Lula Does the Hula (38 page)

‘Mr van der Merwe,’ I piped up.

‘Eh?’ He stopped mid-rant, and looked at me, eyebrows raised.

‘I really need the bathroom.’ His eyebrows came down and met in the middle. ‘Now,’ I added. ‘Before we get on the water.’

‘Good idea,’ said Pen quickly. ‘Let’s go before there are queues for the toilets.’

We all took off for the Port Albert sailing-club bathroom before VD could say no. All around us last-minute preparations were underway. Elegant white marquees surrounded the sailing club, and caterers were setting out champagne glasses, wine glasses, jugs of Pimm’s and lemonade. Waiters rushed to and fro finding things and losing things. I heard shouts and instructions from parking areas a little way away, along with the blast of a big bus’s horn and revving engines.

Down at the riverbank the jetties were lined with crews getting in or out. The river sparkled in the sunlight and gulls swooped and yelled at the invaders. I spotted the PSG crew. A girl I’d met over the half-term break was tittering in the cox’s seat. Her long golden hair was piled high on her head, her lips were perfectly glossed and her sunglasses were big and expensive.

‘The blonde PSG cox is called Barbie,’ I said to Matilda McCabe. ‘For real.’

‘Don’t talk to me,’ replied Matilda, walking into the clubhouse. ‘My dad’s all freaked out about my safety now because of you.’

My chest squeezed tight with hurt, but I kept my mouth shut and swallowed hard. I had that terrible feeling that comes sometimes when you hate where you are, or what’s happening to you, but there’s not a thing you can do about it.

Except maybe win a race . . . maybe that would work.

I felt self-conscious in my Hambledon High trisuit. Like I told Tam, it was a leotard-type thing, but with legs, so that when you pulled the blade into your body, and pushed it away to come back up the slide, no clothing snagged on your hands, or on your seat runners, for that matter. There is nowhere to hide in the trisuit, though thankfully it was
all black except for two pale blue lines running down the sides from under the arms to the bottom of the legs. Black is slimming, right?

Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t eat much last night
, I thought. Then I remembered the lasagne this morning. And the chocolate cake. And the Pot Noodle that nearly made me throw up. It was all probably still stuck up in a pipe behind my lungs. I worried about when it would make its way down to the stomach area. When that happened, I could stop worrying about people thinking I was jinxed, and start worrying about people thinking I was pregnant. Though, really, everyone knows Jack would rather sproink Jazz than me.

‘Tallulah! Did you hear what I said?’ snapped Mr VDM. We were all standing around the boat again, and our coach had calmed down a little, though he had a faint twitch below his left eye that unnerved me.

‘Sorry, no,’ I confessed.

Every one of the crew rolled their eyes and pulled a face, except for Pen, who just held my gaze without smiling.

‘We’re about to get on the water! Everyone to check their rigging – make sure you’ve got the right number of washers. Make sure everything works. Once you’re out there, people, you’re on your own. Tallulah, you’ll row seven today. Jessica, you’re down at bow.’

‘
What?
’ Jessica was apoplectic.

At the bow of the boat it gets really narrow, and the runners can slice you on the back of the calves if you’re slamming down hard enough. Also, there was a feeling that bow was kind of reserved for the least experienced person in the crew, whereas seven helped eight, leader of the crew, to set up the rhythm. There wasn’t much glory in bow.

‘Oh, I’d prefer to be bow,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m comfortable there.’

‘Are you saying
I
wouldn’t be comfortable in bow?’ asked Jessica, her voice going up an octave. ‘Are you saying I’m
too big
for bow?’

‘What?’ I was horrified. Everyone was looking at me with squinty eyes. ‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘No no no! I –’

‘Enough,’ interrupted Mr VDM. ‘Tallulah is up front because she holds the rhythm really well in the rougher water. She is very focused.’

‘Single-minded, more like,’ muttered Matilda.

‘Jessica, you and Tallulah have the same number of washers on your rig, so there should be no need to adjust. Now, everyone, over to the shade for stretching, please. I need to check on the boys.’

Feeling my face burning, I checked that the bow rigger was all okay for Jess, then went over to check the seven spot. All was exactly as it should be. I turned round to find the crew staring at me, arms crossed.

