Lula Does the Hula (5 page)

‘Huh.’ I was still unimpressed. ‘How does this relate to Gavin?’

‘Oh, yeah. Well, when I was there to interview Leonora Sanderson –’

‘Ooh.’ Now
that
I was impressed by. ‘The big boss herself.’

‘Exactly! Well, Gavin was just driving up with his granddad.’

‘His granddad works there? Doesn’t he do something with . . .’

‘Hazardous waste disposal,’ said Alex. ‘Apparently, Flavia didn’t like the latest version of Torrid Talons – too red – so they had to get rid of forty tonnes of chemical
waste, and Healey’s Expert Disposal has the contract.’

‘Gavin is in refuse collection,’ I said. Pause. ‘You met him in his dump truck.’ Pause. Grin from Alex, still bouncing up and down. More pausing. ‘You seem excited by this . . .’

‘Oh, I am,’ said Alex, positively glowing. ‘Tatty Lula! Sometimes they clean up crime scenes!’

‘Ohhh!’ The penny dropped. Now I saw the attraction – for Alex . . . not me, obviously. ‘That doesn’t creep you out? That would totally creep me out. You’re mad, Alex. The boy could have’ – I dropped my voice several levels and drawled – ‘blooood on hiiis haaaands.’

After a thousand more questions that she refused to answer, Alex whirled out of my place, leaving me with a load of bossy instructions about my own life (obviously hers needed no help from me, ever) and a feeling that I needed to seriously refuel. Across the courtyard from my humble dwelling is the back door to the main house – direct access to the kitchen: yeeha. It was still unlocked so I shoved it open and bounced straight into the heart of the home.

Usually I’m not up so early. Usually no one is up so early, except Blue, and she heads to Mum and Dad’s room, never downstairs. Though we’d already been awake, it was safe to assume Pen and I would have gone straight back to sleep like sensible people. So I couldn’t blame Dad for nearly having a heart attack when I slammed in with a bright hello. I
couldn’t blame him for not returning my cheery greeting, but I could blame him for a lot of other stuff.

‘Oh,’ I said, looking down at a green box he clutched in his hands.

‘Good morning again,’ he said quickly.

‘Oh, Dad. No.’

‘It’s not what you think.’ Dad put the box on the table in front of him and sat down on one of the rickety wooden chairs. Though the table was crowded by a gazillion dirty plates, bowls, glasses, a collection of pebbles in an old biscuit tin and a lipgloss of Pen’s that had seen better days, the box was all I could see.

Just two weeks ago Dad had told Pen and I that he had been going to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings because his drinking had got out of hand. He’d announced that he’d dried out and intended to stay dried out. But here he was looking at his secret supply like it was a lifeline he couldn’t do without.

‘I was just about to pour it down the sink,’ he said, not looking at me.

‘Okay.’ I took a tentative step towards him. ‘Did you need some help with that?’

His face tightened. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘I think I should do this alone.’

But he still wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I felt a familiar surge of anger simmer inside me. The house was silent around us, maybe just a murmur of Blue talking to Mum somewhere upstairs. The ticking of the clock above the kitchen doorway muffled by a myriad things hanging from the kitchen rafters – a chicken claw included. Weird for most, but for me, with a witchy grandma laid to rest, it was peaceful and familiar and I wanted it to stay that way.

‘Give me the box,’ I said, and walked over, my arms outstretched.

Dad didn’t reply. His big strong frame was hunched at
the table, his fingers tightening on the green cardboard, staring down at it. I saw a tear fall from the shadows of his face, shielded by his thick, unruly brown hair, still all mussed up. It landed on the box, darkening the green to black, then another fell, and another.

My throat tightened so hard it hurt. I bent to hug him round the shoulders, resting my cheek on his head. He didn’t smell of alcohol. Not yet. ‘I love you, Dad.’ His shoulders shook. ‘Come on. I’ll help you pour it out.’

It seemed like nothing was going to get my father to his feet, but when we heard Blue try a soprano yodel, and Pen began shrieking, ‘
Oh, for heaven’s SAAAAKE!
’ he took a shaky breath and pushed himself away from the table.

I grabbed some kitchen roll, ripped off a square and handed it to him. He shuffled to the sink and blew his nose hard, then balled the tissue up and wiped his eyes. He took a shuddering breath.

‘Okay, T-Bird.’

‘Okay, Dad.’

‘This is very Hollywood,’ he said, a smile touching his voice. ‘Daughter forces derelict alcoholic has-been to quit the devil drink.’

‘I’m a hero,’ I said drily. ‘You want me to open the box?’

‘So Hollywood,’ he sighed. His hands moved to the lid, then stopped.

‘You’re embarrassed.’

My father’s jaw clenched. ‘I guess I am.’

‘You should be, Dad. And I’m not going until you’ve poured every drop of that down the sink.’ I reached over and pulled the lid off the box. Dad blinked at the waft of alcohol. ‘Start with the vodka, then the beer.’

But he was already lifting the clear bottle of liquid and unscrewing it. He tipped it up and I ran the tap, then reached out and flipped the window over the sink open. When he’d finished with that, I got a plastic bag and put the bottle into it, then the next and the next.

‘I’ll walk Boodle later tonight,’ I said, not looking at him. ‘How about I dump these at recycling on the way? I’ll take the box and cup too.’

My father handed them over without comment. He looked exhausted, but not broken, like I’d seen him before. He met my eyes and gave me a wobbly grin. ‘Thanks, T,’ he said.

‘I’m proud of you,’ I croaked, tearing up, and he grabbed me in one of his suffocating hugs.

‘Love you, T-Bird,’ he whispered back. ‘Go get rid of the evidence.’

