Loose Connections (6 page)

She shrugged. ‘I’ve finished school,’ she said. ‘And my parents are still in the other place.’

‘You’re on your
own
in that house?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t mind. I have the animals.’ She got up and headed for the passage.

At last. Thank God for that.

At the front door she stopped. ‘If you want me, you know where I am.’

‘No, thanks. We’ll manage.’

She nodded briefly. ‘OK, it’s up to you.’ Then she looked him full in the face. ‘But you should get help, Jake.’ She paused. ‘You’re going to need it
because I think your gran’s had a stroke.’

And then she was gone.

Jake stood in the passage looking after her. On the back of her T-shirt it said Save-Something- Else, but he couldn’t make out the words.

A stroke! What did that mean? He’d heard of old people having strokes, but he thought they went all paralysed and dribbly. Gran wasn’t like that. It was just that something had
happened to her brain and she couldn’t make the right connections.

He chewed his nails, numb with tiredness.

Did the girl really know what she was talking about? Who was she, anyway? And what sort of parents would leave their daughter all alone in that house?

What if Gran gets worse? What if she DIES? Will it be my fault if she dies?!

He started to pace up and down. Should he get the doctor? But Gran would be furious if he went behind her back. Should he phone Dad? But he didn’t want Dad to rush back.

And he mustn’t worry Mum. He’d promised he wouldn’t worry her.

Next time we go to the hospital, I’ll go on the bus and leave Gran behind. I’ll tell Mum Gran’s got a cold or something.

Random thoughts flew round his brain as he kept walking up and down the passage. Down to the front door – turn – down to the bottom of the stairs – turn – back to the
front door.

And then again, that feeling of someone, something, close to him, reassuring him – and his head started to clear.

It’s happening more often now.

He took some deep breaths.

The doorbell rang and he jumped, his heart racing. He looked at his watch – still only eight o’clock. Perhaps Verity had come back. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or
sorry. Why had she just dropped that bombshell and left? She might have stayed long enough to tell him what to do. But then, he hadn’t exactly made her feel welcome.

Cautiously he went to the door and opened it.

Irene-next-door was standing there. She was wearing her gardening clothes and her face looked lined and tired. She was holding something.

‘Hi,’ mumbled Jake.

‘Sorry to call so early, but I saw you were up,’ said Irene. She peered past him down the passage. ‘Is your gran in?’

Jake ran his hand through his hair. ‘She had a bad night. She’s gone back to bed.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She nodded meaningfully.

How can anyone put so much meaning into a nod?

There was an awkward silence. Irene held out a casserole dish.

‘Here’s the casserole I promised you. I meant to bring it round last night,’ she said, ‘but then Kenny got bad. . .’ She trailed off.

Jake was about to refuse it, but stopped. Gran wouldn’t know that Irene had made it. A few days ago she would have noticed, but not now.

He took it from her. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.

Please don’t ask if we are all right.

But she didn’t.

‘Just heat it through in the oven or the microwave,’ she said.

‘Right.’ He hesitated. ‘Is Kenny OK?’

She sighed. ‘He’s OK now. As I said, he had one of his bad turns last night.’

That’s the first time she’s ever said anything to me about Kenny’s problems.

It can’t be much fun living with Kenny.

I must be going soft!

‘Well, I’d better be off,’ said Irene.

‘Thanks for this,’ said Jake. ‘We’ll eat it tonight,’ he added.

She nodded, and walked down the path. Just before she reached the gate, she stopped and Jake saw her glance at the tangle of weeds. He tightened his grip on the casserole dish.

Don’t you dare say anything!

He walked back to the kitchen and put the casserole in the fridge, then went to the garden shed. He took out the wheelbarrow and a large fork.

I’ll show her!

He wheeled the barrow round to the front. He’d never done any gardening before and he didn’t know where to start.

It can’t be that difficult, can it?

He plunged the fork into the ground and heaved it up, then bent down and tugged at the loosened weeds. Most of them stayed stubbornly in the ground.

