Without Looking Back (12 page)

Louis couldn’t sleep. The sense of unreality had still not lifted from his shoulders. Ever since he came across the poster with their faces in the train station, he had felt as if he was walking through some kind of dream – he kept expecting Dad to turn round and say, ‘April Fool! Ha ha, I really had you there, didn’t I?’ Ever since the evening he had found out Max and Millie were going to stay with Dad in the Lake District, the evening he had told Dad that he too wanted to stay here, he had kept expecting Dad to change his mind, to suddenly call off the whole crazy plan . . . But despite his exhausted, caffeine-jittery look, Dad seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He was having some help, though, that much was clear. Every night, after they were in bed, he sat in the kitchen with the door firmly closed, on the phone to Meg. Louis heard him every time he got up to go to the bathroom, Dad’s murmuring voice carrying on well into the night.

When would Pierre and Luc realize he wasn’t ever coming back? Louis wondered. Would his form teacher
have told the class that the Whittaker children had disappeared? Would Maman have been in to talk to the headmaster? Would his teacher have already struck his name off the register? His mind buzzed with possibilities and it was impossible to lie still. From his bed on the other side of the room, Max groaned. ‘Louis, cut it out, will you?’

In a bid to get rid of his French accent, Max had started adopting an American one, aping the endless Hollywood films he watched. Louis thought it sounded daft, but Max seemed to be well into this reinventing-himself game, even persuading Dad to let him have his ear pierced. Louis thought back to the poster in the station and realized that Max no longer looked anything like the French teenager in the photo. He had a crew cut, his once-blond hair was a mousy brown, and he had brown contacts in his eyes and a gold stud in his ear – Maman would’ve had a fit if she could see him, and the Lycée Maraux would probably expel him on the spot. Millie looked pretty different too – her curly blonde bob made her look older and she had almost completely stopped sucking her fingers. She was beginning to sound more English too. As for Louis – well, thanks to Meg he no longer had a shaggy-dog hairstyle and the summer sun had browned his skin and brought out a smattering
of freckles across the bridge of his nose . . . But he was still Louis Whittaker, Parisian schoolboy and red-hot dancer – wasn’t he? Suddenly the urge to talk to someone from back home overwhelmed him. Did Pierre even remember him? Or had he already replaced him with a new best friend? Who did Luc walk to dance class with now? Wouldn’t he be glad that Louis was out of the picture if it meant that he was the best boy dancer? The thoughts flickered across his mind like TV static until he finally fell into a splintered sleep.

On Thursday morning they drove into Kendal and went shopping again. First, they went to Marks and Spencer’s and Dad made them buy socks and underwear. Then they went to Waterstone’s and chose two books each. After that they went to WHSmith, where they bought a
Formula One
magazine for Max and felt-tips and a drawing pad for Millie. Finally, Dad offered to buy them a new outfit each. Millie dragged Dad to look at some summer dresses and Louis and Max departed for Gap to look at the jeans.

‘Don’t forget who you are,’ Dad muttered before they went their separate ways. ‘You’re Josh and Liam now. And remember to speak English.’

In Gap, Max pondered over whether to buy ‘loose fit’
or ‘baggy’ while Louis held up a pair of ‘straights’ against himself to check the length. When they had chosen their jeans, Louis found himself a grey T-shirt and blue hooded top while Max tried on the baseball caps by the till.

‘That one doesn’t suit you,’ Louis said to him, forgetting to speak in English.

Max tried on another. ‘What about this one?’

‘Better.’

‘This is so cool,’ Max said. ‘It’s like we’re aliens from Mars or something, and we have to buy everything from scratch.’

The sales assistant smiled at them as they came up to the counter to pay. ‘Are you boys French?’ she asked them.

There was a moment of flustered silence. Max and Louis looked at each other. ‘No, we’re from New Caledonia,’ Max said quickly.

The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Where’s that then?’

Max glanced at Louis.

‘South Pacific,’ Louis said.

‘Crikey. You boys here on holiday, are you?’

Another hesitation. ‘Yes,’ Louis said. ‘I-I mean no. We live here now.’

It was with some relief that they escaped from the shop.

‘You’ve got to stop speaking French!’ Max hissed to Louis as soon as they were outside.

‘You were too!’

‘But you started!’

