Little Big Man
Page 30
‘No!’
‘Not Jason?’
‘Nope, he runs everywhere.’
‘Laura?’
‘No. Oh, hang on, though, maybe her boyfriend has one we could borrow.’ I try to picture Dave and whether I’ve ever seen him in a car. Then I call Laura.
‘He does have a car, but it’s in the garage. Clutch went last week,’ says Laura, ‘so he can’t help.’ I’m about to despair when she says, ‘But I know a man who can.’
She’s wrist-deep in Hawaiian chicken mix when Dad and I arrive at Sandwich King. Raymond is unpacking supplies, and both of them look panic-stricken on our behalf.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Laura take the sandwich van keys off the fob, which hangs next to the microwave. She dangles them in the air.
‘Oh God, Laurs, no,’ I say when I clock what’s going through her mind. ‘Gino would never forgive me.’
‘I can drive, I’m fully comp. Raymond, you could man the shop for the day, couldn’t you? I’d pay you for it, obviously, time and a half?’
‘Laura, seriously, I’ll lose my job,’ I say.
‘But it’s to get Zac.’
‘Exactly!’ I’m thinking of the time he came in with chocolate all over his trousers and I had to leave early; how Gino found out we’d been making sandwiches for Jason; how he said my son was taking over his life, never mind mine …
‘Jesus, Jules.’ Laura grabs her coat and makes for the door. ‘He may be a bit of a dick sometimes, but he’s not a complete ogre – so much for your faith in human nature. He’s not even in Grimsby so he need never know and anyway, I’ll deal with him if he’s got a problem. I’ll refund the petrol. We’ll do a Ferris Bueller and rewind the mileage.’
Dad and I have no choice but to follow her outside to the van.
‘But it never worked!’
‘What didn’t?’
‘In the film, when Cameron tries to rewind the mileage of his dad’s sports car, it doesn’t work.’
She unlocks the van and opens the door. ‘Just shut up, will you? And get in.’
There’s only space for one next to the driver at the front of the van, so Dad and I sit in the back, amongst the empty crates and the boxes of supplies. There are no seat belts and it’s definitely illegal, but that’s the least of my concerns. All I care about now is getting to Zac.
The first half hour of the journey consists of us leaning through to the front of the van helping Laura get on the right road, because it turns out that although she can drive, she hasn’t actually done so for a year and she’s certainly not driven a van. We finally get her on the road, however, and all goes quiet, save for the low hum of the radio. I suppose I’m conscious that Dad isn’t saying anything, but it’s partly that I’m used to it, and partly that I’m preoccupied, too busy frantically scrolling through my phone, praying for news from Teagan’s mum or Zac himself. Suddenly, I glance up, though, and Dad is looking at me. I hold his gaze for a moment, expecting him to look away, but he doesn’t, which unnerves me.
‘Dad?’
He doesn’t speak.
‘Dad, you all right? It’s going to be OK. We will find him.’
‘I’ve got things I’ve got to talk to you about, Juliet,’ he says.
‘Yes, I know.’ I remember what Mum said about kicking him out. ‘But they can wait till we get there, can’t they?’
‘No, they’re things I need to tell you now.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zac
Fact: Octopuses have three hearts.
Whitby is the best place I’ve ever been in my life. I couldn’t believe that of all the places in England, my own dad lived there. There was a massive beach – better even than Cleethorpes – and cliffs and boats and slot machines (miles more than Cleethorpes) and a massive hill with a big crumbly castle on top. It was sick. It looked like the burnt-out skeleton of a dinosaur.
‘What’s that?’ I said to Teagan, over the seagulls – they were even louder than they are in Grimsby.
‘It’s Whitby Abbey.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because my aunty Sheila’s been there, it’s dead famous. Dracula even lived there.’
‘What?’ I said, looking up at the abbey, imagining Dracula perching on the edge in his black cloak, blood dripping from his lips. ‘What do you mean, Dracula lived there?’
‘Zac, stop asking questions,’ said Teagan, crossing the road. ‘We’ve only been to three restaurants so far, we’ve loads to do yet.’
