I Think My Dad Is a Spy

by Sognia Vassallo

  (Spy rule 111: Take the enemy by surprise!)

  “WHO IS THIS ZOE WOMAN REALLY?” I blurted, interrupting his speech on the importance of getting along with Michael.

  Suddenly Dad stopped pacing, he said nothing nor did he look up at me. Instead he just calmly turned and faced the window. I could see him looking at Chelsea, who was talking to the photographer as they set up underneath the willow tree Mum had planted the day I was born.

  “Um, she’s your grandmother’s assistant,” he answered casually (too casually if you asked me).

  “Really, is that all she is?” I asked knowing better.

  “Why would you doubt me?” he said turning around looking puzzled.

  “Because… Chelsea mentioned her to me,” I said openly, this time it was me who searched his face for clues.

  “Oh r-really,” he said shakily, “Wh-what did she say about her?”

  “Only that she thought you had run off to New York with another woman!” I said with a smirk.

  Dad was taken aback with this statement. He walked away from the window and slumped into his black leather armchair, burying his face in his hands.

  For once I didn’t burst out laughing when his chair made its usual loud faaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrt sound whenever somebody sat in it.

  Dad looked up at me sitting opposite him and asked in a soft whisper, “What else do you know Sophie?”

  This time it was me who was lost for words.

  “I know that you know more,” he said looking at me warily. Dad’s face looked different, almost unpleasant…

  (Spy rule 101: Always weigh up your options!)

  I realised it was now or never to share with him what I knew fully. I quickly made a mental note in my head of what the consequences could be:

  1. If Dad was a spy and I had blown his cover, I could be handed over to his agency and they could interrogate me into telling them everything I knew.

  2. They could send me off to some remote country like Siberia and leave me there…maybe forever.

  3. They could recruit me as a spy and then maybe Dad and I could work together.

  4. Or if my father wasn’t a spy I could be grounded for the rest of my life!

  I thought the last option was the most likely.

  (Spy rule 100:

  Sometimes you just have

  to go with your gut!)

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and thought what the heck! I stooped over and reached into Dad’s hand luggage which was still leaning up against the couch.

  “It was ringing this morning and I answered it. On the other end was a Russian woman—I’m guessing it was Zoe?” I said handing him his mobile. I was shaking. Dad reluctantly took the phone out of my hand, like I was handing him a bag full of dog poop. There was an uncomfortable silence while he scoured through the texts and voice messages.

  After a long silence, other than Chelsea’s voice telling the photographer where she thought the best spots were in the garden, I realised Dad wasn’t going to threaten to kill or even ground me. I decided to sit back down on the long sofa and pick off the tiny fluff balls that had accumulated on my favourite shirt. As soon as Dad finished listening to his phone messages he promptly re­dialled a number and began speaking fluent Russian!

  (Spy rule 300:

  Whatever you do try

  to STAY CALM!)

  My stomach had that horrible sick feeling again, I felt nervous and confused. I hadn’t a clue to who he was talking to or what he was saying, but I was pretty sure he never knew how to speak fluent Russian or any other languages. A strange notion popped into my head—what if this man sitting in front of me wasn’t my real father but an imposter!

  Dad was still on the phone and talking Russian when Chelsea popped her head into the lounge room and scared the bejesus out of me.

  “Oh, here you both are! Will you be long? The photographer is waiting?”

  Then all of a sudden Dad or the ‘imposter Dad’ did the strangest thing…

  “I will see what I can do from this end but I can’t promise anything,” he said now speaking in English to the stranger on the other end of the phone. Then the imposter raised his hand, smiled and made a gesture to Chelsea, to just give him a couple more minutes.

  But I didn’t need a couple of minutes; I wanted to run out of the house screaming, “THERE’S AN IMPOSTER IN OUR LOUNGE ROOM!”

  Chelsea went to leave but then she looked at me and whispered, “Is everything all right, you look awfully pale?”

