Cosmic (5 page)

The first person I thought of to be my daughter was obviously Florida. After all, she already had extensive pretending-to-be-Liam’s-daughter experience and had gained lots of pretending-to-be-Liam’s-daughter skills.

On the other hand, her main pretending-to-be-Liam’s-daughter experience was me nearly putting her in incredible danger during that whole Porsche incident. So I knew I’d probably need to coax her slightly.

When I tried talking to her in school she either totally blanked me (but then she always did blank me in school) or hissed at me like an angry cobra. When I tried phoning her—calls from my number were barred. When I tried emailing and MSNing her, messages bounced back. I tried sitting by the Strand water fountain. She never came by. I think I saw her once, but she saw me first and ducked inside the Leaning Tower of Pizza.

That’s okay. If you need new equipment for a quest, you have to work for it. You have to dig for gold or grind away, fighting trolls and looting their possessions. You have to keep going until you’ve got what you need.

The one place where Florida had to talk to me was Little Stars. That Saturday Lisa made us get into pairs—a boy and a girl—and asked us to be father and daughter. Florida tried to avoid me but I came up behind her and said, “You could be Bryce Dallas Howard, star of
Spider-Man 3
. And I’ll be your father, Ron Howard, director of
Apollo 13
and
The Da Vinci Code.
”

“Which one was she in
Spider-Man 3
?”

“She’s the girl in Dr. Connor’s quantum-mechanics class who falls in love with him and later on he saves her from a falling crane. That’s in the film. Originally, she went to the same school as him and she was his first love and she dies when Green Goblin throws her off the bridge. But that was just in the comics.”

“I remember. She was blond. And her dad is famous too?”

She didn’t know many celebrity father-daughter combinations and she didn’t want to let this one go.

Lisa was saying, “And Daddy’s got his daughter a treat. It’s up to you what the treat is. But the daughter really likes it. I want to see happy acting, and surprised acting, and also
two people who really know each other type of acting. And for the boys, some older-person acting—but don’t overdo it. No old-man acting. You don’t have to be
old
old to be a dad.”

As soon as we started working on it Florida said, “Okay. So you’re my famous film-director dad and the surprise is a part in your new film.”

“I’m the dad. It’s up to me what the surprise is.”

Straightaway she was suspicious. “What is it then?”

“You’ll see.”

When it was our turn, it went like this:

An extremely long pause. After a while Lisa said, “Is that it?”

Another long pause. Lisa said, “Go on, Florida, tell us why not.”

Lisa said the drama was very real and also very moving. “I felt very sorry for the dad, who obviously wanted to spend more time with his daughter but she was too busy
to make time for him. And Liam, you were so…dadlike. You really were like a real dad. Like my own dad, in fact. He was always saying I’d like it when I got there and…I’m sorry.” She had to stop talking because she was crying. In the end she did this huge sniff, looked at Florida and said, “And, Florida, you were very good too. You were…oh!” And then she ran out of the room.

While she was out, I tried quickly to tempt Florida with the trip. “First in. First go of all the rides. Exclusive entry. No queues. Free food.”

“Why? Why did they invite you?”

“It was a prize. I was specially selected.”

“And why would you want me to come?”

“Well, the prize was for a father and child.”

“So?” For a second she didn’t seem to get it. Then it hit her. “Oh! Oh. No, no, no, no, no…”

“Why not? We used to do it all the time.”

“Exactly. We used to do it all the time; then we nearly had a car crash.”

“We did not nearly have a car crash. We sat in a car and then my dad turned up.”

“And what if your dad hadn’t turned up? No, no, no, no, no. No.”

She was still saying no when the lesson was over and we were hurrying through the Strand. I said, “Hey, d’you want to go to Newz and Booze and look at the magazines like we used to?”

“No. I’ve got to pick my little brother up from the childminder’s.”

“I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

“You don’t know a lot of things.”

Florida’s brother is three, he’s got loads of curly hair and when we picked him up from the childminder’s he was wearing an anorak with the hood pulled up really tight around his head and carrying a stick.

“He’s a knight at the moment,” said Florida. “The hood is his helmet. The stick is his sword. If I tell him you’re a dragon, he will kill you.” The little boy held my hand.

“What’s your name?” I said to him.

“Orlando.”

“My mom and dad went there on their honeymoon. Orlando in America. That’s where Disney World is. And Sea World. And the Magic Kingdom.”

“This place I won tickets for—it’s better than all those places.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s got this ride called the Rocket. It’s the
greatest ride in the history of the world.”

“Why don’t you get your own dad to go?”

