Eva's Journey

by Judi Curtin

  But then I sighed as Madam Margarita’s words began their daily echo through my head.

  Help people.

  Any fool could see that Ruby needed help, but needing help and wanting help were two very different things.

  And besides, how could you help someone who wouldn’t even talk to you?

  But …

  ‘Hey, Ruby,’ I said. ‘Do you want to be my partner for our maths project? We could go to the library after school tomorrow and get started if you like.’

  Ruby put her head up quickly and her hair swished back. For the first time, I saw her face properly. She had perfect, clear skin and huge brown eyes. For one second, the blank expression disappeared, and she looked … surprised? …… pleased? I wasn’t sure which.

  ‘Thank you, Eva,’ she said quietly.

  ‘So you want us to work together?’ I said, realising that I had been half-hoping that she was going to refuse.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘But thank you for asking me anyway.’

  Suddenly I felt offended.

  ‘So why don’t you want to work with me?’ I asked.

  It’s not like people are queuing up to be your partner.

  ‘I’m going to do my maths project on my own. Mr Gowing said that’s OK.’

  Why would anyone choose to work on their own, when they could be working with a friend who’d do at least half the work?

  It was like Ruby could read my mind.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eva,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but … I’m a very busy person … I don’t really have time for friends. Don’t take it personally, OK?’

  That was just about the weirdest thing anyone had ever said to me.

  How could anyone be too busy for friends?

  Ruby must have some very time-consuming hobbies.

  While I was still thinking of a reply, Ruby had picked up her bag and was gone.

  The next day I sat next to Ella again, and we did our project together.

  And so another week passed by in a flurry of small acts of kindness that didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere closer to my dream.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Saturday morning, Mum handed me five euro. Before I could get excited, she said,

  ‘Go to the market in Bridge Street, and buy me some apples and bananas.’

  I gasped like she’d asked me to go to the moon.

  ‘The market?’ I repeated. ‘What’s wrong with Johann? Is he sick?’

  (Johann was the man who delivered a big box of organic fruit and vegetables to our house every week. He was really nice, and in the summer, he always brought extra strawberries because he knew I loved them.)

  Mum sat down, and I braced myself for a speech.

  ‘Darling, you do understand how bad things are financially?’

  Why would I understand?

  She’d only told me about ten thousand times?

  ‘But you said we had to cut out luxuries,’ I protested. ‘And I’m OK with that – well not OK exactly, but at least I understand where you’re coming from. But surely fruit isn’t a luxury?’

  Mum gave a sad smile.

  ‘Welcome to the real world, darling. In the real world, not everyone gets their fruit delivered by a nice Dutch man in a pretty green van with flowers painted on the side. And I’m afraid we can’t afford it any more either.’

  ‘But the market?’ I said again. ‘Why can’t I go to the supermarket, where normal people shop?’

  She sighed.

  ‘Even in the supermarket, fruit is expensive. And Gemma next door shops in the market all the time. She tells me that fruit there is a lot cheaper, and it’s lovely and fresh too.’

  I knew there wasn’t any point in arguing. My mum, who never used to mind spending hundreds of euro on a handbag, was becoming an expert on saving a few cents here and there.

  So, feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood, I set off for the market, hoping with all my heart that I wouldn’t meet any wolves on the way.

  It was a lovely sunny day, and the market was crowded. Everyone seemed happy as they wandered by, laden with bunches of flowers and newspaper-wrapped parcels. After a while, I found a stall selling fruit and vegetables. There were crowds of people waiting to buy.

  ‘Why is it so slow?’ asked a big wide man who was standing in front of me.

  ‘It’s always like this,’ said the woman next to him. ‘The poor girl who is running the stall is on her own. I don’t know how she manages.’

  Who cared about the stall-holder?

  How was I supposed to manage?

  I’d never bought stuff that wasn’t already packed up in plastic bags with labels on them.

  How was I supposed to figure out how much fruit I could buy with my five euro?

  Should I keep buying one apple and one banana at a time until my money ran out?

  And how popular would that make me with the people behind me in the queue?

  While I was still trying to decide what to do, the big man in front of me moved away, and I found myself standing right at the front of the fruit stall. The sun was shining in my eyes, and I blinked to make sure that I was seeing correctly. After a few blinks I was sure – I’d know that long brown hair anywhere – I’d know that blank expression anywhere – the girl serving the fruit and vegetables was Ruby.

  She didn’t see me. She was working as fast as she possibly could – weighing stuff, and taking money and giving change and shoving fruit and vegetables into big brown paper bags.

  She looked pale and tired and stressed. Even though this girl was totally weird, and totally unfriendly, it was impossible not to feel sorry for her.

  ‘Would you like me to help you for a while?’ I said, but Ruby didn’t hear me as a rough woman was shouting at her to hurry up and weigh her potatoes.

  ‘Would …?’ I began again, but then I stopped.

  I knew I was wasting my breath.

  I knew that offering to help Ruby was a mistake.

  I knew she’d just say no.

  She’d just blank me, like she had at school.

  She looked like a girl who’d already had lots of practice at blanking people.

