very enthusiastic.’
‘He’s all right,’ Laura said. ‘You’re the one who’s bonkers.’
Martha thought. ‘Is that what you did for your dad, Laura? Go to the doctor?’
Laura looked away. ‘It didn’t matter what we did. He just carried on drinking. But my dad was an idiot.’
‘Perhaps my dad’s an idiot too.’
She thought some more. If Dad
was
an idiot he needed help, and if she couldn’t help him, perhaps Dr Woodley could. He would give her good advice. She was only worried about getting Dad into trouble. Above all, she worried about the Social Services. The thought that they might come and take her away, and take Tug away, filled her with terror. She had to make sure Dr Woodley didn’t tell them anything about Dad’s drinking.
Laura nodded towards Tug, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, finishing his sixth biscuit. ‘How’s your brother coping?’
Tug swallowed and said proudly, ‘I mustn’t worry. Martha says.’
‘That’s right, Tug.’
‘Must you worry, Martha?’
‘I don’t know, Tug. But I must do
something
.’
She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll go and see Dr Woodley. I can’t think of anything else.’
21
A fter school on Monday, Martha met Marcus in the park, and they walked together to Dr Woodley’s surgery. At that time the park was quiet. The geese had come up out of the water and roamed bossily across the grass, pecking at each other and hissing at the occasional passer-by.
‘I don’t quite know what I’m going to say to him,’ Martha said. ‘I don’t want to get Dad into trouble. But I think he’s getting worse. Just like the book says. Shall I tell Dr Woodley the truth?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Marcus said. ‘The truth and I are generally strangers.’
They reached the surgery.
‘I know what I’ll do,’ she said.
In the doctor’s room Martha sat on a chair, and Marcus sat on the bed, and from his desk Dr Woodley peered at them both through his steel-rimmed spectacles, first at Martha, then at Marcus.
‘Hello, Martha. And you are?’
‘Marcus.’
‘Marcus Brown, of course. I don’t see you very often.’
‘I’m never ill.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So is it you, Martha, who’s feeling unwell?’
Martha took a deep breath. ‘No. I’d like to ask your advice, please. About … a friend.’
‘By all means.’
‘This friend has a problem.’
‘Yes?’
Martha fidgeted. ‘I don’t know how to explain.’
‘He drinks,’ Marcus said.
Dr Woodley turned his gaze on Marcus. ‘I see.’
‘It’s not me, by the way,’ Marcus said as Dr Woodley continued to peer at him. ‘I wouldn’t drink the stuff he drinks,’ Marcus added.
Dr Woodley turned back to Martha. ‘Is the friend … an adult?’
Something in his expression made Martha think that, somehow, he already knew who it was, and at once she decided to tell the truth after all. ‘It’s my dad.’
Once she had said it she was scared, but DrWoodley smiled at her in a kind and thoughtful way.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘And of course you’re worried about him.’
‘Yes.’
Dr Woodley removed his glasses and began to clean them with a small square cloth he took from his pocket. If he thought it was strange that Martha had come to tell him this he didn’t show it. ‘May I ask you some questions about your dad? It will help me to understand a little better.’
She nodded nervously.
‘Does he drink every day?’
‘I think so.’
‘And what does he drink?’
‘BestValue London Dry Gin Triple Distilled. Mainly.’
Marcus tutted quietly.
Dr Woodley said, ‘Do you see him drinking?’
‘No. He hides the bottles and drinks when I’m not looking. There are six bottles,’ she added.
‘How do you know he’s drinking? Is he behaving oddly?’
Martha described Dad’s strangeness.
‘Does he ever get angry?’
Martha thought of Dad shouting at Grandma andGrandpa, and the way his face had looked,
‘He’s all right,’ Laura said. ‘You’re the one who’s bonkers.’
Martha thought. ‘Is that what you did for your dad, Laura? Go to the doctor?’
Laura looked away. ‘It didn’t matter what we did. He just carried on drinking. But my dad was an idiot.’
‘Perhaps my dad’s an idiot too.’
She thought some more. If Dad
was
an idiot he needed help, and if she couldn’t help him, perhaps Dr Woodley could. He would give her good advice. She was only worried about getting Dad into trouble. Above all, she worried about the Social Services. The thought that they might come and take her away, and take Tug away, filled her with terror. She had to make sure Dr Woodley didn’t tell them anything about Dad’s drinking.
Laura nodded towards Tug, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, finishing his sixth biscuit. ‘How’s your brother coping?’
Tug swallowed and said proudly, ‘I mustn’t worry. Martha says.’
‘That’s right, Tug.’
‘Must you worry, Martha?’
‘I don’t know, Tug. But I must do
something
.’
She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll go and see Dr Woodley. I can’t think of anything else.’
21
A fter school on Monday, Martha met Marcus in the park, and they walked together to Dr Woodley’s surgery. At that time the park was quiet. The geese had come up out of the water and roamed bossily across the grass, pecking at each other and hissing at the occasional passer-by.
‘I don’t quite know what I’m going to say to him,’ Martha said. ‘I don’t want to get Dad into trouble. But I think he’s getting worse. Just like the book says. Shall I tell Dr Woodley the truth?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Marcus said. ‘The truth and I are generally strangers.’
They reached the surgery.
‘I know what I’ll do,’ she said.
In the doctor’s room Martha sat on a chair, and Marcus sat on the bed, and from his desk Dr Woodley peered at them both through his steel-rimmed spectacles, first at Martha, then at Marcus.
‘Hello, Martha. And you are?’
‘Marcus.’
‘Marcus Brown, of course. I don’t see you very often.’
‘I’m never ill.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So is it you, Martha, who’s feeling unwell?’
Martha took a deep breath. ‘No. I’d like to ask your advice, please. About … a friend.’
‘By all means.’
‘This friend has a problem.’
‘Yes?’
Martha fidgeted. ‘I don’t know how to explain.’
‘He drinks,’ Marcus said.
Dr Woodley turned his gaze on Marcus. ‘I see.’
‘It’s not me, by the way,’ Marcus said as Dr Woodley continued to peer at him. ‘I wouldn’t drink the stuff he drinks,’ Marcus added.
Dr Woodley turned back to Martha. ‘Is the friend … an adult?’
Something in his expression made Martha think that, somehow, he already knew who it was, and at once she decided to tell the truth after all. ‘It’s my dad.’
Once she had said it she was scared, but DrWoodley smiled at her in a kind and thoughtful way.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘And of course you’re worried about him.’
‘Yes.’
Dr Woodley removed his glasses and began to clean them with a small square cloth he took from his pocket. If he thought it was strange that Martha had come to tell him this he didn’t show it. ‘May I ask you some questions about your dad? It will help me to understand a little better.’
She nodded nervously.
‘Does he drink every day?’
‘I think so.’
‘And what does he drink?’
‘BestValue London Dry Gin Triple Distilled. Mainly.’
Marcus tutted quietly.
Dr Woodley said, ‘Do you see him drinking?’
‘No. He hides the bottles and drinks when I’m not looking. There are six bottles,’ she added.
‘How do you know he’s drinking? Is he behaving oddly?’
Martha described Dad’s strangeness.
‘Does he ever get angry?’
Martha thought of Dad shouting at Grandma andGrandpa, and the way his face had looked,
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