Five Things They Never Told Me (7 page)

I've said the right thing to get her attention. She's not laughing any more and as I watch, she pulls herself up so that she seems to tower over me, even though she's still sitting in the wheelchair.

She fixes me with her suddenly steely eyes, making me feel like I'm pinned down to the bench. Then she writes again and thrusts the notepad towards me.

Grow old – yes. Grow up – never

I can see the disgust on her face. I look away and think about this. What on earth is she on about – never growing up? She's about as old as it's possible to get so she
must
be grown up.

She's definitely grown old, though, that's for sure. I glance back at her, sitting in her wheelchair, and see her hands are all twisted. She reminds me of an old oak tree, all ancient and gnarled. I peer at her closely, this time trying to
really
look at her. But even if I focus really hard and squint my eyes a bit, I can't see someone like me. It's just too difficult – what with all the wrinkles and baggy skin. Maybe her eyes look like they could belong to a naughty, adventurous teenager but the rest of her is one hundred per cent old lady. It's weird, actually – like her eyes aren't connected to the rest of her body. A bit like an invasion of the bodysnatchers.

It makes me wonder if the real, young, fun Martha is hiding inside the old worn-out body sitting next to me. A Martha who thinks that stealing my dad's van is a good idea. A Martha who wants to get out of here. But this is such a weird thought that I shake my head and look back at the water fountain. Martha is just an old woman. Unable to cook her own meals or dress herself properly or even talk like a normal person. An old woman sitting here waiting for her time to come to an end.

Martha doesn't want to talk now and I'm glad.

When Beatrice returns, Martha is dozing in her wheelchair.

‘Everything all right?' whispers Beatrice to me.

‘I think so,' I whisper back, because honestly – how would I even know if Martha wasn't all right? It's not like I'm a doctor or a care person or something. I wonder for a moment if I should tell Beatrice about Martha's desire to joyride but decide there's no point. It was probably just a weird old-person joke, anyway, and I don't want to get her into trouble, even if she is a pain.

‘Thank you for spending time with Martha,' says Beatrice. ‘It's lovely to see her out here with someone. She's usually on her own and I worry about her being lonely.'

‘No problem,' I mutter but meanly I'm thinking that it's not like I had an actual choice. I guess I hardly have to do anything. Just sit in silence with someone who can't even talk to me but has no problem with asking me to break the law. All in a day's work.

‘And it sorts two problems at once, which is good,' continues Beatrice. ‘There was I, wondering what to do about Martha, and there was your dad, wondering what to do about you. It's all worked out perfectly!'

Beatrice is still talking but I'm suddenly so cross that I can hardly bring myself to reply to her. Martha stirs and wakes and I can feel her eyes on me. When I glance in her direction it feels like she's asking me a question. For a second, I can tell that she knows something is wrong – but I turn my head away. She wouldn't get it. She wouldn't understand that right now, I feel as if not one single person in the entire world cares about how I spend my summer. God – Martha probably thinks she's doing me a
favour
by hanging out with me. This isn't right. I need to take control of this situation.

I don't look at Martha once when Beatrice starts arranging for us to meet up again tomorrow. I'm not sure why I don't tell her the truth – which is that I totally can't stand old people. That ridiculous suggestion about taking my dad's van for a drive – it's just wrong. It's MY generation who should be talking about that sort of thing – not hers. Martha is antique. That's not what old people
do
. And all that rubbish about growing up but not growing old. She's grown old so she must have grown up. News flash – that's what happens. You don't get to choose. I can't tell Beatrice that I don't want to be with
anybody
, especially not
silent Martha, because she'd ask why and I don't have an answer that's good enough for her. I don't think she'd want to hear that I feel betrayed. That I don't need any help finding my own friends and even if I actually
am
a bit lonely then I'd rather have nobody than someone who smells like death.

I wonder if one day I'll be trapped, like Martha is, inside wrinkly skin and a dilapidated shell. And I think that this summer is bad enough without people coming up with new and imaginative ways to make me miserable.

The girl, Erin, asked me about Tommy. I'd been trying to ignore her in the hope that she would go away and leave me in peace, but she was quite insistent for a young thing. It was my own fault really, for writing her the note. I just thought that she might possibly have some more cigarettes and contraband like that is very hard to come by in this prison that masquerades as a care home. I'd have happily ignored her all day but then she asked about family. She asked about Tommy. She wanted to know when I met him. It has been years since I thought about that day but now, sitting here with nothing else to entertain me, it's all coming back.

The rain is pouring down outside and the clouds make the night so dark. It was very different that particular day. Then the sun shone
and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. That was why it seemed like such a good idea when Tommy invited me to go to the woods with him.

