Yowzer, I thought. He’s got to be really, really strong.
‘Tatty?’ Elsa was behind me, just visible behind a load of grey matter. Not of the cerebral kind, mind. Sweatshirts, tracksuit bottoms, T-shirts.
‘What a world of grey,’ I said. And got busy with the scissors again.
*
‘The room will look great when it’s finished,’ I called to Elsa above the clatter of the sewing machine.
‘Anything to get Arnold out with a girl,’ she replied.
‘You make it sound like I’ve got facial warts or something,’ said Arnold from the doorway. He looked odd. His head did not match the rest of his body. Old-man sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms, I realised, had been Arnold’s uniform for as long as I’d known him.
‘Take off your clothes,’ I said to him, pulling out the finished T-shirt.
‘Not bloody likely.’
I ignored him, bit off a thread and held up the shirt, side seams taken in by a mile, sleeves lopped narrower, body length still the same. ‘Put this on.’
Arnold shuffled closer and took the garment from me gingerly.
‘Go on,’ said Elsa, remaking the bed.
Arnold stepped behind his cupboard door, blushing furiously. He got into the black T faster than Kate Moss between catwalks, but not before I got a good look at the structure we had to work with.
I was amazed.
This boy’s bod was beautiful.
I tried to say something. Anything. He was looking at me looking at him and it was all getting uncomfortable even though he had the T-shirt on now. Well, especially now that he had the T-shirt on. It showed off that fine physique like nothing he’d ever worn.
‘W-what’s with all the baggy gear the whole time?’ I stammered in confusion. And then I blushed.
Silence.
It’s hard to describe, but there was, like, A Moment.
Then I noticed Elsa looking at Arnold looking at me looking at him.
‘Mona de Souza,’ said Elsa quietly from the bed.
Arns and I blinked.
‘Mona de Souza,’ I said quickly, ‘is going to, um, be begging you to open the bedside drawer.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Elsa. ‘Even with the old-man trackie bottoms.’
I stood up. ‘Give them to me,’ I commanded.
Arnold clutched them frantically (as if I was going to rip them from his body. I mean, please) and said, ‘Nononono. You step away.’
It’s a pity that as I swooped to rip them from his body – tumbling both of us in a heap, bare hairy legs (his) waving desperately around – Sergeant Hilda Trenchard chose that moment to come home. The front door slammed and she yelled, ‘Hi, guys, any supper left for me?’ up the stairs. I jerked away in shock, pulling the bottoms off Arnold’s feet and hitting my head on the desk with a thwack.
‘Aargh!’ I bleated.
Sergeant T was at the bedroom door in a nanosecond, staring first at her daughter in a nest of tumbled duvet and unbundled pillows, then at her son, naked from the waist down (how was I to know Arnold Trenchard doesn’t wear unders?), and then – for the longest time – at the fallen girl with her son’s trousers held tightly to her wanton breast.
‘What,’ said Sergeant T in a dangerously quiet voice, ‘is going on here?’
‘I ate the last of the Bolognese,’ said Elsa blithely, springing from the bed. ‘Sorry, Mum.’
Perhaps it was no dinner after a long day that angered her mother. Or maybe the altering of domestic decor without consultation. Possibly, just possibly, the disarray and nakedness of teens under her law-abiding roof? Dunno. The truth of the matter is that she was Not Pleased. In the slightest.
Elsa turned from plumping the final pillow, saying, ‘Ar–’ Then: ‘Yoooow! Arns! Where are your underpants? I’m scarred! I think I can see some bits!’
‘Arnold?’ added his mother.
Arnold was frozen on the floor, though his hands were now covering himself to some degree. I threw his bottoms back to him and stood up, whirling away to face his mother.
Oh, help, I prayed, and walked over to her with my hand outstretched. She was just as tall as Arns, but built like a big brickhouse, with an enormous head of curly red hair and chunky plastic-rimmed glasses identical to those of her son. It was vaguely terrifying. I read her name badge and said, ‘Hi, Sergeant Trenchard. I’m Tallulah Bird. Elsa and I are just helping Arnold –’
‘Get a date,’ finished Elsa, grinning happily at her mother.
Sergeant Trenchard looked me squarely in the eye, still clasping my hand, and said, ‘With demonstrations of a sexual nature?’
