Without Looking Back

  ‘So why did the receptionist say we couldn’t make calls from the landline?’ Max asked with his mouth full. ‘And why did she say you’d given a different name?’

  ‘She must have got us muddled up with that family on the floor below,’ Papa said easily. ‘As I was going out, I heard the dad say that he didn’t want his kids to be allowed to run up the phone bill any more.’ He caught Louis’ gaze and gave him a bright, hopeful smile.

  But Max had turned to the laptop and was discussing which film they ought to watch first. Millie was already on her second slice of pizza. Papa started pouring lemonade into their empty Coke glasses and Louis sat back against the headboard, his arms wrapped around his knees. He felt cold suddenly. When he had been looking around the room earlier, bored out of his mind, he had come across the little red safe, nestled into one of the desk drawers. And idly, he had flicked it open. It had been completely empty.

  Chapter Three

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED back at Amsterdam airport, it still felt like night despite the weak dawn struggling through the heavy clouds. They had gone to bed after dinner, restless and headachy from a day spent cooped up in just one room doing nothing but eating and watching TV, had found it hard to get to sleep and even harder to get up in the early hours again. However, they were all excited at the prospect of another, hopefully more promising destination. The day before, Louis had been trying to work out which flight could necessitate a stopoff in Amsterdam. It could be anywhere, really.

  Inside the almost-empty terminal, Millie did her rubber-ball act at the end of Papa’s arm while they waited to check in. Max and Louis went off to scour the departure screens to try and guess which flight was theirs. When they got back, Papa and Millie were hurtling down towards the exit. Louis and Max broke into a run to catch them up.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

  Papa swung round. ‘Where were you?’ he almost shouted.

  ‘Checking out the departure boards,’ Max replied. ‘Where d’you think?’

  Papa let go of Millie’s hand and grabbed Max and Louis by the arm. ‘Don’t go wandering off without me! I told you we had to stay together at all times! It’s not safe, do you hear?’

  Louis was surprised by the strength of Papa’s grip on the top of his arm. Max pulled away angrily. ‘All right, keep your hair on!’

  They boarded the plane in silence. Even Millie was quiet. Papa’s face was pale and a thin film of sweat had broken out across his forehead. Louis began to wish they were staying in Amsterdam. On the plane, Max let Millie have the window seat without a word and they all sat down. A few other passengers trickled on, but the aircraft was almost empty. Then, as the plane taxied out onto the runway, the pilot’s voice came over on the loudspeaker. ‘Welcome aboard this Boeing seven-four-seven on flight three-oh-six to London Heathrow.’

  Max turned to Papa in amazement. ‘We’re going to England?’

  Papa smiled at long last. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ Millie exclaimed. ‘Are we going to see Big Ben? Are we going to see the Houses of Parliament? Are we going to see the Queen?’

  Papa allowed himself a brief chuckle. ‘Yes, I’m sure we’ll get round to doing all that eventually, Millie.’

  ‘Cool!’ Max and Millie exclaimed together.

  Papa looked at Louis. ‘You’re very quiet, my Louis. What are you thinking?’

  Louis managed a smile. ‘I think it’s great, Papa.’

  During the flight, Papa dozed. He looked very tired and old suddenly. The air hostess brought Millie some colouring things. They ate breakfast off plastic trays and left Papa to sleep. A large middle-aged lady in the seat across the aisle engaged Max in conversation – initially in Dutch, but when Max pulled a face and laughed, she switched to English.

  ‘Where do you come from?’ the lady asked Max.

  ‘France,’ Max replied.

  ‘Paris?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what are you doing on a flight from Amsterdam to London?’

  ‘We’re on holiday,’ Max replied. ‘It’s some kind of surprise.’

  ‘Is your dad English?’

  ‘No, he’s Irish. Usually we go to Ireland to visit our grandparents. We’ve never been to England before—’

  Suddenly, Papa woke up with a start. ‘Max!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Papa said. He looked pointedly at the Dutch lady until she turned away uncomfortably.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to strangers,’ Papa said in a low voice.

