It certainly felt that way. My guitar seemed to offer up the chords before I even thought of them, and the chorus was right there, as though I was climbing a ladder and each word was a rung, easy, within reach, leading me up and on.
Oh poor sweet boy band
Your music makes me heave
You poor sad boy band
Soon one of you will leave
And if you think you’ll be remembered
Then you misunderstand
RIP the boy band.
What had I been so worried about?
Songwriting was easy.
Ding!
KATIE WHATS THE MATTER?
TELL ME WHATS WRONG PLEASE
My fingers went to reply.
And then, I thought, no. I can do better than that.
If she wants to know, I’ll tell her.
I propped my phone up on an empty tissue box, and started the voice recorder.
Then I picked up my guitar, and I began to sing.
Can’t stand the boy band
Plastic faces, stupid hair . . .
And as I sang, I got angrier and angrier, until I could almost feel the threads of fire trailing from my fingertips as I slashed at the strings.
So angry, in fact, that by the time I’d finished, I was a tiny bit breathless and I could feel my cheeks pulsing, magma-hot underneath the back of my hand.
Done. Finished.
For a second, I hesitated. After what happened last time . . .
Only then, I thought, No, it’s fine. I’m not sticking it online or anything. I’m not actually mad. I’m just going to send it to a friend.
I knew that it wasn’t my best idea ever. That it would probably cause a row with Lace. But that was fine. In a slightly twisted way, it’s what I wanted.
At least, it was at that precise moment. It probably wouldn’t be once I’d had a chance to calm down.
Better send it now, then.
Very quickly, before I could change my mind, I opened a new message to Lacey, attached the file, and hit send.
And then . . . then I somehow felt a bit flat.
The song must have got all the mad stuff out of my system, like when you pop a spot and what was tight and inflamed before goes back to normal again, with just a gungy wodge of cotton wool and a bit of redness to show that anything was wrong in the first place.
Ding!
Here we go.
I reached for my phone, only then Mum’s voice came shouting up the stairs.
‘Katie? Something’s . . . Katie! Get down here. Katie? Katie!’
I gulped. It takes a lot for Mum to be freaked out.
‘Katie! Are you . . . Can you . . . Katie? Katie Katie Katie!’ Mum was totally freaking out.
‘What is it?’ I said, opening my bedroom door and edging across the landing to peer down the stairs. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Hello, Katie.’
There, standing on the doorstep, surrounded by suitcases, was Dad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Oh my God!’
It’s hard for me to describe Dad, because he’s just basically Daddish to me. But if a stranger had been there too, they’d have seen:
A smiling man with loads of black hair, wearing a grey cotton shirt with the top three buttons undone. Decent jeans, and a belt with a big buckle that I’d not seen before, so possibly that was a thing he’d picked up in America. Only, he wasn’t in America any more. He was right in front of me.
‘Katie!’
Then I was pelting down the stairs and hurling myself into his arms, hugging him so tight that if it was anyone else I’d have been afraid of breaking them, but not Dad – Dad who was so tall and real and wonderfully, amazingly here.
‘This is the best birthday surprise ever!’
‘Is it . . . yes! Happy birthday!’
And we might have stood like that forever, or at least a good couple of minutes, only we were interrupted by Mum saying:
‘What the hell, Benjamin?’
He stood back, and I saw that he looked tanned, and thin . . . and tired.
Oh, Dad.
‘Good to see you too, Zoe.’
‘You can’t just turn up out of the blue like this. I have a life now; you’ve no right to just waltz back in and –’
He took a step back, puzzled. ‘But Katie said she’d . . .’ They both looked at me. ‘Katie, you said you’d tell her I was coming . . . ?’
‘Ah. Um. Yes. Mum, Dad’s coming back.’
‘Katie . . . I . . .’
Mum isn’t often lost for words. I somehow knew she’d make up for it later.
‘Hello hello? Who’s this, then?’
Adrian came through the hall, and stopped.
‘This,’ said Mum, ‘is Benjamin. My ex-husband.’
‘Well, he can’t stay on the doorstep,’ said Adrian, sticking out one of his big thick hands. ‘Nice to meet you, Benjamin. I’m Ade. Come on in.’
Then actual Dad was standing in my actual lounge, peering up at the cracks in the ceiling.
‘How long have they been there?’
‘Since we moved in,’ I said, just as Mum said:
‘Couple of days.’
He sucked his teeth. ‘That’s not good. You should get someone round.’
‘Thanks for the input, Benjamin,’ said Mum. ‘Any other thoughts on our accommodation? While you’re here?’
Dad’s never been good at picking up sarcasm, and his stint stateside clearly hadn’t improved matters, because he said, ‘You should knock through, get a bit of light in. Open things up – you’ve got the dimensions but the furniture’s too big, it feels cramped. And that’s quite the drainage problem in the garden.’
Mum’s knuckles were going white. Luckily, Adrian was between them.
‘It’s a proper doer-upper, that’s what it is, Benj. Great to have your views on the place, actually; we’re still at the ideas stage. Beer?’
‘Got any wine open?’ said Dad. ‘A nice Shiraz would just hit the spot.’
