I can’t face Chaz the next morning; it feels like I’m betraying Mohammed and Samir just walking into his stinking shop. So I skip my paper route and instead decide to go and take Mohammed breakfast early. It was so cold last night, there was ice on the inside of my window when I woke up, so what must it be like in the hut?
Mum is still asleep so Trudy and me manage to sneak out of the house with all the supplies. Poor Trudy has hardly had a decent walk since Saturday; I swear if she could speak she’d be on the phone to the Humane Society about me. It’s very cold outside and barely daylight. The Island is so mysterious this early on a winter morning. Sometimes, walking out with Grandpa, who always got up at six, we’d tramp right along the inlet to the sand flats beyond the yacht club. All the oystercatchers and gulls and Brent geese out hunting for food, not a boat on the water. It can feel like the far end of the world out there sometimes. So lonely when the fog is really thick, even quite scary, especially now without Grandpa.
It makes me think about how Mohammed must have felt when they threw him into the sea in the fog. The water was so cold and deep and he wouldn’t have been able to see the shore. It must have been completely terrifying and he must have felt so alone and so helpless.
I’m thinking all these thoughts and jogging down the road when a small blue van pulls up on the other side. The driver gives a honk and I look across. It says Blacks and Son Medical Supplies in red lettering on the side of the van. I’m thinking maybe it’s someone who’s lost when the driver gets out.
Oh my God! It’s Dad!
And all I can think about is the armful of supplies I’ve got for my asylum seeker. My knees go weak with terror. We’re finished now. But Dad’s here. After all this time.
I don’t know what to do. I really just want to run across the road and fling my arms around him, but also I want to yell at him, “Where have you been for like two years?!”
I just stand there shifting the load in my arms and it’s Trudy who breaks the ice, rushing over and snuffling around his feet.
He bends down and gives her a pat saying, “Good girl, you know who I am, don’t you, old girl?” Then he straightens and says, “How about a hug, Alix?”
Bad timing, Dad. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I have to keep our secret from him, don’t I?
Dad crosses over and puts his arms around me and all the packs of sandwiches and the flask of coffee and the hot-water bottle, which fortunately is hidden in a carrier bag because that would look totally weird, and I’m sort of suffocated with all this stuff pushing into my chest as Dad gives me an elephant type of hug. But he smells the same—Lynx aftershave and the sweat from his armpits, and his bony old arms feel the same and it’s so good to see him. Just not exactly at this moment.
I pull away after a minute and say awkwardly, “What are you doing here?”
“Your mum called me,” he says as though that happens like every day.
What? Mum has his phone number! And she’s been ringing him behind my back! That’s why she looked so shifty yesterday.
“She said she didn’t know how to get hold of you,” I say. So who’s lying now, I can’t help thinking.
Dad shrugs but at least he looks a bit embarrassed. “Well, she should have told you. Anyway, we haven’t been in touch that much. It’s a bit difficult with Gloria.”
What’s she got to do with it? But I don’t say anything, I don’t trust myself to speak.
Then he says, “Your mum rang because she’s worried about you. She thinks you’re running wild. Is it a boy, Ali?” I let out a snort and think, Wish it was that simple. But you know how it is with me. I forget the silent button.
Dad is staring at me and then he notices that I’m not exactly carrying a load of schoolbooks.
“What’s all this stuff?” he says, and he’s eyeing me really suspiciously.
As I stare back I see that his hair is beginning to go gray at the sides like Kevin’s, Kim’s dad. It’s still quite dark on top and Dad’s cut it really short, which makes his ears stick out. But he’s still got the same old pointy nose. When I was little I used to call him Pinocchio and he called me Snow White because I could eat four apples in one evening.
“It’s just my school lunch,” I say lamely. At least I’m wearing my uniform, but I have to get away from him before he asks too many questions even though he’s only just turned up again.
“Look, Dad,” I say nervously, “I’m going to be late and . . .” but I don’t get time to finish.
Dad’s cell phone starts ringing out the tune to LA Law. We used to watch that together. He flips it open and frowns.
“It’s my boss,” he says, and then he talks into the phone in a bored voice. “Yeah, yeah, I’m nearly at the hospital . . .”
What hospital? There isn’t one on the Island. And is that a good way to speak to your boss?
“. . . no, there was an accident on the highway . . . no worries, I’ll be there in five,” and he flips off.
“Gotta go, doll. Ring me and we’ll go bowling in our pants, eh?” And he shoves a piece of paper in my hand, gets back in the van and roars off.
What the hell is going on? I want to yell after him.
Dad hadn’t really disappeared; Mum knew where he was all along and he wasn’t even that far away! And now, when it suits her, she’s decided to get him over to have a go at me. Just because she can’t be bothered herself. Too wrapped up in her leg.
All the times I begged her to find him and she just shrugged as if it didn’t matter and went off to write her stupid poetry.
I can feel tears welling up in my eyes as I watch the van swerve around the bend. What if I don’t see him again for another two years? I look at the paper; it’s just a cell phone number, no address or even a note or anything.
Why should I ring him? I can’t bring myself to throw the paper away, so I shove it in my jacket pocket and stumble off, my cheeks wet with tears.
It feels weird going to the hut on my own. I almost turn back. I wish Kim or Samir or even Trumpet Steven was here. I don’t know what to say to Mohammed on my own. I hope he doesn’t notice I’ve been crying. But Mohammed seems to take it all in his stride, emptying his old water bottle out the window and collecting all the rubbish in one bag for me to take home.
“Zank you, Aleex,” he keeps saying. “Food and coffee is very good.”
If he’s seen my red eyes he’s not saying anything. How do I explain I’m crying over seeing my dad when he probably won’t ever see his family again? Like Samir. But somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Have you started on the antibiotics?” I ask, and Mohammed nods.
So maybe he’ll start to get better, I’m thinking, and then he can move on. My life just got mega complicated with Dad showing up like that and it’s going to be harder and harder to keep all this hushed up.
“Do you learn Arabic in school?” Mohammed asks, breaking into my thoughts.
“No. French and German.”
“I teach you,” he says. “Tell Samir shukran, it mean ‘thank you.’ It will be surprise.”
I repeat shukran about a hundred times until Mohammed is satisfied and then I give him an old Casio digital watch I found at the back of one of my drawers. He’s delighted and keeps saying shukran and pressing the button, which lights up the dial in fluorescent green.
I tell him I’ll be back about four with Samir, and then dash home to drop Trudy off and catch the bus to school.
I get to class just as the buzzer sounds and then I get my first piece of luck of the day. Spicer is off sick and Miss Redding, the sobbing student teacher, is taking our class roll call. So I won’t get into more trouble for cutting detention last night. Yay!
Lindy’s already got her claws into the student teacher so no one notices me, except Kim, as I slip into the seat next to her.
I’m just about to tell her about Dad showing up when she whispers, “Steven’s skipping school!”
Her eyes are staring into mine without blinking.