Geek Girl (26 page)

o I no longer have a plan.

The universe has shown me, repeatedly, that it has no respect at all for bullet points or pointers or lists or charts. Plans don’t work and even when they
might
work and
should
work, people ignore them. So I’m going to try a brand-new strategy: not having a plan.

For the first time in my life, I’m just going to attempt to bumble through from one moment to the next and see where I end up. Just like a normal human being.

Or, you know. A bee.

“Are you
kidding
me?” I say as I open the front door. Dad’s still in his dressing gown from yesterday, and the only difference is that he now has a family-size packet of gummy sweets nestled in the crook of his arm. I read somewhere that in an average lifetime we each use 272 cans of deodorant, 276 tubes of toothpaste and 656 bars of soap, and it is quite clear that since Annabel left, Dad hasn’t touched one of them.

“Look how depressed I am,” he says as soon as I walk into the room. He holds up a sweet, looks at it sadly and then puts it in his mouth. “I’m even eating the green ones. I have nothing to get up for any more.
Nothing
. I think I’m just going to stay here until I grow into the sofa and they have to winch me out of the window every time I need the toilet.”

“Dad,” I say, sitting next to him. The situation is clearly critical. Dad is starting to sound like he thinks he’s in some kind of made-for-TV film. I have to do something
.
“Dad, does Annabel like strawberry jam?”

Dad frowns and puts another sweet in his mouth even though he hasn’t swallowed the one he’s chewing yet. “What are you talking about?”

“Does she like strawberry jam?”

“No. She’s always hated it.”

“So
why is she eating strawberry jam
, Dad?” Then I look at him with the most obvious meaningful expression I can get on my face. I promised Annabel I wouldn’t tell him, but I never told her he wouldn’t work it out for himself.

Although frankly, at the rate my dad’s brain works, there’s a really good chance the baby will be in school by the time that happens.

“Do werewolves eat jam?” Dad asks in surprise.

I roll my eyes. “No. They eat people.”

“So does Annabel. Do you think maybe she’s trying to scramble my brain up and trick me into divorcing her by accident?”

“No.” God, this is like pulling teeth. “Is Annabel any plumper than normal?”

Dad nods knowingly. “It’s all the strawberry jam. Or people.”

I look at him so hard it feels like my eyes are going to pop out. “Yes,” I say meaningfully. “
Or people
.”

Dad stares at me blankly.

“So,” I continue slowly, “she’s
getting fat
. She’s
eating things she hates
. She keeps
changing her mind
about things. She’s
crying
about inconsequential things and
shouting a lot
and
peeing all the time
.”

I’m ticking the points off on my fingers and holding them pretty much under his nose. There is no way he won’t get this now. No
way.

Dad nods slowly, a look of realisation starting to dawn on his face (he has a red and yellow stain on the corner of his mouth and I’m trying really hard not to look at it). “My God,” he says in a stunned voice. “She’s… she’s…”

“Yes?”

“She’s…
having an affair with a strawberry jam manufacturer
?”

“Oh, for the love of
sugar cookies
,” I shout, standing up. How have I managed to grow into such a balanced, reasonable person with him as a role model? “She’s
pregnant
.
Annabel is pregnant.”
Then there’s a long silence while Dad’s entire face goes white.

Oops. I didn’t mean to just throw it at him like that. He’s quite old. Over forty. He’d better not have a heart attack.

“Sh-she
can’t
be,” Dad finally stammers. “It’s utterly impossible.”

“Is this the part where I have to tell you about the birds and the bees and the fact that it has nothing to do with either?”

“No, I mean the doctors have always said she can’t have children. Almost totally impossible. We’ve been trying for years.”

OK: ugh. That’s disgusting.

“Too much information,” I interrupt. “Well, she is. The proverbial bun is cooking in the proverbial oven.”

“She’s
pregnant
?” Dad says again. He looks like he’d fall over if he wasn’t already sitting down.

“I just saw her. Trust me, she’s pregnant.”

Dad inexplicably looks even more astonished. “You just
saw her
?”

“She’s not the Loch Ness monster, Dad. She’s in her office, doing paperwork.”

“
She’s pregnant. With a baby?” For some reason Dad looks at me questioningly.

“Yes, with a
baby
. What else is she going to be pregnant with?”

“A mini werewolf perhaps,” he mumbles. Then there’s a long silence while he puts his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” he mumbles through his fingers. “A total idiot.”

There’s no beating around the bush here. “Yes. I think it must be in our gene pool.”

“I need her. I need to tell her I need her
immediately
.”

