Kisses for Lula (32 page)

Sergeant T was on him in an instant. In the same moment, the door to the room hissed open and six more officers flooded in, guns up and ready to shoot.

I was about to jump up and down with wild excitement now that Harrow and Mike were on the ground with revolvers up their nostrils, but Jack hissed, ‘Stay with me,
keep the sound at shoulder height,’ and started moving in on the action, camera still running.

He got everything on tape. The handcuffing, Mum retrieving the documents, Sergeant T authorising the arrest of the mayor of Hambledon and his stick-insect sister, Tweedy Mabel. Even Harrow hissing ‘No comment’ between gritted teeth to Jack’s questions.

When the fingerprint guys arrived, Sergeant T asked everyone to reconvene in the staffroom upstairs for a debrief. Mum started ushering everyone up the stairs, and at last Jack lowered the camera.

‘Thanks,’ he said with a grin. He took the sound boom from me, checked all his settings and began packing equipment into bags.

‘You need a hand with anything?’ I asked awkwardly.

He glanced up at me and flashed a quick smile, politely. ‘No thank you, Tallulah,’ and shouldered all of the bags in one go, moving out of the room in front of me.

The stairwell that had been so silent on the way down was filled with laughter and joking as we headed upstairs. I glanced up at everyone ahead of me as natural light flooded in at the first ground-floor window and, seeing Mona and Arnold squashed side by side in the narrow space, had to swallow a mega lump in my throat. They looked so
in love
. Mum was on her mobile talking to Dad, and Mr K was discussing combat drills with Jack. I felt absolutely
exhausted, and awfully . . . alone.

In the staffroom, Mona and Arns got the couch. They were well behaved (I’m guessing they had to be with Arns’s mum fully armed) but the long lustful looks at each other left me more nauseous than ever. I flopped into an armchair to the right of them, figuring if I were just at their side I wouldn’t have to look at them. I kicked my feet up on a low table, stretched my arms out on the armrests and closed my eyes. A minute later I felt the table shift under my feet, and peeked out under my heavy eyelids. Mr K had settled in a matching chair opposite me, his feet right next to my own. I gave him a little finger wave and he winked back. Someone turned a radio on and a soppy song crooned over the airwaves. Mona giggled and I heard Arns’s low tones, making her laugh a little louder.

Oh, geez.

Please. Let this day end.

One by one we had to go into the next room for a debrief with Sergeant T’s boss, who didn’t look too happy to be called out on a Saturday.

Jack was the first to be summoned, and when eventually he sauntered back to the staffroom he threw himself into a chintz-covered armchair, pulled a laptop from one of the bags and began tapping away at the keyboard like a demented person, his dark hair falling forward, even darker stubble shadowing his jaw.

I was the last to be called. I gave my account of events to Sergeant Trenchard, her boss and another officer whom I recognised from the fire last night.

‘Well done, Tallulah,’ said Sergeant Trenchard. ‘It looks like you played a big part in saving this town’s heritage site.’

I shrugged. ‘It was Mr Kadinski, really,’ I said. ‘He filled in all the gaps.’

‘His video footage will prove useful in his assault charge against Harrow Construction, and in the public case too,’ said Sergeant T. ‘I just wonder why it wasn’t prioritised immediately.’ Her eyes drifted to her boss and then back to me. ‘Also, young lady . . .’

Uh-oh
, I thought.
What have I done now?

‘. . . I want to say how grateful I am for your superagent moves in the book stacks.’ Her eyes twinkled and I grinned. ‘Harry Harrow was about to do something stupid and you saved my bacon.’

‘Oh . . . u-um,’ I stammered.

‘Thank you, Tallulah,’ said Sergeant T, and she held out her hand, though I could tell she would have hugged me if her colleagues hadn’t been there.

I shook it solemnly.

‘Well, we’re all finished up here now,’ she said. ‘Would you let everyone know they’re free to go?’

‘Sure,’ I said, turning to leave.

‘Oh, and happy birthday, Tallulah,’ she concluded, glancing at the information I’d given her. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be there for any celebrations. Got to get back to the station.’ She stood suddenly and patted me on the shoulder with another big softy grin.

