Without Looking Back

by Tabitha Suzuma

  Louis felt like shouting, Well then, you should have thought about that before kidnapping us! but didn’t. Dad was clearly going through hell. He couldn’t handle Louis’ rage too.

  In the afternoon, Max and Dad went out into the garden to erect a fence and Louis found himself tiptoeing up to Millie’s room. He listened outside her door. Silence. He lifted his hand and knocked. There was a muffled sound from within. Louis turned the handle and went in.

  She was sitting on her bed, wisps of her unfamiliar short hair sticking to her pink cheeks, her face still wet with tears, clutching her doll to her chest. Louis closed the door, then sat down beside her and put his arm around her as she snuggled up against him.

  ‘Did Dad tell you?’

  She nodded silently.

  ‘It was a horrible thing to do. But I think he did it because he loves us,’ Louis found himself saying.

  ‘I know that,’ Millie said. ‘I just wish he’d taken Trésor too!’

  Louis started in surprise. ‘Is that why you’re crying?’

  ‘He was my favourite cat in the whole world!’ A loud sob escaped her.

  ‘What about Maman?’ Louis asked.

  ‘She doesn’t like him! She’ll probably give him away!’ Millie sobbed.

  ‘No, I mean what about not seeing Maman again? And all your friends at school? You won’t see them again either.’

  ‘I don’t care about them! I just care about Trésor!’

  ‘OK, but listen.’ Louis decided to try another tactic. ‘If you wanted to, you could go back to Maman and Trésor and all your friends in Paris. You don’t have to stay here. You could go back with me.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go back!’ Millie wailed. ‘I want to live here with Daddy!’

  ‘OK, Millie, listen.’ Louis tried to disentangle himself from the wailing wet ball and look into his sister’s eyes. ‘You have to choose. You have to choose between Trésor and Daddy.’

  Millie stopped crying suddenly and sniffed hard. She looked at Louis. ‘Daddy said he would buy me a new kitten.’

  Louis lay prone on the living-room couch, propped up on his elbows, staring down at the cushions. So that was it, he thought. He couldn’t believe it. Millie was going to be bought off with a cat, and Max was going to be bought off with the promise of not having to go to school. OK, so perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair. Both Max and Millie were closer to Dad than to Maman. Damn it, they all were! But that didn’t mean he wanted to live on the run, in a strange country, speaking a strange language, going to a school where he knew nobody and would most likely be bottom of the class! He’d had a life in Paris! His best friend, Pierre, whom he’d known since he was four. His other friends, Luc and Henri, whom he’d known since primary school. His class at the Lycée, and of course his dance classes, where his teacher was giving him extra one-to-one lessons for free, and taking him to competitions up and down the country. How could Dad ask him to give all that up? How could he? But of course, he wasn’t. It’s entirely up to you, Dad had said. But now, if Louis decided he did want to go back, he’d be breaking rank, forcing them all to move house again just when they’d got this place halfway decent. And not only would he be losing his father, he’d be losing his brother and sister as well. Dad said he’d wanted to give them a choice. But what kind of choice did Louis have now?

  Chapter Seven

  THEY SAT AROUND the kitchen table staring at each other in silence. Dad had a small pile of papers in front of him. He leafed through them nervously.

  ‘We’re from a small village called Yaté, in New Caledonia,’ he began. ‘You went to the Lycée Malvin in Yaté. It was a small school, only a hundred pupils, and you were in the same classes as you were in Paris. Try not to give any more details than that. Yaté is that tiny place we stayed at during our holiday two years ago. I’m banking on the fact that we won’t be meeting anyone from New Caledonia here in the Lake District. If by any chance you do, give them a wide berth.’

  They nodded tensely.

  ‘Your mother and my wife, Brigitte Franklin, died six years ago, when Millie was just two. She died of breast cancer. If anyone asks you for more details than that, I want you to say you’d rather not talk about it.’

  More nods.

  ‘We came to England because I wasn’t happy with the education system in New Caledonia,’ Dad went on. ‘I wanted you to be brought up in the British education system and eventually go on to British universities, like I did.’ There was a pause. ‘The first thing we need to do is give you new names,’ he told them. ‘Because I’m Jonathan Franklin, you’ll all have to be Franklin too, but you can choose your first names.’

  ‘How did you get false ID?’ Max asked.

  ‘Meg started by searching birth records for a child who was born in approximately the same year as me but who had died,’ Dad said. ‘She then applied for a copy of the birth certificate. When I arrived in London I was able to use the birth certificate to apply for other forms of identification such as a driving licence and national insurance number.’

