Five Things They Never Told Me (3 page)

‘Sorry,' says the shop assistant. ‘You have to order online if you want it engraved. We don't do it in-store.'

That's not good. Getting my name engraved would have meant I could definitely keep the iPad forever. Otherwise there's a big risk that Dad
might make me bring it back to the shop and get a refund.

The shop assistant must see how disappointed I am because he leans across the counter and smiles at me.

‘You could always pop over to the jeweller's across the road,' he tells me. ‘My friend did that and it didn't cost much. They did a good job too.'

I look out of the window to where he's pointing and see the jewellery shop that he's talking about.

‘Thanks!' I say, picking up the carrier bag that now contains my most precious item in the whole, entire world. ‘I'll do that.' Then I walk out of the shop and go straight across the road before my courage fails me. I can't even begin to imagine what Dad is going to say when I get home.

Fifty minutes later and I am sitting on the bus, heading back to goodness-knows-what. I am trying to remind myself that I deserved to have this day – that Dad brought this on himself – but the closer the bus gets to my stop the more nervous I start to get. Maybe I should have left Dad a note to let him know where I was. When I checked my phone earlier I had about a hundred missed calls from him. I sent him a text when I
was waiting for my iPad to be engraved, telling him that I'd be home soon but I suppose he might have been a bit worried about me.

I get off the bus and walk slowly down our street. My carrier bags feel heavy in my arms and suddenly I feel like I'm holding a bomb. Perhaps I've been a bit over the top? I just wanted to let Dad know how mad he makes me feel – I wanted him to hear me for a change, not just tell me that this is how things are these days and expect me to put up with it. I want him to know that I have an opinion too. Plus I really, really wanted an iPad.

As I trudge down the front path I see a movement at the living-room window and a few seconds later the front door is flung open and Dad is standing there. And he does not look happy. He gestures for me to go inside and I walk past him and stand in the hall, wondering for the first time what he's actually going to do. And I'm wondering why I didn't stop to think about that before I took his money and bank card.

The last two weeks have been horrendous. I've been allowed out of the house to go to school or to help Dad with the supermarket shopping, but that's it. No hanging out in the park with Lauren and Nat, or going into town for a laugh. He drove me to the coffee shop to meet Mum last Saturday morning but that doesn't exactly count as going out. He wouldn't even let me go over to Nat's
house to work on our science project, which meant that we looked really stupid when we did our presentation in class because we hadn't had a chance to practise. I thought I might be able to go to Lauren's when I was taking Picasso for his walk, but Dad's started coming with me. We stomp along in silence, as fast as Picasso's stubby little legs will go. It's grim.

When I got back from town that day, Dad made me sit down in the kitchen and ‘explain myself'. There wasn't really much I could say. He looked in the carrier bags and went a bit pale when he saw what I'd bought in the Technology Store. Straight away he said that it had to be returned – and that's when I showed him what was engraved on the back.

Erin Edwards

I thought he'd start yelling at me and I braced myself, but he didn't say a word. He just looked at the words for what felt like an eternity and then he carefully put the iPad back in its box and sat in silence, looking at me from across the table and glaring.

I cracked after about two minutes.

‘I never get anything I want!' I blurted at him. ‘It's completely and utterly unfair!'

He looked at me for a bit longer and I could feel my face burning red under his gaze. I wanted him to scream and yell at me, to tell me how furious and angry he was with me. But he still didn't say a word.

I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and I desperately scrubbed it away. I thought that all I wanted at that moment was for Dad to say something – anything. But I was wrong because as awful as the silence was, the words, when they came, were much worse.

‘I thought you'd gone to live with Mum,' Dad said eventually, his voice really quiet. ‘I rang her and told her that I thought you'd changed your mind. That living with me was too difficult for you.'

I looked at him in astonishment. How could he ever think I'd leave Picasso?

‘But Mum said you weren't there,' Dad continued, ‘and then, just after you sent me that text, I saw that the cash and bank card from my wallet were missing. I made a picnic for our day out while I waited for you to come back. I thought that there must be a reasonable explanation. I thought I
knew
you, Erin.'

I looked round then and saw the picnic on the counter – packets of sandwiches neatly wrapped in greaseproof paper, the juice of the tomatoes leaking through in places. Cheese and tomato – my favourite. The sight of the sandwiches with a couple of apples stacked next to them made me want to cry.

‘I wanted to trust you, Erin. But you've shown me that I can't and that makes me sadder than anything else that has happened over the last few months. We're a family, you and I, and we stick together. We don't steal from each other. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?'

He shouted the last bit and I flinched. I don't think I've ever seen my dad that angry in my whole life.

He'd stopped talking then and looked away from me, as if he was trying to stop himself from saying something more. I wanted to say sorry but the word just wouldn't come out of my mouth and I started to cry instead.

‘You obviously won't be keeping this,' Dad said to me, picking up the iPad box and standing up. ‘And you've lost all your privileges. That means no pocket money and no spending time with your friends outside of school until further
notice.' He told me that the clothes would all be going back to the shop but that I could keep the art supplies and I'd better make them last for a while because there would be no more coming my way for quite some time.

I didn't even bother to argue. I guess a part of me always knew that someone with my rubbish life would never be lucky enough to keep something as amazing as an iPad. And actually, I was feeling pretty awful about making Dad so worried – although he didn't have to yell at me like that.

So the last two weeks have been totally terrible. Dad barely spoke to me for the first week and I have been SO bored. This last week has been a bit better, though – I helped Dad wash the car after school on Tuesday and he actually talked to me like I was a normal human being. I think he's starting to forgive me. And I'm feeling pretty good today. It's the last day of school and I've spent the whole day making plans for the summer holidays with Lauren and Nat. I've got no money but I'm fairly sure that Dad will reinstate my pocket money from tomorrow – after all, he's not going to expect me to entertain myself for six weeks without any funds. I've taken my
punishment and now we can move on – I can get my life back.

