Moon Pie Page 19

  But Dad wasn’t there.

  She looked round, confused. He’d promised he’d be there whenever she needed him.

  ‘Tug?’ she said.

  At first Tug wasn’t there either. Then she saw him sidle in through the door at the far side of the room, and she left the others and ran over to him.

  ‘Where have you been, Tug? Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He went, Martha.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘Not to the canteen,’ Tug said sadly.

  She was confused.

  ‘I thought he was going to the canteen,’ Tug said. ‘That’s why I followed him. But he went to that other place.’

  ‘What other place?’

  Tug tried to remember its name. ‘The bar,’ he said at last.

  Martha flinched. ‘The bar?’

  ‘He said he couldn’t wait, Martha.’

  Now she wasn’t crying any more. She stood there, breathing heavily. Her eyes were bright and fierce, and her heart was pounding.

  ‘What did he look like, Tug, when he said he was going to the bar?’

  ‘A bit … strange.’

  ‘What about his face? Was it pale and shiny?’ Tug nodded.

  ‘And his hands? Did he run them through his hair?’

  He nodded again. He peered at Martha timidly. ‘Are you all right, Martha? Your face is very red.’

  Her face felt red. And her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. ‘I trusted him!’ she said. ‘I’ll never trust him again!’ She glared at Tug so fiercely he shrank away from her. ‘Do you remember the way to the bar?’

  He nodded fearfully.

  ‘Take me. Quickly!’

  The staff bar – Cheers! – was on the second floor, next to the New Moon Café canteen. In a corner booth, Dad was sitting talking to the director of Anne of Green Gables. Luckily he had known where to find him. They had met once before, a few years earlier, and when Dad came running up and introduced himself again, the director remembered him and said he was happy to talk about the auditioning.

  He was a big, sensible man with a suntan, and he was drinking a glass of Californian Pinot Noir, which he said reminded him of home, while Dad sipped a cup of tea.

  ‘You want to know why we didn’t offer her the part?’

  ‘I’d just like to give her some feedback. She’s my daughter, I know, but I think she’s got something special, and she’s so thoughtful and bright she’d listen to any advice you might have. I can’t stay long.’ He looked anxiously at his watch. ‘I have to get back to her.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you straight,’ the director said. ‘When I first saw her I thought we had it all sewn up. Wow, the kid can act. You know that. Looks just right too. She did a piece from early on in the book, where Anne imagines all the fancy stuff in the room. Stunning. Best performance I’ve seen. Knockout, really. But the second piece didn’t work out so well.’

  ‘Which piece was that?’

  ‘One of the tantrum scenes. A real stamper and shouter. I don’t know why it didn’t work, but it didn’t. Technically, she was superb. But I couldn’t feel the emotion. It wasn’t coming through. And, you know, those scenes are real important to the book. That fierceness of spirit – it’s who Anne is. I’m looking for someone who can really let rip when she needs to.’

  It was at that moment that Martha appeared. Still wearing her ugly dress of yellowish-grey wincey, her face tear-streaked and furious, she came up to the side of the booth at speed and, without pausing to look round, addressed Dad in a loud voice.

  ‘You couldn’t wait? You couldn’t wait to start drinking again?’

  Startled, Dad made an attempt to introduce the director, but Martha cut him off.

  ‘I believed you when you told me you’d stopped. I won’t ever believe you again. Not ever! What would Mum think of you? What will Tug think of you when he’s bigger? As soon as things go wrong, you give up. What are you going to do – kill yourself, like Laura’s dad?’

  Very embarrassed, Dad attempted again to explain.

  ‘I hate you!’ she shouted. ‘I hate you! You lied to me. And you lied to yourself. You’re a coward and a cheat.’

  ‘Martha,’ Dad began, very red in the face.

  ‘Do you think I don’t want to give up sometimes?’ she shouted at him. ‘I tried to look after Tug, and I tried to help you, and I worked as hard as I could to audition for that part so that Mum could have been pleased with something I did. And nothing went right, ever. I feel so bad I could cry. But I’m not going to. Because now I know something. It’s better to try and fail than give up, like you do, running away and coming in here just so you could drink that!’

  And she pointed dramatically at the glass in his hand.

  And realized at once that it wasn’t a glass, but a teacup.

  And anyway ran out of breath, and stood there with fierce, confused eyes, gasping.

  And the director, whom she hadn’t even noticed until then, stood up – he was a very big man, very suntanned, and it gave her a real shock to see him there – and put out his big hand. Without thinking she shook it as politely as she could, still panting, with her face all wet and red.

  ‘Congratulations, Miss Luna,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the part.’

  48

  It was 2.30 p.m., and they were all sitting together in the New Moon Café: Martha, Tug, Dad, Marcus, Laura, Grandma, Grandpa, Alison and the big Californian director.

  The New Moon Café was the television studio’s staff canteen. It was friendly and smart, with white tables and red chairs, and lights with pretty green shades. In the serving area at the far end there were glass-fronted display cabinets full of hot and cold food, and fridges with desserts and drinks in them, and on the walls above were menus advertising specials: pasta dishes, salads and different sorts of pie.

  Looking round, Martha noticed the moon theme. There were jaunty little moons on the napkins, and bouncing moons round the lampshades, and moons on the doors, and the menus, and the backs of the seats. Round the walls were large framed cartoons of moons. There was a man in the moon drinking a milkshake from a straw, and a dish and spoon jumping over the moon. And, in the corner, there was a big slice of moon pie served up on a plate.

  She turned to point it out to Tug, but he was busy talking to the cook, who was describing the day’s specials to them.

  ‘I like mince and onion,’ he was saying, ‘but my favourite is steak and kidney.’

  ‘Well, would you believe it?’ the cook said. ‘Steak and kidney is today’s special.’ She was a large lady with bright eyes. ‘And we’ve more than a dozen portions left.’

  ‘What’s dozen?’ Tug asked.

  ‘Twelve.’

  He turned in his seat and bellowed happily across the table, ‘At last, Martha! Someone who understands me.’

  Everyone was busy talking, Martha noticed. It was like a birthday party.

  Marcus was talking to the director about costumes. ‘Do you agree,’ he was saying, ‘that sometimes it really has to knock your eye out, and sometimes it just hasn’t?’

  And the director was saying, ‘You’re a very astute young man. What was the name of your company again?’

  Grandma was talking to Dad about Mum. ‘I have all her old outfits in the attic,’ she was saying. ‘Stored very neatly. I wonder if Martha would like to have them.’

  And Laura was telling Grandpa and Alison how the Sony HDW-750P worked.

  Martha sat back in her seat, and let all the talk wash over her. She had the strangest feeling, a sort of melty feeling in her tummy, and a ticklish feeling around her mouth. After a while she realized what it was. She was happy.

  She caught Dad’s eye, and they looked at each other. Grandma was still talking to him, but he’d stopped listening. For a moment he looked as if he was going to say something to Martha, and then he looked as if he wasn’t. And for a moment she looked as if she was about to take a deep breath, the way she used to, and then she didn’t.


  They both smiled instead.

  Acknowledgements

  Heartfelt thanks to my editor, Bella Pearson, who made this book better. And love to Eluned, Gwilym and Eleri, who make everything else better.