Oh, it wasn't the first time that I met him. We'd been at school together ever since we were little ones. But it was only that summer that I'd started to see him differently. It was only that summer that I really noticed him. I was thirteen years old so it must have been the summer of 1942.

My younger sister, Mim, was the biggest cause of trouble in my life at that time. She didn't make the trouble (I did that all by myself) but she always seemed to be around somewhere, waiting for me to do something wrong. If only she hadn't felt the need to follow me home from school that day then everything would have been fine. It would have been more than fine, in fact. It would have been perfect.

It was my own fault. I should have thought to check. I allowed myself to get carried away in the excitement and when Tommy asked me to cycle down to the woods with him I could think of nothing but he and I, together and alone.

He'd been asking me all week. I said no for the first four days but by that day I was getting worried that he'd give up on me and ask Margaret
instead. I knew that she would say yes in a flash. She was a bit brazen like that. So I agreed to go and we were getting along really well until my horrid, frightful sister decided to follow us. She waited until we had got off our bicycles and were just inside the wood. Tommy was pointing out a bird sitting high up in the tree above us and then his arm was round my shoulder and I was fairly certain that my first kiss was about to happen. I was just thinking how glad I was that I would always be able to remember this moment – Tommy and the sunlight trickling through the branches, making the whole world look enchanted and magical.

Everything was completely right and I was just wondering whether it was time to close my eyes and lean in for his kiss when there was a horrendous, screeching sound. Tommy and I sprang apart and when we looked round, there was Mim, halfway across the field and standing up on the pedals of her bicycle so that she could see more clearly.

I knew I could never catch her but I had to try. I left Tommy standing on his own in the wood. It wasn't the only time that I would do that to him and the second time it happened, the memory of this day made it all the harder.

It was too late, though. By the time I raced into the backyard, Mother was standing in the doorway, wiping her floury hands on her apron, looking furious. Mim was loitering behind her with a rotten kind of smirk on her face.

Mother wouldn't listen when I told her that nothing had happened. She said that nice girls like me did not go within spitting distance of the woods with the likes of Tommy McGregor. She said that he was ‘No Good', and that I was a terrible role model for Mim. I was banned from going anywhere except home and school for the next two weeks and told that it was about time I started to grow up.

I didn't really care about that and I didn't pay much attention to what she said to me, either. I didn't care about getting older and I thought that growing up sounded like a very dull sort of thing to be bothered with.

Oh, I'm not daft. I've got eyes. When I look in the mirror I can see the old lady I've become. Age cannot be halted and only a fool would try to stop time from doing its duty. After all, there are
some
perks.

Growing up, however, is a different matter altogether. Nobody ever tells you that this is
purely optional. How you behave is completely at your own discretion and I, for one, intend to do as I please. My advanced years do provide me with certain benefits, you see. Nobody suspects the elderly of being capable of anything other than knitting bootees for babies and sucking on toffees. I have found a certain freedom in this.

But oh, my poor, No-Good Tommy. If only that picture of him, standing in the dappled sunlight under the trees that day was the last memory I had of him. If this were so then I think I would be a happy woman. The girl asked me where he is now. I wish I had the answer to that question, although I suspect I shall discover it before too long.

I would like to see her again, despite her incessant need to talk. Her questions have reminded me of things that I thought were buried long ago. I think she might be fun. She might help to liven things up a bit.

The last two days have been totally boring. I don't know how Dad doesn't go mad, hanging around the garden all day. Plants are seriously dull.

I've done my penance and met up with Martha at the agreed time each day. I've barely spoken to Dad about her, except after that first afternoon when he asked me if we'd had a nice chat. I
laughed quite a lot at that until he got cross with me.

We've sat in complete silence on both days – I listen to my iPod and do my sketching and don't bother talking to her. She's probably glad that she can just be moody and miserable without any interruptions because it's not like she's tried to get my attention or anything. On the positive side, I've done some great sketches. On the negative side, my voice is going to forget how to work if I don't find someone to talk to soon.

I've thought a few times about Martha and Tommy. She met him when she was my age and then ended up marrying him. It's made me think about the boys I know. I reckon I must be the least popular girl in Year 8. Nobody has shown the slightest interest in even wanting to go out with me, so based on that evidence there's a strong possibility that I may never actually get married. Not that anyone at school knows that I've never had a boyfriend. Not even Lauren and Nat. Everyone has gone a bit mental with the whole boy-girl thing. Four different boys asked Lauren out just on one day (and she said yes to each of them). It can be kind of hard to concentrate in lessons with the amount of asking out that's
always going on. I get jabbed in the back with a ruler at least three times in every maths lesson and every time I turn round there'll be a note being thrust in my face. Always with someone else's name on the front.