She was right. The Find Dad mission was the reason we were here – the only reason – it was just we were so close now that I was getting nervous. It was going to happen; I was going to meet my dad. What if he didn’t want to know me? What if he didn’t like the look of me, like he didn’t when I was a baby (even though Mum had said it hadn’t been like that at all; it was all because of Jamie that he left, not me)? It felt too big for my head. I wanted it more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life, but also I kept looking at people walking around with ice creams, or going up the steps to the abbey, and wishing I was one of them – just a random person on holiday, instead of Zac Hutchinson on the most important day of his life.
When my grandad told me my dad lived in Whitby and owned a seafood restaurant, I couldn’t believe it. It was the biggest clue ever and he’d never told me; but that was because he never knew I was looking for him and also because he was worried about me finding him because of everything that had happened. He was worried it might upset me. But once he understood I needed to find him, he wanted to help, so that was when he told me the information about Dad living here and owning a seafood restaurant like he and Uncle Jamie dreamt of doing. He’d done it, in Uncle Jamie’s memory. It was more proof that he missed him.
Then I overheard the horrible row at Nan’s, and I know it was bad, but me and Teagan decided we needed to do something drastic, we had to finish our investigation once and for all. It seemed like everyone was upset with everyone anyway, so if I found my dad and it turned out bad, then nothing would be worse than it already was – but I had a very strong feeling it would turn out good. It was an unmissable opportunity, especially now we had our vital clue.
So me and Teagan gathered all the money we had from both our piggy banks (it was £49.76) and we got on the bus at Grimsby. It was just me and her and it was still so early that the bin men trucks were in the streets and the sun was still on its way up, at its most glowing, making everything feel new. It felt like the scariest, most exciting thing I’d ever done. I felt bad for Mum because I knew she’d be worried, but I also knew it would be worth it. I had a voice in my head that I couldn’t ignore – and, also, one main rule of missions is that you have to finish them; they’re not worth anything unless you do.
Our MO when we got here was to go in every seafood restaurant and ask if Liam Jones worked there. We’d know him when we saw him, anyway, because we had some vital facts. We knew he had really light blue eyes like mine, black hair and half his thumb missing. I’d seen the picture of him at Aunty Kelly’s anyway. I’d know my dad anywhere.
We found another restaurant. It was called Mario’s and it had a board outside with The Finest Seafood in Whitby written on it. It looked posher than the one we’d just been into, which mainly served fish and chips, and there were fish tanks around the tables – I hoped nobody ate the goldfish that were in there. I hoped they were just there to look at while you had your lobster thermidor.
Teagan marched straight to the back to ask if this was my dad’s restaurant but I stayed in the restaurant bit. I’m shyer than Teagan but that’s OK. If you’re detectives working in a pair, it’s always good to have one confident one and one who’s more shy – because they can do the looking around while the other one goes straight in. It was true as well, because just then, a man came down the restaurant stairs. He did it two at a time, whistling as he went, so you knew he did it all the time, and that he worked here, and he was wearing a white shirt like a waiter.r />
‘Excuse me, is this a seafood restaurant?’
He smiled like he thought I was funny.
‘It is, yes, can’t you see food?’
The man started laughing then and I laughed to be polite, even though I didn’t know what was funny, then the man said, ‘So how can I help you, young man? Are you looking for someone?’
That was when I asked if Liam Jones worked here and the man knew his name, he knew my dad was a chef. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘Liam Jones. He doesn’t work here, but I know where he does.’
My dad’s restaurant was called The Oyster – I liked the name – and it was on a cliff. The man told us how to get there. You had to walk back over the bridge where we were, down towards the sea then up loads of steps again. It sounded like hard work but I would have done it ten times to meet my dad. Whitby is a really busy place and there were loads of cars and people coming over the bridge, but both could only come slowly because there were so many of them; nobody could rush, because there wasn’t room. Suddenly, when we were halfway over, Teagan stopped. ‘Zac.’ She turned around, her eyes wide as anything. ‘That was your nan!’
‘What? No it wasn’t.’ It couldn’t be.
‘It was, it was your nan,’ she said, and she had to shout above the seagulls and the cars. ‘I swear on my life, she was in that taxi just gone over the bridge!’
