by Gwyneth Rees
Matthew and I stared at each other. What was he doing?
We saw him speaking to the woman. Then they both spoke to the waiter. All I could think was that they must know after all. Juliette must have told Dad or something. But if that was it, then why hadn’t Dad said anything before?
‘I don’t believe it!’ Matthew murmured, as the two of them started to walk back together towards our table. ‘He’s asked her himself !’
‘But he can’t know!’ I said. I felt giddy, almost as if the room was spinning.
‘Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just fancies her and he’s decided to try his luck.’ My brother gave a low whistle. ‘Way to go, Dad!’
I couldn’t believe Matthew was being so calm about it. The whole thing was crazy. Really spooky. It was like our plan was being taken over by . . . well . . . by some psychic force or something.
Dad reached our table and pulled out the spare seat for her. He took her jacket as the waiter laid out an extra place. ‘If your friend arrives, feel free to join him, of course,’ he said, as he handed her his copy of the menu.
She shook her head. Her hair had red streaks in it, I noticed. It wasn’t the same colour as my mother’s at all. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she replied. ‘No, if he arrives now then he can just . . . well . . . go away again!’ And she laughed. She had a nice laugh, like she really meant it and wasn’t just laughing to be polite.
‘Don’t introduce us, will you, Dad?’ Matthew said, cheekily.
Dad ignored him. He was speaking to his guest, giving her his full attention. ‘I remember something similar happening to me once. I’d arranged to meet someone in a very posh restaurant and she didn’t show up. I was mortified! But it turned out she was waiting for me at a different place. We found each other, eventually. Well, she ended up marrying me . . .’ And he smiled as he pointed to my brother and me. ‘This is my son, Matthew, and my daughter, Esmie.’ Apparently he had already told her his name. I remembered that we hadn’t actually said it in the advert, which was just as well.
‘Matthew . . . Esmie . . . I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she said, beaming at us. ‘I’m Lizzie. Lizzie Watson.’ And she held out her hand.
Fortunately, the waiter took so long to come for our order that Dad got up from his seat to go and call him.
‘Is Lizzie short for Elizabeth?’ I asked her, the second Dad was out of earshot. Matthew was staring at her like she was on display in a zoo or something and I just hoped he stopped before Dad got back.
Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice Matthew gawping as she smiled at me and nodded. ‘But I tend to only use my full name in formal situations. This isn’t a formal situation, is it?’
‘Oh, no!’ Then, because I didn’t know what else to say, I added, ‘Dad’s pretty strict about table manners, though.’
‘Well I’ll just have to be on my best behaviour, then, won’t I?’ she replied, laughing.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean you!’ I said, quickly. It was funny but I still didn’t feel like she and our mysterious Elizabeth were the same person at all.
She smiled. ‘Now your name is really pretty. It’s French, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ Matthew answered, before I could stop him. ‘It’s short for Esmerelda. After our great-aunt! Esmerelda hates anyone to call her that, though, don’t you, Esmerelda?’
I kicked him under the table and he was kicking me back when Lizzie said, ‘My favourite children’s book, when I was little, was about a Princess Esmerelda. I think it’s a wonderful name!’
‘Really?’ I was pleased and I gave my brother a superior look.
‘What did Princess Esmerelda do, then?’ Matthew sneered. ‘Go around snogging lots of frogs?’ And he started to laugh in a really loud, dirty sounding way, which made a lady at the next table turn and look at him.
I glared at him and Lizzie looked like she was wondering whether or not to say something, then smiled in relief as she spotted Dad returning with the waiter.
Dad put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder as he came up behind him, which made my brother stop abruptly in mid-snigger. ‘Is this OK, Lizzie?’ Dad nodded towards the bottle of red wine the waiter was carrying.
Lizzie beamed. ‘Lovely. But let me get the wine. Oh, and my share of the meal, of course . . .’ And then they both started getting all embarrassed as they argued about who was paying. Honestly, if they’d known the whole truth about this lunch thing they’d realize they had a lot more to worry about than that.
