Kisses for Lula (22 page)

‘Yes! You’ve got video evidence! Could the other guy have been his son, Vincent?’ I asked, excited. ‘I’m almost certain it’s him that has the documents. There’s a girl that works at the library with me –’

But Mr Kadinski was already shaking his head. ‘No, it couldn’t have been him. The man was nearing middle age. I’ve seen him somewhere before, I’m sure of it. Big, balding.’

My mind buzzed with who Harry Harrow could be linked with that was old, big and balding.

Yep.

Half of Hambledon.

A figure appeared on the road below. Big, partially old, not balding. Carrying a handbag.

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said to Mr Kadinski. ‘Can you chase the police again? Do they know how urgent all this is?’

‘Someone there has undoubtedly put a spanner in the works,’ he replied, springing out of the rocking chair. ‘We’re on our own, Tallulah. What’s your mobile number?’

I told him and he nodded.

Yeah, right. Before a disbelieving thought about his special-agent mental abilities could cross my mind, he repeated the number off pat before disappearing into the
Setting Sun’s gloomy interior with a wink and a touch of the forefinger to his fedora.

‘Wha–?’ But he was gone.

I hurried down the steps. There were a few things I wanted to ask Dad before he got his head down a toilet again.

I got in as Dad came out of the bathroom, his face as red and sweaty as usual, but smelling a little less.

‘Hello,’ he said mildly, and pushed his hair back from his face. ‘How’s it going, T-Bird?’

‘Like you care,’ I replied, anger surging as I dumped my bag in the hall and walked towards him, hands shoved deep in jeans pockets.

‘Course I care. Been a bit self-involved what with being sick and everything, but, you know, I’m still same old, same old.’

‘No, you’re not!’ I said, fury tightening my throat. I swallowed it back, remembering how he’d looked when I’d kicked through the bathroom door.

‘Look,’ said Dad, sitting down near my feet, his back against the wall, ‘it’s all a bit complicated at the moment, but soon we’ll be able to talk about everything openly.’

I took a step away from him. ‘I’m listening,’ I snapped.

Dad ran both hands through his hair, sinking his head down to his knees. His voice sounded hollow: ‘Let me chat to your mum first. She thought it best we wait
a few days, just till I can get my new life on track –’

New life on track? Good God! In a few days?

My jaw dropped. I stared at him incredulously.
What the hell was going on here?
I swallowed and held my hands tightly. Losing my temper would get me nowhere. Mum loved this man and, though I hated him now, I knew I loved him too. I thought of Blue, her soft littleness and acceptance of everything; of Pen; of my big sister, Darcy; Aunt Phoebe; Grandma Bird . . . A family that I wanted my father to be a part of.

I sank down to face him. Tears of grief and frustration and anger welled up. I blinked them back with an effort and blurted, ‘Dad, whatever has happened is in the past. You need to make good now. Fix it. Please.’

Dad looked at me for a long moment. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m trying, T. I really am,’ then he ran his hand through his hair again.

‘You’re not trying hard enough,’ I croaked. ‘This is not just about you.’

‘It’s not easy,’ said Dad. ‘The thing is, I have got to move on from where I am now. If only the nausea would stop.’ He shook his head miserably and a flare of anger jerked me to my feet. I looked at him – feeling so sorry for himself when Mum must be feeling torn apart, going on bravely as if our father simply had the flu – and I wanted him to suffer far more than he was already. How dare he talk about moving
on, as if we were just a boring job for him, or a bunch of tired friends he no longer had much in common with? What was this? Mum had no right to cosset him when he was about to destroy our family!

‘Poor Dad, feeling so terrible. Must be the stress of it all really getting to you,’ I shouted. ‘Well, you miserable sod, you make
me
feel sick. You
disgust
me.’

My face was hot and red, tears prickling behind my eyes. I was horrified by what I’d said. I’d never spoken to my father this way and as soon as the words were out I wanted them back. Even though they were true, they just didn’t sit right, out in the open. I needed to get away, clear my head, calm down. I turned to go, but Dad grabbed my ankle.

Swiping my tears away, I twisted back to face him, crying openly now.

‘You
don’t
understand,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘I
know
you don’t.’ He didn’t look angry, or dismayed, just vaguely confused. Like I was telling him I no longer liked chocolate.

Well, what was confusing about me telling him he was disgusting?

He let go of my ankle then and I escaped to the annexe, Boodle following close behind. It was comfortable being collapsed on the squashy armchair, bingeing on my secret chocolate hoard and watching tears soak into Boodle’s fur.

My head hurt from all the crying I was doing, from all the crazy plans I was now hatching to stitch Dad up on his adulterous night out. Maybe I could defuse the entire situation by catching this Freya person on her own and telling her to just bog off.

Eventually I couldn’t shed another tear. I couldn’t come up with any more brilliant solutions. The future looked bleak.

Boodle sighed and stood up. I thought she was going to ask to be let back out again, but she put her front legs right across me and hopped her back legs up on to the other side of the armchair, so I had ten tons of hairy hound on my lap.

Oh, Boodle
, I thought.
Is this a big hug?

Her heart was pounding
doof doof doof
on my thighs and its slow thud calmed me. I stared into her enormous brown eyes and noted how concerned her ginger eyebrows looked. I hugged her close.

‘Oh, Boodle. There’s nothing I can do about Dad, is there?
Nothing
.’

What I
could
do was go out tonight and wow the socks off Benjamin Latter Esq. It was just hours until my sixteenth birthday.