  I was still in shock and taken completely by surprise about Dad’s Russian conversation. Even if I could open my mouth and talk I didn’t know what to say or quite how to say it. My first instinct was to scream and run.

  I could feel Dad’s eyes boring a hole into the back of my head, reluctantly I answered, “Yes, I’m fine”.

  “Okay then, well I’ll guess I’ll see you two out in the garden soon, shall I?” she asked as she turned and walked out of the lounge room.

  I wanted to answer, Yes I may see you again as long as this imposter Dad isn’t about to kill me!

  I listened as Chelsea’s high heels click-clacked along the floor boards and out the back door. Dad promptly finished his phone conversation speaking in hushed Russian again.

  The only word I think I understood was ‘OK!’ but I could’ve been mistaken.

  Slowly he put his mobile on the coffee table as he stared intensely into my eyes. I moved uncomfortably about in my seat, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but I wanted to know who this person was because I was sure it wasn’t my real father.

  I had to think of a really hard question about me only Dad would know.

  “What is my most hated food in the world?” I asked the man sitting in front of me.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said taken completely by surprise.

  “Just answer the question please,” I said sternly.

  “Um…brussel sprouts?” he answered curiously.

  Pooh! He was right, but come to think of it ninety percent of the population hate brussel sprouts too. Maybe that question was too easy; I needed a much harder one.

  “Look Sophie I need to explain something…”

  “Shhh!” I cut his explanation short, only my real father would know the answer to this next question.

  “On my seventh birthday you bought me a pair of rollerblades that were too big. How did I skate in them that day?” I asked.

  “I don’t know!” the man said irritably throwing his arms into the air.

  “REALLY?!” I exclaimed in horror.

  “No…I mean…yes look Sophie, what is all this about?” he said crossly.

  “If you really are my dad, I need you to answer this question.”

  “Is that what this is, you don’t think I am your real father?” the man said chuckling under his breath.

  “I know you’re not my father because he doesn’t speak Russian,” I said smugly.

  The man in the black leather armchair chuckled quietly.

  “Okay then…umm,” he thought for a moment with his hand on his neatly shaved chin.

  “I took off my socks and gave them to you to wear so your skates would fit you better. There are you satisfied?” he asked grinning widely.

  “Oh, Daddy it is you!” I gushed but now I was really confused.

  “Of course it’s me silly, who did you expect it to be?”

  “An imposter,” I blurted truthfully

  Before Dad could respond Chelsea popped her head around the doorway once more.

  “Are you two ready now?” she snapped, sounding a bit cross.

  “Yes, of course we are?” Dad said calmly standing up from his big chair and walking out towards the back garden.

  As soon as the family pictures were taken, Chelsea asked the photographer if he could take a few pictures of just Michael and me together. It was so gross!

  This whole stupid photo thing took forever; he made us sit on a picnic rug while he took a million photos and then
he made us lean against the willow tree and took another million more. But I absolutely refused to participate when the photographer wanted Michael to put his arm around me. I almost puked—seriously!

  Finally when all the photos were taken, Chelsea made Michael help the photographer pack up his equipment and load it into his van.

  “Sucker!” I whispered as I walked past him holding Dad and Chelsea’s hands as we walked around the front of the house together.

  Just as the photographer sped off down the road, Mrs Riley pulled up onto the nature strip. Theo and Janice raced out of the car holding a colossal-sized trophy between them.

  “I take it you won,” I said throwing my arms around Theo.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it; but it’s okay, Mum recorded it. I’m sure you can ask her for a copy anytime,” he said turning a little pink.

  “Oh I will for sure,” I said as I play-punched him in the arm.

  Dad said my friends could stay for the surprise, which made Janice’s face light up like a Christmas tree. Mrs Riley was invited also but she was so excited she wanted to show off Theo’s trophy to her friends at the Orchard Mead Country Club. While Dad and Chelsea were occupied saying goodbye to Theo’s mum on the front nature strip, my friends and I snuck around the backyard so we could talk in private.