‘So, Lizzie,’ Dad asked, filling both their glasses again after we had finally ordered. ‘Do you live locally?’ Dad was sitting opposite her and had hardly been able to tear his eyes off her face for long enough to look at his menu. He was downing his wine very rapidly, I noticed, and I wished he’d stop. His face was going all pink and having a pink face was bad according to the survey I’d read in marie claire (which said that eight out of ten women prefer tanned ones).
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And you?’
‘Just across the other side of the park,’ Dad answered. ‘Just the three of us,’ he added, quickly. ‘I’m a widower.’
‘It’s not just the three of us,’ I reminded him. ‘There’s Juliette too.’
‘Juliette?’ Lizzie asked, taking a sip of wine very slowly.
‘Oh – she’s just our au pair,’ Dad said quickly.
For some reason Matty seemed to find that funny. I don’t know why because it really annoyed me. After all, Juliette wasn’t just anything. ‘She’s almost like part of the family, really,’ I said, loudly.
Dad pressed his finger on a drip of red wine that was running down the outside of his glass. ‘Juliette and Esmie are quite close,’ he said. ‘Close in age too, really. Juliette is hardly more than a teenager herself.’
‘She’s not! She’s twenty-two!’ I said, indignantly.
‘Juliette’s always trying to get Dad matched up with someone because she reckons he’s been single for long enough,’ Matthew put in quickly. ‘Isn’t she, Ez?’
I looked across at my brother suspiciously. It was unlike him to start saying things that were in any way helpful. ‘Are you single, Lizzie?’ Matty added, grinning.
‘Matthew, don’t be so rude!’ Dad said, sharply.
‘It’s OK,’ Lizzie half-smiled. ‘Yes, Matthew. I am as a matter of fact. Are you?’
‘Of course he is!’ I said. ‘No one in their right mind would go out with him!’
‘I don’t know about that, Esmie,’ Dad said, lightly. ‘Don’t look now but I just saw the girl at that table by the door having a good look at him.’
Matty and I both turned to look at once and Dad laughed. The girl he was talking about had long blonde hair and looked about Matty’s age. She glanced across at us as if she could feel us staring, then quickly jerked her head back again to say something to her parents.
‘Maybe she thinks you look like Brad Pitt,’ I told my brother. ‘Holly does – well, she thinks your bum does, anyhow.’
‘Shut up, Esmie,’ Matthew said, flushing bright red as Lizzie smiled and Dad looked . . . I don’t know . . . just really happy and relaxed for a change.
Dad took another gulp of wine and started to ask Lizzie more about herself. Gradually they got more and more animated, as if they were really enjoying each other’s company. I wished they’d stop drinking their wine so fast, though. I didn’t want each of them thinking that the other one was an alcoholic. I couldn’t believe how nice Lizzie was turning out to be. I was dying to go home and tell Juliette all about her, and then Lizzie asked what Dad did for a living.
I nearly choked on my lemonade. I should have known this was too good to be true. As soon as Dad told her he was a detective, she’d realize he was the same man as the one in the advert she’d answered. And then everything was going to go up in smoke!
‘Dad’s a pharmacist!’ I announced, quickly.
Dad stared at me as if I’d gone mad. So did Matty.
But Lizzie said, excitedly, ‘I don’t b
elieve it! So am I! I work in the chemist next to the bus station.’ She knocked her glass as she lifted it and some wine splashed on to her dress. ‘Oh, no! Hang on a minute!’ She dashed off to the ladies to wipe it off.
As soon as she’d gone, Dad turned on me, looking furious. ‘Esmie, what do you think you’re doing?’
‘Well, you’re always telling people you’re a pharmacist when we’re on holiday,’ I said, weakly.
‘Duh-uh,’ Matty sneered, like I was really thick. He grinned wickedly at Dad. ‘Hey, it’s a bit of a bummer, her actually being one, isn’t it? I mean, you don’t know much about drugs and stuff, do you, Dad?’
‘Don’t be silly! I’ll tell her the truth, of course, as soon as she gets back,’ Dad grunted, crossly.
‘Dad, I don’t think you should do that . . .’ I began, trailing off because I couldn’t think how to explain everything without ruining things even more.
