Kisses for Lula (9 page)

Boodle the Poodle came pelting back in a flurry of hair and slobber. She flopped down beside me, releasing a soggy tennis ball. A long string of drool leaked from her mouth on to Arns’s arm. She whined and plonked a massive paw on his head.

Arns’s eyes flickered and he groaned.

‘Mona,’ he mumbled.

‘What did he say?’ asked Mona querulously. ‘Did he say
Mona
?’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘He said, “Hold her.” Come on, Boodle,’ I commanded, pulling on her collar. ‘Arns is going to be fine. Here comes the nurse.’

And, yes indeed, the nurse was coming at full pace, with one of those stretcher thingies, which she plonked down alongside Arnold. She got some girls to ease him on to it while firing questions at the rest of us.

‘What happened here, girls?’

‘Uh, my friend was running and my dog got a bit excited and knocked him into the wall,’ I blathered, watching how the lecherous Barbie was lifting Arns by the hips on to the stretcher.

The nurse glanced up at me and then across at Boodle the Poodle, who was standing at full height now, nose in the air, still drooling round teeth and tennis ball. The nurse swallowed.

‘Did he bump his head on the wall?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Hard,’ said Mona, narrowing her eyes at Boodle.

‘Know if he’s had a tetanus shot in the last ten years?’ asked the nurse with her eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting an answer.

The girls lifted the stretcher on her signal.

‘He has,’ I said confidently.

‘Really,’ said the nurse.

‘Really. We were just talking about it yesterday. You know, discussing childhood injuries, the whole relativity theory, that kind of thing. The Science Fair has got us all thinking out the box,’ I babbled.

Arns moaned again.

‘What’s his full name?’ demanded the nurse, leading the way into the school buildings, past the dining halls.

I cleared my throat. ‘Arnold Radbert Trenchard.’

‘Do you know how to get hold of his mother or father?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mona, will you take this young lady to your housemistress to call them? We’ll be in the sanatorium.’

‘Yes, Nurse Wilton.’

The little posse of stretcher toters carried on down the avenue and I followed Mona left down another path of dappled shade. Boodle nudged me gently and licked my hand. I swallowed hard.

Mona glanced at me. ‘I think he’s going to be fine.’

‘It’s just that’ – I coughed – ‘he hit his head so
hard
.’

‘It sounded painful,’ agreed Mona.

‘Uh-huh. But Boodle didn’t mean it. Did you, Boodle?’

I clipped her lead back on and followed Mona up the steps and into the building, wondering if Pen had woken my parents up yet. Probably not. Mum would be late into work. I hoped I could make more than just one call.

The housemistress was really sweet, and with only a couple of clicks I was put through distressingly quickly to Sergeant Trenchard. Then I had to explain that my sister’s dog – no animal of mine – had knocked her son’s genius head into a flinty wall.

‘H-he may be hurt,’ I stammered, ‘but I don’t think so.’ My voice went a little creaky. ‘I think he only passed out because of the blood. You know
seeing
it. Not, um, blood
loss
.’ A pause. I scrunched my eyes closed, waiting for nuclear fallout, but Sergeant T did not react as expected to my ‘blood’ observations and sounded more mother and less sergeant when she asked where to find us. I explained to turn left at the abandoned bike and keep going, and she said she was on her way.

Then I phoned home. Mum answered.

‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I just went out for some fresh air cos I wasn’t feeling so good and I’ll be back soon. I called Mike early this morning to say I wouldn’t be at the library today.’

‘You okay, Lu? You shouldn’t have gone out if you were feeling unwell. Where are you now?’

‘You’re right. I should have stayed in bed. I’m just having a rest at PSG. Stopped off to let you know.’

‘Oh. Do you need me to come and get you? Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ve got my bike and Boodle and we’ll be home in half an hour. Okay?’

‘Okay, Lu. Call me at the office when you get in, though. I’m leaving now.’

‘Really? This early?’

‘I’ve got that meeting, remember?’ said Mum, her voice anxious. ‘With Sophie, her parents and Security, to talk
about the missing documents. Thought it best to get that out of the way before anyone gets in.’