‘Mum!’ cried Arnold and Elsa, horrified.
I snatched a look at Arns. He’d managed to scramble back into his bottoms.
‘Where is your hair?’ continued his mother.
‘In the bin where it belongs,’ said Elsa firmly.
‘I just wanted to adjust the tracksuit bottoms,’ I said meekly. The eyes swivelled back to mine, then across to Arns again. ‘They’re a little baggy for this day and age,’ I added in polite explanation.
Sergeant T was quiet. We all held our breath.
‘Arnie, you don’t look anything like me any more,’ she said finally in a small, sad voice. She dropped my hand absent-mindedly and stepped over the mountain of cut-up clothes towards him.
He took one look at her mournful face and pulled her into a hug. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’ll always look like you. But it’s not good for a teenager to sport the same hairstyle as his mother.’
‘No,’ agreed his mum mistily. She glanced back at me. ‘He looks really great.’ She patted his chest. ‘About time you showed off the yoga muscles, my love.’
‘Mum!’ said Arnold, blushing furiously again. Geez, the guy was going to burst a blood vessel at this rate.
‘And the white.’ She nodded at the walls. ‘Much fresher than before.’
‘Thanks,’ said Elsa, picking up a pillow again.
‘Why does the makeover include the bedroom?’
‘Uh,’ I said hastily, ‘we felt the home affects the attitude, the outlook, the, um, feelings of confidence, maybe . . .’
‘So you’re not planning on bringing a girl back here?’
‘Maybe just to listen to music,’ pleaded Arnold.
‘That’s all right, then,’ said Sergeant T. She bent her curly head towards me and pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘He likes Duran Duran and Wham,’ she said in an undertone, nodding at his stereo on the chest of drawers. ‘No chance he’ll score with an eighties backlash.’
I gulped, startled.
‘I’ll leave you kids to it,’ Sergeant T finished, moving towards the door. ‘Elsa, did you at least leave some cheesecake?’ we heard as she headed downstairs.
Arns offered to walk me home and Mum was pleased not to have to come out in the fresh night. She probably hoped we’d have a romantic encounter on the way home ha ha ha (bitter laugh). Not likely, thanks to Mona de Souza. I sighed regretfully. What a difference in Arns just with hair, glasses and clothes taken care of. It had been fun.
The front gate yelped at my urgent shove.
‘I’d invite you in for coffee, but, um, it’s late and . . .’ I said to Arnold uncomfortably, thinking of our ramshackle house.
‘Tonight’s proceedings were exhausting, agony at times,’ thought Arns aloud.
‘I have taken a few blows to the head,’ I agreed.
‘I was talking about the waxing.’
‘Oh. Yes. Well, if you hadn’t knocked my hand away at the last minute the strip would never have landed on your um –’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Arns quickly.
I yawned and waved him off, wondering at a sudden movement in the Setting Sun’s hedge over the road. Arnold noticed it too and shrugged back at me with a grin. Someone spying on us? More likely Mr Kadinski in a wrinkly embrace with Madame Polanikov.
Ew.
Better get to sleep before disturbing thoughts took hold.
Chapter Five
Tuesday night. One down on The List and just three days left to bag a boy
I got in and headed for the kitchen, where I found Mum at the freezer. She offered to share the only tub of Ben&Jerry’s. I was impressed.
‘So, Lula . . . Did you have a nice walk home?’ she asked, examining the choc chips in her ice cream with feigned interest.
‘Mum,’ I said firmly. ‘Arnold Trenchard and I will never get together.’
‘I wasn’t –’
‘Uh-huh. You were. He’s in love with someone else now. That’s why he wanted the makeover.’
Mum flung her spoon into her bowl with a clatter and pushed back from the table. She swallowed her mouthful and spluttered: ‘No!’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Look, Mum. I didn’t really fancy him anyway.’
‘Lula, you’ll just have to win him back,’ she said with surety. ‘Who is this hussy with high hopes?’
‘Mona de Souza, PSG hot girl,’ I said glumly. ‘Let’s just forget about it, okay?’
Mum muttered something I couldn’t hear, and seriously didn’t want to know.
I cleared my throat and scraped out the last of the tub into my bowl. ‘Dad sleeping better tonight?’
Mum sighed. ‘He’s not back yet.’
‘He went out? Where? I thought he was sick.’
