Five Things They Never Told Me (18 page)

The first day back at school is as predictably awful as usual. Teachers prattling on about how much fun we're going to have this year and how, now that we're in Year 9, we'll be given extra responsibility and independence. Why do adults always go on about responsibility like it's a
good
thing? I'm more than happy to carry on doing what I've always done – which is sit at the back of the classroom, paying just enough attention to get by and counting down the hours until the final bell.

Anyway, surprise, surprise, it's all lies. By the end of the first day it is obvious that nothing has changed. Lessons are the same boring lessons that they were last year. And that means that they are nobody's definition of fun. The only good part of the day was art when we had to hand in our summer projects. Miss Jenson flicked through them during the lesson and asked me to stay behind after class. I thought I was in trouble for a moment but then she said that she was really impressed with my enthusiasm and had I thought about doing art GCSE? I was a bit embarrassed but she started talking about the paintings I'd chosen and we ended up having a good chat. She gave me a spare art book to keep at home and said if I wanted to carry on the project then she'd love to see my ideas every now and again. I told her I'd think about it but I took the art book anyway. Just in case.

I don't see Frog until the second day. I'm walking into the cafeteria and suddenly there he is, right in front of me. He spots me at the exact same moment that I see him and we both stand still, looking at each other.

He looks different. And it isn't just the school uniform, although I guess that's part of it. He
seems older and more distant and I suddenly feel awkward. I don't know what to say to him so I keep standing there. And then he's being shoved towards me by his group of friends who don't understand why he's suddenly stopped moving. They're confident and raucous and one of them says something to him as he goes to walk past me that makes them all laugh really loudly.

‘Hi, Erin,' he says and raises his hand in a greeting but he doesn't stop to talk and for some reason I look away. I act like I don't hear him and make my legs move forward so that I'm rejoining the queue for food. I collect a tray and shuffle slowly forward, then collect a plate and ask for a baked potato and some fish fingers and then I shuffle forward a bit more and take a drink and pay at the till, and the entire time I manage not to glance over to the table where I know he's sitting. I think I can feel him watching me but I could be making it up. I don't know.

I'm ready for him on the third day and when I see him coming down the corridor I play it cool. I busy myself putting my books in my locker until I reckon he's almost next to me. Then I drop one
of the books on the floor and bend down to pick it up. He almost walks right into me.

‘Hey, watch it!' he says, and then he sees it's me. ‘Erin!'

‘Oh, hi,' I say, aiming for casual nonchalance but achieving jumpy nervousness. Frog laughs.

‘Hi, yourself,' he says and grins at me in a way that makes me feel like nothing's changed.

‘How's it going?' I ask him, still feeling a bit small and embarrassed. It seems so weird talking to him here, at school. Like our summer together never really happened.

‘Oh, all as boring as usual,' Frog tells me, waving his hand dismissively in the air. ‘We still on for Saturday?'

This is the real reason that I've been feeling odd. I was so sure that something would go wrong once we got back to school and that all the plans we made at Oak Hill would disappear, along with the summer. I thought that Frog wouldn't want anything to do with me when he was back with his mates. And Saturday will be One Hundred Days Without Mum and I really, really want to do something fantastic to distract me.

The relief makes me want to sit down.

‘Absolutely!' I say, trying not to smile too enthusiastically. I don't want him to think I'm desperate to spend time with him. ‘I'll see you there.'

We look at each other and for a second I think he's about to say something else. But then Lauren and Nat ruin it.

‘Ooh, Erin! Introduce us to your new friend!' Nat is talking in a ridiculous, sing-song voice that makes me want to put my hand over her mouth.

I turn to glare at her and see Lauren gazing at Frog, her hands on her hips and her eyes open very wide. I happen to know that this is her seductive look and she practises it in front of the mirror.

‘Hi,' she purrs. ‘I'm Loz. I'm sure I've seen you on the football team.'

Frog smiles at her. ‘No, not me. You must be thinking of someone else.'

‘Oh, but you must be on one of the sports teams, surely?' Lauren is in full-blown attack mode and I need to get Frog out of here. Now. ‘You look so sporty.'

Normally this kind of line would have me snorting in hilarity but today I'm not finding
it very funny. I'm plotting the most painful, torturous punishment that I can think of to administer to my so-called best friend. How can she think it's acceptable to try to chat up MY – My brain freezes. My
what
exactly? What does Frog actually mean to me? More importantly, what do I mean to him? Maybe I have no right to be offended by Lauren's behaviour. After all, it's not like we're going out or anything. But he's totally not her type. His hair's a total state, for starters.

‘Sorry,' says Frog to Lauren. ‘You've got me totally wrong. I am the least active person you are ever likely to meet.'

As he turns to leave he gives me a wink and whispers, ‘Saturday,' just loud enough for Lauren and Nat to hear. Then he's gone and I'm left to fend off the thousands of questions being fired at me by the girls.

‘OMG, Erin! Is he your boyfriend?' screeches Nat.