Trudging back to the staffroom, I soon felt deflated and very sorry for myself. My first birthday greeting of the day and it comes from a police officer taking down my particulars. Any celebrations would be strictly lonesome ones, though I suspected Dad might have remembered.

Maybe not: twenty-five old people at home and an impaired memory, like thinking he and Mum had been married for an extra year.

I grinned. Maybe I could tell him I was eighteen and able to drive Oscar on my own. So what if everyone knew I was strangely jinxed, with a no-boy perimeter a mile long around me. It would all be negligible in the light of racing Oscar up Port Albert Road all the way to the ocean. With my savings and half of Pen’s winnings I could afford to buy a new head gasket, then I just had to put the engine block back in and
voilà
!

I was still smiling at my ridiculous fantasy when I pushed open the staffroom door.

Yowzer!

Instinctively, I dropped to my knees, shielding my head from a chaotic bombardment.

A gazillion party poppers, blow-out tooters and people yelling
SURPRISE!
was absolutely the very best birthday party I could have hoped for. Dad was presiding at the coffee table, holding a very pink heart-shaped balloon with 16! on it (damn – finally it’s official) and wielding a massive knife over a tower of cake. And a good thing there
was
a tower of a cake because the entire octo-genarian refugee camp had come along to wish me happy birthday too.

‘Rent a wrinkly crowd,’ declared Pen, gesturing at the room. ‘Because you have no friends in Hambledon –’

‘At the moment,’ I interjected.

She ignored me. ‘Don’t think the ancients want to pat you on the back or anything – they’re only here for the sugar high.’

‘Must be hard coming down from the caffeine,’ I noted.

Dad came and tied the 16! balloon round my wrist. ‘I’m so proud of my girls,’ he said, and pulled us to him in a painful hug. We both groaned. ‘I
am
!’ he insisted.

He wandered off muttering about song lyrics and I said, ‘Give me some space, Pen, or I’ll spill the beans on why you wanted my bedroom. Seducing Fat Angus! Ew!’

‘Don’t start on that again, Tallulah,’ muttered Pen. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t believe in sex before marriage!’ Mrs Capone burst out laughing as she passed by, and clapped my sister on the back.

Pen threw me a huffy stare and flounced off to cut herself another slice of cake.

I didn’t have much time to look around because the lovely oldies made sure I was bombarded with talk and chatter, but, glancing over at the chintz armchair by the coffee machine early in proceedings, I noticed it was empty, and all the camera bags gone.

‘I see your brother escaped the mayhem,’ I said to Mona a little later through a mouthful of cake. She was holding a saucer with a minuscule wedge on it, carefully cutting off the icing and eating the sponge slowly with a teaspoon.

‘Mm,’ she replied, perhaps reluctant to talk with her mouth not quite empty.

‘Jack took the fen raft spider to some guy in the zoo department. A couple of professors are meeting there right now.’ Arns took a sip from a small cup. I noticed with alarm that he was back on the espresso. ‘Nobody can believe you found it behind your bathtub. It’s supposed to live near water, you know.’

‘Yeah, my bathtub’s very far from H
₂
O,’ I said, then in a stage whisper to Mona, ‘
I don’t like to wash
.’

Arns rolled his eyes. ‘Funny ha ha. Keep that up and you’ll be a Lonely Only for a loooong time.’

I stuffed the rest of the cake on my serviette into my mouth to stop myself from ranting a reply. My mouth was so full I could barely chew.

‘Ignore her,’ said Arns to Mona. ‘She’s trying to shock us with her heathen ways.’

Mona smiled at me. ‘Futile, Tatty. No one’s more heathen than Jack. I’ve endured a lifetime of barbaric behaviour from my brother. Ask him about what he did in the tooth mug when you see him tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ I looked confused.

Mona nibbled at her cake, and looked to Arns.

‘Your mum volunteered your services at Coven’s Quarter tonight,’ explained Arns.

‘My services?’

