Five Things They Never Told Me (14 page)

It's been Eighty-one Days Without Mum and I'm really missing her. I want to tell her about Dom and the party and ask what I should do about Lauren and Nat. I didn't realize how hurt they'd be when I ran off without saying a proper goodbye. They'd made me a cake and everything and I kind of messed up all their plans. I guess I thought they
wouldn't notice – that they had plenty of new friends and wouldn't miss me. They've been texting me loads and asking what happened. I've tried to explain but I'm not sure what I can say that will make them understand how I feel. I'm not even certain how I DO feel. I just know that them trying to set me up with Dom made me uncomfortable – even more uncomfortable than the leather trousers that they made me wear.

Dad let me go over to Nat's the day after to return the trousers and get my own clothes back. I said I was sorry but Nat was quite sniffy with me and I suppose I can't really blame her. I got it wrong. Again. And now I'm going to have exactly no friends when school starts back in September.

I'm trying not to think miserable thoughts today, though, because I'm meant to be meeting Frog to hear his next big idea for our Martha Challenge. I really, really hope that this one doesn't involve me making a complete idiot of myself, like the dancing. Martha's been forcing us to practise the jitterbug every day and I don't think we're getting any better. It's really difficult dancing without music.

Frog has asked me to meet him in the day room, which is where his grandad spends most of
his time. I've said hello to him a couple of times now and he seems quite nice, but I'm not really sure how much he can understand and I don't want to confuse him. Hoping that Frog has already arrived I push open the door and then stand still in surprise.

The day room is heaving with people. Old people. And it's VERY loud. Looking around I can't see Frog anywhere and for a second I nearly turn and leave, certain that I've just gatecrashed a pensioners' get-together. Then I hear someone call my name and when I stand on tiptoe I can see Frog on the other side of the room, beckoning to me and laughing.

I hesitate a moment longer. There are a LOT of people in here and I'm really only interested in Martha. But I want to see Frog so I slip through the crowd, dodging walking frames and sticks and sliding between armchairs until I'm standing next to him.

‘What's going on?' I ask him, peering around. Everyone seems to be looking in the same direction and I can't work out what's so interesting because all I can see in front of me is a lot of grey hair and bald heads.

‘Isn't it brilliant!' yells Frog. He needs to yell because, for a bunch of old people, they certainly know how to make some noise.

‘What?' I shriek back. ‘Isn't
what
brilliant?'

‘That,' shouts Frog and he points to the front of the room. I turn to look and at that moment the crowd parts slightly and I see Martha, sitting in her wheelchair and playing tennis. Against Frog's grandad. And from the looks of things she is completely annihilating him.

I look back at Frog, my mouth gaping open. ‘What …? How …?'

‘I brought it in from home,' Frog tells me proudly. ‘I thought of it after the other day when you said that Martha can't resist a challenge. Look at her backhand!'

I push my way through the Oak Hill residents who are yelling encouragement at the players and stand by Martha's chair. She glances up at me briefly but then looks straight back at the TV screen, her focus utterly on the tennis game.

‘Looks like you're doing OK,' I tell her.

She nods and grins and then leans across to rally a particularly demon serve that Frog's grandad has just dished up.

‘Hey, watch out!' I yelp, leaping to the side just before she sideswipes me with the Wii controller.

On the screen, the tennis ball whizzes through the air and even though Frog's grandad tries his best to reach it, he misses and the point goes to Martha. The crowd goes wild.

‘Game, set and match!' shouts one old man, leaping out of his chair in excitement. I look at him in alarm – I'm not sure he should be doing that at his age.

Martha passes the Wii controller to the lady next to her and then wheels herself slowly over to Frog's grandad. She stretches out her left arm and they shake hands, grinning at each other.

‘It's been a while since I've played tennis,' he tells her. ‘I enjoyed that. Maybe we'll have a rematch one of these days?'

Martha smiles and nods at him and then I push her wheelchair carefully through the mass of people who are demanding that Frog sets up the Wii so that they can go bowling. We find a space at the back of the room and I sit down next to Martha, watching as Frog explains the rules.

‘You're pretty good at tennis,' I say to Martha. ‘Did you play when you were younger?'

