Thirty-two

It was a funny day today.
Maya came with me after school to the allotment. We spend a while clearing weeds and things that have started to come up because of the sunshine. We didn’t talk much, but it was nice just working away and getting hot and grubby.
She’s stopped squealing whenever she finds a worm, which is good because there are loads of worms all the time. Last time she did it, she sounded like she was watching a horror film not weeding a veggie patch.
We worked for a bit, then sat down with our backs against the shed. The sun was nice and warm, so we were kind of sunbathing.
‘It’s nice here,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Yes, but. I mean, it’s nicer than at home. I wish I could stay here all the time.’
I knew she had to be talking about her mum.
I didn’t really know what to say. But, I remember from last year, that the worst thing about when Grandad died was that no-one talked about it. Dad acted like it hadn’t happened and that made him ill.
So I knew I had to say something. But it felt like clouds had rolled over the sun, even though it was still as warm as ever.
‘How is she?’ I asked.
Maya looked at me. I thought she wasn’t going to speak. She looked so sad, but she wasn’t crying. She just looked tired. ‘Worse,’ she said in the end.
What does that mean?
But Maya didn’t say anything else. She stood up and said, ‘let’s go and buy an ice lolly. It’s too hot to do any work.’
So we did.