I look around the shed, trying to find inspiration. I suppose it’s a coincidence that inspiration finds ME by waving at me from Dad’s workbag. I know, I know – I should have learnt my lesson the last time I stole from him but this is a bit different. Because he’s not exactly in a position to get mad at me for this, unless he wants to be the world’s biggest hypocrite.
When Mum was still part of our family, she made Dad promise that he would never smoke another cigarette as long as he lived. And he promised. He crossed his heart and hoped to die – which is what Mum said would happen if he didn’t pack in the ciggies. But sticking out of the side pocket of his bag is an opened packet of Benson & Hedges – so he lied. And that means that he can’t really have a go at me, not when he’s my main role model these days. And anyway, I’ll only take two so he’ll never even notice they’ve gone.
I reach across and pull the packet out of the bag. Opening it up I see that it’s three-quarters full. Perfect. Quickly I pull out two cigarettes and ram them into my pocket. Then I get up and walk to the door, running back at the last minute to take his lighter.
The sun is hotting up when I step out of the shed. Everyone’s saying that this is the best summer on record since blah blah blah. I don’t listen when they start talking about that – it just makes me crazy when I think about how I could be spending endless days at the park or the outside pool with Lauren and Nat. I’m in the mood for sketching and as I walk towards my hidden clearing I see another path that looks kind of interesting. I’m not in a rush so I walk down it to where it ends next to a water fountain. The fountain looks really old and is covered in green, yucky slime but I can still see how weird and amazing it is. Throwing my bag down on to a bench, I take out my sketchpad and start outlining the three stone tiers that are stacked like a wedding cake.
I’ve just got to the bottom level and am struggling to draw the strange goblin-like creatures that are holding up the base, when I hear voices. Looking around I see Beatrice, one of the care workers, pushing a wheelchair down the path. There’s no time to make my escape because Beatrice has seen me and is making a beeline straight towards me, a big smile on her face. There’s something about Beatrice that makes me think it would be a bad idea to annoy her. I’ve known her since I was little and she’s always really nice but I get the feeling that she doesn’t stand for any messing about.
‘Here you are, lovely!’ she beams. ‘We’ve all been wondering where you’ve been disappearing to every day!’
I squeeze my lips together, desperately keeping the words inside so that I don’t tell her about my secret hideaway. Beatrice doesn’t notice, though – she’s one of those people who will fill any silence with every thought that pops into her head.
‘What a beautiful day,’ she says, parking the wheelchair up next to my bench. ‘Such a shame to waste it indoors! That’s why I’ve brought Martha down here.’ She sits next to me and claps her hands in joy. ‘Look, Martha! Erin’s drawn a picture. Oh – isn’t that fantastic! How lovely!’
The strain of not running away is starting to get too much but before I can break Dad’s rule and be completely unfriendly, a shrill beeping sound fills the air. Beatrice grabs her phone out of her pocket and looks at it, leaping off the bench as she reads the screen.
‘Oh, goodness,’ she mutters, turning to look first at Martha and then at me. ‘Erin – can you do me a big favour, please?’
I don’t have time to answer her before she rushes on.
‘I’m needed back at the house. Will you stay here with Martha, just until I get back?’ Beatrice turns away and starts back along the path.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thanks for helping out, Erin.’ And then she is gone, leaving the stillness to flood back into the space left behind her.
I sit in stunned silence for a moment, feeling like a whirlwind has just passed through the garden. Then I turn and look at the inhabitant of the wheelchair for the first time. Martha. That’s what Beatrice said she was called. She is sitting upright, facing straight ahead, with her legs tucked up tightly in a blanket and a silk scarf round her neck, despite it being scorching hot out here. I stare at her for a minute but she just keeps on looking at the fountain and I get the distinct impression that she doesn’t want to be sitting next to me as much as I don’t want to be sitting next to her.