  So I wriggled out from the crowd of customers, and slipped behind the stall. When Ruby reached for a bag to put the potatoes into, I was ready, with an open bag in my hand.

  For one second she stared at me, and then she took the bag, filled it with potatoes and handed it to the customer.

  ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, and I smiled to myself.

  Progress.

  The next customer selected some apples, handed them to me, and I put them in a bag, while Ruby sorted out the money.

  Ruby still looked a bit confused, but the customers had copped on fairly quickly.

  The two of us worked really quickly, and after ten minutes, the crowd had cleared and we had a chance to breathe.

  ‘You can go now,’ said Ruby, as she rearranged some apples that had slipped into the pear section of the stall.

  ‘But I was just starting to enjoy myself. And besides, it’s sure to get busy again in a few minutes.’

  She looked embarrassed.

  ‘I’ll manage. I’m used to it. I’ve been doing this for … well for a long time.’

  I still didn’t move.

  ‘Thanks for helping me, Eva,’ said Ruby. ‘But I can’t afford to pay you or anything.’

  ‘I’m just helping you, ‘I said. ‘I don’t expect to be paid.’

  Now Ruby looked even more puzzled. ‘Why would you want to help me?’

  I didn’t answer at first. There was no way I was telling this girl about Madam Margarita.

  Clearly she was already a fully signed-up weirdo, and I didn’t want her thinking that she and I had something in common.

  ‘I just like helping people,’ I said. ‘Now get ready, I can see some customers coming.’

  The morning passed quickly. Some of the customers were really nice. Some were funny. And some were just plain weird.
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br />   At one stage a tiny woman hobbled over towards the stall. She looked like she was about two hundred years old, with a wizened face and long straggly hair. She was wearing a brown coat that was patched here and there with scraps of grey fabric that looked suspiciously like cut up underpants. On her feet was a pair of old mens’ working boots.

  ‘The poor little thing,’ I whispered as she came closer.

  ‘Poor my eye,’ whispered Ruby back. ‘That’s Mamie. Everyone in the market hates her. She’s one of the richest women in town, but she’s totally mean. She’s never once paid full price for anything here.’

  I grinned.

  ‘Leave her to me. I like a challenge.’

  Soon, the woman was next to us, picking through the apples.

  ‘How much are these?’ she asked in a croaky voice, exactly like the wicked witch in a fairy-tale. I wondered if she planned to poison one of the apples and feed it to some unsuspecting young girl.

  ‘Same as last week,’ said Ruby. ‘Six for a euro.’

  ‘Six for a euro!’ said Mamie with a loud cackle that made everyone around turn and stare at us. A few of the nearby stallholders gave sympathetic looks in our direction.

  ‘That’s daylight robbery,’ she said. ‘They’re all bruised. Look.’

  She held up two perfect, unblemished apples.

  Ruby went red.

  ‘Maybe we can….’ she began, but I edged her aside.

  ‘No, Ruby,’ I said. ‘You’ve made a mistake. These aren’t six for a euro, remember? These are the specially imported Guatamalan Gold apples. There’s only a few left and they’re two for a euro.’

  Mamie narrowed her beady eyes and licked her dry, cracked lips.

  ‘You said six for a euro, so you have to sell them to me for that. It’s the law. I know my rights.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ I muttered.

  Then I gave a big long sigh.

  ‘I suppose she’s right,’ I said to Ruby. ‘We’ll have to give her six for a euro. But don’t make that mistake again, or you’ll have us bankrupt in no time.’

  I packed up six apples, managing to sneak in one bruised one that had been put aside for pig-food. Ruby took the euro from Mamie’s stick-like hand, and Mamie scuttled off, cackling as she went.

  ‘Old Mamie’s too cute for the lot of them.’

  There was a sudden clapping sound. I looked up to see that the stallholders on either side were applauding me. I gave a small bow, trying to hide the red that was spreading across my cheeks.

  This was so much fun.

  An hour later, the market closed for the day. By then I was exhausted.

  Who’d have thought that selling fruit and vegetables could be so tiring?

  ‘What time did you start this morning?’ I asked.

  ‘Seven-thirty,’ said Ruby.

  I gulped. Even on school mornings I didn’t get up that early.

  ‘And do you work here every Saturday?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes. And on Sundays too, and on Wednesday and Friday afternoons after school.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said.

  No wonder the poor girl had no time for friends. I was having trouble understanding how she found time for basic stuff like sleeping and eating.

  It was all too hard for me to take in. Victoria’s big sister babysat occasionally, but I’d never before met someone my age who had a real job.

  ‘But …’ I struggled, but I couldn’t find a polite way to ask the question. So I went right ahead and asked it the rude way. ‘Aren’t there laws about young people like us working for a living?’

  ‘There are laws about young people like us starving too,’ snapped Ruby.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just ……. well you’re running a market stall – all on your own.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘It’s really my mum’s stall, but she’s been sick lately, so I have to do it. My uncle opens up the stall for me and he lifts all the heavy boxes, and my big sister helps out whenever she’s not working. It’s not so bad really.’

