‘We’ll also need some kind of mattresses to tide us over till the beds come,’ Dad said. ‘Right, let’s go down to the kitchen and see what’s needed there.’
They spent the rest of the day in a crazy whirl. Dad really seemed to be taking the task to heart, for he set them all a list of jobs while he disappeared with the car. On his hands and knees, scrubbing out the stinking fridge with Brillo pads, Louis wondered what on earth was going on. In the corridor, Max was vacuuming the carpet, and in the living room, Millie was wiping down all the surfaces. It was as if Dad was planning to live here permanently. All of a sudden, the thought stopped him. That was it! Dad was planning to move to England! He was going to rent the house from Meg and wanted them all to help out with getting it habitable. He was buying them beds because he was planning to have them all come and stay with him during the holidays while Maman was still working. That must be it! But he needed to get the house into tip-top shape if he was ever to persuade Maman to let them visit. So what about the court case? Well, perhaps Maman had already backed down. Perhaps Maman had said, Fine, you can have the kids to stay, but only if you move out of that tiny flat in Paris and get something decent. And so that was what Dad was doing!
Dropping the Brillo pad, Louis jumped up to share the news with Max and Millie, leaving out the bit about the court case. They were as excited as he was, but Max suddenly said, ‘Hold on. Why then all the secrecy? Wouldn’t he have just come out with the plan and told us about it right from the start?’
‘Maybe he wanted to surprise us,’ Louis said. ‘Or maybe he doesn’t want Maman to know yet.’
‘D’you think she’ll let us come here every weekend?’ Millie crowed happily.
‘Not every weekend, it would be too expensive,’ Max told her. ‘But perhaps for the school holidays, instead of paying for that stupid summer camp.’
‘But I don’t want to just see Papa in the school holidays!’ Millie complained. ‘And I don’t want Papa to move to England!’ Her bottom lip wobbled ominously.
‘Let’s just wait and see,’ Louis said quickly. ‘Dad will have to tell us soon. And maybe it’s just a holiday home for him too. We don’t know yet.’
They went back to their respective tasks. An hour later, things were already beginning to look better. Louis’ back was killing him, but the fridge no longer smelled, the kitchen surfaces were clean and the floor was washed. Max had progressed to vacuuming the bedrooms and Millie had finished the dusting and moved on to scrubbing the bathroom. Louis threw open all the windows to get rid of the musty smell, and when Dad came in, there was a mini gale buffeting through the house.
They went out to help unload the car: the vast boot was full of things, from saucepan scourers to dishcloths, from pillows to doormats. Max cut the price tags off everything and Louis and Millie went to make the beds. Then Dad got to work with a hammer, smashing up the large, cumbersome desk in the study to turn it into Millie’s room.
That evening everyone was shattered, and they went to bed after eggs on toast, with Dad promising to take them into town to explore and do some more shopping the next day. Louis and Max flipped a coin for the single bed in their bedroom and Louis won, so Max got the mattress on the floor. In the ex-study, Millie found a spider, which produced much hysteria and resulted in her sharing the double bed with Dad. But as soon as Louis’ head hit the new pillow, he fell fast asleep.
Straight after breakfast the next morning, they got in the car and drove into town. Now that they were calling the farmhouse ‘Dad’s new holiday home’ he seemed to have relaxed a bit about it and was no longer being quite so cryptic. It was fun, furnishing a new home, and Max and Millie made long lists of all the things they thought he needed. Max’s list mainly involved electrical equipment – from computers to PlayStations to Xboxes. Millie’s list included a pet cat. Dad laughed as he drove and told them to go easy.
