Kisses for Lula (33 page)

I was dumbstruck for a second by the sight of my sister being helpful, then: ‘Pen! YOU go! You, you, you! You’d love it!’

‘You, you yourself,’ she said shortly. ‘Angus would –’

‘Forget Fat Angus,’ I said firmly. ‘Jack is –’

‘Hairy,’ finished Pen, pushing the kitchen door open with her back like an experienced waitress, and disappearing from sight with a wink.

Mum laughed at my face creased in disbelief. ‘You’ll have a lovely time, dear,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘Hairy is attractive.’

‘He’s not hairy,’ I muttered. Mum laughed again. I
narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Who’s going to look after Blue?’ I asked suddenly. ‘You can’t rely on Great-aunt Phoebe with all her boozy cronies around.’

Mum hesitated. Then, ‘I’m going to tell her you said that,’ she said, with a wicked gleam in her eye, before heading for Dad’s desk to find the takeaway pizza menus.

‘Knowing there are doubts about her capabilities is not going to stop her being irresponsible,’ I called after Mum, but there was no reply, just a lot of cheering from the elderly. Mrs Capone had started pole dancing, using Mum’s brass floor-lamp as a prop. It could hardly hold a lampshade, let alone a large and voluptuous octogenarian.

‘Myyy God!’ Dad breathed, staring intently at Mrs Capone’s juddering bottom, as Mum shoved the menu in his hand.

I had decided to share my large pizza with Pen, and we were both salivating at the thought of olives, extra cheeeese and artichokes, ready with Bludgeon’s blood money to pay for it all, when Pen checked her watch. ‘It’s been over an hour since Dad put the order in,’ she said. ‘Do you think Bing lost it on the other end?’

Bingley Clarendon ran the takeaway pizza place on the high street for his dad on a Saturday night. He was an expert in his field, and his only fault as far as anyone could see was that he would shut up shop early if there was a party
on anywhere that evening. He had a scary girlfriend. Kitty Manfred made demands and when a social engagement called, Bing obliged. Or else.

‘More likely Bing is in the kitchen helping to put together the biggest takeaway order this town has ever had,’ I replied. I spoke softly. You wouldn’t think this many people were here. It was eerily quiet. We could hear Mum’s black plastic alarm clock ticking efficiently away on the mantelpiece along with the scritch of several pencils and the shuffling sounds of cards being organised and handed out – games night had commenced.

‘Right!’ called Jeremiah Coldstock (ninety-six, folks, and still going strong), standing up near the telly. ‘Everyone ready?’

There were murmurs of assent and he drew breath to start calling numbers when there was a loud thud on the door.

‘Food!’ squeaked Pen, and bolted up the hall.

‘Don’t get excited,’ I called after her. ‘That’s got to be Boodle wanting to come in. If it were one of Bing’s guys, they would have rung from the road. No way they’d risk mutilation by your hound.’

Pen ignored me and flung the door open. I got up to help her get Boodle into her room so the dog didn’t go bouncing around a crowded house of fragile people with her wayward tail.

‘I knew I had feelings for you,’ I heard Pen say to someone
on the front veranda. ‘I can tell you I
love
you right now. You want to come in?’

‘I’d better,’ was the wry response. ‘No way you girls are going to get this truckload in without help.’

As he came into view, I stared at Arnold’s red shirt. It said
PIZZA PERSON
on it in big white letters. ‘Let it go,’ he said, handing me more pizza boxes than I thought I could carry. ‘Tonight’s my first night.’

‘Are you quitting the library?’ I asked over my shoulder, going down the hall and into the kitchen to dump the pizza on the table.

‘No way! Tallulah, do you have any idea how high maintenance a PSG girl is?’ he asked proudly. ‘Mona expects, like,
flowers
and stuff.’

‘Hn,’ I said, returning to the front door, Arns trailing behind. ‘You going up to Frey’s Dam tonight? Or will you be out buying caviar and Veuve Clicquot?’

‘Frey’s,’ said Arns firmly. ‘Straight after this order. Ben Latter’s going to be there.’ He gave me an odd look, and began to say something, then stopped.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘That guy,’ he said, shifting from his left foot to his right, then back again. ‘You sure you like him?’

