Kisses for Lula (7 page)

C
ARRIE
:
Ooh, so snoggable, T! Dreamy eyes, delicious lips, you know the drill.

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
Ew, Alex! Blood relative! Blood relative!

C
ARRIE
:
Oh. Ik. Hadn’t thought of that. What a waste. Hey! He’s a perfect kiss candidate for you, Tatty! I’ve got his number right here! Hang on . . .

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
No no no! Alex? Alex! Come back!

C
ARRIE
:
Right! I’ve got it!

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
No no no NO, sirree. First year of university? Two priorities for those students, regardless of gender: doing drugs and having sex. Too scary. I only want a kiss.

C
ARRIE
:
Jack’s not like that. Actually, now I think of it, he’s never even been interested in
me
!

T
ATTY
B
IRD
:
LOL! Yeah, cos he’s your
cousin
. Alex, I don’t need Jack’s number. Your info is more than enough. I’ve got to rethink the Meeting Mona plan with Arns, STRAIGHT AWAY. Might have an idea for a whole new strategy . . .

I signed off. Taking a deep breath I went into the hall to pick up the portable phone. It was time to call Arns with a very cunning plan.

Arnold was not happy at being woken at one in the morning.

‘I was in a deep-sleep cycle,’ he complained.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ I said.

‘Deep sleep?’

‘Cycling. We’re going to have to bunk off work tomorrow. Be here by six. You’re going to wear my dad’s special shirt.’

‘Am I going to have to get changed in front of you again? My bike’s got a puncture.’

‘Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I’m going to be the one on a bike.’ I didn’t mention Boodle the Poodle, Pen’s dog, who is no poodle but rather a Newfoundland of terrifying proportions. Scaring the client at this stage would not be helpful. ‘You need to wear trainers and a pair of those long cut-off shorts I made. Be here at oh-six hundred hours and don’t be late – the plan won’t work if the schedule slips.’

‘Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me wh–’

‘No. Sweet dreams, Arnold.’

I hung up quickly and headed for my cupboard to pull out Dad’s too-small Rolling Stones T that I sometimes slept in. Dad always whinged when I wore it – I think some big illogical part of his brain thought he’d fit back into it some day. Mffwwmmff! (Translation: WHAHAHAHA!) It was so old I knew the next time it got snagged on anything it would be irreparable and I didn’t want the blame for ruining an antiquity.

I had a twinge of doubt that what I was about to commit
the shirt to would have my father writing me out of his will within an hour.

But I didn’t lose sleep over it.

Chapter Seven

It felt like only minutes since my head hit the pillow when a banging on my window woke me. It was Arnold. And he looked far too spritely for my liking. He laughed at my bed head as I pushed the curtain aside to squint out into the morning light.

‘Ffff!’ I said, baring my teeth against the window pane, but it didn’t scare him.

‘Open the door, Tatty Lula. I thought time was of the essence.’

‘Gimme a minute.’

Arns rolled his eyes as I dropped the curtain. It didn’t take long for me to pull on my running stuff and tie my hair into a bunch somewhere near the top of my fuzzy head.

Strapping my watch on, I caught sight of the date in its tiny window. Oh, man! April was flying by! I took a panicky breath and closed my eyes to give myself a minute, though I could hear Arns getting restless outside. Right. Three days is enough time to meet a boy, make him love me and bag a kiss, isn’t it? Yes! Easy! No problem! Frik! Bum, bum, bum.
Stop it, Tallulah! Calm
. . .
calm
. . .

Sleep rubbed from my eyes, I opened the front door.
The rest of the house was still dead to the world. Arns was lying on the floor of the veranda with two very large, very furry clawed paws on his chest.

‘I’ve met your dog,’ he said faintly.

‘I’m astonished,’ I said, admiration creeping in. ‘Boodle the Poodle likes you! And you haven’t . . . uh . . . given her reason to . . . uh . . . go all crazy.’

‘What, precisely, does that mean? Can you get’ – he paused – ‘Boodle the Poodle off me?’