  ‘But what about us?’ Louis asked. ‘We can’t just pinch the birth certificate of some random dead baby. We need to have the same surname as you.’

  ‘Meg has a friend who is able to provide false documents,’ Dad replied. ‘When you’ve chosen your names, he will make up birth certificates and school reports for you.’

  Louis, Max and Millie looked at each other. ‘We get to choose our own names?’ Millie piped up.

  ‘Within reason,’ Dad added with a little smile. His eyes looked tired.

  ‘Does it have to be an English name?’ Max asked.

  Dad nodded. ‘I think English or Irish would be best.’

  ‘What about Hunter?’ Max suggested.

  Dad managed a chuckle. ‘Keep thinking.’

  ‘I want to be called Katie,’ Millie said.

  ‘Spelled how?’

  ‘K – a – t – i – e.’

  ‘Katie Franklin. OK, that works,’ Dad said. ‘Louis?’

  ‘Lewis,’ he said.

  ‘That’s Louis in English.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want to change my name.’

  Max shot him a look.

  ‘OK, fine. I don’t know – Liam, then. That’s English, isn’t it?’

  ‘Liam Franklin. OK . . . Max?’

  ‘Joshua,’ Max said with a grin. ‘But you can call me Josh.’

  Dad wrote out their new names on a piece of paper, along with a summary of their past. He left them to learn it off by heart while he drove into town to email Meg their new names so that she could supply them with the relevant documents. A strange sense of unreality settled over them as they lay around the room, trying to memorize the details of their new identity.

  After a few minutes Max gave a laugh. ‘This is so cool,’ he said. ‘It’s like something out of Alias.’

  ‘It isn’t a game.’ Millie glared at him. ‘If we make a mistake, Dad could go to prison!’

  ‘Sorry, Katie,’ Max said, biting back a smile.

  But Millie was also trying not to smile. ‘That’s all right, Josh,’ she said.

  Louis said nothing, and read through the details of his new life for a fourth time. I used to be called Louis Whittaker, he thought to himself. I had a sister called Millie and a brother called Max. I used to live in a big house in Paris. I used to go to a school called Le Lycée Maraux and I was top of my class in most subjects. My best friend was Pierre Duchard. I used to help him in class. I used to go to his house to eat chocolate biscuits and play on his computer. I used to do three dance classes a week and compete in competitions all over the country. I used to speak French every day. Now I don’t know who I am any more. I have a name that means nothing to me – Liam Franklin. I have short hair. I’m only allowed to speak in English. I live with my father, Jonathan, my sister, Katie, and my brother, Josh. I no longer live in a big city in France but among hills and lakes outside a tiny village in England. And my mother is dead.

  After
dinner that evening, Dad kept them at the kitchen table. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I want to do a final run-through. This has got to be watertight, do you understand? Watertight. All it takes is one slip-up and people will start asking questions. In a small place like this, news travels fast.’

  They nodded. Dad’s face had a tense, hard look Louis couldn’t remember seeing before.

  Dad looked at Millie. ‘What’s your name?’ He asked her.

  ‘Katie,’ she answered promptly.

  ‘What’s your surname?’

  ‘Franklin.’

  ‘Spell that.’

  ‘F – r – a – n – k – l – i – n.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘New Caledonia.’

  ‘Where in New Caledonia?’

  ‘Yaté.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s about, um – eighty kilometres south of the capital,’ Millie faltered fractionally.

  ‘And what’s the capital?’

  ‘Nouméa.’

  ‘Noumea,’ Dad repeated, changing the pronunciation. ‘Say it again in an English way. Noumea.’

  ‘Noumea,’ Millie said, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  Dad turned to Max. ‘Where’s your mother?’ he demanded.

  ‘She died,’ Max replied.

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘She died six years ago of breast cancer.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘He’s an accountant,’ Max said smoothly. ‘He moved us over here because he was fed up with the school system in New Caledonia.’

  ‘What’s your father’s name?’ Dad turned sharply to Louis.

  ‘Jonathan Franklin,’ Louis replied.

  ‘What are your brother and sister called?’

  ‘Katie and Josh.’

  ‘Where did you used to go to school?’

  ‘At the Lycée Malvin in Yaté.’

  Dad sat back and exhaled slowly. ‘OK,’ he breathed. ‘OK, OK, OK.’

  ‘Dad,’ Millie said softly. ‘If we get caught, would you go to prison?’

  Dad seemed to hesitate. Then he said, ‘It’s a possibility. But we won’t get caught. We’ll just be very, very careful.’

  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. ‘I
t 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.