Lula Does the Hula

by Samantha Mackintosh

  ‘Hmm,’ he said, putting on a suede glove and taking the note. ‘You’re right to be cautious, Alex. Leave it with me.’

  With that he wandered a little down the road and disappeared into a thick hedge. Alex was speechless. I did one last pull on my quads and pointed up the hill. ‘Trust him. Let’s get going.’

  Alex stayed speechless all the way to the top of Hill Street, where it peters out into a dirt track that meanders into the woods and then stops. She didn’t speak when we headed into the trees, and didn’t utter a word even as we ran through Coven’s Quarter, a clearing where ancient stone seats sit quietly in dappled sunlight. Two weeks ago this spot nearly got bulldozed, but it was safe now, and I felt a lifting of my heart as we thudded through the dry leaves and pine needles to crest the rise on the other side. I’d have been devastated if Grandma Bird’s witchy meeting place had been flattened. There’s definitely something about it that’s good for the soul – well, mine, anyway.

  A few minutes more of puffing and panting up the hill, and that’s where we hit a line of red and white tape, cordoning off Frey’s Dam. Through the trees we could just make out the glinting water, and with the rustling of leaves in the breeze came the sound of voices and radio transmitters.

  ‘Damn,’ said Alex. ‘They haven’t gone yet. There’s no way we’re going to be able to get down there. We’re going to have to come back tonight.’

  ‘No point,’ I replied, trying to get a better look through the trees. ‘Jack will be back by this afternoon. With Jazz.’ I couldn’t keep a snarky tone out of my voice when I said her name.

  ‘Aw!’ groaned Alex, ducking under the tape and sidling up to a big boulder. ‘I soo wanted to get him inside info! He would have loved some images of all this!’

  I crept up behind her, awed by the sight of every one of Hambledon’s police officers thronging the ground below. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I whispered.

  ‘Dunno,’ murmured Alex. ‘Who’s that down there?’

  I crept up behind her to take a look. ‘Oh yeah, I see. It’s that homeless guy. Grandma Bird used to talk about him a lot. She saw him up here mostly – he doesn’t go into town.’

  ‘Parcel Brewster?’

  ‘Yep, that’s him. He looks really upset. I bet the police are saying he has to move out of his shack. It’s just there on the north ridge somewhere. Do you think it’s a crime scene?’

  ‘I have no idea. Geez, Tatty. Maybe someone’s died a violent death – held beneath the surface by a jealous husband mad with rage and –’ Alex looked at me sharply. ‘What? What?’

  I tried to stop laughing. I was not a rude girl. Usually. ‘Alex, you sound like a tabloid hack, not an investigative journalist. Jealous husband mad with rage.’ I got the giggles again and Alex punched me. ‘Sorry! Sorry! Come on, let’s get going.’

  Alex followed me without argument, but made up for her lack of conversation earlier. Sadly, it was all about me: ‘What’s with the Jazz attitude?’ she asked straight away.

  I blushed. ‘Sorry. That was really childish. I don’t know. Turns out your cousin Jack has spent the fortnight with the woman, plus he lives with her! Did you know that?’

  ‘Don’t let it bother you. Jack doesn’t like like her. He respects her commitment to journalism. She’s got amazing connections and the most fantastic zoom lens you ever saw.’

  ‘Oooh,’ I said. ‘Zoom. Lens.’

  Alex threw me a come on you’re bigger than this look and changed the subject. Kind of. ‘So we’ve been back at school two weeks, you’ve had your first kiss, refuting all those idiots who thought you were terribly jinxed and would never be kissed . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling a little.

  ‘Yes, well, let’s just keep it refuted, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. Wholeheartedly.

  ‘Nothing happens to Jack. Nothing. And he has to stay your boyfriend for a while. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said meekly, though I didn’t feel very calm as an image of my boyfriend flashed into my head, leaving me breathless, and it wasn’t the running that did it: tall, very tall, and very, very handsome with thick floppy hair that was chopped short at the back, but which fell into his beautiful dark eyes; dark brows; general dark broodingness that had my pulse racing at all hours . . .

  Alex was saying something about Jazz being very attractive.

  ‘What?’ I demanded. ‘What are you saying? I thought you said Jack didn’t like like Jazz. What’s going on? What’s really going on? What have you heard?’

  My friend huffed impatiently. ‘Forget it! It’s no big deal! It’s just that Tam said she heard from Gianni Caruso – you know, the guy with the fingers –’

  ‘Yes, the guy with the fingers. When is everyone going to forget about that?’

