As we were going upstairs I had a thought so I ran back.
“Martha?” I said.
She looked up.
“Yes, Miracle?”
“Could you call me Ira instead of Miracle?”
She nodded.
“And Zackery Zac?”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”
Her face was very hot and her glasses were falling off her nose. It was lucky she had the chain.
When we got upstairs Zac kicked the wall so hard he made a dent in the wallpaper.
“Zac, be careful,” I said. “She’ll send us away.”
“I don’t care. It’s too fancy here. I hate it.”
He sat on the bed and I put my arm round his shoulder.
“Will my shirt be OK?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “We’ll soak it in the sink.”
We sat there for a while just thinking and then he said, “I don’t really hate it here.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s just different. I think it’ll be OK if we try to be good.”
And now he’s asleep and he looks like an angel and I wish Martha could see him because then she’d understand that he’s all different things all at the same time. He’s clumsy and he always finds trouble and he pretends he doesn’t care but he’s also very sweet.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I was worried we’d upset Martha and anyway it’s too quiet here. There’s hardly any noise except for animal sounds and I don’t know what animals they are. Birds maybe and foxes. They squeak and yelp and all around them is silence. I tried to picture them in my head but I couldn’t. I just lay there wishing I could hear a siren or traffic or people shouting in the street. Just so I’d know we weren’t on our own.
When it was morning I was worried in case Martha wanted to send us back to Skilly. But she said, “Morning, children!” in a sing-song voice and didn’t seem cross at all. At breakfast there was no tablecloth and we had mugs and plates that didn’t match. I expect she thought it wouldn’t matter if we broke one. Me and Zac didn’t drink tea either. We had juice.
After breakfast Martha said, “We’re going to get eggs for lunch,” and we climbed over the fence at the bottom of the garden and into the woods and walked along a path. There were so many trees that when I looked up I could only see little bits of sky. Apart from that it was all green leaves. Zac was chasing squirrels but they were too quick for him. He couldn’t even touch their tails. It’s the nicest walk in the world. It was two miles there and two miles back. I don’t know if I’ve walked that far before but I could have walked forever.
We got to a farm with a field full of chickens. There was a table next to the gate and a saucer with money in it and some empty egg boxes.
“There’s no eggs left,” I said.
Martha smiled.
“We collect our own.”
“What do you mean?” said Zac.
“We collect them from the chickens.”
She gave us a box each and we went into the field. The chickens started squawking when they saw us and ran around making bubbling noises and shaking their feathers. Me and Zac were frightened. Zac kept screaming and jumping around. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head. Martha said the chickens wouldn’t hurt us. They were only excited because they thought we were going to feed them. But we kept running away. We couldn’t help it.
After a while Martha said, “If you don’t calm down I’ll get the eggs myself.”
So we calmed down and the chickens calmed down too and then they were just clucking.
We found eggs hidden under straw in the field and also in the chicken coop, which is where they sleep. Some had feathers stuck on and bits of mud and most were white and some were speckled and one was brown. When we filled our egg boxes we had six each, which makes a dozen. Martha put some money in the saucer. She said the farmer would get it later.
I said, “What if someone takes it?”
She said, “Who’s going to take it?”
I looked around. There was no one there except us.
“No one,” I said.
As we walked back Martha said, “I hear even people in London keep chickens.”
“That’s the sort of thing Silas would do,” I said.
“Who’s Silas?” Martha said.
“He looks after Skilly,” I said. “He’s the caretaker.”
Then I said, “He was an evacuee,” and Zac said, “He’s travelled the world.”
We wanted Martha to know how interesting he is.
Later we had eggs with toast fingers. Martha calls them soldiers. I think it’s because she lived in the war. The eggs were really nice. I’ve never had an egg that was just laid. Then we played in the garden and Zac fell in the stream again but he didn’t get into trouble so I jumped in too.
But after that things went wrong. Zac climbed the willow and broke a branch off and it fell down with all its leaves just lying there.
Martha said, “Do you have to climb everything?” She said it quietly but that made it worse.
Zac shrugged, which looked not very nice.
Then we fell on some flowers and they broke. Martha took them inside and put them in a jug but they looked better in the garden and now they’ll die soon.
Later on Zac broke the rocking chair. Rocking chairs are for old people not kids so he should never have sat on it. He was rocking really hard. He looked like he was about to take off and then he flew right over the back and one of the rockers snapped. I expect the chair belonged to Martha’s parents or grandparents even and that means it’s PRICELESS, which means you could never have enough money to pay for it because it’s worth more than money. Martha probably sat on it when she was a little girl so it’s full of her dreams.
I was so upset I had to stop myself crying. Zac said to keep it a secret but I told Martha because she’d find out anyway and if we didn’t tell her she wouldn’t trust us. When she saw it her face went red. Then she put it in the corner and said not to touch it.
When she’d gone Zac called me a snitch.
“I’m not a snitch,” I said.
“Yes you are,” he said. “I hate you.”
