Freaks Out! (4 page)

I pursed my lips and stayed silent.

“
Quite
funny? A
little
bit funny? Just the tiniest
teeny
bit funny?”

“If you really want to know –” Skye, who had been marching ahead like she wasn't really with us, suddenly swung round – “it was stupid and childish and totally insensitive!”

With that, she swung back and went striding on, her legs clacking open and shut like a pair of scissors, her shoes clump-clumping as she went.
Me and Jem were like stunned. I was somewhat annoyed with Jem myself. I'd been looking forward to showing off my people skills, being sympathetic and offering comfort, but even I didn't think she deserved to be yelled at.

“What did I do?” Jem sounded bewildered. “I didn't do anything!”

We broke into a trot, racing along behind Skye.

“Hey!” Jem caught hold of Skye's sleeve, trying to slow her down. “Tell me what I did!”

“You know what you did.”

“I don't!”

“Well, you ought.”

“But I don't!” Poor Jem was looking so dejected I felt I had to stand up for her.

“She was just having a bit of a joke,” I said.

“She was being insensitive! Making fun of –” Skye choked – “people dying!”

“Only her great-great-grandmother,” I pleaded. “She
was
a hundred and ten.”

“So what?” To my horror, there were tears
streaming down Skye's cheeks. I don't think I'd ever, ever seen Skye in tears. Not even when she broke her wrist, back in primary school and was in agony. “Just because someone's old it means there aren't people that love them?”

I said, “No, of course not.”

“Then why make a joke of it?”

Sounding somewhat nervous, Jem said, “I didn't mean to upset anyone.”

“No, you just didn't think!” Skye swiped the back of her hand angrily across her eyes. “You never do! You say these things without ever bothering to consider other people's feelings.”

Jem chewed uncertainly on her bottom lip. I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking. It had just come to me that Skye's gran, who lived with them, was a very old lady. Skye's mum and dad are quite old, like her dad is practically a senior citizen. Just a short while back Skye's gran had celebrated her ninetieth birthday. She had had a special birthday party, with people coming from all
over the world. Skye had been really excited. She had told us proudly that her gran was going to live to be a hundred and get a telegram from the Queen.

Now I was starting to have horrible feelings. From the look on Jem's face, I guessed that she was also having them. Perhaps we should have started having them sooner, when we'd noticed how unhappy Skye was, but it is
so
difficult when one of your closest friends won't confide in you.

Jem was signalling at me furiously.
Do something!

To be honest, just for a moment, I felt a bit resentful. I mean, why pick on me?
I
wasn't the one that had laughed about my great-great-grandmother dying. But then I looked at Skye and reminded myself that I was a people person. Jem wasn't a people person. She was bubbly and funny, but she didn't always consider other people's feelings.

It had to be up to me.

I took a deep breath, and swallowed. Jem waved her hands at me, like
Say something, say something!
I took another breath and did another swallow.

“Um… Skye?” I dabbed rather nervously at her arm. Skye isn't at all a touchy-feely person like me and Jem. If it had been Jem, I'd have put my arm round her properly, like friends should, but you can't do that with Skye, it makes her uncomfortable. “I wish you'd tell us what's wrong!”

Stiffly, she moved away. “Nothing's wrong! Just
leave me alone.”

I didn't dare dab at her again. I took another breath and did a little hop and skip to catch her up, but before I could say anything Jem had gone blundering in,
crash bang wallop
, the way that she does.

“If there's nothing wrong,” she said, “what are you crying for?”

Skye turned on her fiercely. “I'm not crying!”

“You were just now,” said Jem.

“I was not!”

“You were,” said Jem. “You—”

I frowned and kicked Jem quite hard on the ankle. Jem said, “Ow!” and looked at me reproachfully. I was sorry if I'd hurt her, but she really can be quite unhelpful at times. It's strange how some people just seem to totally lose their heads in a crisis.

“Thing is,” I said, “we are supposed to be
friends
.”

“We are friends,” muttered Skye.

“Well, but friends tell each other things.”

“It's what they're for,” said Jem. “Wouldn't be any
point having them otherwise.”

“It's not like we're trying to pry. We're just worried about you.”

Skye didn't say anything to that, but at least she had stopped marching and slowed down to a more normal pace. I had this feeling that she
wanted
to talk, she just didn't know how to get started. Suppose this was drama with Miss Hamilton? What would I say?

“It's not your gran, is it?” The words burst out of me. “Skye? It's not your gran?”

The tears sprang back into her eyes. She dashed them away ferociously on her sleeve. Timidly I said, “S-Skye?”

So then, at last, she told us. How two weeks ago, her beloved gran had had a stroke and been taken to hospital. How she had died over the weekend.

