Kisses for Lula (12 page)

‘OK, bottom of mine.’

‘Doesn’t that camisole belong to me?’

‘Oh, here we go. You should be grateful I once had the intention of washing it for you.’

‘
You
wore it! Clearly. And I don’t remember you ever asking if you could.’

Pen sighed and went back into the house.

I followed. ‘Sorry, Pen. Look, do you want to see the annexe?’

Pen laid the camisole over a chair. ‘Is it all clear in there?’

‘Not a single creature, not a speck of dust, not a smidgeon of dirt.’

We went out to investigate.

‘Wow, Lu.’ Pen put her hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s wonderful. And the bathroom?’

I led her into the tiny space between bedroom and living room. The little window let in lots of light and even I took a breath at the sight of the bath resplendent in grey against the white walls. There was a good-sized basin near the window and a toilet with an old-fashioned cistern mounted high on the wall. They both gleamed beautifully. Even the old pine floorboards had scrubbed up well.

‘Wow,’ said Pen again.

‘And wait till you see what I found in the kitchen.’

Pen shot me a look and walked round the breakfast bar to investigate. ‘Nooo!’ she squealed. ‘A teeny little fridge!’

I clapped my hands excitedly. ‘And I think it works!’

‘Nooo!’

‘Yessss!’

Pen shut the door of it with a thud and looked at me seriously. ‘Mum’s never going to let a boy within a mile of this place. This is Seduction City.’ She stepped back up to the bedroom, looking up at the huge skylight windows flooding the room with warmth and light.

‘Forget the first kiss,’ said Pen baldly. ‘This could be where you get laid.’

‘
PEN!
’

‘Let’s get your furniture in,’ she said.

It soon became clear that Penelope Bird was desperate to get me out of my room.
Desperate!
She made us shuffle in and out of house and annexe like jerky silent-movie Charlie Chaplins on Red Bull.

As I headed back into the house to find some clean bed linen I heard her turning taps on and off as I went. Seemed the hot water was a living relative of the main house’s – same kind of loud, thumping dialogue, but it had settled into its usual death rattle by the time I got back with the linen.

Pen emerged triumphant.

‘Leave the sheets, Lula. Come with me.’

I tossed everything on to the now clear bed and followed her back to the house. She made straight for the back veranda.

This space belongs to Dad. Dad is the messiest of us all. It pains him to throw anything away. He walks along the streets of Hambledon and if he chances to spot an old spark plug, a screw, a bit of wire, it all goes into his pockets and then on to the sills of the massive windows that run the length of the veranda along the back of the house. It’s a long, thin space with a spectacular view and this is why Dad likes to write out here.

And drink.

He thinks we don’t know about The Green Box.

The Green Box looks like any old storage, but it can hold three quarts of lager, two vodka jacks and an expandable plastic cup. Pathetic. But I’m not going to get started on that.

To get to the desk area you’ve got to squeeze past an enormous trunk (Mum calls it the trousseau) and an armchair so huge it’s like a mini sofa. The chair is a nice shape, but the fabric is so stained and ripped that it makes me wince every time I have to touch it, which is quite often, unfortunately, because this is where Mum has strung a kind of interior clothes line for days too wet and cold to dry the laundry outside.

‘You’ve hung my washing. Thanks, Pen.’

‘Sure. No problem. Now give me a hand.’

‘Pardon?’

‘With the chair. C’mon. We’re going to have to hoist it to the left – okay? – like so, then angle it to the right and squeeze ever so carefully through the French doors. Do you think we’ll get it through the annexe front door?’

‘No frikking way.’

‘What?’

‘That rotting pile of sponge is going nowhere near my pristine interior.’

‘Listen to you! I thought you had an eye for potential.’

I paused. It did have an elegant curve to it. I wavered. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

‘You can’t take Dad’s beer chair,’ came a small, clear voice behind us. We turned to find Blue in her fabulous cloak, pulling anxiously at the hem. ‘He’ll be cross again.’

‘Oh, Blue,’ said Pen. ‘It’s all good! No drinking chair, no smelly beer breath, right?’

‘He’ll still be thirsty with no chair,’ declared Blue, shrugging Pen off and heading for the stairs. ‘You are going to be in big trouble.’

‘Think she’s going to tell Dad?’ I panicked.

Pen shook her head. ‘She’s on our side.’ She glanced at me quickly. ‘But let’s get a wiggle on.’

