Loose Connections (7 page)

‘Something’s wrong with her, Jake.’

‘Nothing’s wrong, Mum. We’re fine.’

‘No, you’re not. I can tell you’re not. Gran said that . . . well, she said that someone – some girl – was looking after her and that you were asleep. And she kept
calling you Sam.’

He was silent.

‘Jake?’

He looked up into the apple tree and watched the leaves moving slightly in the summer breeze.

What shall I say?

‘She’s not sleeping well, Mum, that’s all. And I was tired, too; I played a lot of footie yesterday in the park with Tom and the others.’

But Mum wouldn’t be put off. ‘Your gran was very vague when I spoke to her, Jake. I don’t think she’s well. I thought she was a bit funny yesterday when you came to see
me, but now she sounds all over the place.’

Jake sat down with his back against the fence. He plucked a stem of long grass and put it in his mouth.

‘Well, she is getting very forgetful,’ he mumbled. Then, more loudly. ‘But we’re coping, Mum, honest.’

‘And this girl she says is helping you. What’s all that about?’

Jake thought quickly. He knew she’d worry if he told her the truth: that a complete stranger was taking over the house and garden. A weirdo girl who said she kept ponies and badgers in her
back garden and who lived on her own in the big old house down the street.

Better say nothing about Verity.

‘Gran calls Irene a girl,’ he said, trying to sound convincing.

‘IRENE! But Gran’s always so rude about her.’

‘Yeah, I know. But Irene’s been helping. She’s done some cooking for us.’

Well, that was true.

‘And Gran’s been OK about that?’

Jake looked up to the sky for inspiration.

‘Yeah, she’s been fine.’

There was a puzzled silence. Then Mum spoke again.

‘I wish I was at home with you, Jakey. I’m worried about you. Look, I’ll phone Irene. Thank her for what she’s doing. It’s good of her to help.’

Please don’t phone Irene.

‘And I think I’ll phone Dad, too. See if he can get back a bit early.’

‘There’s no need, Mum. We’re OK. Promise.’

Please don’t phone Dad. He mustn’t lose out on this job; not after all this time.

‘Don’t be silly, Jake. I’m going to phone him now. It’ll be lunchtime in the States.’

Jake shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered – and spat the piece of grass out onto the ground.

It was only after she’d said goodbye that Jake realised he’d not asked how she was.

He paced round the garden. He hadn’t meant to worry Mum. If only she’d not spoken to Gran. Now she’d be all upset and worried. Dad’s words kept coming back to him:
Don’t bother Mum. If there’s a problem, tell me.

Well, he’d
tried
not to bother her. He’d
tried
to keep it from her. And from Dad.

Perhaps, if weirdo Verity wanted to help with Gran, it might be OK now. If Verity could help look after Gran just until the end of term, they’d manage. Dad didn’t need to come home
early.

Perhaps, if Verity’s still here in the holidays, I can go on the footie course.

He stayed in the garden, half an ear listening out for Gran. And listening out for the landline. He was sure Dad would ring as soon as Mum had spoken to him.

He didn’t have long to wait. As soon as he heard the phone ringing in the house, he ran in to get to it before Gran got there.

As he went in the back door, he could see her shuffling up the passage towards the table in the hall. How slowly she was moving, and how thin she’d become.

Has it happened again? Has she had another turn? She’s worse than yesterday.

‘I’ll get it, Gran.’

She looked relieved when he picked it up. She shoved past him into the kitchen. He watched her anxiously even as he heard his dad’s voice on the phone. He listened patiently while Dad went
through all the same questions. How is Gran – no, don’t fob me off, how is she really? What exactly has happened?

It was a relief to tell him the truth. Or, at least, some of the truth.

‘She had a bit of a turn, Dad, and she’s getting very forgetful, but Irene’s helping us and it’s nearly the end of term and then I’ll be here all day. Don’t
worry.’

‘I want to speak to her, Jake. I think she should see a doctor.’

‘But she’s. . .’

His dad cut him off. ‘
Now
, Jake. I want to speak to her now. Wherever she is, go and get her. I’ll wait.’

