Moon Pie (18 page)

‘Children need rules,’ she said. ‘I warn you now, I will not make the same mistakes your father made.’

She could be strict, sometimes cold. Although she
encouraged ‘discussion’, she was not easy to talk to.

However, Martha soon discovered something Grandma would always talk to her about: Mum.

Living with Dad, Martha had got used to never talking about her. But in Grandma’s house, there was no way of avoiding it. There were photographs of Mum everywhere – on the walls of the living room, on the sideboard in the dining room, along the bookcase in Grandpa’s study, in the hallway, up the stairs, even in the downstairs toilet. Many of them showed Mum when she was a girl, with pale skin and red hair and a pointed nose.

‘You’re so alike,’ Grandma said to Martha. ‘I don’t just mean the colouring, or the features. You have the look too.’

‘What look, Grandma?’

Grandma smiled. ‘Very determined.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. You’re a very determined girl, just as she was. I can tell.’

Grandma liked to talk to her about Mum when she was a girl, her ballet lessons, her struggles with homework, and, above all, her acting in school shows.

‘She was always superb in whatever part she played. And she was always acting, whether or not
she was on stage, putting on funny voices, dressing up, making up little songs.’

When Grandma talked about Mum like this she became a different person, warmer and kinder, easily distracted. At first it was strange. But Martha got used to it. She got used to the pictures too. Sometimes she went round the house, just looking at them. They made her feel sad, because Mum had died, but somehow they made her happy as well, as she imagined the sort of girl that Mum had been and thought about the stories Grandma told her.

It was not the same for Tug. He didn’t talk to Grandma about Mum. He didn’t talk to Grandma at all, if he could help it. But Grandma talked to him, mainly about the house rules and why he shouldn’t have broken them.

‘She’s always telling me off,’ he complained to Martha. ‘Just because there’s a bit of mud got onto the carpet, or the door bangs. If I ask her where the biscuit tin is she says I’m rude. I’m not rude, I’m
hungry
. And I didn’t mean to drop my milk on that rug. And what’s the point of Grandpa?
He
doesn’t help.’

In fact, Grandma told Grandpa off too, for not saying the right thing, or for failing to be ‘sufficiently
firm’ with the children, or for losing his glasses, which was often. Twice he had left them in Tug’s room and it was hardly Tug’s fault that both times he had trodden on them. But mainly it was Tug Grandma told off. She told him off for not speaking when he was spoken to, and for speaking when he shouldn’t have been, and for not eating his salad, and for bringing earth into his room, and for cleverly inserting his third-best JCB into the pipe that fed the water feature in the garden. At the appropriate times she told him off for his poor school reports. When he started to wet the bed again, she was cross with him about that too. And when at last, inevitably, he broke one of the Swarovski crystal figurines, she was very cross indeed.

‘I hate flamingos,’ Tug said. And this was true, because three weeks later, he broke another one.

Martha always defended Tug, though it didn’t make much difference, and sometimes it seemed to make things worse.

As the months went by, Tug grew steadily unhappier.

‘I’m going to run away.’

‘No, you’re not, Tug.’

‘Yes, I am, Martha.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘I’ll go back to Dad.’

‘We don’t know where Dad is.’

Unlike Martha, Tug talked about Dad a lot. He wanted to know where he was, and what he was doing, and why he never came to see them any more.

‘Do you think he has a new family, Martha?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘With a new Tug? And a new Martha?’

‘I don’t know, Tug.’

‘But when will we find out?’

‘I think, Tug, it might be better if we try to forget Dad, at least for a while. It only makes us sad.’

‘Can you forget him?’

‘I’m trying to. It’s easier than you’d think. And it’ll make you feel better.’

Tug said he would try too. ‘But I still hate the flamingos,’ he said. ‘And Grandmas,’ he added.

Every couple of months Martha and Tug had an interview with Alison from the Social Services. In these interviews they were asked lots of questions about living with Grandma and Grandpa, and – as Alison pointed out to Tug – their answers always showed that they were well looked-after, well-fed and safe.

I
f Grandma’s weekly routines could seem dreary and tiring, at least Martha and Tug were still allowed to go to Marcus’s every Wednesday.

One Saturday afternoon in September, shortly after they first moved in with Grandma and Grandpa, Marcus came to the house unannounced.