Sighing, I turn back to my sketch but the enjoyment has gone since Beatrice said it was ‘lovely’. I want to leave but Martha is so quiet and so old and Beatrice asked me to help her out by staying. And then I start to feel angry again, because I’m totally not responsible for some random old person who I don’t even know and isn’t even in my family. And I’m so angry that I want her to know that she means nothing to me – that even though she’s an adult she’s too old to be like a proper adult and she can’t stop me from doing anything I want.
So I reach into my pocket and take out a cigarette and the lighter and I put the cigarette in my mouth and light it up, just like I’ve seen kids do in the park. And I take a deep breath and wait to see what all the fuss is about. I wait to see what it feels like to tell the world that I am in charge and that nobody can make me behave. And then I start coughing so hard that I think my stomach might actually come up through my mouth and tears are streaming down my face and I wonder if I might actually cough myself to death, here by this beautiful, freaky water fountain and this silent old woman.
It seems to take forever for me to stop choking and when I do I throw the cigarette on the floor and stamp on it with my trainer. Then I look across at Martha and wait for her to tell me that I’m too young to smoke and that she’s going to tell my dad. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she turns her head very slowly and looking me right in the eye, brings her left hand up to her face and mimes smoking.
I’m not sure what she means so I just stare back at her. She frowns at me and repeats the gesture, this time pointing at me and then back at herself, making it clear what she’s asking.
‘You want a cigarette?’ I ask her and she nods, her head bobbing up and down. ‘Sure,’ I say, and reaching into my pocket I pull out the second stolen cigarette and hand it to her.
Martha takes the cigarette with a shaking hand and slowly, painstakingly, moves it up to her mouth. It dangles there between her lips and I am still for a moment, fascinated by the sight of her ruby-red lipstick. She has surprisingly nice lips for such an old person. Then she turns to me again and glares and I realize my mistake.
‘Oh, sorry – you need a light.’ She nods, her head barely moving and I pick up the lighter from the bench and gesture towards her. This just earns me another scowl, though, and I look at her in confusion – why is she such a grumpy old cow? I’m actually trying to be nice.
Martha’s shoulders seem to slump forward and she slouches in her chair for a moment. Then she sits upright again and jerks her head in my direction, her chin pointing towards the lighter and I understand what she wants.
‘OK, OK,’ I mutter, flicking the lighter so that a small flame is flickering in the sunlight. ‘Jeez – you must be used to being waited on around here.’ I scoot across the bench. Martha leans towards me and I light her cigarette, watching as she inhales deeply and then breathes out, closing her eyes and relaxing back in her chair.
We sit like that for a while, and the silence is quite nice. After a bit, just when I’m wondering whether to continue with my sketch, there’s the sound of footsteps coming down the pathway from the house. Martha and I must hear it at the same time because she spins her head in my direction, her eyes filled with something – I’m not sure if it’s panic or amusement. I really, really don’t want her to get caught smoking. There’s bound to be questions about where she got the cigarette and I don’t need the hassle. Her left hand is moving slowly towards her mouth but there’s no time – she’s too slow, so quick as a flash I reach across and yank the cigarette out from between her lips, grinding it into the gravel with my heel just as Beatrice appears in front of us.
<
br /> ‘Have you two been having a lovely time?’ she asks, her voice breaking our peaceful silence. I snort slightly – I only met Martha fifteen minutes ago but even I know that ‘lovely times’ are not really her thing. ‘Thank you so much for helping out, Erin. I can see it’s going to be handy, having you around this summer!’
I scowl at my feet. No way am I going to put myself in this situation again. What am I, a glorified old-person-sitter?
‘Anyway, we don’t want you getting too hot, do we, dear?’ she says, moving behind Martha’s wheelchair and taking hold of the handles. ‘Time to say goodbye to Erin!’
She takes a step forward and then stops abruptly, staring down at the ground and then looking at me with eyes that have suddenly changed from jolly to distrustful.
‘And what is this?’ she demands, putting her nose in the air and sniffing like a dog. I look down and see the two cigarette butts, lying next to each other in front of us. ‘Martha! We have had this conversation before. This is unacceptable behaviour. You have to start helping yourself – and this is NOT the way to do it!’