Mum keeps phoning me up, trying to get me to go and visit her new house. I tried saying that I didn't want to talk to her but Dad got really cross again so now it's just easier to hold the phone away from my ear while she rambles on. When we met in town last week she asked if I wanted to go on holiday with her and Mark and her two substitute children, but I politely declined. Actually, I said that I'd rather eat my own toenails for breakfast than spend two weeks in sunny Spain with them. She laughed, like she thought I was joking – but then she realized that I wasn't being funny and she stopped laughing and put on that false ‘concerned-parent' voice that she uses with me these days and said that I was very welcome to go with them and that if I was going to change my mind then could I please do it soon while they could still get me a plane ticket. I just munched my blueberry muffin and ignored her.

Dad will be working at the care home all summer – apparently old people don't get a summer holiday off from being old and he'll be needed five days a week. He's the grounds manager, which means that he does everything
that needs doing in the gardens and the house. He's always going on about being lucky to have a job and that there are always lots of interesting people around to chat to – but I can't think of anything worse than being stuck with a load of old people, blathering on about the ‘good old days' to anyone who will listen.

So, I've got a summer of freedom ahead of me and it can't come soon enough. The last few months have been horrible. It's now Fifty Days Without Mum and I'm hoping that I can just have a nice, normal holiday, hanging out with my friends and chilling with Picasso.

The plans I've made today with Lauren and Nat have put me in a great mood and I'm whistling while I grate the cheese, ready for our tea. Dad must have actually listened to what I said the day that I burned the chips and since then he's tried to make sure that he's home a bit earlier and he always leaves me with jobs to do that will make sure we're not eating too late.

‘You're in a good mood!'

I've been whistling so loudly that I didn't even hear Dad coming in. I turn and look at him, a big grin on my face. It feels a bit weird, the way my
mouth wants to smile, not scowl – but I'm really happy today.

‘It's the summer holidays!' I remind him, pouring myself a glass of juice. ‘Do you want some?'

‘That'd be lovely,' he says, putting his bag on the floor and then opening it and removing his wallet. He slips it into his back pocket and I turn away – I don't want my good mood being ruined with a reminder of how little he trusts me.

Dad sits down at the table and I join him.

‘I was making plans with Lauren and Nat today,' I tell him as he downs his juice in one gulp. ‘And I was just wondering if you might be thinking about starting up my pocket money again. I'm going to need some cash for bus fares and drinks and the cinema and stuff – nothing big.'

Dad puts down his glass and looks at me in surprise.

‘You've been banned from going into town, Erin,' he says. ‘You won't need any money over the holidays.'

I literally cannot believe my ears.

‘You mean you're grounding me for the entire summer holidays?' I ask him, my voice sounding
squeaky and indignant. ‘You do know that's SIX whole weeks, don't you?'

‘I am aware of the length of the summer holidays,' he says, his voice calm and flat.

‘You're going to keep me prisoner in the house for six weeks, all on my own?' I can feel my heart racing in my chest. This is too harsh. I know I did a bad thing but surely I've paid the price over the last two weeks?

‘You stole four hundred and sixty pounds from me, Erin,' Dad reminds me, as if he can read my mind. ‘And no – I have no intention of “keeping you prisoner” as you so dramatically put it. You're going to have plenty of fresh air and lots of people to talk to. You might even grow up a bit.'

I do not like where this is going. I want to put my fingers in my ears and sing ‘
la la la
,' very loudly.

‘I've agreed it with my boss and she says it's fine. She thinks the residents will love having you around for the summer. And I've spoken to your mum and she thinks it's a great idea.'

‘I'm coming to work with you? To the old people's home?' I whisper, horrified.

‘It's a care home, Erin. I'll be there to keep an eye on you. I think you could really get a lot out of it. There're some residents with amazing stories
to tell – all they need is someone with the time to listen.'

I push my chair back and stand up, knocking the chair over in my hurry to leave the room.

‘You have just officially ruined my summer,' I shout at Dad. ‘I seriously hate you right now!'

‘Well, learn to deal with that because this is happening,' says Dad. ‘There's no way I can trust you on your own for the summer. Look at the damage you managed to cause in one morning.'

‘But it's NOT FAIR!' I screech at him. Never in a million years did I think he'd go this far. ‘What about my plans with Lauren and Nat? They'll stop being my friends if I don't see them for the whole summer!'

‘I'm sure that's not true,' Dad says. He has absolutely no idea what he is talking about. Being part of a group of three is fantastic most of the time, but there's always a bit of a worry that the other two might be best friends with each other and I'm just the hanger-on. If Nat and Lauren spend the whole summer together without me then I'll be doomed to be the add-on friend FOREVER.

‘And anyway,' he adds, ‘you should have thought about that
before
you stole my money.'

‘You can make me go but you can't make me talk to any of the oldies!' I scream at him, stamping towards the kitchen door. I don't care any more – there's nothing he can do to me that would be worse than this.

‘No, I can't,' agrees Dad, sounding incredibly calm in the face of my raging anger. He probably feels really smug and proud of himself – he thinks he's found the perfect way to punish me and turn me into the sort of daughter that he really wants; the sort of daughter who will chat to old-age pensioners and make them cups of tea and learn to knit while all of her friends are having the summer of their lives.

I will not talk to one single person in that stupid place
, I vow to myself as I stamp upstairs.
There is nothing that any lame old person could tell me that would be even a little bit interesting. They won't understand anything about my life – they were twelve about a million years ago. I bet they don't even remember anything except being old.