‘I . . . I’ve seen the error of my ways,’ I said uncomfortably, and flushed red when Arns went, ‘Yessss!’ with both his thumbs in the air.

‘Why don’t you like him?’ I asked.

‘He’s too smooth. Why don’t you?’

I sighed. ‘Turns out he was just using my small talk as background info on my dad.’

Arns looked appalled. ‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘That’s terrible, Lula. I’m sorry. I never got that angle on the whole
I have a famous father
scenario.’

‘It’s usually not an issue,’ I said shortly.

Arns’s pager beeped. ‘I’ve got a pager,’ he explained unnecessarily. ‘Bing says he’s closing the shop.’

‘Change your shirt,’ I advised, and Arns saluted before heading up the hall to leave, calling goodbye to my parents before he went. I watched him pull the door closed behind him, new jeans if I wasn’t mistaken – very tasty on his butt, and the pizza shirt was a small one. Arns was getting to grips with his makeover. Definitely safe for him to go solo. I felt all warm and fuzzy with pride.

I went to click the latch when there was another knock and, lo, before us was the gorgeous boy next-door, Dan. We’d all thought he was away for the holidays.

‘Whoa,’ said Pen. I shot her a look and she went a suitable scarlet. ‘I mean, helloa, Dan,’ she said.

‘Hey, Pen,’ he replied, his hugeness filling the doorway, green eyes winking out at her from under his thick browny-blond fringe. He winked at me too. ‘Got something for you, babe,’ he said to me, unzipping his jacket.

‘A strippogram!’ squealed Pen, clapping her hands and doing a load of little jumps.

I couldn’t shoot her another look, because I too was totally gobsmacked. He really was stripping! Off came the jacket. Underneath was a snug fleece that showed a very acceptable V shape tapering to hips that many a girl probably had smutty thoughts of.

‘Come in, Dan!’ called Mum from behind us in the hall. ‘Did you get it?’

Dan smiled and began unzipping his fleece too.

‘Oh, boy,’ breathed Pen.

I just
didn’t
breathe.

Mum came scurrying up. ‘You clever, clever lad! Thank you, Dan!’ she sang.

Dan grinned a cheeky grin. He unzzzzipped the fleece with a flourish to reveal . . . a large manila envelope.

‘Aw!’ whimpered Pen.

‘Frik!’ I shrieked, noting the label top right. ‘Mum! Dad! It’s a gasket for Oscar, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ said Mum smugly. She beamed at me. ‘Happy birthday, Lula.’

‘Thank you so much!’ I said, and enveloped her in an excited squeeze.

Dad laughed and came up the hall for a group hug. ‘Glad you like your present, T-Bird,’ he said. ‘Took a while to get it, but seems like Dan’s the man with a gasket
plan.’ He paused. ‘Ooh, good lyric. Better write that down. Cheers, Dan,’ he called as he bolted back down the hall.

‘Gasket. Huh,’ muttered Pen, and disappeared.

‘Wow, Dan,’ I said, ‘thank you! Where’d you get it?’

Dan tapped the side of his nose and raised his eyebrows mysteriously as he slunk out of the house. ‘Just let me know if you need a hand lifting the engine block in. Maybe when Darcy’s back?’

‘Darcy. Sure,’ I said, and I was so happy I didn’t even eyeroll his lovestruckness.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket as I shut the door. I fished it out. New message from Carrie:

Just crossed the county border! C u at Frey’s 9pm? C x

I sighed and thumbed back:

Got to help JdS with poxy film. Grr. T x

Carrie:

Nooooo! We have b’day surprises!

Hmm. Gifts would have to wait. After a frosty session with ‘This is Jack de Souza reporting from Coven’s Quarter’
all I’d want was recovery time back at home, nursing my damaged ego.

My phone beeped again. Carrie:

And Tam’s got a new song. Be there.

I sighed. Would I be a bad, bad friend if I didn’t turn up to Frey’s at all? The thought of going on my own, when slimy Ben was going to be there, was a total downer. I clicked out of the message menu and my wallpaper flipped up: the four of us girls – me, Carrie, Alex and Tam in the spring sunshine, cherry blossoms in the background. I looked at our laughing faces, the way we were hanging all over each other, relaxed and easy and having a great time.

