrong and they said she had to leave. The first two things were to do with smoking and Picasso.’
I look at him guiltily. Does he mean the time I gave Martha a cigarette in the garden? And Picasso? That was totally my fault, not hers.
‘What was the third thing?’ I ask him, holding my breath and praying that it isn’t something to do with me.
‘Something to do
with refusing her medication and telling Uncaring exactly what she thought of her. Grandad said she was a stubborn old woman who knew her own mind.’
‘That figures,’ I say, my guilty conscience making me feel annoyed. ‘She was always on the lookout for trouble.’
And suddenly the absence of Martha hits me and the loss of her feels like a sharp kick in the ribs. No more reading her notes or telling her about my day. No more confiding in her about Mum. No more racing her wheelchair around the garden or seeing the look on her face when I sneak Picasso in to visit her. No more Martha. Ever.
‘Stupid old people,’ I mutter. ‘Doing whatever they feel like and leaving us to pick up the pieces. Just like everybody else. Martha was only interested in herself all along.’
My crying is ugly. Normally I would hide it from Frog but today I can’t. I’m gulping for air and my face feels red and I’m sure my nose has swollen to twice its normal size. My tears are hot and sticky and endless and I know that nobody on TV has ever cried in such an unattractive way as I do.
But Frog takes the two steps that separate us and holds me close. He doesn’t seem to mind my snotty nose and shuddering body. He doesn’t let go until I’ve calmed down and then we break apart and look at each other.
‘You look a state,’ he says, laughing a bit. ‘Come on – no cry face.’
‘Thanks very much,’ I tell him, searching my pockets for a tissue.
‘We could find out where she’s been sent,’ Frog tells me but his voice is hesitant and unsure.
I shake my head. If Martha had wanted to say goodbye to us then she’d have done it last week. And I guess she did, in her own way.
Frog turns towards the stream and starts scuffing his feet into the grass and suddenly I feel incredibly tired. I don’t want to talk to anyone any more, not even Frog. I remember my pact not to speak when I first came to Oak Hill back at the start of the summer. Maybe I should have kept it. Maybe, if I hadn’t ever spoken to Martha or Frog then I wouldn’t be feeling like this now. I am so sick of feeling sad when people leave me. It’d be better for everyone if I just didn’t bother getting to like them in the first place.
‘I’m going home,’ I tell him and I trudge towards the path, past the bench and under the trees. It doesn’t seem like a safe, secret hideaway now. As the sun starts to disappear and the air gets chilly I know that time is running out for us, just like it ran out for Martha at Oak Hill. The movie credits will roll and there will be no happy ever after. My new beginning will finish before it even really began.
Me and the Moon*
The last few weeks have been seriously dull. Like, as if time is actually flatlining. I’ve been hanging around with Lauren and Nat again and it’s like the summer never really happened. They’ve even convinced me to go to the cinema with them and, yes, Dom will be there too. They’ve told me that I should give him a break and that he really likes me. And that it makes everything easier if we can hang out in a big group.
I’ve deliberately avoided Frog at school. It’s not been that easy. I miss hanging out with him and talking about random stuff and coming up with crazy plans to help Martha. I even miss our stupid dance practices. But I need to be realistic. Nothing lasts forever, even if you really want it to. Frog belongs to the summer and the summer is long over. Martha and him are in the past. They’re history.
Dad is totally doing my head in too. He’s got loads of overtime work at the weekends and he keeps trying to convince me to go with him but I’m not interested. There’s nothing at Oak Hill for me now.
I’m sitting in the front passenger seat of Dad’s van. He’s insisted that I need to come out with him tonight and I’m bored already. Autumn has really arrived and the streets are getting dark. As we drive down the road I can glance into the windows of the houses and get tiny, microsecond glimpses into the lives of the people inside. Here, a dark room only lit by the weird, flickering light that must be the television. And there, an old man who has paused midway through closing the curtains. He’s peering out into the dark as if he’s looking for something and I wonder who he’s waiting for. He looks as if he might have been waiting for a long time.
I have no idea where we’re going until Dad makes a left turn off the main road and we head away from town.
‘Dad –’ I say, but he doesn’t let me continue.
‘Just trust me, Erin, OK?’ He looks over at me and puts his hand on my knee, giving it a quick squeeze. ‘It’ll be all right.’
I don’t answer him because he knows that I didn’t want to come here. But he brought me anyway. He probably thinks he knows what’s best for me because he’s the adult and I’m only thirteen. Nothing ever changes.
