Without Looking Back (3 page)

Papa said something else, but it was drowned out by the pounding of Louis’ heart. He stepped back from the door, fighting for breath.

By the time he heard the receiver slam down, Louis’ palms were damp and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out across his back. He took a deep breath and forced his hand up to turn the door handle, wishing his arm hadn’t started to shake.

Papa was still sitting at the kitchen table, the phone was back in its cradle and he was massaging his forehead
with his fingers, his face red and creased. Louis closed the kitchen door and leaned against it; Papa looked up. ‘Loulou, d’you think you could give me a hand with—’ And then he broke off. ‘What’s the matter?’ He started to get up.

Louis slowly began to shake his head, and felt his eyes filling with tears.

‘Louis . . .’ Papa froze, almost comical in his half-standing, half-sitting position. ‘Louis – oh, Christ, you were listening?’

He nodded, holding his breath in an attempt to ward off the tears.

‘Louis . . .’ his father said again, moving out from behind the table and coming towards him. ‘Don’t – don’t— Listen, I don’t want the others to know yet.’

Blinking back tears, Louis cupped his hands over his nose and mouth as Papa came forward to grip him tightly by the shoulders. ‘Louis, listen – listen to me. Nothing’s been decided yet. Maman may still change her mind. I’m going to appeal against the decision. I’m going to fight this – I’m going to fight this, I promise you.’ He gave Louis a small shake. His eyes looked desperate, imploring.

‘Please, Louis, I really want to wait a bit before I tell the others. I want to enjoy some of this weekend with
you without having it hanging over all of us. Don’t cry, my darling. It’s going to be all right – I promise you it’s going to be all right.’ His fingers dug into Louis’ shoulder blades.

Louis pressed his hands to his face and sniffed hard.

‘That’s it,’ Papa said desperately. ‘Come over to the sink and wash your face.’

Louis splashed cold water onto his face while Papa hovered nearby. As he was drying himself with a damp tea towel, he heard the kitchen door open behind him.

‘Millie!’ Papa exclaimed with false cheer. ‘Have you found your Barbie set? Let’s go and see what hairstyle you’ve given her.’

There was a pause, during which Louis rubbed his face hard with the tea towel, carefully keeping his back to the door.

‘Wait, Papa,’ Millie was saying as Papa presumably tried to usher her out of the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter with Louis?’

‘Nothing!’ Papa exclaimed too loudly. ‘He just got a—some . . . some soap in his eyes while he was helping me with the washing-up. It’s fine, it’s all rinsed out now. Where’s Max?’

‘In the
salon
.’

‘Let’s go and see if he wants to play a game, shall we?’

‘What game?’ Millie asked, distracted, and their voices disappeared down the hall.

Louis lowered the tea towel and inhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the sink. He could hear Millie trying to persuade Max into a game of Cluedo. Waves of adrenaline still coursed through his body and it was an effort not to start crying again, but he knew that he mustn’t. If he gave the game away now, Millie would sob all night and Max would shut himself in his room and play loud music for the rest of the weekend. But the news took his breath away. He couldn’t believe that Maman had won the court case and they were only going to be allowed supervised visits with Papa at some ‘family centre’ from now on. He couldn’t believe that this was the last time they would be coming to Papa’s flat, the last time they would be going on a trip together. Maman had said that the supervised visits would only be until Papa had got his life back together again, but the doctor had told Papa he might have to be on anti-depressants for the rest of his life. How would they ever be able to talk to Papa with some stranger sitting in the corner of the room and listening in? It would all be an act, it would all be artificial – they would have to edit everything they said and soon Papa would become a stranger and they probably wouldn’t even be able to remember how to
speak English any more . . . Suddenly, Louis hated his mother. She kept saying that it was for their own good, that she hadn’t trusted Papa since the time he had taken an overdose of sleeping pills and collapsed while they were staying at his flat, but Louis didn’t really buy it. She knew how much better he was now. He hadn’t fallen apart in front of them for ages. She was still angry with him for falling in love with that woman from work. She just wanted revenge.

‘Louis, come and play, pleeease!’ It was Millie, calling from the living room. Grabbing a piece of kitchen towel from the roll, Louis blew his nose fiercely, rubbed his eyes a final time and then, taking a calming breath, walked slowly along to the living room.

