At breakfast, only Millie looked awake, swinging her legs and chattering non stop about where they might be heading. She seemed to be hoping it might still turn out to be EuroDisney. She was dressed in her favourite new outfit – the pink velvet trousers and sleeveless white top – and her hair was brushed away from her face and fastened neatly with a clip on the back of her head. Papa had had a hand in the hairstyle, Louis could tell. Max wore clean jeans, his usual football sweatshirt and matching baseball cap. His head, propped up on his hand, looked in danger of falling onto his plate. Papa stood at the table, uncharacteristically smart in khaki trousers, polished shoes and a dark-green v-neck, his hair wet and neatly combed back, displaying a receding hairline. He had already lined up their rucksacks by the front door and was conducting this breakfast military-style, cutting up the baguette and spreading the butter and pouring the hot chocolate, appearing to be trying to get them all to eat as much as possible in the shortest space of time. It was, in essence, breakfast in the middle of the night, and Louis was finding it difficult to get anything down. Papa himself wasn’t eating anything, Louis noticed, but he was already on this third cup of black coffee and his eyes seemed to be on fast-forward.
When none of them could manage another mouthful, Papa cleared the table, put all the leftovers in the bin and told them to go to the loo while he took out the rubbish. When he returned, he went round the flat, turning off switches and checking under their beds and insisting that Millie wore a jumper even though she pointed out that it was summer. Then they picked up their rucksacks and went down the staircase and out into the cold night air.
The street was lamp-lit and deserted and Papa started walking very fast, and when Millie tried to ask a question, he told them that he needed them all to be quiet for a while. Two streets away, he approached a car parked at the kerb with its engine still running and a small light visible from inside. Papa threw open the passenger door and motioned for them to get in.
It wasn’t a taxi, at least not a regular one, because it had no sign on the top of it. Millie started to say something, then stopped herself, and climbed in silently. Max hung back, fiddling with his iPod, and told Louis in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to sit in the middle.
‘Why do I always have to sit in the middle?’ Louis protested.
‘Tell Millie to sit in the middle.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Get in!’ Papa said, in a voice that left no room for argument.
The driver was a man that Louis vaguely recognized – an old friend of Papa’s perhaps? But he didn’t introduce himself; in fact, he didn’t say anything much at all as they all squashed uncomfortably in the back seat, their rucksacks on their laps. He drove very fast and very badly, taking lots of little side roads, so that it wasn’t long before Millie started to complain about feeling sick. But to Louis’ surprise, Papa didn’t ask the man to pull over. He just stared ahead fixedly. And the hand that gripped the door handle was white.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ Millie declared miserably to no one in particular. ‘It’s going to go all over everyone and all over this man’s car and then everyone’s going to be mad at me.’
‘Try and think of something else,’ Louis suggested. ‘How about all the words you can think of that begin with p?’
‘Can’t think of any,’ she moaned.
Max had his eyes closed and his head against the window, the music buzzing in his earphones. In the front, Papa and the man talked in hushed, low voices. Louis found himself hoping the trip would improve.
It did improve once they got out of the car, because they found that they had arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, and the real excitement began to kick in.
‘Are we going to Cork?’ Millie squealed, bounding up and down at the end of Papa’s arm as they waited in the queue for the check-in. ‘Are we going to visit Grandma and Granddad?’
‘It’s a surprise,’ Papa said firmly.
When they reached the check-in counter, Louis saw that Papa was holding their passports. So Maman must have been in on this too! Maman wasn’t usually any good at keeping surprises but she had certainly succeeded this time! Perhaps she was beginning to forgive Papa after all?
Louis could feel the butterflies start in his stomach as Papa’s eyes scoured the departure screen. Louis followed his gaze and saw that there were only two flights leaving the airport in the next hour – one for Stockholm and one for Amsterdam. Max had noticed too, and he shot Louis a delighted grin. They had never been to Sweden or Holland before.
