Boy Trouble (22 page)

I shrug. The thing is, after what I read in the car I think I do understand. But I don’t know how to put it into words.

Dave says, “I’m sorry, Amy. I have to go back to work. Take care of yourself.” He starts to walk back towards the nurses’ station.

Just then Clover appears beside me. “Go after him.” She gives me a serious look. “Go on. It might be your last chance. Be brave, Beanie. Talk to him.”

I feel a wave of panic. “I can’t.”

She looks at me again, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Your call. But if you don’t, you’re not the girl I thought you were.”

I have a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat and I feel like crying. I can’t bear to disappoint Clover.

OK, Amy. You have two choices here. You can let Dave walk away or you can try and fix things. Which are you going to do?

“Dave!” I yell down the hall, running after him. “Wait. I’ve read your blog. I understand.”

“What?”
Dave’s eyes slide away from mine and rest on the clipboard in his hands. Then he recovers himself. “I don’t have a blog, Amy. When would I get the time?”

“When you’re on nights. There’s wi-fi in the coffee shop and you use your laptop.” It’s a long shot but from the look of surprise on Dave’s face, I can tell I’m right.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Dave, it’s called ‘Diary of a Tamed Colt’. Like your old band.
And
my friend has traced the blog to your laptop. He’s a computer genius.” Now this isn’t strictly true, but Clover said Brains could do this if we asked him to.

But it’s enough to make Dave tuck his clipboard under his arm, put his hands out in front of him and say, “Arrest me, officer. I’ll come quietly. But I didn’t know blogging was a crime, honest. Look, can we talk about this somewhere more private?” He points at a door. “In here. Edna won’t mind.”

I look around for Clover but she’s disappeared. I follow him into the room. An old woman with a pink face as wrinkly as a prune is snoring soundly in one of the beds. Curtains are drawn round the other bed.

“Don’t worry, that one’s empty,” Dave says. “The patient’s gone home. And Edna would sleep through anything, wouldn’t you, Edna?” She gives a fruity snore.

“So how much of my blog have you read?” he asks. He leans his back against the window ledge.

I shrug. “Just a few bits.” Clover had printed out his profile and some posts she thought I’d find interesting. I’d forgotten Dave was younger than Mum: thirty-one. Almost as young as Shelly. It felt very strange reading his private thoughts. But they were up on the Internet for the whole world to read so I didn’t feel all that bad.

“I’m sorry.” He looks sheepish. “I didn’t think anyone I knew would actually read it. I was just blowing off steam. Though I suppose using the word ‘Colt’ was pretty obvious.”

“Did you mean all that stuff about not feeling anything for Bella?”

“Yes, at the time. But it’s different when it’s your own baby. It’s all about genetics. You have a special bond right from the start.”

I give a snort.

He stops and looks at me. “OK, Amy, you want the truth, here’s the truth: babies are easy. You kiss them, they don’t push you away. You love them and they love you right back, unconditionally. But you’re different. You’ve always blown hot and cold with me. At the start we got on great. I taught you how to play ‘Yellow Submarine’ on the guitar, remember? We used to dance around the kitchen together.

“But when Alex was born and you went to stay with Gramps and Clover, you came back a different person. I tried to hug you and you pushed me away. And that hasn’t really changed, has it?” He laughs bitterly. “I can’t compete with Art. Big shot trader with the fancy car and the exotic holidays. He still owns half the house. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Big shot trader who ran off with his secretary,” I remind him. “Big shot trader who forgot my birthday last year until Mum reminded him. And now you’ve run off too.”

“I haven’t run off!” Dave looks horrified. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“Come home then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? Mum’s so upset. She can’t sleep and she hasn’t eaten for days. Please? She misses you. And the babies miss you too. Alex was looking under the kitchen table for you last night.”

“And what about
you
? Do you miss me?”

I open my mouth to say something but he says quickly, “You don’t have to answer that. You see, Amy, it’s different with you. You’re not my biological daughter, but I choose to love you. I can’t help it. You’re a great kid. And I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that often enough. The way you help with the babies and everything. If you left the house instead of me, then things really would fall apart.”

This time I think before I open my mouth. “I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you away. But I was ten when I met you, I’m thirteen now. Of course I’ve changed. I’m a teenager! I don’t hug Dad much either. And I’ve never hugged Shelly, not once. So please, stop with the hugging!