More shuffling and the chair was heaved into the back
corner of the annexe’s living area. Pen collapsed on it with a groan. ‘Your skin is touching it,’ I noted.

‘Pfff,’ said Pen, her head back, her eyes closed.

‘What am I going to cover it with?’

Pen smiled. The last time I’d seen that grin was seconds before she emptied all of Dad’s booze from The Green Box down the toilet, and carefully replaced the empty bottles. What happened later was not pretty. Clearly Blue still remembered the incident.

‘Oh no,’ I said firmly. ‘Whatever it is, no way.’

My evil sister opened her eyes and said, ‘Great-gran’s feather quilt.’

My jaw dropped. ‘The
heirloom
?’

Pen nodded, still smiling.

‘Geez, Pen. You’re out of your mind. There’s a reason Mum keeps it bundled away in the trousseau, you know.’

‘Time it got appreciated.’

‘You’ll explain to Mum?’

‘I will.’ She nodded once, like some judge in a high court approving a not-guilty sentence, then heaved herself up. ‘I’ve arranged a little surprise in the bathroom. Go on in and relax while I bring in the heirloom and some outfits.’

I turned to go, then stopped. ‘Pen,’ I said quietly. ‘Thanks for today.’

She glanced at me quickly, then stared down at the paint splatter on her fingernails. ‘It’s been fun,’ she
said, then looked up at me with a quick grin.

I smiled back. ‘Yes, but I know you’ve got an ulterior motive, haven’t you?’

Pen’s grin got bigger. ‘I have. But you’d better start getting ready. It’s six p.m.’

That bath was truly sublime, even though my stomach was in knots, twisting in terrible anxiety about dinner and a movie with Ben Latter. Sure, I felt comforted that I wouldn’t be alone. I knew I liked Mona. And Arnold would help, wouldn’t he? Though he had said he wanted to look good with me as a foil. My thoughts wandered. Who had suggested Steak City? Ew. Did Arnold know I was vegetarian?

‘Time’s up!’ called Pen. She nudged the door open a few centimetres and put a glass of something thick and cold on the floor. ‘That’s to give you energy.’

I pulled the plug out with a regretful sigh and got towelling. The smoothie was . . . interesting. I emerged, gurgling up the last few drops. Pen held out her hand for the glass.

‘Your outfits are in your boudoir,’ she said.

‘Whoa! Outfits? Pen,
what do you want
?’

Pen sighed. ‘Look, it’s got nothing to do with you. I just needed to get a little further away from Blue’s yodelling and Dad’s snoring, okay?’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ I said, narrowing my eyes.

‘Okay,
fine
!’ said Pen. ‘You need to kiss someone, Lula,
anyone
. Please! I’m your
sister
, and your stupid jinx problem is already becoming my problem! Jason Ferman stared at me really weirdly the other day, and I just know he thinks I’m also –’

‘Hey! Jason Ferman is a freak. He was prob–’

‘I don’t want to talk about this!’ yelled Pen.

I stared at her aghast. She looked really upset.

‘Pen, I –’

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Just get dressed. You don’t have much time.’

I went into my room and stared at the outfits laid out on the bed.

‘Oh, Pen. Thanks. They’re perfect.’

She came up behind me and spoke in a small voice. ‘I’m sorry I yelled.’

I sighed. ‘I totally understand. I wouldn’t want to be infected with my reputation either. Thanks for these.’ I gestured at all the clothing, wondering what Ben would find irresistible, and hating myself for caring.

‘No problem. Mum’s just helping me move my bed. I’ll be back at quarter to, to show you and your penthouse off.’

I nodded and headed for my hairdryer. Once I’d got the style sorted I lashed on as much mascara as possible, and carefully stroked some dark shadow on to my lids, a little colour on my cheeks and shimmery gloss on my lips.

Then I picked up the flimsy camisole doubtfully. Pen had miraculously found matching undies, though not much of a priority there – what hope had I of clothing removal when kissing was still an issue? She’d put out my favourite jeans and a pretty beaded lilac cardigan of hers that I’d always coveted.

I was just putting my shoes on when a knock came at the door. I opened it with a flourish.

‘You look amazing, Lu,’ said Pen. ‘I knew that cami would work.’

Boodle the Poodle suddenly barked from the garden. It sounded like she was at the front gate.

‘Arnold’s here,’ I said, smoothing down the cardigan nervously.

‘Okay, Lula,’ said Pen solemnly. ‘Remember that if Ben Latter doesn’t kiss you, you’ll just have to kiss him. Even if it’s against his will.’

