Without Looking Back (6 page)

Max flopped back against the pillow. ‘God, I can’t believe you’re thinking about your dance class while we’re on holiday. The next thing you’ll be doing is asking Papa to buy you a tutu—’ He broke off as Louis jumped to his feet and thumped him hard. ‘Aargh! I’m kidding, I’m kidding—’

‘You think you’re so funny!’ Louis shot him a disgusted look and stalked out. The sound of Max’s laughter
followed him out onto the landing. But there he stopped. Downstairs, in the kitchen, he could hear the steady rise and fall of Dad’s voice. He didn’t want to have to go down and make polite conversation with Dad’s friend again. Above him, Millie’s feet pitter-pattered across the floor of the attic – no doubt she was having a whale of a time arranging all her stuff. The door of the room next door to theirs was closed – Meg’s bedroom presumably – and the door at the end of the landing was ajar. He pushed it open, and found to his relief that it was a bathroom.

After going to the loo, he sat down on the closed lid and stared out of the small casement window. Through the branches of a tree, he could see down into Meg’s front yard and across the street at the row of houses on the other side. Just as in Ireland, none of the windows here had shutters. Louis wished he felt happier about this holiday. What was wrong with him? Usually he loved taking the plane, flying off to another country – for example, a year and a half ago when Dad had taken them skiing in Switzerland, or the summer before that when they had gone to visit Grandma and Granddad in Cork. OK, so this time he knew something that his brother and sister didn’t – a bombshell that Dad would be forced to deliver before the end of the week – but his father had promised he would fight the decision, hadn’t
he? He would never accept this once-a-month-supervised-visit thing – he would go back to the court and appeal, and would succeed in getting the decision overturned. But if he didn’t . . .? What if he didn’t? Suddenly, Louis felt angry. It wasn’t fair of Dad to have made him promise not to tell the others. It wasn’t fair that he was stuck with that awful thought, hanging over him like a dark cloud for the rest of the week, while Max and Millie had a carefree holiday . . . But a small voice inside his head said, ‘And who forced you to eavesdrop?’

Millie burst into the bathroom, making him jump. So the bolt on the door didn’t even work properly –
great
.

She padded in barefoot, a Barbie in each hand, went over to the washbasin and began filling it with water. ‘What are you doing, Louis?’

‘Nothing. Thinking.’

‘Did you have a fight with Max?’

‘No. Kind of. What are you doing to those poor dolls now?’

‘Giving them a bath,’ Millie said, as if stating the obvious. ‘D’you want to help me?’

‘No
thank
you!’

‘You never play dolls with me any more,’ Millie complained.

Louis glared at her. ‘I never
ever
played dolls with you—’

Millie started to giggle.

‘Millie, what did I tell you?’

‘But none of your school friends are here now,’ she protested.

‘I said you weren’t to tell anyone! That means even me!’

Millie gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘I wish I had a sister,’ she said.

‘And I wish I was an only child,’ Louis snapped back.

Undeterred by her brother’s foul mood, Millie began pumping large quantities of Meg’s apricot-scented hand-wash into the basin and mixing it around to make bubbles. ‘Mm, look at this, Sara and Lucie, it’s a jacuzzi,’ she informed her dolls.

‘Have you asked Papa’s friend whether you could make a jacuzzi in her sink?’ Louis asked her.

‘No, Meg and Papa are still in the kitchen, talking,’ Millie complained, dipping the first plastic doll into the water. ‘I went downstairs but they were almost whispering, and then Papa told me to go and unpack.’

‘Great. So we
are
staying here all week.’

Millie turned from her doll-bath to look at him. ‘Why? Don’t you like it here?’

‘We don’t even know her,’ Louis said grumpily.

Millie turned back to the basin. ‘You’re always in a bad mood when we have to meet new people.’

‘Am not.’

‘Yes you are. Papa says it’s because you’re shy. Except when you’re dancing. Then you want everybody to look at you.’

‘Do not!’

‘Yes you do. When you start doing your spins and backward walkovers and body-popping stuff,
everyone
looks at you, even Maman. It’s not fair.’

After a dinner of spaghetti bolognese, they watched two DVDs back-to-back in the lounge while Meg and Dad stayed in the kitchen to do the washing up, then Dad suggested they all have yet another early night. This time no one protested. Having been up since five, even Max looked exhausted.

