Moon Pie Page 7

  ‘Do you like her?’ she asked, more quietly. ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

  For a moment Dad looked as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘God no!’ he said. ‘She’s too much for me. I don’t know what I said to her before. I don’t know what to say to her now. If she saw me … You don’t know what she’s like. I can’t see her, I just can’t.’ He looked at her helplessly. ‘Martha,’ he said, ‘will you explain to her?’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘That it’s all a mistake.’

  And with that he took a step backwards towards the safety of the shed.

  In a daze, Martha went slowly back to the kitchen, where she heard Lulu in the front room saying loudly, ‘Let’s have the rest of the song later, shall we darling? Why don’t you run along and fetch your dad for me? Tell him we’ll be late, and Lulu hates being late.’

  Still in a daze, Martha went down the hall.

  ‘Here she is,’ Lulu said, ‘at last. Is he coming?’

  When Martha didn’t say anything, Lulu glared at her. ‘Well?’

  Her big face had a bullying look.

  Martha took a deep breath and pushed all her confusing thoughts of Dad out of her mind. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘My dad’s made a mistake. He can’t go out with you tonight.’

  Lulu’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, mistake?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Martha said again. ‘He hasn’t been well recently,’ she added.

  ‘He was on great form last night. Listen, little girl, why don’t you run back and tell him Lulu’s getting a bit impatient?’

  ‘I’ve just told you,’ Martha began.

  But Lulu got to her feet. Now her face was angry. ‘I’ll tell him myself then,’ she said. ‘Is he in the kitchen?’

  Martha felt a hot flush in her cheeks. She got into the hall before Lulu and stood across it. She was breathing heavily now, and didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say, even when Lulu came right up to her. But she was determined not to move. This was her house, and her dad.

  Lulu glared at her and Martha pointed her nose up at her and glared back.

  ‘You’re a proper little madam, aren’t you?’ Lulu said.

  And at that moment Tug came roaring out of the front room with his JCB above his head, shouting, ‘She’s not madam!’

  Lulu stepped back hastily. ‘With a dad like him, I should feel sorry for both of you,’ she said, and she turned and went away in a clatter of heels, down the hall and out of the house.

  Tug and Martha stood together, watching her go.

  ‘That’s a nasty woman, isn’t it, Martha?’ Tug commented.

  Martha didn’t reply. She was still breathing heavily. But her anger was fading quickly. As Lulu disappeared down the street, she suddenly seemed no more than an ordinary woman, and Martha knew that it wasn’t Lulu she should be cross with.

  It was Dad.

  16

  On Sunday morning, the day of Olivia’s visit, everyone was quiet and nervous. Dad got up unexpectedly early, and came into Martha’s room while she was still in bed. He was already dressed in his summer linen suit and new shirt. After standing there awkwardly for a moment, he leaned over and hugged her, and said he was sorry.

  ‘Things are going to be better,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise.’

  After he had gone, Martha lay staring up at the ceiling. Dad wasn’t just acting strangely. He was strange. She didn’t understand him any more. There were things he did – like visit bars and meet women like Lulu – that she hadn’t known anything about. He was becoming someone she didn’t really know. As she lay there, she remembered the night of the midnight picnic, how shocking it had been to see his face suddenly lit up strangely in the torchlight. She felt the same sort of shock now.

  But someone had to keep their head. Later, she was going to be properly cross with him and make him explain everything – but not today. Today, she had to keep calm.

  She got dressed quickly and went downstairs into the kitchen. There was a lot to do.

  She made a timetable in her head:

  Tidy the house until ten o’clock.

  Make the chocolate mousse and put it in the fridge at eleven, to chill.

  Make the lasagne until twelve.

  Prepare the salad at twelve thirty.

  Set the table.

  Change into smart clothes.

  Check Dad (more than once, if necessary).

  Wait in the front room.

  She thought that Dad would need a lot of checking, and she was right. Before she had finished chopping the onions, he had been into the kitchen four times to ask her advice about his tie, hair, choice of music and the state of his shirt cuffs.