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head crossly. “You need to show her that you’re there for her when she needs you.”

And then I shut my mouth in surprise. Oh.
Oh.

Is that why Nat is so angry with me?

Dad looks at me in shock. “When did you get so smart, missy?”

I put my nose in the air, totally offended. “I’ve always been smart, actually.”

“Not that kind of smart, you haven’t.” Dad thinks about it and then stands up and dramatically takes off his dressing gown like some kind of superhero transforming. Underneath, he’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a cardigan.

“Hey!” I say crossly. “That’s my trick!”

“Like I said, I’m a maverick. And you’re a chip off the old block.” Dad stretches the muscles in his neck. “Now grab your coat, Harriet. We’re going to get your not-so-evil stepmother back.”

have absolutely no idea where we’re going.

“Annabel’s office isn’t in this direction,” I point out as Dad pounds down the street in the steadily increasing drizzle, with me jogging along behind him. I’ve never seen him looking so purposeful (apart from when he’s on the Easter egg hunt, and that has chocolate at the other end of it).

“She’s not in her office.”

“But she
is
, Dad. I was just there.”

Dad looks at his watch. “The cleaners come in at seven and Annabel hates the sound of a vacuum cleaner. She’ll have gone. I know my wife. Werewife or not.”

He takes another turning and I can feel myself getting steadily more anxious (which is not helped by the fact that my phone keeps vibrating in my pocket). “We’re going shopping?” I say as Dad takes an abrupt right turn into a clothes shop.

“Trust me, Harriet.” Dad picks up a shopping basket and throws a green floral dress into it. “This is part of the master plan.” I look with concern at the yellow ruffled shirt he’s chucking on top of it, followed by a pink catsuit and a sequined boobtube.

“Have you ever met Annabel before?” I ask in concern as he shovels more hideous clothes into the basket. “They’re not suits or dressing gowns.”

“They’re not for Annabel.”

I look with alarm at the purple hotpants he’s just picked up. “Tell me they’re not for you, Dad.”

Dad laughs.

“Or
me
,” I say sternly. I’m still looking at the hotpants.

“They’re not for you, Harriet.” Dad marches abruptly into the baby section.

“They’re not going to fit the baby either.”

Dad picks up a pair of baby socks and strides over to the cashier. If he screws this up, I’m going to have to move into Annabel’s office with her. And – frankly – I’m a little concerned about just how many beds she can get in her cupboard.

“Right,” Dad says when it’s all paid for. “Let’s go to the park.”

“Annabel’s in the park?” I huff as we charge to the bit of grass about fifty metres away. It’s not really a park because there are no flowers or trees, but now is probably not the best time to split that particular hair.

“
Have you met Annabel before?” Dad says as he hands me the hotpants, puts the baby socks in his pocket, throws the rest of the brand-new clothes in the mud and starts jumping up and down on them. After a couple of minutes, he looks up. “That doesn’t look very much like helping me, Harriet,” he says.

“But—”

“Pipe down and stamp on the shorts, kid. As hard as you can.”

So even though I am quite distinctly not a baby goat, I pipe down, throw the recently purchased hotpants on the floor and start jumping up and down on them like Rumpelstiltskin when he finds out that he’s been tricked out of the Princess. Three minutes later, we’re both exhausted, dripping wet and covered in mud. We stop and look at each other. “That should do it,” Dad says, nodding, and then he grabs the clothes and puts them back in the bag.

“But where are we—”

“All will become abundantly clear imminently,” Dad explains in a mysterious voice. “Learn some patience, sweetheart.”

Which – frankly – is a bit rich coming from him.

And then he starts charging back towards our house again, trailing mud behind him.

It’s only when Dad takes an unexpected turn that I finally realise where we’re going. I stop, very still, on the pavement and stare at him.

“We’re going to the
launderette
?” I finally manage to say. This makes no sense at all. This is where I come. This is my hiding place.

“It’s where Annabel always comes when she’s upset, Harriet. She used to take you with her when you were tiny.”

Suddenly a memory comes bursting forward. Annabel and I, sitting in the launderette, listening to the washing machines. Me curled on her lap, sleepy and sniffing the soap bubbles and feeling totally content. And then it hits me. I don’t come here by chance, or by magic, or by coincidence. I come here when I’m sad or scared or anxious because – without even knowing it – it reminds me of Annabel and makes me feel safe again.

“There she is,” Dad says. And my heart figuratively skips a beat, and possibly literally skips a beat too, I’m so surprised. Because Annabel is asleep in the same chair I fell asleep in a few days ago. Her head on the same tumble dryer.