‘Mike was at work before six thirty this morning,’ I said.

‘What?’ said Mum.

‘Yep, he answered when I phoned to leave my sick message.’

‘Gosh. That’s early.’

‘I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll see you later.’

‘Bye, Lula. Call me if you need me. And get some rest.’

I hung up, rubbed my eyes and turned to Mona and the housemistress. ‘Arnold’s mum is on her way,’ I said, trying not to think about how angry a police sergeant could get with a person.

‘Don’t worry about your friend,’ said Mona as we made our way back to the sanatorium. ‘I’m sure there’s no permanent neurological damage.’ She smiled.

I seized my chance. ‘Good – he would never forgive me if he lost his grasp on the theory of relativity.’

Mona laughed. ‘Funny you should say that . . .’

‘Not funny at all,’ I said quickly. ‘Arnold is a science genius. He helped me yesterday with a load of project stuff I needed to get done before term started.’ I crossed my fingers and hoped I was still red enough from the bike ride to hide my shameful flushes.

Mona blinked rapidly. ‘Really? I should know all about
that, but I . . .’ she trailed off. ‘Here’s the san. You’d better leave your dog out here. Will she be, um, okay?’

‘She’ll behave, if that’s what you’re asking,’ I said. ‘Sit, Boodle.’ Boodle thankfully sat, and I tied her lead securely to the railing outside.

We went inside. It was cool, though sunlight streamed through high arched windows. I felt sweaty and underdressed compared to the clean crispness of everything, and smoothed my hair down with the flat of my hand.

‘He’ll be through here,’ said Mona, and she pushed open some French doors. We walked into a room of six beds, three down each side. They were all empty but for the last in the far corner under one of the enormous windows. Arnold lay propped up on pillows answering Nurse Wilton’s questions. He turned when he heard us come in and I watched his face freeze when he saw Mona.

‘Hi,’ said Mona at his bedside.

‘Does your head hurt?’

‘Agony,’ said Arns. Then he smiled at her, and my chest suddenly hurt with envy at the
I like you
look they shared. (What’s with the intimacy when
they don’t even know each other
?)

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Nurse Wilton, going across the room to open the door for Sergeant Trenchard and Dr McCabe.

(Not Dr McCabe! He was always first on the scene to patch up the boys I’d had a hope of kissing – Gianni
Caruso’s fingers being the latest and most memorable incident – and I just couldn’t take that look on his face whenever he saw me now.)

Sergeant T came clopping crisply across the floor. There was something different about her, but I felt too nervous to look at her directly. She dropped a kiss on Arnold’s forehead. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine, Mum. Thanks for coming.’

‘Hi, Sergeant Trenchard,’ I ventured.

‘Call me Hilda,’ said his mum, with a pat on my arm. I felt like crying, suddenly.

‘Okay,’ I said, and bent to tie the lace of my trainer.

‘I’m Mona de Souza,’ I heard above me.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Arns’s mum with no hint of surprise or recognition. ‘I’m Hilda Trenchard. Hilda.’

I surfaced with a sniff to see Mona nod, smiling.

‘You look pretty today, Hilda,’ said Dr McCabe, tightening the armband of the blood-pressure kit round Arnold’s bicep. ‘And you’re looking great too, young man.’ His eyes flicked over to where I stood. ‘Despite the head injury. Despite the wounds.’

I flushed.

There was a little uncomfortable silence.

‘Elsa got hold of me this morning, Edward,’ replied Sergeant T. She smiled and winked at me from contact-lensed eyes. Her wild afro was pulled back neatly into a
chignon and she was wearing mascara and pale-pink lipstick. Ha! She’d had a makeover too! Good on Elsa. Arnold’s mum really did look pretty.

‘Blood pressure’s fine,’ said Dr McCabe, taking the stethoscope from his ears. He leaned forward and shone a light into each of Arns’s pupils. ‘No concussion, although Nurse Wilton said you were unconscious?’

‘Erm,’ said Arns, looking at me frantically.

