Kisses for Lula (29 page)

‘I’m sorry, love,’ said Dad, dropping my hand and running it through his hair.

‘Oh, Dad,’ I said, and tears spilled down my cheeks.

‘Now don’t get upset, Lula,’ said Mum, coming over to give me a hug. ‘I can’t quite believe it, but your father has tackled this AA detox with everything he has. Everything. He wanted to be sober by the time our anniversary rolled round.’ She looked across at Dad with something like respect.

Dad looked up at us. ‘Tomorrow I’m back in my office come hell or high water, to finish a song that’s taken me forever to write.’

‘That’s why you’ve been so sick,’ said Pen quietly. ‘It was really cold turkey? All the shakes and vomiting?’

‘Yes,’ said Dad, fiddling with his thumbnail. ‘Addiction is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.’

‘Yes,’ said Mum, looking at me hard.

I raised my index finger at Pen. ‘Oh, you wicked sister. You put that record straight right now.’

Pen grinned. ‘Sorry, Mum. I may have jumped to some conclusions.’

‘Completely unfounded conclusions!’ I yelped.

‘Not!’ cried Pen. ‘What about you kicking the bathroom door down? Mrs Capone has just pinned up a pair of her big pants over the hole for privacy, and all the oldies think that’s funny!’

‘You shouldn’t have got them high on caffeine!’ I yelled back. ‘And I was upset! Under duress! Not taking drugs!’

‘Lu, you’re always breaking things,’ said Mum sadly. ‘You may not have an addiction, but you do have issues. Maybe you should see someone.’

I was speechless at the unfairness of it all.

‘Well, hang on a minute. I’m not sure I agree,’ said Dad. ‘Tallulah thought I was having an affair. She was angry.’

‘All the late nights out . . .’ I said lamely, not wanting to mention the eavesdropping I’d become so good at.

‘I was going to an AA group.’

‘His leader there, Freya, has been brilliant,’ said Mum. ‘Really understanding and so discreet. It’s hard going to sessions like that in a place as small as Hambledon. But Freya went to a lot of trouble to keep Dad’s identity . . . if not secret, then downplayed. He went into a group of much younger people who have probably never read a poem in their lives –’

‘And that’s where I met Ben,’ said Dad suddenly.

‘Who’s Ben?’ asked Mum.

Dad raised his eyebrows at Mum.

‘Not Ben Latter?
He’s an alcoholic?
’ gasped Pen.

‘Ben Latter – your first love, Tallulah?’ said Mum. ‘But I thought his name was Len, sorry, Sven.’

‘What hope have I got,’ Pen muttered, ‘with this gene pool?’

‘What was he doing there . . .?’ I asked. The answer hit me with full force.

‘He’s an alcoholic, T. We actually spent a lot of time together, talking about everything. It was nearly as helpful as my one-to-one sessions with Freya, feeling that someone else was in the same situation. But, that said, I just don’t want you seeing him, T-Bird. There’s something about him . . .’

‘Like that he’s a lying, scheming, self-serving piece of sh–’

‘Tallulah!’ said Mum.

‘He is!’ I burst out. ‘Worse than! He’s been following me around, lurking outside the workshop,
pretending
to be an alcoholic, gaining Dad’s confidence – all to present a poxy paper at the Science Fair!’

‘Hang on,’ said Dad. ‘Ben is not an alcoholic?’

‘He’s doing psychology at St Alban’s,’ I said. ‘And he probably found out about what a big poet/songwriter you are while he was trying to get Lily Allen on board with his research.’

‘That kid!’ exclaimed Dad. ‘I’ll – I’ll – Ben used you?’

I swallowed until my nose stopped prickling. ‘He was working on an analysis of the impact of parents’ alcoholism on their children. He even gave me a questionnaire – with such obviously personal questions in it, I mean, I don’t know how he thought he’d get away with just putting a false name on it.’

‘So no first kiss?’ asked Pen, appalled.

‘Pen!’ said Mum and I together.

Pen’s face brightened. ‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed! Yes!’ She punched the air with her fist.

‘That’s kind,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Pen.’

‘Rubbish,’ she said. ‘We can halve the winnings. Thirty quid each off a puny two-pound bet – not bad, eh?’ She wiggled her eyebrows.