‘You kept him quiet,' says Lauren, sounding a bit annoyed. ‘No wonder you weren't interested in Dom when you had
him
waiting for you.'

‘It isn't like that,' I protest but the honest truth is that I don't
know
what it is like.

‘Oh yeah?' Lauren isn't convinced. ‘I don't know why you're keeping him such a big secret. Is he a bit odd or something?'

‘I thought he seemed quite nice,' offers Nat and I smile gratefully at her.

Lauren exhales loudly. There is no physical reason for her to do this but it does a good job of conveying her frustration to the rest of us.

‘I didn't say he wasn't
nice
, Nat,' she says in a slightly huffy voice. ‘I'm sure he's perfectly
nice
. He's quite good-looking too, I suppose. He's just a bit immature, particularly when you compare him to Dom.'

‘Oh god, no,' agrees Nat, keen to win back her best friend status with Lauren. ‘He's nothing compared to Dom.'

‘He obviously fancies you, though, Erin.' Lauren's voice is almost accusing and I wish she'd shut up. It's ridiculous to compare Frog to Dom – it's like trying to compare a pizza with a giraffe. They have no similarities so you can't figure out which one is better. They're just a pizza and a giraffe.

‘Do you fancy him?' Nat is back to using the cutesy voice that she employs when she's talking about boys. For a second I want to ignore her but
then I remember that she's my friend. That they're both my friends and that they have generously forgiven me for my antisocial behaviour at the barbecue party.

So I walk to science, trying to reply to their incessant questioning and wishing that I knew the answer to at least one of them.

The only thing that has kept me going all week is the thought of going back to Oak Hill and the surprise that Frog and I have planned for Martha. It's Saturday morning and Dad nearly chokes on his cornflakes when I emerge into the kitchen, dressed and ready to go.

‘Off somewhere?' he asks.

‘Gross, Dad,' I say, pulling out a chair and pouring myself some cereal. ‘Don't talk with your mouth full!'

He swallows in an over-the-top, dramatic way and grins at me. ‘Sorry, it was just the shock of seeing you up before lunchtime! I thought you'd be desperate for a lie-in today, especially when you knew I'd be doing overtime at Oak Hill.'

‘I'm meeting Martha and Frog,' I tell him and he nods. That's the great thing about my dad. He doesn't feel the need to pry into every single thing that I do. He knows that I'm friends with Frog and that we've been spending loads of time with Martha but he never asks me about it. Mum wouldn't have stopped quizzing me about what I was getting up to and if Frog was my boyfriend. And as I don't exactly know the answer to that last question then I'm grateful that Dad just lets me get on. It feels like he's starting to trust me and I won't let him down again.

As soon as I've finished eating I grab my iPad and sketchbook and pack them into my rucksack. I wanted to leave the iPad with Martha but she wouldn't let me. She told me that it wouldn't be right but that she wouldn't mind borrowing it when I was visiting.

The drive to Oak Hill takes ages today. First we're stuck at a red traffic light for AGES and then we have to take a detour because there are roadworks or something. I beg Dad to drive as quickly as he can and by the time we pull up outside the house I'm feeling really impatient.

The second the van stops I open the door. I've got one foot outside on the gravel when Dad stops me.

‘Erin,' he says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

‘What?' I ask, reaching down for my bag.

‘Just wait a second.' His voice sounds odd and I turn back to face him. He's not looking at me, although his hand has tightened its grip on my shoulder. I follow his gaze and stare out of the front windscreen.

Frog is standing on the steps to Oak Hill with his grandad. Beatrice is standing behind him and the look on her face makes my stomach flip over. I can't see Frog properly for a moment because his grandad has pulled him into a tight hug – but then he must realize that I'm there and he lifts his head.

Frog looks utterly miserable. He's obviously waiting for me because one hand is clutching a CD player and I wonder if we're ever going to
actually need it now. I have a sudden memory of Frog gently wiping the water from Martha's chin with a tissue and I hope that one day, when he is old, someone will do the same thing for him.

‘Erin,' starts Dad and I know. I know that it's happening all over again. It was just the same when Mum left. One day she was there and the next she was gone. Boom. A bit like a magic vanishing trick. It seems unfair – surely we'd be able to cope a bit better if someone gave us a bit of warning. It makes me wonder if there's something about me that makes people want to leave.

I get out of the van and look over at Frog. He says a few words to his grandad and then walks down the steps and across to where I'm standing.

‘She's gone,' he tells me.

I don't know what this even means. Gone? Gone where? I know that I should be feeling scared or upset or something but I'm really not. I'm mostly feeling angry. We had a plan and now it's pointless, which pretty much makes the entire summer a waste of time.

‘They've sent her away. Got rid of her.' Frog sounds angry too but I think his anger is for different reasons to mine.

‘Now then, it's not quite like that.' Beatrice has followed Frog down the steps and is standing behind him.

