Mr Kadinski was in a rocking chair on the veranda in a shady corner. You couldn’t even see him from the road.
He had a newspaper over his head and torso and wasn’t moving. I only recognised him by the shoes. There was a truckload of pine needles stuck to the mud on the bottom of them.
Hmm. Pine needles. ‘Have you been to Coven’s Quarter, Mr Kadinski?’ I asked.
The newspaper rustled slightly. Other than that – no motion.
‘Mr Kadinski?’
‘Huh.’
‘Hambledon doesn’t have many pine trees.’
Mr Kadinski snatched the paper from his face. ‘So. Now you want to talk.’
‘And you don’t.’
‘I’ve decided to keep my nose out of it.’
‘Out of what?’
Mr Kadinski coughed and folded up the newspaper carefully. ‘I knew your grandmother, you know. When she was still a Hewson.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Did she ever put a jinx on you?’
He laughed. ‘Not exactly.’
I looked at him carefully. ‘You sure about that?’
This time he really hooted, and I found myself smiling in response. ‘Sit down,’ he said, nodding to another rocker beside him. I obeyed, and he went on, ‘Coven’s Quarter has some sentimental value to me. Quite a lot, actually. That’s where Sally Hewson and I first kissed. And we’d still be together if it weren’t for your father’s father.’ His expression darkened, but I could see he was only half serious. ‘He had a way with words, just like your award-winning parent, and I guess I really had no chance.’
I felt suddenly sad.
‘But no regrets,’ he said, catching my eye. ‘I can’t imagine my life now without the ecstasy of Lorraine Greenwood, who followed soon after.’ He whistled.
‘Ew,’ I said.
He held up a placatory hand. ‘I do apologise; I digress. The point is that I don’t want Coven’s Quarter disappearing in a molten pile of concrete. I’ve been trying to corner you all week to say I overheard something in the woods on Monday morning.’
‘Really!’ I leaned forward in excitement and the rocking chair almost catapulted me out into the Sun’s begonia bed.
‘Two men arguing about not being able to get documents out of the library. I’m convinced one was Dirty Harry himself, the developer. A short stocky man with pale hair and a square head. Light-coloured eyes, big lips, drinker’s nose. Sound familiar to you?’
I shook my head. ‘Never seen Harry Harrow, but if that really was him he sounds nothing like his son. Who was the second guy?’
‘Now that man . . . I can’t quite place him. Distinctive kind of waddle to his walk. But the worst is I think they saw me. And, ever since, there’s been someone hanging around the area.’ Mr Kadinski sighed and leaned back in his chair, his face turned up to the veranda roof. ‘Yep. They definitely saw me.’ He turned his head to look at me seriously. ‘I heard Harrow say that the council will never get to see the documents. I got it all on my cameraphone, and took it to the police first thing Tuesday morning, but they’ve done nothing with it. Nothing. Can’t even confirm the identity of the other man.’ He sighed again. ‘It’s maddening – we know enough to confirm Harrow is behind the missing documents, but not enough to prove a case against the development.’
‘Yes! You’ve got video evidence! Could the other guy have been his son, Vincent?’ I asked, excited. ‘I’m almost certain it’s him that has the documents. There’s a girl that works at the library with me –’
But Mr Kadinski was already shaking his head. ‘No, it couldn’t have been him. The man was nearing middle age. I’ve seen him somewhere before, I’m sure of it. Big, balding.’
My mind buzzed with who Harry Harrow could be linked with that was old, big and balding.
Yep.
Half of Hambledon.
A figure appeared on the road below. Big, partially old, not balding. Carrying a handbag.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said to Mr Kadinski. ‘Can you chase the police again? Do they know how urgent all this is?’
‘Someone there has undoubtedly put a spanner in the works,’ he replied, springing out of the rocking chair. ‘We’re on our own, Tallulah. What’s your mobile number?’
I told him and he nodded.
Yeah, right. Before a disbelieving thought about his special-agent mental abilities could cross my mind, he repeated the number off pat before disappearing into the Setting Sun’s gloomy interior with a wink and a touch of the forefinger to his fedora.
‘Wha–?’ But he was gone.