‘Let’s go warm up,’ said Pen abruptly.

We stretched in silence until Hilary said, ‘Look there, guys. It’s Tatty’s boyfriend with his girlfriend.’ I was sitting on the ground with my head on my knee, tugging at my toes, but I sat straight up and looked around. Through the trees we had a good view of the parking area, and sure enough there was Jack, getting out of Jazz’s GTI. I bent quickly over my other knee, thankful that I could hide my face, thankful for the shadows of the shade.

Jack and Jazz’s voices came closer and then stopped a little way off. They were talking to Mr VDM and it looked like he was explaining how rowing worked, where all the crew sat and what his hopes for the boys’ and girls’ teams were. After he’d finished talking to them, he came loping over. ‘Everyone warm? Let’s jog up the river, then back and we can get on the water. I want to talk through strategy for the final corner.’

I didn’t hear much of what Mr VDM had to say upriver. I guess I was somewhere else. Thinking about my family on their way to watch me; wondering if Pen was being distant on purpose, if it was a self-preservation thing; remembering that night with Jack at Coven’s Quarter when we’d kissed for the first time –

I stopped that train of thought. That hurt.

I thought about Arnold and his easy gangliness, then remembered how he’d blanked me in the hospital. I thought about my friends at school, but Helen Cluny swam into
my head, all defensive and angry with me. Still.

I sighed. Thinking was doing me no good. I needed a serious workout to forget about all the people who no longer liked me. Right on cue, we began to jog back to the boat. When we got there, I saw a familiar figure through the trees at the boys’ four.

‘Hey, Arnold!’ cried the O’Connelly sisters in unison.

He turned with a grin, his head patched on one side with a lot of white gauze. ‘Hey, girls!’ He said something to the guys he was with and came loping over.

Oh no. I cringed – I was about to be ignored again. I just wanted to heft the boat on to my shoulder and get to the water where all I could see was the back of Matilda McCabe.

Arnold walked straight up to me.

I held my breath.

I darted a look at my best boy (pause) friend’s face.

He was still grinning widely. ‘So how do I say thank you to the girl who saved my life?’ he asked easily.

A rush of tears prickled my eyes and nose, and Arns saw that before he pulled me into a close hug. I sniffed against his chest. This was weird, being hugged by Arnold.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly, holding me at arm’s length. My crew turned away, busying themselves around the boat.

‘I’m going to check this crib from bow to stern,’ announced Matilda, wagging a shifting spanner at everyone except me. ‘This is our last chance to make adjustments.’

‘Why did you ignore me at the hospital?’ I asked Arnold.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Dude. There’s ignoring, and then there’s passing out at the sight of blood. You weren’t in the best outfit.’

An image of me on Friday night floated into my head. My shirt had been soaked with Arnold’s plasma from neck to hem, my arms bloodied to the elbows, streaks of it across my face, in my hair, all over my legs.

‘Oh, yeah,’ I said.

‘You look better now,’ he said, staring at the trisuit.

‘I don’t
think
so!’ I exclaimed. ‘Too much Pot Noodle.’

‘I can’t see the Pot Noodle, but I’m hoping it’s in there somewhere. Could win us the race. Jack and Jazz said you were rowing seven! Congratulations, Lula.’

‘I wish,’ I muttered.

‘You’re not rowing seven?’

‘No, I wish it was congratulations. Everyone hates me.’

‘The crew?’ Arns turned to the girls. ‘Why do you hate Tatty?’ he called out.

‘Arns!’ I hissed.

‘She’s a walking disaster,’ said Matilda bluntly. ‘You should hate her too. If it wasn’t for Tatty, you’d be rowing today and you’d have a whole head.’

‘How do you work that out?’ asked Arns, touching his gauze bandage gingerly.

‘The recent past speaks for itself,’ said Kelly Sheridan, shunting her seat up and down the runners and spraying more oil on it. ‘Starting with Simon Smethy, Gianni Caruso, and ending with
you
– she’s bad luck. Jinxed.’