In the near-empty departure lounge, none of them could sit still. Millie danced from foot to foot at the window, watching a plane take off. Max dribbled an empty can of Coke across the shiny floor. Louis made the most of the slippery surface to practise his triple spin and earned himself some applause from a young couple sitting in a corner. Then Papa told them sharply to come and sit down. However, it wasn’t long before flight two-four-six to Amsterdam was called, and Papa jumped to his feet and told them to hurry. Max spun round to grin at Louis and exclaim, ‘No way!’
They proceeded quickly onto the plane. It felt strange boarding a plane so early in the morning and Louis felt his insides fizz with excitement as they stepped off the mobile corridor and into the loud humming mouth of the aircraft, even though Papa still hadn’t smiled since he’d woken them up.
When they got to their seats, Millie bounced up and down. Louis was having a hard time containing his own excitement and kept glancing at Papa to try and glean some idea of what he had in store for them. But his expression was preoccupied, distant, and when Millie jiggled up and down in her seat singing, ‘We’re going to Amsterdam, we’re going to Amsterdam,’ he told her sharply to stop it. Once they were airborne, however, he seemed to relax slightly and ordered a black coffee from the stewardess, then glanced over at Max with a hopeful smile and said, ‘So, was this worth going to bed early for?’
‘Definitely!’ Max answered with a grin. ‘Wait till I tell the others on Monday!’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Hey, Sunday’s tomorrow. Are we just staying there one night?’
‘We’re staying for a week,’ Papa said. ‘I’ve booked you a week off school.’
‘Oh, wow! Oh, yes!’ Millie squealed.
‘Cool, Papa!’ Max exclaimed. ‘A whole week! Oh, you’re the best!’
Louis thought for a moment. He was supposed to be going to Pierre’s on Monday after school. On Tuesday he had his street-dance class, on Thursday he had ballet, on Saturday mornings he had tap and there was a competition he was supposed to be going to in the afternoon. His teacher would be furious. But he forced a smile and said, ‘That’s great!’
When they landed in Amsterdam, a light drizzle was falling. They had all eaten second breakfasts on the plane. Louis suddenly felt very sleepy and he wondered whether there would be any chance of having a rest before Papa started them on what would typically be an activity-packed schedule. But to his surprise, his father said that they would be going straight to the hotel.
They caught a taxi from the rank outside the airport and Papa spoke briefly and sparingly to the driver in English. Normally he was keen to engage in conversation with anyone who crossed his path, finding out details of a complete stranger’s life only seconds after meeting them, but since coming off the plane he seemed to have gone very quiet. Millie insisted they all play I-Spy, but Papa didn’t join in.
When they reached the hotel, they emerged from the taxi into the pale grey Amsterdam morning. The hotel was small, tucked away on a narrow cobbled street, and Papa had booked them all into one room.
As soon as they went in, Max flopped down onto the first of two big double beds and switched on the TV, Millie had a conversation with herself about which bed she was going to sleep in, and Louis went to look out of the window.
‘Come away from the window, Louis,’ Papa said. ‘And, Max, switch off the television for a moment. I want to talk to you.’
‘I like this bed best,’ Mill
ie declared, plonking herself down cross-legged in the middle of it. ‘It’s more bouncy.’
‘This TV’s crap,’ Max complained. ‘It’s all in Dutch – they don’t even have CNN.’
‘Switch off the television.’ Papa sounded like he was trying to hang onto his temper. ‘Louis and Millie, come over here.’ He sat heavily down on the edge of the bed. Max flicked off the television with a scowl. Louis sat down on the second double bed next to Millie.
‘Right,’ Papa said. He took a deep breath. ‘Now listen up. I’ve got to go out for a while. To sort out some things for the – er – the surprise.’
‘You mean Amsterdam isn’t the surprise?’ Max asked.
‘Not the whole surprise, no,’ Papa answered. ‘Now listen. I want you to promise to stay in this room till I get back. This is not a very safe area and so it’s imperative that you don’t go out without me. Is that understood?’
‘What does imperative mean?’ Millie wanted to know.
‘Very, very important,’ Papa said.
‘Oh.’
‘Now, is that a promise?’
‘How long will you be gone?’ Louis asked.
‘Not long. Two hours, maybe three.’
‘And when you get back, can we all go out together?’ Max wanted to know.