  “Janice told me what happened this morning, how’s it been?” Theo asked eagerly. I told them everything.

  “OMG!” said Janice, her mouth gaped open. “Your dad speaks Russian!”

  Theo was so gobsmacked he put his hand up to his open mouth and stared at me.

  “Soph, this is getting a little too freaky for me! I mean what if your dad really is a spy?” said Janice freaking out.

  “What? You can’t bail on me now Janice, not when you’re the one who’s been saying he is a spy right from the start?” I scoffed feeling disappointed with her.

  “Janice is right Soph, maybe we should just leave you to it,” Theo whispered.

  “OH NO, YOU DON’T!” I cried. “We are all in this together. We’ve spent ages trying to get to the bottom of this once and for all. Don’t you want to know what Dad’s been up to?” I asked angrily.

  “I think we all would like to know what’s going on!” said a familiar voice behind us…

  Everyone was soon crammed into our tiny living room like a tin of sardines. Theo had pushed the black ottoman up against the wall and sat slumped under the window ledge. Janice was the first in the room so naturally she chose to sit in the single armchair that I always sat in.

  Grandma had just politely thanked Chelsea for her cup of black tea, while Michael was standing behind her puffing up a cushion and placing it gently down her back.

  What a brown-noser, I thought shaking my head. Grandma was overly grateful for the gesture as she wriggled into the back of the two-seater couch, and the empty seat next to Grandma became occupied when the Idiot-Boy sat down next to her.

  The only spot left was Dad’s farty leather armchair. I wondered who was going to sit in that. Several minutes had passed when Dad finally entered the room. Chelsea shot a quick uneasy glance over to him as she poured the last of the tea out into her cup. I could tell she was the most anxious person in the room, especially after she had just overheard us talking about Dad outside.

  Chelsea didn’t even thank Dad when he offered her his armchair to sit in. Carefully she sat down in the farty-chair, but it just made a soft squeaky ‘eewWWPhffft’ as she settled fully into it. Several of us still giggled at the sound it made.

  “Sorry,” whispered Chelsea looking around embarrassed.

  As our tiny lounge room was filled to capacity, I decided to sit on top of the sideboard. I gently wriggled my bottom between a photograph of my mum holding me as a baby and my short film documentary trophy that I won last year.

  “Sophie George, do you have to sit up there?” Dad asked looking around the crammed room.

  “But there’s nowhere else to sit,” I whinged also looking around the crammed room.

  Grandma, being Grandma, wriggled over a little to make room for me on the couch between her and Idiot-Boy. She patted the sofa cushion as a gesture for me to come and sit down between them. I smiled politely trying to think of something other to say except, “Eeew! Are you ­serious?”

  Dad gave me a harsh stare so I hopped off the sideboard and leant against it instead.

  “A-hem,” Dad said clearing his throat, “I have gathered you all here today because I feel the need to explain my curious behaviour of late.”

  Chelsea moved uncomfortably in Dad’s chair.

  “Some of you may or may not know that a rumour circulated about me running off to New York with a Russian woman.”

  Chelsea snorted a loud nervous giggle and everyone’s eyes fell upon her.

  “Well some of that was true—you see Zoe is my mother’s assistant in the United States and she also happens to be Russian,” he explained.

  The room fell silent and again all eyes fell on Chelsea for a reaction, but she looked frozen. Her eyes were fixed on her tea cup sitting on her lap.

  “A few weeks ago I had a mission,” Dad continued.

  “Ooooh,” gasped Janice loudly looking at me.

  “My mission was to find an item I had seen when I flicking through a magazine—an item so precious and beautiful. After many emails and phone calls I realised I couldn’t get this thing in Australia. So I asked my mother who kindly put her assistant on to finding it for me in America. Zoe flew here to meet with me and we discussed the object I desired and I have been completely caught up with it ever since. Unfortunately as you know when mother had her accident it meant Zoe and I had to fly back to New York at a moment’s notice,” Dad said looking at me apologetically.