‘Don’t be stupid, why would my nan come to Whitby?’ I said, jogging to try to catch her up. ‘How would she even know I was here?’ But then it felt like ants were crawling over my skin, because Teagan would never say she swore on her life unless she was a hundred per cent certain – at least ninety-five per cent anyway. And what if Grandad had told Nan what he’d told me about my dad living here? What if she was so mad that she’d come to stop me, or have a fight with my dad over Uncle Jamie?
‘What did she look like?’
‘Your nan!’ said Teagan. ‘Her mouth looked all sad – it was definitely her.’
I hadn’t thought of Nan having a sad mouth before, but when Teagan did an impression, I realized she was right. I felt sick (but mostly starving, because I’d only had a Double Decker for my breakfast as we’d had to save our money for the bus and my dad’s restaurant). But I couldn’t think of Nan now, I had to finish the mission. If I started to worry about my nan coming to Whitby to stop me, then I might get too scared and give up.
You couldn’t believe the view from my dad’s restaurant. It was even better than the one of Grimsby from Teagan’s bedroom. The whole building was basically windows, so that if you looked through the front one (we were still standing outside, trying to get up the courage to go in) you could see all the way through the restaurant to the windows at the other end and to the view. It was of the sea, of course, which was so blue it didn’t look real, and so sparkly with sun it made you feel happy just looking at it. I wondered if my dad had ever looked at it and thought about me (probably not, because the view was so nice, you couldn’t think about anything else). But even if he hadn’t, just knowing what he looked at every day felt nice – like I knew him better already.
‘Zac.’ Teagan was nudging me. ‘Aren’t we going to go in then?’ I nodded but my stomach hurt. I didn’t know if it was because I was so nervous, or because I was hungry – but it was the same sort of feeling.
‘Hello.’ There was a lady at the front behind a desk, like the lady behind the desk at the fish market, except (I checked) this one only had one phone to answer. The woman looked behind us, as if she was expecting someone else. Then when no one else came, she turned back to us. ‘Can I help you?’
I looked at Teagan, I didn’t know what to say. But Teagan was amazing. ‘We’d like a table, please. We’ve come all the way from Grimsby.’
The woman frowned and looked behind us again. ‘On your own?’
‘Yes,’ said Teagan. ‘We had to get the bus this morning and since then he’s only had a Double Decker and me a bag of Frazzles so we’re absolutely starving.’
‘Right,’ said the lady, her mouth twisting.
She looked sad like she was going to have to turn us away because we were on our own, but then Teagan said, ‘We came on our own, but my parents are coming too. They’re just a bit held up at the moment.’ She paused and looked at me. My heart was banging in case this all went wrong. ‘They’re still at the abbey, you see, learning about Dracula. We were a bit scared so we came here first to get us a table.’
The lady looked from Teagan to me, to over the other side of the restaurant, and I said a little prayer: Please, Jesus, we’re at the end of our mission now. Please can you make it that she lets us in.
‘You can phone my mum if you want,’ said Teagan. And even though it was probably the most serious moment of my life so far, a giggle bubbled up. I had to try really hard to push it back down again. I couldn’t believe what a risk-taker she was! She didn’t even have a phone!
There was a long pause. It seemed to go on forever, but then the lady said, ‘Nope, I believe you. You look like a very honest young lady to me. Now, let me find you all a nice table. What will it be? Four of you?’
There were loads of people having their dinner already and everybody’s voices were echoing – it was a nice sound, of people having a good time – and there were big, fancy lights in the ceiling, which was really high up, and the tablecloths were so white they hurt your eyes, and the sun was glinting off all the knives and forks, probably because they were real silver. It was the poshest restaurant I’d ever been in in my life – posher than Toby Carvery, although I bet they didn’t do all you can eat vegetables here or giant Yorkshire puddings – and all the time the lady was taking us to our table, I was looking out for my dad. My heart was going mad at the thought he could just come out from the kitchen any time; that maybe he was already in the room, breathing the same air as me. And it was the scariest, maddest feeling I’d ever had. I felt dizzy, like I might even faint.