Jake put the receiver down on the table and went and found Gran in the kitchen. She was fumbling with the switch on the kettle.

‘Dad wants to speak to you, Gran,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Dad. He’s on the phone.’

He took the kettle from her and put it down, then led her into the passage, picked up the receiver and handed it to her.

‘Hello.’ Her voice was tentative, unsure.

Jake hovered.

She nodded. ‘Yes, love, yes, I’m fine. A bit tired.’

With her free hand she started to pick at the scarf at her throat. Suddenly she shouted into the phone. ‘DOCTOR? I don’t need to see a doctor!’ Her face flushed. ‘NO!
Leave us alone. We’re doing fine.’

She dropped the phone and headed back towards the kitchen. ‘Stupid man,’ she muttered. ‘Who does he think he is, bossing me about like that?’

Jake picked up the receiver. ‘Dad?’

Dad was laughing. ‘Still the feisty old gran, then, though she’s obviously not herself. But I can’t
force
her to see a doctor.’

Jake sighed.

Not herself? That’s the understatement of the year.

‘Look,’ his dad went on. ‘I’ll see if I can come home a bit earlier – maybe cut short the trip by a week. I think I can swing it.’

‘It’s OK, Dad. There’s no need. We’ve got some help.’

‘Yes. Mum told me about Irene.’

Fine. Let him think it’s Irene. Hope he doesn’t phone her too!

That night they ate Irene’s chicken casserole. Or, at least, Jake did. He was ravenous.

Gran never asked where it had come from. In fact she didn’t say much at all. She was hunched in her chair with a faraway look in her eyes. She picked at the food, pushing it around her
plate.

‘Don’t you want any more, Gran?’

I sound like some fussy adult trying to get a child to eat.

She dragged her eyes back to him and smiled. ‘What, dear?’

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘Eh?’

Gran looked away again, down at her hands, fiddling with the wedding ring on her finger. Jake scraped back his chair and started to clear the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. Gran
didn’t move.

She would never have done that, before. She would have jumped up, told me to leave it and done it herself.

***

Jake didn’t sleep well and he woke early again. He checked on Gran. As he opened her bedroom door, he tensed. But this morning she was in her bed, snoring gently. He let
out a sigh of relief and quietly closed the door.

He gathered his school stuff and rammed it in his bag together with a selection of supermarket crisps, Coke, a pie and some chocolate for his lunch.

Don’t be mad at me, Mum. I need the energy!

Then he made himself some toast and a drink.

Should he wake Gran before he left? Would she worry if he wasn’t here? Would she remember he’d gone to school?

And what about the Verity girl? She
said
she’d be back this morning, but how did he know she was telling the truth? And what did he really know about her, anyway? Nothing! Was he
completely off his head letting her come to the house while he was out? He didn’t even have her number to phone her.

He started chewing his nails. What if she was a teenage burglar or a serial granny-molester!

He checked his watch. Time to go.

Should he wake Gran or leave her be? Perhaps he should ask Irene to call in. No, that would finish Gran off!

He picked up his school bag and made for the door.

I’ll call in at the house at the end, see if weirdo Verity’s there. If she’s not, I’ll just have to skip school.

He opened the front door quietly and went outside.

He stood there for a moment staring at the flower beds they’d weeded the day before. It was beginning to look more like a front garden. The sun was warm on his back and he yawned and
stretched.

‘Not a bad job, eh?’

He looked up and saw Verity leaning over the front gate.

‘Where did you spring from?’

Her T-shirt was so bright, it hurt his eyes. It was white with huge lettering in acid green: ‘SAVE THE PLANET’.

Perhaps the next one will say, ‘Save the Galaxy’.

Suddenly he knew it was OK. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled at her. He didn’t know why he trusted this weird girl, but he did. When she was there, in front of him, he knew it would be
OK – that Gran would be happy with her. It was just when he thought about her, about how little he knew about her – that’s when he panicked.

‘You sure you’re OK to stay with Gran?’ he asked.

She nodded, and smiled at him. ‘Sure I’m sure. Go on. Go off to school. Me and your gran, we’ve got lots to talk about.’