‘Well, we’ll see,’ Papa answered evasively.
‘What are we going to do for three hours?’ Max protested. ‘We haven’t even got a decent TV!’
‘Read a book or something,’ Papa snapped. ‘Now I want you to promise.’
‘OK . . . Yes . . . We promise,’ they all said.
‘Are we going to sleep all together in this room all week?’ Max asked.
‘No. Tomorrow morning we’re going somewhere else.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Millie’s eyes lit up.
‘Yes, very early tomorrow morning, so we’ll have another early night tonight,’ Papa said, getting up and taking some things out of his rucksack. ‘The room-service menu’s over there. If you get hungry or thirsty, order anything you like. You just have to pick up the phone and dial one for reception.’
He left, checking and double checking his pockets as he went. Max turned on the television again and started fiddling with the aerial. Millie sat on the living-room carpet, drawing picture after picture for a mural on her bedroom wall. Bored, Louis pushed one of the beds over to the wall and practised doing handsprings and backflips while Millie complained about the room shaking.
‘You’ve jogged me again, Louis – now the cat’s tail’s gone all wrong!’
Louis took a break from the tumbling and switched to some fast fouettés, his spinning body making Millie’s loose drawings billow up from the floor. But this time she didn’t object and paused in her drawing to gaze up at him.
‘Wow. Do that jump where you spin around in the air!’
He obliged. After he landed, a picture fell off the wall.
‘Louis, you’re not allowed to practise inside!’ Max complained from the bed.
‘Your name isn’t Dad!’ Louis retorted.
‘Do that jump where you do the splits in the air,’ Millie continued.
He obliged, nearly impaling himself on the corner of the television.
Millie put the cap back on her felt-tip and stood up. ‘Teach me?’
It was a game they played at home in Paris. On dance nights, after his class, Louis would come home and attempt to teach Millie some of the new moves he’d learned that day. ‘I’ll teach you the new routine,’ he said, fiddling with the bedside radio to find appropriate music. ‘Ready?’
Millie nodded eagerly, poised, her feet pressed together. The radio blasted out a strong dance beat and Louis took up his position in front of Millie. ‘Five, six, seven, eight . . .’
But two hours later, serious boredom was beginning to set in. They had ordered club sandwiches and chocolate éclairs and tall glasses of Coke, and eaten until they felt ready to throw up. Millie had rearranged her clothes on the narrow cupboard rail more than a dozen times, and was now using her Barbie doll to try and tickle Max’s feet. Max was gazing dully at a Dutch TV programme, every now and again breaking off to yell at her. Louis lay face down on the second bed, his eyes half closed, his finger tracing a pattern on the mottled carpet. Then a thought occurred to him. He could use Max’s phone to send a text message to Pierre. His mouth would fall open when he read they were in Amsterdam. Louis didn’t need to tell him that they were stuck in a hotel room, with Papa acting strange again. Just that they had been whisked away for a surprise holiday. Pierre would be so jealous . . .
Max gestured languidly to his jacket when Louis asked him if he could borrow his phone. Louis crossed over to the chair and put his hands in the pockets for Max’s mobile. It wasn’t there. He tried each pocket in turn. Empty, apart from some euros, a train ticket, and a mint with bits of fluff stuck to it. ‘Your phone’s not there.’
There was a shocked silence. Then Max levered himself slowly up from the bed, his eyes narrowing. ‘If this is your idea of a joke . . .’
Louis said nothing – just held out Max’s jacket for him. Max went through the pockets again. ‘No way! No way!’ he exclaimed loudly.
‘Try your rucksack,’ Louis suggested.
Inhaling sharply, Max grabbed his rucksack and started emptying it onto the floor. Then he grabbed Louis’.
‘Hey, I haven’t taken it!’
By now the hotel room was looking like a bomb had hit it. ‘Oh, this is great!’ Max started to shout. ‘Just great! No wonder Papa doesn’t want us to go outside. This place is full of crooks!’
‘Maybe you left it in the flat.’
‘No, I had it on the plane! I used it to check the time!’