  “Back in the States I was able to finalise my plans and bring, not only my mother back to Australia, but also the thing I have been desperately keeping from you all,” he finished.

  He’s going to announce he’s a spy, I thought looking around the room anxiously.

  Dad picked up his briefcase and opened it. He pulled out a little blue bag, inside the bag was a quaint blue box. Dad surprised us all when he dropped down on one knee in front of Chelsea; everyone gasped with excitement.

  As he took Chelsea by the left hand, I looked around the room nervously. Suddenly I felt hot and the walls felt like they were closing in on me. Out the corner of my eye I saw Theo scrambling over the ottoman to get a closer look; Janice was kneeling up on my chair. Even Grandma was pulling herself up by Michael’s arm, so she could get a better look. I felt weird like this wasn’t real, like I was watching a TV show and not real life.

  Then I heard him say those words…

  “Chelsea McClain, will you marry me?”

  “Yes!” Chelsea replied.

  Everyone burst into a roar of celebration. Janice and Theo were holding onto each other and dancing around the room, Michael had been temporarily smothered by Grandma’s hugs and kisses; “Eeew!” I shuddered, she better not kiss me next and give me his germs.

  Chelsea and Dad were hugging so tight they looked like one giant fat person. But I just stood there shocked and motionless. I was lost for words or even a reaction.

  Theo and Janice came bounding over to the sideboard, squealing and dancing around me.

  “Are you all right Sophie?” Theo asked grabbing Janice’s arm in a bid to stop her jumping around me, but before I could answer, Dad and Chelsea had joined us. I hugged them both pretending I was super excited with the engagement. While we looked at Chelsea’s engagement ring Dad asked to be excused for a minute. The ring was one of the most spectacular things I had ever seen, it sparkled like it was made up of a hundred diamonds or more. It must have cost a fortune, I thought.

  “Are you okay with this sweetie?” Chelsea asked me sincerely.

  “Y-yes of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I scoffed pretending I was totally fine with Dad organising this whole thing behind my back.

  “It’s just yo
ur dad took me by surprise, and I can only imagine how shocked you must be,” she said.

  “Phfft, I think we all knew it was only a matter of time,” I said waving my hand like I knew more than I had let on.

  “Oh, so you already knew he was planning this?” she asked. “Is that what you two were discussing in the lounge room earlier?”

  I was stuck for words, should I just pretend and say yes…I panicked and looked down at the ground and shuffled my feet.

  Thank goodness for Dad’s perfect timing because he scurried over and stood between Chelsea and I.

  “Here are my two favourite girls,” he said kissing me on the cheek as he handed me a similar blue bag to the one he had given Chelsea. As I laid eyes on the bag, I saw it had the words ‘Tiffany & Co’ printed across it. I opened it and quickly pulled out a slightly larger pale blue box than Chelsea’s ring box and passed the bag on to Theo. Janice snatched it from him and made a sigh of revelation when she recognised the name.

  I carefully lifted the lid. My eyes were fixed upon the loveliest ornate silver locket I had ever seen in my life.

  I was totally speechless.

  Dad leant in and took the locket out of the box for me and opened it.

  A single tear fell down my cheek—inside was a tiny picture of a girl with the same eyes as me.

  “This is a picture of your mother when she was about your age,” Dad whispered gently. “I had this locket especially made for you in New York. I hope you like it better than those miniature nuts and cheeses,” he said with a hearty chuckle.

  “Oh Daddy, I love it so much,” I said throwing my arms around him with vigour.

  “And I am really happy for you both—honestly I am,” I said truthfully with a teary face as Chelsea, Dad and I moulded into a group hug.

  My locket got passed around the room and was admired just as much as Chelsea’s engagement ring had earlier.

  When Chelsea and Dad ducked off into the kitchen to bring out some snacks, Janice used the alone-time to pull me and Theo aside; I already knew she was going to say something about the Tiffany bag.