When it all first started I used to joke that it was all good work experience for if I want to get a job delivering the mail when I grow up. Which I absolutely do not. But after a while I started to feel left out, which I guess was natural when the entire year group was in a whirlwind dating frenzy and I was left standing in the middle like an abandoned bit of tumbleweed. Even Shelley, who has got really bad spots (not to be mean or anything but it's true), got asked out at the end-of-term disco.

That pushed me over the edge. I was completely fed up with being the only person in the whole of Year 8 without a boyfriend. And that was when Barney entered my life. He was in Year 10 and went to school in a different town. Barney was completely head over heels in love with me, right from the beginning.

I enjoyed showing Lauren and Nat the bead bracelet that he bought me to celebrate our two-week anniversary. He was such a softie and totally
romantic. I told my friends to keep it a secret, that I didn't want anyone to find out I was dating an older boy. That ensured that everyone in my French class knew about it before lunchtime and by the end of the day I was the talk of Year 8.

It was fantastic! Barney was generous and funny and obviously, drop-dead gorgeous. He had black, curly hair and sparkling blue eyes and his favourite thing of all was to write love songs about me that he would play on his guitar. Best of all, he thought that I was the most amazing girlfriend that a boy could possibly have.

‘He sounds too good to be true,' said Nat dreamily, every time I mentioned him. She had no idea how right she was.

Yes – Barney was perfect in every way. The problems only began when Lauren and Nat started demanding to meet him. Then, his lack of existence became a bit of an issue and I had to think quickly.

So one rainy Monday morning I went to school looking sad. It was over, I told my friends. Barney was just getting too needy. He wanted more from me than I was prepared to give and the final crunch had come over the weekend when he said that I was spending too much time with Lauren and Nat.
They were utterly horrified. They dried my tears and held my hand and together we made a pact.

‘Mates before dates,' we said. No way would we ever let a boy tear our friendship apart. Lauren and Nat even dumped their boyfriends in a show of solidarity and we spent all our spare time together for the next week, listening to music and reading magazines and slagging off all the boys we knew. Then life got back to normal – they got asked out and I was left passing messages of undying love (at least until morning break) from one end of the classroom to the other.

If Mum was more interested, then I suppose that I could ask her why no boys seem to like me. I could ask her what other people see when they look at me. When I look in the mirror I just see me. An ordinary person. I mean, my hair's a bit of a state – it's kind of a blackish mop stuck on top of my head, and my nose has got a bit of a bump in the middle and I'm quite short for my age but I'm not hideous or anything. Maybe it's my personality that's the problem. Perhaps I'm just the sort of person that other people don't want to be around? Mum could probably answer that one really easily but I'm definitely not going to ask her. I'm scared of what she might say.

Then again, Mum wouldn't understand even if I did ask her opinion. She's got two men that want to be with her. What would she know about feeling lonely and unattractive and unwanted? And there's no way I can ask Dad – he'd have an actual heart attack if I started talking about emotions and feelings and stuff and I'd die of complete humiliation.

I've been in the hideaway all morning, eaten a silent lunch with Dad and am now dragging my sorry self towards the water fountain, ready for yet another thrilling afternoon of boredom. As I walk down the pathway from Dad's shed I suddenly see Martha and Beatrice rounding the hedge ahead of me, on the path that leads to the fountain. I fling myself off the path and hide behind a bush, desperate not to be spotted. I realize that this is a bit ridiculous but my punishment time doesn't start until I reach the bench and I don't intend to prolong the agony by walking there with the pair of them, Beatrice all chatty and Martha all moody.

Suddenly I feel goose bumps on the back of my neck, as if somebody is watching me. I turn my head slowly and stifle a shriek as I see a pair of
big eyes peering at me from behind a tree. Then I relax. It's just one of Dad's sculptures. I haven't seen this one before and it's actually really realistic, in a freaky way. He's used a knobbly bit of old tree trunk to create a weird, lizard-type creature that looks as if it's about to scuttle off into the undergrowth. Mum was right – Dad is pretty good at this stuff.

I turn back to my bush and peep through the leaves, breathing a sigh of relief as I watch Beatrice and Martha head away from me, the wheelchair crunching over the gravel towards the fountain.

Once they're out of sight I get up, brushing bits of twig and leaves off my legs and feeling a bit foolish. Then I follow them down the path, walking as slowly as I can, keen to prolong my freedom for a few more minutes.

