Tangled Secrets

  “We all need an early night,” she said firmly, “and I don’t want any arguments.”

  I lay in bed for hours, curled up on my side, watching the numbers change on my clock, my ribbon twisted round my hand. I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep until I heard Dad’s key in the door, until I knew he was home. I wanted to ask him about the woman in the cemetery anyway. I was still desperate to find out who she was and why she left that note saying sorry, and I hoped that Dad might have the answers.

  I thought about writing my own note to Nan. Vivian said it can help to put things down on paper even if no one else sees. I could tell her how Mum tried to make an apple and blueberry crumble using her own recipe but it came out all wrong – that Nan was the only one who knew how to make it exactly the way I liked.

  Mum came into my room at one point to check on me. I hid my ribbon under the pillow so she wouldn’t see and pretended to be asleep. She used to think it was cute when I was little – Maddie and her purple ribbon – but not any more. Now it’s just something to nag me about – something I should’ve outgrown years ago, like Charlie sucking his thumb.

  It was only after she’d gone, and I was still lying there awake, that I realized Dad never actually explained why he’d come home so early, or why he was up in the attic going through all the old photos. And then I realized something else. I had no idea if it meant anything or if it was just a coincidence, but once the thought was in my head it was impossible to get it out.

  There were photos of me and Charlie and Dad and Nan in the special pile he’d made but not a single one of Mum.

  I must’ve dropped off in the end because the next thing I knew it was morning and my alarm was ringing. I jumped out of bed and threw on my uniform. What if Dad wasn’t back yet? What if he’d stayed out all night? What if he’d been taken ill? I tried to remember if Dad had ever stayed out all night, apart from when Charlie was in hospital, but I couldn’t think of a single time.

  I was fumbling with my tie, my fingers like sausages, when Charlie came bursting into my room. “Breakfast’s ready,” he said. “Mum said hurry up or you’ll be late.”

  “Is Dad back?”

  He gave me a funny look. “Of course he is! Come on, Maddie, hurry up, it’s pancakes! Mum said to tell you it’s a special treat and you’ll miss them if you don’t come straight down!”

  Dad was standing right in the middle of the kitchen with the frying pan in his hand, about to toss the first pancake in the air.

  “Stand back, Mads,” he said, as if it was a perfectly normal morning. “You know I don’t have the best track record when it comes to this!”

  Charlie was jumping up and down, so excited you’d think it was Christmas.

  “Do it! Do it!” he cried. “Come on, Dad. I’m starving!”

  No one mentioned Sharon or how late Dad got back or where he’d been, or how we never normally have pancakes on a school day. It was just “Pass the lemon”, and “Can I have more sugar?” And “No, Mum, I do not want sliced pears on my pancake”. I began to relax a little. Dad was home and nothing terrible had happened. I ate my pancake with a big squeeze of lemon and lots of sugar, trying as hard as I could to enjoy the moment.

  Chapter 8

  I thought I’d decided one hundred per cent that I wasn’t going back to the nurture group for the second session, but when I got to school my legs seemed to lead me to the Blue Room as if they had a life of their own. Sally-Ann was already sitting down but I was relieved to see there was no sign of Kieran.

  Vivian waited for me to take my seat and then pushed the yellow pad towards me. “It’s entirely up to you, Maddie, but just in case you feel like writing anything down…”

  “Oh my god, I hate writing,” said Sally-Ann. “It’s so boring. I had this teacher at primary school who used to force us to write a long story every Friday afternoon, just when we were the most fed up and tired. It was a total nightmare. I started to get…”

  Suddenly the door flew open and Kieran walked in, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. I stared down at the pad, determined not to make eye contact, doodling my name across the top of the page.

  “Hello, Kieran,” said Vivian. “Sally-Ann was just telling us about how much she hates writing.”