I hurried down the steps. There were a few things I wanted to ask Dad before he got his head down a toilet again.
I got in as Dad came out of the bathroom, his face as red and sweaty as usual, but smelling a little less.
‘Hello,’ he said mildly, and pushed his hair back from his face. ‘How’s it going, T-Bird?’
‘Like you care,’ I replied, anger surging as I dumped my bag in the hall and walked towards him, hands shoved deep in jeans pockets.
‘Course I care. Been a bit self-involved what with being sick and everything, but, you know, I’m still same old, same old.’
‘No, you’re not!’ I said, fury tightening my throat. I swallowed it back, remembering how he’d looked when I’d kicked through the bathroom door.
‘Look,’ said Dad, sitting down near my feet, his back against the wall, ‘it’s all a bit complicated at the moment, but soon we’ll be able to talk about everything openly.’
I took a step away from him. ‘I’m listening,’ I snapped.
Dad ran both hands through his hair, sinking his head down to his knees. His voice sounded hollow: ‘Let me chat to your mum first. She thought it best we wait a few days, just till I can get my new life on track –’
New life on track? Good God! In a few days?
My jaw dropped. I stared at him incredulously. What the hell was going on here? I swallowed and held my hands tightly. Losing my temper would get me nowhere. Mum loved this man and, though I hated him now, I knew I loved him too. I thought of Blue, her soft littleness and acceptance of everything; of Pen; of my big sister, Darcy; Aunt Phoebe; Grandma Bird . . . A family that I wanted my father to be a part of.
I sank down to face him. Tears of grief and frustration and anger welled up. I blinked them back with an effort and blurted, ‘Dad, whatever has happened is in the past. You need to make good now. Fix it. Please.’
Dad looked at me for a long moment. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m trying, T. I really am,’ then he ran his hand through his hair again.
‘You’re not trying hard enough,’ I croaked. ‘This is not just about you.’
‘It’s not easy,’ said Dad. ‘The thing is, I have got to move on from where I am now. If only the nausea would stop.’ He shook his head miserably and a flare of anger jerked me to my feet. I looked at him – feeling so sorry for himself when Mum must be feeling torn apart, going on bravely as if our father simply had the flu – and I wanted him to suffer far more than he was already. How dare he talk about moving on, as if we were just a boring job for him, or a bunch of tired friends he no longer had much in common with? What was this? Mum had no right to cosset him when he was about to destroy our family!
‘Poor Dad, feeling so terrible. Must be the stress of it all really getting to you,’ I shouted. ‘Well, you miserable sod, you make me feel sick. You disgust me.’
My face was hot and red, tears prickling behind my eyes. I was horrified by what I’d said. I’d never spoken to my father this way and as soon as the words were out I wanted them back. Even though they were true, they just didn’t sit right, out in the open. I needed to get away, clear my head, calm down. I turned to go, but Dad grabbed my ankle.
Swiping my tears away, I twisted back to face him, crying openly now.
‘You don’t understand,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘I know you don’t.’ He didn’t look angry, or dismayed, just vaguely confused. Like I was telling him I n
o longer liked chocolate.
Well, what was confusing about me telling him he was disgusting?
He let go of my ankle then and I escaped to the annexe, Boodle following close behind. It was comfortable being collapsed on the squashy armchair, bingeing on my secret chocolate hoard and watching tears soak into Boodle’s fur.
My head hurt from all the crying I was doing, from all the crazy plans I was now hatching to stitch Dad up on his adulterous night out. Maybe I could defuse the entire situation by catching this Freya person on her own and telling her to just bog off.
Eventually I couldn’t shed another tear. I couldn’t come up with any more brilliant solutions. The future looked bleak.
Boodle sighed and stood up. I thought she was going to ask to be let back out again, but she put her front legs right across me and hopped her back legs up on to the other side of the armchair, so I had ten tons of hairy hound on my lap.
Oh, Boodle, I thought. Is this a big hug?
Her heart was pounding doof doof doof on my thighs and its slow thud calmed me. I stared into her enormous brown eyes and noted how concerned her ginger eyebrows looked. I hugged her close.
‘Oh, Boodle. There’s nothing I can do about Dad, is there? Nothing.’