  ‘Dad! What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m nervous. Can’t I help?’

  ‘You can’t stand cooking. And you know you always make a mess.’

  But he seemed very nervous indeed, and at last she felt sorry for him. For a while he stood there talking, mainly nonsense.

  ‘It’s the first time,’ he said at last, in a sort of whisper.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The first time we’ve had a … a lady come here, since … you know.’

  She realized what he meant. Olivia was the first lady Dad had invited home since Mum died. Remembering how excited he had been when he first met Olivia at the swimming pool, she felt sorry for him, being so nervous.

  She took his hands. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said.

  Dad still looked frightened.

  ‘Just be yourself.’

  He nodded doubtfully.

  ‘But you can’t stay here or I’ll never finish lunch in time. You have to go and find something to do.’

  He went off biting his lip. A little later Tug saw him searching in the airing cupboard for something, and later still Martha saw him go down the garden to the shed. At some point they both heard him upstairs talking to himself. But he didn’t disturb them any more.

  Over the next two hours Martha and Tug gradually got things done. By one o’clock, the lasagne was browning in the oven, the mousse was in glasses chilling in the fridge, the table was set (complete with flowers) and the front room was as tidy as it had ever been.

  Marcus arrived first. He was wearing red-and-yellow striped jeans and a yellow string vest, and he apologized for being slightly late, saying that he had been held up by ‘technical difficulties in the studio’.

  ‘Why?’ Tug said. After his initial suspicions, Tug had taken a shine to Marcus.

  ‘A slight hitch with the equipment, little Tug. A small explosion. But we are dealing with it. Always look forward, never back.’

  ‘Was it the camcorder that blew up?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Fortunately not.’ Marcus held up the camcorder, which he had brought with him. ‘No, it was another part of the house. Father says it was something to do with the fuses, though I had purposely replaced them with thicker ones to allow me to use my high-wattage studio lights.’

  They went into the front room, where Tug told Marcus about his JCB nearly blowing up once. Then Dad reappeared and stood chuckling in the doorway. It was the first time Martha had seen him in an hour, and she was surprised to find him in such a relaxed mood. He seemed to have conquered his nerves. He also seemed to have spilled something on his jacket, but from his expression he didn’t mind.

  ‘Hello, Marcus, keeping out of jail?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Luna. Yes, I stay one step ahead of the authorities.’ He indicated his camcorder. ‘As threatened, I’ve brought the rushes of our remake of Doctor Zhivago for you to see. I’d value your professional opinion.’

  Dad, who clearly had no memory of this, or any idea of what Marcus was talking about, laughed aloud. ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ he said. ‘We’ve got important guests coming for lunch.’ He touched the side of his nose, and winked.

  ‘Marcus is one of them, Dad!’ Martha said. ‘Have you forgotten?’

  Dad put his ar
m apologetically round Marcus. ‘Marcus knows what an imbecile I am. Only,’ he added in a stage whisper, ‘you mustn’t tell any of the others. That would be a strategic error.’

  Martha looked at him. His eyes were shiny, and he was talking too fast and not very clearly.

  She frowned. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’

  ‘Luckily I am.’

  ‘You seem a bit larky.’

  ‘Never been more serious. I’m a complete imbecile, but I’ve come to terms with it. Marcus here is strange. Well, OK. He deals with it. Imbecile, strange. Strange, imbecile. We don’t mind, do we, Marcus?’

  Even Marcus, strange as he was, seemed to find this short outburst odd. But he recovered and said politely, ‘Certainly not, Mr Luna,’ and began to talk to Dad about the rushes.

  Ten minutes later Olivia and Laura arrived. Olivia was wearing a blue summer frock and sandals with ankle straps, and Laura was dressed in dungarees.

  Dad greeted them in the hallway with a comic bow.

  ‘Your mother’s staring,’ he said to Laura. ‘She doesn’t recognize me with my clothes on.’

