Free Kisses for Lula by Samantha Mackintosh Page B

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 noiseechoing 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.
    ‘Freya,’ he said then. ‘It’s too hard. My family will find out, and I – I just couldn’t stand it.’
    Find out what? What the hell was all this about? Who on this earth was Freya? Boodle lay down quietly and stared up at my stricken face.
    ‘What do you mean
it helps that my wife knows
? She doesn’t
really
know, Freya! That’s just not possible!’ He yelled so loudly I’m sure the window above me shook.
    There was a crash then and a sob. I heard my father’s slippers
shuck shuck
away, followed by the slam of the kitchen door and silence.
    I still couldn’t move. The sun suddenly felt harsh and bright, my skin itchy under the salt of sweat. I pressedthe heels of my hands to my eyes for blissful darkness. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Anything but that my father was involved with someone else. I just had to think.
Think
.
    Was Freya his new editor? And he was refusing to meet with the publisher again over some issue or another and Mum knew he wasn’t going to get a book out this year and there’d be no money coming in . . .
    That must be it.
    I bit my lip.
    But it could be anything. I’d be silly to jump to conclusions, crazy to add this to my list of worries.
    I’d ask Dad later. Quietly, when he was on his own.
    I took a deep breath. And another.
    Dropping my hands to my knees, I noticed my fingers were trembling. In fact, my whole body was shaking. I needed a drink of cool sweet juice. A shower. A refuge. I looked across the courtyard at the annexe as I pushed myself slowly to my feet. Boodle jumped up with me and loped over to its door.
    She’s a mind reader
, I thought.
    I tried the handle. Locked of course. Then peered through the window of the living area. There were heaps of boxes and piles of old clothes. To the left of the front door was another window, but tall and narrow. It looked on to a small square area with a door to the bedroom and bathroom. To the rightwas the kitchen breakfast bar and living area.
    It was bigger than I remembered. Right now it was dingy and horrible but with hard work it
could
be a lovely refuge.
    Hard work. That’s what I needed right now.
    I should go and get paint, cleaning materials. But I was still frozen by the distress of my father’s shouted words, still shaking.
    Pull yourself together, Tallulah! Stop overreacting!
    I scratched at my arm, trying to concentrate on the annexe instead of my freak father, and noticed a smear of rusty red on my wrist. Was that . . . Arnold Trenchard’s blood? Ew!
    I needed a shower. And before that a drink. Something strong, like Lucozade. Maybe even Lucozade Tropical.
    Moving quickly and quietly round to the front of the house, I then came in noisily through the front door. ‘Anyone home?’ I called. There was no reply.
    I sighed and dropped Boodle’s lead on the hall table with the rest of the household clutter and noticed the phone wasn’t there. I remembered the crash in the kitchen. Okaaay.
    Shouldering my door open, I found a note from Pen taped to it.
    Fatass
    I’ll be home for lunch. Salad?
    P
    Little chancer. Mum would have told her I wasn’t well.
    I showered first. It was beautiful. Hot water thundered over my face, hair,