Moon Pie (8 page)

Eventually he gave in. On Wednesday evening he took all the advertisements into the front room, and
in a little under an hour completed five separate applications: to be a Steeplejack, a Children’s Entertainer, a Lifestyle Assistant, a Groomer in a pet salon, and a Psychotherapist.

‘There,’ he said.

‘It’s a lot of different sorts of jobs,’ Martha said, perplexed.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘And you like them all?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And do you feel better now that you’ve applied for them?’

‘Ecstatic.’

It was strange that he forgot to post the applications – despite Martha reminding him – but in the end Martha took them to the post office herself.

On the whole she was pleased with him. He was working his way – slowly – through her list. He was generally well-behaved. There were no midnight picnics, or unorthodox dives in swimming pools, or falling off roofs. There were no more arguments with Grandma and Grandpa, or sulking in the shed. For over a week the house had been calm.

But now that she was keeping a closer eye on him Martha noticed little things that puzzled her. Little
fits of restlessness propelled him round the house, taking him from room to room with no apparent purpose. Martha would find him unexpectedly looking for something he never seemed to find under the sink, or rearranging the sheets and towels in the airing cupboard. He seemed strangely fond of the airing cupboard. He was secretive too. Several times he suddenly left the house to go on an errand, or out to the shops, reappearing hours later with no shopping and only a sketchy explanation of what he had been doing.

One night as she was lying in bed almost asleep, he came tiptoeing into her room, kissed her very gently on the cheek, and tiptoed away again; and she heard him go quietly down the stairs and out of the front door, start the car and drive away.

She kept remembering the argument at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. She hadn’t told Dad the truth when he asked her if there was anything else she had overheard. She had heard Grandma say: ‘Anyone can see it, just looking at you.’ What Grandma had meant, she didn’t know. But when Martha looked at Dad she seemed to see something too.

She just didn’t know what it was.

*

Towards the end of the week, Dad became preoccupied with Olivia’s visit at the weekend. He had his hair cut and bought a new shirt to wear with his summer linen suit. Several times a day Martha found him in front of the mirror.

‘Do you think I need another haircut, Martha?’

‘You’ve just had one, Dad.’

‘What about a new shirt?’

‘That’s a new shirt you’re wearing.’

‘Do these socks go with my jacket?’

‘Dad?’

‘What?’

‘Are you nervous about Olivia coming?’

He always denied it. But as the week wore on he developed nervous little habits, like talking to himself. Once Martha found him standing in front of the mirror, saying to himself over and over, ‘I will be good, I will be good. And everything will be OK.’

Perhaps it will
, Martha thought.

A
t last the weekend arrived. On Saturday morning Martha and Tug went to the library as usual, where Tug renewed
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
, and Martha got out
The Little Princess
. In the afternoon they went shopping with Dad.

At seven o’clock in the evening Martha was sitting in the kitchen sewing lapels onto a 1940s trench coat she was making for Marcus to wear in their new speed film. Tug was in the front room gluing. He had begun by gluing matches together to make a raft so that his JCB could float in the bath, but he had discovered that gluing newspaper made it interestingly thicker, and now he was experimenting with shoelaces. Martha could hear him singing to himself. Dad was in the garden shed. If she looked out of the window she could see him through the doorway, sitting on the broken chair reading a magazine.

It was a peaceful evening, and as she sewed Martha listened to sounds from the gardens, the leafy rustling
of small birds and their sudden fluting cries. A bluebottle buzzed against the windowpane, and late sunlight came in and lay around her in a warm glow. For the first time in weeks she felt happy. She thought about Olivia coming, and what she was going to cook. Lasagne, she decided. And chocolate mousse. She had good recipes for both.

The doorbell rang, and she heard Tug go to answer it. A few moments later he came running into the kitchen.

‘Martha, she’s here. That lady.’

Martha dropped her needle. ‘Olivia? But it’s the wrong day! We told her Sunday.’

‘She said she hates to be late.’

‘She’s not late. She’s a day early. We don’t have anything to give her. And I haven’t had time to get Dad ready.’

‘She wants to see Dad now. She called him her heart-throb.’

Martha stared at him. ‘Really?’

