Lula Does the Hula (25 page)

‘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 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.

‘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.

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.’

‘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?’

I expected the O’Connellys to brush off my pipsqueak sister, but they didn’t.

‘It sucks,’ agreed Sinead, ‘but it’s only been for the last few weeks while we get ready for the Port Albert Regatta. Is it true you go out with Fat Angus?’

Pen nodded and went red. I saw her look less confident suddenly and something made me say, ‘He’s brilliant in the boat.’

‘He’s the only one who doesn’t burp or fart,’ added Siobhan.

‘No, he burps,’ said Hilary, joining us. ‘But we like him anyway.’

‘Arnold Trenchard doesn’t burp or fart,’ I said.

The girls looked at me, looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘What did I say?’

‘Forget it,’ said Hilary. ‘Here comes Jessica, and she is
riled
.’

‘Oh.’ I nodded. ‘Did she hear about Jason and Daisy Nantley-Brown?’

‘She did,’ said Siobhan. ‘And she’s going to make him pay.’

‘Uh-oh,’ said Pen. ‘Isn’t Jason in the boys’ boat?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘He’s usually in the B side, but with Ivor suspended from rowing he gets a shot at the first-eight crew. Please let me sit with the girls this time!’

‘Pen,’ said the O’Connellys in unison, ‘you’re with us!’ And as the school bus pulled in, they tugged the door open and grabbed the first seat behind the driver, wedging Pen in between them. I got shouldered out of the way, as per usual, and ended up on my ownsome in the middle of the bus, where I’d soon be joined by the boys.

‘This is not fair!’ I said, and hated how that sounded.

Hilary looked back sympathetically. ‘It’s just because you’re the only one who can keep them in line, Tatty. Smells and phlegm have gone down seventy-five per cent since you started riding with us.’

‘Fear of the witch,’ added Pen sagely.

‘You are my sister!’ I cried. ‘Also grandchild of the witch!’

‘But boys near me don’t end up in hospital,’ she countered, and there was general agreement from the rest of the girls, and wailing and gnashing of teeth from me until Jessica turned round and looked at me thoughtfully.

She shook a silver flask and smiled. ‘I’ll sit with you today, Tatty Bird. You and me both against the boys.’

Oh, frik. Frikly frakly frok. I knew how this looked. Witch Girl and Psycho Slut. Where was Alex when I needed micro-management?

By the time we’d pulled up to Hambledon Boys’ Jessica’s eyes were glittering dangerously, and the rest of the crew were darting glances at each other. The boys piled on and Jason plonked down right next to Jess.

‘Hey, babe,’ he crooned. ‘Now this is motivation for being in the first eight!’

He stroked her forearm and kissed her on the cheek.

‘NO KISSING!’ yelled Mr VDM, pulling the minibus round in a U-turn to get back on the road. He examined his rear-view mirror and slammed the bus into a kerb. ‘NO KISSING AT ALL!’

Jason saluted him. ‘Sorry, sir!’ he called, but I saw his hand move up Jessica’s thigh. I swallowed and looked out the window.

‘Hi!’ said Arns brightly in the seat behind me. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Later,’ I said out of the corner of my mouth.

‘Would you like a drink, Jase?’ asked Jessica, opening her flask. ‘Nothing like a shot of hot Horlicks on a dark and stormy afternoon.’

Jason took the flask with a wink and a swagger and a leer. Jessica maintained a frosty smile that the rest of us knew
meant bad news, but Billy Diggle, who didn’t know much, seeing as how he was
twelve
, thirteen if he were lucky, had a few swigs from the flask too.

Arns leaned forward and whispered, ‘Wasn’t Billy Diggle on your kissing list?’ Then snorted with laughter. ‘He’s got hiccups from the Horlicks!’ And ha-ha-ha-ed some more.

At 5 p.m. when Mr VDM pulled up at the game gate, Jason Ferman had stopped his swaggering. He had stopped speaking too. By the time we drew up to the boathouse, Jason was as white as a sheet. When the door slung open he was the first out, sprinting through the mist for the outhouse just to the side of the boathouse.

The rest of us got changed, and carried the boats down to the water. I noticed that Pen looked like she’d coxed her whole life long, and, weirdly, I didn’t feel any jealousy at how the crew was so inclusive of her – if anything, I was a leeeetle bit proud of her. Even though she was giving me a hard time.

‘I’ll go easy on you today,’ she said in passing, but I just rolled my eyes and let it go. She and Angus were sweetly ignoring each other, being very professional and rowing focused, which I thought was adorable. I was about to climb into my seat when Skinny Jenks came sprinting on to the jetty. He grabbed my shoulder and started stuttering, ‘W-w-what did you d-do t-to Jason Ferman?’