After two minutes, the sight of his half-chewed burger swilling around his mouth while he talks/shouts about fascinating details of his life, such as his new football strip and how his mum thinks he should sign up to be a male model, is starting to make me feel sick, so I turn away.
This is a mistake because I manage to turn right into the path of Dom. Who wants to talk. To me. About me. I get the feeling he has taken a class on how to get a girlfriend, but is possibly only on lesson one. He asks me lots of questions but doesn’t want to listen to the answers. He also seems to want to make eye contact with me ALL OF THE TIME. Like, if I look away while I’m thinking of what to say, when I look back he is still staring fixedly at me. It’s a bit odd and I’m left undecided about whether it’s because he’s nervous or a bit odd or is just trying to avoid being blinded by the hideous top I’m wearing.
After a while, Kieran has had enough of talking about himself and decides to return to his other favourite hobby. Luckily, this time he has the decency to drag Lauren off to the bottom of the garden.
‘See,’ Lauren whispers in my ear as he pulls her past me. ‘I told you Kieran was lovely. I KNEW you’d love him when you got to know him!’
I just nod and smile when Nat comes over and whispers to me that she’ll just be a few minutes and will I be OK with Dom? Then her and Ashley retreat to a couple of chairs on the patio and start kissing. As Ashley hasn’t actually said a single word in the last two hours, I’m sort of relieved to see that his mouth does actually work.
I spend the next ten minutes answering Dom’s increasingly bizarre questions about my life.
Then I do a mean thing.
‘Could you possibly get me a burger?’ I ask Dom.
‘No problem,’ says Dom, and off he goes.
And off I go, first into the kitchen where I find a scrap of paper and write a quick note to Nat, telling her that I’ve had to go but thanks for the party. I put it up on the fridge with the monster magnet that I bought Nat last Christmas and then I creep outside and head straight over to the fence where Picasso is lying in the shade. I quickly untie his lead and without looking back we unlatch the gate and escape down the path.
Dad is surprised to see me when he gets home, but I can tell he’s pleased.
‘I didn’t think you’d be back for hours,’ he says, flopping down on to the sofa next to me. I’m glad that I managed to arrive home just before him and change out of Nat’s awful clothes. Dad would have had a nervous breakdown on the spot if he’d seen me wearing that stuff. ‘How was the party?’
‘Fine,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks for the present.’
He glances up at the shelf where the iPad is sitting in its box. ‘Did you get it working OK?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, it’s great,’ I say. ‘What’s for tea?’
Dad offers to take me out for a meal but I don’t really want to leave the house now I’m home. In the end we settle for pizza delivery and Dad downloads us a film to watch.
‘I don’t want to be late tomorrow,’ I tell him, munching on my stuffed crust and trying not to squirt tomato sauce everywhere.
Dad looks at me. ‘About that,’ he says. ‘I’ve been thinking. You’ve done your punishment and you haven’t moaned – not too much, anyway! I think you’ve learnt your lesson. The rest of the summer is yours. You don’t have to come back to Oak Hill with me.’
‘But I want to.’ The words are out of my mouth before I’ve even had time to think about what I’m saying. ‘I can’t just abandon Martha, and there’s Frog and everything. We’ve got stuff to do.’
Dad looks surprised but smiles at me and picks up another slice of pizza.
‘Well, it’s your choice,’ he tells me. ‘Just come in when you want to.’
Later, in bed, I think about today. I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking that all I wanted was to spend time with Lauren and Nat. But today wasn’t that great. They’re still my friends and all that, but I didn’t feel like I feel when I’m at Oak Hill. Like anything might happen.
Mostly, the problem with today was that I missed Martha. And I missed Frog. And I wished that I was spending my birthday with them.
Dimpled Cheeks*
‘Are you one hundred per cent sure about this?’ I ask Frog doubtfully.
‘Totally,’ he tells me. ‘How hard can it be?’
I’m not sure what to say to this. There are many answers desperate to fly out of my mouth, including ‘ludicrously hard’, ‘insanely difficult’ and ‘harder than a hard rock’, but I don’t think he’d appreciate my lack of team spirit, and he’s obviously gone to some effort.