And we had a fight and a cushion got torn and this time I didn’t tell Martha. I just turned the cushion over so she wouldn’t see it yet because I thought if she saw one more thing go wrong today she might send us home. If it was on TV people would laugh but in real life it wasn’t funny at all.
At teatime Zac ate really quickly and I kept saying please and thank you and didn’t eat much and Martha hardly ate anything at all. She just looked sad. She was probably thinking if we stay for a week she’ll have nothing left that isn’t broken. She must be disappointed, especially as she’s old-school.
And now Zac’s asleep and I don’t even want to cry any more.
I think me and Zac are in the wrong place. It’s like if you play a football match on an ice rink and the players keep falling over. Or if you put a teacher in the jungle and there’s nowhere for the desks and chairs. We’re always in the wrong place. Me and Zac don’t belong in a normal house – we belong in a CHILDREN’S HOME.
Zac wants to go back to Skilly but I want to stay here. I’m crossing my fingers and saying prayers in my head in case God’s listening, even though I’m not sure if I believe in him.
Reasons to stay:
I want to collect more eggs.
I like the garden.
The house is full of interesting things.
I want to get used to the quiet at night.
We can see stars.
I like Martha.
Martha might like us if she knew us better.
If we go back to Skilly the others will laugh at us and Hortense and Silas will be disappointed and Mrs Clanks will be angry and like us even less.
If we can’t be happy here for one week people will think we can never be happy and no one will want us for good.
I want to do some drawing in the garden.
Reasons to go back
early:
None.
Me and Zac didn’t break anything today. We were extra careful. We didn’t touch anything unless we had to, like if we had to pick up a cup to have a drink. Martha was quiet. I kept thinking she wished she’d never invited us to stay but she was too polite to say.
She told us to make ourselves at home but we didn’t feel comfortable in the house so we stayed in the garden. When we came in she kept clearing up after us. She put our shoes into pairs when we left them in the hall and she picked up our cups as soon as we’d finished with them. You’d think in such a messy house it wouldn’t matter where things are but they must be in a special order, even though other people can’t tell.
For dinner we had shepherd’s pie. It wasn’t as nice as when Hortense makes it. Martha isn’t the best cook. It’s probably not worth cooking for just one person so she doesn’t get much practice. She probably mostly eats sandwiches. Then we went back in the garden.
We had ham sandwiches for tea and little pink cakes called fondant fancies but I lost my appetite and couldn’t eat any. I was waiting for Martha to tell us we were going back to London early. I didn’t want to be swallowing when she told us. I kept my fingers crossed under the table. She looked funny – not funny ha-ha but funny like she was thinking something she wasn’t saying. When she finished drinking her tea she put the cup in the saucer and made a little cough.
“Ira and Zac,” she said. “I do hope you’ll be patient with me.”
Her head was bobbing.
“I haven’t had children of my own,” she said. “I’ve rather missed out, I think. So I tend to be set in my ways. You two will be an education to me.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant but I thought she wasn’t sending us back to Skilly so I uncrossed my fingers. Zac took one of the pink cakes, bit off the top and licked out the cream.
“The funny thing is,” Martha said, “when I was a headmistress I would speak to hundreds of children at a time but I don’t think I have ever sat down to tea with just two.”
She smiled.
“Can you understand that, Zac?” she said.
Zac looked surprised, like if a teacher asked him a question and he hadn’t been paying attention. He pushed the whole cake into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to answer. Then he started coughing.
Martha’s face went all out of shape.
“Spit it out, Zac,” she said.
Her voice was wobbly.
Zac spat the cake into his hand. It was all soggy and pink and crumbly. He looked at it for a moment and then he shrugged and put it back on the plate with all the other cakes no one had touched. I felt so ashamed.
At first I thought Martha was crying. Her eyes were wet and her face was all screwed up. But then I saw she wasn’t crying at all, she was laughing. She laughed quietly at first but then she was laughing really loudly and she was rocking from side to side and her glasses went lopsided. Zac was laughing too and making faces like he thought he was the funniest kid in the world and I just thought how stupid everything was and I started laughing as well. And then we were all laughing and looking at the pink blob on the plate.
We laughed for ages. Just when we all stopped someone started again.
Then Martha said, “Fill up your plates; take what you like. Bring a drink too and follow me.”
And we carried our plates down to the stream.
“Now,” Martha said, “whatever we spill the birds will eat.”
We stayed out by the stream until it was nearly dark. Me and Zac tried to build a dam but the water still got through. We told Martha about Skilly and Silas and Hortense and the tree blowing down. She told us about her life with her big brother Douglas and her dad the vicar and her mum who used to make tea for the congregation, who are the people who go to church. It’s her dad in the picture in the hall. He’s the one who’s always watching.
And she told us her full name is Martha Bonita Freeman. Bonita’s a Spanish name. It sounds quite funny next to Martha. It was her gran’s name but her gran never went to Spain. She didn’t even like going on holiday. It’s a mystery why she was called Bonita. Martha said all families have mysteries.
And she told us one time Douglas found a baby hedgehog and they fed it bread and milk until it got bigger and then they set it free. It crawled into the grass by the stream and now she thinks its great-great-great-great-grandchildren might live in the garden.