‘Lovely.’ I turned to Mum. ‘Clearly Penelope has a gambling addiction. Let
that
be cause for concern!’

‘Just a savvy boyfriend,’ said Pen, tapping the side of her nose like someone three generations older. ‘I’m glad we’ve got this all sorted out, though. Lula’s going to withhold information to scupper Slimeball Ben’s little project, Dad can call Freya to expose Slimeball completely, Dad is back on track with his writing, and I’m in the monaaay!’ She punched the air with her fist again.

‘There’s just me with my smashed office, missing Coven’s Quarter documents and reputation in ruins to bring us all down,’ moaned Mum.

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said. ‘I’d so hoped we’d have got the papers back by now.’ I brightened. ‘But, hey, Mr Kadinski has video evidence of a meeting at Coven’s Quarter –’

‘Even if I could believe something so very Bond,’ said Mum, ‘Mr Kadinski’s disappeared. That’s our real problem.’ She rubbed her forehead with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Oh dear, I shouldn’t be so selfish.’ And then she screamed so loudly that the singing voices in the lounge broke off, with just old Mrs Bugos warbling the last stanza. We all nearly had heart attacks, especially Dad in his fragile state, and followed Mum’s shaking finger to stare out into the night at a pale face looking in at us from the kitchen window.

Being fearless, I was the first to the back door. Also because I recognised Mr Kadinski for a real person immediately, but it’s my courage that must be remembered.

‘Dear heaven!’ gasped Mum, standing up from the table shakily. ‘I thought you were a ghost!’

Then she shrieked again when Mr K came round the door in just his towel.

‘Sorry, was waiting for pyjamas,’ he said, looking at me hard. I rushed off to get him a dressing gown and heard him fess up as I ran out: ‘I booted up your computer again, Tallulah.’

I was back down in seconds with the warmest things I could find, and noticed Mum looking flushed and excited.
(Fear not, it wasn’t the sight of Mr K’s naked torso and surprisingly toned legs.)

‘Lu!’ she burst out. ‘Mr Kadinski thinks one of the men he saw in the woods was Mike! Mike Burdon!’

‘No way! Stinky Mike? He’s your
friend
, Mum! You think he’s really involved?’ I came to an abrupt halt. Then, ‘Police! Let’s tell the police – there’s still time!’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mum, still looking shocked and uncertain. ‘Will they believe us? He’s such a well-connected man.’

‘Hardly, Mum,’ I said, hands on my hips, my back to Mr K as he struggled into Dad’s gown.

‘He is!’ insisted Mum. ‘Day before yesterday he was hobnobbing with the mayor!’

‘The mayor? With Mike? Day before yesterday?’

‘Yes!’ said Mum. ‘Sleezeballs, the pair of them. My PA saw them in the car park being all close and matey. Probably arranging a golf game. I should do golf,’ she mused.

‘Oh, man!’ I said. ‘I need to call Arns!’

It took a few minutes to wake Arnold from his deep-sleep cycle, but he confirmed what he’d been trying to tell me this afternoon: the conversation he’d overheard was definitely between Stinky Mike and the mayor, about handing over The Stuff tomorrow morning. I hung up and let him go back to sleep.

‘Mum!’ I babbled. ‘Arns must be referring to the same
conversation your PA saw!’

‘Exciting,’ said Pen in a monotone.

‘It is!’ I squeaked.

‘Michael Burdon, the mayor and the developer all connected,’ said Mr K.

I turned round, relieved to see that all of his special-agent body was clothed. ‘And we know they’re meeting tomorrow at nine a.m.! Maybe Arns can remember if they said where. Shall I call hi–?’

‘Mike has booked the rare-documents room for a private meeting tomorrow at nine!’ interrupted Mum. ‘Claudia Hautsenfurg told me!’

‘Could that be it?’ I whirled back to Mr Kadinski.

‘I wonder if the police could be convinced,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Why don’t I go in there and put a camera in the room?’ suggested Mum.

‘The rare-documents room is huge, Mum,’ I objected. ‘Book stacks everywhere.’

‘But they’d probably go to the central area, with the reading table,’ said Mum. ‘It’s the only place with chairs.’

‘That’s still a massive area, though,’ I said, not wanting to sound pessimistic. ‘There’s too much space to cover.’

‘Who’s brave enough to hide out in there?’ piped Pen. ‘They could take a camera and zoom in. Problem solved.’