‘What is it like, then?' He rounds on her and she looks at him with a slightly surprised expression on her face. ‘Because she's not here, is she? Grandad told me all about the stupid “three strikes and you're out” system.'

I look from one to the other. Beatrice looks upset and I think that Frog is getting cross with the wrong person. It isn't her fault. It wasn't her that chose to behave in a totally inappropriate way for an old person. There are rules. Martha knew what she was doing.

‘Martha wasn't sent away because she did something wrong,' Beatrice tells us. ‘It was just time for her to move on. She needed a different kind of care – more than we can give here at Oak Hill.'

‘What do you mean?' asks Frog. ‘What kind of care?'

Beatrice looks at us and I can see the kindness in her eyes. ‘Martha is very old. She needs to be somewhere that can look after her and keep her out of pain for these last few weeks. She asked me to say goodbye to you both and to thank you for a wonderful last summer.'

I've heard quite enough. I turn round and I start walking across the car park and I ignore Dad calling me, and as soon as I reach the trees I start running. It feels good and I don't stop until I reach the secret hideaway. Then I collapse on to the grass and listen to my heart going crazy. I like it – it's hard to think of anything else when you believe you might actually be having a heart attack.

Eventually, though, my breathing slows down and the sounds of the real world float back in. I can hear the wind rustling in the trees and the stream trickling over the stones. And footsteps coming towards me and a voice calling my name.

I knew that he'd find me here. I wanted him to. He's the only person who can possibly know how I'm feeling right now.

The grass is so long that he almost treads on me, stopping just before he crushes my fingers under his foot. He sinks down beside me and reaches out for my hand and we lie on the slightly damp grass. We don't talk but I'm pretty sure we're thinking the same thoughts.

After a while, Frog sits up and pulls me with him.

‘I can't believe she's gone,' he tells me. ‘It's not going to be the same around here without her.'

‘I wish we'd done more fun things with her,' I say. ‘Really made the most of the summer. And I wish she'd cared enough about us to let us know that she was leaving. Given us a chance to say goodbye.'

And as I say it I remember Martha telling me, just last week, that we have to live in the now. That one summer will be our last summer. I thought that we had a lifetime of summers ahead of us but I was wrong.

We sit quietly for a while and then I think about something Frog said to Beatrice.

‘What were you on about when you said, “three strikes and you're out”?' I ask him.

He sighs. ‘Grandad told me. Apparently, Martha was on a warning. You know, like at school. She did something wrong and they said she had to leave. The first two things were to do with smoking and Picasso.'

I look at him guiltily. Does he mean the time I gave Martha a cigarette in the garden? And Picasso? That was totally my fault, not hers.

‘What was the third thing?' I ask him, holding my breath and praying that it isn't something to do with me.

‘Something to do with refusing her medication and telling Uncaring exactly what she thought of
her. Grandad said she was a stubborn old woman who knew her own mind.'

‘That figures,' I say, my guilty conscience making me feel annoyed. ‘She was always on the lookout for trouble.'

And suddenly the absence of Martha hits me and the loss of her feels like a sharp kick in the ribs. No more reading her notes or telling her about my day. No more confiding in her about Mum. No more racing her wheelchair around the garden or seeing the look on her face when I sneak Picasso in to visit her. No more Martha. Ever.

‘Stupid old people,' I mutter. ‘Doing whatever they feel like and leaving us to pick up the pieces. Just like everybody else. Martha was only interested in herself all along.'

My crying is ugly. Normally I would hide it from Frog but today I can't. I'm gulping for air and my face feels red and I'm sure my nose has swollen to twice its normal size. My tears are hot and sticky and endless and I know that nobody on TV has ever cried in such an unattractive way as I do.

But Frog takes the two steps that separate us and holds me close. He doesn't seem to mind my
snotty nose and shuddering body. He doesn't let go until I've calmed down and then we break apart and look at each other.

‘You look a state,' he says, laughing a bit. ‘Come on – no cry face.'

‘Thanks very much,' I tell him, searching my pockets for a tissue.

‘We could find out where she's been sent,' Frog tells me but his voice is hesitant and unsure.

I shake my head. If Martha had wanted to say goodbye to us then she'd have done it last week. And I guess she did, in her own way.

Frog turns towards the stream and starts scuffing his feet into the grass and suddenly I feel incredibly tired. I don't want to talk to anyone any more, not even Frog. I remember my pact not to speak when I first came to Oak Hill back at the start of the summer. Maybe I should have kept it. Maybe, if I hadn't ever spoken to Martha or Frog then I wouldn't be feeling like this now. I am so sick of feeling sad when people leave me. It'd be better for everyone if I just didn't bother getting to like them in the first place.

‘I'm going home,' I tell him and I trudge towards the path, past the bench and under the trees. It doesn't seem like a safe, secret hideaway
now. As the sun starts to disappear and the air gets chilly I know that time is running out for us, just like it ran out for Martha at Oak Hill. The movie credits will roll and there will be no happy ever after. My new beginning will finish before it even really began.