  Laughing loudly, he put his hand on Olivia’s waist and kissed her heavily on the cheek. ‘Good job I’m not wearing lipstick,’ he said. ‘I never wear make-up on a Sunday. Unlike Marcus, who’s in the front room.’

  Olivia smiled briefly and wiped her cheek.

  ‘Dad?’ Martha said. ‘Can you come and help me for a minute?’

  ‘A treat!’ Dad exclaimed with mock rapture. ‘Usually,’ he added, ‘I’m banned from the kitchen.’

  He gave a wave and disappeared with Martha.

  ‘Dad!’ she whispered, when they were out of sight. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Behaving like this.’

  ‘I’m just being friendly.’

  ‘It’s too much.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The shouting and kissing, and the jokes.’

  ‘People like that, Martha.’

  ‘Olivia doesn’t like it.’

  ‘I bet she does really.’

  ‘I don’t like it. Please, Dad.’

  ‘All right. I’ll be very polite. Very quiet. You won’t know I’m here.’

  And he went back out to the front room, crying, ‘Drinks! Who’d like a drink?’

  17

  Martha’s lasagne was a great success. Olivia praised it highly, Laura had four helpings (which beat even Tug), and Marcus, comparing it to a classic ballgown, called it ‘a stunning piece of artistry’.

  But Martha wasn’t happy. From the beginning, the lunch had been spoiled by Dad’s behaviour. It was as if he were trying to be a comedian, making jokes and pulling strange faces and telling funny stories. When he talked he threw his hands around, as if juggling, and no one else could get a word in. Occasionally, he excused himself from the table and disappeared from the room, only to return a few minutes later, flushed and more talkative than ever.

  Several times Martha made secret signals to him, to calm down. But he took no notice. She frowned at him and even, when she thought no one else was looking, shook her head at him. But he didn’t seem to see her. After all her work, he was ruining the meal, and though she continued to smile and talk and ask people if they wanted more lasagne, she grew more and more upset.

  As lunch went on, she noticed how the others stopped laughing with Dad, or even responding to him. It was as if they were doing their best to pretend he wasn’t there. Laura, who had an interest in technical gadgetry, began to talk to Marcus about recording and lighting systems. Tug, having finished his final helping of lasagne, left the table to go to sleep under the sideboard. Olivia talked to Martha about cookery. She seemed particularly anxious to avoid talking to Dad, Martha noticed.

  ‘I love the flavour of your lasagne,’ she said. ‘Is it beef or pork?’

  ‘Half of each. And some bacon.’

  ‘You’re a very good cook. And you’re, what, only eleven?’

  Martha blushed.

  ‘I do my bit,’ Dad put in, ‘by keeping out of the kitchen. Generally, the further off I go the better the food is.’

  Olivia smiled briefly and turned back to Martha. ‘I always find with lasagne that the real problem is the pasta. Do you soak it first?’

  ‘Blanch it. Just for a few minutes.’

  ‘I don’t know where she gets it from,’ Dad interrupted again. ‘I can’t cook. Never could.’ He laughed again, strangely loudly.

  Martha made a secret signal to Dad, but he ignored her.

  ‘I remember attempting lasagne once,’ he said. ‘Years ago, before Martha was born.’

  Although no one showed any interest in this, he went on anyway, with great enthusiasm. Apparently one of the guests had been late to arrive for dinner, and the lasagne was over-cooked.

  ‘Every few minutes we added water,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Three hours went by.’

  He was being very humorous. Soon the lasagne became fantastical. He described how it had swelled up and ballooned into strange shapes, how it had hardened and thickened, and developed sedimentary layers, and how eventually it overflowed from the pan and pushed its way out of the oven on its own.

  ‘Like a slab of living pavement,’ he said.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Olivia murmured.

  He talked on and on, interrupted only by his own laughter. Everyone else had stopped talking and sat looking at him, embarrassed.