“He doesn’t want to. Anyway,
I’m
the dad—that’s the whole point.”

“Liam, look, you look a bit old for your age, but no one’s really going to think you’re my dad. I’m only three months younger than you! And you don’t
act
like a dad. Dads don’t steal fast cars.”

“I didn’t steal it. I sat in it. Anyway, I’ve been studying.”

“Liam, what are you on about?”

“I’ve been getting dad skills. I’ve made a scientific study of my dad. I’ve copied all the playlists off his iPod onto my phone. Look. Oasis, Oasis, Oasis and Oasis. I’ve learned the lyrics to all their songs. I can sing like a dad. Listen.”

“What?”

“I’ve been monitoring his conversation and his lifestyle too. So I can talk like a dad. Want to hear?”

“I already know what dads talk like. Dads say, ‘What time will you be home?…Don’t be late…. I’ll come and pick you up.’” She turned to face me. “My dad takes an interest. He takes care of me. If I go off to some theme park, he is going to notice.”

I butted in. “Ah, now, I’ve thought of that. I’ve written two letters….” I got them out of my Little Stars folder to show her. “One’s supposed to be from your mom to the
school, saying you’ve got to have your appendix out. The other one—which is on proper school notepaper—is from the guidance counselor, saying you’ve been specially selected for a Gifted and Talented trip to the Lake District.”

We were turning the corner into a little cul-de-sac. A couple of lads were playing soccer, and Ibiza was sitting on a wall. This must be Florida’s house and I still hadn’t persuaded her.

She was opening the door now and letting Orlando and Ibiza in. I wondered if her dad was in. But no. “He’s busy,” she said. “Real dads are, you know.” She closed the door on me.

To be honest, this was proving harder than I’d expected. I gave it one last shot. I pushed the school letter through the letter box and shouted in after it, “Read it! It’s brilliant.”

After a couple of minutes Florida opened the door again. I thought she’d be impressed. She said, “All this? To go on a ride?”

“Well, there’s more than one ride. And the park’s not in Bootle, you know. You have to get there. All the transport’s sorted though. I think they’re sending a limo.”

“A limo? Like a real limo?”

Now she was interested.

“Yeah. A limo. You know, like a celebrity.”

“Where is this theme park?”

I said, “Well, you know. It’s down south. You’ll need your passport for ID and stuff. You have got one, haven’t you?”

I waited. Eventually she said, “I’ll think about it.”

I think it was good strategy to just say, “Down south,” and not how far south.

I didn’t say it was quite a long way south and I certainly didn’t mention that it was a
really
long way east. In China.

It’s no good just talking like a dad—you have to dress like one too. So on Monday night I had a look in his wardrobe. Dad wears the same jeans every day except Sunday, even though he owns four pairs. One pair was too tight on the waist. And one was from when he was trying to wear more interesting colors. They were an unusual shade of custard. They would’ve been a good buy for a chameleon planning to hide in a trifle. I knew Dad wouldn’t miss them so I took them, along with
Talk to Your Teen,
and stuck them in the special waterproof outdoor-activities backpack Mom bought me, thinking I was going to the Lakes.

At 7:20 on Tuesday morning I texted Florida: “Limoz here.” Ten minutes later she was knocking at the door.

“Where’s this limo then?” she hissed. “I knew you were making it up.”

“Hello, Florida,” said Dad. “Are you going on this trip too then?”

“Yes, Mr. Digby.”

“I’m cooking some bacon,” said Dad. “D’you want a bit while you’re waiting for the minibus?”

“Minibus?” said Florida, glaring at me. But just as she did, the transport arrived. It slid round the corner like a glossy shark—a long, black limo.

“Blimey!” Dad whistled. “School geography trips have changed a bit since my day.”

“It’s not a geography trip,” said Mom. “It’s for Gifted and Talented pupils. Didn’t you read the letter?”

“Yeah, but…I just didn’t know he was
that
gifted. Or that talented. And I didn’t know Florida was gifted at all.”

Florida snarled. Mom said, “Of course she’s talented! Don’t you remember? She was Sophie in
The BFG
. She remembered all her lines. What’s that smell?”

“Oh,” said Dad. “My bacon.” And he ran back into the kitchen.

A man was getting out of the limo now and opening the back passenger door. People up and down the street were looking out of their front doors and peeping out from behind their curtains.

Florida said, “Let’s go.”

I said, “Yeah,” and kissed my mom and shouted goodbye to Dad. Then we climbed into the back of the limo. I looked back for a second—at my mom and dad in the doorway, with bacon smoke blowing out of the door from behind
them and the smoke alarm blasting away.

