Kisses for Lula (10 page)

‘Freya,’ he said then. ‘It’s too hard. My family will find out, and I – I just couldn’t stand it.’

Find out what? What the hell was all this about? Who on this earth was Freya? Boodle lay down quietly and stared up at my stricken face.

‘What do you mean
it helps that my wife knows
? She doesn’t
really
know, Freya! That’s just not possible!’ He yelled so loudly I’m sure the window above me shook.

There was a crash then and a sob. I heard my father’s slippers
shuck shuck
away, followed by the slam of the kitchen door and silence.

I still couldn’t move. The sun suddenly felt harsh and bright, my skin itchy under the salt of sweat. I pressed
the heels of my hands to my eyes for blissful darkness. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Anything but that my father was involved with someone else. I just had to think.
Think
.

Was Freya his new editor? And he was refusing to meet with the publisher again over some issue or another and Mum knew he wasn’t going to get a book out this year and there’d be no money coming in . . .

That must be it.

I bit my lip.

But it could be anything. I’d be silly to jump to conclusions, crazy to add this to my list of worries.

I’d ask Dad later. Quietly, when he was on his own.

I took a deep breath. And another.

Dropping my hands to my knees, I noticed my fingers were trembling. In fact, my whole body was shaking. I needed a drink of cool sweet juice. A shower. A refuge. I looked across the courtyard at the annexe as I pushed myself slowly to my feet. Boodle jumped up with me and loped over to its door.

She’s a mind reader
, I thought.

I tried the handle. Locked of course. Then peered through the window of the living area. There were heaps of boxes and piles of old clothes. To the left of the front door was another window, but tall and narrow. It looked on to a small square area with a door to the bedroom and bathroom. To the right
was the kitchen breakfast bar and living area.

It was bigger than I remembered. Right now it was dingy and horrible but with hard work it
could
be a lovely refuge.

Hard work. That’s what I needed right now.

I should go and get paint, cleaning materials. But I was still frozen by the distress of my father’s shouted words, still shaking.

Pull yourself together, Tallulah! Stop overreacting!

I scratched at my arm, trying to concentrate on the annexe instead of my freak father, and noticed a smear of rusty red on my wrist. Was that . . . Arnold Trenchard’s blood? Ew!

I needed a shower. And before that a drink. Something strong, like Lucozade. Maybe even Lucozade Tropical.

Moving quickly and quietly round to the front of the house, I then came in noisily through the front door. ‘Anyone home?’ I called. There was no reply.

I sighed and dropped Boodle’s lead on the hall table with the rest of the household clutter and noticed the phone wasn’t there. I remembered the crash in the kitchen. Okaaay.

Shouldering my door open, I found a note from Pen taped to it.

Fatass

I’ll be home for lunch. Salad?

P

Little chancer. Mum would have told her I wasn’t well.

I showered first. It was beautiful. Hot water thundered over my face, hair, body till I thought of the planet and turned it off regretfully. I got into ancient tracksuit bottoms, pink, and a mustard yellow T-shirt that Pen had got me last Christmas. I’d never had such an awful gift in all my born days and our sibling relationship had taken a turn for the worse from the moment I unwrapped it.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and grinned despite myself. I looked a lot like a pustule.

Bong
went my computer, as if in agreement. Message. Carrie, Alex and Tam were on MSN.

C
ARRIE
:
Yoohooo! We’re back from busking and we want the lowdown. T? You there?

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
I’m here. How’d the busking go?

C
ARRIE
:
Awful. Wet. Tam got a pity tip from Alex’s dad for two quid and the rest was small change. Alex is in a state about Coven’s Quarter. What’s going on?

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
Huh?

C
ARRIE
:
It’s Alex. Don’t
huh
me. Coven’s Quarter on the
Guardian
page 7. WHAT THE HELL? Come on, T! What’s going on? Why is someone else getting the scoop on the Coven’s Quarter story? Please sort it out otherwise our English grade is going to be poo and my portfolio pooier. I need this work experience to go well. Laters, okay? You’ll message me?

