Maybe I was just tired and a little freaked out about Emily, but having Tam listing the potential humiliations, one after the other, just like that, made me want to vomit.
‘Oh, frik . . .’ I breathed.
‘Tatty Lula? You okay?’
I didn’t feel okay. I felt like I’d been hit by a rhino. My mind danced over the events of last night. Had I been hit by a rhino? No. That hadn’t been it.
‘Frik,’ I said again.
‘Pardon?’ Pause. ‘T?’ Pause. ‘Hey, talk to me.’
I pulled myself together. ‘I am, I am. What do you want to know?’ Yawning, I sat up in bed, holding the phone receiver to my ear. My reflection in the dressing-table mirror swam into view, but I looked away quickly. My face was puffy from crying for hours and my hair was standing up in all directions from going to bed with it wet. Sheesh! Jack had come back here with me from the hospital, and I looked like this? I was impressed. What a honey! What a total –
‘Tatty?’ Tam sounded impatient now. ‘Are you listening? Answer me. What will you be wearing? To row? Crop top and leggings?’
I flopped back on the bed. ‘A frikking trisuit.’
‘What’s a trisuit?’
‘A frikking leotard thingy with, like, legs.’
‘Legs?’
‘You know, like, cycling short legs.’
‘What, with the padding and stuff?’
‘No! No! They’re bad, but not that bad.’
‘Okay, well I can see that the trisuit’s not gonna be so bad on you. You’ve got a cute bum, no stomach. The other girls . . . I mean, Matilda for starters.’
‘Matilda might not be rowing. Actually, maybe our race will be called off.’ I explained to Tam what had happened last night.
She was quiet on the other end of the line for a long time.
‘Tam? Hello?’
‘I’m still here. Look, that was mean of Mona, and Dr McCabe. But it sounded like the people who were actually there, who saw everything, those people don’t blame you one little bit, right?’
‘They didn’t last night,’ I said grimly.
‘Come on, Tatty! Don’t get all paranoid. Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘I bet you a bag of Maltesers, cinema size, that if you ring up Gianni Caruso this morning, he’ll have a different story mainlined from Billy Diggle next door at the DVD store.’
‘You’re on. Call you back in five.’
We hung up and I rolled out of bed.
There was panting and scratching at my annexe door. I staggered over and opened up. Boodle and Biggins were sitting outside in puddles. ‘Hi, guys. How’s it going?’
‘Mrwourfweh,’ said Boodle.
‘Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have sat your hairy butt down in that puddle. Just because your little duck friend likes the damp, doesn’t mean it’s so good for you, okay?’
The kitchen window across the way slammed open. ‘I’ll do the parenting for Boodle, Tallulah! Stop trying to mother her! I know your game, and you’re not getting my dog!’
‘No offence, Boodle,’ I said quietly, ‘but I DON’T WANT YOUR DOG!’ I yelled back to Pen.
‘And you need to take that duck back to Frey’s Dam,’ added Pen. ‘I do big poo, not green poo!’
‘Just leave the green poo!’ I called back. ‘It’s good for the garden!’
‘We don’t want any poo around here!’ yelled Pen. ‘Get rid of the duck before I take it down to Hoisin’s!’
I gasped. Hoisin’s did good Chinese, and crispy duck was a speciality.
Another window opened, high above the annexe roof. Uh-oh.
‘The poo,’ came a gravelly voice from the heavens. ‘The poo, the green, the big, the duck, the dog, PLEASE, please . . . enough.’ I ventured out of the annexe into the courtyard and looked up. Next-Door Dan was leaning out of his window, chest bare, bed-head on, all blond and rumpled and unshaved. I swallowed. Some things could make a depressed girl feel alive again.
‘Hi, D-Dan,’ I stuttered.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘It’s early. Again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’ He was about to get back inside, but paused. ‘Tatty, how’s your car doing?’
I frowned. ‘Not so good. I’ve still got to lift the engine block back in, and Dad’s been busy with songwriting.’
‘When’s Darcy back?’
I sighed. Next-Door Dan and Darcy had serious chemistry, but with her away at music school Dan had to do a lot of pining. Even though he knew her term dates better than we did he still asked every five minutes if she’d be home soon. Still, I shouldn’t be irritated. If it wasn’t for Dan, I’d never have got the gasket to fix Oscar, the Morris Minor 1976 that I’m secretly rebuilding in our cellar. He was lovely, really.