As the lights of Oak Hill flood the windscreen I feel myself getting moody. This is so boring and I was supposed to be meeting everyone in town in an hour. Lauren was not impressed when I phoned her to cancel. Dad stops the van and we sit in silence for a moment. Then he opens his door and gets out. When it’s clear to him that I have no intention of moving, he bends down and pokes his head back into the van.
‘You might as well get out now we’re here,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve got a few jobs to do and there’s no point you sitting out here in the cold.’
I open my door and get slowly out of the van. Dad has gone round to the back and opened up the double doors.
‘You can give me a hand, actually, love,’ he calls and I trudge across the gravel and round the side of the van.
The top half of Dad is hidden and as I watch he emerges, holding a bucket that has some gardening tools inside.
‘I need you to take this down to the garden for me,’ he says, passing the bucket to me.
‘Now?’ I ask him. It’s getting pretty dark and I’m not in the mood for faffing about in the cold.
‘Yes, please. It’ll be one less thing for me to do on Monday morning.’
I raise my eyebrows at him to show that I am unimpressed.
‘And then can we go home?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he tells me. ‘Right – I want this in that scrappy old bit of garden that’s at the end of the path going past the water fountain. Beyond the hedge. I’m giving it a makeover – it’s been completely neglected and I think it’d make a great relaxation area for some of the more mobile residents. Do you know where I mean?’
I nod. I DO know exactly where he means. My secret hideaway. The last place on earth that I want to go right now.
‘Dad,’ I whine, trying to look small and vulnerable. ‘That’s miles away. I don’t like being in the dark on my own.’
Dad looks at me, his eyes suddenly piercing. ‘Since when?’ he asks. ‘Look, Erin, I just need to do a few things and then we can get out of here. We could collect pizza on the way home if you like. What do you say?’
‘OK,’ I tell him grudgingly. ‘Pizza might make up for the slave labour you’re forcing upon me.’
‘Good,’ Dad says. He grabs his toolbox from the van and slams the doors. ‘I’ll meet you back here as soon as you’re done.’ And then he strides off towards the house, without so much as a backwards glance at me.
I sigh. Might as well get this over and done with. I get a better grip on the handle of the bucket and set out across the grass. Darkness is flooding in from all sides but there’s a huge moon in the sky and it lights up the garden like a weird, galactic night light.
But when I walk under the trees it’s as if someone has turned the moon off. The branches overhead block out any light and I stumble over twigs and stones that in the daytime wouldn’t cause me any trouble. It feels wrong out here on my own and even though I was lying when I told Dad that I was afraid of the dark, I’m starting to feel a little bit freaked out.
The end of the path is in sight now and I can see a faint glow ahead of me. I speed up and by the time I emerge from the tunnel of trees I am virtually running.
And then I’m not running any more. I’m standing totally still, unable to move or speak or even think straight. My brain is trying t
o make sense of the scene in front of me and failing miserably. I have no idea what I’m looking at, just that it is beautiful.
The glow wasn’t coming from the moon. It was coming from the hundreds of fairy lights that are strung over the hedges and lower branches of the trees. Lanterns are hanging down from some of the higher branches and as the wind picks up, they sway, casting their brilliant warmth across the long grass.
And it isn’t just the light. It’s the sounds. Tinkling, jingling, ringing sounds that are being made by the wind chimes that share the branches with the lanterns. I step closer and see that the chimes are all different. One is made using forks and spoons. Another with odd metal bits and pieces that look like the contents of Dad’s toolbox – washers and bits of pipe and a spanner. This one (and it’s definitely my favourite) has lots of dangling keys, all different shapes and sizes.
Another sound drifts towards me, carried by the wind that is getting stronger. I turn and peer into the darkness but before I can move a figure moves forward out of the gloom.
‘Did you do this?’ I ask him, although I think I already know the answer.
‘With a lot of help from your dad,’ he tells me. ‘I told him that I was missing you and that we had a plan that needed to be finished.’
‘Why?’ I whisper.
‘You know why,’ he says. ‘We’re not done yet.’
I didn’t want this. The summer is over. Martha’s gone and we’re back at school and everything is the same as it was before. Nothing has changed and it’s crazy to think that this summer meant anything.
But then I look at Frog and I know that I’m not quite telling myself the whole truth. Some things have changed. I drop the bucket on the ground and walk across to him. I wrap one arm round his shoulder and we stand side by side, part of me amazed at how right it feels to touch him. How he makes me feel alive.
‘I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,’ I say without looking at him. ‘I don’t know how we’re supposed to be feeling.’
Five Things They Never Told Me Page 16