Moon Pie (16 page)

Limping slightly, Martha went across the room,
slowly lowered herself into the easy chair and sat upright. She looked different. While she was in hospital a nurse who’d felt sorry for her had plaited her hair, and it hung now in two thick braids, like copper rope. She was pale, and pinched, and when she pointed her nose towards Alison, her whole face looked fragile.

‘How are you managing?’ Alison asked. ‘Is it awkward?’

It was awkward. With her arm in a sling, Martha had to do everything one-handed, which made the simplest movements, like opening doors and even sitting down, unexpectedly difficult. If she forgot to keep the arm still, she felt a stabbing pain in her shoulder, and there was a grinding feeling under the splint where the collarbone was broken.

‘How long do you have to keep it on?’

‘Six weeks.’

‘And how long were you in hospital?’

‘Four days.’

They had kept her in for observation, because of the concussion.

Alison had a tape recorder with her, and she set it up on the coffee table and started recording.

‘Now, Martha,’ she said. ‘I realize that this is very
difficult for you. I’ve already talked to your dad and to Christopher. And I’ve talked several times to your grandparents. I’m doing this because I want to find a way to help your dad with his problem. But the most important thing of all is to make sure that you and Christopher are OK. Now, how old are you, Martha?’

‘Eleven.’

Alison delved into her briefcase and took out some brightly coloured cards. ‘I think it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other first. Would you like to play a game with me?’

‘No thank you.’

‘It’s a good game.’

‘I don’t like playing games.’

Disappointed, Alison put the cards away. ‘May I ask you a few questions then?’

‘No.’

There was an awkward silence in which they looked at each other. Alison seemed to be a kind and thoughtful person, and Martha felt sorry for her. But she had decided not to talk about Dad. In fact she couldn’t. Even thinking about him made her feel panicky and ill.

For a while Alison tried a number of different approaches, but Martha just kept shaking her head
and in the end she had to give up. She turned off the tape recorder sadly.

‘Perhaps another time,’ she said.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ Martha said.

‘Of course.’

‘What are you going to do about us?’

Alison thought about this while she packed her briefcase, and at last she said, ‘We’re going to try to do what’s best for you.’

‘Is that what we think is best for us, or what you think is best for us?’

Alison didn’t answer that. She gathered her things and got up.

‘Please don’t take me away from Tug,’ Martha said. ‘Please don’t.’

But Alison just looked at her for a moment. ‘I’ll see you again tomorrow,’ she said as she left.

One other thing Martha remembered about the evening of the crash was Dad holding her hand. He didn’t hold it like he usually did, but tightly, fiercely, as if he would never let it go. He held it while she sat on the pavement, and in the ambulance, and in the hospital. He was holding her hand when she fell asleep at night, and holding it in the morning when
she woke up. He held it all the time. He hardly ever spoke to her, just held her hand so hard it hurt. That’s how she knew he had gone to pieces.

Now that she was home he stayed near her whenever he could, even when Marcus and Laura called with cards and presents. He followed her round, watching her with enormous eyes. And in the evening, when she went to bed, she could hear him pacing up and down in his room.

Tug sat on her bed. ‘Why did you crash, Martha?’ he asked again. He could never hear the story enough, even though it always upset him.

But Martha didn’t want to tell him it again. ‘What did Alison say to you this morning?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘You were with her for half an hour. She told me.’

‘She didn’t say anything. We played games.’

‘What games?’

‘Not real games. She called them games.’

‘What about Dad? What did he say to you?’

‘Nothing. He doesn’t say anything any more.’

Martha thought about this. ‘I don’t think they’ve decided yet.’

‘Decided what?’

‘Decided what to do with us.’

After Tug had gone to bed Martha tried to sleep. But it was much harder to sleep at home than it had been in hospital. In the end she just lay awake, awkwardly propped up on her pillows, looking out of the window. As always, the moon was there, but very faint and sketchy against the pale sky, as if someone hadn’t quite finished it, or had made a mistake and tried to correct it.

Rub it out completely
, she thought.
Get rid of it
.

She didn’t want to see it any more.