‘Boodle, inside.’ She hopped off Arns and trotted into the house, her plumed tail waving happily. I heard her paws skittering in the kitchen.

Uh-oh.

‘Arns,’ I said. He was still staring up at the veranda ceiling. ‘Inside.’

There was no argument from him either. I hurried the boy straight into my room before he could get a look at the cracks in the walls or the bare light fittings, and snatched up the phone on the way.

‘Whoa,’ he said, looking around my room. ‘Not what I was expecting.’

I jabbed at the keypad on the phone. ‘I’m going to phone Stinky Mike at the library to leave my excuses on his voicemail.’

‘You need to do that with your mum as boss there? Surely –’

‘Protocol,’ I interrupted. ‘You know what he’s like.’

Arnold nodded. ‘Elsa wouldn’t wake up so I called in myself. Blamed the spag Bol.’

Mike’s extension was ringing. I collected my thoughts. Why wasn’t it going through to voicemail?

‘Hello, Michael Burdon speaking.’

‘M-Mike,’ I stuttered. ‘You’re in early.’

Arnold nodded his head knowingly. I punched him in the shoulder.

‘Is that Tallulah Bird?’ replied Mike disapprovingly.

‘In body, but not in spirit.’ I laughed, high-pitched and a little hysterical. ‘I’m not feeling very well. Been up all night.’ No lies there. ‘Thought I’d better call to let you know I wouldn’t be in today before I passed out again.’ I laughed again. Mistake. Stinky Mike had no sense of humour at all.

‘Fine.’ Mike sounded oddly accepting, almost pleased.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said in my
I’ve just thrown up in a bucket next to my bed
voice.

‘No problem, Tallulah. Will you be away all week?’

‘No, no,’ I said hurriedly, thinking of my depleted chocolate fund in alarm. ‘I’ve stopped being sick now; I think I just need to rest today. Probably be in tomorrow.’ I heard a voice in the background. Who was that there with him at this hour? Tweedy Mabel? No. Mum was forever complaining about how Mabel hardly ever got in before ten.

‘. . . I’ve put them in the Duchess of Cornwall’s file. Do you want to take it down now before . . .’ came the voice. I was sure it was Mabel, but the thought of that stick insect with big greasy Mike, their wrinkles folding together, made me feel as ill as I’d professed to be.

‘Er, fine, fine, Tallulah. See you tomorrow, then.’ And he hung up.

Feeling ashamed of my barefaced lies, I ducked out of the room to replace the handset in its charger on the hall table and returned red-faced to hunt for my hairbrush. Arns was gazing around, taking everything in. I followed his eyes uneasily. Had I left any underwear lying about . . .?

I spotted my brush. Fantastic! Snatching it up while pulling out my hairband, I brushed vigorously, feeling my scalp tingle, and threw Dad’s shirt at him at the same time.

‘Put that on.’

He only hesitated a second before shrugging out of a top I must have missed last night and putting on the Stones T-shirt.

‘Good.’ I nodded, my face flaring at his naked torso, and added hurriedly, ‘The shirt’s good.’

‘So’s your room.’

‘Thank you. You want some breakfast?’

‘No, thanks. You go ahead.’

‘Okay, I’ll just be a minute.’ I turned to the door.

He started to follow me. ‘I’ll come and get some water.’

‘No!’

‘Pardon?’

‘You – you can stay here. Relax.’ I coughed and felt a prickle of sweat on my eyelids. ‘It’s safe here. Boodle the Poodle might eat you.’

‘Boodle the Poodle likes me.’

I stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘This house . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘It takes some getting used to. It’s a renovation project. With some way to go. You could be startled. Better you stay here.’

Arns rolled his eyes and followed me regardless.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said by the time we got to the kitchen and when he said it for some reason it didn’t bother me. I nodded and made for the fridge, but paused when I saw that Boodle had managed to lever Pen’s special Vogel’s bread off the counter and was licking the last of the sunflower seeds off the floor, the wrapper pushed expertly to one side. I stuffed it in the bin to be safe and rubbed at the soft fur behind her ears.