In the end they got a portable television with an inbuilt DVD player, a wooden dolls’ house that Millie almost collapsed over, two beds placed on order, and a washer-dryer. They walked around Kendal, sat on a bench and ate a strange meal of fried fish with chips, and then Dad took them to a bike shop and told them they could choose any bike they wanted. They were in seventh heaven. They hadn’t been allowed to have bikes back in Paris because the roads were too dangerous. Around the tiny village of Grasmere, it seemed, there were very few main roads, but lots of long, smooth paths weaving around the lakes and in and out of the valley. Millie found a pink bike with a wicker basket that seduced her almost instantly. Louis chose a robust-looking mountain bike with eighteen gears. Max took ages choosing his bike, reading all the literature available, going through the different gears and speeds and makes with the very obliging shopkeeper until they were all ready to throttle him. But when they were just about to leave, a strange thing happened. The shopkeeper asked them where they were all from and Millie had just started to say ‘Paris’ when Dad interrupted her with ‘New Caledonia’.
‘Oh, that’s a lovely part of the world,’ the shopkeeper began. ‘We have relatives over there who—’
‘Do excuse us but we must really get going,’ Dad said, ushering them all out of the shop.
Outside, Max was laughing at Dad. ‘Why did you tell that old man we came from New Caledonia?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t like him,’ Dad said quickly. ‘I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. I think there was something funny about him. I didn’t want him to know where we were from.’
‘But he seemed really nice!’ Millie protested.
Dad suddenly pointed out that because he hadn’t got a roof rack for the Peugeot yet, Max and Louis would have to cycle home. ‘I’ll drive as slowly as I can and you can follow the car,’ he said.
But Max had a better idea. ‘We can go and explore!’
‘You’ll get lost,’ Dad said.
‘No we won’t. I remember the way back – it’s not exactly far,’ Max retorted.
Dad looked reluctant but, after a moment’s hesitation, gave in. He unfolded his map over the bonnet of the car and talked them through the five-mile route home. Millie protested that she wanted to come too but Dad distracted her with talk of going home to erect her dolls’ house. With last-minute warnings echoing in their ears, Max and Louis cycled off.
As they came out of the town, Louis spotted a pay phone on a street corner and skidded to a halt.
‘What are you doing?’ Max demanded, slowing down reluctantly.
Louis dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans for the change Dad had let him keep when he’d paid for the bike.
‘I’m gonna call Pierre. Tell him I’ve gone on holiday. He’ll be so jealous!’
‘You don’t know the international dialling code—’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Fine. Then catch me up,’ Max said, turning his bike round and disappearing down the winding road.
It took several seconds for the long beeps to sound. As soon as Pierre answered, a row of zeros began flashing on the display, the phone demanding to be fed again.
‘Ouais?’ Pierre’s voice sounded very distant.
‘It’s Louis – guess where I am?’
‘What’s going on? Where are you?’
‘England! Papa took us on holiday. We’re in a place called the Lake District, it’s really cool, I’m not coming back to school till Monday—’
A series of loud beeps muffled the sound of Pierre’s voice. Then the line went dead. Louis hung up, disgusted that the phone had swallowed up a whole pound in a matter of seconds. Then he straddled his bike again, pumping the pedals furiously to catch up with Max.
The late-afternoon sun was beginning to turn golden and touch the tops of the trees. They left the town behind them and Max set the pace, taking a winding road that led down towards the lake. It stretched out like a vast sheet of turquoise glass, the warm sun giving it a golden hue. Dramatic peaks towered all around them beneath a vast white sky. The wind blew strong, whipping tears from their eyes. Louis sto
od up on his pedals, looking out across the water. Ahead of him, Max skidded to a halt on the stony verge, threw his bike down on the grass and looked down at the jagged hillside. ‘Reckon we could climb down there?’
Louis laid his bike down and tested the ground with his foot. It felt reasonably firm. ‘Don’t see why not.’
They began their descent, turning sideways and digging the edges of their trainers into the earth, using their hands to stay balanced, and for a while the only sound was the scrabbling of feet and the rasping of breath, until Louis reached the bottom first and splodged through the wet mud at the edge of the lake. Moments later, Max followed him, and the two of them stood looking out across the vast expanse of water. The wind had dropped, and apart from the lazy chirping of a swallow, the air was eerily still.
Max bent down to look for stones, his cheeks flushed pink from their hasty descent. He found some flattish ones and began skimming them one by one across the water.
Louis picked up a stone and tried to skim it too, but it only disappeared with an irritating plop. ‘Why can’t I do it?’