M
artha was wrong, as it turned out. They
had
decided what to do with them. The next day she and Tug were informed that they were to go and live with Grandma and Grandpa.

G
randma and Grandpa’s house was much bigger than their own, and much cleaner. It smelled clean too.

There was a vestibule in which to leave their shoes when they came in, and clear plastic mats in the carpeted hallway, to prevent stains. There was shiny linoleum on the kitchen floor, which could be washed, and a large soft rug in the living room, which was not to be stepped on. The dining room, which looked onto the garden, was light and airy, and Grandpa’s study, which they were not to go into without permission, was neat and tidy. All the bathrooms smelled of Pine Fresh.

The children’s rooms were next to each other upstairs, also overlooking the garden. They were neat and clean too. Tug’s room had bunk beds, a wardrobe and a cupboard, and Martha’s had a single bed, a long desk for working at and a stereo.

‘Martha?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why do we have to live with Grandma and Grandpa?’

‘I’ve told you before, Tug. Dad agreed.’

‘Why did Dad agree?’

‘Because the Social Services were going to take us away anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they thought Dad might accidentally hurt us if we lived with him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s an alcoholic.’

‘And it makes him strange.’

‘That’s it.’

‘But why do we have to live with
Grandma and Grandpa
?’

Martha sighed. ‘Look how nice your room is, Tug.’

‘Your room’s nice too, Martha.’

‘I think,’ Martha said, ‘that we’re going to be happy here.’

Tug looked at her doubtfully.

She was doubtful too. But it was a relief just to be out of their old house. She couldn’t live with Dad any more. Life with Dad had come to an end with the car crash. She didn’t hate him – in fact she felt sorry for
him – but she couldn’t trust him any more. She could hardly bring herself to even think about him.
Perhaps
, she thought sadly,
Tug and I won’t be happy anywhere
. But she knew she wouldn’t stop being unhappy until she could forget Dad. If they stayed at Grandma and Grandpa’s long enough she might at least learn how to do that.

Tug was still looking at her anxiously. ‘But, Martha.’

‘What?’

‘Will we have to eat salad?’

She patted him on the head with her good arm. ‘There are worse things than salad, Tug.’

After they had unpacked their things, they went downstairs to have lunch with Grandma and Grandpa in the dining room.

It was worse than salad. It was five sorts of salad. Grandma called it a ‘cold buffet’. Everything was in its own dish with two serving spoons.

Tug looked at Martha reproachfully.

‘Help yourselves,’ Grandma said. ‘And when you’re ready we’ll have a little talk. Have some lettuce, Christopher,’ she added.

They had their talk. Grandma told them that she knew how very hard it was for them. She thought
that they (looking at Martha) also knew how hard it was for her and Grandpa. But she was sure (putting some celery and tomatoes on Tug’s plate) that they would make it work, if they all made an effort.

‘There are one or two rules which will make things easier,’ she said. She told them then about taking their shoes off when they came into the house, and hanging up their coats in the vestibule cupboard, and not stepping on the rug in the front room even in their stockinged feet, and not going into Grandpa’s study at all, unless he actually asked them to, and tidying their own rooms every weekend, and not going near the rockery, greenhouse, trees or water feature in the garden, and using ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and not playing music or watching TV after tea, and going to bed promptly at seven thirty (Tug) and eight thirty (Martha), and using coasters when they put down a glass of water or cup of tea because otherwise they would get water stains on the tables. There were some other rules too.

‘Do you have any questions?’

‘No, Grandma,’ Martha said.

‘Christopher? No need to play with your cucumber, Christopher.’

Tug said shyly, ‘Will we ever see Dad again?’

Grandma tutted. ‘As I explained earlier, your father will visit every weekend. You’ll see him on Sunday. In just three days’ time. That’s not very long to wait, is it?’

‘No time at all,’ Grandpa said.

Grandpa was right, because Dad turned up just as they were finishing lunch. Tug had left behind his second-best JCB, he said. He stood on the doorstep with it, white-faced and pleading, wearing an old jumper over the top of his pyjamas, and Grandma talked to him.

