‘You’re gonna owe me,’ he said.
I sighed, and raised my eyebrows.
He laughed. ‘Okay, so Mum says the lab came back about trace from Parcel Brewster’s body.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ I sat up and leaned out towards him.
‘In the boat, Tatty!’ yelled Michelle. ‘Otherwise we’re all in the water!’
‘Sorry!’ I called back.
‘They found hairs, but they’re synthetic, like a wig. So no DNA.’
‘That’s it?’ I said to Arns, incredulous.
‘Well, yes,’ said Arns uncertainly.
‘That’s pathetic. Synthetic hairs could be anything. I owe you nothing.’
‘You do so!’ said Arns. He dropped his voice. ‘Who helped you with your coat last night at the café, huh? Who?’
‘I could have helped myself!’ I hissed back.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Arns, and I could hear him smiling. Then he said, suddenly serious, talking quickly before the others stopped their banter about Ivor’s latest conquest, ‘One other thing that you’re not going to like.’ I kept quiet. ‘Arthur Cluny. Mum’s looking into that angle.’
‘Right,’ I said. I shifted uncomfortably and the boat wobbled again, causing outrage from my crewmates. I didn’t like to think of Helen’s dad implicated in something like this. He was a scary man, but not that kind of scary. Not bad scary. But the sale of that land would mean money, and money was always a powerful motivator, especially if you were desperate.
The sound of a boat engine cut into my thoughts.
‘Who’s ready to race?’ called Mr van der Merwe, revving the throttle. ‘Boys against girls! On your marks . . .! ’
Chapter Twenty-four
Friday night at the boathouse, boys jubilant, girls cranky
VD surged up to the jetty with a roar, and cut his engine, leaping out nimbly to tie his boat to a pole at the shore. ‘Good racing, boys and girls,’ he shouted. ‘Boys out first, please, and in the bus after changing.’
‘Can’t we just go straight home?’ asked Michelle, steering carefully to the right of the jetty.
‘Nuh-uh,’ said Ivor, holding on to his rigging, his blade held high. ‘Us athletes have got to get warm.’
‘Athletes, my butt,’ said Matilda. ‘We would have had you at the western bend if it wasn’t for Boris. Without him you lot are just –’
‘Oi-oi!’ interrupted Arns. ‘Steady on! We won the regatta last year against six other crews!’
‘Whatever,’ muttered Matilda.
Michelle climbed out of the boat and held it against the jetty while the rest of us unclipped our blades from the rigging and untied our feet from the footboards. She shot a look up at Ivor, but I noticed it was an I’ll keep you warm kind of look and not an oh go to hell, you arrogant pig kind of look.
Interesting.
*
By the time we’d finally got our boat on the rack, it seemed the boys were mostly in the bus already. The O’Connellys, Hilary and I stood shivering outside the changing room.
‘Where’s Michelle?’ I asked.
‘She stayed dry,’ said Siobhan. ‘Probably already on the bus.’
‘Hurry up, you guys!’ called Sinead to the girls in the changing room. ‘We’re gonna catch our death out here!’
‘Specially if there are wild animals in this park,’ called Kelly Sheridan from safely inside. She did a hollow laugh, then Matilda did a leopard noise while Jessica asked what rhinos sounded like.
I got to my feet and paced up and down, my eyes staring into the shadows. ‘Our parents are going to be worried!’ I fretted. ‘It’s really late!’
‘You can call your mum from my mobile,’ suggested Hilary. ‘Go to the far door for better reception. Don’t worry about the leopard, Tatty. Leopards are shy, solitary creatures and are hardly going to come down to a noisy boathouse, yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ I said uncertainly. I knew I should believe her because they wouldn’t let us roam around if it wasn’t safe but still . . . I took the phone from her with a thank you and felt my way down the boathouse in the dark. ‘They need lights in here,’ I grumbled to myself. On the other side of the building it seemed darker than ever, an old rowboat only just visible in the shadows. I looked around nervously for vicious animals, though I wouldn’t have been able to see an elephant in this light.
I pressed a button on the phone and it made a little blip noise in the night air. Then suddenly the boat beneath me was rocking wildly. I spun in fright, dropping the phone to the ground and saw two pairs of eyes staring back at me in the pitch black night.
‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ I yelled, frozen to the spot. ‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH!’