Boodle barked from the courtyard outside, and Blue began thundering down the stairs yelling something about where best to wee if you were a fairy with wings that got in the way. I grabbed a banana and went back to the annexe, feeling like I’d been awake a whole day already.

Usually I walk to school, but Mum had hit a maternal streak and insisted on dropping Pen and I at the front entrance, even though we begged and pleaded.

I’d been desperate for some head space to think about that note, and why I didn’t feel freaked out by it, and I really needed to think about Dad too – walking to school would have been perfect. Now I was all stressed and grumpy.

‘Why are you doing this to us, Mum?’ asked Pen, when we’d both slumped on the back seat in despair. ‘We are being very adult and clear about this situation.’

‘Yeah,’ I said in a belligerent tone, even though I was trying to stay on Mum’s good side. ‘This car is louder than Blue’s morning yodel, and looks like sh–’

‘Tallulah,’ said Mum warningly. ‘Blue, you okay back there?’

Blue was sitting in a booster seat at the back, keeping far away from Pen, who was in a
delightful
mood after the morning’s antics. Blue was wearing her fabulous cloak, which meant she was in a certain frame of mind. Only four-year-olds can get away with fabulous cloaks, but I had a feeling Blue was going to work the look right
the way through to forty.

‘I’m hungly,’ replied Blue. ‘Why can’t Aunt Phoebe come with today? It’s her turn to be bad twoll.’

Aunt Phoebe is actually Great-aunt Phoebe, my grandma’s sister. She came to live with us to help look after Blue when Grandma Bird died a year or so ago. She’s a very cool and sophisticated lady, but she can do murderous troll like no other.

‘Aunt Phoebe is helping the old people move today,’ I explained.

‘But they moved before this day!’ noted Blue.

‘Yesterday. Yes, they did,’ I said, turning to look at her from the front seat where I wished I wasn’t sitting. The whole town could see me up here in the snotmobile. ‘But old people take a little while to get organised sometimes.’

‘They were ver ver quick moving the first time,’ said Blue.

‘Yes,
because their house was burning down
!’ snapped Pen.

Boyoboyoboy. I pitied Penelope’s classmates today. And I didn’t think she should be talking so offhandedly about the Setting Sun – the old folks’ home – burning down.

‘Aunt Phoebe won’t take long helping them, Blue,’ said Mum, pulling hard on to Beaufort. The car screeched on two wheels, and though we should be used to Mum’s crazy driving we still squealed like excessively squealy things.

‘Noooooooo! Nyaaaaargh!’ We all slammed into the left
side of the car, except Mum who had the steering wheel to hang on to.

She straightened out and revved between gears. ‘It’s so lucky the house next door was up for rent.’

‘Very convenient,’ muttered Pen, shuffling back over to her side of the car. ‘Except for the neighbours –
i.e. us!
– who have to help the aged up and down the garden steps!’

‘That house is bigger than our house.’ Blue was solemn, working it all out. ‘Lot of space for old people.’

‘A lot,’ I agreed. ‘Almost a twin of the Setting Sun. Not so many chimneys, though.’

‘It’s
dark
and
gloomy
and
dirty
and
foul
,’ said Pen.

‘Geez,’ I said.

‘Then Aunt Phoebe will pobly be helping a long time,’ observed Blue.

‘Hmm,’ said Mum, checking her watch and skidding to a humiliating halt at the school gates. ‘I think you may be right, Blue. I hope no one minds you spending the day with me at the office.’

Mum’s office is at Hambledon University’s library, in the historical sector. She’s an expert on local history and has to catalogue weird stuff all the time, like old farmers’ diaries and meteorological records and ancient knickers. Okay, so maybe not the ancient knickers, but weird stuff nonetheless.

I got out the car and banged the door shut. The window fell down and I think Mum swore. Even though it was the
start of summer, a moving vehicle needs insulation at the best of times.

I opened Blue’s door and kissed her sympathetically on the cheek while Mum tried frantically to roll the window up. ‘I hope it’s not too boring for you,’ I whispered.

‘I’m going to find stuff to colour in,’ she whispered back.

Frik.

I hoped Mum was ready for a whole lot of rainbowed artefacts.

‘Babe! Here! Over here!’ I looked up as the car roared away to see Jessica Hartley waving madly at me. She was at my shoulder in a nanosecond. Uh-oh. ‘Why won’t you talk to me about your boyfriend? I hear he is soooo hot,’ she breathed in my ear. ‘How come no one’s seen him yet?’

I flinched. This was not going to go well. This required micro-management, of which I knew nothing. Where the hell was Alex?

‘Um . . .’ I said, blushing furiously.

‘Tatty!’

I looked over the road and there were my guardian angels.

Alex’s long dark hair hung thick and sleek to the middle of her back. She made even the school uniform look chic with effortless ease. Carrie’s hair was a lighter brown, and cut expertly to her shoulders. She was taller than Alex, about
my height, and exuded calm at all times. Tam was pale and delicate, with tawny hair that waved from whatever clips and bands she tried to restrain it with. Carrie had her arm firmly gripped, looking left and right for an opening in the traffic. While we were all sure Tam could probably take care of herself, we’d never take the chance – her dreamlike state was too convincing, and we’d never forgive ourselves if she got mowed down by a twelve-wheeler truck while working out backing tracks in her head.

‘Guys!’ I shrieked with relief, and flung my arms wide. My schoolbag whacked Jessica in the solar plexus and she doubled up. ‘Oops! So sorry, Jess! You okay?’

Jessica heaved for breath while Carrie, Tam and Alex dodged a school bus to make it to my side. They grabbed my hands and pulled me through the gates, calling, ‘Come on, Jess,’ in a polite offhand way as we headed quickly to the school hall for assembly.

‘Were you not listening to me this morning?’ hissed Alex.