‘We’re not sure this is a good idea. Can’t you keep this sort of thing until your official visit at the weekend?’

‘This is his
second-best
JCB. Don’t you understand? It’s much too important to leave till the weekend. I want to give it to him now.’

But Grandma would not let him in and Dad caused a scene.

Martha stood with Tug at the bottom of the stairs, watching in horror from behind Grandpa. Although it upset her to see Dad again, she couldn’t stop looking at him. He looked so different from before, not just sad, but hopeless. His voice was broken, and
when he talked he jerked his arms as if he were in pain.

She couldn’t bear it. Ignoring Grandpa, she went forward quickly to the door.

‘Don’t cry, Dad,’ she said. ‘Tug will be upset. Give me the JCB and I’ll give it to him.’ She put out her good arm.

He looked at her for a moment, then gave it to her and held on to her hand, crying.

He said something which she could not hear. ‘What?’

‘I’ve tidied my room,’ he said between sobs.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘You have to go now. Please.’

With a last wet look at her, he turned and went erratically down the driveway, almost running, and out into the road.

Grandma closed the door. She said, ‘I think, Martha, it would be best if you left these situations to me in future. You are too young.’

‘But I’m eleven.’

Grandma looked down at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re a sensible girl, Martha. I can talk to you frankly. We must begin with your father as we mean to go on, even if it’s painful. We must be very clear, and very firm. An eleven-year-old girl, however
sensible, cannot be expected to deal with her alcoholic father.’

Martha sighed. ‘No, Grandma.’

‘He has no doubt now that we will not tolerate waywardness. Everything will go smoothly from now on, you’ll see.’

‘Yes, Grandma.’

But Dad must have had some doubts because he returned the same evening.

Martha and Tug were upstairs in Martha’s room, and they heard his voice at the front door, shouting. He sounded drunk.

‘Oh no,’ Martha said.

Tug looked at her, his eyes wide and frightened. ‘What’s he saying?’

‘He wants to come in and see us. But Grandma won’t let him.’

‘What must we do, Martha?’

‘Nothing.’

Her hands were trembling, but she reached out to Tug and held him on her lap, and Tug held her, and they sat there listening to Dad making large, angry noises outside. There was some banging. From time to time they heard him shout their
names. They heard Grandma threaten to call the police.

Martha’s head began to hurt.

‘Should we go down to see him, Martha?’

‘Do you want to see him?’

‘No. I want him to go.’

‘So do I.’

In silence they sat very still, listening to Dad shout about them. He called Tug ‘the little Tug’.

Tug began to cry. ‘Make him go, Martha.’

‘I can’t, Tug. Grandma won’t let me talk to him. Grandma will make him go.’

But it seemed that Grandma could not. After a while Dad started calling loudly for Martha. He called as if he needed her desperately, as if without her he would die, and Martha sat there, white-faced, listening to him. Tug was crying loudly now.

She started to feel dizzy. But before she could be sick she struggled to her feet and went over to the stereo by the door.

‘What are you doing, Martha?’

‘I’m going to put on some music, so we can’t hear him any more.’

The only CD in the room was
Christmas Classics
, which Grandma and Grandpa had bought many years
earlier, and Martha put on Bing Crosby singing ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’, and turned it up loud.

But Dad must have been shouting even louder, because they could still hear him.

‘Let’s sing as well,’ she said desperately. ‘Come on, Tug, sing with me.’

Reluctantly he joined in. They sat on the carpet holding hands, singing ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’ as loudly as they could.

They sang the song five times from start to finish, then there was a knock on the door and Grandma came in. She switched off the stereo and at once there was silence.

Dad had gone.

‘I told you quite plainly that there was to be no music played after tea,’ she said.

Martha tried to explain. ‘Tug doesn’t like the banging,’ she began. ‘And I was starting to feel …’

Grandma said, ‘I’m sorry, Martha, but I’ve told you before, you must leave me to deal with these situations. I realize it is difficult. But it is not helpful for you to be involved. Or to be making distracting noises. We need to be clear and firm and plain. Now I think we must have early bedtime. There has been
too much excitement. Order is what we want. Come along. Pyjamas, please.’