‘I’m Miss Scarlet, Max is Colonel Mustard, Papa’s Reverend Green, so who do you want to be?’

They were all seated on the floor around the Cluedo board, waiting for him. Louis knelt down to join them. ‘Professor Plum, of course,’ he said, forcing a smile.

Half an hour later, when Max discovered that the murder had been committed by Mrs Peacock, with the lead pipe, in the conservatory, Papa said, ‘All right, folks. Let’s start getting ready for bed.’

‘I’m not in the slightest bit tired!’ Max exclaimed. ‘Oh, come on, let me finish my game!’

‘I already said it wasn’t negotiable, Max,’ Papa said sharply. ‘I want everyone to have showered and brushed their teeth in exactly twenty minutes. I’m going to finish the washing-up,’ and he left.

On her hands and knees, Millie was carefully putting the pieces away, humming to herself, unbothered by the ridiculously early night and just happy she was getting to go to bed at the same time as everyone else. Max threw himself onto the sofa and switched on his PS3.

‘Papa’s going to get annoyed,’ Louis said.

Max didn’t move.

‘Max!’

He glanced up, his face angry. ‘This is totally unreasonable of him,’ he complained. ‘What difference does it make if we go to bed this early? We won’t be able to sleep anyway.’

‘We can try.’

Millie jumped up. ‘Bags I get the bathroom first then,’ she said, running out.

Max narrowed his eyes at Louis. ‘Why are you taking his side all of a sudden? What’s wrong with you anyway?’

‘Nothing.’ Louis looked quickly down at the carpet and began collecting up the Cluedo pieces that Millie had left behind.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Max said again.

Louis looked up hotly. ‘Nothing!’

‘Liar. You’ve been crying. I can tell. Your eyes were all red when you came in.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Louis muttered hurriedly, busying himself with the Cluedo box.

‘Fine, don’t tell me then.’ Max turned back to his PS3.

It was another hour before they finally all got to bed, and even then Max was still grumbling and playing his GameBoy underneath the covers. From the box room next door, they could hear the rise and fall of Papa’s voice as he read Millie a bedtime story, and the evening sunlight slanted through the half-closed shutters. Then Papa came in and sat down on the end of Louis’ bed.

‘Boys, are you packed?’

‘Yes.’ Max sounded fed up, as if he was tiring of this whole surprise thing already.

‘Yes,’ Louis said.

‘Are you sure? Even your toothbrushes? Have you checked the bathroom?’

‘You’re beginning to sound like Maman!’ Max protested, still playing his GameBoy. ‘We’re only going away for the weekend.’

‘I don’t want you to leave anything behind,’ Papa said. ‘Have you put out your clothes for tomorrow? I’m
going to wake you at the last minute, so we’ll only have quarter of an hour to leave the house.’ He got up, went over to Max’s bed and tried to prise the GameBoy from his hands. Max hung on grimly, still fighting with the buttons, saying, ‘One more second, one more second, I’ve nearly killed him!’

‘Max . . .’ Papa began in a low, warning voice.

‘OK, OK!’

Papa bent down to kiss him. Max grumbled and complained that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to fall asleep. Then Papa came over to Louis’ bed.

‘Night-night, Louis.’

As Papa bent over him, Louis reached up round his father’s neck and pulled him close. He breathed in his warm, slightly sweaty smell. He never wanted to let go.

‘It’ll be all right, Loulou,’ Papa whispered in his ear. ‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’

‘
COME ON, EVERYONE,
up, up!’ The overhead light snapped on, blinding them, and Louis groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. But within seconds, Papa was pulling it off him, right off him, and tugging his arm.

‘Come on, Louis, go and wash your face right now. Come on, come on!’ Papa’s voice was low, urgent, forcing Louis to get out of bed and try and open his eyes against the harsh artificial light.

In Max’s bed, a battle was waging – Max trying to bury himself under the covers, Papa trying to drag him out.

Louis staggered to the bathroom, started to pee, then opened his eyes fully to look out of the small bathroom window – and saw that it was still night.

Millie burst in before he had even finished. ‘Hey!’

‘It’s today, it’s today, we’re going on a surprise trip today!’ she sang, turning on the tap and splashing her face vigorously.