‘Is this table OK?’ said the lady. It was more than OK because it was right next to the window, so you could look down at the sea and watch the seagulls that flew across to say hello, and I was facing the kitchen, so if my dad came out, I would see him first. The lady handed us a menu each. They were heavy and blue leather with gold letters – I bet they cost a bomb. ‘Someone will come and take your order when your parents arrive and you’re all ready, but why don’t you be looking through these while you’re waiting?’
Me and Teagan just looked at each other and smiled. ‘Oh my God, that was close,’ said Teagan over her menu once the lady had gone. ‘I thought she was never going to let us in.’
‘You were a genius!’
‘Shall I go into the kitchen?’ she said. ‘Go and see if I can see him?’
‘No, I’m not ready,’ I said. ‘I’m so nervous, I feel sick. I don’t think I’ll even be able to eat anything.’
‘Oh my God, you are nervous,’ said Teagan, and I laughed. I even felt a bit better.
‘I would be nervous if I were you, but we’re here now, we’re so close, Zac! And just think how you’ll feel when you meet him; when we’ve accomplished our mission.’
‘But what if he doesn’t like me?’
‘What’re you on about?’ said Teagan. ‘Why would he not like you?’
‘I dunno.’ It was the first time I’d said it out loud and I was suddenly scared it might come true. ‘Just maybe he won’t. You can’t like everyone, can you? And maybe he won’t be expecting me to be so … you know.’
‘What?’
I had to look out of the window when I said it, because it felt embarrassing, even in front of Teagan. ‘Big,’ I said. ‘I’m big, aren’t I? I’m bigger than most ten-year-olds.’
Teagan just looked confused. ‘So? You’re also nicer and funnier and better than most ten-year-olds and anyway, I’m smaller than most ten-year-olds. I wear clothes that are for seven-year-olds!’
It was true but I’d sort of forgotten that Teagan was really small. Maybe after a bit of knowing someo
ne, you just forget stuff like that.
We decided to order some food, quick while the lady at the front was busy with everyone coming into the restaurant. One o’clock must have been when everyone had their dinner in Whitby, because suddenly it was packed. We decided my dad was bound to come out at some point. Maybe if we ordered something fancy, then he’d be the one to serve it to us, to explain what was in it like he used to do when he played MasterChef with Uncle Jamie – my mum told me all about it.
The only problem was, you couldn’t understand the menu, because most of it was in a foreign language, with words we’d never heard of like ‘bouillabaisse’ (how did you even say that? It was the most stupid word ever). But a waitress came in no time. She didn’t look very old. We decided she was probably Year 10 at the most and we ordered some prawns because we knew that word and what they’d taste like and then some mussels with chips on the side. It was all delicious and I was watching the kitchen doors but he still didn’t come out, so then we ordered some scallops and a fish called a turbot and then …
‘We’ll have the Singapore crab,’ said Teagan, when the waitress came for the third time and we’d finished the prawns and mussels (we still had our chips and the scallops and half the turbot fish left). The waitress frowned. She looked very surprised.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ we both said.
‘Because it’s a big main course – another main course.’ She wanted to say, And you’ve already got loads of food and You’re being extremely greedy, you could tell, but she knew it was bad manners. But we said we were sure and we ordered it anyway and it was only then that I looked at our table and realized how much food we’d ordered and wondered how we would eat it all – or, even worse, pay for it all.
Teagan wasn’t worried. ‘Zac, it’s your dad’s restaurant,’ she said, scooping a mussel out with her fork (she’d never tried them before, but she wasn’t scared to, it was typical of her). ‘You won’t have to pay.’ As she said it, she checked with her eagle eyes over at the front bit again, to make sure the lady hadn’t noticed our parents hadn’t arrived, hadn’t clocked that Teagan had told her a massive fib. Then Teagan said something funny, which was that mussels are the food opposite of broccoli, which looks nice but tastes disgusting, whereas mussels are the other way round. We were trying to think of other food opposites (it’s harder than you think) but then I stopped talking, and my stomach did this massive flip-flop, because the kitchen door swung open and out walked my dad. I knew it was my dad because he was wearing chef whites like those my uncle Jamie is wearing in the picture I have of him in my room, and he had black hair and looked like the picture I’d seen, and he was not thin or fat, he was just perfect normal-sized. And then he was almost at our table, and I saw his eyes. They were exactly like mine.