Mom shouted, “Look after him, Florida.”

And I said, “See you.” I didn’t think then that maybe I wouldn’t see them again. And that that would be my last sight of them. I’ve thought about it since though.

It wasn’t some bachelorette-party stretch limo, by the way. It was a nice black Audi Quattro. There was a really polite satnav. Dad’s satnav just goes, “Left…right…stop…” and it sounds like an alien storm trooper who has hijacked your car. This one had a flutey girl’s voice and it said please and thank you.

The driver had a special cap and gray uniform. His name was Barney. There were two big paper bags on the backseat. “Goody bags,” said Barney. “Just like at the Oscars, eh?”

If “limo” had a magical effect on Florida, you should have seen what “Oscars” did. Apparently when celebrities go to the Oscars or whatever, they’re all given a bag full of complimentary products. Today, as Florida very quickly pointed out, we were the celebrities.

She leaned back in her seat and looked out at the streets we were leaving behind. “I wonder,” she said, “what the ordinary people are doing today.” Then she started rooting around in her goody bag. She found a brand-new fourth-generation Draxcommunications phone, a Draxcom watch,
Draxcom sunglasses, and a Draxcom T-shirt, a box of chocolates with the Draxcom logo on the front and a little pink Gamemaiden—which is like a girly Game Boy made by Draxcom.

I got the phone in my goody bag too. It was pretty cosmic. It had DraxWorld on it, and Draxcall—which lets you use bits of video instead of a ringtone. Florida made a video ringtone of a crowd of people in a studio, all clapping and cheering and calling her name, as though she was a guest on a chat show.

The rest of the grown-ups’ goody bag was different, though. Instead of chocolate and stuff, I got a voucher for a car-hire company, a little book about golf courses, and a thing like a blue credit card that helped you work out your stress levels.

Mine said, “Relaxed.”

The satnav said, “Now, as we cruise along the bypass, let’s take a moment to listen to a message from your host, Dr. Drax.”

Hello, lucky winners. I cannot wait to see you all at our secret headquarters and I hope you’re having a comfortable journey. I ran this competition for fathers because I believe that fathers have a lot to give. My father, for instance, gave me the Drax
Communications Company. For my twelfth birthday. Bye for now. And see you at a secret location very very soon.

It turned out that even though Florida knew the name of every single person who had ever been on a reality TV show, she had never even heard of Dinah Drax.

“How can you not have heard of Dinah Drax? You’ve got DraxWorld on your phone.”

“I didn’t know Drax was a person. I thought it was just a word, like ‘phone’ or ‘Mercedes.’”

“Mercedes
is
a person. She was the daughter of the man who owned the company.”

“Never heard of her either. She’s not a celebrity, is she? Otherwise she’d be in the magazines, wouldn’t she?”

“Lots of people are famous who are not in your magazines.”

“Like who?”

I made a list. It was completely amazing how many very famous people Florida had never heard of. For instance, Rob Pardo, Jeff Kaplan and Tom Chilton—she’d never heard of them, even though they invented World of Warcraft and revolutionized online game playing! Tolkien—cosmic author of
Lord of the Rings
? No. She got confused between Buzz Aldrin—second man on the moon—and Buzz Lightyear—a toy. She recognized Hitler’s second name but
she thought his first name was Heil.

Barney gave a little snort when he heard that.

Florida snapped, “Excuse me, what are you laugh…” but she didn’t finish her sentence. She just said, “Wow!”

We had just driven into a field and there, on the grass, where you might expect to see a cow, was a big red airplane.

“That,” said Florida, “is a Learjet, as flown by John Travolta.”

Barney smiled. “You may not know much about world leaders of the twentieth century, but you’re definitely up to date with celebrity transport.”

“Whose is it?” asked Florida.

“For today,” said Barney, “it’s yours.”

I did think that going on a plane might make Florida suspicious about just where Infinity Park was. But she was so thrilled by the celebrityness of it all that she forgot to wonder where it was going to take her. In fact, before the car had even stopped she was somehow standing on the steps of the plane. I said thank you for the lift and tried to make myself look as dadly as possible. I grabbed a newspaper out of the seat pocket and stuck it under my arm and brushed my hair forward. I definitely
felt
older.

When I got near to Florida she spread out her arms and grinned at me. I couldn’t figure out what she thought she
was doing but then she hissed, “Photo. Take photos. With your phone. It’s what dads do.”

“My dad doesn’t.”

“Well, mine does. He’s like my own personal paparazzi.”

“Paparazzo. Paparazzi is when there’s more than one.”

“And he doesn’t correct everything I say either.”