‘What’s the stress?’ I asked. ‘It’s not like any material is going out of date, or you have any massive deadlines or anything. Everything in your department is already ancient.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing. We’re not ancient. Where’s your plate?’ she asked. ‘Oh, there it is. Right, I’m taking these pillows out and you need to be flat on your back till lunch.’
‘Please, no,’ I begged. ‘Leave a pillow. Just so I can read comfortably, or eat some more.’
‘Your spine needs to stay straight,’ said Mum.
‘I’m so bored! And hungry!’
‘Boredom is the sign of a simple mind.’ Mum sniffed imperiously and picked up my plate. ‘And you can’t possibly be hungry after all that toast.’
‘Maybe it’s a chocolate craving,’ I suggested. ‘Maybe just one little Malteser ball will keep me going till lunch.’
‘Tallulah! It’s eight in the morning! You are not having chocolate at eight in the morning. Your teeth will rot in your head!’
‘Cup of hot chocolate?’ I begged. ‘Pain au chocolat?’ Mum was shaking her head. ‘Please! Something! Give me something!’
‘This family is a bunch of addicts,’ proclaimed Mum. ‘Time for you to go cold turkey, young lady. And as for that duckling of yours . . . You’re jolly lucky it doesn’t have bird flu! I can’t believe Phoebe called the vet – the vet! – and let me tell you, Lula, if it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered with vet’s fees!’ She pulled my pillow away, leaving me staring at the ceiling, and hustled out with my plate, slamming the door of the annexe behind her.
I blew my fringe out of my eyes.
It was going to be a long day.
9.15 a.m., officially out of my mind
‘T-Bird!’ yelled Dad, bashing the door to the annexe open. ‘You need to hear some lyrics!’
Now, usually I protest. Usually I say no way, because what generally ends up happening is I laugh out loud at him, he gets offended and we all get cranky with each other.
This time, desperate with boredom and my arms aching from holding my Silhouette Romance in the air so I could read it, I said: ‘Bring it on, Dad.’
He bounced up the steps to my bedroom and flung his arms wide, his chest all swelled up.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Another ballad.’
He ignored me and gave it full throttle.
Oh whoa whoa whoa baby
You’re my kind la-la-lady
Don’t leeeeeeeave me in this turmoil
Don’t go swiiiiiiiitching me on to boil
At which point I shrieked with laughter. Dad ignored me and his left leg started jumping to a beat that was all in his head.
Oh whoa whoa whoa baby
You’re seeming kinda shady
I shrieked again.
Oh whoa whoa whoa baby
Don’t leave me here in your fire
Wracked with unfulfilled desire –
‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘You’ve got to stop! It’s so bad!’
Dad ground to a halt, his leg gradually slowing down till he was standing with arms crossed, legs astride and a stern expression on his face.
There was something cherubic about my father. All that wavy brown hair, maybe, or the clear complexion, the pot belly definitely, even though he was a big strong figure of a man. All that big bulkiness with the cherub thing going on made Dad’s poetry students like him straight away because he was the easy professor to read. His vulnerable side was out there for all to see. And he was getting better at telling people how he felt about things.
‘You are not being very nice, Tallulah,’ he said, sounding a bit sulky. ‘I’m not pretending this is poetry. Song lyrics these days need to be punchy and catchy and easy for the youth of today to remember.’
‘The youth of today,’ I pointed out, ‘are not brain dead.’
Dad glowered at me.
‘But the youth of today,’ I continued, ‘could be brain dead. If they listened to those lyrics long enough.’
He gasped dramatically. I could see a part of him wasn’t so thrilled by my reaction, but mostly he knew it for himself and his outrage at my brutality was funny.
‘I’ve had six number-one hits! Countless top tens! I’m the best independent songwriter there is in this country!’
‘Go on,’ I said, relenting. ‘Gimme some more about the boiling la-ay-ay-dy.’
Dad laughed. ‘Don’t mock me. You’ll drive me to drink.’ He turned and headed outside.
‘Well, we definitely don’t want that!’ I yelled.