Jake frowned. ‘Look, put my number on your mobile. Then you can phone me if there’s a problem.’

‘I haven’t got a mobile,’ said Verity.

‘What?’

No mobile! That’s weirder than ponies and badgers!

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘there won’t be any problems.’

That’s what I keep saying to Mum and Dad.

Jake turned back and opened the front door for her. He gestured vaguely. ‘There’s a spare set of house keys in the kitchen. On the hook behind the door.’

She nodded.

He hesitated. ‘Will you be here when I get back?’

“Yep, I’ll be here.’

Still he didn’t move. He frowned and fiddled with the strap of his school bag. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Looking after Gran. Doing the cleaning and the gardening and stuff.’

‘I
told
you. I really like her. And I’ve got the time.’

‘But I don’t understand. What’s in it for you? Why do you want to be with her? She’s all over the place and she can’t remember who people are. She even forgets who
I
am, for God’s sake.’

Verity had been making her way up the passage. Now she stopped and looked back at him.

‘She doesn’t forget who I am,’ she said softly.

Jake shrugged and turned away, but as he walked down the path to the gate, her words stayed with him.
She doesn’t forget who I am.

Why? Why does she remember who Verity is, when sometimes she can’t even remember my name – or Dad’s?

***

When Jake got off the school bus that afternoon, he walked past the park and stopped outside the big red-brick house. The ‘For Sale’ sign was stil there and the
front gate still swung from its hinges.

This time, he didn’t even try to resist the strong pull the place exerted over him. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped himself; his feet took him through the
gate. He looked round nervously but there was no one about. No one to see him slip into the garden.

Verity will still be with Gran. And if she’s not – if she’s here – I’ll pretend I’ve come to thank her. I’ll make up some excuse.

He walked quickly up the overgrown path, crushing tangled weeds under his feet. It was a warm day and he could sense the growth happening around him, the weeds thrusting upwards and the few
remaining flowers fighting through them for their share of the sunlight.

Why doesn’t Verity weed her own garden, if she’s that bothered about flowers and stuff? It’s even worse than ours.

He knew he shouldn’t be there, but he didn’t care. Something in his head was telling him to see for himself, to explore the place. He’d passed the house a thousand times and
never thought twice about it, but now – now it was beckoning him, drawing him towards it. And anyway, what was the harm? No one had seen him come in, nobody would know he was there. Quickly
he moved round to the back of the house.

An old man had lived here for years before Verity came; he’d lived on his own and people used to come and look after him and do the house and garden, but no one ever saw him. Then a few
months ago, he’d died.

Jake should have been feeling guilty, scared of being discovered, but he didn’t feel guilty – just curious, sucked into the drowsy atmosphere of the place with its sounds deadened by
the rampant growth all around. When he reached the back wall, he flattened himself against it and stood there for a while, looking about him. The wall was in the shade but the bricks felt warm, as
if they had retained some of the morning sun.

Jake listened for the sound of voices or footsteps but he could hear nothing except birdsong and, further away, shouts and laughter coming from some children playing in the park. He smiled. They
were probably his mates.

He put his backpack on the ground.

There was a huge garden at the back of the house – by far the biggest garden in the street – and Jake could see what had once been flower beds and beyond them, an orchard full of
fruit trees in a fenced-off area that backed onto the park.

He walked towards the orchard. He felt no sense of urgency; the place itself had made him slow down, made him relax and he could feel the tensions of the day drain away as he went further
in.

There was a gate in the orchard fence and it had recently been mended; he could tell by the new wood and shiny latch. He frowned. It seemed odd that this gate should be secure and yet the front
gate was falling down. Who had mended it? Verity? And as he looked more carefully at the fencing, he saw that it, too, had recently been repaired, with strands of new wire pulled taut and hammered
to the fence posts.

He opened the gate into the orchard, then closed it carefully behind him, and went and sat against one of the trees and stared up at the sky.

The trees were old and gnarled, their branches growing into one another. Some were still heavy with blossom and Jake watched as it drifted away and floated lazily through the air whenever there
was the slightest breath of wind. He followed the blossom as it swirled down and down and came to rest on the ground.