‘You need to get flat ones, like this.’ Max handed him a stone. ‘Then imagine you’re throwing a tiny little frisbee. Like this . . .’ The stone skimmed the water three times.
Louis tried, with a disappointing result. ‘Pfff.’
‘Nearly,’ Max said. ‘Try again. But turn your hand inwards when you throw, like this.’ He demonstrated.
Louis tried again. A sort of half-skim, before the stone disappeared again.
‘Better,’ Max said encouragingly.
Louis bent down to look for some more flat stones as Max skimmed another across the ripples.
Louis had another go. This time there was a definite skim. ‘Whoa!’ he exclaimed.
Max threw another stone and said, ‘So what d’you think about the farmhouse?’
Louis glanced at him. ‘It’s a bit run down but I like it.’
There was a pause. Then Max suddenly said, ‘Dad’s not coming back to France – you know that, don’t you.’
Louis felt his heart judder. He looked sharply at Max. ‘How d’you know?’
‘It’s obvious,’ Max said, sounding as if he didn’t really care. ‘Dad might have savings but he’s not that rich. He wouldn’t be going to all this trouble to furnish the house if he was only going to use it for the holidays.’
‘You mean you think he’s going to live here?’
‘Of course,’ Max said.
Louis felt his eyes narrow. ‘You don’t know that,’ he tried.
Max shot him an exasperated look. ‘Oh, come on.’
‘OK,’ Louis reluctantly agreed. ‘So maybe he is planning to stay here for a bit. That doesn’t mean he’ll never come back to France. And it’ll mean we get to spend all our holidays here. Heaps better than horrid summer camp, if you ask me.’
Max looked at him darkly, his hands dug deep in his pockets. ‘You really think Maman’s going to let us fly out to England and spend the holidays with Dad?’
Louis could feel his chin jutting out defensively. ‘She might—’
‘Oh, come on!’ Max exclaimed angrily. ‘She doesn’t even want us to spend a weekend with him once a month in Paris!’
Louis threw a stone as hard as he could. It skimmed the water three times. He didn’t want to look at Max. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘What I’m saying is – Dad must have lost the court case.’
A sliver of shock shot through Louis’ stomach. He threw another stone.
There was a long silence. Max stared at Louis’ face. Then, ‘Oh my God, you knew,’ he breathed.
Louis scrabbled around for more stones. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—’
‘Oh my God, you knew!’ Suddenly Louis felt himself shoved backwards and slammed down against the hard ground, Max’s fingers twisting the collar of his T-shirt, his fist against Louis’ throat.
‘Tell me everything, right now, or I’ll swear I’ll punch you—’
‘OK, OK!’ Louis held up his hands. He had never seen Max so angry. For the first time in his life, Louis actually felt afraid of his older brother.
With a furious shove, Max let go of Louis’ collar and Louis sat up, breathing hard. ‘Jesus, Max, there’s no need to—’
‘You tell me everything, right now, or I swear to God . . .’ Max’s eyes were flashing, the colour high in his cheeks.
‘You’ve got to promise not to tell Millie. Dad made me promise not to tell either of you, and—’
‘OK, OK!’
Louis took a deep, shuddering breath. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud. ‘You guessed right,’ he said in a rush. ‘Dad lost the court case and Mum won. He’s only allowed supervised visits with us from now on. But he’s going to—’
Max had grabbed him by the collar again. ‘How do you know? Who told you?’
‘I overheard Dad on the phone!’
‘When?’
‘The night before we left!’
Max whistled under his breath, slowly remembering. ‘So that’s when you . . . when we were playing Cluedo, and you came out of the kitchen and you’d been crying—’
‘I wasn’t crying,’ Louis said quickly, but Max didn’t appear to hear him. His face darkened.
‘So that’s why Dad’s moving to England? Because he lost the court case?’
‘I don’t know,’ Louis said. ‘It doesn’t make sense. He said he was going to appeal. He promised, Max! Maybe the farmhouse really is just a holiday home. Maybe he wants to do it up so he can prove to Mum that he’s not ill any more and she’ll trust him to look after us . . .’