‘I’ll do it!’ I cried. Mum was already shaking her head at
me, and Dad had his
over my dead body
face on.

‘Firstly, I don’t
think
so!’ said Dad in a withering tone. ‘And, secondly, with what camera, T-Bird? Pen smashed ours, remember?’

‘C’mon, Dad! Please! Alex asked me to keep covering the Coven’s Quarter issue for the
Hambledon Herald
. I could have a published story to submit for my term paper. Think of my English results! For once you wouldn’t be shamed!’

‘Lula
does
need to improve her terrible averages, which have deteriorated so dramatically due to family problems,’ intoned Pen from behind.

Dad reddened and blinked.

My mind raced. ‘I know someone with a camera. And expertise . . .’ I said. My pride would take a beating, but Coven’s Quarter was at stake.

‘Yes?’ said Mr Kadinski, pulling up a chair at the table and lowering himself into it. I was pleased Dad’s gown covered his wrists and that Mum and Dad hadn’t noticed their mangledness earlier. If they’d seen what Harrow’s people could do to a person, there’d be no chance of me being involved in this, and something made me,
me
, want to stop the development in its tracks. Forever. Something . . . I glanced at Grandma Bird’s chicken claw hanging from the rafters and I swear it was waving gently at me.

I cleared my throat. It was time for parental manipulation. ‘
Arnold Trenchard
’s [with heavy emphasis and wide eyes at
Mum] girlfriend’s brother is an investigative journalist . . .’

‘He’s such a lovely boy – Arnold, I mean,’ said Mum mistily to Dad.

I gave her a look and continued: ‘Well,
Arnold Trenchard
’s girlfriend’s brother is studying at uni to be an investigative journalist – and he’s got loads of equipment, and I’m sure he’d
love
to be involved in a scoop! He’s – he’s really
big
!’

‘He’s really big?’ Pen leaned forward, her eyes wide in disbelief. ‘
Really big?
Like, how is that relevant?’

I was about to say that he could handle goons with his height and strength, but then I remembered that any mention of violence would have my parents locking me in my room all weekend.

‘Uh, he can reach up really high to hide his listening devices!’

‘Does he have that kind of equipment?’ asked Mr K.

I thought back to Alex’s ravings about Cousin Jack, and rattled off some specs.

‘Let’s give him a call,’ said Mr Kadinski.

‘It’s two in the morning!’ said Pen. ‘Does no one but me think that this is a very, very bad idea?’

Mum sat back down at the table. ‘Pen, ordinarily I’d also be pooh-poohing all these outrageous suggestions, but the police have done nothing to help and this is Grandma Bird’s magical place. A place that has been in existence probably for thousands of years. Those stolen documents that might
be handed over to a shredding machine tomorrow morning could save a place that not only is a part of our family story, but means more than any of us could imagine to this country’s spiritual heritage too.’

Dad nodded. He picked up the handset and held it out to me. ‘Let’s call this guy.’

Prostrating myself with apologies to Jack in front of everyone else would be horrible. I coughed. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll just call him from the annexe, if that’s okay?’

Mr Kadinksi blinked when I grabbed the chicken claw for luck on the way out, but the rest of the family didn’t turn a hair.

Chapter Twenty-four

I had to wake up Alex to get Jack’s number.

‘Tatty,’ she said sleepily, ‘you know I support every effort of yours for a romantic encounter, but Jack is not your man. You’ve burned boats, bridges and, um . . .’

‘Bras?’ I suggested.

‘No.’

‘It’s not for romance, Alex. It’s to save Coven’s Quarter. We need Jack’s help. If you don’t give me his number now, I’ll just have to phone Arns, who’ll phone Mona, who’ll then have to phone me. That’s twice as many people again to inconvenience.’

‘Two.’

‘Y’have the number?’

Alex sighed and rattled it off to me and I wrote it down. ‘Good thing I can sleep on the train tomorrow,’ she grumbled.

‘Can’t wait to see you!’ I said.

Alex grunted and hung up. I pressed the hang-up button too, and dialled the number in front of me. It rang for a while before a very groggy person answered.

‘H’lo?’

‘Hi, Jack, it’s Tallulah.’

Silence.

‘I want to apologise for thinking you may be the person following me around.’