What I could do was go out tonight and wow the socks off Benjamin Latter Esq. It was just hours until my sixteenth birthday.
I sighed and pushed Boodle off. She left graciously, her plumed tail waving gently back and forth. Before I closed the door, she turned to look at me and her expression said, Call me any time. I’m here to help.
‘Thanks, Boodle,’ I said, and I could have sworn that dog nodded kindly in reply before flopping down in the dappled sunlight of the courtyard.
As I threw the empty Malteser bag in the bin my computer gave a deferential BONG.
Message waiting.
Click.
ALEX: What happened with Jack?
[Uh-oh.]
TATTY BIRD: What do you mean?
ALEX: His interest in you has, um, waned.
TATTY BIRD: He never was interested in me, Alex! What do you mean waned?
ALEX: Nothing.
TATTY BIRD: Tell me!
ALEX: Nuh-uh. You lost out, that’s all. Jack de Souza is a magical boy.
TATTY BIRD: You snog him, then!
ALEX: Uh – we’re related? Ew!
TATTY BIRD: Didn’t stop you craving him before!
ALEX: Till I realised! Now that I think about it – ew ew ew!
CARRIE: Hey, Lula, I’ve been checking out the Science Fair site.
TATTY BIRD: You are so gloriously saaaad!
CARRIE: And it says Ben Latter is presenting new research on the opening day of the fair – Monday.
TATTY BIRD: I know – maybe I’ll go along to the lecture! Listen, better go – it’s nearly two and I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to wear tonight on my hot date. This is it, girls! Tallulah Bird’s first kiss, with just hours to go till the birthday clock chimes. Talk about leaving it till the last minute. Bye, lovebugs!
CARRIE: Wait! Lula? Lula?
Chapter Nineteen
Friday afternoon, just HOURS before I’m sixteen
Before I could lose myself in the heady delights of preparing to escape a lifetime jinx of spinsterhood, my mobile rang. It was Mum. She said that Sophie’s parents had asked the police to search their home for evidence that she had taken material from the library. Sophie had been quite distraught at the accusation and nothing had been found.
Vincent Harrow’s family had not, predictably, been quite so co-operative, but Arnold’s mother had got a warrant for a basic premises search, and nothing had turned up there either, bar some blank DVDs carefully labelled in Mum’s writing: SURVEILLANCE DR B OFFICE 9–12/4/2009. Vincent Harrow had had to admit he’d been in Mum’s office with Sophie, and claimed the disks must have fallen into his open satchel when the desk collapsed. Given there were no fingerprints on them, that was the end of that.
The video files from Mr Kadinski’s phone would have to save the day. If they could be analysed in time. That was a job for tomorrow, though. When I was a Frenchly kissed woman of the world.
Eeeeeeee!
An hour later, out of the bath, back down to earth
And so. What to wear.
I surveyed potential outfits. Oh, frik. I needed Pen. I had the jitters, badly. What I really should be doing is following Dad on his hot date this evening, not setting off on one of my own. Why the stress of a family breakdown on tonight of all nights? Maybe Bludgeon could tail him . . . No. No way. I couldn’t let anyone else know about Dad’s affair until I knew every detail myself.
Blowing out my cheeks, I glanced anxiously through my bedroom window at the sunset. It was beautiful out there. The sky was still blue enough to be day, but the clouds had turned pink, peach, gold, silver. It was getting late. A hedgehog or something was going nuts in the long grass of the neglected garden, and Boodle was nosing around for frogs.
I turned back to my chest of drawers in growing frustration. Where was my useless sister when I needed her? Still sulking, for sure. Unkind thoughts began to surface (prompted largely by the sight of the pustule T-shirt in the last (resort) drawer) when I heard Boodle’s snuffling change to a happy woorrf, woorrf. Yay! Wonderful Pen was back! I’d welcome her with open arms! Hug her close! Kiss her beautiful cheeks!
A knock sounded on the door.
Cool. She was coming to me. Forget those crazy thoughts. She’d be apologising first. And so she should, dammit. Hitching my tiny towel close round my body, I jumped down the steps into the living area and flung the door open.
Arns’s eyes sprang out on stalks.
‘Good God!’ he said.