And then they were gone. I felt a little miffed that they’d not asked about Mission Arns + Mona, but clearly I needed to see the paper. It was probably strewn across the kitchen table.

It wasn’t, but the innards of the phone were – wires trailing across it like gutted intestines.

The front door slammed, shaking the entire house.

‘Hello, slaves,’ trilled Pen from the hall. ‘Put the kettle on!’

She appeared in the kitchen doorway and took in the destruction of the telephonic device at a glance.

‘Lula’s gonna get into trou-uble,’ she lilted, tossing her bag on the table, narrowly avoiding a glob of strawberry jam that would have stayed stuck to the faux leather forever.

I ignored her. ‘Seen the paper?’ I queried.

‘Nope,’ she said.

I checked everywhere downstairs. No way was I going up there to ask Dad. I needed to mull over what I’d overheard before I could face him.

Freya wasn’t a homewrecking kind of name
.

Definitely a publishing kind of name. Yes, definitely
.

I gave up on finding the paper and slammed out the back door, feeling breezier already, keen for renovation.

Yanking the shed door open, I discovered cans of paint – and it was white, frabjous day! Now for brushes. I began
lifting out bits and pieces I’d need. Elsa’s work on Arns’s room last night had left me feeling inspired.

‘What are you doing?’ came Pen’s voice behind me.

‘Preparing for the renovation of 155A Hill Street.’

‘We’re just 155, not A – oh, aha, I see what’s up. The annexe.’ Pen put her hands on her hips and stared at me belligerently. ‘You’ve already taken over the cellar, Tallulah. Don’t you think you should finish fixing that car in there before you start something else?’

‘I can’t do anything for Oscar till I’ve found a gasket for him.’ I hefted up a bottle of white spirit and added it to the pile, then began wrestling with the wheelbarrow.

Pen scrunched her face into a
you’re sooooo pathetic
expression. ‘How could you call him Oscar? It’s totally lame.’

‘You’d rather I called him Angus?’ I stopped tugging on the barrow handle to drag irritating tendrils back into my pony bunch.

‘No!’

‘Pen lurves Angus! Pen luuurves Angus!’ I chanted.

‘You’re such a child.’ Pen hoisted the front of the barrow over a bunch of DIY essentials, and set it down neatly next to my modest pile.

‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Thanks. What do you want, Penelope?’

She suddenly looked overly innocent. ‘Shall I put this stuff in the wheelbarrow?’

‘Yes, please,’ I answered promptly. I knew my sister and I knew myself. Whether she told me now or later, I was going to have to give in to whatever she wanted anyway – might as well get my pound of flesh while it was on offer. ‘So, Pen. Fancy giving me a hand with the renovations?’

It took us an hour to clear out all the empty boxes and paraphernalia from the annexe. During which time I’d sent Arns several messages like: Is Mona a go? Do you owe me yet? A date tonight would be perfect, thank you very much.

Pen trotted about in a disturbingly helpful way and we scrubbed and scoured the place from top to bottom, till we got to the bathroom. My sister drew the line at toilets, but she came in after a while to see how I was getting on with the cistern. (You don’t wanna know.)

‘I wonder what’s behind that bath panel,’ said Pen, tapping it firmly with her toe.

The old MDF caved instantly into a soggy hole.

‘Yeek!’ squealed Pen. She dropped to her knees to inspect the damage. ‘Maybe some Polyfilla,’ she suggested optimistically.

‘Yeah, right.’ I crouched down and peered in. ‘Pen!’ I said excitedly. ‘It’s an old claw-foot bath!’

We looked at each other and hefted a kick at the panel. It fell apart to reveal a puce-pink bath beneath, but, yep, it was claw-footed nonetheless. Pen began knocking the rot
away enthusiastically, rattling on about what colour the bath should be repainted.

I watched her for a minute. ‘You’re working awfully hard for that salad, Pen.’

‘I’m bored,’ she admitted. Then, ‘And I might live here
one day
,’ the last words said with threatening emphasis.