‘Good girl,’ I crooned.

‘Take it you’re not a Vogel’s fan,’ remarked Arns, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and twisting its stalk off. ‘It’s very good for you, you know. No flour enhancers, loads of seeds.’

‘I’d love some of that bread – that apple’s not been
washed – but Pen buys her own and won’t let anyone else have any.’

Arns looked around for the kitchen sink and couldn’t find it. ‘There’s a lot of stuff in this kitchen,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the chicken claw hanging from a rafter quite close to his upturned face.

‘Uh, yes,’ I said. ‘My grandmother used to live here with us. She was a . . . er . . . white witch – I’m not sure what she was up to with chicken claws. Mum’s too afraid to throw it away, worried about curses and jinxes or something, I guess.’

‘As is most of Hambledon Boys’ High School,’ murmured Arns.

I gave him an evil look before pouring milk into my cereal bowl.

Arns tossed his apple from hand to hand and moved away from the claw. ‘So, do you have second sight?’

‘Don’t you think I’d have bagged my man by now if I had an ounce of witchiness at my fingertips?’ I spooned away at my cereal, eating too fast.

‘Well, you’ve got some kind of sight to get me from what I was yesterday to how I am today.’ He sat down in a chair opposite me.

I shook my head. ‘That doesn’t count. Hardly an amazing feat, Arns. If you’d let your sister help, you’d have been trendy from the age of three.’

Arns leaned forward. His hazel eyes were clear and I noticed a ring of dark brown round each iris that made them the first thing you noticed about him now that the huge hair and glasses were gone. ‘Any idea how long it took me to put the contacts in this morning?’

‘You still got here on time. Remember – no pain, no gain.’

‘I –’ Arnold began, and I tuned out as I flipped open the dishwasher and began putting stuff away. I tried to be really quick in the cupboards so Arns didn’t get to stare too long at the hippo-shaped teapot or the gnome-bum egg cups. I passed by the sink once or twice and surreptitiously hooked out old teabags and stir-fry noodles from the drain, dropping them into the bin with a shudder. Arns was still burbling away happily, tossing that apple back and forth while watching the sun come up through the kitchen window. I snuck off to brush my teeth and came back to discover him at the sink. Before I could warn him he’d turned on the tap, apple held beneath, and all the pipes in the house shook and banged at a terrible, terrible volume.

‘Good God!’ he cried, and twisted the tap hard in the opposite direction. The banging got so loud it drew a scream from Pen upstairs.

‘Tallulah! Turn that damn hot water OFFF!
’

I ran over and batted Arns’s hand away. Hot water in this house was a luxury in more ways than one. You just
didn’t go there in a sleeping household. I eased the tap open again and then jolted it shut. Silence. Arns and I exhaled together, then widened our eyes at each other as the door to Pen’s room slammed and the sound of a stomping run came down the stairs.

‘Oh boy,’ said Arns.

‘Why is Arnold Trenchard in our house?’ came the solicitor voice from right behind us. ‘And what has Boodlington been eating?’

‘Your
dog,’ I said pointedly, ‘ate
your
bread.’

Pen pursed her lips and her cheeks puffed out hard. She went a little pink.

‘G-good morning,’ stammered Arns.

‘Don’t
good morning
me!’ she hissed with venom. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

‘No,’ said Arns stupidly. ‘It’s time to get up.’ I flinched as Pen’s eyes narrowed and her fists clenched.

‘RUBBISH! I should be asleep – we
all
should be asleep – but you’ve gone and woken me up! With the taps! What were you thinking? It’s
six forty-eight
a.m.! Why are you wearing my father’s shirt?’

‘Nya! Six forty-eight!’ I snatched Arns’s apple, crunched out a massive mouthful and handed it back while pulling a half-litre bottle of water out of one of those carrypacks Dad keeps in the store cupboard in case tap water the world over gets poisoned by terrorists. What else did we need?
Grabbing Arnold’s forearm, I dragged him out of the back door to help extricate my bike from the shed.

Pen was left speechless, but she kicked the door shut behind us with a rude slam.