12.18 p.m. Now I’m out of my mind. TOTALLY Out Of My Mind
Baron von Sturenhopf and Petronella were all a-quiver, but not as all a-quiver as my arms. My arms could not hold the book up above my head an instant longer. I dropped the book, stared at the ceiling and groaned.
With no Baron and Petronella to occupy my mind Jack was there in my head. I didn’t want him in my head. Jack in my head hurt my heart. I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe now was time for a siesta, though Mum had promised me lunch. The sound of a car stopping outside the front of the main house had me wide awake. It wasn’t Mum’s car, but it sounded familiar. I heard the front gate open and shut, and a heavy tread come down the path.
By the time a dark shadow crossed the living-room window, reaching right up the steps to my room, I’d worked out where I’d heard that vehicle before, and I was frozen in fright.
It was the car that had dropped Parcel Brewster’s dead body at Cluny’s Crematorium.
Frik!
And whoever had driven the car was now knocking on my door!
Prickly frik!
I lay motionless, barely breathing, watching the shadow just to the left of the living-room window that I could see through the bedroom doorway.
Another knock.
My eyes shot to the phone and I reached out to pick up the receiver. I punched in Mum’s work number, wincing at the tiny click each button made.
Come on, Mum! I remembered my door was unlocked. Pick up! Pick up!
The handle turned. The door creaked open.
I was about to disconnect and hit 999 when Jack de Souza appeared.
I was so relieved and astonished and angry that I got seriously shouty.
‘You!’ I yelled, hanging up. ‘You dropped the body!’
His jaw dropped. ‘Wha–? Wh–How? No! No –’ But one look at my savage outraged face had him admitting: ‘Weell, not me exactly.’
‘You drove the vehicle!’ I continued. ‘I just heard it! Don’t try to deny it! I just nearly died of fright! I thought that a bad man was about to walk into my room.’
‘I’ve brought you lunch,’ said Jack, holding up a sandwich. ‘But it seems to me you need something to settle you down.’ He came in and put the sandwich on my bedside table.
‘Where did you find the body? Why did you drop it at Cluny’s? Are you nuts? Are you seriously deranged? I have been answering questions from the police!’
‘A lot of settling down.’ Jack looked down at the length of me under the thin coverlet. ‘Is your back still sore?’
‘Yes! No! What do you care?’ I bellowed. ‘Tell me what’s going on!’
Jack’s floppy fringe fell forward over his eyes. It looked like he was trying not to laugh at me. He bent over me, leaning a hand on either side of my shoulders.
‘What are you doing?’ I squeaked. ‘Just what the frik do you think you’re doing?’
‘Settling you down,’ he said, and lowered his body over mine. His face was close, so close, and his lips kissed my lips very lightly and very carefully. ‘You look way too tense.’
Chapter Twenty-one
‘Oh boy,’ I whispered. ‘I do not feel settled.’
‘Okay, so here’s the thing,’ he said, leaning back to trace my collarbone with his forefinger. ‘On Sunday night when I went back for the bird-food sample, I thought I saw a body in the water.’
‘ What? Why didn’t you tell me?’
�
�We were running away from that old guy’s henchman, remember?’
I nodded. My heart was not thundering so much, though I still felt shaky all over.
Jack’s finger traced my lips. ‘And I wasn’t sure that’s what I’d seen, so I didn’t want to freak you out for nothing. I went back later with Forest.’
‘But what about the henchman?’
Jack grimaced and shifted so he was lying alongside me. ‘You’re not going to like this bit.’
‘I’m not?’
‘I had his keys –’
‘You didn’t leave them? Like I asked you? Jack!’
‘So we drove in as far as we could, then I hid while Forest went and started his truck. That got him out of his hiding place in a flash.’
‘Frik!’ I said. ‘You . . . you . . .’
‘Forest drove the vehicle up the west dirt road, parked it in the top clearing and doubled back through the woods.’
‘Frikking frik!’
‘He drove slowly enough to lure the guy up there, but he took the keys with him when he jumped. By the time Forest made it back to the dam, I’d found what I was looking for.’
‘Parcel Brewster.’
‘Parcel Brewster,’ Jack confirmed.
‘You disturbed a crime scene,’ I said hotly. ‘You are in a whole mess of trouble, Jack!’