As soon as Lizzie got back to our table – with a big wet splodge on her dress now instead of a wine stain – she started talking very rapidly herself. Her face was very flushed and some more of her hair had fallen out of its knot. ‘Do you know, I feel I must tell you something . . . I am really glad that you’re a pharmacist and not a . . . well . . .’ She smiled. ‘A police detective, for example!’
I just about fell off my chair. So did Dad. ‘A . . . police detective?’ he stammered.
‘The man I was meant to be meeting here is one,’ she went on. ‘It was a blind date to tell you the truth, and I don’t actually want to meet him now! I’ve been out with a policeman before and he was so bossy! Oh, no, I never want to have anything to do with policemen ever again!’ And she beamed at Dad as if she’d just shifted a huge weight off her shoulders.
Dad looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.
Matthew started to make funny snorting noises into his napkin.
I said, ‘What? Not ever?’ at which point my brother burst out laughing and had to excuse himself from the table.
‘I . . . see . . .’ Dad stammered. Frantically, I signalled to him to keep quiet but he ignored me and carried on doggedly. ‘Well, in that case, Lizzie, there’s something I’d better tell you . . .’
You’ll never believe what happened next. Dad told her the truth about his job and she didn’t mind! It turned out her father had been a policeman as well as her horrible ex-boyfriend and because of her father, she’d always thought that policemen were lovely and that’s why she’d always wanted to go out with one in the first place. Only her ex-boyfriend had turned out to be not very lovely at all. She went on about her father then, about how he’d been such a good policeman and such a great dad and how she really missed him because he’d died a few years ago. I thought she should make up her mind. I mean, either she hated policemen or she didn’t. It all got a bit boring after that and you’d think Matty and me weren’t even there, the way Dad and Lizzie were ignoring us. Still, at least she didn’t seem to have clicked that Dad was the same policeman as the one whose advert she’d answered.
At the end of the meal, Dad invited her back for coffee, and I was pleased.
It wasn’t until we were all walking home together that I remembered. Juliette didn’t know that everything hadn’t gone according to plan.
As soon as we got home, I rushed all around the house looking for her but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Maybe she’d gone out.
‘We could have coffee in the garden if you like,’ Dad was saying, when I got back downstairs. He had taken Lizzie into the kitchen and was gesturing for her to sit down while he put the kettle on. Matthew, who was stuffing his hand inside the biscuit barrel as if he hadn’t just eaten a huge Sunday lunch, said he was going round to Jake’s, and Dad said, ‘I beg your pardon? You’re still grounded, remember? Rest of the weekend.’ Matthew stomped off upstairs in a huff and Dad raised his eyebrows at Lizzie and said, ‘Got any kids?’
I don’t know why but I felt really pleased when she shook her head. I didn’t know whether I should hang about in the kitchen or leave them to it, but then Lizzie started to ask me about school and what class I was in and what my favourite subjects were and I sort of got the feeling that she wanted me to stay. She would make a really good stepmother, I decided. She didn’t talk down to me like some grown-ups do and she really concentrated when she was listening to my opinions, even though my opinions tend to go on a bit.
Dad was just pouring out the drinks when the back door opened and Juliette walked in from the garden holding a book and an empty mug. She beamed as soon as she saw Lizzie. ‘Juliette, this is—’ Dad began.
‘I know, and this is wonderful!’ Juliette interrupted, rushing up to Lizzie and kissing her on both cheeks like she was an old friend. ‘So it went well, then, the lunch? I am so pleased.’ She turned to me. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would all work out! Are you not proud of your father?’
Dad was staring at her like he thought she must have got too much sun. I didn’t dare look at Lizzie.
‘Juliette, I need to speak to you,’ I growled. ‘In private!’ And I jerked my head for her to follow me into the living room. ‘Now!’
As we left the kitchen, Dad said to Lizzie, ‘You couldn’t turn round and fish the milk out of the fridge, could you?’
And that’s when I remembered.