Frog puts his hands on his hips, legs apart and raises his eyebrows at me.
‘Is that your I’m-about-to-dance pose?’ I tease him. ‘Very convincing!’
‘Are you going to sit there all day or are we going to give this a go?’ he asks me.
‘Sit here all day?’ I try, but the scowl on his face makes it clear that this was the wrong answer. ‘Erm – give it a go?’ I say and Frog grins.
I sigh, but get up off the bench and walk over to the patch of grass where he’s waiting.
‘What do we do first?’
Frog pauses, his forehead wrinkled up as he tries to remember. ‘I think we have to face each other and hold hands.’
I surreptitiously wipe my palms on my jeans, just in case they’re sweaty. I’m suddenly feeling a bit nervous, even though it’s just Frog and we’re the only ones here.
‘Like this?’ I ask, and stretch my hands out towards him. ‘Now what?’
‘Well, we have to move our feet really fast and take lots of tiny steps.’
We start bouncing up and down on the spot. ‘And then I swing you out to the side, like this.’
Frog lets go of one of my hands and pulls me hard with the other hand and I swing out next to him. Not bad for a beginner!
‘And then you go under my arm and I spin you round and –’
I trip over his foot and go down on to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
‘Ow!’ I shout. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Are you OK?’ asks Frog, crouching next to me. I’m actually fine but then I take a look at his face with his scruffy hair flopped over one eye. I can see he’s trying not to laugh, which makes me cross.
‘No,’ I tell him grumpily. ‘I think I’ve broken something.’
‘Like what? The world record for the shortest jitterbug ever!’
‘It was a stupid idea to begin with,’ I tell him, rubbing my elbow. ‘There’s no way we can learn to jitterbug. And if Martha had seen that little performance she might have actually died laughing. I bet she wouldn’t even recognize it as the jitterbug.’
‘We can’t just give up,’ says Frog. ‘We’ve only just started.’
When I met up with Frog this morning he was buzzing with excitement for his new plan. He dragged me to the computer room at Oak Hill (a tiny cupboard with one computer inside that nobody ever uses) and made me watch a YouTube clip of people doing the jitterbug dance. He said that it’d be really great if we learnt to jitterbug so that we could show Martha and remind her of the good old days. I wasn’t convinced but, as I’m starting to discover, Frog is the kind of person it’s hard to say ‘no’ to.
Frog stands up and reaches down to me. Reluctantly I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. I am officially the world’s worst dancer and I have a nasty feeling that no good is going to come of this.
‘Again,’ he says and assumes his start position. I take hold of both his hands and this time, I manage to bounce on the spot, swing to the side, go under his arm AND kick my leg out to the left before I collapse in a heap.
‘What happened then?’ moans Frog. ‘We were getting somewhere that time.’
‘I tripped!’ I snap.
‘What on? A blade of grass? Come ON, make a bit of effort, Erin.’
I stand up and glare at him. ‘It’d help if we had some music,’ I say. ‘And if you could keep your canoe-size f
eet under control.’
‘Again,’ dictates Frog. ‘And one, two, three, four!’
We begin our routine but this time we’re stopped before I can gain yet another bruise on my backside. The sound of clapping comes from the path and when I look across I see Beatrice clapping while, in front of her, Martha bangs one hand against her leg, a huge grin on her face.
‘Looking good, kids!’ calls Beatrice, wheeling Martha over to the bench. I scowl at her and let go of Frog’s hand. We walk to the bench and sit down next to Martha.
‘I’ll be back later,’ says Beatrice.
‘We’ll bring Martha up to the house in a while,’ Frog tells her. ‘If that’s OK?’
Beatrice glances at Martha and then nods. ‘Don’t stay out too late!’ she tells her, and then she sticks her hands in her pockets and strolls back down the path, whistling as she goes.
Martha jerks her head at us and then across at the grass. It’s obvious she wants us to tell her what we were doing.
‘Don’t ask,’ I say. ‘We’re terrible at dancing.’
