Free Kisses for Lula by Samantha Mackintosh Page A

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
Wednesday morning, back at the hovel
    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 aguide 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