And she also said she always wanted to prove she was as clever as Douglas because in those days people thought boys were cleverer than girls. That’s why she became a teacher and a headmistress. But her real dream was to be an artist and now she’s stopped being a headmistress and she’s got a studio at the top of the house. She said she’ll let us see it tomorrow! And then I remembered seeing the paint on her dress when she met us at the station and it didn’t seem funny at all any more, it seemed wonderful.
We all stayed outside really late. When it got dark bats came out and swooped around us and we sat by the stream and watched and didn’t talk at all and everything was perfect.
Martha’s studio is in the attic. It’s sixteen steps up from our bedroom and thirty steps from the hall. But apart from being in the attic it’s nothing like our bedroom at Skilly. For one thing there’s no bed or wardrobe because it’s not for sleeping or getting dressed in. It’s just for painting. A whole room just for painting!
When we went in the smell of paint made me feel dizzy. But when I saw the paintings I forgot the smell and all I could think was how amazing the colours were. There are loads of paintings just leaning against the walls. Some are small but some are even taller than Martha. They’re not paintings of things, they’re just colours and shapes. One’s a red square with yellow and green lines on it and the lines look like they’re moving. I couldn’t stop looking at it.
“Did you do these?” I said to Martha.
She nodded. It’s amazing to think all those colours are in her head.
“What are they?” Zac said.
“You just have to look,” I whispered.
“Look at what?” he said. “What are they?”
“I don’t know what they are, Zac,” Martha said. “They’re feelings, I suppose. You know when you run around and that shows how you’re feeling inside – well, these paintings show how I feel inside.”
“Can’t you paint properly?” Zac said. “Dogs and people and houses and things.”
Martha smiled. She didn’t seem annoyed.
“Well, yes, I can paint things and I did for a long time,” she said. “But now I paint feelings.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Martha said.
She picked up a bit of paper.
“You know, Zac, the older I get the less I ask why. Does that make sense to you?”
Zac shook his head. “No.”
“Would you like to paint something?” she said.
Zac shrugged. “OK.”
Martha squeezed three colours on to a bit of plastic called a palette. It’s what artists put their paint on. The colours were red, yellow and blue and they looked like shiny slugs. Then she gave Zac three brushes.
“Use a different brush for each colour,” she said. “Paint what you like.”
Zac took a brush and stuck it in all the paints and swirled them together until most of the colour went brown. Then he painted a big swirly circle on the paper and put some yellow on top and then red and then blue and he kept making really big lines. He did it fast like he knew exactly what he was doing and then he stopped. He looked pleased. So did Martha.
“That looks like a painting about feelings,” she said.
“No,” Zac said. “It’s a velociraptor fighting a triceratops.”
When it was my turn I tried to be really careful so the colours wouldn’t mix together. It was meant to be a garden but it wasn’t very good. Zac’s painting was better. But I was so happy I didn’t care.
“If you like,” said Martha, “I can set you up in the garden t
o do some painting.”
So that’s what we’re doing tomorrow!
There were two easels in the garden this morning with canvases on them just like artists use. And there was a table with paints and brushes and they were for me and Zac! I could hardly eat my breakfast. I just wanted to get started.
Zac didn’t want to paint so Martha came in the garden with me and explained everything. She said the paint was acrylic, which means it dries quicker than the oil paint she uses in her studio so I can take my painting back to Skilly if I like it. It’s not as smelly either. Oil paint is what Van Gogh used. Van Gogh was the one who painted sunflowers and cut his ear off. Acrylic’s more modern.
Just as Martha was showing me how to squeeze the paint from the bottom of the tube Zac shouted from the house. We ran in. He was standing in the kitchen with sugar round his mouth and down his front and all over the floor. The sugar bowl was broken into pieces.
“Zac!” I shouted.
I couldn’t help myself. He didn’t say anything.
“Go and get cleaned up, Zac,” Martha said, and he ran up the stairs.
Martha picked up the broken bowl and swept up the sugar. I tried to help but I kept getting in the way.
“Don’t worry, Ira,” she said. “I’ll sort it out. Go and do your painting.”
But I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t.
I kept saying, “I’m really sorry. He didn’t mean any harm.”
“I know, Ira,” Martha said. “I know.”
When I said, “Maybe I should see if Zac’s all right,” she got annoyed.
“Ira,” she said, “you worry too much about Zac. Maybe you should worry about yourself sometimes.”
“What do you mean?” I said. My voice sounded really small.
“Maybe worrying about Zac is easier than worrying about yourself,” Martha said. “You’re always thinking about what Zac wants. What I wonder is, what does Ira want? Do you know?”
I couldn’t look at her. I had to look out of the window. Silas asks me that sort of thing but no one else does and with Silas there’s never time to talk properly. Someone always interrupts. Martha looked like she was waiting for an answer, like she had all day, but if I told her the truth I would die of shame. Anyway, what I want wouldn’t be what I want if I have to ask for it. What I want is for someone to want me and Zac.
Little Bits of Sky Page 6