It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be alone at Frey’s at all. I got a nervous flutter in my chest. Maybe a showdown with Ben Latter was just what I needed.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I checked my watch. 7.15. Just a quarter of an hour to brush teeth and lash on mascara before Grumpy Jack arrived.

‘What’re you gonna wear?’ called Pen as I squeezed past the pizza boxes to retreat to the annexe.

‘Don’t know, don’t care,’ I said glumly.

But standing in front of my drawers, and the tiny cupboard under the eaves, I realised I did. Not in an
I wanna seduce you
kind of way, but in an
I’m a fabulous girl so put that in your pipe and smoke it
kind of way. ‘Nothing wrong with wanting to make a good impression,’ I murmured to myself, bath water pounding into the tub in the background as I pulled out my favourite dark blue jeans with the sparkly ribbon on the pocket edges. Fossicking around, I found a plain fitted lilac T-shirt and a soft black cardigan that was so old the cotton trim at the bottom was starting to come off. I didn’t care; I loved the drapy sleeves and I loved the small round buttons that shone like oyster shells all the way down the front.

As I jumped in the bath, though, I had a sudden pang. Would I feel okay facing up to Ben in this outfit? I had the fastest scrub ever, threw myself into pretty unders and
swapped the lilac T for a sparkly silver mesh top that clung, cough, becomingly to my slim and athletic form. Cough.

I was just brushing out my hair – no time to put it up – and slapping on some lip gloss when I heard Boodle harassing someone at the front gate. ‘Jack de Souza is no Arns,’ I muttered, and found a bag for my phone, purse and pepper spray. I threw my keys in too once I’d locked the annexe door, then had a thought when I glimpsed my phone. Hm. I got it out while I walked round the house and typed in 999 to speed dial just in case Jack was a mass murderer before putting it back in my bag. I flung the front door open, yelling to Mum and Dad that I was off. Boodle thankfully did not cover me in slobber and drool because she was too busy harassing Jack. Madame Polanikov and Mr K caught the tail-end of my ‘I’m gooOOOIIING! SEE YOU LATER!’ as they came up the hall, and Madame Polanikov winced. (I think I heard her hearing aid squeal.)

‘See you later! Have a nice time!’ Mum called back.

I hesitated at the bottom of the steps to the front gate. Boodle gave a final wrooarrf and turned back to the house, leaving a tall, dark silhouette at the gate.

Mr Kadinski patted my shoulder.

‘Mum and Dad won’t even know if I’m back before eleven,’ I grumbled. ‘I could be dead by then and they’d still be strolling about the streets of Hambledon declaring undying love for each other.’ I sighed heavily.

‘I had this Jack boy checked out,’ was Mr K’s reply, ‘and I assured your mother he was fine.’

There was no time to give him a piece of my mind because Jack was already holding the gate open for us, and Madame Polanikov was tottering up, oozing charm.

Jack bowed with a flourish, even with two camera bags hanging from his shoulders and a fluffy sound thingy slung across his back.

‘You look . . . sparkly,’ he said to me when the romantic couple had started downhill for their evening stroll.

‘You look . . . laden,’ I said. ‘Want me to carry anything?’

‘It’s okay, thanks,’ he replied. ‘Listen, Tallulah, this film could be a big breakthrough for me. Thank you for volunteering your services.’

‘Um, volunteering?’ I asked. ‘I think if you hit playback you’ll find my
mum
volunteered my services. Which she should not have done.’

‘Right,’ said Jack. ‘Well, I’m pleased to be with the most shimmering girl on the mountain tonight.’ He might have been smiling, but he was a step ahead of me, so I couldn’t know for sure.

I snorted. ‘There’ll be a lot of bling up there this evening.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Jack. ‘You got buried treasure to show me?’

‘Just a party at Frey’s Dam. It’s not far from Coven’s
Quarter. Lots of girls in sequins. No treasure. Seems to me you’re going to be disappointed by this guided tour.’

‘I think not,’ replied Jack, and this time he was definitely smiling because he turned and looked at me.

I stopped and glared at him suspiciously. ‘What’s with the friendliness all of a sudden?’ I sniped.

Jack turned and carried on walking up the road. I fell into step beside him. ‘I’ve always been friendly,’ he said to me, pulling a camera-bag strap into a more comfortable position. ‘Even when you accused me of being a stalker. It’s you who keeps acting like a crazy weirdo.’