  ‘And after we had served it, no one said a word for about three minutes,’ he said, sweating now with hilarity. ‘Everyone just hummed politely. And then the American lady who had been late and caused all the bother said, “Well, perhaps we can build something out of it, but we sure as hell can’t eat it.” So we had cheese and biscuits,’ he said. ‘But we didn’t mind. Martha’s mum couldn’t boil an egg. It didn’t bother me. I didn’t marry her for her cooking. I married her because …’

  Suddenly he stopped talking and there was silence in the room.

  Martha looked at him with horror. He had mentioned Mum.

  ‘Dad?’ she said.

  He sat trembling, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said.

  ‘I married her,’ he whispered to himself, ‘because I … because we …’

  ‘Dad?’ Martha whispered again, and reached out her hand to him, but he staggered to his feet and hastily went out.

  No one else said anything. There was nothing to say. And when Martha looked round the table she found that everyone was staring at her, and she could see in their faces that they all felt sorry for her. Olivia took hold of her hand and squeezed it, and though, if anything, it made her more upset, Martha managed to control herself.

  Because someone always has to keep their head.

  She sat up straight, took a deep breath and said, in a clear, slightly quavery voice, ‘More chocolate mousse anyone?’

  After lunch, Olivia reluctantly agreed to stay for coffee – ‘Just a very quick one!’ – while Laura took a look at Marcus’s camcorder. Dad had returned to the table by now and was in a different mood, quiet and shame-faced, but there was no doubt that Olivia wanted to leave as soon as possible. The lunch had been spoiled.

  Upstairs in Martha’s room, Marcus showed Laura his camcorder, and Laura described her even more impressive movie camera, and they swapped information about technical specifications while Martha sat quietly on her own in a corner of the room.

  ‘It has zoom and slo-mo?’ Marcus was saying. ‘That’s interesting. Tell me, are you using it for any particular project at the moment?’

  Martha wasn’t even listening to them. She was lost in her own unhappy thoughts. Although Dad had been larky before, he had never been so out-of-control, one minute laughing like a madman, the next almost crying. Even allowing for his nervousness, he was impossible to understand. He was silly, and unhappy, and excitable, and mad, and angry, and lazy, and unfair and strange all at the same time – and she had absolutely no idea why.


  After a while she realized that Marcus and Laura had stopped talking and were looking at her.

  For a moment they were all silent, then Laura said, ‘So, how long’s your dad been drinking?’

  Martha stared at her. ‘Drinking?’

  ‘Booze. Alcohol.’

  Martha shook her head in confusion. ‘I didn’t see him drink anything.’

  ‘He kept going out to get it.’

  ‘But I don’t think he drinks at all.’

  ‘Probably he hides it round the house and drinks when you’re not looking.’

  ‘Even when we go shopping, he never buys drink.’

  ‘No, he’ll buy it separately, from other places, when you’re not there.’

  A little tremor went through Martha. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Because my dad was a drunk too. That’s why Mum divorced him. Your dad never stood a chance with her. She says she can do without another one.’

  Martha looked at Marcus.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize until I saw him today.’

  ‘But what must I do?’ Martha asked.

  No one said anything.

  18

  The next day, after school, Martha and Tug went to the library to exchange their books. It wasn’t their usual day for going to the library, but Martha insisted.

  It was warm, and in the park sunshine fell in green and yellow spangles through the leaves of the trees around the boating pond. The flowerbeds were freshly filled with marigolds, and the lawns were just mown. Round the café people stood with ice creams and cups of tea, talking.

  Everything seemed the same as always.

  But it isn’t, Martha thought. It’s all different now.

  She was paler than usual, and as she went along she rubbed her eyes. Nearly all night she had been awake, trying to think what to do. By the time morning came she had half decided to go straight to Dad and ask him if what Laura had told her was true. But Dad was too strange to talk to. In the end she left him in bed and went to school, with all her questions still unanswered. If she wanted answers she would have to find them out herself.

  Tug pulled at her hand. ‘Martha?’

  ‘What?’