The two pairs of eyes winked back and went, ‘AAAARGH!’ and, ‘EEEEE!’ in total terror.
The sound of thundering feet came from all directions.
‘Oh, geez!’ I squeaked, staring into the boat. ‘Who is that? You scared the crap out of me!’
‘WHAT IS GOING ON OUT HERE?’ roared Mr VDW, skidding to a halt beside me.
He had a powerful torch in his hand, and swung the beam into the rowboat.
I gasped.
He gasped.
Michelle Wong (virtually naked) gasped.
Ivor Markman (like, totally naked) gasped.
The whole girls’ crew now at our sides gasped.
‘Oh, frik!’ I said.
*
Mr van der Merwe was apoplectic with rage. We were in the minibus and he was yelling about the youth of today, trust, teamwork and the evils of the pleasures of the flesh. He was threatening to report Michelle Wong and Ivor Markman to their respective principals for lascivious behaviour.
‘Why the hell did you have to go yelling your head off?’ hissed Kelly Sheridan to me. ‘Are any of us having a good time now, huh? Any of us?’
‘You think I did this for a good time?’ I hissed back, outraged. ‘I was genuinely terrified out there! You didn’t see their eyes! Staring at me in the dark like wild animals!’
‘Wild animals,’ mused Fat Angus. ‘Michelle Wong and Ivor Markman. Who would have thought.’
‘Did anyone see that coming?’ I asked. ‘Is this, like, a rowing thing?’
‘No one saw that coming,’ whispered Hilary. ‘She’s the smallest girl in our school and he’s got to be the biggest in theirs.’
‘We rowers have standards,’ said Jessica primly. ‘And boy rowers do NOT come up to scratch.’
‘Hn,’ said Arns.
I looked over at him. He looked back at me. Nobody said anything. Nobody said anything the whole way home.
Five days later – five days of total physical agony – Thursday morning at school
‘What’s wrong, Lu?’ asked Carrie, bumping me with her hip as we walked down the corridor. ‘We’ve got a free period right now! An hour to chat in the library!’
‘She’s bummed because the whole rowing squad hates her, and the Port Albert Regatta is on Sunday and they have no cox,’ explained Alex.
‘Are you being rude?’ asked Tam.
‘Rude how?’ Alex looked confused.
‘Cox, Tam. C O X,’ I spelled out. ‘The person who yells instructions and steers the boat.’
‘Ohhh!’ said Tam. ‘I thought little Shelli Wong was your steerer.’
‘Was,’ I said.
‘Till Lu bust her and Studly Ivor making out after dark at the boathouse last Friday,’ chipped in Alex.
Carrie sighed. ‘Didn’t know he was a rower. So fit . . . Tatty, you sure none of those rowers is boyfriend material for, like, me, yes?’
‘Extra specially doubly sure,’ I said, my eyes big with the emphasis. ‘Don’t go there, Carrie. Don’t go there, anyone.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ sighed Tam. ‘You with big handsome Jack.’
‘I don’t feel like I am with him,’ I replied.
‘Nooo!’ said the girls in unison as we swung into the library.
‘Find yourselves a desk, please, girls, and I want to se
e you doing your book reports, not chatting,’ called Miss Fitzroy.
‘Back corner,’ said Alex out of the corner of her mouth. ‘But don’t run.’
We hustled and got the best desk for nattering.
‘How’s it going with Gavin Healey?’ I asked Alex. ‘You never talk about him.’
‘Huh,’ said Carrie. ‘They probably never talk to each other. What have you two got in common?’
‘An interest in crime scenes, for one,’ said Alex, arching an eyebrow and pulling out her pencil case. ‘He has to wear this kind of special suit if he’s doing crime-scene clean-ups, just like in the movies, and –’
‘I get it,’ said Carrie. ‘No one can resist a man in uniform.’
We snorted with laughter, even Alex, at a boiler suit being even remotely attractive.
‘I like the fact that he goes sailing,’ said Alex, twinkling, ‘even though that’s totally pretentious of me.’
‘It is,’ said Carrie definitely. ‘Does he go down to Port Albert?’
‘No, actually,’ said Alex, thinking. ‘Though that’s weird. They’ve got a boathouse down at Saddler’s Pond . . .’
‘Prime property,’ I noted. ‘And I should know.’