Grandma opened the door and found him on the doorstep wearing a tight-fitting catsuit made of gold lamé, and eye-liner.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely. ‘You must be Martha’s elegant grandmother. My name is Marcus Brown. May I speak to Martha?’

His good manners confused Grandma, who invited him in, even though Martha was out. She noticed that Marcus was carrying a bag. It was a plastic handbag printed with a leopard-skin design in pink.

‘May I leave something with you, to give to her?’

Grandma said he may, and Marcus took out of the bag a long bright green piece of stretchy fabric.

‘This is a mankini.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘An article of clothing for men. Quite sexual. It fits like this.’

Grandma watched, horrified, as he strapped it on over his catsuit.

‘What do you think?’ he asked Grandma. ‘I think it’s slightly vulgar.’

‘I quite agree,’ she said coldly.

‘It’s the green,’ Marcus said. ‘Exactly the wrong colour. And this fabric is all wrong too. I would like Martha to make me one in artificial fur.’

Grandma was bewildered. ‘Artificial fur?’ she repeated.

‘Yes. Are you keen on artificial fur?’

‘I am not.’

‘You can get some quite nice stuff in electric blue. I’ve seen it.’

Grandma refused to take the mankini from Marcus and showed him out. That evening she talked to Martha about it, and put her view with characteristic plainness.

‘I do not like the idea of you having anything to do with clothing to be worn by this boy. It is very far from proper. I must insist you cease to be involved.’

Martha was dismayed. ‘But, Grandma, Wednesday nights are so much fun. Tug likes them too.’

‘Obviously he will also have to stop going.’

‘And Marcus needs our help.’

‘Your only involvement is with the clothing, I think. I’m sure he will find someone else. I’m sorry, Martha. It’s best to make a clean break and not see him any more.’

From Grandma’s tone of voice it was clear that the ‘discussion’ was over, and she rose to go.

Martha thought fast. ‘Grandma?’

‘What is it?’

‘If I can’t make the costumes, I would like to act.’

As soon as she said it, she had the feeling that she had always meant to say it one day. ‘Pardon?’

‘I would like to act in Marcus’s films. He’s often asked me, and I’ve always said no. But I’ve changed my mind. Now I really want to.’

Grandma sat down again. She frowned. ‘What films are these?’

‘
My Fair Lady. Casablanca.
’

Grandma was surprised. ‘They are good films, it’s true,’ she said.

‘I want to do what Mum did,’ Martha said.

The change came over Grandma. She smiled to
herself. ‘Once, in fact, your mother acted in the school production of
My Fair Lady
. I remember it very well. There is a photo of her in Grandpa’s study, I must show you.’

‘She was such a very good actress, wasn’t she, Grandma?’

Grandma nodded again. ‘Though,’ she added sternly, ‘I’m not at all sure the acting world was good for her in the end.’

Martha said, ‘This is just at a friend’s house, so you needn’t worry. I won’t have anything to do with costumes any more, I promise. I’ll just act.’

Grandma sighed. ‘You’re just like her,’ she said. ‘I suppose I shall have to let you have your way. So long as it doesn’t get too serious.’

‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ Martha said. She reached out and held Grandma’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

Grandma nodded.

‘I’m going to try to be a good actress. Like Mum.’

And Grandma nodded again, and smiled, and fished in her bag for a handkerchief.

So after Martha’s splint came off in October Grandpa drove her and Tug to Marcus’s every Wednesday evening, where they worked together on their new speed films.

*

It was awkward the first time they went back, not least because Grandpa insisted on coming in and being introduced to Mr and Mrs Brown, who were, in turn, confused about what he wanted.

‘Just checking that there are some responsible adults around,’ he said, and Mr and Mrs Brown peered about them vaguely, as if hoping to find some.

It was awkward meeting Marcus and Laura again too. It was the first time Martha and Tug had seen them since just after the car crash six weeks earlier.

‘What’s it like,’ Laura asked, ‘living with your grandparents?’

‘All right,’ Martha said.

‘Bloody horrible,’ said Tug, who was trying out some of Laura’s mannerisms.

‘I met your grandmother,’ Marcus said. ‘She seemed like a nice old bird.’

Tug scowled. ‘You wouldn’t say that if she fed you salad.’

