sorting things out in her mind.
She rolled onto her side and looked at Dad.
He’s not all bad
, she thought.
Perhaps I shouldn’t tell him off so much
.
‘There are lots of stories about the stars,’ Dad said. ‘But I don’t know any.’
‘Is there a story about the moon?’ she asked thoughtfully.
‘Not that I know of.’
‘It looks like pie,’ Tug said suddenly. ‘Doesn’t it, Martha?’
And when they had finished laughing they found that Tug had gone to sleep again.
Dad put his jacket round Martha, and they snuggled together.
‘How mad am I?’ he said. ‘On a scale of one to ten?’
‘Eleven.’
‘A hundred and eleven,’ he said. He sighed, and smiled. ‘But I only do it because I love you.’ He put his arm round her. ‘I love you more than … I love you more than dads usually love Marthas.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I love you too.’
They sat together under his jacket. Ten minutes passed in silence, and Dad began to fidget.
‘I like midnight picnics,’ Martha said after a while. ‘But, Dad? Why did you bring us
here
? Why is this a special spot?’
He didn’t answer at once. He fidgeted. ‘Well it’s good for stars,’ he said at last.
His voice was raspy suddenly, and he took his arm away from her and shifted his position.
‘But why just here? You said you used to come here before we were born.’
He made a joke, and she asked him again. He said nothing. And then he looked the other way.
At that moment Martha guessed.
‘You used to come here with Mum, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘That’s why.’
Dad didn’t say anything. He just kept looking the other way.
7
W hen Martha was little her mum was an actress. She acted on the stage and on television, and for several years played a small role in one of the famous TV soaps, which is where she met Dad, who was Director of Photography for the show.
She was a pretty woman with red hair the same shade as Martha’s, and very pale skin; people used to recognize her in the street. It was exciting Mum being on television. Sometimes Martha went with Dad to the studios to watch them filming Mum’s show; and once Mum took her to an awards ceremony at the Dorchester Hotel, where she met lots of television people wearing extraordinary costumes who drank champagne all evening and told each other hilarious stories. Mum liked parties. She was always laughing.
At home, however, she could be surprisingly strict, much stricter than Dad. She was the one who made the family rules, and organized everyone, and kept everything under control.
Someone has to keep theirhead
, she used to say. She taught Martha to keep her room tidy, and be polite and pleasant to others, and go to bed promptly at bedtime. Once a week Martha helped cook tea. After Tug was born, Mum taught Martha how to feed and wash him and even change him, so that before long she was used to taking care of him.
But what Martha remembered best about Mum was her energy. Her liveliness. She had a way of walking, very purposeful, and a way of speaking, her words bright and clear, and a way of looking at people, frank and shiny-eyed. She always knew what to do, and what to say. She was a kind person, with firm views and a sense of fun, who liked dancing and was never ill.
Then, one day in late July two years ago, Mum drove down to Cornwall with Martha and Tug and Grandma for a week’s holiday by the sea. Dad had to stay behind, to work. It was a long journey, hot and uncomfortable, and before they reached Bristol, Mum complained of feeling dizzy and sick. At Exeter, Grandma took over the driving, and Mum lay back in the passenger seat, trembling and breathing very fast. At Plymouth, Grandma was so worried she drove straight to the hospital, where Mum was takenimmediately into Intensive Care, and Martha sat with Tug and a nurse in a waiting room. Eventually she fell asleep, but woke again, straight away it seemed, to find Grandma weeping on the seat next to her.
Tug was only
She rolled onto her side and looked at Dad.
He’s not all bad
, she thought.
Perhaps I shouldn’t tell him off so much
.
‘There are lots of stories about the stars,’ Dad said. ‘But I don’t know any.’
‘Is there a story about the moon?’ she asked thoughtfully.
‘Not that I know of.’
‘It looks like pie,’ Tug said suddenly. ‘Doesn’t it, Martha?’
And when they had finished laughing they found that Tug had gone to sleep again.
Dad put his jacket round Martha, and they snuggled together.
‘How mad am I?’ he said. ‘On a scale of one to ten?’
‘Eleven.’
‘A hundred and eleven,’ he said. He sighed, and smiled. ‘But I only do it because I love you.’ He put his arm round her. ‘I love you more than … I love you more than dads usually love Marthas.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I love you too.’
They sat together under his jacket. Ten minutes passed in silence, and Dad began to fidget.
‘I like midnight picnics,’ Martha said after a while. ‘But, Dad? Why did you bring us
here
? Why is this a special spot?’
He didn’t answer at once. He fidgeted. ‘Well it’s good for stars,’ he said at last.
His voice was raspy suddenly, and he took his arm away from her and shifted his position.
‘But why just here? You said you used to come here before we were born.’
He made a joke, and she asked him again. He said nothing. And then he looked the other way.
At that moment Martha guessed.
‘You used to come here with Mum, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘That’s why.’
Dad didn’t say anything. He just kept looking the other way.
7
W hen Martha was little her mum was an actress. She acted on the stage and on television, and for several years played a small role in one of the famous TV soaps, which is where she met Dad, who was Director of Photography for the show.
She was a pretty woman with red hair the same shade as Martha’s, and very pale skin; people used to recognize her in the street. It was exciting Mum being on television. Sometimes Martha went with Dad to the studios to watch them filming Mum’s show; and once Mum took her to an awards ceremony at the Dorchester Hotel, where she met lots of television people wearing extraordinary costumes who drank champagne all evening and told each other hilarious stories. Mum liked parties. She was always laughing.
At home, however, she could be surprisingly strict, much stricter than Dad. She was the one who made the family rules, and organized everyone, and kept everything under control.
Someone has to keep theirhead
, she used to say. She taught Martha to keep her room tidy, and be polite and pleasant to others, and go to bed promptly at bedtime. Once a week Martha helped cook tea. After Tug was born, Mum taught Martha how to feed and wash him and even change him, so that before long she was used to taking care of him.
But what Martha remembered best about Mum was her energy. Her liveliness. She had a way of walking, very purposeful, and a way of speaking, her words bright and clear, and a way of looking at people, frank and shiny-eyed. She always knew what to do, and what to say. She was a kind person, with firm views and a sense of fun, who liked dancing and was never ill.
Then, one day in late July two years ago, Mum drove down to Cornwall with Martha and Tug and Grandma for a week’s holiday by the sea. Dad had to stay behind, to work. It was a long journey, hot and uncomfortable, and before they reached Bristol, Mum complained of feeling dizzy and sick. At Exeter, Grandma took over the driving, and Mum lay back in the passenger seat, trembling and breathing very fast. At Plymouth, Grandma was so worried she drove straight to the hospital, where Mum was takenimmediately into Intensive Care, and Martha sat with Tug and a nurse in a waiting room. Eventually she fell asleep, but woke again, straight away it seemed, to find Grandma weeping on the seat next to her.
Tug was only
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