I looked at Arns over the table of flickering candles. He looked good. It didn’t make me feel any better.

‘When did they say they’d get here?’

‘Calm down. They’re just a few minutes late.’

‘I’m not sure I can do this. The smell of sizzling flesh is making me feel ill.’

‘Protein is an essential part of the human diet.’

‘Not animal protein.’

‘I can’t believe you’re vegetarian. Is this a soapbox of yours?’ Arnold raised his eyebrows.

I looked at them closely.

‘Has Elsa been plucking?’

Arns blushed furiously.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘didn’t mean to embarrass you. You look great.’

‘Er . . .’ said Arnold, then, ‘Hi, Mona!’ and, ‘You must be Ben!’ he added, springing up in relief.

Mona didn’t say anything, just slid into the booth next to Arnold. I think she was smiling so hard her lips couldn’t move to form words.

Whoa!

She really,
really
liked him! I could tell by the way her eyes were kind of lit up, the way she sat close, but not too close, definitely not touching, and the fact that she didn’t seem able to speak. I could tell because, staring up at the perfection of Ben Latter, I felt the same way.

He was wearing a pale blue shirt with a collar that buttoned down and very dark blue jeans that hung beneath the heels of expensive brown shoes. Not trainers, not boots,
shoes
. The trendy kind that cost a lot from exclusive shops. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled about twice up from the cuffs and the tanned smoothness of his forearms made me flush. Could he see that I wanted to touch him?

Frik!

I bit my bottom lip, willing myself to stop grinning like a loon. Though his blond fringe flipped low over his forehead I could still see his eyes. They were a darker blue than I remembered, and they were looking at me.

Ben sat down next to Mona. I felt my cheeks burn.
He didn’t even want to sit next to me
. Cringe! This was going to be too terribly dreadful for words. He wasn’t smiling – just gazing at me intently. ‘So . . . you’re Spenser Bird’s daughter?’ he mused.

‘Uh . . . yes.’ I gestured at the three of them sitting in a row opposite me and laughed nervously. ‘Is this an inquisition?’

Awkward silence.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said unapologetically. ‘It’s just . . . you look familiar. You look like the library lady’s kid.’ He stood slowly and came to sit on my side.

It was official. I was a beet on a body. Purple complexion, features morphed into one big purple round purple purple thing that was very purple. The boy I had lusted after for ten years – The One, The Love Of My Life – barely knew who I was.
Worse!
I’d been reduced to The Library Lady’s Kid, like some brat with a snotty nose.

I looked at Arns.

He looked at Mona.

Mona looked at him.

I coughed.

‘I
am
the library lady’s kid,’ I said.

‘Of course!’ Ben slapped his perfect forehead. I jumped. ‘Dr Bird, Spenser Bird – your mum and dad? This town is sooo incestuous.’

Incestuous? My brow furrowed. I could feel it wrinkling away and quickly assumed a
you’re so unbelievably clever and interesting
expression.

‘Ye-es,’ I said, though my parents were married,
not
related. ‘How’d you know about my dad? Have you read his poetry?’

‘Oh, uh.’ Ben picked up a fork and put it down again. ‘Doesn’t everyone know of Spenser Bird? Songwriter to the stars?’

‘Oh,’ I said. I leaned back in the booth, wishing it would swallow me up. In London, in New York, maybe even LA, sure, Dad was wined and dined. But people in our town knew Dad for his academic status – I liked it that way. ‘What’s your favourite Spenser Bird song, then?’ I asked hesitantly.

Ben looked at me for a long moment. Arnold and Mona were laughing together at something on the menu and I hated them for being so happy with each other when I felt so vulnerable. Suddenly I didn’t care about the jinx any more. I just wanted to get away.

‘I want to talk about
you
, Tallulah,’ said Ben, ‘not your father.’

Our eyes met.

And suddenly I got it. I got what a world of poets and musicians and artists and, mainly, Alex had been banging on about forever. It was a slam to the chest, a prickling of the skin all over, a blush from split ends to toenails, a high of unbelievable proportions. What a rush to have all that gorgeousness focused entirely on me. Me, people! Me! Meee!
Me!
I saw him all over again: the blond hair that curved perfectly over his forehead, bluest of blue eyes under chiselled brow over chiselled cheekbones over chiselled jaw. The straightest nose. And lips – I admit to you now I couldn’t tear my eyes from his lips. But I must have because when I saw his smile it was in the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes before it hit the world’s best toothpaste ad unfolding beneath.