  ‘But why?’ Max protested. ‘You’re always—’ He broke off. Louis guessed he had been going to say ‘talking to strangers’, but this wasn’t true any more. Papa hadn’t struck up a conversation with anyone since they had left Paris.

  When the plane landed, they zipped through the airport, Millie running ahead, leaving the other passengers behind at the conveyor belt. Heathrow was huge, shiny and absolutely full of people. Papa started to look tense again, insisting that Millie hold his hand. After a brief glance through the sliding glass doors at a white sky, low-flying planes and chaotic taxi rank, Papa led them down the escalator towards the sign that read UNDERGROUND with a red O and a line going through it. He bought them all tickets from the ticket machine as people with suitcases and huge rucksacks jostled all around. Going through the ticket barriers was a bit of a nightmare – Max got his rucksack stuck and had to be rescued by the smiling gentleman behind, then Millie missed her chance and stayed on the other side. Panicked, she ducked under the barrier and crawled out on her hands and knees. They went down to the platform, which was dirty, cold and grey – a bit like the Métro platforms in Paris but shorter. Different languages were being spoken all around – only for a second did Louis catch some English. A crackling, incomprehensible voice rang out over the loudspeaker and Louis caught only one word: ‘delays’.

  On the tube, there was nowhere to sit and the carriages didn’t have those collapsible seats like they did in Paris. Max put his rucksack down against the plastic wall and sat on it, and after a moment Louis did the same. Millie clung to Papa as he swayed about, gripping the overhead rail. Eventually a seat became available and Papa collapsed gratefully into it, pulling Millie onto his lap. Three stops later and the double seat opposite them became vacant and Max and Louis went to join them. By now, the black tunnel they had been hurtling through had been replaced by houses – well, the backs of houses, and some small green gardens with washing lines. They went over a bridge and Millie spotted a red bus and pointed it out excitedly, and there then ensued a rather heated debate about the differences between French and English buses. As was customary when Papa wasn’t participating in the conversation, they spoke to each other in French, and Max was just trying to explain to Millie the differences between the French and English transport system, when Louis noticed a woman on the other side of the carriage looking at them with a smile. Papa seemed to notice her too, but instead of turning round and engaging her in conversation, he motioned for Max to quieten down.

  When the woman got off at the next stop, the carriage was almost empty, and Papa suddenly said, ‘Now that we’re in England, how about we pretend to be an English family?’

  Millie looked at him, her eyes widening. ‘You mean no more French?’

  ‘Why not?’ Papa said with a smile and a casual shrug. ‘It’s the perfect opportunity for you to brush up your English and discover what it’s like to be English children for a change. In fact, we could turn it into a game. A five p fine for anyone who says a French word!’ He gave a short sharp laugh.

  ‘I only have euros,’ Louis informed him coldly.

  ‘I’ll give you some English pocket money later,’ Papa said.

  ‘What’s a p?’ Millie wanted to know.

  ‘It’s like a centime,’ Louis told her.

  ‘Bzz. French word! You lose five p!’ Papa exclaimed.

  ‘So that means we have to call you Dad?’ Max sounded aghast.

  ??
?Absolutely!’

  ‘OK then . . . Dad.’ Max looked as if he hated the word.

  The train journey seemed to last for ever. No one seemed to feel much like talking now that Papa, or rather Dad, had suggested this bizarre game. Louis felt annoyed that Dad had said he had to lose 5p when all he’d been doing was help explain the concept to Millie, but he knew that his annoyance was a cover-up for a deeper, unsettled feeling that had begun in the pit of his stomach ever since they had left Dad’s flat two nights ago. He didn’t think that Dad was getting depressed again – his eyes weren’t glazed over with that empty look and his face didn’t have that hang-dog, exhausted expression. But there was definitely something strange about him. Ever since he had picked them up from school on Friday, he’d seemed wired, jittery, and his behaviour – snapping at them, leaving them cooped up in a hotel room, lying about the mobile phone, and now insisting that they stopped speaking French – was totally uncharacteristic. Louis suddenly felt very tired. He wished he could speak to Max about the phone call he had overheard the night before they left. His thoughts kept returning to it, prodding at it like a sore cut you just can’t leave alone. Could this be their last holiday with Dad? Would they really never be allowed to be alone with him again? And why had the judge ruled in Maman’s favour? Just because Dad had lost his job and stayed in bed for three weeks after the divorce didn’t mean he couldn’t be trusted with his own kids!