‘Yep. Jack’s going up there to finish off the story. Film a tidy conclusion to it all.’

‘So what’s that got to do with me?’

‘Well, he was saying goodbye to your mum and asked if she had any other historical material on the place that he could read up on. She said it was all under lock and key, and would be till the whole planning permission mess is sorted, but that you were the most knowledgeable in town.’

‘I don’t like where this is going.’

‘She said she was sure you wouldn’t mind going up to Coven’s Quarter to explain everything about it.’

‘No way.’

‘Completely yes way. Your mum – she likes the guy!’ He grinned at my morose expression. ‘She’s a trusting soul, eh?’

‘She just knows there’s no chance of hanky panky if I’m in the equation.’ I looked at Mona pleadingly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Mona – I’m sure your brother is just lovely, but we haven’t got off to the best start and I’m just not in the mood to be tour guide tonight. My friends are all back from the city and I’m probably not even going to see them – I’m so tired I think I’m just going to chill out with my family and go to bed. Maybe another time. Can you tell him for me, please?’

Arns looked outraged. ‘Don’t use Mona as some kind of go-between, Lula!
You
call him and tell him. Your mum won’t be impressed, though, cos Jack really wants to shoot tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘Full moon, and Channel Four wants his story for Monday night’s news, once the planning is well and truly refuted at the council’s ten a.m. meeting.’

‘Mum can go,’ I said stoutly. ‘She knows more than me.’

‘I do not, dear,’ came Mum’s voice at my shoulder. ‘You were Grandma Bird’s protégé, no one else. She told you all the stories. You’ve read everything there is to read on the place. You’re
always
up there. Jack seems like a nice boy. Help him out. This is a big deal, you know, Lula. Channel Four!’

I growled grumpily. ‘Frik! Okay,
fine
. Fine fine fine.’ And stomped over to join Pen for more cake.

‘That Jack guy is seriously hot,’ said Pen. ‘Why don’t you snog him as a kind of Plan B?’

‘He loathes me,’ I muttered. ‘I’d need metal restraints to hold him down. What did he say when Mum suggested my services?’

‘He –’ Pen burst out laughing, covering her crumbly mouth with her forearm, her other arm crooked round one of
my
handbags – ‘he was very polite.’

I sighed. ‘I hate you, Pen,’ I said, and stabbed at a lump of frosting with my cake fork.

Tonight was going to be agony.

Chapter Twenty-seven

You’d be amazed by how unruly old people can be. Mum tried getting everyone to shift their bones out to the Setting Sun bus at about noon, but it seemed the cake had filled a lot of stomachs and no one wanted to move. They hung around for ages nattering, and nattered on the bus all the way home, and nattered around our living room right up until supper time. I guess there’s a lot to talk over when you’ve got at least eighty years of life experience under your belt.

I will say that although having twenty-five ancients staying with us put a strain on the bathroom facilities, when Madame Polanikov started dancing the Charleston with Mr Kadinski, followed immediately thereafter by a trio of ladies singing a raunchy stage-stomper about men and sizeable organs, I really wanted to stay put. Going out in the cold and dark with Jack de Souza had absolutely no appeal. I begged Mum till I was teary eyed to take my place, but she was having none of it.

‘No, Lula. Dad and I have not had a chance to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Once we’ve had dinner, we’re outta here to the cinema and a late-night coffee at Big Mama’s.’

‘But it’s my
birthday
, Mum!’ It was the first time I’d really
played this one, and I knew I was being unfair. I mean, there’d been so much going on with all of us that I hardly thought there’d be time to pop out and choose me some
stunning
shoes, or a thoughtful range of shifting spanners, but still. No gifts,
and
parents absconding for their own celebration meal?

Mum looked me in the eye, refusing to feel bad.

‘Tallulah, I have a feeling you’d spend your special evening in your room mooning over that halfwit Ben Latter, instead of celebrating properly. So . . . this is for your own good.’

‘How, Mum,
how
? Jack de Souza –’

‘Is wonderful,
wonderful
!’ interjected Pen, passing by with a tray of empty teacups.