I sighed and pushed Boodle off. She left graciously, her plumed tail waving gently back and forth. Before I closed the door, she turned to look at me and her expression said,
Call me any time. I’m here to help
.

‘Thanks, Boodle,’ I said, and I could have sworn that dog nodded kindly in reply before flopping down in the dappled sunlight of the courtyard.

As I threw the empty Malteser bag in the bin my computer gave a deferential BONG.

Message waiting.

Click.

A
LEX
:
What happened with Jack?

[Uh-oh.]

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
What do you mean?

A
LEX
:
His interest in you has, um,
waned
.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
He never
was
interested in me, Alex! What do you mean
waned
?

A
LEX
:
Nothing.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
Tell me!

A
LEX
:
Nuh-uh. You lost out, that’s all. Jack de Souza is a magical boy.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
You
snog him, then!

A
LEX
:
Uh – we’re related? Ew!

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
Didn’t stop you craving him before!

A
LEX
:
Till I realised! Now that I think about it – ew ew ew!

C
ARRIE
:
Hey, Lula, I’ve been checking out the Science Fair site.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
You are so gloriously
saaaad
!

C
ARRIE
:
And it says Ben Latter is presenting new research on the
opening day of the fair – Monday.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
I know – maybe I’ll go along to the lecture! Listen, better go – it’s nearly two and I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to wear tonight on my hot date. This is it, girls! Tallulah Bird’s first kiss, with just hours to go till the birthday clock chimes. Talk about leaving it till the last minute. Bye, lovebugs!

C
ARRIE
:
Wait! Lula? Lula?

Chapter Nineteen

Before I could lose myself in the heady delights of preparing to escape a lifetime jinx of spinsterhood, my mobile rang. It was Mum. She said that Sophie’s parents had asked the police to search their home for evidence that she had taken material from the library. Sophie had been quite distraught at the accusation and nothing had been found.

Vincent Harrow’s family had not, predictably, been quite so co-operative, but Arnold’s mother had got a warrant for a basic premises search, and nothing had turned up there either, bar some blank DVDs carefully labelled in Mum’s writing:
SURVEILLANCE
D
R
B
OFFICE
9–12/4/2009. Vincent Harrow had had to admit he’d been in Mum’s office with Sophie, and claimed the disks must have fallen into his open satchel when the desk collapsed. Given there were no fingerprints on them, that was the end of that.

The video files from Mr Kadinski’s phone would have to save the day. If they could be analysed in time. That was a job for tomorrow, though. When I was a Frenchly kissed woman of the world.

Eeeeeeee!

And so. What to wear.

I surveyed potential outfits. Oh, frik. I needed Pen. I had the jitters, badly. What I really should be doing is following Dad on his hot date this evening, not setting off on one of my own. Why the stress of a family breakdown on tonight of all nights? Maybe Bludgeon could tail him . . . No. No way. I couldn’t let anyone else know about Dad’s affair until I knew every detail myself.

Blowing out my cheeks, I glanced anxiously through my bedroom window at the sunset. It was beautiful out there. The sky was still blue enough to be day, but the clouds had turned pink, peach, gold, silver. It was getting late. A hedgehog or something was going nuts in the long grass of the neglected garden, and Boodle was nosing around for frogs.

I turned back to my chest of drawers in growing frustration. Where was my useless sister when I needed her? Still sulking, for sure. Unkind thoughts began to surface (prompted largely by the sight of the pustule T-shirt in the last (resort) drawer) when I heard Boodle’s snuffling change to a happy
woorrf, woorrf
. Yay! Wonderful Pen was back! I’d welcome her with open arms! Hug her close! Kiss her beautiful cheeks!

A knock sounded on the door.

Cool.
She
was coming to
me
. Forget those crazy
thoughts. She’d be apologising first. And so she should, dammit. Hitching my tiny towel close round my body, I jumped down the steps into the living area and flung the door open.

Arns’s eyes sprang out on stalks.

‘Good God!’ he said.

‘Pen!’ I said.

‘Noooo,’ he said, slowly shaking his head. He thumped his chest. ‘Me Arnold, you Tallulah.’ Then, just as I was about to push the door closed, Boodle flung herself in, knocking me and my minuscule towel flying. I had the good sense – and special-agent lightning-fast reflexes (cough) – to twist as I got flattened, so all Arns saw was my naked butt. I turned to look back at Arns, gaping in the doorway, about to squawk, ‘Close the door!’, when he leaned in, grabbed the door handle and shut it with a decorous click.

Scrambling into the bedroom, I pulled on my plainest black bra and knickers, grabbed the first shirt and skirt I could find, and headed back to the door. I yanked it open to find Arns in exactly the same spot.

‘Dude,’ I said. ‘What the hell?’

‘Don’t even,’ he said, and staggered in. ‘What was
that
?’ He fell into the armchair, staring at me like I’d offended him in some unspeakable way.

‘I thought you and Mona were learning about life at your place,’ I said sarcastically, my cheeks on fire.
‘
That
is called a butt, a bottom, bum, arse, ass.’

‘Not
that
– and I saw a good deal more than
that
, so you can just call us quits on the nakedness front, Tatty Lula – I’m talking about answering the door in a towel!’

I came round the kitchen counter and yanked a drawer open, searching for teabags. Finding a knife, I snatched it up.

‘You saw nothing!’ I hissed.

‘I saw nothing,’ agreed Arnold, hands up in classic murder-victim defence pose. Another Arnold look that I liked. It made me smile.

Throwing the knife back in the drawer, I said, ‘I’m out of tea. Hot water?’