“She was so brave,” said Skye. “She fought so hard! And now she's gone, and I'm going to miss her so much. She was just, like, always there for me, you know? Like if I was worried about anything,
I could always go to her. And that time I was off school for weeks, when I was ill? She was the one that looked after me. She always looked after me! She was the one I went to if I was in trouble, like once when I got this really bad mark for English, like really really bad, and I couldn't tell Mum or Dad, I was just so ashamed, so I told Gran and she made me realise there was more in life than just passing exams, and it sort of cheered me up for a bit, cos I knew she was right, even if Mum and Dad wouldn't probably agree, and now she's not here any more and I don't have anyone to turn to!”

“You have us,” I said.

“I know.” Skye sniffed, and nodded, and tilted her chin. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I just couldn't bear to talk about it.”

But now that she had, she admitted it did make her feel a bit better.

“Talking does help.”

“Talking's what you have to do,” said Jem. “When Poppy died I talked and talked.”

Poppy was a guinea pig that Jem had had at primary school. I could remember her talking. We had all been sympathetic cos, I mean, a guinea pig is like a member of the family, like a cat or a dog. I was a bit concerned, though, in case Skye might think it was wrong to compare her gran to a guinea pig. Anxiously, I said, “Of course, it's not the same.”

“I'm not saying it's the same,” said Jem. “Just that talking is good.”

“It is,” said Skye. “And you're right, it's what friends are for. So thanks, you guys!”

We parted company as usual at Sunnybrook Gardens. Skye waved quite cheerfully, and said, “See you tomorrow!” I realised it was the first time she'd done that for ages. She was obviously feeling
lots
better. I was pleased to think it was all because of me – well, and a little bit because of Jem. To be fair to Jem, she had tried. But I was the one who'd got Skye to talk!

I told Mum about it when I got home.

“She's been
so
miserable. But she just wouldn't say anything, you know? She never does.”

“I guess she doesn't find it easy,” said Mum. “She's not exactly one of nature's chatterboxes. Unlike someone I could name!”

I said, “Mum, are you talking about me?”

“Well, if the cap fits,” said Mum.

I thought about it. It's true, I suppose; I do get told off quite a lot for talking, though not nearly as much as Jem. The thing about Jem, it has to be said, she doesn't always stop to think before she opens her mouth. Like this one time when a girl in our class, Amy Shah, was telling us how she was trying to lose weight, saying she didn't want to lose too much, just a tiny little bit, and Jem goes jumping in and says right, cos if she lost too much it would look really silly, a tiny little body with a huge great face on top of it. Daisy Hooper went, “Ooh, nasty!” and Lucy didn't speak to Jem for the whole of the rest of term. Jem never properly understood what she'd done to upset her.

“All I said was she's got a big face and it would look silly!”

Like comparing Skye's gran to a guinea pig. I'd have been well pleased if she'd gone and undone all my good work.

“Anyway,” said Mum, “do I take it Skye's feeling better?”

“Loads! Of course, she's still sad.”

“She will be,” said Mum. “It'll take a while.”

I couldn't help wondering how I would feel if it was one of my grans that had died. I sat in the kitchen, trying to imagine it, but the thought of either of them not being there any more was just too upsetting. And
that
was only in my imagination. Plus I only get to see my grans once or twice a year, like at Christmas or on birthdays. Skye's gran had actually lived with her. No wonder Skye had been so down.

I wished, now, that we'd been nicer to her. We'd been so horrid, that day we were writing horoscopes and she'd driven us mad by inventing
all these insane rules and ordering us around. We'd kept tutting, and rolling our eyes, and pulling faces behind her back. She must have known we were doing it. I wished we hadn't! But at least now we'd made up for it a bit.

I suddenly became aware that Rags had ambled across the kitchen and laid his big doggy head on my lap. He gazed up at me, full of love. He is such a sweet boy! He always knows if you're feeling a bit low.

Angel came bursting through the door as I was making crooning noises and rubbing my cheek against Rags head.

“What's up with you?” she said. “You in pain or something?”

I said, “Skye's grandma has just died.”

“Oh.” Angel wandered across to the fridge. “I thought p'raps an elephant had trodden on your foot.” She yanked open the fridge door and stood there, peering inside. “Hey, Mum, are we out of yogurt?” she said.

She can be just so insensitive at times. Well, all of the time, really.

“
Mu-u-um!
” She slammed the fridge door shut. “We're out of yogurt!”

“Skye's very upset,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Like anyone would be.” Any normal person.

Angel helped herself to an apple and sank her teeth into it. She chewed noisily.

“I thought her gran was ancient. Like about a hundred and three, or something.”

“Doesn't mean Skye didn't love her! How'd you feel if one of our grans died?”

“God, do you have to be so morbid?” cried Angel. “They're not going to die! They're nothing like that old.”