Adrian chucked him a can of Tetley’s. Dad caught it, just, and we all waited. Then, he opened it, and sat down on the sofa.
I sat down too. And so did Adrian.
Mum stayed standing up.
‘So, Katie tells me you’re a musician,’ said Adrian. ‘Must be where she gets it from.’
‘Yeah, yeah, mainly session work,’ said Dad. ‘But it keeps me busy. Just got out the studio last week, we were doing this huge stint on a new album, all very secret, of course, can’t tell you much about it, but let’s just say that a certain Miss Alicia Keys will be gracing the airwaves pretty soon with someone you know rather well.’
‘Really?’ I squeaked. ‘Dad, that is so cool!’
‘It’s just work,’ said Dad. ‘I don’t even get excited about it any more, to be honest.’
‘You should do,’ I told him.
He gave me a squeeze. ‘Maybe.’
‘Adrian is a very successful retailer,’ said Mum. ‘He owns Vox Vinyl!’
‘It’s just a little shop in town,’ said Adrian.
‘He’s taking over the unit next door,’ said Mum.
‘And then, the world!’ said Adrian.
‘Great,’ said Dad. ‘So, Katie, would you like Alicia’s autograph?’
‘WOULD I?! Dad, that is so amazing! Best present ever!’
His hand went to his pocket and I thought my heart might stop then and there. ‘Thought so. I’ll let her know.’ He tapped out a quick message, just as I heard the front door go. Manda.
‘We’re in the lounge,’ I called.
I could hear her taking off her boots and then the double thump as she chucked them under the stairs. ‘Any pizza left? Because – uuuuh.’
She was in the doorway, and she sort of began to crumple, her hands clutching against the wood as though the sight of Dad had been a punch.
‘Dad? What are you . . . ?’ She shook her head. ‘Dad.’
He got to his feet, and, I dunno, m
aybe it was that she’d got older or that he’d got thinner, but I saw for the first time the way their hair curled up at the ends, that funny shrug they both do when they’re embarrassed, the way their eyes have that little crease, just underneath, in the shadows.
He held out a hand. ‘Come here, sweetheart.’
And, what do you know, she burst into tears.
Proper long sobs, as Mum and Adrian looked at their feet.
He put his arms around her and she shook and I knew exactly how she felt.
‘Amanda, angel, it’s OK.’
She dabbed at her eyes, and then, after I passed her a tissue, her nose.
‘How come you’re here?’
He looked at me. ‘Katie, did you tell anyone I was coming? Anyone at all?’
I didn’t quite know what to say, so I just made a face.
‘Well, no harm done,’ said Dad. ‘I’m here now.’
‘No harm done?’ said Amanda, the tissue dropping to the floor. ‘No harm done?’
‘Sorry,’ I murmured.
‘Dad, why didn’t you tell me? You know what Katie’s like.’
‘I didn’t . . . we’d not spoken in a while. So . . .’
‘We’d not spoken because I can never get you on the phone!’ She wiped her nose on the back of her wrist and glared.
‘Work’s been crazy, and there’s the time difference. And I know you have a job now. I can’t just ring you whenever.’
‘You can, Dad,’ said Amanda.
‘OK, then,’ said Dad. ‘From now on, I will.’
‘Great.’
There was a long pause. I got to work filling it. ‘Er, Mands, what do you mean, “You know what Katie’s like”?’
‘Oh, you know.’ She flapped an irritated hand. ‘Useless.’
‘What? How can you say that? I’m not the one who bailed on her little sister ON HER FOURTEENTH BIRTHDAY.’
‘That is not what we are talking about.’
‘Then what are we talking about?’
This was turning into one of those arguments that you never remember starting and so can’t ever finish.
‘Just . . . shut up, Katie.’
Dad took a step forward. ‘Don’t talk to your sister like that.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Amanda. ‘You run off to America and now you’re back and you’re trying to discipline me? I’m going to bed.’
When she slammed the door, it bounced a few times, and then fell off its hinges.
‘So,’ said Dad, who was going for the Let’s Pretend None of That Just Happened way of dealing with things. ‘Is someone going to give me a tour?’
‘It’s late,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe you should head off to . . . wherever you’re staying . . . and we’ll do the tour another time.’
This is when it occurred to me that there was another part of Dad’s message I’d failed to deliver.
‘Well, actually, Mum, I sort of said he could stay here. With us.’
Dad did the shruggy, grinny thing that he does.
Mum started to inflate.
I went into crash position in my head.
Only then, before she could blow, Adrian nodded.
‘Sure you can, mate. Plenty of room in the den, so long as you don’t mind a few mushrooms. Want to follow me? I’ll get you all set up.’
Off they went.
‘Katie—’ Mum began.
‘Oh dear, is that the time? I’m so very tired,’ I said.
And before they could stop me, I was scarpering back up the stairs to my room and shutting the door and ignoring Amanda who was staring out the window at the rain, and pulling my cover over my head and sticking my headphones in my ears and noticing as I did that I had twenty-five missed calls from Lacey.
Was I in the mood to hear how fabulous her evening had been?
No.
No, I was not.
I lay there, in the dark, hearing my breath flutter, in, out, in, out.