‘NO!’ I shouted, diving back in to the kitchen again. But Lizzie was already standing staring at the sticky pinned to our fridge door – the one with her name and telephone number on it.
Dad saw her looking and said, cheerfully, ‘That’s a phone number I won’t be needing now – you can throw it in the bin if you like!’
Lizzie turned and gaped at Dad as if he had just turned into a completely different person.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, setting down the jug of coffee.
‘How did you get this?’ she demanded. Her voice was trembling slightly.
‘Pardon?’ He looked puzzled.
‘This is really . . .’ Lizzie’s voice dried up and she shuddered. She started to back away from Dad, very slowly, as if she was trying not to give way to panic. ‘How did you know my number?’ she repeated, hoarsely.
‘Your number?’ Dad said, shaking his head. ‘No, no, that’s—’
‘Lizzie!’ I called out, desperately. ‘It’s all right! We can explain . . .’
But from the way she belted out through our front door, I could tell that the only thing she thought I was about to explain, was that Dad was some weirdo stalker axe-murderer and Juliette and I were his accomplices!
OK, so now you know. Never listen to your au pair when she comes up with some hare-brained scheme to try and matchmake your father.
Dad really started doing his police detective stuff after Lizzie left. He told Juliette he wanted to speak to me and Matthew on our own, then he got my brother downstairs and interrogated the two of us together until he’d found out everything. Then he told us both to go to our rooms.
‘You should not blame them,’ Juliette said, rushing in as soon as Dad had opened the living room door to let us out. Juliette pointed out that if he wanted to blame someone, he should blame her, and he yelled that he did blame her. And then they had the most terrible argument you can possibly imagine. Matthew and I could hear them shouting at each other as we sat together on the landing. Then Juliette slammed the front door and left.
She came back again but she and Dad have hardly spoken to each other since, and when I tried to talk to Juliette about what had happened, she kept changing the subject. And I didn’t dare ask Dad anything.
I was sure Juliette was going to leave, and over the next few days I found myself sitting in school worrying that she’d have gone by the time I got home. Then, on Thursday, Miss Murphy asked me to stay behind after class so she could talk to me – again. I’d already been to see her straight after half-term like she’d asked me to and told her I didn’t have a problem with French. I don’t think she believed me but she couldn’t say anything else because I was attendi
ng all my classes now and when she’d tentatively mentioned what had happened that day with the advert, I’d acted dead cool about it. I felt pretty cool about it too. I found that I didn’t care any more what she or any of the stupid kids in my class thought about my dad. I mean, if they wanted to think he was a complete plonker who could only get a date through an advert in the newspaper, then so what?
The bell had gone and everyone else was filing out of the classroom. French was our last lesson. I looked across at Holly who shrugged and mouthed that she’d wait for me outside the doorway.
Miss Murphy waited until all the others had left. My heart was starting to beat faster. What had I done wrong now? It was true I’d been pretty distracted at school over the last few days and hadn’t been giving much thought to learning French or anything else. I hadn’t finished any of the exercises we’d been set and I’d stopped putting up my hand all the time to ask questions like I normally do. I’d stopped answering Miss Murphy’s questions too, when she wanted responses from the class. I mean, what was the point in showing off my French now that Juliette was leaving?
‘Esmie, is something wrong?’ She was right beside me now.
‘No, Miss.’ I avoided her gaze, focusing on doing up the zip on my schoolbag.
‘Well, perhaps you could tell me if you’re planning on doing any work ever again in my class or if you’ve gone on strike for good?’
I swallowed. Miss Murphy can be pretty scary if you get on the wrong side of her. ‘Sorry, Miss.’ I started to edge towards the door.
‘Esmie, are you normally in the habit of walking away while people are talking to you?’
I stopped edging. ‘Sorry.’
‘For heaven’s sake, would you stop saying sorry and tell me what the matter is?’ Miss Murphy burst out. ‘You’ve been abnormally quiet in class since you came back after half-term. I haven’t had to tell you off for talking once and that’s not like you at all!’
Unfortunately Holly chose that moment to emerge from the doorway and answer for me. ‘She’s just upset because her dad’s mad at her, Miss.’