  “I was just going to say that I started to get the worst stomach ache every Friday,” Sally-Ann went on. “It was so bad that one time my mum had to come and pick me up, but then my friend Shelley told the teacher that I was making it up just so I could get out of writing my story and my mum was furious. I hated Shelley after that; I never spoke to her again!”

  “It doesn’t sound as if she was a very good friend,” said Vivian. “I hope you’ve got some better friends here at Church Vale.”

  “I have. I’ve got three best friends – Tara, Rachel and Amina. Tara’s actually the best friend I’ve ever had. We tell each other everything.”

  I glanced across the table at Kieran. He’d taken five small stones out of his pocket and he was trying to balance them one on top of the other. Vivian and Sally-Ann were still talking about Sally-Ann’s friends and how close they were. I doodled the word FRIEND across my pad and then wrote GEMMA all the way round in tiny letters, over and over, until I’d written her name at least twenty times.

  “How about you, Maddie?” said Vivian. “Do you have a good friend at Church Vale?”

  I nodded and then shook my head, confused suddenly, not sure how to answer.

  “I thought you and Gemma Summers were best friends?” said Sally-Ann, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “You’re always hanging out together.”

  “And how about you, Kieran?” said Vivian before I could explain about Gemma – about how we used to tell each other everything, just like Sally-Ann and Tara, but that she didn’t even know I was part of the nurture group or how much my grades had slipped or how anxious I’d been feeling – that it was the first time I’d ever kept secrets from her.

  Kieran raised his head slowly to look at Vivian.

  “Oh I’ve got loads of friends,” he said, sneering. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the most popular boy in Year Eight.”

  “That’s nice,” said Vivian, as if she actually believed him. “It’s great to be popular, although I always think it’s quality that matters when it comes to friends rather than quantity, do you know what I mean?”

  I had no idea who she was asking – me, Sally-Ann or Kieran – but Sally-Ann said, “You mean it’s better to have one or two close friends than loads of superficial friends.”

  “Do you agree with that, Kieran?” said Vivian. “About quality being more important than quantity?”

  “I’m only here because I have to be,” said Kieran. “I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to.”

  Vivian smiled at him. She was so pretty. I wondered if she had a boyfriend or if she lived on her own with her dog Sadie.

  “You’re absolutely right about that, Kieran,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything in here that you don’t want to.”

  He glared at her as if he’d half-wanted her to say he did have to talk and then went back to balancing his stones. I watched him more closely. His whole body was tensed up as if he expected the ceiling to fall in at any moment, his face pale and pinched under his dark, messy hair. He took each stone and lowered it carefully onto the one below, and then just when he’d managed to balance all five, he knocked them down again so that they scattered across the table.

  “Hey, watch it!” said Sally-Ann, and she flicked the stones back across the table. He grabbed them up and shoved them in his pocket, slumping so far down in his chair that only his head was visible.

  “So Sally-Ann’s got three best friends and Kieran’s got loads,” said Vivian, turning to me. “Do you have any close friends outside of Church Vale, Maddie?”

  I stared down at the pad, scribbling over what I’d written. I didn’t know what to say. They were all looking at me, waiting. Sweat dripped down my back, the panicky feeling rising up in my chest.
I quickly wrote something about my old neighbour Grace who went to live in Australia and pushed the pad across the table to Vivian.

  “Oh, that must be difficult,” she said glancing down and then passing it back to me. “Australia is so far away. Do you keep in touch?”

  I nodded, wishing she would stop asking me questions. Grace and I still emailed each other sometimes, but we’d never really been that close. I hadn’t actually thought about her in ages.

  “Maybe she’ll come to visit some time?” said Vivian.

  “I wouldn’t come to visit England if I lived in Australia,” said Sally-Ann. “It’s so much better than here.”

  “Shame you don’t live there then,” muttered Kieran.

  “Shame you don’t,” Sally-Ann shot back.

  They glared at each other across the table.