“And you don’t have to be strict either. Just be yourself: Dave Marcus. The dad
and
the musician. You can be both, you know. And in a few years Evie and Alex can be your backing singers. Why don’t you write something for them instead of all those ‘Woe is me, life’s rubbish and I’m going to die’ songs you used to write?”

“Thanks a million, Amy.” He’s grinning so I know he hasn’t taken offence. “And that’s not a bad idea. Rock songs for kids. You might have something there.” He pauses. “Do you really want me back?”

“Yes! We
all
miss you. Please. Just come home.”

The curtains round the empty bed swish open and Clover jumps out.

She says, “That’s sorted then. Everyone’s happy and, Dave, you’re going to be Ireland’s answer to the Doodlebops or The Wiggles.”

“Clover!” Dave says. “I’ve just made that bed.”

She just smiles. “Love the blog, by the way. Ever thought of journalism?”

“I’m taking it down as soon as I can get to a computer.” Dave narrows his eyes. “Who else knows about it? Did you tell Sylvie, Clover?”

“Nope,” she says. “And my lips are sealed.”

“Mine too,” I promise. “As long as you come home, that is.”

“Hey! That’s blackmail,” Dave says.

Clover grins. “I’ve taught her everything she knows.”

Later,
when I tell Mum that Dave’s coming home for good, and that he’ll be back as soon as his shift’s over, she staggers towards the kitchen table, flops down on a chair and begins to howl into her hands. Not the reaction I’d expected.

“Thank God,” she says after a few minutes, her voice still rough and hiccupy from the crying. Her nose is running and her eyes are pink and puffy. “What a relief.” She brushes away her tears with the sleeve of her dressing gown. Then she stands up and gives me a hug, getting snot all over my T-shirt, but I don’t mind.

“Amy, I don’t know what you said to him, but thank you. You’re amazing.”

She’s making me a bit nervous. “Can I go over to Clover’s now? She’s waiting for me.”

“Of course. But can you mind the babies for a few minutes first? I think I’d better take a shower.”

After I’ve filled Clover in, she rubs her hands together and says, “Excellent! Now, let’s get back to business. I need some help with this kissing email… Poor girl’s worried about teeth clashing, but it’s perfectly normal. Happens all the time.” She looks up at me, a glint in her eye. “Tell me exactly what you need to know,
Samantha
.”

“Clover!” I blush. “It’s not me.”

“Course it’s not, Beanie. But who else would give me an idea for an article, complete with a perfect title?”

I smile and listen to her intently as she gives me step-by-step instructions. After all, my summer break has begun. Three months of freedom – hurrah for long Irish school holidays! Mills is my best friend again, Dave’s back to do the bins, and I have a fab boyfriend. With a bit of luck I might get to try out Clover’s advice any day now. Things are looking up!

PS I passed all my exams.

PPS I got an A in maths. The only bad comment on my report card was from Mr Olen: “If Amy spent as much time drawing as she does talking to a certain male class member, she’d be a future Leonardo da Vinci.”

Muchos,
muchos thanks to: my long-suffering partner and children – Ben, Amy, Jago and most especially Sam, my Bebo and music adviser. My fab sisters, Kate and Emma; and Mum and Dad, for all the babysitting.

My best friends, Tanya and Nicky. We’ve been friends for over twenty years now (scary thought!) and they’re still talking to me, which is a minor miracle. And special thanks to Tanya for keeping me on the fashion straight and narrow. I’d still be in puffball dresses and ra-ra skirts if it wasn’t for her (but they’re probably back in by now!).

My wonderful writer in crime, Martina Devlin, who puts up with me going on and on about my plots and characters. And to all my writer friends in the Irish Girls and Irish Pen.

And, of course, I must mention the incredible team at Walker Books: my eagle-eyed and wise editor, Gill Evans; Jane Harris, who bumped into my agent, Ali, at a book fair and made Amy Green happen in the first place; the very talented Annalie Grainger, an editor who really keeps you on your toes; the lovely and always smiley, Jo Humphreys-Davies; agony aunt extraordinaire, Alice Burden; Katie Everson, for the fab design and cover; and all the fantastic sales team, most especially my own Irish champion, Conor Hackett.