‘Mona,’ I said, drawing her aside, while Arns muttered something about a sensitivity to the sight of blood, ‘where can I get a bowl or something for Boodle the Poodle to drink water out of?’

With a reluctant glance back at the bed and a little wave, Mona took me out of the sick bay to the supply room behind the front desk. She found a large disposable plastic bowl, filled it with water from the basin tap next door and took it outside, patting Boodle cautiously on the head.

‘Why do you call her Boodle the Poodle?’ she asked.

‘Just because she’s
so
not a curly-haired pooch. Have you ever seen a bigger dog?’

Mona laughed. ‘No, actually. Especially not standing on someone’s wounded chest.’ She went a little pink.

‘I think Arnold likes you,’ I ventured.

A little pink turned to bright pink.

‘And I’m sure he’d love to discuss all things science with you.’

Mona raised her eyebrows in a
Really
? question and dried her hands on her skirt. Boodle’s hairs were visible straight away on the navy fabric. She brushed at them absentmindedly.

‘Really,’ I said. ‘He’ll probably have to stay at home this afternoon, though. You two seem to have clicked. He’d love it if you popped round to see him.’

Mona was bright red now. ‘What? Today? To his
house
?’

I nodded encouragingly. ‘I’ll come back in with you and we can ask him if he’d be up for a visit. His mum will be fine with it.’

‘Y-you sure?’ stammered Mona.

‘Do you like Wham and Duran Duran? Maybe even Elvis?’

‘Uh, I don’t usually te– okay, yes. Yes, I do. You’re going to use that against me?’ Mona was now grinning.

‘Nope, that’s perfect. Just don’t let Hilda know.’

Chapter Nine

Boodle and I made our way home back down Mason, into Stanton, into North, into Beaufort and up Hill Street, all to avoid the remotest chance of encounters with St Alban’s boys. It was only eight thirty, so technically I still had a whole three days before my birthday, and everything was going miraculously to plan.

No need to stress.

In a few hours I’d have just two and a half days left, but, again,
no need to stress
.

A headache was pressing against my skull, and a mindless mantra ticked through my head like the bicycle wheels spinning beneath me:
two and a half days, two and a half days
. . .

It only stopped when I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I saw spots. Not because the spots were distracting. No, rather the near-death experience: Mrs Sidment was backing out of her drive and would have run me over for sure if Mr K hadn’t yelled out from the other side of the road. I swerved away from the slow-moving vehicle and waved thanks across at Mr K. He just lifted his fedora in acknowledgement, and called, ‘Keep your eyes open, Tallulah! That hound is not a
guide dog!’ with a disbelieving shake of his head.

So I was exhausted when I got home, but I suddenly had perspective again, thanks to Mrs Sidment’s silent Lexus. And the part of me that had panicked for so long re eligible boy for kissing was quieted. Definitely. I did a few complex calculations in my head, e.g.:

Arns + Mona × 1 afternoon encounter = Thurs evening date and possible snog

Just to, you know, check that I wasn’t GOING TO RUN OUT OF TIME. Seeing as my birthday was on SATURDAY.

Okay, breathe in, breathe out. Keep perspective! It’s all going to be okay
, I thought.

Boodle pushed the back gate open for me and I put the bike away in the shed, then poured water into one of Boodle’s bowls from the tap outside the back door. I sat down on the step and stroked her back with one hand while she drank. Long tufts of hair came off with each stroke and I leaned against the door in the sunshine and carried on with the grooming motion.

Sigh.

I felt a Piz Buin tan coming on.

All was right with the world.

Inside, I heard the kitchen door thump open, the noise
echoing clearly through the window over the sink to my right.
Dad must be taking another sick day
, I thought idly, my hand still littering the courtyard with clumps of dog hair.

An angry voice at the sink inside made me jump nearly clean out of my skin.

‘I’m not coming back!
’

Silence.

It was Dad, sounding like I’ve never heard him before. Angry and upset and almost on the brink of tears. Shocked, I kept completely still, my hand motionless on Boodle. I couldn’t let Dad know I was here, could I? No. Just those four words told me this was not something my father ever wanted me to hear.