CHAPTER 6
I’m still sucking my mint when I reach Dad’s office. He’s sitting in his comfy squishy chair monitoring the camera feeds like he usually is. How he doesn’t just fall asleep in that thing, I’ll never know. It’s so comfy, that’s what I’d do. There are eight different screens in front of him, and he has to watch each one carefully to check for suspicious behaviour.
“Hi Kaity Kait,” Dad spins around in his chair when he sees me. “You look cold.”
I shrug. “Well, it is December.”
The truth is I’ve never really minded the cold. The cold means it’s winter and winter is my favourite time of year so the cold means good things really even though you have to wrap up warm.
There’s a little sofa and table in the corner of Dad’s office and I throw my bag down there and dump my coat and scarf on top of it as they always keep the heating on a toasty setting in here. It’s not really Dad’s office; it’s like the hub for all the security guards, like a staff room where they all gather to have lunch and cups of tea on their breaks. Dad is the one who spends most of his time in here, overseeing everything behind the scenes. He does prowl the floors of the mall itself sometimes too. He used to do it all the time, but he got promoted so now he can boss the other guards around and delegate all the jobs he doesn’t want to do to them. Dad is funny when he’s in security guard mode, when he’s actually walking around on the mall floor trying to simultaneously look threatening to potential baddies and helpful to little old ladies who want to find out where to get their grandson the hot new toy for his birthday. He literally stalks around the halls, torch out, growling occasionally, it’s quite funny really although I can see how he could be scary to people who aren’t his daughter.
“So, how was school?” He asks. “No trouble on the way here?”
“It was fine,” I reply. “And when do I ever find trouble anywhere?”
Dad grins at that but his attention is focused on the screens in front of him, as always. Dad’s boss is pretty easygoing about me and Pippa coming to visit him in working hours, as long as we don’t cause any trouble and Dad isn’t distracted from his job. Pippa loves coming here but she gets bored easily and you have to take her away pretty soon before she starts causing havoc. She still thinks that Dad works in a magical kingdom where all the Christmas presents come from and she always wants to look into every shop, even the adult ones, which can be embarrassing.
“You know the deal, right Kait?” Dad pipes up from his chair. “Get your homework done and then you can be my right-hand man until it’s home time, okay?”
That’s my favourite thing about coming here. Dad lets me put on one of his security hats and walk around the mall by myself to help him keep an eye on things. I mean, I know it’s just joking really. He doesn’t really need me to keep an eye on anything, but he thinks it makes me feel important and it gets me out of his hair for a while. And okay, it’s not the same as going home from school by myself and watching TV for a while, but it’s okay for now.
I sit down on the sofa in the corner and get my school books out. The homework is not too hard. It’s never really too hard if you pay attention in class instead of sticking pencil sharpeners in your orifices. Sometimes I have to get Mum’s help, especially with the maths stuff because I’m utterly useless at maths in any way, shape or form. I don’t always mind the homework itself, but I wish we didn’t have any. Pippa is really lucky that she can come home from school and do whatever she wants, whereas we get homework practically every night that always has to be turned in by the next day. Mrs Platkin says she’s trying to prepare us all for comprehensive school where we’ll be going next September. People keep talking on and on about how different things are at comprehensive, but it’s not worrying me too much yet. I guess I’ve had a lot of other stuff on my mind this year. Maybe by next summer I’ll be freaking out as much as everyone seems to think I should be freaking out now.
I’m trying to focus on the books in front of me but I can’t get my mind off Seth, and how wrong everything is. How wrong it is that my mother has let a stranger move into our house, just months after throwing out the man she’s been married to for fifteen years. Why couldn’t Dad have moved into our basement? Okay, she doesn’t want to share a room with him anymore, fine. She doesn’t mind Seth staying in the basement, why should Dad have to live in an awful little flat that probably still doesn’t have working hot water. How wrong it was to eat breakfast this morning with Seth standing in the kitchen like he belongs there, and the horrible thought that this is only the beginning and every morning is going to be like this one. I just wish things were different.
I don’t want him here at any time of the year, but I especially don’t want him here at Christmas. I don’t want him around our decorations because they’re ours, as in our family and Seth doesn’t belong. Yesterday when Dad dropped me and Pippa off at home, Mum was in the kitchen cooking macaroni cheese for dinner and Seth was sprawled on the couch with his feet on the coffee table—Mum always yelled at Dad if he put his feet on the coffee table—and watching a stupid football game. It looked like he’d settled in quite comfortably when he has no business even being there. I have to get some plans into action to get rid of him. Usually I pretty much believe that all people should be treated nicely, even if they’re not very nice to you—that’s why I don’t let the kids who call both me and Tammy goodie two shoes bother me because I think they’ll get what they deserve eventually. And okay so Seth hasn’t done anything technically wrong himself yet, apart from wanting to stay with us in the first place and taking advantage of an innocent woman, he hasn’t personally done anything to upset me. In fact he’s been completely civilised each time I’ve spoken to him since he arrived on Friday. It’s just the fact that his mere presence is upsetting everyone and Mum doesn’t care as she thinks Seth is the best thing since sliced bread.
Mum is blinded by the googley eyes and Pippa is too young to be of any use except maybe as ammunition, so I’m on my own in this. Maybe I can enlist Tammy’s help in a prank or two, just to get Seth annoyed. The sooner he goes, the better. And as the basement is suitable for habitation now, as soon as Seth’s gone, maybe Dad can come back to live with us, even if he has to stay in the basement while Mum gets over her lobotomy, which I think is the only possible explanation for her recent behaviour.
I look down at my schoolwork and realise I’ve done nothing but draw squiggles on the paper. Dad is still watching his security feeds, but he must sense me watching him because he spins on his chair and gives me a wink. I guess you have to be pretty good at sensing when people are watching you to be a security guard because the people who want to watch security guards are most likely the people with something to hide. I wink back at Dad and try to focus on what’s in front of me but it’s difficult as my mind is elsewhere, especially when one of the other security guards bustles in for his afternoon cup of tea and chocolate biscuit. Of course I steal a chocolate biscuit too and the guy, John I think his name is, starts telling me about a boy stealing Pick ‘n’ Mix in one of the shops this morning, and that distracts me for a while. When I do get focused on the basic algebra in front of me, I’m absolutely convinced that every answer I put down is wrong, but I’ll just have to hope Dad doesn’t want to check it. Eventually I think I’ve done all that I can do and give up. I get up for a stretch and go to stand beside Dad, glancing at his monitors. Dad slips an arm around my waist and gives me a quick squeeze.
“It’s good to have you here, Kait,” he says. “I don’t see enough of you or your sister these days and you’re both growing up so fast, pretty soon you’ll have better things to do than hang out with your old fogey of a Dad at the mall.”
“Nope,” I tell him. “Not gonna happen. I love it here.”
Almost from nowhere, Dad produces a carton of chocolate milk and hands it to me. “Don’t tell your mum,” he says and I laugh. I love that we can still spend time together like this and for some reason, I love th
at we have secrets from Mum, no matter how small they are.