After meeting up with Millie and Dad, they dumped their bulging carrier bags in the boot of the Peugeot and went to have lunch in a pub. Then Dad surprised them all by saying, ‘I’ve got a job interview this afternoon.’

They all turned to look at him.

‘It’s in Windermere. It’ll probably take a couple of hours, so I was thinking of leaving you at the cinema.’

‘You’re going to get a new job over here?’ Max asked him.

‘I have to, Max. We need the money.’

‘Are you going back to working in a bank?’ Louis asked.

‘No, I couldn’t get a job like that without references,’ Dad replied. ‘This is just for a small company owned by a friend of Meg’s. They need a computer technician.’

‘Are you going to be working all day, every day?’ Millie asked.

‘Depends if I get the job or not. But they operate flexitime and I won’t be doing long hours, I promise.’

But when they got to the cinema in Windermere, they
found there were only three films showing, all ones they had already seen in Paris.

‘This place is rubbish,’ Max complained. ‘It doesn’t even have a decent cinema.’

‘Well, you probably watch enough films as it is,’ Dad said. ‘Now, let me think . . . I saw a sign for a leisure centre in town – let’s see if we can find it and you can go for a swim.’

‘I don’t want to go bloody swimming,’ Max complained.

‘We don’t have swimsuits, Dad,’ Millie reminded him.

Dad sighed, looking tired suddenly. ‘Let’s just go and see, shall we?’

The leisure centre was in the centre of town – a very modern, glass-fronted building surrounded by a large car park. From the outside, they could see two floors of gym equipment – rows and rows of treadmills and exercise bikes and rowing machines and sweaty, lycraclad men and women pumping their way to fitness. In the reception area they were hit by the smell of chlorine, and behind the desk, another glass wall overlooked a large, echoing pool, filled with noisy kids. Leaflets promoting karate, t’ai chi, yoga and pilates adorned the two large notice boards, and straight away Max saw something that caught his eye: ‘Table tennis!’

Dad looked instantly relieved. ‘That’s for a club, but maybe we can just hire the bats and the table.’

Dad spoke to the receptionist, found that they could, and Max’s mood instantly brightened. Dad paid for two hours and they were handed bats and balls and led down a long carpeted corridor to one of the indoor tennis courts where four table-tennis tables were set out, all empty. Max instantly set about trying to sell Millie the idea of being the ball girl, prompting a vigorous protest. Dad slapped Louis on the back and said, ‘I’ll be back at six o’clock at the latest, OK?’ He gave them ten pounds for snacks and drinks and then left as Millie and Max continued their squabbling.

Five minutes later, and Max had got his way – he and Louis were warming up with a friendly rally while Millie stomped around, picking up balls. Then they started a best of three and Max’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Soon they were playing hard. Max took the first set comfortably; Louis took the second by just two points. Max won the third, but only by a narrow margin. Louis was pleased: Max had always thrashed him in the past.

‘My turn!’ Millie begged as they collapsed on the bench. ‘Please!’

‘OK, OK.’ Max stood up wearily.

‘I’m going to get a drink,’ Louis said.

‘Get me a Coke,’ Max said.

‘Get me a Coke too,’ added Millie.

Louis walked back down the wide corridor that overlooked the courts, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead. He wandered around the centre for a few minutes, searching for the cafeteria, which he eventually found, and bought three cans of Coke. He opened one and began to drink thirstily. Then he paused as something caught his eye. A flyer on a notice board:

COME DANCE!

WINDERMERE JUNIOR DANCE CLUB –

STREET, MODERN, BALLET AND JAZZ,

EVERY MONDAY AND THURSDAY AT 5 P.M.

IN THE DANCE STUDIO.

A dance club? Louis checked his watch. It was ten to five. Still sipping from his Coke can, he found another corridor and wandered down it, passing changing rooms and shrieks from the pool. He passed the double doors to the gym, heard music and followed the sound down to the end of the corridor, but it only led to a large room full of spandex-clothed women doing aerobics. Perhaps this was what they called the dance studio. Oh well. He
left the stamping women and began to head back to the tennis courts.

‘Have you come for the class?’