‘We were trying to learn the jitterbug, so that we could surprise you,’ says Frog. ‘But it’s impossible. I have no idea how you used to do it when you were young.’
Martha grins and I notice that her smile isn’t as lopsided as it usually is. Maybe she’s actually been doing her exercises. That or I’m just getting used to the way she looks.
‘We’ve found some clips on YouTube, though, of people dancing the jitterbug. Shall we go inside and you can watch them?’
Martha shakes her head. That would be a definite ‘no’ then. I sink on to the bench. We’re going to have to come up with some better ideas if we want to cheer her up and motivate her to get better.
‘Really?’ Frog is saying. I glance at him and see he is looking at Martha. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
Martha is sitting up straight in her chair and is using her left hand to point first at Frog and then at me. And then at the patch of grass where we were dancing.
‘Oh no,’ I tell her. ‘You saw us. It’s not going to work, Martha.’
Martha scowls at me and points again.
‘I think she really wants us to try,’ Frog whispers to me.
‘I don’t care WHAT she wants,’ I say loudly. ‘I am not humiliating myself again, just so that she can have a good laugh.’
Martha sniggers silently. I’ve had quite enough of being laughed at for one day. I turn on her.
‘I CANNOT DANCE!’ I say very slowly and loudly, as if I’m talking to someone who doesn’t understand English. ‘I don’t DO dancing. I tried. I failed. End of conversation.’
Martha drops her head and looks up at us through her eyelashes. Her eyes look all pleading and she reminds me of Picasso when he wants me to throw him a ball.
‘Come on, Erin,’ says Frog. ‘It’ll make her happy.’
‘She’s manipulating us,’ I tell him, and turn to her. ‘I know exactly what you’re doing and it won’t work. You might as well get up and dance with Frog yourself.’
‘Erin!’ Frog sounds shocked but I ignore him. I’m too busy looking at the steely glint in Martha’s eyes and as I watch she yanks at the blanket that is tucked over her legs and throws it on the ground, scattering her notepad on to the ground.
Frog spins round at the sound and together we stare as Martha swings first one leg and then the other off the footrest of her wheelchair. Then, using her left hand, she braces against the side of the chair and pushes herself up to a standing position.
Frog and I both surge forward at the same time but she jerks her head at us and it’s easy to tell that she wants us to stop.
We hover, either side of her, close but not touching, as she lets go of the chair and pulls herself upright. She takes one step forward and wobbles. I hear myself gasp and I desperately want to hold on to her arm, but I don’t. Instead, I watch as she takes a second step and then another. Then her left arm rises and she turns her head to look at Frog.
Frog is frozen in position. Martha smiles at him and he doesn’t move until I hiss ‘Frog!’ at him. Then he springs into action, moving in front of Martha and reaching out to take her hand. I can tell that he’s taking quite a lot of her weight because both of their knuckles are clenched and white, but neither of them speak as Martha moves slowly forward and then under Frog’s arm. Every single step she takes is laborious and considered – it looks as if she’s having to force her brain to send the right messages to her feet, but at the same time she somehow manages to look graceful. She moves out to the side and Frog copies her and in that instant, their arms outstretched and heads turned looking towards each other, I can see Martha the dancer. I can imagine her doing these moves, but sped up about twenty times, and I can see the energy and enthusiasm and passion that she would have had.
And then her right leg starts to shake and I grab the wheelchair and quickly push it up behind her and Frog helps lower her down until she’s safely sitting on the chair. I breathe out loudly and realize that I’d been holding my breath since she stood up.
‘Are you OK?’ Frog asks her, worry seeping out through his voice.
‘I’m SO sorry,’ I tell her, coming round in front of her wheelchair and looking down. ‘I didn’t mean to sound unkind.’
‘Are you OK?’ repeats Frog, and Martha nods. Then she looks over and points at me.
‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘I AM sorry.’ I can feel tears prickling at the backs of my eyes and then, before I can do anything to stop them, they start overflowing and trickling down my cheeks.