‘Dunno. About four weeks?’
The kitchen window slammed shut. Even with a half-naked boy in sight, Pen had lost interest.
Dan examined me. I shifted uncomfortably and pulled my PJ trousers a little higher.
‘Have you been crying?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No!’ I replied, and rubbed my nose.
‘Are you frustrated about the car?’
‘No!’
‘I can help you with the car. I’m available today. Shout if you need me.’ He withdrew from the window, shutting it firmly against the Bird household noise as Blue began her morning yodelling.
Dad’s hoarse voice came floating out of the kitchen too, even though the window was closed: ballad mode – very loud. I was about to go back into the annexe when the back door opened and there he was, resplendent in leopard-print boxer shorts and a T-shirt saying I’M THE DADDY.
‘Flirting with the boy next door, T-Bird?’ he bellowed.
‘Dad!’ My face was bright red. I shot a look at Dan’s window. The curtains twitched. I dropped my voice to a hiss. ‘He likes Darcy! ’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Dad, retreating into the kitchen while scratching his behind.
‘Flirting with the boy next door,’ he sang quietly, ‘leavin’ mah heart bleeeedin’ on the floooor.’
‘I have no hope,’ I muttered, ‘no frikking hope,’ and went to get dressed.
At breakfast Blue was shoving milk-sodden Cheerios on each finger, and I could hear Dad still working the boy next door concept upstairs somewhere.
‘Blee-heeeee-heeediiiing –’
‘What you doing, Bluebird?’ I asked, ruffling her hair as I reached for the Weetabix.
‘Making big twoll fingers,’ she said, flexing them into claws to demonstrate. ‘It’s my turn to dwink blood today. Aunt Phoebe pomised.’
‘Cool.’ I sat down and poured milk over my cereal. ‘Mum going to play too?’
‘Mum’s working,’ said Mum, hurrying into the kitchen with the portable telly.
‘On a Saturday? Sheesh.’
She plugged the telly in and turned it on. ‘Stocktake at the main library all next week, remember?’ said Mum, zapping away with the remote and grabbing a hot-cross bun from the breadbin at the same time. ‘And I wanted to finish cataloguing Elias Brownfield’s stuff before I forget where I am. There’s some jolly interesting material about Queen Victoria visiting Hambledon.’
The telly burst into life as Pen shuffled into the kitchen. ‘Why would the Queen come to this hellhole?’ she muttered, putting the kettle on and slumping at the table. ‘What’s with the telly?’ she asked Mum. ‘You hate telly.’
‘I’m trying to keep up with the Emily Saunders case,’ said Mum. ‘It’s all over the news. That Jazz girl sent in a clip, obviously, but I didn’t see anything from your Jack, Lula.’
I blushed. My Jack had left Jazz to her own devices last night and given into temptation. I.E. ME! We’d snuck into the annexe, I’d got into something less bloody and we’d cosied up on the enormous armchair, eating Maltesers and talking till 2 a.m. Eating, talking, kissing.
‘Oh, puke,’ said Pen. ‘Look, Mum, Lula’s gone all red.’ She dropped a cereal box back down, att
ention caught by the telly. ‘Hey! There’s Jazz.’
‘Jazz? This time of day?’ said Dad coming in, looking smart for once. ‘Rock or pop for me in the a.m.,’ he said.
‘Jazz that girl,’ explained Blue through squidgy Weetabix. ‘She not like Lula.’
Dad raised his eyebrows and was about to demand more info, but Mum waved an arm for us all to quiet down as Jazz’s dulcet tones flowed into our kitchen.
I reached up and grabbed the chicken claw, focusing on Jazz’s face with narrowed eyes.
‘Let. It. Go,’ said Pen. ‘You’re scaring Blue.’
I sank back down to my chair, releasing Grandma Bird’s witchy good-luck charm and dropping a wink in Blue’s direction, but she too was riveted by the telly.
‘Emily Saunders has been missing for three weeks,’ crooned Jazz, her eyelids batting dramatically. ‘Her parents, used to her unexpected absences, were unconcerned about her latest expedition, until this’ – she held up a backpack – ‘Emily’s weekend bag turned up.’
Pen gave a startled shout. ‘She’s missing? Like, really missing?’
‘Shush, shush,’ said Mum, gesturing frantically.