A voice from behind made him start. He swung round. A girl of about his own age had come out of the door at the far end of the corridor, beyond the aerobics class, and was looking at him enquiringly with large green cat’s eyes. She wore a scrunchie round her wrist and her long dark hair hung loose around her shoulders – damp and tangled, almost reaching her waist. She was startlingly pretty, her pale skin contrasting sharply with her hair, freckles covering her cheekbones, her mouth wearing the hint of a smile.

‘No. I was just looking for the – um – dance studio,’ he said, flustered.

‘It’s here,’ the girl said, pointing behind her.

‘Oh.’ He noticed now that she was wearing a black leotard under her red tracksuit bottoms and moved with the grace of an experienced dancer.

‘Have you come for the class then?’ the girl asked, looking him up and down.

‘Well, no,’ Louis said awkwardly, feeling himself blush. ‘I was just – um – looking around. I wanted to see what it looked like.’

‘Just looks like an ordinary dance studio,’ the girl said,
turning back towards the open door. Louis followed her. ‘It’s big though.’

It was huge. Polished wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. A dozen teenagers sat on the floor at the far end, chatting and changing their shoes.

‘Are you a dancer?’ The girl was scrutinizing him again.

‘Well, not really. Kind of. I used to do a bit, back where I came from.’

‘What kind of dance?’

‘Street-dance, tap and – um – ballet.’

The girl looked impressed. ‘Were you any good?’

He shrugged, embarrassed.

‘Can you do a triple turn?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah.’

‘Quad?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Jeez. What else can you do?’

‘Tumbling and stuff.’

‘Backflips?’

‘Yeah.’

She looked at him in disbelief. ‘Show me?’

‘Not here!’

‘Do you want to join our class? It’s advanced jazz. Miss Kano, our teacher, would be thrilled. We’ve only got two
boys in the class and she’s always trying to recruit more.’

‘I can’t . . .’ Louis stepped back. ‘My brother and sister are waiting for me. We’re playing table tennis.’

The girl gave a small shrug. ‘OK, well, see you around.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Louis said. He held out one of the unopened cans. ‘D’you want a drink?’

The girl smiled and took it from him. ‘Thanks,’ she said, then turned round and went back into the studio.

‘What the hell took you so long?’ Max was hitting balls against the raised side of the table and Millie was sitting on the floor trying to juggle.

‘Here,’ Louis said, handing Millie a Coke.

‘What about me?’ Max sounded outraged.

‘You’ll have to share – they only had one left,’ Louis said.

Max muttered angrily to himself and grabbed the can from Millie as she struggled to open it. ‘You were ages! Did you get lost or something?’

‘Yes,’ Louis replied.

That evening, after dinner, Max threw himself down in front of the TV and Millie brought her dolls’ house down to the living room to play with. Louis was on his way upstairs to read his book when Dad emerged from
the kitchen, his hands still foamy from the washing up. ‘I need to go to the village shop to get some more milk for breakfast,’ he said.

Louis stopped, one hand on the splintered banister. ‘D’you want me to go?’

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Dad suggested.

‘There’s no point in us both going,’ Louis snapped.

Dad cocked his head. ‘Come on.’

‘Why?’

‘Come on,’ Dad said again, and went back into the kitchen to dry his hands.

They walked down the stony track in the golden evening light. The sound of crickets filled the air. It was a good fifteen-minute walk into the village, but for some reason Dad wouldn’t take the car. There was a warm breeze that smelled of summer, but in his T-shirt and jeans, Louis shivered.

‘You cold?’ Dad asked.

‘No.’

A silence. They walked side by side but with a space the size of another person between them.

‘Louis,’ Dad said after a while.

‘What?’

‘I know you’re upset.’

‘I’m not upset.’

Dad sighed. ‘Well, you’re not very happy then, that’s for sure.’

Another silence.

‘I want you to be happy. You, Max and Millie. That’s all I care about.’

‘No,’ Louis said. ‘You care about
you
. You care about
your
happiness.’

‘That’s true, I want to be happy too.’ Dad sighed. ‘But not at your expense. The most important thing is for my children to be happy.’

‘And so that’s why you took us away?’

‘I took you away because I wanted to give you the chance to live with me. But also because I believed that, ultimately, you would be happier with me than with your mum.’

Louis said nothing.

‘But maybe I was wrong,’ Dad said. ‘Do you think I should send you all back?’

Louis looked up at him sharply. ‘The others want to stay with you.’