She nods at me and then smiles at Frog as he emerges from the crowd and flops down on to the chair next to me. He's laughing.

‘I didn't think I was going to make it out alive,' he says. ‘It's a good job you can attach the controllers to their wrists – Doris can't remember to hold on to it and every time she bowls she throws it at the TV!'

‘This was a really good idea,' I tell him. ‘They all love it!'

‘Well, it was just sitting around at home. Nobody really goes on it any more and Mum said that it was OK to bring it here for the rest of the summer. Just on a loan.'

I turn to look at Martha. She looks a bit warm – her face is flushed and her breathing is quite fast and her eyes are shining like she's excited. She points towards the TV and starts to push herself forward, but I'm worried that it's all been a bit much for her.

‘Maybe you should have a rest for a while?' I ask her. My answer is an instant scowl.

‘Do you want to go back on the Wii?' Frog asks. ‘We could play baseball next!' His reward is a beaming smile.

I'm not convinced that she hasn't overdone it, though, and the last thing I want is for Martha to get ill, so I get up and fetch a glass of water from the table by the door.

‘You need to drink this,' I tell her.

She reaches out her left hand and very, very slowly brings the glass to her lips. I want to help her but I can tell that she won't appreciate me interfering so I try to look as if I'm not paying her any attention. I can see, though, out of the corner of my eye, that the water is almost all going into her mouth, with only a tiny bit dribbling on to her chin.

I turn to her as she starts to lower her arm and as I take the glass from her our hands touch. Martha's skin is warm and soft and I feel a jolt of something rush through me. It takes me by surprise and I busy myself taking the glass back to the table for a bit longer than necessary as I try to figure out what it is.

When I look back to where we were sitting, and see Frog casually dabbing at Martha's chin with a tissue like it's no big deal, I realize what it is that I'm feeling. It feels warm. It feels safe. It feels right. It feels like I might, just a little bit, love these two people.

Martha has disappeared. Frog and I wait for her for ages in the garden but she just doesn't turn up.

‘Where do you think she is?' I ask Frog.

He shakes his head. ‘I don't know. You don't think she's left, do you?'

‘What d'you mean
left
?' I say. ‘Where could she have gone?'

‘Maybe she's living in a different care home?' suggests Frog, but he doesn't sound very convinced.

‘This is stupid.' I get to my feet and pull Frog with me. ‘We need to track down Beatrice and find out where she is.'

We walk down the path, intent on heading up to the house where Beatrice is bound to be sitting with one of the old people. We don't get there, though, because just as we're about to turn the corner I hear voices ahead of us.

‘Well, you say that like it's easy, but Martha is one of the most stubborn women I've ever met.'

I freeze and Frog walks straight into the back of me. He lets out an
oomph
sound and I turn quickly, shushing him with my finger on his lips. His eyes open wide in surprise but he stands still and I turn back towards the hedge and creep a bit closer, Frog right behind me.

An unfamiliar voice laughs loudly and then I hear someone we know.

‘It must be so hard for her, though. I gather she was a very independent lady before the stroke.' I can hear the concern in Beatrice's voice even from here. She properly cares about Martha and not just because it's her job.

‘Well, what about her family?' asks the other person. Her voice has a hardness that is putting me on edge. I hope she doesn't have anything to do with looking after Martha. She doesn't sound kind. ‘It's all very well shelling out to send them here but a visit every now and again wouldn't go amiss. Take the pressure off us a bit too. We're not paid enough to be their friends.'

‘She hasn't got any family,' says Beatrice. ‘And actually, I don't need paying to be Martha's friend. She's a fascinating, funny lady when you stop and get to know her.'

If I pull apart the leaves in front of me and squint with one eye I can just make out two pairs of feet, a few metres away. Beatrice is obviously on a break with one of the other care workers. As I watch, something is thrown to the ground and a foot stamps on it and grinds it into the path. The smell of cigarette wafts over the hedge and it reminds me of the first and last time I tried to smoke. The first time that I met Martha. Even the memory makes me want to cough.

‘Oh, don't give me that.' Uncaring sounds annoyed. ‘Everyone's got family somewhere – especially if they can afford to live somewhere like Oak Hill. There's got to be some distant
relative sniffing about for a slice of her cash when she's gone.'

