Ask Eva (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

O
n Monday, it was lovely and sunny so Ella and I had our lunch on our favourite bench in the farthest corner of the playground.

‘I’m kind of worried about Aretta,’ I said as I unwrapped my lunch.

‘Why?’ asked Ella, leaning across to see what was in my sandwiches. ‘Oh, chicken – lucky you. Want to swap for my cheese and tomato?’

I don’t much like chicken sandwiches, so we swapped.

‘Anyway,’ said Ella through a mouthful of my sandwich. ‘I haven’t seen Aretta all morning. Why are you worried about her?’

‘She’s in my geography class, and she was already at her desk when I got there. At first I thought she was reading her geography book, but then I noticed that it wasn’t even open. I asked her if she was OK, and she said she was, but she didn’t sound at all OK. She sounded really upset.’

‘Poor Aretta. What did you do?’

‘I know we agreed not to talk to her about personal stuff, but I couldn’t just say nothing. I asked her if she wanted to talk.’

‘And?’

‘She didn’t say anything for ages, and I was starting to think she hadn’t heard me, but then she looked up and I saw that her eyes were all red.’

‘She’d been crying?’

‘That’s what it looked like. ‘Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me,’ I said, and for a second, it looked like she was getting ready to talk, but then the teacher came in and started
going on about some stupid geography test, and we couldn’t talk any more.’

‘And what happened after class?’

‘Aretta disappeared, and I haven’t seen her since. I feel like she was ready to talk to me, and now the opportunity has gone.’

‘Well maybe you’re going to get another opportunity,’ said Ella. ‘Look who’s coming.’

Aretta was walking towards us. Her eyes weren’t red any more, but she looked sad and tired.

I slid across the bench to make room and she sat down between Ella and me.

‘Hey, Aretta,’ said Ella. ‘Do you want one of Eva’s sandwiches? They’re totally delicious.’

Aretta shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’ Her voice was so quiet, I could just about hear her.

I put my hand on her arm. ‘I know you like to keep your personal stuff private, and I promise we’re not trying to spy on you
or anything, Aretta,’ I said. ‘But if there’s something wrong, you know you can tell us.’

Aretta stared at me for a second and then she put her head in her hands. Ella and I looked at each other.

‘We only want to help you,’ said Ella.

‘
No one
can help,’ said Aretta from between her fingers.

‘Try us,’ I said.

‘Eva’s great at helping people,’ said Ella. ‘She’s done all kinds of amazing things. I’ve told you before about how she saved Ruby’s swimming trials, but there’s lots more. Once she saved an ancient old tree from being cut down, and last year she solved a crime that had been a mystery for nearly a hundred years. Sometimes, when a problem is really big, only Eva can sort it out.’

I could feel myself going red. Ella’s confidence in me was nice, but I didn’t want Aretta to have false hopes. It’s not like I can
work miracles.

‘And even if we can’t help,’ continued Ella. ‘Just talking about stuff might make you feel better.’

Aretta looked up again.

‘Can I tell you about my life?’ she said.

‘Sure,’ said Ella, and I nodded in agreement. Somehow I knew this wasn’t going to be a funny story about the cool things Aretta used to do with her mum in Nigeria.

‘Like I told you before,’ Aretta began. ‘Eight years ago I came to Ireland with my dad and my brother, and at first we lived in Kilkenny.’

‘Kilkenny’s nice,’ I said. ‘We went there once on a school tour.’

Ella nudged me and I stopped talking. Aretta probably didn’t want to hear about my day-trip to Kilkenny.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Go on.’

Aretta gave a tiny smile. ‘My school in Kilkenny was great. I told you about the
basketball already, but we played loads of other sports too. I made lots of really nice friends, but …’

‘Go on,’ said Ella, in a gentle voice.

‘Because we were asylum seekers, we had to live in a direct provision centre.’

‘Like the one you live in now?’ I said.

‘Not exactly. We are guests in this country, and we are grateful for what we get, but …’

There was a long silence, and I began to wonder if Aretta had changed her mind about confiding in us. Then she spoke in a big rush.

‘The direct provision centre in Kilkenny was really, really awful. The manager, Mr Richards, treated us like we were animals. Whole families had to live in one tiny bedroom, and these rooms were too cold in winter and too warm in summer. We had no facilities to cook our own meals. We had to eat in a big ugly hall that always smelled bad, like rotten vegetables. The food was nasty, as if the manager
deliberately picked things we wouldn’t like.’

‘So why did you stay?’ I asked.

Aretta shrugged. ‘We didn’t have any choice. It’s not like we could move up the road to a five star hotel or a fancy penthouse apartment. We had to stay with the horrible Mr Richards.’

‘That all sounds awful,’ said Ella.