  “Yes, well, sometimes we have to get on with the people we’re stuck with,” said Vivian calmly, “even if at times we’d prefer them to live on the other side of the world.”

  Sally-Ann made a face at Kieran but he was fiddling around with his stones.

  “The thing is, Maddie,” said Vivian, turning back to me. “If you’ve made one good friend then I’m sure you’ll make another. It’s a bit like riding a bike – once you’ve learned how, you never forget.”

  I shrugged and looked back down at the pad. I already had a special friend – but if I wasn’t careful I’d end up pushing her away.

  “Although it can feel scary,” Vivian went on. “It’s a bit like jumping into a freezing-cold swimming pool. I’ve always thought you can learn a lot about people by the way they get into a swimming pool.”

  We all looked up at her. It was such a random thing to say.

  “Haven’t you ever noticed the way some people spend ages dipping their toes and then going in up to their knees, squealing like babies at every step – while other people jump straight in without giving it a second thought.”

  “But what’s that got to do with making friends?” said Sally-Ann.

  “Well it’s not just to do with making friends,” said Vivian. “It’s anything we’re scared of really. You see once a ‘dipper’ actually gets into the water and realizes how gorgeous it is, they often end up wondering why it took them so long in the first place…”

  “Who cares?” said Kieran. “And who cares about making friends? This is crap!” He scraped his chair back and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  I held my breath waiting to see what Vivian would do, but she carried on as if it hadn’t happened. “It’s time to wrap things up for the day, anyway,” she said. “Thank you for coming, girls, I’ve really enjoyed the session.”

  “I might not be here on Monday,” said Sally-Ann. “I’ve got a hospital appointment. It’s because my allergies are so bad at the moment.”

  “Oh that’s a shame. I hope your appointment goes well and I’ll see you next Thursday.”

  I hung back for a second until Sally-Ann had gone so I could hand the pad back to Vivian. I had a sudden urge to talk to her on my own. To tell her how much I was still missing Nan, and about Dad meeting up with Sharon and the pile of old photos, and how I was too scared to tell Gemma I was part of the nurture group. How every day at the moment felt like jumping straight into a freezing-cold swimming pool, but not in a good way.

  “Thank you, Maddie,” she said, taking the pad. “How did you find the session today?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again, my heart starting to beat against my chest like a trapped bird. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get the words out. It was so frustrating. “It’s just…it’s just…” I trailed off, staring down at the floor. Why was it so difficult for me to talk about how I was really feeling?

  “New things are always hard at the beginning,” Vivian said, gently. “It’ll get easier, I promise. There’s no rush.”

  Gemma was waiting for me outside. “Is this where you meet then? In the Blue Room? I didn’t realize this assessment stuff was going to be a regular thing.”

  I nodded, embarrassed. I wondered how long she’d been standing there – if she’d seen Kieran storm out. I was about to make up some excuse, to say he wasn’t really part of the group, but she was busy opening her bag to show me her history project on the English Civil War. I could see it was good without even looking at it properly; she must’ve spent hours on it.

  “I know it’s not due in until Monday but I’m going to hand it in today so I can do the rest of my homework at the weekend. Hey, rounders was cool, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, really cool,” I said, only half-listening. I was still thinking about what Vivian said, about the swimming pool and being too scared to jump in, wondering if she was right and it really would get easier – if one day I’d feel the way I did before Nan had her stroke.

  We have double English on Thursdays. We’d finished autobiographies and were starting a new unit on Holes by Louis Sachar.

  “Camp Green Lake is a place for bad boys,” said Miss Owen as a way of introducing the book.

  My eyes went straight to Kieran. I couldn’t help it. I’ve read Holes and if one person from the whole of Year Eight was going to be sent to Camp Green Lake it would definitely be Kieran Black. He was sitting at the back, balancing his stones again. I knew Miss Owen wouldn’t tell him to put them away or anything. She’d just be relieved he wasn’t disrupting her lesson.