‘It seems Hambledon is a nest of intrigue right now,’ continued Jazz. ‘A homeless man is dead, we still await the coroner’s findings, and with the bird-flu scare now truly refuted the question still hangs over what really killed the birdlife, and indeed most of the creatures that depend on the Frey’s Dam water’ – she paused dramatically – ‘Frey’s Dam . . . Emily Saunders’s last known whereabouts. Are the three incidents connected?’
‘Whoa,’ said Dad. ‘And there you were worrying about whether I’d be okay in London tonight, Anne. Looks like a safe haven compared to our village.’
‘Shush, shush!’ said Mum again, gesturing more frantically than ever. ‘There’s Hilda!’
Arnold’s mother appeared on the screen, her Sergeant Trenchard badge glinting authoritatively in the lights of the cameras last night. You couldn’t tell, even if you knew her, that she’d just kissed her injured son goodnight in the hospital and started a nationwide search for a girl who’d been missing for twenty-two days.
‘. . . important thing is not to panic,’ she was saying. ‘We need residents to think back carefully to the night of Friday the thirtieth of April –’
‘Luckily not the thirteenth!’ interrupted Jazz with an inappropriate smile.
Sergeant T did not return the smile. ‘Any unusual occurrence on that night would be worth reporting,’ she said, and, turning to the camera: ‘Please. We need everyone’s help. If Emily is somewhere, without food or water, every hour counts. Call the number on your screen with anything you feel may help us in the search for her.’
Jazz went on to push Sergeant T for the family’s reactions, but Arns’s mum was not about to comment on that, and emphasised again the importance of the community’s support.
‘Maybe I should cancel my meeting,’ frowned Dad.
‘No, Spenser,’ urged Mum, clicking the telly off as Jazz did an eye-batty sign-off. ‘Hilda will find that child, and Hambledon is perfectly safe. Plus you’re really buzzing with ideas right now, and I think your boily heart song has something.’
Dad grinned and kissed Mum on the cheek. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ said Mum, smiling back at him and planting one on his lips. ‘I’m always right. Go wow the musos.’ Another kiss.
‘Ew,’ groaned Pen. ‘Get a room.’
‘She is always right,’ said Dad, still beaming. ‘She’s spotted every hit so far.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mum, dismissing him with a flapping hand. ‘Be off with you. Back by tomorrow morning, soon as, Spenser. We’ve got to get Pen and Lu to the regatta, and you all set up in the party tent. Will you need your pirate shirt?’
‘No!’ yelled Pen and I in unison. ‘Nooooo!’
Great-aunt Phoebe swanned into the kitchen, smelling of J’adore and looking sensational as always. ‘No pirate shirt, Spenser,’ she added. ‘Please.’
‘And no handbag!’ I added.
Dad ducked his chin and narrowed his eyes. ‘Do not leemit my creaaativiteee,’ he said in a heavy French accent.
We all rolled our eyes and finished off our breakfasts, thoughts in turmoil about Emily Saunders and poisoned birds and murdered people and what on earth was going on. Dad and Great-aunt Phoebe wandered into the sitting room, both of them eating toast, and Pen grabbed Boodle’s lead, ready to head out for a run with her. ‘I might stride past Elsa’s,’ she announced. ‘See if Sergeant T’s dug up anything else since last night.’
Mum winced at Pen’s unfortunate phrasing and grabbed for the chicken claw.
‘Did you just mutter something?’ I demanded. ‘Something spellish?’
Pen, standing in the doorway, looking out, suddenly gasped. ‘Tatty, your duck has crapped all over Boodle. When I get back, you’re going to have to wash my dog.’
‘Yay!’ yelped Blue, clapping her hands. Fake knuckles flew everywhere. ‘Can I help?’
‘No,’ yelled Pen, and, ‘Yes,’ I said at the same time.
‘Yay! Yay!’ said Blue. ‘Mum, where Dad’s gogs? I get them!’ She bounced down from the table and set off at a run.
‘Dad has goggles?’ I asked. ‘He swims?’
Mum sighed. ‘Welding goggles. There was a time in your father’s life when he could do useful things around here.’
‘Ooh! Could he be useful before he heads off to London?’ I asked. ‘I’ve only got to lift the engine block in and Oscar could be ready to rumba!’
‘Don’t delay him, Lula, please. It would be so great for his self-esteem to get another contract, and that won’t be happening if he turns up late all covered in grease. His reputation is shot as it is.’
