Myrrh by Polly Hall

Author:Polly Hall [Hall, Polly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MYRRH

‘It’s not fair.’ Myrrh slammed the door with such intensity that a splinter of wood dislodged from the frame and landed on the linoleum. ‘Why did you have to arrange it when it’s Robbie’s birthday?’

Her mum’s face collapsed as the words were spat at her. Robbie would be fourteen before Myrrh, his birthday falling in March. She wanted to spend it with him. Only it was the Easter holidays, and she always stayed with her grandparents over Easter.

‘You like going to Nan and Grandad’s.’ Her mum wiped the dishes and stacked them on the kitchen worktop. All the dishes were different, some with flowers and others with bold geometric patterns. Nothing matched, not even the cutlery. She placed a dish carefully inside another and turned to look at her daughter. ‘Why don’t you go and see Robbie before you leave?’

She knew her mum wasn’t offering her full attention because The Archers was on the radio. She had this sort of look when she half-listened to the radio play, like her eyes were watching the actors in her head, following their movements as they spoke the story.

Myrrh picked up the splinter of wood, which was shaped like a cocktail stick, from the floor and put it in her pocket and hoped her dad wouldn’t notice the damage when he got home. He’d go mental. She had some craft glue somewhere and could probably fix it without him knowing. Ironically, if she hadn’t damaged the door frame she would never have found her adoption paperwork. The sudden rush of anger followed by apathy had left her chilly.

She went to fetch her mum’s fleecy jumper, the one that made her look like a sheep, because it was really warm, and all her jumpers were either in the wash basket or not yet dry. As she rummaged around in the wardrobe she discovered an unusual-looking tin full of old typed documents, like a shrine encased in fluffy woollens. Her memory could play tricks on her sometimes. Just like her goblin did.

lies, all lies

She seemed to remember emotions – especially the nasty ones – more than experiences, yet she could hardly remember the names of people she went to school with when she was fourteen. But she couldn’t forget Liza Edwards. Her bullying was not discerning in that she picked on everyone in some way or another. Myrrh was probably an easy target.

‘Oi! Katrina. That’s your real name ain’t it?’ She had jet black hair and a mole on her top lip. (‘A beauty mark’ she called it, but it was just a mole.) No one ever called her Katrina except teachers on the first day, until she told them she was called Myrrh.

‘What d’you say Kat? Katty. Can I call you Katty?’ She thrust her face close, her breath minty and sour from chewing gum.

Myrrh remained silent. Anger bubbled inside her. The mean cow. Why was she letting her speak to her that way?

smack her down

she deserves a whack

break her arm

watch it splinter

‘What’s it

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