Laura asked, ‘How’s your father doing?’

‘He’s gone away for a little while.’

‘Where to?’

‘We don’t know.’

There was a silence after this.

‘I think it’s for the best,’ Martha added.

Marcus said in a normal voice very unlike his usual one, ‘If ever you need anything, if ever you want to talk, if ever you just want company, I’m here, Laura’s here. You know that, don’t you?’

Martha nodded.

Then he cleared his throat and said, in his usual theatrical voice, ‘But in the world of media celebrity we look forward, not back. A new challenge, a new dawn, a new working partnership. For the first time, Speed Version Productions will feature Martha Luna in the starring role. And I, Marcus Versace Brown, will create her wardrobe.’

M
arcus told Tug the story of
Gone with the Wind
. ‘It’s very simple. Rhett loves Scarlett. Scarlett loves Ashley. Ashley loves Melanie. Do you follow?’

Tug nodded thoughtfully.

‘Scarlett marries Charles, whom she doesn’t love. Charles dies of measles. So Scarlett marries Frank. She doesn’t love him either. Are you with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Frank gets killed. So at last Scarlett marries Rhett. And he leaves her. Good, isn’t it?’

Tug gazed at him. It was hard to tell what Tug was thinking.

‘Did you listen to any of that?’ Marcus asked.

‘No,’ said Tug, who had been thinking about biscuits. ‘I was thinking about the songs.’

‘There aren’t any songs. There are a lot of deaths. Would you like to be killed?’

‘I’d rather be second grip.’

‘He’s getting quite stubborn, isn’t he?’ Marcus said to Martha. ‘Quite ferocious, aren’t you, little Tug? All right, you can be second grip. Laura, watch out, he’s a terrible man for the equipment. Martha, let me show you how the curtain dress should be worn.’

Now that Marcus was doing costumes he was more flamboyant and enthusiastic than ever. He had made two dresses for Martha. One was the ‘garnet gown’, which Scarlett wears to a party. It was red and flouncy with lace, feathers and tassels. The shoulders were so big Martha couldn’t see sideways. The other was a calico dress which, in the film, Scarlett makes herself from curtains. So Marcus had made it from curtains, not his own curtains, of course, which were essential for keeping daylight out of the studio, but the curtains in his parents’ room. The dress was a purple and lilac stripe with blackout lining and a valance, which didn’t quite work, but which certainly looked like it was made from curtains. Both dresses were trimmed with electric-blue artificial fur and Marcus was very proud of them. ‘The most beautiful of all my creations,’ he called them, though in fact they were his only creations. He was sad not to be wearing them himself.

The first scene they filmed was the famous final
scene, when Rhett leaves Scarlett for ever. It was Martha’s debut performance. They killed all the lights except for a single spot, and after a moment Martha stepped into it, wearing the curtain dress, and stood there very still.

They all stared at her in astonishment. It was as if she had become a different person.

Her face glowed, and slowly her eyes filled with tears. The tears spilled out and ran down her cheeks.

(‘Zoom in!’ Marcus whispered in excitement to Laura. ‘She’s acting!’)

‘Rhett!’ Martha cried, and her voice was different too, thrillingly clear and troubled. ‘Rhett! Wait for me!’

She turned her head and gazed in distress at the far wall. ‘Rhett! If you go, where shall I go, what shall I do?’

Slowly she sank to her knees, all the time her face glowing and her tears shining, saying in a low, tremulous voice, ‘What is there to do, what is there to matter?’ until she faded to silence.

No one said anything, or even moved.

Getting to her feet, Martha briskly wiped her face and said to Marcus, ‘You forgot your line.’

Marcus found his voice at last. ‘You don’t need any
lines from me,’ he said. He stood staring at her, almost humble with excitement. ‘You’re going to be a star.’

Tug sidled up, gazing at her timidly, and touched her, to check that she was still Martha.

Even Laura was impressed. ‘Not bad at all,’ she said.

Martha allowed herself a smile. She was pleased with herself. She had always wondered what it would feel like, finally, to act, and now it seemed to her that she had always known. It was only a question of self-control. Yet how strange that she could make herself cry, and actually feel sad, without thinking of anything. It was as if she wasn’t only Martha, but other people too, and could become them very easily. It gave her a weird feeling.