  She stopped speaking and her face went blank again. She had only spoken a few sentences, but she looked like she was sorry she had said so much.

  We didn’t speak any more, as I helped her to carry the half-empty boxes into a shed behind the stall. Ruby was just locking up when I remembered why I was in the market in the first place.

  What was Mum going to say when I got back, having spent two hours in the market buying nothing?

  I pulled the five euro note from my pocket.

  ‘How many apples and bananas can I buy with this?’

  Ruby didn’t answer. She took the money from me, and slipped it into her pocket. Then she pulled a huge paper bag from the pile. She filled it with apples, bananas, pears and oranges. After the morning I’d just spent, I knew a bit more about shopping for fruit, and I could see that there was much, much more than five euro’s worth of stuff in the bag.

  Ruby folded the top of the bag and held it towards me.

  ‘That’s too much,’ I said.

  ‘Just take it,’ she said almost roughly.

  I could see that she was embarrassed, so I took the bag.

  Ruby turned around and locked the shed door.

  ‘Bye, Eva,’ she said quietly, and then she was gone.

  ‘Bye, and thanks,’ I said to the empty space where she had been standing.

  Just then, the man from the deli stall next to us came over, holding a small tub of olives towards me.

  ‘For you,’ he said.

  ‘But what …?’ I began.

  He started to laugh.

  ‘I’ve been working here for seventeen years, and I’ve never once seen anyone get the better of Mamie. You’ve made my day, you really have.’

  I took the olives.

  ‘Thank you. My mum loves olives.’

  The man patted me on the shoulder and left, and I smiled all the way home.

  ‘You were gone a long time,’ said Mum when I got home.

  ‘I walked slowly,’ I said, as I handed her the bag of fruit.

  Mum took it and peered inside.

  ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You did well. The market must be even cheaper than I thought.’

  ‘Er, I had to haggle a bit,’ I said. ‘Oh, and I got something else.’

  I reached into my handbag and pulled out the tub of olives.

  Mum didn’t say anything. She opened the tub, took out an olive and bit into it. A slow smile spread across her face.

  ‘I was afraid I’d never again eat an olive,’ she sighed.

  I thought with regret of how often I’d seen our housekeeper, Teresita, throwing out olives that had been going mouldy in the fridge, after Mum had bought more than we could manage to eat.

  Mum ate one more olive, and then resealed the tub and put it into the fridge, like it was the most precious thing she’d ever owned.

  Then she came over and patted my head.

  ‘That’s my clever girl,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to send you to the market again next weekend.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, trying to sound sarcastic.

  But the weird thing is, I found that I was totally looking forward to it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next week went by faster than I could have thought possible.

  Dad still hadn’t found a job, and he spent his days manically running around the house fixing stuff.

  ‘I think you’re fixing things that aren’t even broken,’ said Mum one day.

  ‘I think he’s breaking stuff just so he can fix it again,’ I said.

  Dad laughed, and Mum gave a big sigh. ‘Well, I suppose it’s good to keep yourself busy.’

  I thought that she was talking to him like he was a child, but he didn’t seem to mind. He put down his hammer and went over and gave her a hug and a kiss.

  ‘Stop being gross,’ I moaned. ‘And anyway you two are very cheerful for poor people.’

  They just laughed.


  ‘And you’re very cheeky for a small person,’ said Dad.

  Then the three of us laughed, and for a few minutes we were all happy.

  On Friday, Mr Gowing came in to the class looking a bit flustered.

  ‘Today we’re having a very important visitor,’ he said.

  He went on to tell us how the school had applied for a big grant to buy new computers, and that the chairperson of the grant committee was coming to tour the school.

  ‘Will she ask us questions, Sir?’ asked Chloe.

  ‘Possibly. And if she does, only put up your hand if you’re absolutely certain of the answer.’

  As he said that, he stared at Shannon who always puts up her hand, even when she hasn’t the faintest notion of the answer.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mr Gowing. ‘This is an important day for the school, so I need everyone to be on their very best behaviour – especially you, Petronella. See if you can behave yourself just this once!’

  Ella gave a big sigh, and the rest of us laughed.

  In the middle of maths class the classroom door opened and the principal, Mrs Parker came in with the visitor, Mrs Connery.

  Mrs Connery was a huge woman. She was wearing a very ugly, very tight flowery dress, and so much jewellery that she rattled every time she moved. She was like a walking wind-chime. She spoke in a sharp, loud posh voice.

  ‘I loooove mathematics,’ she said. ‘Can I ask the children a question?’

  Mr Gowing nodded.

  Mrs Connery thought for a minute and then smiled, showing a huge mouthful of horse-like teeth.

  ‘If I had three cakes and my friend gave me four more, what would I have?’

  Most of the class looked at each other, puzzled. That seemed like much too easy a problem for our class. Maybe it was a trick question.

  Suddenly Shannon’s hand shot up. Mr Gowing didn’t look too worried. He must have thought that even Shannon couldn’t get this one wrong.

  ‘Well, little girl,’ said Mrs Connery, treating Shannon to a close-up of her horrible teeth. ‘If I have three cakes, and get four more, what would I have?’

  Shannon beamed at her.