Lula Does the Hula (42 page)

‘You would not!’

‘I would and then I’d throw it to the roaring crowds.’

‘Since you asked so nicely,’ said Alex, her smile fading rapidly, ‘old Tufty put the portraits you and Arns did of each other up in the gallery tent.’

‘Right. So?’

‘So, it’s just . . . they’re a little revealing.’

‘Revealing of what? They’re faces, for heaven’s sake.’

Alex shrugged lamely. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Tatty Lula. They’re just kind of looking at each other, and both are
laughing . . . and they really do look like the two of you . . . They’re . . . kind of intimate.’

My face coloured. I knew what Alex meant. About my portrait of Arns, anyway. And I knew how I felt about Arns. I
really
liked him. Maybe even loved him a little. But not like
that
. I know it’s totally corny to say I loved him like a brother, but truly that’s how I felt. He’s the kind of boy that knows I dabble in motor mechanics without having to ask and without me having to tell. The boy that you can kiss and hug, and punch and push around, and tease and bully, without there being any of that
will she won’t she
boringness going on. We were getting to know each other, to know each other
well
, and it was . . .
fun . . .
totally stress-free . . . and dare I say it, kind of soulmatey, without the lust.

Mrs Baldacci hurried over to us. ‘One minute!’ she hissed. ‘One minute and you’re on! You!’ She pointed at me. ‘Stay in the back row!’

‘Ohh yes,’ I said.

She threw me a threatening glance, and hurried off as the band kicked into serious luau mode.

‘See you on the dark side,’ I muttered to Alex. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

‘Just follow my moves,’ hissed my friend, ‘and you’ll be fine.’

And with that the curtains swished open. If I’d hoped that most of Hambledon and the lovely seaside folks of Port
Albert would be congregating at the bar, or the riverside, or near the boats . . . well, those hopes were dashed. They were all in THIS HERE TENT to see the girls in bikinis.

‘Oh, frik,’ I breathed, wiggling and shimmying, doing the wavy wavy thing with my hands and praying for a flash flood, a meteor strike, YES, even a wayward bullet. Is that bad? Yes, very bad. Be glad to be alive-a.

Thor T. Birtley’s voice floated over to me from the wings. ‘Why do I have to stand in for Jason Ferman? Why me? . . . Which girl is mine? . . .’ Someone clearly told him something he didn’t like because there was some scuffling and I’m sure I heard him squeal.

Then there was a really plinky bit, while Dad jigged about on his piano stool and the crowd clapped enthusiastically and that was the cue for the boys to come shimmying on.

Which they did. Including Thor T. Birtley who, it seemed, had been thrown onstage to land in front of me. Watching Alex carefully, I did a little raised arm thing and a bit of a twirl, catching Thor a little on the ankle with my big toe. ‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘Sorry . . . sorry you drew the short straw,’ I murmured sweetly to him.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘What have you heard?’

Plinky plinky shimmy shimmy.

‘Oh, you know, you in the wings. Not wanting to be my partner.’

Thor’s eyes bugged out and his shimmying got a little
crazy. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ he begged. ‘Please. I have a family.’

I gritted my teeth and smiled a particularly lovely stage smile. ‘Oh, really?’ I ground out.

I’ll admit the smile must have been a little scary, and Tam says the front row of the audience did step back a little, but that was no reason for Thor to shimmy himself right offstage.

Oh no. Not now. Now I’ve got to go wiggle waggle to the front for eight seconds before assuming back-row position again. Partnerless for the front row ‘moment of glory’? Too much to bear
. I looked across at Dad, working the piano, and he turned to look at all of us, smiling happily, clearly having a good time. My throat tightened.
Good on you, Dad
. His eyes caught mine and he winked.

I started moving forward, on my own, and heard sharp laughter over to the right. I looked in that direction and there were Jack and Jazz with cameras and sound booms, Jazz most definitely focused on me. On me on my own.

My cheeks stung with the crimson that flooded them, and suddenly I felt every graze that had been bandaged and strapped and hidden under luau flowers. I felt all the soreness of muscles pushed too far, and tendons stressed for too long. I felt . . . defeated.

But not for long.

On to the stage pounded Esme Trooter, and she shoved Dad on his twirly piano stool so hard that he scooted two
metres across the boards and the music stopped abruptly.

‘That girl!’ shrieked Esme, pointing a shaking finger at Jazz, ‘fiddled about with Tallulah Bird’s boat and we all saw how that ended up.’