‘It was,’ said Aretta. ‘But we learned to put up with it. My father told my brother and me that we would have to be patient. One day our application to stay in Ireland will be accepted, he said, and then our lives will change forever. When my brother and I couldn’t sleep, our father sat on our beds and told us stories of the lovely house we would all live in when we left the centre. He told us about the garden he would make for us, with swings and a little pond for fish. He said that one day, our mother would come and live with us there, and we would all be happy again.’

I could feel tears coming to my eyes. I
looked at Ella, but she was rubbing her face, like dust had blown on it or something. Aretta wasn’t crying though. Her face was still and sad.

‘As my brother got older, he didn’t want to listen to those stories any more. He was angry all the time, and he fought with my father a lot. It was not easy, sharing a bedroom with those too, I can tell you. And then …’

There was another long silence. I didn’t want to rush her, but lunch-time was nearly over, and I had a funny feeling that if Aretta didn’t finish her story before the bell rang, then she might never finish it.

‘And then what?’ I said as gently as I could.

‘And then something terrible happened.’ Now Aretta’s voice was almost a whisper, like what she was describing was still happening in a hidden corner of her mind.

‘It was dinner-time, the worst time of the day. There was a woman sitting at the table
near us, with her little girl. When the food came out, the woman said that she was very sorry, but she could not eat it, because of her religious beliefs. She very politely asked the woman who served the food if she and her little girl could have something else. And then Mr Richards came along and started screaming at her. He said the woman should have made her request before the food was cooked, and the woman said she did not have a chance, because her little girl was sick. And then … and then … and then my brother jumped up, and before my father could do anything about it, my brother punched Mr Richards in the face. My brother is not very good at punching, and I don’t think Mr Richards was really hurt, but he acted like he was going to die. He screamed and shouted and said he would have my brother locked up for twenty years.’

‘But that’s so unfair,’ I said. ‘It sounds like Mr Richards was totally mean to that woman.
He’s the one who should be locked up.’

Aretta nodded. ‘In the end Mr Richards calmed down. I think he knew he might get into trouble too – because he’s supposed to provide special food for people who have strict religious beliefs. So he made a big fuss about how forgiving he could be. He said that if my family agreed to go back to Nigeria, he wouldn’t call the police or bring charges against my brother.’

‘But you didn’t go back to Nigeria,’ I said.

‘No. We couldn’t. For one thing, going back would be dangerous for us, and also … well, I’ve been here for so long, I think I’m more Irish than Nigerian now. Those stories I tell you about Nigeria – well, they’re just stories my dad has told me. Sometimes I feel like he made them all up. I’ve been here for most of my life, and going back – well, going back would be like going to a foreign country.’

‘So how did you end up here?’ asked Ella.

‘One of the social workers was really nice. She found us a place here, but my brother refused to come with us. He went to Dublin to stay in a different centre, with his girlfriend and her family.’

I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but even so, I guessed it must be hard to be parted from the only one you had.

Ella seemed to read my mind. ‘You must miss your brother,’ she said.

‘I do,’ said Aretta. ‘But even so, I thought the move here might be a good thing. It meant we would be far away from Mr Richards.’

‘And is the centre here better?’ I asked.

Aretta nodded. ‘It isn’t perfect, but mostly it’s OK. The building looks like it’s about to fall down, but the people who work there are nice. The manager treats us well. The only problem is……’

Before she could finish, the bell rang to tell us that lunch-time was over. I felt like crying.
This was like my mum telling me to put away my book when it’s time to go to sleep – only a million times worse.

Ella jumped up. ‘Sorry, guys,’ she said. ‘But Mr Dean’s on the warpath. If he catches us here when we should be on the way to class, we’ll be in after-school detention for a week.’

She was right. And even though after-school detention wouldn’t be much fun for Ella or me, it would be even worse for Aretta who was always gone from school about three seconds after the last bell rang.

As we stood up, a sudden gust of wind caught the wrappings from Ella’s sandwiches and they flew through the air.

‘Quick, Eva, help me,’ shouted Ella. ‘If we’re caught littering, we’ll get double detention.’

I raced after her, and when we came back with the scraps of paper, Aretta was already gone.

‘Poor Aretta,’ said Ella as we hurried back to class. ‘Imagine having all those terrible things happen to you.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s totally awful, but still, I don’t get what’s going on.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Aretta was kind of ok last week, and the week before, but today she’s all red-eyed and sad.’

‘She’s probably missing her mum and her brother.’

‘But they’ve been gone all the time.’

‘Maybe it’s just sunk in,’ said Ella. ‘Like delayed shock or something.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That can’t be it. She wouldn’t have changed so quickly. Something else must have happened – and I think she’d have told us about it if the bell hadn’t rung right in the middle of her story.’

‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. We’ll have to try double-hard to catch her after school, and give her a chance to tell us what’s going on.

But, once again, Aretta managed to leave school without us seeing her. I met Ella at the gate, and she shook her head.

‘I don’t know how she does it,’ she said. ‘It’s like she puts on an invisibility cloak once four o’clock comes.’