‘And tomorrow? What are we going to do tomorrow?’ Millie demanded excitedly, jumping up and down.

‘Er – well, we’ll see,’ Dad answered vaguely.

But although Louis was thankful that the day was over, he found it impossible to sleep in the sagging, creaky bed, and soon began to toss and turn, unable to find a position that was bearable for more than a few
seconds. Max fell asleep almost immediately, which irritated him all the more.

The next morning, Louis woke late, the sun already high in the sky. Max’s bed was empty, and when he padded out onto the landing, he could hear the sound of voices in the kitchen below. He had a quick shower, pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and braced himself before stepping into the kitchen. Dad was not there, and Meg was at the cooker frying eggs and bacon in a pan; Max and Millie were seated at the table, chatting noisily.

‘Good morning, Louis!’ Meg greeted him. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Louis mumbled good morning and slid into a chair beside Max.

Breakfast was torturous. Meg served him bacon and eggs, which he could barely swallow. There was no hot chocolate, no proper bread – only sliced brown stuff that tasted like cardboard. Max and Millie seemed delighted by their greasy breakfast and ate masses. Meg asked them about school, about their friends, about life in France, and Max and Millie didn’t stop talking, delighted to have such a captive audience. Finally, Louis put down his fork and said, ‘Where’s Papa?’

‘Your dad’s gone to sort out some things this
morning,’ Meg replied, ‘but he said he’d be back before lunch.’

They spent the rest of the morning watching DVDs. Meg went out to the rental shop to get them the films they wanted, but she wouldn’t let them come too. Millie played with the cat in the garden and it seemed like ages before Dad came back, but when he did, he was smiling.

‘All sorted?’ Meg asked, flashing him a knowing look.

‘All sorted,’ Dad replied. ‘Come outside, everyone. I’ve got something to show you.’

They traipsed out after him into the street. Parked in front of the house was a car – a large blue car with several dents and a chipped front light. But it had a wide back seat and a vast boot.

‘Wow!’ Max exclaimed. ‘What make is it?’

‘A Peugeot,’ Dad replied, looking pleased with himself. ‘It’s got a low mileage and apart from the bodywork, it’s in good shape. Shall we give it a spin?’

‘Yes please, yes please!’ Millie cried.

They all piled in, Meg in the front and the three of them in the back, and went for a drive around London, and saw the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the London Eye, Buckingham Palace – although Dad wouldn’t let them out of the car. On their way back they picked up a Chinese takeaway for lunch, and everyone seemed in
really high spirits until Meg suddenly said, ‘Millie, I’d really like to cut your hair.’

They were all seated round the kitchen table, finishing the last of the egg fried rice, and Millie put down her spoon and her eyes grew wide. ‘Why?’ she asked, her voice shrill with outrage.

‘Because it’s really very pretty, but I think it would suit you better if it was a bit shorter. Like in a bob, for instance.’

‘What’s a bob?’ Millie wanted to know.

Meg demonstrated on her own hair.

‘Ew, that’s like a boy’s,’ Millie protested.

‘You know, Meg used to be a hairdresser,’ Dad chipped in. ‘I’m sure she would make it look really lovely, Millie.’

Millie looked reluctant. ‘But it’s taken me ages and ages to grow it this long. I’ve got the longest hair in the whole class!’

‘But long hair is hot and uncomfortable in the summer. And your hair could be so pretty. If I gave you a bob it would be even curlier and would frame your face and make you look like a little pixie!’

Millie hesitated, clearly torn between pleasing Dad’s friend and keeping her long hair.

‘Then when we’ve done that we could go out and buy
you some butterfly clips which would look really nice in short hair,’ Meg said.

That did it. ‘OK.’ Millie glanced shyly at Dad for approval. He beamed.

While Millie and Meg were in the upstairs bathroom, Dad turned to Louis and Max. ‘That’s put me in the mood for a bit of a shake-up!’ he declared suddenly. ‘Why don’t we all smarten ourselves up a bit? I think I’ll get rid of my moustache. Max, why don’t I take you to the optician’s for those contact lenses I’ve been promising you?’

Max’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, and your hair could do with a cut too.’

‘I want to have a brush cut,’ Max said. ‘But Maman won’t let me.’

‘Well, now’s the time!’