‘Interesting,’ said Arns. He turned to face the crew, still holding one of my arms. ‘But I think you’ll find that crazy stuff happens when Tatty is around, because she
is always
around. She’s never at home, like a normal person. Do you know anyone with more energy than Tallulah Bird? Whenever there’s a movie on, or a dance to go to, or ice skating up at Frey’s, Tatty’s there. You guys don’t talk about
the good stuff that happens when she’s around, do you? You don’t talk about how Tatty was the one who got Jason and Jessica together, how she saved this town from apartment blocks on every horizon, how she
saved my life
, actually, and Emily’s too.’

There was an uncomfortable silence and I was so red I thought I might never return to a normal skin tone again.

Matilda tightened a bolt on her rigging, taking her time. ‘You only say those things because you’re in luuurve, Arnold Trenchard,’ she said, but she looked at me quickly and I could see Arnold’s words had hit home a little.

The rest of the crew giggled. Giggled, not sniggered.

‘Mona’s a good influence,’ said Pen quickly. ‘And I think you should all say sorry to my sister,’ she added.

And – just like that, how? why? – everyone was murmuring apologies.

‘Well, this is freaky,’ I said. ‘But thanks. And, Jess, I really don’t mind rowing bow.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Jessica. ‘I’m thinking if we lose this race, I can blame you. You’re an easy target.’

I grinned uncomfortably.

‘Hey, Tilda,’ came a voice behind Matilda.

‘Hey,’ she said, turning to Helen Cluny.

‘Hi, guys,’ said Helen to all of us. Even me. I was startled. Had she forgiven me? We all murmured hello, and I was
about to say thanks to Arnold, my cheeks still on fire, when Helen spoke up again.

‘So the big news is my dad has sold Frey’s. Anyone keen for a party up there next weekend before it’s off limits?’ Her eyes slid to to me. ‘Tatty? Are you keen?’

My jaw dropped. ‘Uh . . .’ I said.

‘We’re there,’ said Sinead. ‘Will you get some boys to come, Arnold?’

‘Who bought Frey’s?’ asked Hilary. ‘I thought there was a whole squatters-slash-bird-flu thingy going on there.’

‘All sorted. And it’s the National Trust!’ said Helen, her face glowing. ‘Thanks to Tatty and her mum.’

My face flamed again, but I began to smile.

‘Oh no,’ said Pen gloomily. ‘It’s turning into a fan zone around here. I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘Hold off on the fan-club scene,’ said Matilda sternly. She rapped my seat with the shifting spanner. ‘You didn’t check your place, Tatty. Your seat wheels are jammed.’ I saw her jaw flex. ‘You see, Arnold? This is what I mean. If we’d gone out on the water and Tatty’s seat wasn’t right, she’d have been catching crabs, slowing us down . . .’

‘Hang on just a minute!’ I cried. ‘I checked everything before we jogged upriver!’

‘Sure,’ said Matilda. She looked at Arns. ‘Have you guys got a spare seat?’

‘I reckon so,’ said Arns. He gave my arm a squeeze
and went back to the boys to get it.

‘I checked that seat!’ I said again. ‘How can the wheels be jammed half an hour later?’ I went to my place in the boat and Matilda handed the seat to me. Turning it over, I ran my hands over the wheels. They didn’t move. I peered at them closely while everyone else triple checked their places, the sound of seats whirring up and down runners filling the air. The car park was filling up now, and I was sure I could hear Esme Trooter’s voice floating across the green grass under the trees towards us. I pushed the wheels back and forth and one of them began to turn. Peering closely at it, I noticed a strand of something caught in it. I tried to get at it with my fingers, but it was too short and too fine.

‘What is that?’ I murmured.

A familiar fedora landed in the boat. ‘What’s up?’

‘Mr K!’ I looked up, my face creased in a frown. ‘Someone has laced up my wheels with something.’ I held my seat out to him.

Mr K took the seat and examined it. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Fishing line.’

‘Yes! It
is
fishing line,’ I exclaimed.

‘Try this out,’ said Arns, handing me another seat.

I dropped the boys’ boat seat on my runners and pushed it up and down. ‘Perfect fit. Thanks, Arns. Do the guys need this for their race?’