Five Things They Never Told Me (6 page)

She takes a step forward and then stops abruptly, staring down at the ground and then looking at me with eyes that have suddenly changed from jolly to distrustful.

‘And
what
is this?' she demands, putting her nose in the air and sniffing like a dog. I look down and see the two cigarette butts, lying next to each other in front of us. ‘Martha! We have had this conversation before. This is unacceptable
behaviour. You have to start helping yourself – and this is NOT the way to do it!'

I glance across at Martha. She is sitting in her wheelchair and looking at me with an expression that I am finding hard to work out. Beatrice is ranting on behind her about how she's going to have to talk to the manager and how disappointed she is – she sounds like Dad when he's caught me doing something wrong. And then I see that Martha is smiling at me. It's not like a regular smile – her mouth isn't in the right shape at all, but if I look right into her eyes I could swear that they're laughing.

‘I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're banned from time alone in the garden,' Beatrice is saying. ‘You have to earn your trust, Martha – we told you that last time we had a
situation
.'

She says the word
situation
like it is something unpleasant, and I suddenly feel cross.

I've spoken before I've even thought it through properly.

‘It's not like she's too young to smoke, though, is it? Can't she make her own choices?'

Beatrice looks at me in surprise and I shut up, instantly regretting my outburst.

‘I guess I don't need to ask who provided Martha with the cigarettes.' Her eyes are piercing and I look down at the floor.

‘Please don't tell my dad. He'll go mental if he finds out. It won't happen again, I promise.'

I look up to see Beatrice looking between Martha and me. She appears to be thinking. Martha just looks amused – silly old woman has no idea what's at stake here. I'm holding my breath – if Beatrice doesn't believe me then I'm in serious trouble. There's no way Dad will let me spend time alone after this. He might even send me off to Spain with Mum and her substitute family.

Then Beatrice looks down at the top of Martha's head, and she looks at me again and she shakes her head.

‘Do I have your word that there will be no more smoking?' she asks. I nod furiously. ‘That goes for BOTH of you,' she says, giving the wheelchair a little wiggle. Martha's eyes are dancing now and she looks like she might burst if she doesn't laugh soon.

Beatrice starts to push the wheelchair down the path.

‘Martha will be out here again tomorrow afternoon if the weather stays fine,' she tells me. ‘Just in case you're around.'

I watch as they retreat down the path, Beatrice's voice floating back to me as she tells Martha all about the bingo that's being organized for after supper. I have a little smile at the thought of Martha sitting in that living room, surrounded by people having fun. I'm getting the impression that Martha doesn't do what you expect old people to do. Beatrice is out of her mind if she thinks I'm hanging around anywhere near that crazy pensioner again. Martha's trouble and I definitely do not need anyone else ambushing my stupid summer.

‘I won't do it!' The words fly out of my mouth before Dad has even finished speaking. ‘You can't be serious?'

‘Calm down, Erin,' he says, stretching his legs out in front of him on the grass and reaching for another sandwich. ‘You're completely overreacting. You never know, it might be fun!'

I stare at him in disbelief. Fun? Nothing about any of this could possibly be counted as ‘fun'. I thought my summer couldn't get any worse but boy, was I wrong. Now, the thought of sitting on
my own in my secret hideaway all day sounds blissful. Being lonely wasn't so bad.

‘She's a snotty, up-herself, troublesome old lady,' I tell him. Dad raises an eyebrow and looks like he's trying not to smile, which just makes me madder. ‘She didn't say one word to me yesterday. Why on earth would you think she'd want to spend time with me?'

‘It was Beatrice's idea,' says Dad. ‘She told me that the two of you got on splendidly yesterday and that it'd be really helpful if you could spend some time every day with Martha. And as I know how keen you are to show me that you're all mature and sensible now, I agreed that it was a good plan.'

Ah, now it all makes sense. We're being punished, Martha and me. Dad obviously doesn't know about the cigarettes and Beatrice is going to use this information to blackmail me into doing what she wants. My punishment is to help look after Martha, and Martha's punishment is to put up with me. Fantastic. What a great summer holiday this is turning out to be.

Dad throws me an apple and stands up. ‘You're meeting her by the water fountain at two o'clock. Don't be late.' He starts to stride off across the
garden, stopping by the hedge and turning back towards me. ‘And keep an open mind, Erin.' Then he's gone and I am left scowling into thin air.

As I sit by the water fountain just before two o'clock, I think about Martha. She's not like any old person I've ever met before. She wasn't chatty and happy and interested in me like Granny Edna was. I'm not sure I've ever met such a grumpy pensioner before.