  ‘Um . . .’ mused Alex. ‘Like, never? Would you forget someone skating over someone else’s hand and slicing their fingers off ? You, Tallulah Bird, the cause of Gianni Caruso in microsurgery for four hours –’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘Look, there’s the track through there. Nearly home. Gianni Caruso said . . .?’

  ‘He said that Jazz and Jack spent a lot of time together in Big Mama’s last term –’

  ‘That’s before anything happened between me and Jack.’

  ‘Exactly. Like I said –’

  ‘But –’

  ‘But nothing. What you do need to know is that Simon Smethy said to Jason and Jess that it was, like, totally weird that no one had seen Jack since you guys were kissing up at Frey’s that weekend.’

  ‘Simon Smethy!’ I shrieked. ‘I’ll kill him! I swear I will! He started the jinx rumour for real last time! He’s ruined my life once already! I –’

  ‘Calm down!’ yelled Alex. ‘Just calm down, Tatty. You’ll have a coronary or something.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m calm. Very, very calm.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex. I could hear she didn’t believe me. ‘So the thing is once Jason and Jess were done discussing the weirdness of Jack disappearing –’

  ‘HE HASN’T DISAPPEARED! HE’S IN THE CITY!’

  ‘Caaaalm, caaaaalm,’ hissed Alex. ‘Otherwise no more information.’

  ‘Caaaaalm,’ I agreed. ‘But if people are talk–’

  ‘Tatty! Don’t make me smack you on the head!’

  ‘What? What?’

  ‘I will handle this. Don’t you worry. Think of me as your micro-manager – putting fires out wherever they appear.’

  ‘Fires? How can you talk about fires? I –’

  ‘Enough! You’re sounding like a crazy person.’

  ‘Sorry, Alex. But you know how I feel about Simon Smethy.’

  ‘He blames you for what happened with his hair.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me! Nothing! He –’

  ‘Forget that. We’ve got priorities because now school slut and rumour-mongerer-in-chief Jessica Hartley is all interested and curious about you and Jack. We’ve got to nip that in the bud.’

  ‘How?’ I hated how I sounded all needy and helpless.

  ‘Don’t know. Leave it with me.’

  At last we’d arrived back at my front gate. I bit my lip. ‘Alex,’ I said. ‘This term is not going to be totally about me, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah . . .’ said Alex, looking uncertain.

  ‘I’m not the only one with issues. Carrie’s got the twins who drive her nuts –’

  ‘Well, sure, but –’

  ‘Tam hasn’t had a boyfriend since Year Eight, and . . .’ I tilted my head to the side, considering. ‘And neither have you. What’s up with your love life, Alexandra?’

  Alex flushed. ‘Funny you should ask . . .’

  ‘I knew it!’ I punched the air and continued on down the path to the annexe. ‘You don’t binge on white tea like that unless there’s a boy involved.’

  ‘You know me too well,’ mourned Alex.

  ‘Who is he?’ I asked, stepping into the dark cool of the annexe.

  �
��Gavin Healey,’ announced Alex with no hesitation.

  I was surprised. ‘Ha! Well! Alex Thompson going for brawn, no brains. Riiight. Plus he’s in college. What is he? Nineteen?’

  ‘Oh, Lula, be quiet,’ said Alex, but she was grinning and embarrassed.

  ‘Wait!’ I hissed. ‘Has something happened already?’

  ‘Noo,’ denied Alex.

  ‘But something’s planned,’ I concluded. ‘Hey, I thought he was going out with Emily Saunders.’

  ‘She dumped him,’ said Alex. They were supposed to go off to Port Albert together on Friday night and she didn’t even bother to turn up.’

  ‘Harsh,’ I said.

  ‘So now he’s mine,’ said Alex, happily flopping into my armchair. ‘Hey, I’d better get back.’

  ‘No no no,’ I said. ‘Why the sudden interest in Gavin Healey? How did you even get talking to him?’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Alex flapped her hand dismissively. ‘I was researching a piece on Cleo Cosmetics, you know?’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I hustled up my steps to get a bath running, then jumped back down. ‘The factory up on Tillerton Way?’

  ‘Factory!’ said Alex. ‘Don’t make it sound so industrial! How amazing is it that we have a cosmetics giant on our doorstep?’

  ‘Not so much,’ I said.

  ‘Yes so much!’ argued Alex. ‘They’re set to take on Estée Lauder! Clarins! Clinique!’

  ‘Hardly,’ I said.

  ‘That’s what you think.’ Alex bent to retie her shoelace. ‘With Flavia Ames as the new face of Cleo, it’s going to take off like nobody’s business. She’s designed the whole colour palette. Fresh, funky, fantastic.’

  ‘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.

  Chapter Six

  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.

  Chapter
Seven

  Monday morning, on the way to school

  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.