Dad was back.
Here.
Home.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad birthday after all.
My Dad
My dad rocks hard
My dad is ace
My dad plays lead guitar
And drums and sax and bass
My dad’s way cool
My dad’s so fine
My dad lives his dreams
And shows me mine
Wish I’d seen his stateside pad
Yeah, I bet that flat was rad
I’m glad
So glad
He’s my dad
My dad was gone
My dad went away
My dad, across the ocean
And the sky turned grey
I think of what we had
And all I feel is sad
But I’m glad
So glad
He’s my dad
My dad was lost
My dad’s been found
My dad spins the world
With his unique dad sound
My sister says he’s bad
And he makes my mother mad
But still, I’m glad
So glad
He’s my dad
I’m glad
So glad
He’s my dad.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Wake up, K.’
I opened my eyes to see a bit of morning sun, which was being blocked out by Amanda’s great big face, so close that I could see the pores all round the edges of her nose. Pores that could really do with a clean, if we’re being honest, which I was about to be, when—
‘Can we talk? Or are you going to dive back under your duvet again?’
I had been about to dive back under the duvet, but in the interests of sisterly cooperation, I didn’t.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Dad. He’s here. In this house. Downstairs. Right now.’
I remembered, and grinned, giving Mands an eyeful of my morningy teeth. ‘Isn’t it the best?’
‘No,’ said Amanda. ‘It isn’t. It’s the opposite of that. Mum’s in bits. And she said that you’d told him it would be OK to stay? What were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that it would be nice for us all to be together again,’ I said.
‘So you weren’t thinking,’ said Amanda.
She was trying to look into my eyes, and I thought how strange it was that she couldn’t see that this was Dad we were talking about. Our dad. Mine and hers. How strange, and how sad.
If she didn’t understand this, then really, there was nothing else to say.
So I broke her gaze, and turned away to get dressed. By the time I’d finished, she was gone.
Probably for the best, I thought, as I went downstairs.
And there he was!
‘Morning, my darling,’ said Dad, sitting at the breakfast table and buttering himself a cinnamon bagel.
‘Morning!’ I sang, giving myself a celebratory double helping of Coco Pops.
‘Morning all,’ said Adrian. ‘Um, Zoe said to apologize, but she’s on an early shift today, so she’ll see you all later.’
‘I thought her early shift was next week,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Adrian. ‘It’s today.’
‘It’s definitely next week,’ I insisted, because it was.
‘Avoiding me, is she?’ said Dad.
Adrian gave me a look and I decided I’d shut up for a bit.
‘Nasty leak you’ve had there,’ said Dad, nodding at the weird marks on the ceiling above the fridge. ‘You want to get that sorted out.’
‘Yup, it’s on the list,’ said Adrian, and I suppose it was because it was so early that he sounded a tiny bit exhausted.
Dad went back to his bagel for a bit. Then, ‘Hey, Katie, want a lift to school?’
‘Total yes!’ I thought about it for a second. ‘Have you got a car? Already?’
‘Nah, I’ll take Adrian’s. You don’t mind, do you, Ade? Give us a chance to do a bit of father–daughte
r bonding.’
‘But you’re not insured, Benj.’
Dad gave him a playful smack in the stomach. ‘Just this once.’
‘But—’
‘Oh, go on,’ I said. Because, really, a chauffeured ride to school with Dad versus a bus trip watching Nicole waxing her arm hair with duct tape – it wasn’t much of a contest.
Adrian made a grab for the worktop, but Dad’s hand was already there. Then he was holding up the car keys.
‘Ready when you are, Katie.’
So we whizzed past the bus stop and zoomed along through the fields, and Dad drives far too fast, and it’s brilliant. And then, way too soon, I was getting out on the double-yellow lines by school and heading for the form room, with a full six hours before I’d see him again.
‘Katie,’ said Lacey, staggering in and plunking herself down into her chair. ‘Why are you not answering your phone?’
I wrenched my mind back from The Amazing Dad Show and tried to focus. ‘I’ve been . . . quite . . . busy.’
‘You’re stropping about your birthday, aren’t you? I knew you would and you are.’
‘Am I?’
‘Honestly, Katie, get over it.’
‘I’m over it,’ I said. Then, as I really digested what she’d said, ‘It’s been kicking off a bit at home, that’s all.’
‘Ri-iiight,’ Lacey folded her fingers under her chin and sighed, and I gradually became aware she was waiting for me to ask her something. I wasn’t sure what, so I just said:
‘So . . . what’s the . . . you know . . . ?’
Lacey sighed. ‘The concert was just . . .’ She searched for the right word. ‘Like . . . I mean, when they sing, Katie. I thought I’d die. Honestly, I did. We were in the middle of the front row and when Kurt did “Beautiful Girl” he looked straight at me and—’
‘Ah,’ I said, as it all came back to me, like a boomerang comes back and smacks you round the face. ‘Karamel.’
‘Yes, Karamel.’
Now I was remembering, I preferred it when I’d forgotten.
‘I cried,’ said the idiot who had apparently taken possession of my best friend. ‘I actually cried.’
Face the Music Page 5