I glance across at Martha. She is sitting in her wheelchair and looking at me with an expression that I am finding hard to work out. Beatrice is ranting on behind her about how she’s going to have to talk to the manager and how disappointed she is – she sounds like Dad when he’s caught me doing something wrong. And then I see that Martha is smiling at me. It’s not like a regular smile – her mouth isn’t in the right shape at all, but if I look right into her eyes I could swear that they’re laughing.
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’re banned from time alone in the garden,’ Beatrice is saying. ‘You have to earn your trust, Martha – we told you that last time we had a situation.’
She says the word situation like it is something unpleasant, and I suddenly feel cross.
I’ve spoken before I’ve even thought it through properly.
‘It’s not like she’s too young to smoke, though, is it? Can’t she make her own choices?’
Beatrice looks at me in surprise and I shut up, instantly regretting my outburst.
‘I guess I don’t need to ask who provided Martha with the cigarettes.’ Her eyes are piercing and I look down at the floor.
‘Please don’t tell my dad. He’ll go mental if he finds out. It won’t happen again, I promise.’
I look up to see Beatrice looking between Martha and me. She appears to be thinking. Martha just looks amused – silly old woman has no idea what’s at stake here. I’m holding my breath – if Beatrice doesn’t believe me then I’m in serious trouble. There’s no way Dad will let me spend time alone after this. He might even send me off to Spain with Mum and her substitute family.
Then Beatrice looks down at the top of Martha’s head, and she looks at me again and she shakes her head.
‘Do I have your word that there will be no more smoking?’ she asks. I nod furiously. ‘That goes for BOTH of you,’ she says, giving the wheelchair a little wiggle. Martha’s eyes are dancing now and she looks like she might burst if she doesn’t laugh soon.
Beatrice starts to push the wheelchair down the path.
‘Martha will be out here again tomorrow afternoon if the weather stays fine,’ she tells me. ‘Just in case you’re around.’
I watch as they retreat down the path, Beatrice’s voice floating back to me as she tells Martha all about the bingo that’s being organized for after supper. I have a little smile at the thought of Martha sitting in that living room, surrounded by people having fun. I’m getting the impression that Martha doesn’t do what you expect old people to do. Beatrice is out of her mind if she thinks I’m hanging around anywhere near that crazy pensioner again. Martha’s trouble and I definitely do not need anyone else ambushing my stupid summer.
To the Unknown Voice*
‘I won’t do it!’ The words fly out of my mouth before Dad has even finished speaking. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Calm down, Erin,’ he says, stretching his legs out in front of him on the grass and reaching for another sandwich. ‘You’re completely overreacting. You never know, it might be fun!’
I stare at him in disbelief. Fun? Nothing about any of this could possibly be counted as ‘fun’. I thought my summer couldn’t get any worse but boy, was I wrong. Now, the thought of sitting on my own in my secret hideaway all day sounds blissful. Being lonely wasn’t so bad.
‘She’s a snotty, up-herself, troublesome old lady,’ I tell him. Dad raises an eyebrow and looks like he’s trying not to smile, which just makes me madder. ‘She didn’t say one word to me yesterday. Why on earth would you think she’d want to spend time with me?’
‘It was Beatrice’s idea,’ says Dad. ‘She told me that the two of you got on splendidly yesterday and that it’d be really helpful if you could spend some time every day with Martha. And as I know how keen you are to show me that you’re all mature and sensible now, I agreed that it was a good plan.’
Ah, now it all makes sense. We’re being punished, Martha and me. Dad obviously doesn’t know about the cigarettes and Beatrice is going to use this information to blackmail me into doing what she wants. My punishment is to help look after Martha, and Martha’s punishment is to put up with me. Fantastic. What a great summer holiday this is turning out to be.
Dad throws me an apple and stands up. ‘You’re meeting her by the water fountain at two o’clock. Don’t be late.’ He starts to stride off across the garden, stopping by the hedge and turning back towards me. ‘And keep an open mind, Erin.’ Then he’s gone and I am left scowling into thin air.