This is tougher than I thought. It looks easy when Dad does it.

He dug again, harder this time.

Wish I knew which are plants and which are weeds.

He persevered for half an hour, getting hot and frustrated. His back ached, so he stopped for a bit and leant on the fork. He’d hardly made any impression on the weeds. Was it worth all
this hassle? He stood there, staring at the ground. He wasn’t much good at this gardening stuff.

He was so tired that he could hardly think. His vision was blurred with sweat and his hands were blistered from chafing on the handle of the fork. He sighed, and stretched.

And then he tensed. She was here again, the weird badger/pony girl. He felt her presence before he saw her and he knew she was watching him. How had she arrived so quietly, sneaking up on him
like this?

Leave me alone, for God’s sake!

He looked up and scowled. There she was, leaning over the gate, the morning sun glinting on her long dark hair.

Jake waited for her to say something but she seemed in no hurry to speak, so he went on digging, jabbing the fork viciously into the ground.

‘I could help you do the garden, if you like,’ she said.

Jake grunted in reply.

‘Is that a yes-please or a no-thank-you?’

A flicker of a smile began on Jake’s face. He killed it quickly. ‘Suit yourself.’

She came in through the gate and stood directly in front of him so that he was forced to stop digging and look at her.

‘Relax, Jake. You don’t need to worry about me – honest. Your gran loves you to bits and that’s never going to change. But you
know
you need some help and
I’ve got nothing much to do. . .’

Jake frowned. ‘I don’t get it,’ he muttered. ‘
Why
? Why d’you want to help?’

She took a step back and dug in the pocket of her jeans for an elastic band, then she drew back her hair into a pony tail. Jake dropped his eyes as she forced her hair into the band.

‘Because I want to. I . . . I think your gran’s really special.’

How can she say that? She hardly knows her.

‘She wasn’t always like this,’ Jake said suddenly. ‘Before . . . before she got sick she looked after me fine – cooking and everything. And she wouldn’t have
let the garden get like this. She hates gardening but she would have done it. . . ’

Why did I say that? I don’t want this girl to know about my family.

Verity nodded. ‘I know,’ she said.

‘No, you don’t!’ Jake’s temper flared. ‘You don’t know anything about her. She’s not herself at the moment but she’s been a brilliant gran. She
used to come to my matches, she used to take me to McDonald’s when Mum was out, she gave me funny presents, she sent me daft cards from wherever she went. . .’

To his horror, he felt the tears welling up. Why did he keep blubbing like this? He turned away so she couldn’t see his face.

Verity picked up the fork and started to dig. ‘Go and get a smaller fork,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I’ll dig with this one, then you follow on with the little one
and take out the weeds I’ve missed.’

Jake fled. By the time he came back with the other fork, he was under control again.

‘D’you know which ones are the plants?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I can’t tell the weeds from the plants.’

She nodded. ‘Umm. I know about plants. I’ve always liked growing things. I used to. . .’ She stopped.

‘Used to what?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

Badgers, ponies, plants. She gets weirder every minute.

As they worked on in silence, Jake glanced at her. Despite her long slender frame, she was strong, her arms muscled and tanned. She dug constantly, with a slow rhythm – not like him
jabbing the big fork in then heaving it up as fast as he could, the jerky movement jarring through his body so that he was forced to stop every few minutes for a rest. She took it more slowly, but
her movements were smooth and she was getting a lot more done.

As the sun rose in the sky, the street came alive with people going about their Sunday business. In the distance, church bells were ringing and a few neighbours paused to greet Jake. He was
grateful that no one asked him who Verity was.

He squatted behind her, clearing the weeds and chucking them into the wheelbarrow. He was getting tired and stiff but he wasn’t going to stop until she did.

At last, when every muscle in his body was shrieking for rest and he didn’t think he could stand any more, she put the fork into the soil and left it there. Then she stretched and
yawned.

‘We’ve done OK,’ she said.

Jake heaved himself up off his aching haunches and surveyed their work. She was right; between them, they’d covered a lot of ground.