‘Just . . . for some fresh air. I think he’s recovering slowly. You know, from the flu.’
‘Mum, he looks terrible. The sweating, the vomiting . . .’ I paused and met her eyes for a second. ‘Dad’s drinking’s got way worse since Grandma Bird died, hasn’t it? Is this all just a terrible hangover?’ I stopped. This was not easy to talk about and I could tell Mum just wanted me to let it go. I gulped down my ice cream and got up to put my bowl in the dishwasher. ‘Do you think he’s got, like, a real problem?’
‘Don’t jump to melodramatic conclusions, Tallulah. Try to be a bit more supportive of your father.’
I ground my teeth and reached over for Mum’s empty bowl. It settled into the rack with a crash, as did our spoons. ‘What time did he go out?’
‘Not sure. Ten maybe? Are you this irritable because you’re finding yourself stretched a little thin?’
‘I wish I were stretched a little thin,’ I moaned, glaring down at my gut. ‘I should never have had that ice cream.’
‘You know what I mean, Lu. Working at the library, your coursework for school, the newspaper articles you should be writing . . .’
The horrifically embarrassing implications of being sweet sixteen and never been kissed, I thought bitterly.
‘None of that is massively stressful, Mum.’ I forced all kissing anxiety to the back of my mind and changed the subject quickly. ‘The only thing freaking me out is those missing documents. If Harrow Construction mows down Coven’s Quarter, Grandma Bird . . .’ I pressed away a sudden ache from my eyes with the heels of my hands. ‘She’d . . . Grandma would –’
Mum groaned. ‘Oh, Lula, I know. Security said someone from our office came in on Saturday morning. There’s a record on the access-card system. Eight a.m.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Who?’
‘Sophie Wenger.’
My jaw dropped. ‘No way! What, and they got her on camera too?’
‘There are no cameras. Can you believe it?’ Mum rubbed her forehead.
‘Saturday . . .’ I wondered. Then, ‘Are you sure she wasn’t there for that local history tour you had to go in for?’
‘No one in the office knew about that. The main library sprang that on me late Friday afternoon and I forgot to tell everyone to leave their desks tidy. Besides, the tour was at nine. Sophie came in at eight.’
‘But you said Stinky Mike was there. I remember you moaning about seeing him in shorts.’
Mum laughed. ‘He was most put out by the tour – all those historians staring at his scaly legs! He’d only popped in to get the jacket he’d left behind.’
‘So did you see Sophie?’
‘There’s no record of her leaving. Maybe she slipped out as the historians were signing in. If only she’d come or gone later – Security were in full force with the usual bag searches and she’d never have been able to get anything out.’
‘Why would she take the documents? She’s only interested in tattoos and scary goth music. It makes no sense.’
‘Money,’ suggested Mum wearily. ‘Wouldn’t put anything past that developer Harry Harrow. Bribing an innocent young girl.’
I rolled my eyes. Sophie Wenger? Innocent? Nooo. ‘Just get a warrant! Search her house!’
Mum shook her head. ‘She says she was never at the library on Saturday – that her card was lost, so she couldn’t have got in, even if she’d wanted to.’
‘Oh. Yeah. She said that this morning, actually.’
‘Though she conveniently found it in her bag this afternoon.’ Mum raised her eyes tiredly to mine. ‘But forget that, love. Try to relax a little, have some fun, even with your best friends gone.’
‘I do miss them,’ I admitted, distracted.
‘Maybe it was a mistake to stay behind to work at the library.’
‘No way – I’ll need the spending money next term. And if I’d gone up to the city to stay at Alex’s dad’s with them I’d have spent what little I do have.’
Mum smiled. ‘Sensible. I like it.’ Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Though I’m sorry they’re not going to be here to celebrate your birthday with you. Is it going to be terribly boring, just us and a cake?’
‘Depends on the gifts!’
‘You cheeky madam!’ I laughed, but Mum pursed her lips. ‘Actually, Lula, the present we’ve ordered has been a little delayed –’
‘Mum,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s fine. Really. The girls and I are looking forward to a pizza-and-movie night to celebrate when they’re back. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ replied Mum, smiling at me again.
‘Or maybe I’ll go along to the end-of-holiday party at Frey’s.’
‘Frey’s?’ My mother looked horrified.