‘Hmm.’ Alone in the kitchen, I looked my mum in the eye. ‘How’s Dad feeling? Is he okay about performing at the regatta, or is he stressed? Is he . . . I mean . . . He’s been going to all his meetings?’ I flushed. ‘Apart from last night, of course.’
‘Oh, darling, your dad is doing so well. I’m proud of him. And we caught the end of last night’s meeting, Lu, don’t worry. Went out after you got back. Glad to see Jack brought you home safe and sound. You should have brought him in here so you two could have spent some time together.’
My face went scarlet.
‘Right,’ said Mum. ‘I’m off to the library. ‘Are you busy today, Lu? Do you want to earn a bit doing photocopying for me?’
‘Hm.’ I thought for a minute. ‘Actually, I promised to help Alex with her Cleo Cosmetics feature this afternoon. Maybe next weekend?’
‘What about this morning?’ asked Mum.
‘Lula’s going to lure Dan over with her broken-down heap of a car,’ scorned Pen, still hovering in the doorway.
‘I am not!’ I was outraged. ‘I’ll take any help I can get! I was going to ask Dad, but –’
Pen grinned and stuck out her tongue at me. ‘Don’t lie! I heard you going all’ – she made a coy, flirty face – ‘Oh, okaaay, Daaan! Don’t you think you should finish with Jack before you start making moves on the neighbours?’
‘Your dog can stay crusty,’ I growled. ‘Crusty with poo.’
‘Finish with Jack?’ Mum was hoisting an assembly of plastic bags up her arms. She threw her handbag over her shoulder, ready to go. ‘What do you mean finish with Jack? He was just here last night! What’s going on?’
‘He prefers his sexy student journo flatmate Jazz,’ said Pen bluntly.
I bit my lip. Though I’d never admit it, I kind of liked the banter between me and Pen, but sometimes she could go a bit too far.
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,’ cried Mum, coming over and squeezing me into a hug.‘That Jazz is so small and dark and mean-looking!’
A wobbly smile crept over my face. ‘She is, isn’t she.’
Mum left just as the phone burst to life. I snatched it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Lula, it’s Tam.’
I si
ghed. ‘Has the rumour-mill been working?’
Tam groaned. ‘I was so sure you’d be the hero in all this!’
‘Please.’ I glanced at Pen, who was leaving her bowl and spoon on the counter to go all hard and horrible instead of putting it in the dishwasher. ‘I’m always going to be the bad-lucked, jinxed-to-hell, weirdy witch girl.’ My eyes flew to the chicken claw, dangling above me. ‘What’s Billy Diggle saying?’
Pen was about to leave, Boodle’s lead firmly in her hand, but she stopped and turned, her arms crossed over her chest.
Tam laughed. ‘Okay, this bit you are going to like!’
‘I’m listening,’ I said.
‘Put it on speaker!’ hissed Pen.
‘Only if you help with Boodle!’ I whispered back.
‘Lula?’ asked Tam. ‘You want me to ring back?’
‘No, Pen wants to hear too.’
‘Well, this is good, and we’re the first to hear, so get a favour.’
I looked at Pen and narrowed my eyes. ‘I’ll put it on speaker if you let me ride up front with you on the bus to the regatta tomorrow,’ I said. Oh man. That was pathetic. Why couldn’t I get my own prime spot on the bus? I was SO pathetic.
Pen held my gaze. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But that’s not a permanent arrangement.’
I hit speaker before she could change her mind. ‘Okay, Tam,’ I said.
Tam laughed. ‘So the game guard goes back to get Jason Ferman and Billy Diggle and finds the two of them up the tree at the boathouse door, freaked out about the leopard. Well, the thought of the leopard.’
‘Like a leopard can’t climb trees,’ scoffed Pen.
‘Exactly, so the guard goes up close on his motorbike with the sidecar and tells the two of them to get down, that he’s taking them to the gate – only Jason has his pants down, his butt hanging out over a branch, still doing toilet business because of Jessica’s brew, and it goes all over the game guard!’
‘Nooooo!’ howled Pen and I, horrified, but totally delighted too.
Tam was laughing now, and it was hard to hear what she was saying. ‘The game guard has to go for a swim in the dam to clean up and he makes Billy and Jason sit in the sidecar, Jason piled on top of Billy’ – Tam wheezed for breath – ‘and by the time they get to the gate’ – more wheezing – ‘Billy Diggle is covered’ – wheeze, wheeze – ‘Billy Diggle is a potty!’
Lula Does the Hula Page 21