Max looked worried. ‘She’ll kill me . . .’

‘I’ll tell her I made you do it! Come on, let’s see what Meg thinks. Louis? Fancy a brush cut?’

‘No way,’ Louis said.

‘Come on! If we’re all having haircuts, you’ve got to do something as well,’ Dad persisted. ‘How about a different colour then? Brown?’

Louis stared at him. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Let Meg give you a trim at least. Your hair really
is too long, Louis. You’re beginning to look like a girl.’

Louis gaped at him, hurt, but Dad just smiled. ‘Come on then, Max. Let’s go to the optician’s.’

‘Cool!’ Max exclaimed.

They left Louis sitting at the table and banged out of the house. Louis sat among the dirty plates and empty plastic containers and rested his chin on his hands. He knew he was being a spoilsport but he just couldn’t get his head around this sudden change in Dad. The last-minute surprise holiday, disappearing for hours without them, the close friend they knew nothing about, and now this. Was he trying to seriously anger Maman? Yes, that must be it:
Try and take my children away from me and I will get them to do all the things you’ve forbidden
. Now Max would probably come back with an earring.

Max didn’t come back with an earring, but did come home wearing brown contact lenses, and after a very short crew cut from Meg, his hair seemed to have turned brown too, and he was barely recognizable. True to her word, Meg went out with Millie and bought her a huge assortment of butterfly clips, which pleased Millie no end – and the bob did suit her. Louis had no choice but to let Meg ‘trim’ his hair, but she ended up cutting it much shorter than she said she would, into a spiky modern
style that Louis instantly hated. Dad shaved off his moustache and Meg gave him a crew cut too, and then he dyed his greying hair brown and everyone agreed that he looked ten years younger. Then it was time for dinner and Dad made pancakes and cracked jokes and suddenly appeared to be in the best mood he had been in for days.

But the next day he woke them up at half past five in the morning and told them to hurry and get dressed. They were going on the last lap of their journey.

THEY HAD BEEN
driving for hours. Max was in the front seat, trainers up on the dashboard, music blaring in his earphones. Millie was asleep, her head lolling against the strap of her seatbelt, her short hair curling across her cheek. There had scarcely been time to say goodbye to Meg – Dad had bundled them into the car while she had stood in her dressing gown, blinking in the doorway. But before getting into the driver’s seat, Dad had hugged her hard and whispered, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Now it was almost eight in the morning and a pale, watery dawn had broken through the clouds above them. They had long since left London behind, and the rows of terraced houses had been replaced by rolling fields dotted with sheep, the motorway stretching out in front of them, bleak, grey and endless.

Fiddling with his watch, Louis suddenly noticed it was Tuesday. He was startled. Somehow he had thought it was still the weekend, albeit a very long one, and he was taken aback to realize he had already missed a whole day of school. Pierre would be wondering where on earth he was, especially if he had rung Dad’s flat at the weekend and got no answer. Then again, Pierre would probably have rung the house and got onto Maman by now, and she would have explained everything to him. England was an hour behind France, so right now Maman would be on her way to work; Pierre would be arriving at school, no doubt envying Louis his sudden holiday. Tuesdays were a bummer. They had double maths in the morning, followed by physics and chemistry and then a long coach ride and an afternoon of horrible swimming in a chlorine-stenched pool. Nonetheless, Tuesdays remained his favourite day of the week, because after school he had his street-dance class.

Millie stirred and opened her eyes and then sat up with a start, looking around wildly. Then she seemed to remember where she was, for she sat back against the seat, blinking sleepily. ‘Papa – Daddy – I need to go to the loo,’ she said.

He glanced down at his watch. ‘OK, we’ll stop for breakfast at the next exit.’

When they got out of the car, they were met by a chill wind and a splattering of rain. Louis’ muscles felt cramped, there was a stale taste in his mouth and his head felt foggy. They walked across the windy car park to the toilets and then into a large, bright, noisy food hall. Dad let them have whatever they wanted so they all ordered burgers and chips and tucked in hungrily. Dad ordered a ham sandwich but ate less than half of it.

‘How much further?’ Max asked.

‘Another two hundred miles or so.’

‘What’s that in kilometres?’ Max persisted.

‘What’s that in hours?’ Millie added.

Dad rubbed his eyes, looking tired. ‘Three hours, if we’re lucky,’ he said.