Beatrice is quick to leave once I've reached the water fountain and I sink on to the bench without even glancing in Martha's direction. God, it's so utterly dull around here. There is exactly nothing to do and nobody worth talking to. I think about the rest of the summer holidays, stretching away into the distance with no end in sight and I start to feel desperate. I can't just sit on this bench for
the next four weeks. I'll actually go stark staring crazy.

And then my phone beeps. Pulling it out of my pocket I see a text message from Nat.

OMG!!! U HAVE TO RING ME NOW!!! U WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!!!

The buzz of excitement in my stomach has less to do with the shouty capitals and more to do with the fact that something has happened. Something unexpected. Finally! I scroll to Nat's name in my contacts list and press dial. And my stupid, lame phone loses signal.

No – this is not fair. I've done everything everyone has asked of me. I've spent every weekday at Oak Hill and I'm generously giving my own free time to looking after a grouchy old woman. Surely I'm paying my dues?

I wave my phone in the air, but nothing happens. This is a critical situation – time critical. If I don't ring Nat now then she won't bother to text me next time and I won't have a clue about what's going on because she'll tell Lauren instead and I'll be even more on the outside than I already am. I have to make this call.

I leap on to the bench but it's no good. The water fountain is surrounded by trees and I think they might be blocking the signal or something. Holding my phone in front of me like a person searching for water with a divining rod, I step off the bench and walk slowly forward towards the other side of the fountain. Nothing.

There's a path that I haven't been down before on the other side and I head towards the end, passing between hedges and under trees. And then, finally, just as I'm starting to think that there is no hope, my phone beeps and I've got three bars of signal. Not great, but hopefully enough to make a call. I cross my fingers as the phone rings and when I hear Nat's voice on the other end I nearly shout with happiness.

‘Nat! Tell me what's going on!' I screech.

‘Is that you, Erin?' Nat's voice sounds a long way away.

‘Yes! What's the big news?'

‘You totally won't believe it!' she shrieks, and then my phone cuts out again.

‘No!' I cry, waving it frantically in the air. Why is my life so rubbish? Is it really too much to ask that I have a bit of happiness every now and again?

I take a step forward, determined to find signal again if it kills me, but a noise from behind stops me in my tracks.

I turn, but the only things I can see are hedges. Perhaps I was mistaken? But then I hear it again – a faint cry in the distance. It's quiet and frail and unmistakably human. And it's coming from the direction of the water fountain.

Shoving my phone into my pocket I start to run, dodging small bushes and rounding hedges as fast as I can. As I burst out on to the gravel area round the fountain I see three things. The first is Martha's notepad, lying on the ground. The second is her wheelchair, tipped over on its side with one wheel still slowly turning and the third is Martha, sprawled next to it and making a sound unlike any I've ever heard before.

I freeze, my feet skidding and making the gravel spray up over my trainers. For a second I lock eyes with Martha, her cheek pressed against the ground. The look in her eyes makes me feel something new. Something unwelcome. I did this. I left her on her own when I was supposed to be looking out for her.

I blink and start to take a step forward but before I can move I'm shoved to one side as somebody blurs past me.

‘Hey!' he shouts, sprinting over to her and kneeling down on the ground. ‘Are you OK? What happened?'

My brain seems to have entered a planet all of its own because I am making no sense of the scene in front of me. It's him. The boy I met in town the day that I bought the iPad. I have no idea why he's here and I don't know what to do about Martha but my feet are doing the thinking for themselves and suddenly I'm standing over the pair of them.

The boy looks up at me. ‘Go and get some help,' he tells me and while he's speaking quietly I can hear the fear in his voice. ‘And be quick.'

I stand for another moment, looking at Martha lying on the ground. She doesn't seem so formidable now – just small and vulnerable. Guilt is churning around my stomach and I don't think I can leave her again – but then the boy glances back up at me.

‘Go!' he orders and I go, running away from the fountain and down the path towards the house.

When I think about it later, I can see that logically, it only took a few minutes to track down Beatrice
and tell her what had happened. It didn't feel like just a few minutes, though. It felt like hours. When I followed the care workers back to the fountain my heart felt as if it was going to bang right out of my chest. What if Martha died? That happened to old people, right? They couldn't cope with falling over – something to do with their bones being really weak or something. If Martha died it'd be all my fault because I left her alone.

But she wasn't dead. Beatrice and the other care workers got her upright and then slowly, carefully lifted her into the wheelchair. The boy had moved off to the other side of the bench and I was too ashamed to look at him – scared about what I'd see on his face. As the quiet, solemn procession headed down the path I shrank back under the trees. This wasn't the place for me, not now.