I Am Watching You(24)

It was a long time before Sarah had the courage to return Anna’s invitations. She had probably had tea at the farmhouse dozens of times by then. Stews and pies, lasagne and all manner of delicious offerings – always with a pudding to follow. Anna’s favourite was this plum slice, like a flapjack with stewed fruit through the middle. It had a lovely smell, which Anna said was cinnamon. They would eat them cold as snacks some days when they played two-ball in the yard, and other times Anna’s mother would warm them for pudding to be served with clotted cream or custard.

Often Jenny, Anna’s sister, would have friends for tea, too, and the table would be crowded and noisy, like a party. Tim and Paul were regulars; Sarah was pleased because Tim was from the council estate and she liked that she wasn’t the only one with a very different life. In fact, it made her feel better that Tim’s mother apparently never cooked at all. She pretty much left him to fend for himself, which was why Mrs Ballard loved to spoil him – and everyone else, too – with her open house, her hotpots and her upside-down cakes.

Very quickly they became this little gang, with the farmhouse as their personal playground. They set up a camp in the bushes near the barns. On warm days, Mrs Ballard put a sprinkler on the front lawn so they could run in and out of the water in their swimming costumes before tea. Mr Ballard let them all ride in a trailer behind the quad bike, with the boys shouting faster, faster.

That first summer, the farm became a second home to Sarah. She was so happy.

And then suddenly, nearer Christmas, Anna asked outright. Could I not come to your house some time, do you think, Sarah?

I suppose.

Sarah had felt this twisted sense of nerves and shame and guilt, too, wanting to be proud of her family but worrying what Anna might think. She couldn’t understand why someone who had such a wonderful home herself would want to go anywhere else. But if Anna was surprised by their tiny house and the oven chips and the baked beans, she certainly didn’t show it.

It’s so warm, she said as they snuggled up to watch television downstairs, under the throw her mother had offered them. Your house is so warm, Sarah. Ours is always freezing in the winter.

They stayed best friends into secondary school, where Sarah discovered something special of her own – that she was actually a lot smarter than she realised. It had been difficult to tell in the small pond that was the village primary. She always came top in the spelling tests; her writing was always displayed on the wall and she always got an A for maths. But there was very little competition. Then, in secondary school, Sarah’s star suddenly shone more brightly. Top sets for everything – even maths, which Anna found a struggle.

Sarah took on a new role in their friendship, which made her feel proud and valued and able to offer something important back to the family who had been so kind to her. She helped Anna with her maths homework. Her essays.

Paul was bright, too, and it became a joke that he and Sarah were the ‘boffins’. Paul was the son of one of Mrs Ballard’s friends, and when he suddenly grew taller and quite handsome, Sarah looked forward to her visits to the farmhouse even more. Anna’s mum and dad continued with the open-door policy even as the children grew. Eating more. Loudly chasing each other, climbing trees and playing hide-and-seek around the barns. Other parents complained about the noise and the food and the music and the mess, but Mrs Ballard never seemed to mind at all.

For a spell, with Sarah and Paul helping the others with their homework over plates of pizza and cakes and scones, everything felt so beautifully balanced. Giving and taking. Happy and good.

Yes. She remembered that golden period, during the first year of secondary school, as the happiest she had ever been.

Until, that is, the very end of that year. Another summer term. Sarah was twelve, nudging thirteen. Her mother was away, visiting an old school friend, and out of the blue Sarah’s period started.

Her sister Lily was around at a friend’s house for a sleepover and so Sarah began rummaging through her sister’s chest of drawers, desperate for some sanitary towels. Stick-on ones hopefully, ‘with wings’, which she had seen in adverts and looked pretty simple to use.

But all she could find were tiny tampons in a box. She was horrified, opening out the instructions, trying to figure it out as her father came in.

Very soon Sarah was in tears. Absolutely mortified while he was telling her not to be so silly. That it was nothing to be worried or embarrassed about. All perfectly normal. Of course it would feel a bit awkward. And he was so sorry that her mother was away for the night, but she was not to be afraid or upset. This was just a part of growing up.

He put his arm around her shoulders and, for a moment, Sarah felt so very happy and relieved that she had the kind of father who wasn’t fazed by this, who could talk about this stuff without it being truly dreadful and awkward. And then he took the instructions from her hand – the leaflet about the tampons. And he said the problem was that these were really for older girls and probably not suitable just yet. Sarah was about to ask if he could take her to the chemist to buy some of the sticky-backed sanitary towels, when her father said the important thing was to check. So as not to do any damage.

Sorry?

Well if you let me have a look. See how grown up you are. You know. Down there. We can work out if you can try the tampon straight away.

No. It’s fine. I’ll wait till Mum gets back.

Don’t be silly. There is absolutely no need for you to be embarrassed about this. Periods are perfectly normal. Not dirty or anything to be ashamed about.