‘Hello!' Beatrice calls to me as she pushes Martha through the sunshine and towards the bench where I am sitting. ‘Good – you're here nice and early! Did your father explain the situation to you?'

I'm too scared of Beatrice's temper to ignore her so I nod. She parks Martha next to me and stands in front of the wheelchair, her hands on her hips and her face looking stern.

‘Do not go leading this young lady astray – do you hear me?'

Martha looks at her blankly and Beatrice laughs – a loud, raucous laugh that makes me want to join in, despite my determination to be mad at her. ‘Oh, you! Don't go giving me that dippy old lady routine. I'll be back in half an hour.
Behave.' She winks at me and saunters off down the path, whistling.

I look over at Martha. She's wearing her scarf again and a really daft floppy hat – it doesn't suit the moody scowl on her face one little bit and as I watch, she slowly reaches up her left arm and knocks the hat on to the floor.

‘Shall I get that?' I say, bending down towards the ground. There is silence and when I look up, I see Martha glaring at me crossly. ‘OK – I'll just leave it where it is, then,' I tell her, straightening up and leaning back on the bench. I don't blame her – it really is a stupid-looking hat.

We sit quietly for a while and then I see Martha shuffling around in her chair. I watch her lazily out of the corner of my eye, and see her reach under the blanket that tucks her legs in. It takes her ages because the blanket is wrapped round her really tightly, and she's only using her left hand. She must be left-handed like me. Eventually, she pulls back the blanket and takes out a notebook and pen. Then she stares off into the distance, completely in a world of her own. It's like she doesn't even know I'm here.

I ignore her right back and wonder if it's possible to die of boredom. Are we just supposed
to sit here in silence for thirty minutes? It's certainly an effective punishment.

I sigh and start thinking about what Lauren and Nat will be doing right now. I saw on Facebook that they've been hanging out in the shopping centre and last week they swear that they went to the cinema with some boys from Year 11. I bet that isn't even true. I really hope it isn't, anyway.

A movement from Martha distracts me and I turn to look at her. She is trying to open the notebook, but her movements are really awkward and as I watch, she knocks it with her arm and it falls, landing on the ground next to the stupid hat.

I leap off the bench and crouch down, picking up the notebook and reaching for the pen that has rolled under her wheelchair.

‘Here you go,' I say and pass them both back to her. She reaches out slowly and takes them from me but she still doesn't say a word. I wonder if she's a nun and has taken a vow of silence. Or maybe she just doesn't like me.

‘O-K,' I say slowly. ‘Just trying to help.'

I turn up the volume on my iPod and try to zone out but even though she isn't actually saying or doing anything, Martha is kind of hard to
ignore. I close my eyes and start humming along to the song in an attempt to distract myself.

As the song finishes and the next one begins I get a prickling sensation down my spine. An unmistakable feeling that I am being watched. I open one eye and look across at Martha. She isn't gazing at the water fountain any more – instead, she's looking at me. She nods her head in that bossy way that means she wants me to do something and I turn off my iPod and sit up straighter. For an old woman she is totally rude – would it kill her to speak to me now and again? I have to admit, I'm curious, though. She's full of surprises.

This is certainly true right now. As I watch, Martha starts miming smoking a cigarette and glaring at me.

‘Yeah, about that,' I tell her, feeling my face going red. ‘I'm sorry if I got you into trouble yesterday.'

Martha scowls at me.

‘You can't blame me entirely. It's not like I forced you to smoke it,' I say, feeling fed up. I'm just the child here – she's supposed to be the grown-up.

I'm about to turn my iPod back on when Martha holds something up. It's her notepad and she's
written a word on the page. Her handwriting is horrible. There's no way she'd get away with writing like that in school nowadays. I wonder for a second about why she hasn't just spoken to me but then I read the word and get completely distracted.

Fag

Martha's eyebrows are raised expectantly and I understand now what she's been going on about. I snigger but the sound that comes out is all nervous and high-pitched.

‘I haven't got any,' I say, wondering if she's going to start ranting and raving. Martha doesn't strike me as the sort of person to handle disappointment very well. She surprises me, though, and instead just does a sort of shrug and puts the notepad back down.

And we're back to sitting in silence again.

I've decided to utilize my time and get some of my art project done so I've looked through a couple of books and found the painting that I want to write about today. It's quite peaceful out here in the sunshine. I pick up my art book and start writing down my thoughts about a painting called
To the Unknown Voice
, but after a while I
wonder if Martha might be getting bored. I think I'd better make some sort of effort in case she complains to Beatrice.