‘Hmm,’ said Tam, eyeing Alex. ‘I bet the real attraction is that your mum would rather you were dating a boy from St Alban’s instead of someone who does crime-scene clean-ups.’
Alex squirmed and we laughed at her discomfit.
‘And what’s with Jack?’ Tam asked me. ‘You don’t sound convinced, but you two are perfect together.’
‘Except we hardly ever are,’ I said. ‘Together I mean. I haven’t seen him since Thursday, and then he was away at his granny’s for the weekend, which I totally understand, but when am I going to see him again? Not tonight, because he’s working with Jazz . . .’
The girls pulled sympathetic faces and Tam put her arm round my shoulders in a sideways hug.
‘Oh, Tatty,’ said Carrie. ‘He doesn’t like her, you know. He likes you.’
‘If he liked me, he’d be spending time with me,’ I replied. ‘It’s that simple.’
‘Yeah, but life’s not simple,’ said Alex.
‘What, you’re defending him now?’ I pulled some books out of my bag. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of him doing so much with Jazz.’
‘He phoned and said sorry,’ said Alex. ‘He’s lucky to have a forgiving relative like me.’
‘Huh,’ I said. ‘I wish I had forgiving crew members.’
‘None of that was your fault, Lula,’ said Carrie firmly. ‘They’ll come round.’
‘It’s Thursday,’ I wailed quietly. ‘The race is on Sunday! I’m not going to be forgiven in the space of two days, plus we have to find another cox!’
‘One of us could help out,’ suggested Tam. ‘Do you want us to turn up for tryouts this afternoon?’
I smiled happily. ‘You guys would do that for me?’
‘Reluctantly,’ sighed Alex. ‘What time does the bus leave?’
Miss Fitzroy loomed in front of our desk. ‘I thought I could hear the murmur of gossiping voices back here,’ she snapped. ‘Split up, the four of you. Tallulah, please take this note to the office for me.’
I took the note and hurried to the office. Having one of the girls with me in the boat would be brilliant! I tried to squash a smile at the thought of gentle Tam yelling instructions to eight sweaty girls, or Carrie steering a fine line through the bridge ramparts, or Alex keeping her eyes off the boys. One of them could be an excellent cox, and an excellent cox was one step closer to me being forgiven by the crew. Being forgiven was important to me. I’d never been any good at team sports, mainly because they all involve a ball of some sort, and it had felt great being a valued part of this crew, even though I was the newest in the boat. I sighed hopefully.
Everything was going to be okay.
But, then, as I rounded the corner of the corridor to the office, my hopes were dashed:
I love you a go go go
Oohooo you’re my big man man
Never tell me no no no
I saw you and – aha – ran ran
I froze. That was Dad! Singing some terrible chart topper.
Everything was NOT going to be okay!
I peered round the corner. In front of the school office was Dad, thankfully not in his chest-swelled-out ballad mode, but regrettably in his down-with-the-kids bopping mode (shoulders hunched, a lot of swaggering).
At the office window I could see Mrs Fergusson, her hands clasped in rapture before her, her tightly curled head nodding in time to Dad’s tuneless rhythm. To the left stood three Year Eights, bopping away too.
It had to stop. Before anyone else gathered at the scene.
‘Dad!’ I cried, loping over. ‘What are you doing here? Aren’t your tutorials in the music rooms?’
‘T-Bird,’ he called happily, arms outstretched. ‘Just dropping off Pen’s bag.’
‘Oh, sir,’ simpered the blondest of the Year Eights. ‘I love your lyrics! I can see why they call you Song Bird!’
Dad swept them a bow and they ran off giggling. I handed Miss Fitzroy’s note to Mrs Fergusson and she disappeared into her office after giving Dad a flirty little wave.
‘Frik!’ I said, rounding on my father. ‘I absolutely hate that song.’
‘Those lyrics are making us a lot of money,’ said Dad, with only a hint of shame. ‘Most of which is being saved up to pay for your uni-tuition fund and –’
‘I have nothing to say to that right now,’ I scorned, my hand up to stop him from speaking. ‘What I do want to know, however, is what Pen needs with – is that a – yes, it is! With a gym bag?’
‘She’s trying out for the boat crew this afternoon,’ said Dad. ‘Very excited. Could hardly make out what she was saying on the phone.’