It was a sort of comfort. In my mind, I'd already been picturing funerals and graveyards. I do tend to get a bit carried away. It's the curse of having an active imagination. I don't think Angel has any at all, which is why she is so insensitive.

Next day, on our way into school, Skye turned to me and said, “Guess what?” The way she said it, my heart sank. Sometimes when people say “Guess what?” it means, “Hey! Guess what? Good news!” Other times it's more like, “Hey, guess what? We're having double maths. Yuck, yuck!” In other words, something bad.

I just knew from the glum tone of Skye's voice that this was one of those other times.
Not
good news. I immediately felt anxious. Skye had seemed so much happier when we'd parted company the previous day. What could have happened to make her all upset again?

Jem, who had been prancing about on the pavement burbling something about her mum trying to force her to eat sprouts (I wasn't really listening), stopped halfway through a sentence with her mouth hanging open. She slid her eyes in my direction.

“You'll never believe it,” said Skye.

Obediently, in chorus, me and Jem went, “What?”

“We can't find Gran's pencil!”

For just a minute I couldn't think what she was talking about, and then it came to me. I remembered how, in primary school, Skye had brought in this very special pencil that belonged to her gran, and had belonged to
her
gran before. It was silver, and had been made by Skye's great-great-something-or-other-granddad, over a hundred years ago. Skye had explained that it was a family heirloom.

We'd all had a go writing with it, twisting the lead up and down. Our teacher had said it was what used to be called a propelling pencil, but was now mostly known as an automatic pencil. Skye had told us, with great pride, that her gran was going to leave it to her when she was gone.

“She's going to put it into her will.”

And now, it seemed, the pencil had vanished.

“We've searched everywhere! We think maybe she took it out into the garden one day and it dropped out of her bag and she didn't realise.”

Jem said, “Why would she take it into the garden?”

“Cos she used to like to sit out there, doing the crossword. And she always used her pencil.”

I had a faint memory of Skye's gran sitting in the garden. An old, old lady, very thin and frail, with white hair. A rug round her knees and the newspaper on her lap.

Skye, choking slightly, said her gran hadn't been able to do the crossword for months. Not since last summer.

“She couldn't see well enough. That's why Dad thinks she might not have known she'd lost it.”

“That's terrible,” said Jem. “If it's silver, it could be valuable.”

“Like I should care about
that
?” Skye glared at her. “I don't want to sell it! I just want to
have
it cos it was Gran's, and it would make me think of her.”

“Yes.” Jem nodded wisely. “I can see that.”

“Dad says we'll have a look round the garden, but he doesn't hold out much hope cos we had builders in and they churned everything up. He says it could be buried somewhere.”

“Or the builders could have stolen it,” said Jem. “I mean,” she added, “if it's valuable. They wouldn't care if it had belonged to your gran.”

I wasn't quite sure it was right to accuse the builders of stealing. My dad's an electrician. He goes into people's houses all the time to fix things. He wouldn't dream of stealing! Skye didn't seem to think the builders would, either.

“Dad says they could have dumped rubble on it when they built the extension.”

“Could always get them to come in and dig it up again,” said Jem.

Skye said yes, she could just see her dad doing that. “It's already cost him a fortune!”

Jem looked hurt. “I'm only trying to be helpful.”

“I know.” Skye thrust her hair back over her ears. “I just thought I'd tell you, that's all. Cos of us being friends and everything? I know there's nothing you can actually do.”

“'Cept listen,” said Jem.

“Which you have.”

“Has it made you feel better?”

Skye said that it had, but I could tell she was only saying it to keep Jem happy. She was really upset about not being able to find her gran's special pencil. I wished there was something I could suggest! I didn't seem to have contributed very much to the conversation. Jem at least had tried.

I worried about it all the rest of the day. Skye had made a real effort. She had opened up to us – well, to
me
, mainly. I was the one she'd turned to – Jem had been too busy burbling about sprouts. Skye had said, “You'll never believe it!” and all I'd managed to say in reply was, “What?”

I have often thought that when I leave school I should like to be someone that helps people. Someone that people can turn to when they are in trouble, like for instance, if their marriages are breaking up. I believe it is something I would be good at. I would not only listen patiently to what they had to say, I would also give practical advice and offer words of comfort. I wouldn't just say
what
?

I felt like I had let Skye down. I really hadn't been any use at all.

At the end of school me and Jem walked home by ourselves, as Skye had a meeting to go to. She is always having meetings. She is our class representative on the school magazine and takes her job very seriously.

“Do you think we helped this morning?” said Jem. “I think we did! Don't you?”

“Dunno.” I kicked at an empty can, sending it flying across the pavement and into the gutter. I find there is a lot of satisfaction to be gained from kicking at things.

We watched in silence as a car drove past. Right over the can, squashing it flat. Jem said, “Hm!” And then, “Don't you think so?”

“See, I'm having these horrible feelings,” I said.