  They got off the blue line at a stop called South Harrow, and when they climbed the long flight of steps and emerged into the weak morning sunlight, there was a car waiting for them outside. A woman jumped out of the driver’s side and gave Dad a long fierce hug. Louis and Max exchanged startled glances.

  Then the woman stepped back and gazed at Louis, Max and Millie with a slow smile. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it,’ she said in a very English accent. ‘These are your children, Eddie?’

  ‘Let’s get home and then we’ll do the introductions,’ Dad said, still sounding tense.

  The car journey lasted a good half-hour, and on the way, Louis noticed they passed several more tube stations, which made him wonder why they hadn’t got off at a closer one. Max was plugged into his earphones again and Millie was sucking her fingers – Louis noticed that there were violet shadows beneath her eyes. They parked in a small street outside a row of terraced houses, and Dad’s friend led them to a red door, then through a narrow hallway and into a kitchen. They all sat around a large chipped oak table, catatonic with exhaustion. The woman put on the kettle and set out a large plate of sandwiches shaped like triangles.

  Dad said, ‘Oh, Meg, it’s so kind of you to be doing this – you’ll never know how grateful I am . . .’

  And Meg said, ‘Don’t be silly, Eddie. You know I would do anything for you.’ She started pouring the tea. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again, and look at these beautiful children! Let me guess . . .’ She looked at Millie. ‘You must be Millie.’

  Millie smiled and nodded shyly, leaning in towards Max.

  Meg looked at Max and said, ‘And you must be Max – or is it Louis?’ She looked momentarily confused.

  ‘I’m Max, I’m the eldest,’ Max said. ‘And he’s Louis.’ He pointed.

  ‘Oh, they’ve got French accents, you never told me!’ Meg exclaimed.

  Max cheeks went pink and he scowled down at the table.

  ‘Well I’m hoping they’ll acquire English accents as soon as possible,’ Dad said.

  Several sandwiches and strange chocolate jelly biscuits later, Millie had begun to thaw and was telling Meg in great detail about her kitten, Trésor. Dad was on his third cup of tea and beginning to look more relaxed. Max had taken his GameBoy out of his pocket and was playing it unashamedly at the table. Louis’ head felt so full of questions, it ached. He couldn’t wait to get Dad alone.

  After a while, Meg took them upstairs and showed them where they would be sleeping. Louis and Max would be sharing a bunk bed in one small pink room. Meg apologized for the colour of the walls and said the room used to belong to her daughters, now away at university. Millie’s room was in the attic. She had to climb a ladder to reach it and the ceiling sloped so low, you couldn’t stand up. But she seemed thrilled with it all the same. Dad and Meg got into an argument over which of them was going to sleep on the sofa bed in the lounge and their voices drifted back downstairs again. Max bagged the top bunk and swung himself up without using the ladder. The bed creaked ominously. Louis sat down on the carpet and rested his arms on his knees, his back against the wall.

  Max looked down at him. ‘You can have the top bunk if you’re going to sulk about it!’

  Louis looked up at him. ‘I’m not sulking,’ he replied. ‘I don’t care which bed I sleep in.’

  Max rolled onto his side and dangled his arm down from the bed, looking unconvinced. ‘What’s the matter with you then? You’ve hardly said a word since we arrived.’

  Louis rubbed his eyes. His whole body seemed to ache. ‘We’re supposed to be speaking in English,’ he told him. ‘Remember?’

  ‘So? Papa can’t hear us. As long as we remember to speak English in front of him, we’re fine.’

  Louis hugged his knees. ‘Do you think we’re going to stay with this woman all week?’

  ‘I guess so. She’s obviously an old friend of Papa’s.’