‘I’ll make sure it gets to Penelope right away, Professor Bird,’ trilled Mrs Fergusson, back at her window. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’
Oh, who is Mrs Fergusson to talk about worry? I knew aaaaall about worry, and the thought of Pen, the most obnoxious human being on the planet, telling me what to do from the front of the boat, made me feel far more than worry. It was time for Panic Stations and Desperate Measures.
Still Thursday, but I’ve sprinted to the uni library, after dancing before rowing – I tell you my life is full
‘Please, Mum, say Pen can’t try out this afternoon! Please, Mum!’
Mum stopped leafing through an old leather-bound book and looked up at me sternly. ‘Tallulah Bird, your sister does no sport at all, and I’m certainly not going to discourage her from this now.’
‘Being a cox isn’t sporty!’ I wailed.
‘Oh? Just because they drive the boat and don’t row it? Are you calling Jenson Button unsporty? Or Lewis Hamilton? As far as I can recall, that Lewis boy was up for sportsman of the year two summers ago! Pen may just surprise you, Lu.’ She turned back to her ancient document. ‘Well, will you look at this! Elias Brownfield met Queen Victoria in 1842!’
I tried very hard not to scream. ‘Mum! The only reason Pen wants to be part of the crew is because Fat Angus –’
‘Also rows. Do you think I don’t know my girls, Tallulah?’ Mum shifted her glasses down her nose and gave me another look. ‘I knew you’d be good at rowing, and I just know Pen is going to be a little star at coxing. What’s really going on here is that you don’t want your little sister on your turf.’
‘Is that so terrible?’ I asked. ‘Is that really so terrible? C’mon, Mum!’
‘I’ll give you a lift to the bus,’ said Mum, putting the ancient diary into a desk drawer and locking it. ‘Otherwise you’ll be late. I wonder how Elias Brownfield came to meet Queen Victoria. Right here in Hambledon!’
I sighed. I was a victim. In more ways than one.
On the road, on the water, on a hiding to nothing
I didn’t get much conversation from the crew in the bus on the way to the afternoon’s
session. Good thing Carrie, Alex and Tam came along to try out for the cox position, along with other hopefuls who clearly hadn’t heard how traumatic a bus ride with boy rowers could be. The girls and I laughed about Alex and Gavin’s date last night at the cinema where Alex had sat in blueberry bubblegum in white jeans. Disaster. Except that Gav had the perfect cleaning agent in the back of his van.
‘You kept the jeans on, right?’ asked Tam, worried.
‘Ta-am!’ we yelped in unison.
‘Left butt cheek . . . more outer thigh, really,’ Alex hastened to add. ‘Jeans stayed on, definitely, though I have to say that Gavin –’
But we’d arrived. The crew piled out of the bus and got ready to row.
An hour later we’d had our toughest session in the boat yet, and Mr VDM was ecstatic with the efforts of the one and only Penelope Bird, who’d been the first to try out for the cox position. No one else had even had a go. They’d be fuming up there at the boathouse. Or maybe not. They’d probably all be deeply relieved. VD pulled up alongside our boat, keeping the loudhailer to his lips at full volume.
‘BRILLIANT!’ he bawled, while we all squeezed our eyes shut at the noise.
‘Sorry!’ he continued, dropping the loudhailer. ‘You!’ He pointed a finger at Pen. ‘You are a natural!’ Turning to the rest of us with a beatific grin he shouted, ‘All agreed? No need to try the others? Great! Let’s have a sprint, rating thirty-two, all the way back!’ He gunned his engine, yelled, ‘Whoo-hooo!’ and was away.
A small but triumphant voice echoed through the speaker further up the boat.
‘Bow. Bow, do you hear me? We need a little more oomph from you on the home straight, please. Your puddle is smaller than all the rest.’
‘Frikking frikking frik frik!’ I ground out quietly. ‘I frikking hate her.’
Hilary looked back over her shoulder. ‘She’s your own flesh and blood, T! I think she’s great.’
‘Flesh, yes,’ I muttered back, ‘and I’ll definitely be drawing blood.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Friday afternoon, outside Hambledon Girls’ High School
‘So this is what I don’t like about rowing,’ said Pen, coming up to me and the O’Connelly sisters. ‘Friday afternoon training. And in the misty freezingness. What’s with that?’
Lula Does the Hula Page 18