Jack shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, yes, but the police wouldn’t take me seriously, would they? They were laughing at me on the phone. I had to make them see for themselves! The longer a body is left in the water, the less evidence is available for a coroner to determine cause of death. I’ve done the police department a favour. If they’d left it till the bird-flu scare was over, or until someone was willing to take things seriously, there’d have been nothing left of Parcel Brewster.’
I closed my eyes. ‘I don’t want to know this,’ I said. ‘I just don’t want to know.’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sergeant Trenchard has already questioned you, hasn’t she? You’ve given your statement, not knowing anything. It’s all good.’
I studied his face. Could he be right? Could it all be okay? ‘What about the evidence we collected?’ I asked. ‘Has Forest tested it yet?’
‘Yesterday,’ said Jack. ‘No bird flu.’
‘Wow. So the birds were poisoned?’
Jack nodded. ‘Lots of chemicals in the water. Parabens, ethanol, mercury. Forest has everything bagged and labelled and witnessed by Professor Conyngham.’
‘Geez!’ I blurted. ‘Someone else knows about this?’
‘We had to. Otherwise the evidence wouldn’t be allowed. Jazz knows too, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I said, and wanted to scream. Really loudly.
Jack continued, oblivious. ‘Prof. Conyngham says he’ll stand by us. He’ll say we went up there to collect samples for an eco-viability study, and we’ll get a slapped wrist for continuing with our research without due regard for the bird-flu restrictions.’ He smiled and kissed me lightly again, but I was feeling hot and cross about Jazz and didn’t kiss him back.
Jack smiled tentatively. ‘Not many mums would allow a boy into their daughter’s bedroom all alone. She’s very trusting.’
‘I can be trusted,’ I said tightly.
He looked at me, and his smile faded. ‘Here, let me help you sit a little,’ he said, and eased me forward while he tucked pillows in behind me.
‘Maybe you should go,’ I said, not looking at Jack, feeling all crowded and irritated and strange.
‘Lula . . .’ Jack stopped pulling pillows around and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me over his shoulder. ‘I’m getting mixed signals from you. Sometimes you’re all happy and warm; sometimes I feel like you don’t want me around. What’s going on?’
I wanted to say I did like him, that I liked him desperately, but I couldn’t think how to explain that I didn’t like him with Jazz. I didn’t want to say that and feel mean-minded and jealous. I didn’t want him to think I was mean-minded and jealous, because I was pretty sure I wasn’t. Jazz was just souring what I had with Jack. She was everywhere, it seemed, while I was nowhere.
‘Lula?’ asked Jack. ‘Will you answer me?’
There was a loud bang on the door. ‘Tatty! You here? Tatty?’
‘That’s Bludgeon,’ I said to Jack.
He continued looking at me. ‘Are we not going to talk about this, Lu?’
I stared back at him. ‘Please could you let Bludgeon in?’
‘Bludgeon. On my way out. Sure.’ Jack nodded curtly, got up from the bed and ducked out of my room. I heard the door open and Bludgeon come in, a few words, hello, goodbye, and then Bludgeon was peering round my doorway.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What you wearing?’
‘Clothes,’ I said, not looking at him, staring at the skylight and trying not to cry. Frik. It felt like I’d spent every day since I’d first kissed Jack trying not to cry.
‘Pity,’ said Bludgeon. He kicked his boots off and lay down on the bed beside me. ‘You gonna have this sarnie?’
I glared at him. ‘I am, Mr Bludgeon. Pass it over. And what are you doing lazing around on my bed?’
Bludgeon passed my sandwich. ‘Do you see any chairs? Any place to sit besides the bed? You’re not bein’ very polite like.’ He paused and looked at the sandwich. ‘I’m starvin’.’ I handed him a triangle. ‘Thanks, babe.’ He bit into it happily. ‘And my feet hurt. Cos of all the legwork I bin doin’ for you. Y’know?’
‘Un?’ I went, my mouth full.
‘That’s why I gotta take the weight off.’ He eyed my triangle. I ate hastily. ‘Starvin’,’ he said again, then, ‘Oh! Yer man said to give you these,’ and he pulled a bag of Maltesers out of a capacious jacket pocket. ‘Shall I open ’em?’