  Louis shot Max a look. ‘D’you think she’s his new girlfriend?’

  ‘I’m guessing more like an ex-girlfriend. She said in the car that she hadn’t seen him for years. And when we were downstairs, she mentioned something about her divorce. And there’s something about the way she looks at him . . .’

  ‘D’you think they’re getting married? D’you think that’s why we’re here?’

  ‘No, stupid. Maybe that’s what she’s hoping, but Papa would have told us if he was planning on doing something important like that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Louis muttered.

  Max raised himself on one arm. ‘Why are you so annoyed with Papa anyway?’

  Louis struggled to come up with an acceptable reason. ‘I just think he should have told us he was taking us on holiday for a week. I could have told Pierre I wouldn’t be able to come over, and told my dance teacher I couldn’t make the Rouen competition . . .’

  Max flopped back against the pillow. ‘God, I can’t believe you’re thinking about your dance class while we’re on holiday. The next thing you’ll be doing is asking Papa to buy you a tutu—’ He broke off as Louis jumped to his feet and thumped him hard. ‘Aargh! I’m kidding, I’m kidding—’

  ‘You think you’re so funny!’ Louis shot him a disgusted look and stalked out. The sound of Max’s laughter followed him out onto the landing. But there he stopped. Downstairs, in the kitchen, he could hear the steady rise and fall of Dad’s voice. He didn’t want to have to go down and make polite conversation with Dad’s friend again. Above him, Millie’s feet pitter-pattered across the floor of the attic – no doubt she was having a whale of a time arranging all her stuff. The door of the room next door to theirs was closed – Meg’s bedroom presumably – and the door at the end of the landing was ajar. He pushed it open, and found to his relief that it was a bathroom.

  After going to the loo, he sat down on the closed lid and stared out of the small casement window. Through the branches of a tree, he could see down into Meg’s front yard and across the street at the row of houses on the other side. Just as in Ireland, none of the windows here had shutters. Louis wished he felt happier about this holiday. What was wrong with him? Usually he loved taking the plane, flying off to another country – for example, a year and a half ago when Dad had taken them skiing in Switzerland, or the summer before that when they had gone to visit Grandma and Granddad in Cork. OK, so this time he knew something that his brother and sister didn’t – a bombshell that Dad would be forced to deliver before the end of the week – but his father had promised he would fight the decision, hadn’t he? He would never accept this once-a-month-supervised-v
isit thing – he would go back to the court and appeal, and would succeed in getting the decision overturned. But if he didn’t . . .? What if he didn’t? Suddenly, Louis felt angry. It wasn’t fair of Dad to have made him promise not to tell the others. It wasn’t fair that he was stuck with that awful thought, hanging over him like a dark cloud for the rest of the week, while Max and Millie had a carefree holiday . . . But a small voice inside his head said, ‘And who forced you to eavesdrop?’

  Millie burst into the bathroom, making him jump. So the bolt on the door didn’t even work properly – great.

  She padded in barefoot, a Barbie in each hand, went over to the washbasin and began filling it with water. ‘What are you doing, Louis?’

  ‘Nothing. Thinking.’

  ‘Did you have a fight with Max?’

  ‘No. Kind of. What are you doing to those poor dolls now?’

  ‘Giving them a bath,’ Millie said, as if stating the obvious. ‘D’you want to help me?’

  ‘No thank you!’

  ‘You never play dolls with me any more,’ Millie complained.

  Louis glared at her. ‘I never ever played dolls with you—’

  Millie started to giggle.

  ‘Millie, what did I tell you?’

  ‘But none of your school friends are here now,’ she protested.

  ‘I said you weren’t to tell anyone! That means even me!’

  Millie gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘I wish I had a sister,’ she said.

  ‘And I wish I was an only child,’ Louis snapped back.

  Undeterred by her brother’s foul mood, Millie began pumping large quantities of Meg’s apricot-scented hand-wash into the basin and mixing it around to make bubbles. ‘Mm, look at this, Sara and Lucie, it’s a jacuzzi,’ she informed her dolls.