  After reading the first few chapters we had to discuss and then write down our impressions of Stanley Yelnats, the main character. He wasn’t actually “bad” at all. He was picked on at school, bullied by the other kids and the teachers. Teased about his size. I felt sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault he got into trouble; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Miss Owen started to call on people to share their thoughts. I kept my head down, praying she wouldn’t choose me. I had loads of ideas but the bird was back in my chest, flapping its wings, beating against my ribs. I half-closed my eyes, convinced she was about to say my name, wishing I had my purple ribbon with me, when Kieran stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over behind him.

  “Yes, Mr Black, can I help you?” said Miss Owen, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

  I thought he was going to say something sarcastic back like he usually did, but he shook his head, his face deathly white, his eyes bright with tears. I wondered for a minute if he was ill, if he was about to throw up. I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen.

  “Kieran?” Miss Owen took a step towards him. “Kieran? Are you okay?” She reached her arm out to him, but he jerked back as if he’d been burned, almost falling over his chair.

  “They never should have sent him away from his mum,” he blurted out. “They never should have separated them.”

  Everyone was staring at him. It was horrible, like watching a trapped animal.

  “That’s a very interesting point,” said Miss Owen, as if it was perfectly normal for Kieran to be contributing to a class discussion. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

  But Kieran’s face had closed up again, as if someone had drawn a heavy curtain across it. “This lesson is for losers,” he said, picking up his copy of Holes and chucking it across the room. “No offence, yeah, but I’m outta here.” He grabbed his bag, kicked his chair out of the way, and stumbled towards the door.

  Miss Owen just stood there with her mouth open, as if she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “Shame it’s not really like Holes,” whispered Gemma. “She’d be able to send him straight to Camp Green Lake and get rid of him for good.”

  Chapter 9

  When Charlie was born he had to stay in the special baby unit until he was three months old. Even then, when he was allowed home, he was so small and fragile Mum would stay awake half the night to make sure he was still breathing. He had this special alarm fitted to his chest which would ring if his heart stopped, and every time it went off, an ambulance would come and either Mum or Dad would go with him to the hospi
tal.

  One time, around ten months after he came home, Mum went to stay at my Aunty Hat’s for the night. It was Aunty Hat’s birthday and Mum was desperate for a break. The alarm hadn’t gone off for ages and Charlie was getting stronger every day – but it went off that night, almost as if he knew Mum wasn’t there.

  I didn’t actually hear the alarm or anything, I was in a different room fast asleep, but suddenly Dad was shaking me awake, pulling my coat on over my pyjamas, fumbling with the buttons. He bundled me into the back of the ambulance and it sped off towards the hospital, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

  They put a mask over Charlie’s face and then stuck a needle in his hand so they could hook him up to this massive machine with all these wires coming out of it. He didn’t cry or anything, I think he was unconscious. I was the one who cried, all the way there. I screamed my head off. I was scared and I wanted my purple ribbon.

  I don’t remember much about the actual hospital or anything that happened while we were there, except for this red plastic playhouse in the children’s waiting area, a little girl with huge eyes and no hair, and Dad’s face when he came to tell me Charlie had pulled through.

  Dad says I don’t actually remember that night at all, that I was too young. He says I only think I remember because I’ve heard them talking about it so often. But whether I really remember, or only think I remember, when Mum suddenly announced on Saturday morning that she was going to stay at Aunty Hat’s because she needed a break, I started to worry straight away that something bad might happen while she was gone.

  I tried asking her if we could all go together; turn it into a proper family trip. She was in her bedroom packing, literally throwing things into a bag as if she couldn’t wait to get away.

  “You know how much I love going to Aunty Hat’s,” I said. “So does Charlie. And I could always bring my homework with—”

  Mum didn’t even look up. “Come on, Mads,” she said. “It wouldn’t really be a break for me if we all went, would it?” She chucked in her make-up bag and hairbrush. “I mean it’s not as if I go away very often.”