But Max was looking away, shaking his head in disgust. ‘Don’t be so bloody naïve. He won’t be appealing if he’s moving to England. He must just be hoping to start his life over and meet some new woman—’
‘You don’t know that!’ Louis felt his voice rising. ‘He wouldn’t do that! He would never give us up! He promised me – he said everything was going to be all right!’
‘Those are just words,’ Max scoffed. ‘You were blubbing like a baby and he just wanted to shut you up—’
Louis jumped to his feet and started to climb back up the hillside towards the bikes.
Max started to follow him. ‘Hey, Louis, I’m sorry. Come on, calm down.’
Louis ignored him and kept on going, digging his nails into the soft earth to aid his ascent, the growing burn in his calf muscles a useful antidote to the pain inside his mind.
The next day, the beds arrived, and Louis and Millie helped Dad erect them in the bedrooms. They did Millie’s first, and when it was done, she was so pleased with it that she turned somersaults on the fresh bouncy mattress.
‘I want to paint my walls pink,’ she declared, stretching out over her Barbie duvet cover.
‘I think that could be arranged,’ Dad replied.
‘Really? Oh, yippee! I want to call Maman and tell her about my new room. Can I call her now, Daddy?’
Dad appeared not to have heard; he was collecting up his tools, ready to move on to the next room.
‘Can I call Mummy?’ Millie repeated, appearing to think her use of the French word was the reason Dad hadn’t replied.
Dad picked up his toolbox and went next door to the boys’ room. Louis followed him, Millie skipping behind. ‘Can I, Daddy, can I, can I?’
Dad put down his toolbox on Louis’ bed, the colour high in his cheeks. ‘Not now, Millie, she’ll be at work.’
‘But Mummy’s always at work. She lets me call her at work – I’m allowed.’
‘Only if it’s for something important,’ Louis reminded her.
‘But this is important. I want to tell her about my new room! Oh please, Daddy!’
‘We can’t call her yet, we haven’t got a phone installed,’ Dad told her.
‘But on your mobile—’
‘No, Millie, it’s too expensive.’ The tone of Dad’s voice signalled that the discussion was over.
For a moment Millie looked upset, hurt even. Then she quickly recovered, remembering her new bed, and ran back to her room.
Louis and Dad got to work on the second bed, Louis cutting open the cardboard boxes while Dad pored over the instructions. Louis lined up the wooden panels according to size and knelt on the carpet opposite his father, following his lead with the first set of screws. Louis used the electric screwdriver while Dad took the manual one, and once the screws were in place, they returned to the instruction leaflet, studying it together.
‘I think we have to hammer in the dowels next,’ Louis said, picking up the handful of wooden pegs.
‘OK, you do that while I screw the bolts into the blocks,’ Dad replied. ‘Where’s the electric screwdriver?’
‘Here. Can you pass me the hammer?’
‘Here.’
For several minutes they worked in silence, the pounding of the hammer filling the air. When Louis sat back and looked critically at his handiwork, Dad glanced over and said, ‘Good job. You’ve got them in nice and deep.’
‘D’you want a hand with the bolts?’ Louis asked him.
‘Yes please.’
Louis picked up the manual screwdriver and got stuck in. There was another silence. Then Dad said, ‘Louis, do you like it here?’
The screwdriver slipped sharply away from the bolt. Louis swore. He put the tip back into place and raised himself on his knees for leverage. A moment passed. ‘Yeah.’
‘Really like it? More than Paris?’
‘It’s different,’ Louis said.
‘But where would you prefer to live? If you had the choice, I mean.’ Dad was sitting back on his heels, watching Louis carefully.
Louis picked up the discarded electric screwdriver. ‘Can I use this then?’
‘Go ahead.’ Another moment. ‘Louis?’
‘Mm.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I don’t know.’ Louis narrowed his eyes in concentration and watched the screw whirr noisily into the wood. ‘Is that in far enough?’
‘That’s fine . . . I mean, if you had the choice. Would you prefer to live in a big city like Paris or out in the countryside somewhere like this?’