Tug nodded solemnly. ‘What’s heart-throb, Martha?’

The thought came to her – wildly – that Dad and Olivia must have become much more friendly at the swimming baths.

But it was still the wrong day.

‘Wait here,’ she said to Tug. ‘I’d better go and explain.’ She put her sewing on the table, and went anxiously down the hall.

At the front door was a woman wearing a short black dress with a red leather handbag. She had lots of blonde hair and a heavily made-up face, very big, and an enormous smile. Martha had never seen her before.

As soon as she saw Martha the woman began to talk, very fast.

‘Here she is, the little lady. Stop, wait there, darling. Yes, just where you are. Let me look at you.
What
a beauty. Yes, you’ve got his eyes, haven’t you? You’ve got his nose too, I can see it now. Yes, and his darling little smile. May I? Are you sure? Thank you.’ She came a little way down the hall, and went on again. ‘Yes, I’d made up my mind to be cross with you, you naughty girl, keeping him all to yourself. I had, really. But how could I be cross with someone so pretty? Tell me that, darling. You can’t. Neither can I. I don’t feel cross at all, not a bit. Is he ready?’

Her voice was loud and harsh, and her laugh was harsh too.

Martha was bewildered. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

When the woman stopped smiling her whole face settled into a different shape altogether, big and stiff.

‘Didn’t he say? Lulu. As in Lulu. Is he in here?’ She went into the front room and peered round. ‘Shall I wait? You don’t mind? Tell him Lulu’s here, darling, and raring to go. I hate to be late.’ And she sat on the sofa and crossed her legs.

Martha retreated to the kitchen and stood there, dazed.

‘What’s heart-throb?’ Tug asked again.

‘Don’t ask me, Tug. I don’t even know who this woman is, or why she’s here. It’s not the lady from the swimming pool. It’s the wrong lady. Perhaps she’s got the wrong house.’

‘What shall we do, Martha?’

She turned to him. ‘I want you to go into the front room and talk to her for a minute.’

He wasn’t sure about that. ‘She makes me feel unhappy,’ he whispered.

‘It’s important,’ Martha said firmly. ‘I’ll go and talk to Dad.’

As Tug sidled towards the front room, she ran out of the back door and down the garden. Dad saw her coming and came out of the shed to meet her.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Lulu.’

‘What?’

‘Someone called Lulu.’

‘Someone called Lulu?’

‘A lady with blonde hair.’

Dad looked blank.

‘And a very big face.’

‘Oh no!’ Dad said. ‘Lulu! Not here?’

Martha nodded. ‘In the front room. Who is she? Do you know her?’

Dad looked awkward. ‘Well. I don’t really know her. I just sort of met her.’

‘Where did you meet her?’

‘I’m trying to remember. I think it was in The Crooked Pot.’

‘The Crooked Pot?’

‘It’s a bar. She’s come here? I don’t remember giving her my address.’

Martha was bewildered. ‘You met this lady in a bar?’

Things were more confused than before. She tried to concentrate. ‘What are you going to do? You’ll have to go and talk to her.’

But Dad just stood there. ‘I can’t,’ he said at last.

‘Dad! I don’t understand. What did you arrange with her?’

Dad said nothing.

‘Do you like her?’ she asked, more quietly. ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

For a moment Dad looked as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘God no!’ he said. ‘She’s too much for me. I don’t know what I said to her before. I don’t know what to say to her now. If she saw me … You don’t know what she’s like. I can’t see her, I just can’t.’ He looked at her helplessly. ‘Martha,’ he said, ‘will you explain to her?’

‘Explain what?’

‘That it’s all a mistake.’

And with that he took a step backwards towards the safety of the shed.

In a daze, Martha went slowly back to the kitchen, where she heard Lulu in the front room saying loudly, ‘Let’s have the rest of the song later, shall we darling? Why don’t you run along and fetch your dad for me? Tell him we’ll be late, and Lulu hates being late.’

Still in a daze, Martha went down the hall.

‘Here she is,’ Lulu said, ‘at last. Is he coming?’

When Martha didn’t say anything, Lulu glared at her. ‘Well?’

Her big face had a bullying look.