I turn away quickly, desperate to hide, but it’s too late. I feel Frog’s hand on my shoulder but I can’t turn to face them. I can’t believe that I taunted Martha and nearly made her fall over AGAIN. It’s like the only thing I can ever do is get everything wrong.
‘It’s OK, Erin,’ Frog whispers gently. ‘Come on, just look at her.’
I shake my head and rub furiously at my eyes. Frog puts both hands on my shoulders and twists me round and when I look at Martha I can see a big grin covering her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat and she shakes her head, as if these aren’t the words she was looking for.
‘Come on, Erin. No cry face,’ says Frog. ‘Martha isn’t telling you off. She’s asking you to do something.’
I watch as Martha, her eyes never leaving mine, jabs her finger at me again and then at Frog and then back at the grass.
‘Yes!’ I say, feeling my body sag in relief. ‘I’ll dance if you really want me to.’
Frog wheels Martha’s chair under the shade of a tree and I take a moment to compose myself, my mind working overtime to figure out what just happened. I’m not proud of myself for provoking her but look what Martha just did! She stood up and walked and everything! I think that, massively by mistake, we might have just discovered the way to get Martha working on her recovery. Maybe she needs a bit of that tough love that people go on about.
‘She can’t resist a challenge!’ I whisper to Frog as we walk across to the grassy area. ‘We can totally use that to get her talking and using the right side of her body.’
We stand facing each other and Frog reaches out to take my hands. Martha bangs the side of her chair and moves her right hand to the side.
‘Are you saying that we need to stand further apart?’ I call. She nods and we both take a few steps back. ‘This would be a lot easier if you could just tell us,’ I shout to her.
‘Seriously, Erin, you’re playing with fire,’ hisses Frog. ‘My nerves can’t stand another “Martha Challenge” right now.’
I grin at him and turn back to where Martha is sitting.
‘Just don’t expect anything great. Or coordinated. Or that looks like actual dancing,’ I tell her. ‘Because I am NOT a good dancer.’
Cracked Earth Removed*
It’s been Eighty-one Days Without Mum and I’m really missing her. I want to tell her about Dom and the party and ask what I should do about Lauren and Nat
. I didn’t realize how hurt they’d be when I ran off without saying a proper goodbye. They’d made me a cake and everything and I kind of messed up all their plans. I guess I thought they wouldn’t notice – that they had plenty of new friends and wouldn’t miss me. They’ve been texting me loads and asking what happened. I’ve tried to explain but I’m not sure what I can say that will make them understand how I feel. I’m not even certain how I DO feel. I just know that them trying to set me up with Dom made me uncomfortable – even more uncomfortable than the leather trousers that they made me wear.
Dad let me go over to Nat’s the day after to return the trousers and get my own clothes back. I said I was sorry but Nat was quite sniffy with me and I suppose I can’t really blame her. I got it wrong. Again. And now I’m going to have exactly no friends when school starts back in September.
I’m trying not to think miserable thoughts today, though, because I’m meant to be meeting Frog to hear his next big idea for our Martha Challenge. I really, really hope that this one doesn’t involve me making a complete idiot of myself, like the dancing. Martha’s been forcing us to practise the jitterbug every day and I don’t think we’re getting any better. It’s really difficult dancing without music.
Frog has asked me to meet him in the day room, which is where his grandad spends most of his time. I’ve said hello to him a couple of times now and he seems quite nice, but I’m not really sure how much he can understand and I don’t want to confuse him. Hoping that Frog has already arrived I push open the door and then stand still in surprise.
The day room is heaving with people. Old people. And it’s VERY loud. Looking around I can’t see Frog anywhere and for a second I nearly turn and leave, certain that I’ve just gatecrashed a pensioners’ get-together. Then I hear someone call my name and when I stand on tiptoe I can see Frog on the other side of the room, beckoning to me and laughing.
I hesitate a moment longer. There are a LOT of people in here and I’m really only interested in Martha. But I want to see Frog so I slip through the crowd, dodging walking frames and sticks and sliding between armchairs until I’m standing next to him.
Five Things They Never Told Me Page 11