She gestured to my puffy nose, and I bit my lip as the noise in the tent fizzled away in embarrassed murmurs, shuffles and flaps of canvas. Everyone was looking from me to Jazz, from Esme to me, to Jazz.

‘Now, Esme,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure that’s not –’

‘Oh, be quiet, you stupid boy,’ cried Esme. She looked towards the audience. ‘Did anyone else see this girl doing things she shouldn’t have out at the Hambledon Girls’ boat? If I’d known then that she was up to no good . . .’

Jazz lowered her camera, shaking her head in outraged wonderment.

There were murmurs from the crowd, and I leaned over to Esme. ‘Um,’ I said, ‘I don’t think –’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Arthur.’

Mr Kadinski came through the tent doorway, holding a black leather bag. He walked quickly up to the stage, the handles dangling off an extended index finger. ‘I was just coming over to see the lovely dancers’ – he smiled at me, now walking up the steps to the side of the stage – ‘when I noticed this bag had been left lying around. I thought while Esme had you all as a captive audience we could make sure it got back to its rightful owner.’

Jazz handed her camera to Jack and stepped forward. ‘That’s mine,’ she said crossly. ‘But I certainly didn’t leave it lying about. I –’

‘Oh!’ I gasped as Mr K tripped up the last step. His arms flailed more wildly than I would have thought possible of a secret agent with incredible reflexes, and the bag sailed into the air, scattering its contents across the stage.

‘Oh!’ gasped the audience as Tampax Super Absorbent went skittering for all to see, along with a reel of fishing line, spare knickers, a packet of laxatives, a spanner and five washers . . .

‘It
was
you!’ shrieked Esme. ‘And here is the evidence!’

I know it wasn’t dignified, but I could not help but smile. Not smugly, you understand, just with the sheer joy of sweet, sweet . . . um . . .
something
! The tent erupted into an outraged buzz, and Sergeant T went over to where Jazz was protesting loudly. I’m sure it wasn’t quite a police matter, but she went with Sergeant T regardless, leaving Jack looking horrified.

I helped Mr Kadinski to his feet, dusting off his fedora for him. ‘Mr Kadinski,’ I said, very formally, ‘I love you.’ Then, turning to Esme, ‘And, Esme, I owe you soooo big!’

‘I’ll take a makeover,’ said Esme promptly, ‘thank you very much. Like you did for the sergeant’s boy last month. He’s looking very fine these days. I need to look fine too, what with all my telly appearances.’

She kissed me decorously on each cheek, then exited with Mr K stage right while Mrs Baldacci rushed back on to kick off the dance again.

So
, I thought,
this is how it is
.
How the mighty Jazz has fallen. But I’m still on my own
. I glanced across the audience. No Jack. He’d probably gone to help Jazz deny all allegations. But you know what?
Who cares
, I thought, blocking the resounding answer –
me me me
– from my thoughts, and I took a confident step on my own towards the front row as Dad did an impressive crescendoey thing before heading into a plinky plonk tune all over again.

Only I wasn’t on my own. Where Thor T. Birtley had appeared so briefly, there was now another figure.

Tall.

Dark.

Handsome.

‘Huh,’ I said, ungrateful wretch that I am. Shimmy, shimmy, two steps forward, two back, a little twirl. ‘Where’s Jazz?’

‘Getting a bollocking,’ replied Jack, a lazy smile wrenching my stomach down to my knees.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah. I wanted to say sorry to you, Lula.’

I was surprised, but not shocked. Another two steps forward and twirl twirl, hold on to partner’s forearm, ignore ridiculous plungey stomach at the feel of his skin beneath
my fingers, twirl. Don’t think about incredible naked chest. ‘Huh,’ I said again.

‘Apparently, Jazz . . . well . . . I’ve just had an earful about how she hates all of you girls,’ said Jack. ‘She . . . she did mess around with the boat, hoping for blood and drama on film, and, you know, I can’t – I just can’t believe –’

‘Can’t believe what?’Another two steps forward and we’re at the front. Smile and shimmy, hold forearm of incredibly handsome boy and smile again at the crowd because, actually, this isn’t so bad. Look! There are Arns and Mona and they’re
both
grinning and waving. Tam and Gianni are looking cosy . . . Is Carrie flirting with Forest? She is!

Jack curls my fingers into his palm and my heart goes into overdrive. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it myself,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m sorry, Lula.’