I feel Frog stiffen next to me and then he too makes a gap in the hedge so that he can do his own spying.

‘Well, she hasn't,' says Beatrice in a firm-sounding voice. I don't think she likes Uncaring very much. ‘She lost her childhood sweetheart, Tommy, in the war. They didn't have time to start their lives together before it was all over. No chance of children and she never fell in love again. When she first arrived here she wrote down that she had a younger sister, but she died ten years ago. She has nobody left.'

‘I suppose that accounts for her being the way she is, then.' Uncaring sounds as if she knows she's narked Beatrice off and she's trying to be nice, but it clearly doesn't come naturally to her. ‘And she may well be
fascinating
, but she's also the most devious, cunning old woman I've ever met. Lording it up in that wheelchair! She could walk if she put her mind to it – she just wants to make us push her around all day. If she'd only put more effort into her exercises then she could be talking and walking like everyone else. Mrs Thompson is just waiting for her to mess up
again so that we can send her packing. She's not exactly the type of resident we want at Oak Hill, is she? Far too high-maintenance.'

‘She's very unwell and there's nothing to motivate her,' says Beatrice sadly. ‘I just think she can't see the point in fighting any more. Since her stroke it's all been too hard, and this new illness is just too much. She doesn't want to leave her room or see anyone. I'm really worried that she isn't going to rally from this. This could be the end for her.'

There's a sudden movement and Beatrice's legs come into view as she stands up. We both let go of the leaves and the hedge snaps back into place as we hear both women walk away down the path, conversation about the weather drifting back to us on the breeze.

I turn to look at Frog. ‘Did you hear all that?'

He nods. ‘That care worker talking to Beatrice is
mean
! She didn't sound as if she even likes old people.'

‘Never mind that.' I march down the path, Frog running after me to keep up. ‘Didn't you hear what they said about Martha? She's really ill. We have to do something to help.'

‘Like what?' Frog asks, puffing away behind me as I speed-walk towards Dad's shed.

I don't answer him until we've reached the shed and sat down, our backs against the side.

‘Like what, Erin?' repeats Frog. ‘What's the plan?'

‘I don't know yet,' I reluctantly admit. ‘But neither of us is leaving here until we've figured something out. We can't just abandon Martha and you heard what Beatrice said. She needs something to motivate her, something that will make her do her exercises and help her get better. She needs cheering up or she might not be OK. She might even die. Now – no speaking until one of us has got an idea.'

We sit, just thinking, for what feels like ages. After about four minutes, Frog cracks.

‘We could bake her a cake?' he suggests.

I tut. ‘Duh! How is
that
going to cheer her up? It's not very special, is it?'

‘Well, you think of something better then, mastermind.' He scowls at me and folds his arms. ‘Come on.'

‘I am
thinking
,' I tell him. ‘Shush.'

My brain is whizzing through hundreds of ideas. I think about what Mum used to do for me
if I was unwell, but I don't think having a blanket nest on the sofa and watching
Bedknobs and Broomsticks
will have the same appeal to Martha. I actually used to quite like being unwell because it was the only time Mum would let Picasso into the living room. Snuggling up with him and feeling his warm little body cuddled up next to me under the blanket was the best feeling in the world. Even when I'm well, stroking him and sensing how much more he loves me with each stroke makes me feel happier than I can describe.

‘How about if –' starts Frog but I hold my hand up to stop him. I know I seem rude but there's a thought flitting round the edges of my brain and I need him to be quiet if I'm going to catch it.

‘Hang on, hang on,' I say, waving my hands around wildly as if I can literally pluck the idea out of the air. And then I do.

‘Picasso!' I breathe, letting the thought fill my head.

‘Sorry?' says Frog, utterly confused.

‘Stroke! Two different types of stroke! That's what made me think of it. Martha's stroke and stroking a dog. That's called a homophone by the way – I learnt it in school!' I am ranting but I don't care. This is brilliant!

‘What are you going on about?' asks Frog, staring at me as if I have lost the plot.

So I take a deep breath and tell him my plan. And Frog agrees that, quite possibly, this is the best idea ever known to mankind and that I, Erin Edwards, may well be the cleverest individual on the planet right now.