I swallowed the last of my sandwich, and handed the empty box to Bludgeon. ‘You can have some only when you’ve told me what’s going on with Jack. You’ve been keeping an eye on him?’
‘Surely ’ave, babe. ’E’s a nice bloke, but ’e should watch ’is back.’
I took the bag of Maltesers from Bludgeon and prepared to open them. ‘Carry on.’
‘Well, that trick ’e pulled with Parcel Brewster was dumb.’
I stiffened. ‘Pardon?’
‘Don’t tell me ’e didn’t tell you about pulling Parcel out the water and dumping him on the veranda. You saw for yerself.’
‘HOW?’ I yelped. ‘How on earth do you know all this?’
Bludgeon tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and nodded wisely in a way that made me want to hit him. ‘I’m the best there is. Now ’e’s got ’is mate all tied up in it –’
‘And Jazz Delaney,’ I said bitterly.
‘Yeah, she’s a nasty piece o’ work.’
Ha! Exactly. I passed Bludgeon a Malteser because he deserved it. He crunched happily. ‘A real nasty piece o’ work.’ I passed him another Malteser and he crunched that too. ‘A real, real nasty piece o’ work,’ he said, and we both burst out laughing when I handed him another two.
‘Oh, all right,’ I said, holding out the bag. ‘Tuck in, skinny. And tell me what you came to say yesterday.’
‘When I found you with yer arse in the air,’ he said, face dead straight. I closed my eyes. ‘Sorry, babes. Lucky you got a good arse.’
I went red. ‘Enough with the arse,’ I said. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’
‘All the original test results that came up positive for bird flu?’
‘Mm?’ Crunch, crunch.
‘Gone.’
‘No!’
‘Mm-hm. And can’t retest cos all the birds were incinerated.’
‘At Cluny’s.’
‘’S right. I went to go lean on the lab techie, but he said he’d said enough.’
‘To Jack and Jazz?’
Bludgeon laughed. ‘Them two sound like a backing band. Yeah, them.’ He shook his head. ‘By the sounds of it,
though, he just told ’em the bird flu had been confirmed. Nuthin else.’
‘What a waste of a Friday night,’ I muttered.
‘The meetin’ in the Felon?’
I nodded.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Bludgeon. ‘That Jazz ain’t friendly like with the right people, know what I mean?’
I offered him the last Malteser. ‘Like you, you mean.’
Bludgeon gallantly let me have it. ‘Yeah, like me.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Poor Bing.’
‘Bingley Clarendon?’
‘’E’s been droppin’ gluten-free vegan pizzas round there most nights just so’s ’e can see ’er.’
‘Poor Bing,’ I agreed. ‘I’d quite like her to like him too.’
‘Sure you want Mr K and me lookin’ out fer Jack?’ asked Bludgeon. ‘Maybe one of yer jinxy accidents is just what the boy needs. Get ’is priorities straight like.’
I pushed myself up urgently by the elbows, and pointed a finger at Bludgeon. ‘If something happened to Jack, I’d be a goner in this town,’ I said, my voice starting to go an octave higher. ‘I’ve only got to run past Cluny’s and someone drops a dead body! I’ve gone from being with the damaged people, to being with the dead people!’
‘Sure, sure!’ said Bludgeon hastily.
I flopped back down and heaved a sigh. ‘Plus,’ I said quietly, ‘I want you to keep him safe, you know?’
I opened my eyes. Bludgeon was looking at me.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Um . . . need a massage ’fore I go?’
I looked at Bludgeon in horror. ‘No thanks, Mr B!’
‘Don’t be so hasty, Tatty Bird. I hear you’re signed up for Hambledon Girls’ rowing squad, and your first go is tomorrow. You’ll need to be all limbered up for that.’
I gaped. ‘You do know everything.’
‘I do.’ He grinned. ‘Get ready to blister, babes.’
Wednesday after school, the motor running
‘Please Mr VDM! Remember what happened last time you didn’t believe me about my back? Stretchers! Crisis! House call from doctor! I had to have an injection!’
‘It’s because of that injection that you are fine now,’ said Mr VDM, one hand on the bus door. ‘Get in.’
Lula Does the Hula Page 14