‘Pen!’ I said.
‘Noooo,’ he said, slowly shaking his head. He thumped his chest. ‘Me Arnold, you Tallulah.’ Then, just as I was about to push the door closed, Boodle flung herself in, knocking me and my minuscule towel flying. I had the good sense – and special-agent lightning-fast reflexes (cough) – to twist as I got flattened, so all Arns saw was my naked butt. I turned to look back at Arns, gaping in the doorway, about to squawk, ‘Close the door!’, when he leaned in, grabbed the door handle and shut it with a decorous click.
Scrambling into the bedroom, I pulled on my plainest black bra and knickers, grabbed the first shirt and skirt I could find, and headed back to the door. I yanked it open to find Arns in exactly the same spot.
‘Dude,’ I said. ‘What the hell?’
‘Don’t even,’ he said, and staggered in. ‘What was that?’ He fell into the armchair, staring at me like I’d offended him in some unspeakable way.
‘I thought you and Mona were learning about life at your place,’ I said sarcastically, my cheeks on fire. ‘That is called a butt, a bottom, bum, arse, ass.’
‘Not that – and I saw a good deal more than that, so you can just call us quits on the nakedness front, Tatty Lula – I’m talking about answering the door in a towel!’
I came round the kitchen counter and yanked a drawer open, searching for teabags. Finding a knife, I snatched it up.
‘You saw nothing!’ I hissed.
‘I saw nothing,’ agreed Arnold, hands up in classic murder-victim defence pose. Another Arnold look that I liked. It made me smile.
Throwing the knife back in the drawer, I said, ‘I’m out of tea. Hot water?’
‘Thank you,’ said Arnold graciously. ‘So, I take it you were getting ready? Isn’t it a bit early?’
‘I’ve got to be there in an hour and a half!’
‘What? He’s not picking you up?’
I paused. ‘Nooo. But he’s got The Booth!’ I clapped my hands together fast.
Arns nodded and picked at his resized sweatshirt. ‘Huh. Will he walk you home?’
I stopped clapping abruptly. ‘We’re not going to kiss in the restaurant, are we? And not just on the pavement. So the only option is a walk home.’
‘We-ell, he didn’t last
time. Y’know. I had to.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No. That was Jack.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No, that was Spawn of Satan. We speak not of him.’
‘Okay. But Ben of Satan? We can speak of him?’
‘Arns?’ I was startled. ‘Ben’s a nice guy. You’re joking right?’ The kettle grew loud then died back as the water boiled. I poured a careful measure into a mug emblazoned with MORRIS MINOR CONVENTION 2008 and handed it to Arnold.
‘Yes, yes, just joking,’ said Arns, offhand as he examined the cup. ‘Why don’t you like Jack? I think he’s cool. He said to Mona that he doesn’t know why you th–’
‘If Ben doesn’t walk me home,’ I interrupted, feeling panicky, ‘I’m taking myself off the snog-plot scene completely. It’s got to happen.’ I felt flooded with determination. ‘Come see what the options are,’ I said, heading into the bedroom.
‘Uh . . . see what options?’
‘Oh, please. Don’t be afraid.’
Arns heaved himself out of the chair and followed me into my room. Instantly it didn’t feel like a good idea. The room was small and he felt a little close, stooping towards me under the eaves. I stepped back hastily and banged my heel on the drawer hanging out at the bottom of the chest. I said a few things to numb the pain.
‘Colourful,’ said Arnold, looking around for a good place to stand. He moved down the side of the bed closest to the door, while I stayed at the foot.
‘What, the clothes?’ I was confused – every item on the bed was black.
Arns raised his eyebrows.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll wash my mouth out with boric acid, I promise,’ I muttered. ‘Now, in the absence of Pen, which outfit?’
‘You are asking me?’
‘I’m desperate.’
‘Nice. Thanking you.’ He sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. ‘Hm. That,’ and he motioned with his index finger to a bundle near the pillow where he stood.
‘Poloneck and jeans? Are you out of your mind? That’s what I wore to the library this morning! Just haven’t chucked it in the laundry bin.’
He took a thoughtful sip of hot water. ‘Slattern.’
Kisses for Lula Page 16