‘So,' I say, ‘how come you're at Oak Hill, then?'

Martha doesn't answer me, but her mouth turns down and I get the feeling that she isn't delighted to be here.

‘Are you ever going to speak to me?' I ask her. ‘This would all be a lot easier if you'd actually do some of the talking.' Martha scowls and looks away from me. I guess she doesn't like being told what to do, either.

‘Is anyone coming to visit you today?' I'm determined to get her talking to me. I couldn't actually care less about what she's got to say but I don't like the fact that she's not saying anything. It's freaky – like she's playing a game and I don't know the rules. She shakes her head but at least she's actually looking at me now.

‘What about tomorrow, then? Are your family coming then?' This is really hard work.

Martha shakes her head again. I'm starting to think that I'm asking the wrong questions here – that something isn't quite right.

‘Martha – can you actually talk?' I ask, my voice a bit quieter than it was before. There's a
long pause while Martha looks at me and I start to regret my question. Perhaps I've been rude. It's really none of my business, after all.

Just as I'm about to look away, Martha seems to make a decision about something. She looks up for a moment and when she looks back at me she shakes her head. Just once.

Then she bends over her notepad. She scrawls something on the page and then holds it up for me to see.

No family

That can't be right. Everybody has some kind of family. Even if they're really rubbish and run off and abandon you and don't care less about your happiness and what you really want. I slide along the bench so that I'm sitting closer to Martha.

‘You mean you haven't got anyone?' I ask her.

She shakes her head.

‘Did you never get married?'

Martha looks down at her hands for a minute and I follow her gaze. There, on the third finger of her left hand, all wrinkled and old, is a wedding ring.

‘You were married!' I say, feeling pleased. I knew that it couldn't be true. Everybody has to have somebody.

Martha writes a note.

Tommy

I'm starting to enjoy this. It's a bit like a treasure hunt with the clues written down. I need more details, though, and I've got to work out the best questions to ask, seeing as Martha's voice doesn't seem to work properly.

‘Where's Tommy now?'

Martha looks away and I feel the mood change. I've made a mistake asking that question.

‘OK,' I rush, thinking fast. ‘When did you meet him?'

Martha turns and points at me.

‘When you were about my age? Wow – that must be years ago. So, you met Tommy when you were around twelve and later on you married him. Right?' Martha does her weird smiling face again. ‘You must have really liked him then. I don't know any boys that I'd be prepared to marry!'

She scrawls two words on the notepad and I crane across her to read them.

No good

‘Who was no good? Tommy?' I ask. She nods and sits up straight in her wheelchair. Then she writes again on her notepad. It takes her longer this time – she's really slow.

Let's go for a drive

What is she on about now? How are we supposed to go for a drive?

‘I don't know what you mean,' I tell her slowly, feeling an uncomfortable feeling creeping over me. Martha does her weird grin again and mimes driving a car. Oh no. I don't think so.

‘Er, Martha? You do know I'm not even thirteen yet, don't you?' I ask her. ‘I can't actually drive a car.'

Martha points at herself and I try not to let the laugh that bubbles up out of me escape but I just can't help it.

‘You? You want me to help you go for a drive? Are you actually serious?'

Martha scrunches up her nose and wiggles her head from side to side as if she is mocking me. It's the sort of face that Lauren makes when Nat says something ridiculous, and seeing Martha do it makes me feel properly annoyed.

‘Fine!' I tell her. ‘We'll just roll on over to the car park and pick a car we fancy the look of, shall we?' I can hear my voice sounding really sarcastic and rude and I'm slightly shocked at how I'm talking to this woman that I barely even know. There's just something about her that makes me feel – I don't know – maybe a bit nervous but adventurous and brave at the same time. I know I wouldn't have got away with talking to Granny Edna like this, that's for sure – Mum would have had a fit.

Martha writes a note.

Dad's van

I lean back on the bench and look at her. I cannot believe that she has just said that. An octogenarian is encouraging me to joyride. My summer just got even more random.

‘You are out of your mind,' I tell her and then I watch as Martha's shoulders start shaking, her
dimpled cheeks start wobbling and her eyes shine over with unshed tears. She is laughing. And her laughter may be silent but it is powerful. Any other time I'd be joining in, but not today. Not now. Today I am suddenly furious with the ancient, withered old woman in front of me. What business does she have suggesting things like that to me?

‘Oh, grow up. You're old enough to know better.' She's making me feel stupid, like I'm the responsible one and she's the little kid and I don't like it.