Martha took a deep breath and pushed all her confusing
thoughts of Dad out of her mind. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘My dad’s made a mistake. He can’t go out with you tonight.’

Lulu’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean,
mistake
?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Martha said again. ‘He hasn’t been well recently,’ she added.

‘He was on great form last night. Listen, little girl, why don’t you run back and tell him Lulu’s getting a bit impatient?’

‘I’ve just told you,’ Martha began.

But Lulu got to her feet. Now her face was angry. ‘I’ll tell him myself then,’ she said. ‘Is he in the kitchen?’

Martha felt a hot flush in her cheeks. She got into the hall before Lulu and stood across it. She was breathing heavily now, and didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say, even when Lulu came right up to her. But she was determined not to move. This was
her
house, and
her
dad.

Lulu glared at her and Martha pointed her nose up at her and glared back.

‘You’re a proper little madam, aren’t you?’ Lulu said.

And at that moment Tug came roaring out of the
front room with his JCB above his head, shouting, ‘She’s not madam!’

Lulu stepped back hastily. ‘With a dad like him, I should feel sorry for both of you,’ she said, and she turned and went away in a clatter of heels, down the hall and out of the house.

Tug and Martha stood together, watching her go.

‘That’s a nasty woman, isn’t it, Martha?’ Tug commented.

Martha didn’t reply. She was still breathing heavily. But her anger was fading quickly. As Lulu disappeared down the street, she suddenly seemed no more than an ordinary woman, and Martha knew that it wasn’t Lulu she should be cross with.

It was Dad.

O
n Sunday morning, the day of Olivia’s visit, everyone was quiet and nervous. Dad got up unexpectedly early, and came into Martha’s room while she was still in bed. He was already dressed in his summer linen suit and new shirt. After standing there awkwardly for a moment, he leaned over and hugged her, and said he was sorry.

‘Things are going to be better,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise.’

After he had gone, Martha lay staring up at the ceiling. Dad wasn’t just acting strangely. He was strange. She didn’t understand him any more. There were things he did – like visit bars and meet women like Lulu – that she hadn’t known anything about. He was becoming someone she didn’t really know. As she lay there, she remembered the night of the midnight picnic, how shocking it had been to see his face suddenly lit up strangely in the torchlight. She felt the same sort of shock now.

But someone had to keep their head. Later, she was going to be properly cross with him and make him explain everything – but not today. Today, she had to keep calm.

She got dressed quickly and went downstairs into the kitchen. There was a lot to do.

She made a timetable in her head:

Tidy the house until ten o’clock
.

Make the chocolate mousse and put it in the fridge at eleven, to chill
.

Make the lasagne until twelve
.

Prepare the salad at twelve thirty
.

Set the table
.

Change into smart clothes
.

Check Dad (more than once, if necessary)
.

Wait in the front room
.

She thought that Dad would need a lot of checking, and she was right. Before she had finished chopping the onions, he had been into the kitchen four times to ask her advice about his tie, hair, choice of music and the state of his shirt cuffs.

‘Dad! What’s the matter with you?’

‘I’m nervous. Can’t I help?’

‘You can’t stand cooking. And you know you always make a mess.’

But he seemed very nervous indeed, and at last she felt sorry for him. For a while he stood there talking, mainly nonsense.

‘It’s the first time,’ he said at last, in a sort of whisper.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The first time we’ve had a … a lady come here, since … you know.’

She realized what he meant. Olivia was the first lady Dad had invited home since Mum died. Remembering how excited he had been when he first met Olivia at the swimming pool, she felt sorry for him, being so nervous.

She took his hands. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said.

Dad still looked frightened.

‘Just be yourself.’

He nodded doubtfully.

‘But you can’t stay here or I’ll never finish lunch in time. You have to go and find something to do.’

He went off biting his lip. A little later Tug saw him searching in the airing cupboard for something, and later still Martha saw him go down the garden to the shed. At some point they both heard him upstairs talking to himself. But he didn’t disturb them any more.

Over the next two hours Martha and Tug gradually got things done. By one o’clock, the lasagne was browning in the oven, the mousse was in glasses chilling in the fridge, the table was set (complete with flowers) and the front room was as tidy as it had ever been.