Ask Eva (11 page)

Chapter Twenty

O
n Monday, Ella and I were doing our usual lunch-time sandwich swap when Aretta appeared.

‘Hey,’ I said as she sat down between us. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘We were worried about you,’ said Ella.

‘I’m OK,’ said Aretta in a voice that seemed to be saying the opposite.

‘So where were you last week?’ I asked again.

‘I was sick,’ she said. ‘That’s the problem with living in a crowded place – sickness spreads quickly.’

‘I’m glad you’re better,’ I said. ‘But before
you left last week, we were having a chat, remember?’

Aretta sighed. ‘You’re not going to give up and talk about the weather are you?’

I grinned. ‘No.’

‘You were starting to tell us about where you live now,’ said Ella.

‘Yes,’ said Aretta. ‘That.’

‘You’d got to the part with the “but,”’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Aretta again. ‘It’s not the worst place I’ve ever lived in, but … the problem is my father.’

‘OMG,’ I said. ‘Is he sick or something?’

‘No,’ said Aretta. ‘Well, his body isn’t sick, but he’s sad all the time.’

He’s far from home and from his wife and his son,
I thought.
No wonder he’s sad.

It was as if Aretta could read my mind. ‘Of course he was sad before, but not like this. When we were in Kilkenny, my father had sad moments, but then he’d get over them, and be
positive again. He always looked forward to a bright future for us, but now he’s different.’

‘How exactly?’ asked Ella.

‘It’s hard to explain … it’s like the sadness is eating into his bones, and it’s getting worse and worse. I haven’t seen him smile for weeks. Some of the other people in the centre are really nice, but my father doesn’t even try to make friends with them. All he does is sit in his room and look at the wall. He won’t talk to anyone except me.’

Suddenly I had a light-bulb moment. ‘So that’s why you rush off every evening after school?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you both. I wasn’t at after-school classes; even if I had the money for fancy ballet or music lessons, I couldn’t join up. When I’m not with him, my father has nothing to do, so after school, I go home as quickly as I can. I sit in his room and we talk about my brother and my mother and
the home we used to have in Nigeria.’

That didn’t sound like much fun for either of them. I tried to imagine the poor girl spending every evening with her sad and lonely father.

Then I remembered something. ‘Last week,’ I said. ‘Your eyes were all……you looked a bit … well … you looked … very upset.’

Aretta nodded. ‘Recently my father has been especially bad. It is like he has lost all hope. When I got home from school some days, I could tell that he had been crying.’

I’ve only seen my dad cry once. It happened not long after he lost his job. Until then, I believed that my dad could fix everything, and when it turned out that he couldn’t, it was really, really scary.

I gave Aretta a quick hug. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘We had no idea what was going on. No wonder you were so mad when we followed you home.’

‘What can we do to help?’ asked Ella.

Aretta shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There are social workers at the centre, but how can they help us when my father won’t even talk to them?’

‘My father lost his job a few years ago,’ I said. ‘And he was very sad for a while.’

‘Maybe we could help your father to find a job?’ suggested Ella.

‘A job would change everything,’ said Aretta. ‘My father is a very proud man, and he likes to be busy. The only problem is, because of our legal status, my father isn’t allowed to work.’

‘But that’s stupid,’ I said. ‘What’s he supposed to do all day? What are all the adults at the centre supposed to do?’

‘We children are the lucky ones,’ said Aretta. ‘We are allowed to go to school, and mix with the local people. For the adults it is much harder. For them there is nothing.’

‘Maybe you could arrange a surprise trip to Dublin for your dad,’ I said. ‘So he could visit
your brother?’

‘We have no money for trips anywhere,’ said Aretta. ‘Our weekly allowance doesn’t even pay for essentials.’

I felt around in my pocket, wondering if a twenty euro note had magically appeared there, but I was disappointed to find only ten cents and a dirty tissue. ‘Anyway,’ Aretta continued. ‘That is a nice thought, but even if we could persuade him to go, a trip to Dublin wouldn’t really fix anything. My father would be happy for a day, but afterwards, I fear he would be worse than ever.’

‘Your father needs a purpose in life,’ said Ella. ‘My granny, Gigi, always says that if you don’t have a reason to get up in the morning, then your life is over.’

‘She sounds like a wise woman,’ said Aretta.

I pictured Gigi with her wild hair and crazy clothes and wondered if Aretta was right.

Just then the bell for the end of lunch-time
rang, and before I could say another word, Aretta grabbed her stuff and ran back in to school.

‘How’s your new friend these days?’ asked Dad that night.

‘And when are you going to bring her over to meet us?’ asked Mum.