‘Frey’s Dam, Mum. Just a few minutes’ walk from Coven’s Quarter.’
‘Oh, of course. I was thinking of nightclubs . . .’
‘. . . drugs and alcohol and wanton behaviour,’ I finished.
Mum rolled her eyes and stood up from the table. ‘Lu, don’t worry about Coven’s Quarter. Security will get something out of Sophie when her parents come in to see me tomorrow.’ She leaned over for a hug and a kiss, then headed out the door. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Night,’ I said, and unwrapped a dishwasher tablet. My head hurt from thinking. Sophie a criminal? No. It didn’t fit. Where was the motive? And then there was Dad to mull over. Dad had been out, in his sweaty state, for nearly two hours. I bunged the tablet into the machine and winced as I pinched my finger in the door when slamming it closed.
‘Nya-ha-ha!’ I hopped around, sucking the bruised digit, then went to my room. If I had to endure any more pain this evening, I’d pass out.
I pushed my door open just as my computer bleeped in the corner. ‘Good timing,’ I murmured, and hurried over to hit OPEN.
FROM: Arnold Trenchard
SUBJECT: Second thoughts
MESSAGE: Call me.
Oh, what?
After my services rendered was he thinking of asking me out instead of Mona?
Chapter Six
Tuesday night, burning midnight oil
I was about to call Arns in my best I’m the one that you want voice, but my computer bonged again. Another message from him.
ARNOLD: Lula? Are you there? Please call. I really have changed my mind. Mona is seriously too good for me, and before you pimp me out to show off your makeover you should know I don’t want anyone else.
The cheek of the boy! Show off his makeover? What kind of girl did he think I was?
Well, the kind of girl who was trying to pimp herself out . . .
Damn. Arnold’s second tho
ught was not good news. If it had to be Mona or nothing, then it would have to be Mona – I had a pang of something but swallowed it down – because Mona de Souza had access to lovely boys who had never heard the jinx rumour, and Arns had promised she’d set me up.
This was no time for second thoughts.
I had just three days to kiss a boy.
Time was of the essence. Frik, frik, frik!
I took a deep breath to calm myself and hammered out a message:
TATTY BIRD: You want to have waxed your whatchamacallits for NOTHING? Pull yourself together! Will phone you in a minute to talk strategy.
There. That bought me an hour or so. Time to call in the girls, though it was after midnight. I hit reply to a hello from Carrie.
TATTY BIRD: Whazzup?
CARRIE: Hey! Tam has written the coolest song! She’s gonna busk in the morning’s rush hour tomorrow.
TATTY BIRD: The suits will love her. I had an Arnold Trenchard makeover tonight to keep me occupied.
CARRIE: YOU STARTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LIST?! A makeover was your only in?!
TATTY BIRD: No. He’s in love with Mona de Souza and she’s in town for the Science Fair. Can’t believe none of us knew about that. Well, actually, I can. Anyway, the makeover was the first step. Step two is the encounter. If it works with him and Mona, he’s going to get me introduced to the St Alban’s boys.
CARRIE: Genius! They don’t know about the jinx!
TATTY BIRD: Exactly! But how to get Mona and Arns together? I was thinking a carefully contrived chance encounter.
CARRIE: Hey, Lula, Alex here. You mean Mona Lisa de Souza? PSG hot girl?
TATTY BIRD: Yep. I know. I can’t compete, so Arns has been eliminated from the list, but I thought my Plan B was good.
CARRIE: Plan B = brilliant and you’re in luck, babyshoes! You ready for this? Mona is my gorgeous Cousin Jack’s sister!!!! Erm, my cousin too, though I don’t know her like I know Jack.
Ha! How typical that Alex had all the vital info. Though being related to the vital info was a bit startling.
So listen to this: Alex is Mona de Souza’s second cousin. Probably five times removed. Even though they’re the same age they don’t have much to do with each other, but Mona’s older brother, Jack, is a different story. He’s doing first-year journalism at Hambledon University, so he and Alex email and chat every week. Alex says she wants him on her staff when her own glam-mag empire is founded. He’s been telling Alex how stressed Mona has been because she’s due to debate Einstein’s whole theory of relativity bit at the Science Fair opener next week and doesn’t understand anything she’s supposed to be debating. She didn’t want to fess up to her friends down there, and Jack had no clue.
Kisses for Lula Page 4