As I sit by the water fountain just before two o’clock, I think about Martha. She’s not like any old person I’ve ever met before. She wasn’t chatty and happy and interested in me like Granny Edna was. I’m not sure I’ve ever met such a grumpy pensioner before.
‘Hello!’ Beatrice calls to me as she pushes Martha through the sunshine and towards the bench where I am sitting. ‘Good – you’re here nice and early! Did your father explain the situation to you?’
I’m too scared of Beatrice’s temper to ignore her so I nod. She parks Martha next to me and stands in front of the wheelchair, her hands on her hips and her face looking stern.
‘Do not go leading this young lady astray – do you hear me?’
Martha looks at her blankly and Beatrice laughs – a loud, raucous laugh that makes me want to join in, despite my determination to be mad at her. ‘Oh, you! Don’t go giving me that dippy old lady routine. I’ll be back in half an hour. Behave.’ She winks at me and saunters off down the path, whistling.
I look over at Martha. She’s wearing her scarf again and a really daft floppy hat – it doesn’t suit the moody scowl on her face one little bit and as I watch, she slowly reaches up her left arm and knocks the hat on to the floor.
‘Shall I get that?’ I say, bending down towards the ground. There is silence and when I look up, I see Martha glaring at me crossly. ‘OK – I’ll just leave it where it is, then,’ I tell her, straightening up and leaning back on the bench. I don’t blame her – it really is a stupid-looking hat.
We sit quietly for a while and then I see Martha shuffling around in her chair. I watch her lazily out of the corner of my eye, and see her reach under the blanket that tucks her legs in. It takes her ages because the blanket is wrapped round her really tightly, and she’s only using her left hand. She must be left-handed like me. Eventually, she pulls back the blanket and takes out a notebook and pen. Then she stares off into the distance, completely in a world of her own. It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m here.
I ignore her right back and wonder if it’s possible to die of boredom. Are we just supposed to sit here in silence for thirty minutes? It’s certainly an effective punishment.
I sigh and start thinking about what Lauren and Nat will be doing right now. I saw on Facebook that they’ve been hanging out in the shopping centre and last week they swear that they went to the cinema with some b
oys from Year 11. I bet that isn’t even true. I really hope it isn’t, anyway.
A movement from Martha distracts me and I turn to look at her. She is trying to open the notebook, but her movements are really awkward and as I watch, she knocks it with her arm and it falls, landing on the ground next to the stupid hat.
I leap off the bench and crouch down, picking up the notebook and reaching for the pen that has rolled under her wheelchair.
‘Here you go,’ I say and pass them both back to her. She reaches out slowly and takes them from me but she still doesn’t say a word. I wonder if she’s a nun and has taken a vow of silence. Or maybe she just doesn’t like me.
‘O-K,’ I say slowly. ‘Just trying to help.’
I turn up the volume on my iPod and try to zone out but even though she isn’t actually saying or doing anything, Martha is kind of hard to ignore. I close my eyes and start humming along to the song in an attempt to distract myself.
As the song finishes and the next one begins I get a prickling sensation down my spine. An unmistakable feeling that I am being watched. I open one eye and look across at Martha. She isn’t gazing at the water fountain any more – instead, she’s looking at me. She nods her head in that bossy way that means she wants me to do something and I turn off my iPod and sit up straighter. For an old woman she is totally rude – would it kill her to speak to me now and again? I have to admit, I’m curious, though. She’s full of surprises.
This is certainly true right now. As I watch, Martha starts miming smoking a cigarette and glaring at me.
‘Yeah, about that,’ I tell her, feeling my face going red. ‘I’m sorry if I got you into trouble yesterday.’
Martha scowls at me.
‘You can’t blame me entirely. It’s not like I forced you to smoke it,’ I say, feeling fed up. I’m just the child here – she’s supposed to be the grown-up.
I’m about to turn my iPod back on when Martha holds something up. It’s her notepad and she’s written a word on the page. Her handwriting is horrible. There’s no way she’d get away with writing like that in school nowadays. I wonder for a second about why she hasn’t just spoken to me but then I read the word and get completely distracted.
Five Things They Never Told Me Page 4