‘Maybe you were pickpocketed on the plane. Or maybe you left it on the seat . . .’
Millie’s eyes were wide. ‘Maman’s going to be soooo mad,’ she murmured.
Still looking around the room wildly, Max’s eyes fell on the phone on the bedside table. ‘D’you know Papa’s mobile number by heart?’ he asked Louis.
‘I do,’ Millie said.
Max grabbed the receiver and pressed one of the buttons. ‘Hello, can you give me an outside line please?’
Louis watched him. There was a silence. Max sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. His mobile phone was one of his most prized possessions. He’d only had it since his fourteenth birthday. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet.
‘Who is Mr Franklin? It’s Mr Whittaker, room one-four-six! I’m his son. I just want to call him!’
Another long silence. Twittering at the end of the line. Max’s eyes were growing wider and he was breathing very fast.
‘But I need to speak to him! I’m his son! It’s an emergency – we’ve been pickpocketed!’
Another silence. Then Max slammed down the phone, making them all jump.
‘What?’ Louis said instantly.
Max sat down again and rested his elbows on his knees, looking up at Louis in amazement. ‘Papa’s barred all outgoing phone calls!’
‘What?’ Louis said again.
‘Yeah, it’s unbelievable. The woman said that Mr Franklin had forbidden any outgoing phone calls from this room! When I said there was no Mr Franklin staying in this room, she said that she was sorry, but that was the name the man who’d checked in with the three kids had given!’
‘Maybe there was another family and she got the names confused,’ Louis suggested.
‘We’re practically the only people in this whole hotel,’ Max retorted. ‘I haven’t seen any other families around. Have you?’
‘No, but—’
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Max glared at Louis, but his eyes looked frightened.
‘Don’t say it—’
‘Papa’s going mad again.’
There was a silence, broken only by Millie, who during the course of this exchange had been admiring herself in the full-length mirror. Suddenly, she seemed to register
what Max had said and slowly turned to face them.
‘Papa’s not going mad. You’re horrible, Max. Papa never went mad!’
‘Well he certainly isn’t acting very sane!’ Max began to shout. ‘He whisks us off to Amsterdam in the middle of the night, then holes us up in some dodgy hotel using a fake name, then nicks my new mobile and bans all outgoing calls from the hotel while he goes running about the streets!’
Millie’s lower lip began to quiver. ‘You’re just angry because he went away! You just want to believe all the bad things that Maman says about him!’
‘We don’t know that he’s taken your mobile—’ Louis tried to reason.
‘Oh, come on!’ Max shouted, running his hands through his hair. ‘Wake up, people! My mobile has suddenly disappeared and we can’t make outgoing calls. Are you trying to tell me that’s just some kind of freakish coincidence?’
Millie had begun to whimper now, her two middle fingers in her mouth.
Louis shot Max an angry look. ‘Do you think this is helping?’
Max threw himself face down onto one of the beds. ‘Fine, fine.’ He held out a conciliatory arm towards Millie. ‘I was only joking – of course Papa’s not mad. He’s just a bit weird, that’s all. Come here and I’ll tell you a story, Millie.’
With a small smile, Millie wiped her eyes and snuggled down on the bed beside him. Louis went back to stand at the window, looking down into the street for Papa. He’d come back to get them, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t leave them locked up here for ever?
When Papa did come back, half an hour into Max’s story about an intergalactic war, even Max couldn’t stay mad at him for long. He was carrying two gigantic pizza boxes, a bottle of lemonade and a stack of DVDs. Max threw himself on the DVDs, Millie started opening the pizza boxes, and Papa told them he had booked them all tickets to another secret destination the following morning. While Louis set up Papa’s laptop and Millie started on the pizza, Max told Papa about his missing phone and the strange conversation with the hotel receptionist.
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ Papa said. ‘I took your mobile and locked it up in that little safe – there, under the desk, with the passports and money. You never know in these hotels – things go missing all the time. I think I’ll hold onto it for safekeeping until we’re back from holiday. I don’t want you to lose it, especially as it’s such a good one; you won’t be able to use it now we’re outside France, anyway.’
Without Looking Back Page 3