Hip swing left, hip swing right, aaand turn. Oh, fantastic! Sergeant T is yelling at a sulky Jazz who is – gasp! – looking a little cowed! And Mum is twirling with Blue – aww! Pen is dancing with both Angus and Next-Door Dan, little minx. And Hambledon’s police force is gawping – yes, well, forget them, and – okay, eight seconds is up. Twirling back now . . .

‘Jazz doesn’t like us girls?’ I asked, a smile beginning.

Jack sighed. ‘Please forgive me for my terrible stupidity,’ he begged quietly.

I shot him a look. ‘Only if you can forgive me for telling tales.’

He twirled me a little closer than he should. My fingers trailed across his chest, totally by accident, totally his fault. He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me you weren’t worried about talking to Sergeant T.’

I cleared mine. ‘Er . . .’

‘But you had to. There was no other way, was there? I was trying to tell you that at the hospital, but –’

‘But you were rushing off with Jazz.’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Jack. ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to stay out of your way and make sure Emily Saunders was all right. I . . . should have been with you.’

‘So
will
you be with me? Will evil Jazz move from your homestead, from your life, from your thoughts? No more Jazz? Please?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Jack threw me a confused look. ‘To whom do you refer? Who is this Jazz?’

Plinky plinky twirl shimmy ohhh how lovely this dance is. How joyful the music. It’s all too too good . . . I think I’m going to explode with dizzy wonderfulness . . . my face hurts from smiling . . . I have a feeling Jack will be kissing it better . . .

‘All that Jazz,’ he murmured as the curtains swished closed to thunderous applause, ‘is gone. What I’ve always wanted was just a hula with Lula.’

‘That is totally cheesy,’ I said, trying hard not to laugh. Alex says laughing at boys is an absolute no-no. Alex also
says that the only thing boys want is . . . ‘If you weren’t such a lovely person, Jack, I’d be thinking that actually what you
really
wanted –’

‘All right,’ growled Jack, pulling me close, ‘there’s no fooling you, witch girl. You’re reading my mind right now, aren’t you? Or having a second-sighty thing?’

I sighed with happiness, my stomach a total butterfly house and my heart pounding like a pahu.

Clearly it was too good to be true, because suddenly Alex appeared at my elbow with a loud cough – ‘Ahem!’ – just as Jack’s lips were nearing mine.

I jumped in fright.

She waved her index finger at me. ‘Good thing your dad is on the other side of that curtain, Tatty Lula!’ she admonished. ‘And no, Jack, Lula has no second sight at all.’ She lowered her voice, looking round at the dancers leaving the stage. ‘
Don’t be starting any rumours with idle chit-chat!
’ Thor T. Birtley was stage left, looking admiringly at my friend in her bikini and grass skirt, but Alex was not appreciative. ‘Nothing to see here, Birtley Boy!’ she snapped. ‘Nothing to see!’ and she hurried him offstage, disappearing with an indignant swish of her fragrant lei.

Jack turned back to me, pulling me closer. I yelped as he inadvertently pressed against the bandage on my arm, and then watched the smile fade from his face. ‘Tallulah,’ he said, then stopped. He took a breath, tracing the edge of the
dressing with his thumb, and my skin went hot and shivery. ‘Lu, you . . . you totally . . .’

‘Dodged a bullet?’ I finished.

‘Hey,’ he replied, gazing at me with serious eyes. ‘You have no idea how I . . . If you’d been –’ He stopped and shook his head, then hugged me close. I leaned my cheek on his chest. We stood like that for a while as the stage lights went out, one by one.

‘Well,’ I said at last, listening to his heart thud against my temple, ‘you have no idea how close I came to having a dead boyfriend.’ I leaned back and raised my eyebrows with a hint of a smile. ‘In fact, I may still have one.’

Jack looked quizzical, then he just looked at my lips. ‘Don’t joke . . .’ he said.

‘I’m not!’ I replied. Light from under the curtains drenched him in a honey glow, leaving his eyes dark and inscrutable, though I could just see he had eyes for nothing but me. I took a shaky breath. ‘But let’s not talk about that now.’

‘No,’ he agreed, still gazing at my mouth. ‘Let’s not talk. No talking at all.’

I closed my eyes and Jack’s lips met mine as a slow ballad began to play on the other side of the stage curtains. All the hubbub quietened. We were centre stage in a world of our own, with no audience. I remember thinking that it was good we’d agreed on no conversation because, in
between pounding hearts, shivery skin and liquid insides, words had completely failed me. Except for maybe . . .

Oh. Wow.