‘Yeah. Er . . . thanks.’

Verity wiped her hands down her jeans. ‘Shall we have a break? See if your gran’s up yet?’

‘Right.’

It seemed natural to follow her into the house, watch her go to the fridge for juice, find the glasses, pour the juice in and get out a packet of biscuits.

How did she know what he liked to drink and which were his favourite biscuits? Maybe it was just luck. Or maybe Gran had told her.

They sat in silence at the kitchen table. Jake was too tired to talk. In any case, he didn’t know what to say to her, but she didn’t seem to mind.

When they’d finished, he thought she was going to suggest more gardening and he wasn’t sure he could stand it. But he was wrong.

‘I think we’ve done enough weeding for one day,’ she said. She laughed, seeing the relief on Jake’s face.

He looked at the blisters on his hands. ‘I’m not used to it,’ he muttered.

‘You’ve done really well.’

Jake shrugged, but he was pleased.

Verity pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Shall I take a cup of tea up to your gran?’

Jake nodded. ‘Yeah. She’d like that.’

He yawned. He couldn’t fight it any more.

OK, so she’s a weirdo, but Gran seems to like her. Let her take charge for a while. It’ll give me a break.

‘You look all in, Jake. Why don’t you go and veg out in front of the telly. See if there’s any sport on.’

He hesitated.

‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’ll listen out for your gran. And I’ll come tomorrow morning so that you can go off to school.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Jake heaved himself up from his chair and went into the lounge. He turned on the TV and stretched out full length on the couch. There wasn’t any footie on but there was some snooker match
or other. He’d watch that.

He heard the ebb and flow of voices upstairs and footsteps along the landing, but soon his eyes closed and he was fast asleep, the noises just a background to his dreams.

***

He woke slowly. Someone had turned off the TV and put a rug over him. As the room came into focus, he saw Gran sitting in the chair in the corner. She had a photo album on her
lap and was turning the pages slowly, talking to herself.

He checked his watch. Five o’clock! He frowned, and shook it. It must be wrong. He couldn’t have slept that long – could he? He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the
clock on the mantelpiece.

I’ve been asleep for hours!

He stood up and stretched, swaying slightly and still gummy-eyed.

Gran looked up. ‘Hello, darling.’

Jake grinned at her. ‘Sorry, Gran. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.’

He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder. She was looking at a photo of him with his dog. She pointed to it. ‘That’s Sam with old Bramble,’ she said.

Jake nodded. ‘Whatever,’ he mumbled
.
He went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. The kitchen was very tidy. He sniffed – there was a familiar smell, too. He
glanced down at the floor. Someone had washed it with the stuff that Mum used. It must have been Verity. He opened the fridge. There was less milk there and some of the mouldy leftovers had gone.
Everything was stacked neatly. He noticed that Irene’s casserole was still there, and he took the lid off. It was untouched.

He wandered round the rest of the house, inspecting it for signs of Verity’s tidying mania. Yep, she’d been having a real go at the place. He didn’t know whether to be glad or
irritated. At least she’d not been in his room, thank God. It was just as he’d left it. It was
his
mess and that was how he liked it.

He went back into the lounge, sipping his drink thoughtfully.

Has Gran had anything to eat?

‘Did Verity get you some lunch, Gran?’

‘Mm.’ Gran didn’t look up.

‘Has she gone now?’

She focused on him properly. ‘Yes. Verity’s gone. But she’ll be back.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

He wasn’t going to get much out of Gran. Did ‘soon’ mean in five minutes, tomorrow, next week?

He dug in his pocket and dragged out his mobile. There were messages from Tom and some other school friends and a text from Mum: ‘
Give me a ring as soon as you pick this
up.’

He went out into the garden to return her call.

Mum sounded tense. ‘What’s going on, Jake?’

Keep calm.

‘What d’you mean? Nothing’s going on.’

There was a pause, and he could almost see her worried frown.

‘Jake,’ she said slowly. ‘I rang Gran earlier.’

Oh God. What has Gran said to her?

‘Yeah . . . and?’