Free Louis Beside Himself by Anna Fienberg Page A

was waiting my turn – there was quite a crowd – when I spied Jimmy dashing out of the pub, clutching a big square sort of briefcase. He must have stolen it – it sure didn’t belong to him – and he made straight for the soup kitchen, trying to lose himself among all the people I guess. He pushed past a little old woman carrying a tureen and made her drop it! Steaming soup went all down her apron, dripping all over the bench – what a mess!’ Cordelia suddenly grinned.
    â€˜What’s funny about that?’ I said.
    â€˜It’s just that – this woman, she was so plucky, and you could tell she had bad knees, but she hobbled after Jimmy, screaming at him, ‘You think you can treat your elders like that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I’ll have the Guard onto you, why, I’ll tell the Emperor! Look at my toga, it’s all splattered with sauce!’
    Hassan and Singo fell about laughing at Cordelia’s transformation. The reedy voice – tremulous, outraged, familiar .
    I blinked. ‘Did you say toga?’
    â€˜Yeah, from the ancient Romans, you know? She must be away with the fairies, but she’s got guts! Anyway, with all that yelling Jimmy turned and spotted me, so I ran. He called after me, chased me. I guess he didn’t want any witnesses with those stolen goods of his. So I just ran . . . and hid here.’
    I fiddled with a jagged end of my nail. I tried to tear it off, but it hurt. My mind was so scrambled – thoughts bashing about like bats in a cave. I wondered if Dad had driven past the soup kitchen . . . Wouldn’t he be home soon, and what would he say about a burglar sitting in our kitchen?
    â€˜You must be very tired after all your . . . dangers,’ Hassan said quietly. ‘You need somewhere to stay tonight. You could stay here.’ He looked at me enquiringly, his forehead wiggling up and down.
    I glanced at Singo. Very, very slightly he was shaking his head. He looked concerned, anxious, frightened, and guilty. Cordelia was eyeing the last piece of chicken.
    My heart rate C ATAPULTED to new heights. Like Singo, I felt concerned, anxious, frightened, and guilty. On the one hand, I was thinking: Dad just wouldn’t understand the situation the way Hassan did. Even Singo, who’d heard the whole story and knew Cordelia’s name, which was so old-fashioned and un-burglar-like, was wary as hell. And all Dad’s over-protective, Jericho-dropkick-five-star-frog-splash-look-after-your-children-first feelings would overcome him.
    We had to help Cordelia, but how? As soon as the question formed, the awful blankness descended . . .
    â€˜Er . . .’ I said. ‘But . . .’ My voice cracked.
    Everyone looked up, waiting for me. Nothing came.
    Then Hassan marched into the silence like a rescuing army. ‘I know!’ He spread his hands on the table and went still with seriousness. ‘I know you want Cordelia to stay here,’ he said to me, ‘but you’re worried about Monty— ’
    I nodded madly, full of gratitude to wise old Hassan, who had become my interpreter now that I was struck down with muteness.
    â€˜Who’s Monty?’ asked Cordelia, taking another bite.
    â€˜Lou’s dad,’ said Singo.
    â€˜Oh no, I don’t want any more dads interfering in this, telling me what to do,’ Cordelia said in a rush. ‘No offence, Lou. It’s just that, you know, a parent would take me straight back there and I can’t, I just can’t— ’ ‘No, that’s right,’ said Hassan, tapping out a tune on the table with his fingers, as he often does when he’s excited. ‘So this is my idea. Cordelia could stay here – but in secret.’
    â€˜What?’ cried Singo. ‘How do you figure that? She’s not a pet mouse!’
    â€˜No, she could be a guest – and stay in our tent!’ Hassan sprang up to look through