‘It’s not even morning – look, it’s still dark outside,’ Louis said, flushing the toilet and joining Millie at the washbasin. He peered at the radio clock on the top of the medicine cabinet. ‘Papa was lying! It’s not morning, it’s three o’clock at night!’

‘It’s three o’clock in the morning, so he wasn’t lying, it
is
morning,’ Millie countered, drying her face on the hand towel. ‘Are we going to go out when it’s still dark? Ooh, this is like an adventure!’

Suddenly, Max staggered in, his eyes still half closed, his hair on end. ‘Get out of here, children, unless you want to watch me do a poo!’

‘Oh, yuck!’ Millie squealed, racing out.

Before following her, Louis turned to Max. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning,’ he told him. ‘Where could Papa be taking us in the middle of the night?’

But Max just sat on the edge of the bath and started to yawn.

At breakfast, only Millie looked awake, swinging her legs and chattering non stop about where they might be heading. She seemed to be hoping it might still turn out to be EuroDisney. She was dressed in her favourite new
outfit – the pink velvet trousers and sleeveless white top – and her hair was brushed away from her face and fastened neatly with a clip on the back of her head. Papa had had a hand in the hairstyle, Louis could tell. Max wore clean jeans, his usual football sweatshirt and matching baseball cap. His head, propped up on his hand, looked in danger of falling onto his plate. Papa stood at the table, uncharacteristically smart in khaki trousers, polished shoes and a dark-green v-neck, his hair wet and neatly combed back, displaying a receding hairline. He had already lined up their rucksacks by the front door and was conducting this breakfast military-style, cutting up the baguette and spreading the butter and pouring the hot chocolate, appearing to be trying to get them all to eat as much as possible in the shortest space of time. It was, in essence, breakfast in the middle of the night, and Louis was finding it difficult to get anything down. Papa himself wasn’t eating anything, Louis noticed, but he was already on this third cup of black coffee and his eyes seemed to be on fast-forward.

When none of them could manage another mouthful, Papa cleared the table, put all the leftovers in the bin and told them to go to the loo while he took out the rubbish. When he returned, he went round the flat, turning off switches and checking under their beds and insisting
that Millie wore a jumper even though she pointed out that it was summer. Then they picked up their rucksacks and went down the staircase and out into the cold night air.

The street was lamp-lit and deserted and Papa started walking very fast, and when Millie tried to ask a question, he told them that he needed them all to be quiet for a while. Two streets away, he approached a car parked at the kerb with its engine still running and a small light visible from inside. Papa threw open the passenger door and motioned for them to get in.

It wasn’t a taxi, at least not a regular one, because it had no sign on the top of it. Millie started to say something, then stopped herself, and climbed in silently. Max hung back, fiddling with his iPod, and told Louis in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to sit in the middle.

‘Why do I always have to sit in the middle?’ Louis protested.

‘Tell Millie to sit in the middle.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘Get
in
!’ Papa said, in a voice that left no room for argument.

The driver was a man that Louis vaguely recognized – an old friend of Papa’s perhaps? But he didn’t introduce himself; in fact, he didn’t say anything much at all
as they all squashed uncomfortably in the back seat, their rucksacks on their laps. He drove very fast and very badly, taking lots of little side roads, so that it wasn’t long before Millie started to complain about feeling sick. But to Louis’ surprise, Papa didn’t ask the man to pull over. He just stared ahead fixedly. And the hand that gripped the door handle was white.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ Millie declared miserably to no one in particular. ‘It’s going to go all over everyone and all over this man’s car and then everyone’s going to be mad at me.’

‘Try and think of something else,’ Louis suggested. ‘How about all the words you can think of that begin with
p
?’

‘Can’t think of any,’ she moaned.

Max had his eyes closed and his head against the window, the music buzzing in his earphones. In the front, Papa and the man talked in hushed, low voices. Louis found himself hoping the trip would improve.

It did improve once they got out of the car, because they found that they had arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, and the real excitement began to kick in.

‘Are we going to Cork?’ Millie squealed, bounding up and down at the end of Papa’s arm as they waited in the
queue for the check-in. ‘Are we going to visit Grandma and Granddad?’