‘Probably never,’ I said, and then I went on to tell them what I knew about Aretta and her dad.

‘The poor girl,’ said Mum. ‘That’s really hard on her.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s all so unfair. Her dad really wants to work, but he’s not allowed to. Why do there have to be so many stupid rules?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ said Dad. ‘I expect when the rule was made, it made perfect sense to someone.’

‘Well it makes
no
sense to me,’ I said. ‘I wonder if I could start a campaign to have that rule changed?’

Mum smiled. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Eva,’ she said. ‘But––’

‘Why does there have to be a ‘but’?’ I said. ‘Remember how our campaign saved the tree that was so special to Kate?’

‘That was truly amazing, Eva,’ said Dad. ‘But this is a slightly different situation. Rules like this
can
be changed, but it takes many years. I’m afraid this problem isn’t going to be fixed any time soon.’

‘That’s so pathetic,’ I said. ‘When I’m old enough to vote, I’m never going to vote for people who make stupid rules just to annoy people. And I
am
going to help Aretta. I’m just not sure yet how I’m going to do it.’

Mum hugged me. ‘That’s my girl,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sleep on it? Everything is clearer after a good night’s sleep.’

But the next morning, I still wasn’t any closer to a solution. When I got to school I met Aretta in the corridor. I thought about telling her that I’d been thinking about her all night, but that sounded a bit weird.

‘Hey,’ I said instead. ‘How are things? How’s your dad?’

She shrugged. ‘Just the same, I guess. I hate leaving him every morning. He just stands at the door and watches me walk away.’

‘That’s so sad,’ I said.

‘We talked for a long time last night. He told me all about the last work he did before we left Nigeria.’

‘Hadn’t he ever told you about it before?’

She gave a small smile. ‘Only about a million times. I don’t mind listening again, but that story always makes him especially sad. My father says that his last project was the best one
he ever did – and now he is afraid he will never work again.’

Ella came up beside us, and heard Aretta’s last words. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You never did tell us what your dad’s job was.’

‘He designed and built gardens, and he was really, really good at it. He could take the smallest, ugliest patch of ground and turn it into a magical place.’

‘That sounds cool,’ I said. ‘And what was his last project? The one he was talking about last night?’

‘That was so amazing,’ said Aretta. ‘It was a special garden for a visually impaired boy. There were all kinds of things for him to smell, and touch and listen to.’

‘That sounds so cool,’ I said.

‘It was totally cool,’ said Aretta. ‘And that’s why it makes my dad so sad. He is afraid that he will never make a garden like it again. He says that he is forgetting all of his landscaping
skills. His ideas are becoming old and rusty. He says …’

But I wasn’t listening any more. I’d just had an amazing idea.

‘Do we have to do this right now?’ asked Ella that afternoon. ‘I’ve got a project to finish, and Mum’s giving me a hard time about the state of my bedroom.’

I smiled to myself as I remembered Kate’s words – ‘Just go ahead and do it.’

‘Sorry, Ella,’ I said. ‘This needs to be done now – but I’ll give you a hand with your project later if you like. Now can you walk a bit faster? There’s no time to waste.’

‘It’s not Friday,’ said Maggie as she opened the door. ‘And it’s not the middle of the night.’

Ella and I followed her into the kitchen, and sat at the table while Maggie poured out glasses of lemonade, and Lucky ran around in excited
yappy circles beside us.

‘So to what do I owe this honour?’ asked Maggie as she put the glasses in front of us.

‘We just thought it would be nice to see you,’ I said, a bit pathetically.

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘I know you, Eva Gordon,’ she said. ‘You’re a lovely girl, but there’s always an agenda.’

Ella giggled. I didn’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘You’ve found me out. I’ve been thinking about your garden.’

‘What about it?’ asked Maggie.

‘Well it’s such a mess.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ said Maggie pretending to be hurt.

‘You admitted it yourself,’ I said. ‘You said it was like a jungle. So I thought maybe we should do something about it.’

Maggie patted my arm. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Eva,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid there are
a few huge problems. I’ve seen those garden design programmes on TV, and while they look great, everything costs a fortune. My jewellery business is going well, but I don’t have that kind of money.’

‘I think we can get around that,’ I said.

‘And there’s another problem too,’ said Maggie. ‘Even if you could magically get my garden made over, it wouldn’t be fair to let you do it.’

‘Why?’ asked Ella. ‘I think it sounds like a great idea.’

‘Gardens need time and care,’ said Maggie. ‘I love gardening, and I could make time, but I can’t take care of a garden. I can do lots of things in my wheelchair, but sadly, gardening isn’t one of them. As you know, I can’t even get my chair down the path any more. I’m afraid my gardening days are over.’