I looked at her long and hard. ‘I can’t believe you’re only here to make sure I don’t paint anything avocado green.’

‘Well . . .’ Pen glanced down. ‘Maybe I want to move into your old room today.’

I blinked and shook my head. ‘Firstly –
why
? Secondly – it’s going to take
forever
to get this place sorted out. Today is not an option.’

Pen held my gaze, unwavering: I groaned in despair, and ordered her to help pull off the rest of the bath panel.

In minutes the clean bathroom was clean no more, yet that tub was truly splendiferous.

‘Cool,’ said Pen. ‘But you’d better get this place cleared up before Mum gets back. She’ll freak if she sees you’ve been tearing down structures without her say so.’

‘Tearing down structures?
’ I mimicked. Pen dodged the rotten clump of wood I threw at her. ‘It’s a good thing you want to be a solicitor, little sis, because you couldn’t sound like anything else if you tried.’

‘Whatever,’ retorted Pen, being all fourteen again.
She clomped down the steps and out the door.

‘Hey, where’re you going?’ I called, suddenly aware that there was still a lot of work to be done.

‘To get bin bags,’ Pen called back, halfway across the courtyard. ‘Got to conceal the evidence.’

Ha! It was good having the law on my side.

Reaching for the broom, I began pushing the debris into a pile near the door. Pen came rustling back with a load of bin liners.

‘Whoa! Stop! Stop!’ cried Pen.

She was frozen in fright, her mouth open and her index finger pointing at my face. Her lips moved but nothing came out. I felt something move across my forehead and into my hair.

‘Nyaaarr!’ I yelled, shaking my head wildly. ‘Wha- where-wha–?’

From the sheer horror on Pen’s face I knew it could only be one thing.

‘Spider!’ she gasped at the exact moment it fell inside my shirt from its tenuous grip on my left earlobe.

I snatched at the shirt and pulled it away from my spine, arching my back and jumping even harder. I prayed urgently that I was wearing my Per Una knickers with the reputable elastic, and not one of the old twenty-in-a-pack-for-5p numbers that had lost their hold on my waist after the first wash.

‘Where is it? Where is it? Pen? Pen? You’ve got to help me!’ I pulled the shirt off over my head and whirled around. ‘Is it still on me? Pen?
Pen?
’

‘Uhh – uhh – uhh –’

It was no good. My sister was in full meltdown. I was still dancing around when I saw her index finger move, shaking, to the shirt that I still held in my hand.

On it was the hugest spider I’d ever,
ever
seen. People, I tell you now, that thing was not of this world. After
immense
, the next thought that sprang to mind was
hairy
, and that was followed shortly by
one nip from this thing and I’ll be in A&E, spasming in death throes of an awful and painful kind
.

Frik! Frik! Frikking frik! We ran screaming into the safety of the sunshine outside.

‘Aaaaaaaaah!’

‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!’

It’s a good thing our courtyard is invisible from the Setting Sun’s eagle-eye view over the town. If Mr Kadinski could have seen me leaping about topless, albeit with sensible undies still firmly strapped in place, he might have suffered a fatal coronary. It was bad enough Dad emerging at that instant.

‘T, Pen, what?’ he croaked from the back doorway.

‘Dad, Dad, Dad,’ gibbered Pen, grabbing him by the hairs on his forearm. He tried to swat her off, but she got
behind him and began pushing him towards the annexe.

‘What’s
wrong
with you two?’ Dad tried vainly to stagger back to the kitchen, but Pen elbowed him in the midriff and he kind of fell into the annexe doorway. It seems the spider had big ideas about leaving through the front door because Dad had only just stepped in there when he jumped straight back out with a sound like, ‘Yoowaargh!’ and did a little moonwalk in front of us. He slammed the door to the annexe shut. His face was white. ‘Don’t let it out!’ he wheezed. And threw up over Mum’s cacti collection near the back step.

At last his retching gave way to coughing and, shaking, he made his way back inside the house.

Looking over at Pen I put my hands on my hips and said, ‘Okay, mainbrain, now what?’

Chapter Ten